The Sacred Hunt Duology by Michelle West Page B

word?”
    Corinna remembered witnessing Lord Elseth’s first majority—although she had been no headwoman then. Tonight was a window into her youth, so like to the father was the son. “I do.”
    â€œWill you succor him and his heirs in times of need?”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œGilliam?” The Priest held out one hand, and Gilliam placed his own into it. The knife very gently came down; it was cold and sharp, and left a well of red in its wake.
    Greymarten nodded, satisfied, and then looked up, his eyes seeing both this darkness, and every other darkness that made this ritual endless. “Who comes from the people?”
    Stephen was given a little shove forward now, and he walked quickly across the cool green. He knelt at the feet of the Priest, beside Gilliam.
    â€œI do.”
    â€œAnd why do you come?”
    â€œTo pledge my oath, under the Hunters’ eyes. The Hunter God knew well the foibles of his people, for he knew all. He saw that those who labored under his gift might be driven too far from the people they had sworn to feed and protect. I have come, from the people, to take my place as huntbrother. To hunt, as my Lord will hunt, without use of his gift. To guard him and protect him and see all dangers by his side; to face the Hunter’s law so that we may remain strong. To remind the Hunter, always, of the people he must defend.”
    â€œRise, Stephen,” Greymarten said, well pleased. The words, wrapped as they were by youth, had lost none of their power to move him.
    Stephen did, holding out one hand just a little too soon. The Priest took it anyway, and gave it the kiss of the knife.
    Stephen turned to face Gil, and the two clasped hands, right to left. Their grip was tight, and they ignored the blood that fell at the Priest’s feet.
    â€œI’ll be your Hunter,” Gil said. His grip grew tighter. “You’ll be my brother and my friend.” He looked at Stephen’s shadowed face, and remembered the mill. “Everything I’ve got, I’ll share with you. I’ll defend you and listen to you—” He grimaced. “—in all things.”
    â€œI’ll be your huntbrother,” Stephen said quietly. He saw the half-healed cut across Gil’s cheek and smiled suddenly, lowering his voice to a whisper, “even if you’re an idiot.”
    Greymarten coughed, and Stephen blushed.
    â€œI’ll be your huntbrother,” he began again. “I’ll stay at your side for all hunts, even the Final One.” On impulse, he added, “I’d face the Hunter’s Death for you.” His grip grew tighter also. His hands felt warm and sticky, but they didn’t hurt at all, and he wondered if it was his own blood he felt, or Gilliam’s. Something began to change slowly.
    He forgot about hunger, and forgot about the cold. He forgot all of the people who stood in a circle around him, watching and listening intently. There was only Stephen and Gilliam, and that was right.
    â€œI call the Hunter God to witness.” Greymarten’s words echoed oddly in the stillness. They were full, low, loud—as if said by a throat that was no longer merely human. He reached out, placing a hand on either supplicant’s shoulder.
    â€œThis is the last rite,” he said formally. Neither boy looked at him. “From here, there is no turning back. Understand this.”
    As one, they nodded solemnly.
    â€œBreodan, Hunter, accept this pledge.” His hands grew suddenly warm as they rested against the robes of the two boys.
    Stephen saw Gilliam’s eyes widen in the same instant that his own did. He opened his lips to speak, and they froze as he felt a warmth, a heat that he had never felt before.
    It burned like fire relieved of malice; it was hot, but it brought no pain. It wasdarkness, ringed with a light that grew brighter and stronger as he watched. His lids grew heavy, but he would not close