The Hunt of the Cold Moon Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Book Details

  Dedication

  The Hunt of the Cold Moon

  About the Author

  The Hunt of the Cold Moon

  The Bestiary

  Beth Wirth

  Home for winter break, Terry is reluctantly caught up in an old tradition, a hunt for a forest spirit that he has never understood. When he unexpectedly wins the hunt and finds himself bound to the spirit, he has no idea what to do with it. The advice he is given, however, is dubious at best and if he does not act soon his father will take matters into his own hands …

  Book Details

  The Hunt of the Cold Moon

  The Bestiary, Volume One

  By Beth Wirth

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Ania Love

  Cover designed by Megan Derr

  Internal Illustration by V. Rios

  This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition November 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Beth Wirth

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 9781620040515

  For the One who gifts me with inspiration,

  and to the people who support me —

  my humble thanks.

  The Hunt of the Cold Moon

  His knees hit the ground. One hand slapped against the dirt while the other hit against the rough bark of a tree. He inhaled deeply, the air rasping into his aching lungs. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the cold dirt and snow and lie down, but he forced himself back up on trembling legs and placed one foot in front of the other. He could hear the hounds behind him, clarion voices raised to the moon.

  He had already run far beyond his usual territory, pursued by more than one hunter this night. He had known the night of the Cold Moon would be thus but it had been his time and he had been unable to resist the call. He had been warned of the call's strength, but he was young enough to think he could resist the lure of the moon. He had wanted to see the moon with different eyes, the urge undeniable within him. Different eyes, new eyes for the moon's new cycle, the celestial orb waning even now from its fullest swell. And, for everything else that filled this night—the night to end all nights, the night of beginnings—he had seen the moon.

  Now what he saw was this strange terrain, the very strangeness of it both spurring him on and pulling dangerously at his unsure feet. The tree branches whipped at his face, occasionally dumping loads of snow as he staggered past. It wasn't just his lungs aching and his legs trembling now; his entire body felt as if he might shatter apart with every thudding step. He could no longer hear the dogs.

  He froze, a statue in the bright moonlight, his breath so hurried it was a constant mist in the air. His heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears. If he couldn't hear the dogs he couldn't know how close they were. He was trembling all over. He backed up against a large tree, his fingers scrabbling in the grooved bark for some kind of purchase that would keep him on his feet, keep him from collapsing completely. He wasn't ready, he was too young ...

  He saw the shadowy shapes of the dogs, silvered in the moonlight. They came up and circled close around him, intent as death. The lead hound raised his head and bayed. This prey would run no more.

  The hunters weren't far behind. He could see them, coming up slowly behind their beasts. He knew these hunters and their reputation, and he could only shake with exhaustion as he wondered what trick of fate had brought him here, to this town, this group of hunters. This was his final stand, then—here was his choice. A peace stole over him. He was young for it, too young to know what he was doing, but it was his choice; the moon guaranteed him that at least. His eyes sought the moon—the long night moon—and it might indeed be his last moon.

  *~*~*

  For Terry, it started when his father met him at the door on his first day home for Winter Break. Terry was familiar with the Cold Moon, and what it meant in his family, but he'd never been on the hunt before. For all that, he wasn't particularly surprised when his father insisted that Terry come along. A lot of the trouble that had once been between them was no longer evident, though whether it was gone or just buried more deeply, like so much in their family was, Terry couldn't tell.

  The first night of the full moon hunt was uneventful, if appropriately cold. The snow was old and crusted over hard, making walking through it more work than was worth it to come back empty handed. Terry was reluctant to go out the next night, but his father was insistent. Terry's cousins would be there, and if there was one thing Terry's father couldn't stand it was anything having to do with his brother, Martin, and that went double for Uncle Martin's children. That Uncle Martin had three sons who were all eager to follow in their father's footsteps, in more ways than one, while Terry's father was left with Terry and his brother, each disappointments in their own way, had become yet another one of those things in the family that weren't discussed in front of those who weren't blood. They weren't discussed at all around Terry anymore.

  Now, hiking through the heavy snow, Terry kept his grumbling under his breath, hoping he accomplished something tonight besides freezing his ass off. He carried his rifle loosely under his arm; he knew how to use it, even if hunting wasn't his favorite pastime. He also knew enough about the Cold Moon to know that tonight's hunt was one where he wasn't likely to need it, but there were other predators among the trees.

  Terry heard the echoing call of a hound striking game, the dog's voice joined by others as they converged on their pack mate and opened on the track. Terry's interest was caught by the music; the night wasn't a total waste at least. He quickly followed the call, his father ahead of him. His father was in better shape than him, Terry thought as he puffed his way along after the dogs. Sitting in class most of the day and working double shifts doing bartending and custodial work didn't do much for his stamina when running and breathing air that hovered around freezing. He saw one of his cousins for a moment through the trees, also hurrying after the line.

  It was a long run, and Terry had opened his coat and shed his hat and gloves before he caught up with the line—he was still breathing heavily when he heard the prolonged bay that meant the night's game had been run to a standstill. The sound was close, and he was able to make out shapes in the silvered light as the hounds' voices echoed in the night. They fell silent as Terry approached, other shapes drifting out of the trees as well, the dogs turning to the huntsman, tails wagging slowly in recognition of a job well done.

  "We've got him cornered!" His father's breath puffed excitedly on the air as the man walked toward him, and Terry managed to pull together an answering smile that also served to assure him his face wasn't completely frozen. "This'll be a memorable hunt, son. Be glad you made it home in time!" The older man clasped him companionably on the shoulder and Terry could only muster a confused glance. They had never been antagonistic toward each other, like Terry's friend Tadd was with his father, but he and his father had never been close. There were many reasons for it, though Terry privately thought the main one was because he'd gone away to college. Terrence Mason hadn't—and still didn't—see any reason why his eldest son would want to leave their town. There was no reason for schooling when the farm could teach you everything you needed to know about life. Terry liked their town well enough, but he'd never wanted to be a farmer. And then there were the other reasons—the reasons he and his father wer
en't close and the reasons he'd left—some of them were the same.

  Gerald, his father's closest friend, was knee deep in dogs by the time Terry and his father caught up. "The hunt of the Cold Moon, Terrence," Thomas, another of their neighbors on the farm, said to Terry's father, excitement giving life to normally laconic features. "I almost can't believe we got one."

  Terry saw his cousins creeping up out of the moonlight to join the group. Mark and Hugh were older than him, but Jacob was his age. He couldn't have told that by looking at them—they looked like triplets with their similar builds and identical scowling faces. The scowls were directed at him.

  Terrence grinned back at Thomas. "I'll tell you why we found one. It's my lucky charm here." He clapped Terry on the back again.

  Gerald, on Thomas's other side, smirked at their confidence and enthusiasm. "Hunt's not finished yet," he reminded them, standing from among his dogs.

  Terrence waved dismissively with one hand, the other gripping Terry's shoulder firmly. "It's Terry's first hunt, you know," he said this with a certain weight.

  "So it is," Gerald replied. He leaned casually on his rifle and stroked the ears of one of his dogs. Terry could see Hugh baring his teeth in an expression that was not amused, and from Gerald's face he was sure Mark and Jacob behind him had mirrored the expression. Gerald regarded Terry evenly. "First try at the quarry is yours, boy." His eyes flickered over Terry's cousins. "If that doesn't work out, we'll see who has next shot." He grinned amiably and turned to where the rest of the dogs were circled. "This one's definitely a fine specimen."

  Terry's father whistled appreciatively as he too circled the quarry. "Six points, not bad. Spread's better than anything I've seen since I started." He made the observations dryly, but added with calculated intent, "And I'd say he's bigger than the one Martin ran down."

  Terry narrowed his eyes at his dad, wishing he wouldn't be quite so petty. Terry's nerves were on edge. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with his chance. He let his eyes fall on the quarry; it was the first time he'd seen one, after all.

  Leaning against the bulwark of a fallen tree was what appeared to be a young man with a spreading rack of antlers rooted firmly in his curly autumn-colored hair. "The usdi spirit," Terry breathed. It had wide, intelligent eyes that followed everything that was happening, and which looked black in the night. It was breathing heavily, mouth open as it panted. There was a wildness to the creature's eyes that was verging on panic, but it focused on Terry easily enough, recognizing him as the first threat. Terry let his eyes roam the body, sizing up his target. Its skin was dark and mottled—even now the creature almost disappeared against the bark of the tree it crouched against. Its limbs were long and lean and defined by muscle. Its shoulders were not as broad as Terry's, though it had a few inches on him in height. It was not unlike the deer the creature was rumored to resemble more closely when not trapped under the full moon. He'd heard tales, of course, but tales were tales—exaggerated to a purpose and usually distorting of fact. He hadn't expected the surreality of the spirit's appearance—the creature truly did look almost human.

  Terry stood still, a little dazed, as his father grinned and Thomas patted him knowingly on the shoulder. "Your first hunt, I know. It's hard to take it all in. I didn't see one until my third hunt, and this is the first hunt I've been on that we've actually caught one, they're that rare." There was no jealous antagonism in Thomas's eyes, unlike Jacob's gaze. Thomas's brother, Robert, had been the winner of the last successful hunt and his success had prompted Thomas to join the other hunters.

  The others were standing around, waiting, but Terry could only stare. The spirit's sides heaved with the effort to breathe, sweat beading on its skin even in the cold. Gerald lost patience with the freshman and stamped his foot in the snow. "Come on then, on with it." He shouldered his rifle and folded his arms. "It might be the longest one, but we do have only the night to get this done. Take your shot newbie." He tapped his fingers rhythmically against his bicep to underscore his impatience.

  Terry's father clasped his shoulder encouragingly and passed him a length of rope. "The shooting is figurative of course. You're welcome to whatever weapon you'd like," he murmured, but from the way he was pressing the rope into his son's hand, Terry knew his father wanted this to be a live capture. It would be one way, the best way, to shove it all in Uncle Martin's face. Terry's fingers tightened around the heavy rope.

  Taking a deep breath, Terry advanced on the spirit crouched against the tree. The creature watched him with those impossibly wide eyes, its breathing having slowed somewhat. Terry looped the rope into a noose and shook it out to trail on the ground. The creature's eyes went to it immediately, tracking the movement of the rope, but the eyes were back on Terry as he moved forward. Terry edged his way diagonally across the circle the dogs had made, where they sat panting patiently, closing the space between himself and the spirit without approaching directly, until felt he was close enough to make his move. He waved the rope threateningly, hoping to get the creature to move in the opposite direction. It partially worked—when the spirit dodged away from the rope Terry managed to throw himself bodily at the creature, bringing it down with his greater weight. That advantage didn't last, but by the time the spirit managed to throw him off, with strength surpassing its slight frame, Terry had looped the rope around its ankles. Trying to run, it tripped, and lay prone. He crawled quickly up the body and bound its hands behind its back.

  "The last binding," his father said, coming up silently beside him, voice suffused with pride. He held out a thin ring of gold to Terry. Terry looked at it stupidly, his mind not fully caught up to the events of the evening. "It's the only way to bind the usdi past the sunrise, to bind him to this form," his father explained patiently. Terry took the ring from him and fastened it around the spirit's throat.

  Gerald seemed to expect something as Terry stood, but Terrence pulled off his coat and wrapped the creature in it, directing the others to help carry it. Jacob didn't help with the carrying; this had been his second hunt and if it weren't for Terry he would have had first try at the quarry. He walked on the outside of the group, but Mark and Hugh took turns carrying. Terry's father watched them carefully, but other than the dark looks they occasionally shot Terry, they were silent and cooperative. The older hunters were anything but silent, now that the quarry had been caught. Thomas was the most vocal in praise of Terry, but Terrence wasn't far behind. Gerald laughed and shared a detail now and then, but mostly the huntsman watched his dogs. Terry was in too much of a daze to follow what they were talking about. He would look at the bound creature, its eyes closed tightly and its breathing shallow and fast, and try to figure out what he was feeling.

  "What do I do with it now?" he asked his dad finally, the two of them standing beside his father's truck, his prize usdi bound more tightly and loaded into the bed.

  His dad shrugged. "Whatever you want. That's the point of the hunt of the Cold Moon." He seemed a little wistful. "I never won one myself, but your Uncle Martin did, almost 40 years ago." He paused before continuing, "He ended up killing his quick, said he didn't have any use for a creature, and mounted the antlers over the desk in his den. You've seen 'em there." Terry shuddered, but his father went on, "Thomas's brother won the last one, about 20 years ago. You know Robert, though, there's never been two people more unalike than he and Thomas. I can't recall off hand what he did with his, but you can ask him. And Old Bill is the only other winner still alive." His father frowned slightly, suddenly thoughtful. "You know Crazy Old Bill." He glanced sidelong at Terry and shrugged. "Maybe his advice'd be the most useful for you, son, though I don't envy you the asking of it." He shrugged more expansively, but there was something closed about his expression. "In the end it's your decision, of course. They don't live long trapped like that, or so I've heard." His face lightened and he threw his arm around Terry's shoulder companionably. Terry allowed it and gamely attempted to return his father's grin. "Let's get home. You
r mother always cooks a splendid breakfast after a Cold Moon hunt, and your brother'll be pestering us for the stories." His face fell slightly when he mentioned Alex, but the expression faded quickly and Terry nodded.

  True enough, when they got home his mother was waiting for them with an enormous breakfast spread and Alex was in his chair at the table, eyes bright and ready to take in information. They had a task to do first, and his father helped Terry bring his prize into the stable, where they carried the form, still wrapped in his father's coat, into the farthest stall. There was a ring set into the stone wall, and Terrence slid manacles through the ring before clasping the cold iron around the spirit's wrists. "Remember Terry," he said, "The golden ring holds him in this form, but only iron will keep him from running away—he can't cross iron of his own will. The walls of this room, as well as the door sill, are lined with it, but it's been so long since our family took the hunt that we should test the strength of it before we trust it to hold him." He let a finger stroke along one tine of the proud rack that graced the spirit's head and whistled admiringly, as he had in the forest. "He's definitely nicer than Robert's. Robert's was so little, I thought maybe they were dying out. But I see now that there's still some good ones out there."

  The spirit flinched from his father's touch and Terry watched the creature's face. It looked wary and fearful, but the primary expression was shock. Terry sympathized.

  They left it there and went in to the feast that was the spoils of the hunter.

  *~*~*

  After breakfast, Terry took a nap. He felt it was his due after two nights without sleep in the freezing weather. He wasn't used to the conditions anymore, having spent his winters at the college the last three years, where it didn't get quite so cold. He woke to early afternoon sunlight streaming in through his window and lay still for several long moments, thinking through what had happened last night. What on earth was he going to do with a forest spirit locked up in his barn? He couldn't take it back to college with him; the dorm had a strict no pets policy. He gave a slight laugh at his own joke, though it was admittedly neither funny nor relevant since he shared an apartment with his friend Tadd and the only thing their landlord worried about was if you set the building on fire. Their lease was up soon and Terry would have bet money that Tadd was planning to move in with Chris, though none of them had discussed it. Terry sighed and buried his head back in his pillow. His mental wanderings had not only not figured out what to do with his current problem but had him remembering another problem he didn't have an answer for, namely finding a place where he could afford rent without a roommate to help pay.