Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 05

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Author's note

Part Nine concludes the portion of the series set in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Parts Seven and Eight. Part Ten will take us to Winter, and pull all the previous threads together.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.

All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.

As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. I'll try to respond promptly.

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The streets of Savannah were empty. Not metaphorically, not compared to their usual bustle, but completely and utterly abandoned. Free of cars, carriages, and pedestrians. Free of will o' the wisps, unicorns, and even cats. Cats! The feline population always came out in force when the mortals were abed. Seeing them walk into this shadow and out of that one was as reliable a fixture of the nightly patrols as Cahill could name.

When one finally appeared, then, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Until he noticed how large the black molly was. And saw the characteristic white spot on her chest. By the time her eyes changed from yellow to green, then green to purple, he knew he was looking at Cat Sith, one of Titania's darker incarnations. Or one of her familiars? As ever, the old tales offered no consensus. Either way, the cat's arrival was most unwelcome.

"You are surprised to see me," the queen said. Her voice didn't come from the cat, but everywhere at once. Cahill had no doubt that Titania's ability to speak to him was tied to the fey feline, but at present, its tongue was busy licking the back of an oversized paw. "That's cute. You think the Hippo's glamour bars my entry to your dreams. You know nothing of what I can and can't do, child. Nothing." The way she said that last part, it almost sounded like she'd broken it up into two words. Noth. Ing.

Cahill shuddered in spite of himself.

"I go where I please," Titania continued. "When I please. You might as well tell your children which molecules of air to breathe as attempt to deny me access to your dreams."

He didn't doubt it. And suddenly felt childish for ever having believed otherwise.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"For you and Oberon to join the Hunt." The cat put its paw down and its orange eyes regarded him intently. "We discussed this," the queen's voice said from all around him.

"And we agreed to do so."

"It's time to make good on that agreement."

Right. Of course it was. He'd had nearly two full days with his family, free from her influence. Relatively speaking, anyway. Time to mourn his sister and the child she'd have born him. Meanwhile, the Dreaming would have steadily marched towards dusk. Towards a time of betweenness. A time ripe for fey shenanigans.

And, supposing he survived it, the Queen of Faerie would call on him again in two weeks. As the Dreaming approached dawn, the other time of betweenness.

On and on, it would continue, til he went mad. Or Titania lost interest in the diversion.

"Come, child," the Lady of Shadows said. "I'll not ask again."

So Cahill followed Cat Sith down an alleyway, and out of Savannah. Out of his dreams and into the Dreaming. In a parking garage, of all places.

None of Titania's champions were dressed as knights now. They fey could move about as silently and stealthily in full armor as they could without it, but the symbolism wouldn't be right. So they'd each taken on some new, dark visage. Yet they largely favored the same colors and weapons as when he'd last seen them.

Duncan the dark elf wore purple and black. He melded with the shadows around them as naturally as Titania herself did. Twin kukris were strapped to his back.

His father was in satyr form, but was looking a lot more demonic than he usually did. His horns, ordinarily so modest as to almost be cute, were long, sharp, and wicked. His fur was black rather than its usual brown. Where small, unassuming hooves should have been, there were thick, sharp, menacing knives. A long and serpentine tail lashed behind him. His body had grown leaner, more wiry, his muscles smaller yet more pronounced. His hands had been replaced with long, black claws that gleamed in the fading sunlight. His short chin beard had grown long enough to reach his waist. His bushy eyebrows swept back from his forehead, reaching fine points. His ears did the same. The eyes lurking beneath his fearsome brow changed colors the same way his mother's always did.

Reilly was wreathed in ethereal green flames. But beneath the familiar fairy fire lurked a caricature of his former self. Where blue eyes should have been, there were two particularly bright tongues of green fire. His skin, always pale, looked absolutely ghostly. His tattoos were gone, his muscles were bigger, and his face was contorted into a frozen howl of rage. Jaw elongated, the tip of his chin nearly reached his abdomen. In his oversized fists, he carried the axe with which he'd beheaded Gallech.

Typically, Kearney's fey form bore considerable resemblance to that of Sneezy. But the dwarf Cahill saw before him now was not the least bit adorable. He had skin like onyx, a bald head, and a long braided white beard. The look on his face was as cruel and frightening as Cahill had ever seen. He wore a hooded black cloak over equally dark clothes and wielded twin axes that looked as sharp as razors. His shoulders were as broad as he was tall, and he'd acquired an additional couple hundred pounds' worth of muscle.

Standing a ways back from the others, almost lost in the dark, was a creature the likes of which he'd never seen. It stood a good six feet tall and had a vaguely humanoid torso, but its legs, wings, and head were those of a long-eared owl with black plumage. Its huge eyes blazed orange. Its talons looked like butcher's knives. Cahill was suddenly reminded that while most Western cultures associated owls with wisdom, in Native American, African, and Arab myths, owls were often seen as harbingers of death.

Not a moment after he arrived, Oberon did as well. And the former prince followed the others' lead, assuming a more horrific version of his fey form. That of a ghost. He'd turned pale and immaterial, his hair and limbs trailing off into mist. The sword he wielded looked solid enough, but nothing else about him did.

Briefly, Cahill considered rebeling. But he apparently lacked the guts, because almost without thinking about it, he turned himself into a more menacing version of the horned god. One with clawed fingers, excessive muscle, and pitch black circles covering his eyes, most of his cheeks, and part of his forehead. The lower half of his face belonged more to a goat than a man. He carried with him the spear with which he'd recently run Reilly through.

"Thank you once again, my children, for joining the Hunt," Titania said from all over. Cahill even thought he heard her voice echoing up from the level below them. "We have a few newcomers with us, so please bear with me while I explain the rules again."

Cahill wasn't sure whether he was more uncomfortable with what was about to happen and the visages they'd all adopted to prepare for it or the fact that he was hearing Titania speak so politely. The Queen of Faerie always spoke with a honeyed tongue in old fairy tales, the better to lure young men into following her. Or old, for that matter. Thus, it should not have surprised him in the least to be reminded that she was eminently capable of pleasantries. But the ball of hate dwelling inside him only saw the other side of her. The one that had earned a woman who strove to display every hue of every color known to man the moniker Lady of Shadows. The one that bent men to her will without bothering to deceive or seduce them. The one that gave many commands but made few requests.

"Take careful note of the big yellow numeral by the elevator nearest you," she continued. "That tells you which tier of the Hunt you'll be participating in. I ask that you kindly not pursue targets from tiers above or below yours."

All the times Cahill had imagined this moment since agreeing to take part in the Wild Hunt, not once had he envisioned anything like this. He could almost believe that it wasn't being organized by Titania Dreamsmyth, first among the fey, but some corporation with an army of lawyers and nearly as many human resource specialists.

The black cat nudged a cardboard box towards them using its forehead.

Cahill took a step forward and peered in. Dividers separated the interior four ways. The far left corner contained a pile of pink hemp bracelets. To right of that lay a bunch of deep blue ones. Nearer him, there were piles of black bracelets and multicolored ones.

"Be sure to take one of each," Titania said. "They will let you know when one of your approved targets is nearby by tightening about your wrist."

Oberon looked a question at Cahill. If he was supposed to know what question, though, he let his uncle down. He simply shook his head in disbelief.

"Remember that you are not to harm any mortals," the unreasonably sweet voice informed them. "That's their job. Your task is only to hunt the hunters."

Cahill's blood cooled, his throat constricted. He wasn't sure he liked the alternatives any better, but no part of him wanted to carry out the task before him. Not unless Titania herself would be among his approved targets.

Which, come to think of it, she probably was. The bracelets with dark green, royal purple, pastel orange, and bright red couldn't be linked to anyone else.

And the others? Who might constitute a fifth and highest tier of targets?

Why, the rest of Clan Dreamsmyth, of course. The pink bracelets he had to assume were for Teagan and the black Liadan. Leaving deep blue for Macha.

"You're of course free to do as you wish with any prey you catch," Titania continued. "But those who show mercy will have my eternal gratitude."

Some small bit of tension went out of Cahill's body as he realized what her words implied. They were being given permission to use the women for their sexual gratification, regardless of whether she resisted or not. The thought of royally sanctioned rape did not sit well with him, by any stretch of the imagination, but at least no one was to die.

Of course, if he thought Titania would stay dead, he'd give serious thought to hunting her down and telling her she could take her gratitude and shove it up her ass.

"Any questions?" the disembodied voice asked. Hearing none, it then said, "You have three hours. Happy hunting, my children."

With that, Cat Sith walked into the shadows and disappeared. Or, more likely, five identical cats on five different levels of the parking garage did so at once.

Cahill regarded his fellow hunters silently. Who would be bold enough to hunt the queen? Reilly, without a doubt. Probably his father and Oberon as well. But Duncan and Uillym, assuming that was even who the owlman was, were wild cards.

Before he could consider it any further, they all gathered up their bracelets and left. All save Oberon, that was.

"You okay?" his uncle eventually asked.

Cahill almost laughed at that. What exactly did the man intend to do about it if he said he wasn't? The queen hadn't left any forms for them to sign if they wished to opt out.

"I hope you're not thinking about staying here the whole time," Oberon said.

What did it say about him that he'd not even considered that?

That he cared too much about the mortals he might save from the Hunt? No. He wished that was the answer, even if their deaths wouldn't be much more than one-way tickets to some other, likely happier, world. Any pain or fear he might spare them would be real enough. But in truth, his primary motivation for taking part was that he knew Titania would punish Clan Walker if he did not.

"Good," the former prince.

"What about you?" Cahill asked.

"I'll do my best to keep her body count down."

If that meant fucking his mother's brains out, the way he'd once lived and breathed for, well, that was a sacrifice he was apparently prepared to make. Cahill almost snickered. Only, it wasn't so hard to believe that the man once known as the Lord of Valor truly was interested in keeping a sadistic monster preoccupied. He might have a hard time convincing Aeife that his intentions had been so noble, but Cahill was willing to take him at his word.

Those colorless eyes, so unlike his mother's, did not blink. Eventually, Oberon nodded and turned to the cardboard box. He gathered up the remaining bracelets, slipped one of each onto his wrist, and handed the rest to Cahill.

"Uillym has always had a thing for Macha, if that means anything to you."

He supposed it did. But he'd already decided to go after Liadan. Because she was nearly as dangerous as her mother and no one else was likely to stop her. No other reason.

Oberon clapped him on the shoulder. In his currently insubstantial form, that didn't feel like much. Then the former prince faded away.

#

For all the thought he'd given to the matter of who to pursue, it turned out to be surprisingly hard to find any of the other hunters. Once, after visiting three different cities that the news was reporting had been terrorized by the fey, he caught a glimpse of a woman he didn't recognize. A member of some minor clan, who'd been placed into a lower tier of the Hunt. But it had only been a glimpse. She'd slipped away before he'd have had the chance to talk to her anyway, even if he'd been so inclined.

An hour later, he had a couple more brief sightings of unapproved targets to boast about. Nothing more. The bracelets on his wrist hadn't tightened once.

He started to worry about what would happen if he failed. Somehow, he didn't quite think Titania would be satisfied with a good faith effort.

A few more unproductive trips to the sites of recent fairy sightings and his concern gave way to genuine panic. No matter how hard he tried, his gifts proved worthless. Titania must have placed glamours over each of her hunters, masking their Libidos. Mortal media outlets were a bit more helpful, but not much. By the time their people arrived on scene, it was already too late. Cahill himself would show up not long after the reporters did and find little more than a bunch first responders and panicked onlookers. Flames no mortal means could extinguish, a crumpled car or damaged building silently attesting to a brief rampage, but no sign of his fellow immortals. He'd do what he could to repair the damage and help the wounded, assuming any had survived the attack, and then he'd be off.

With little more than an hour left, the pink bracelet pinched his wrist.

And before Teagan even came into view, he caught movement in the shadows down below. Or thought he had. His mind could be playing tricks on him. But it had definitely seemed like something had disturbed the air in front of that dumpster.

Something purple.

What, if any, significance Detroit had to his half-sister, he didn't know. No more than it might have for Liadan, who he'd hoped to find here, he supposed. But for whatever reason, fortune had favored him, as it so often had during his days as a professional gambler.

Cahill jumped off the building whose rooftop garden he'd been using as a vantage point. A split second later, he was in the alleyway, having skipped right past the space in between.

The sound Duncan made upon impact was beautiful.

"Geroffame," his cousin grunted, though Cahill wasn't on him.

One hand reached up to grab a kukri, the other made as if to grab the shaft of Cahill's spear. But the guy was too slow. Before he could get one of the curved blades free, Cahill drove the leafy tip of his own weapon through Duncan's wrist. A few inches of the steel sank into the exterior of the building behind, as little sense as that made. The wall might as well have been made of soft wood instead of brick and mortar.

"The fuck are you doing?" he asked. "We're not hunting each other!"

"I know," Cahill said. "But I can't let you be the one to catch Teagan."

Duncan tried to pull his hand free. Cahill pushed the spear in deeper, eliciting a howl of pain so loud he almost regretted causing it.

"You think she wants you any more than she does me?" his cousin asked through gritted teeth, his eyes glowing with hatred. "Only time her cheeks are dry at the end of the Hunt are when Kearney catches her." His lips spread into a cruel smile. "When I decide to go after our mother, in other words."

The sick pleasure Duncan took in bragging about raping his sister, repeatedly, was more than Cahill could handle. He dare not kill him, lest Titania take it out on his children, but neither could he turn a blind eye.

Common as it was for people to be placed under a geis in old Irish myths, Cahill had never seen it done. But there was no reason for that to stop him. Summoning all the energy he dared part with, he wrapped a collar of dense glamour about his cousin's throat. From that moment forth, the longer Duncan went without pleasuring his mother, the tighter the geis would constrict. Only a little, at first, but eventually it would leave him no room to breathe. There was no need for that to ever bring him harm, though, because every moment of true happiness he brought Macha would loosen his bond.

Over time time, those twin features would have a decidedly non-magical effect on his cousin. Through classical conditioning, Duncan would lose all interest in everything but satisfying his mother. There were certainly worse things for men to obsess over.

His cousin looked confused. Maybe even surprised that Cahill didn't hurt him further. But he'd understand well enough before long. And, someday, he might even thank Cahill. Or perhaps Macha would.

Cahill stepped out into the street and saw his sister staring at him, face expressionless. Then, abruptly, Teagan let go the leash she'd been holding and threw herself at him.

Small as she was in her fey form, she still knocked the breath out of him.

Laughing and wheezing at the same time, Cahill pressed a hand against the small of her back. Then he kissed her golden hair. "Good to see you too, kiddo."

"I-know-this-is-terrible-but-I've-asked-Daddy-to-hurt-him-a-hundred-times," she said so fast it all came out as more or less one word. Then his sister drew a deep breath. When she spoke again, she did so slowly enough for him to understand her. "He's too afraid of her."

"Probably should be," Cahill said.

Teagan's face broke out into a nervous smile. Her hands suddenly left his neck, balling up into tiny fists held beneath her pointy chin. Were it not for those diaphanous wings, she'd have fallen. "But you did something else to him? And now he won't hurt me?"

"Ever again." Bending down to rub the cartoon pup's back, he asked, "And who's this?'

"Sniffer. He's my huntin' buddy."

Cahill smiled. That was just so Teagan. "Why do I find it hard to believe you've done any hunting?" he asked her, looking up.

She gave him a sad smile. "A bit easier to buck the system when you're a Dreamsmyth."

He didn't doubt that. And it seemed she'd been paying a pretty hefty price for going against the queen's wishes anyway, if not at the hands of Titania herself.

Teagan grew to her usual height, though the pixie wings and outfit remained. Then she planted a kiss on his cheek and he felt a slim ribbon of energy touch his Libido.