Page 112 of Woods of the Raven

“You are mine,” the god said.

“Yes,” I answered. “Always.”

He was Arawn, lord of the hunt, king of Annwn, some said of the underworld and death, but my grandmother said no. He led the hunt to find evil left behind on the earth and for demons who’d escaped hell and needed to be returned.

Guro dismounted and walked toward the ax embedded in the roots, and when two of Threun’s knights charged her, she drew an enormous broadsword, quickly, as if it were light as a feather, and beheaded both in an instant.

“Holy shit,” Lorne breathed out.

She then wiped the blade on the fur cloak of the last man to fall, sheathed it, reached for the ax, and began to chop away at the roots. More knights went to attack her, but she didn’t even lift her head as another of Arawn’s riders, Draven, put arrows that had to be over six feet long through three of them faster than I could track with my eyes.

Arawn was there then, astride his red stallion, Nudd, who waited patiently as his lord dismounted. When Arawn’s feet hit the ground, I felt it shake, and everywhere he stepped, edelweiss bloomed.

Except for Guro, who was still hacking away at the roots, everyone froze, making Threun and Gaeidhel retreat closer to the rift. Guro then called the dogs to her, and they locked their jaws on the roots and, along with her, pulled. Her action was clear. She was going to unearth the plant.

Arawn strode to the edge of the rift, looking at Threun and Gaeidhel, and when he lifted his hand, one of the knights flew through the air, was caught in his grip, and was drained of life, decaying in an instant, bone one second, dust the next. With the dust in his hand, he blew it at the queen, who screamed and was thrown back through the rift, gone from sight.

“Hear me,” he said quietly to Threun. “I am Arawn, and this land,” he said, extending his arm, hand open to include everything as far as the eye could see, “is mine.” He then pointed at me. “I ride through this rift that is kept safe by that witch, there, who was branded and belongs to me as well.”

Threun shuddered.

I had no idea a god could shudder.

“I care for this realm,” Arawn told him. “But not for all I have seen, and there are many. I bid you find another rift, step through and claim all that is there.”

Threun was silent, only staring.

“Hear me when I say that on this land, and near my servant, you are not welcome.”

“Yes, my lord Arawn,” Threun responded.

“If you step one foot on Corvus again, ever, I will come for you, wherever you are, and bathe first in the tears of your queen and then your blood.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“All those of the hunt are in my service, and as such I speak for them when I say, we will follow you to the end of all things if you test me.”

“Yes,” Threun rasped.

“Get off my land,” Arawn growled, low, in the back of his throat.

Threun ran, but Draven sent an arrow through the air and into the nothing of the rift after him anyway. We all heard the cry of pain. I knew he wasn’t dead, but the warning had been delivered loud and clear.

Instantly, the roots from the other side of the rift shriveled and turned to dust. The roots Guro and the dogs had unearthed did the same.

I watched as Arawn lifted his head, smelling the air, and then, with a smile on his face, began across the ground toward me and Lorne.

Unlike the others, clad in armor, he was in buckskin, his pants and long-sleeved tunic held by a leather belt at his waist. He was not handsome in a traditional way. Big and barrel chested, he had arms the size of tree trunks, his beard and mustache ran together, and his gray hair, shot through with silver, was long and thick, falling to the middle of his back, held by an ornate strip of hand-tooled leather. Other than his towering height, he could be anyone. But the thing that always held me captivated were his eyes. They were that kind of summer-sky blue you squinted at because it was so bright, and their center glowed gold. The laugh lines in the corners of his eyes, showing how often he smiled, I also loved.

He knelt down on one knee, and still, I had to look up into his face. “When the dogs are here with you, send them to find me. When they are not, call to them. Either will draw my attention.”

I was afraid to ask but had to. “And you’ll come?”

“If there is nothing or no one more pressing.”

I had to smile at his wording even as I fought hard not to pass out. He was a god, after all. His time was far more valuable than mine.

“I will come,” he grumbled at me in that husky, whiskey-thickened rasp of his.