The Horns of Faerie

The Horns of Faerie

a fantasy tale by Stephen Brooke

 

He shouldn’t be able to hear the traffic from here. Arthur’s office was a windowless room on the fifth floor, well insulated from the tumult of the city that lay all about the building. Yet he had distinctly heard a horn. He was sure of it.

Arthur went to the door and looked down the hall, both directions. Nothing to be seen. Shaking his head, he returned to his desk and his numbers.

That evening, on the bus, he thought he heard an unfamiliar note arise amid the customary, unnoticed din, the background of a hundred, a thousand, such bus rides. It seemed to come from somewhere other than the busy streets, somewhere far away. Soft, distant, haunting, it echoed a moment and faded. He looked about at his fellow riders. None seemed to have noticed anything unusual.

Nor did he that evening. Arthur slept solidly and had quite forgotten about it the next day.

But night came again, as ever it does. Falling into sleep, once more he heard the horn. Closer now, it seemed, yet still somehow immeasurably far distant. He sat up to see a faint glimmer, a mist of moonlight between dark, thick columns. The trunks of great forest trees, he realized, as it faded, returning him to the darkness of his bedroom, broken only by the glow of his alarm clock. A dream, Arthur told himself, and fell slowly, fitfully, back into sleep.

A dream that persisted and haunted; a dream that called to him, for Arthur Reed yearned for more than his gray daily life, the dreary office, the empty apartment. He had known such dreams before, when he was a boy, and forgotten them. Forever, he had thought.

Now the memories wafted back, as fitful breezes do that toss the dark scented pines of some lost valley, as a longing for something long lost that he could not quite name. He saw the way more clearly each time the horn sounded, sounded more and more strong, more and more near. At last he took a step toward those woods that seemed a world away, to see them again fade. But had he spied shapes moving among the trees, men and horses? Had he heard fair voices crying?

Each day he harked to that horn. It blew more often and the world where he lived and worked became less real to him. He seemed to spend hours looking at his papers and accomplishing nothing.

“Something must be done about Reed,” said his employer. “He was always a good man. A solid man.” He shook his head. Yes, something must be done. He’d give him a little more time but then—perhaps he would have to let him go.

It had done no good to speak to him. The man had barely been listening, he thought, as if other more important concerns occupied his mind.

And Arthur’s eyes had seen past him, seen moss-covered hoary oaks rising in a forest man did not know. He had gone deeper into those woods each time the horn had called. He stood now in the shadows, listening to the riders, somewhere near, crying out to one another, the great tall horses neighing in the exhilaration of their headlong rush through the wild.

“The hunt is on!” came a voice near at hand. Arthur turned to see who spoke and knew this was no man such as dwelt in the world to which he was born. All in green he was, upon a stamping mist-gray steed, and the light in his eyes spoke of ages unknown.

“The hunt?”

“The Wild Hunt, lad,” came the reply. With a laugh, the huntsman urged his horse forward, crying back over his shoulder, “We follow the stag. Run with us, if ye will!”

The forest faded, as before, leaving Arthur in his gray windowless office. I can not stay here, he told himself. The horns of faerie have called and I must go. Had he not sought them all his life? Out into the street he went, moving as sleepwalker.

“The hunt,” he murmured. “I must find the hunt.” People moved away from him as he stumbled forward. Their faces began to blur, to be replaced by other visions. The forest again rose about him. The Hunt was somewhere off that direction. He could hear the wild riders.

Come! Come! called their voices. Come join the hunt!

“I will!” cried Arthur, rushing forward, free at last. “I will! I come!”

As he ran, he fell to all-fours. He saw his hands become great cloven hooves. He felt the heavy antlers that spread wide from his head. Behind him, rose the horns of the hunt.

He who was once Arthur Reed fled into the forest.

appeared in Lands Far Away 2021