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Disclaimer

Note that despite the modern setting, this is intended to be a traditional fairy tale. Among other things, that means it's dark, violent, and bloody. If you aren't prepared to deal with that, perhaps you should go watch a Disney movie instead.

The characters and events portrayed in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to any actual people, elves, fairies, gods, horses, or other entities is purely coincidental.

Running on Empty

Saturday, September 21^st, 1991

Patrick jammed the tip of his crowbar into the lid of one of the crates and ripped the top off. A loud, metallic clang echoed through the abandoned warehouse as he threw the crowbar down and grabbed one of the guns out of the crate. He hefted the gun in his hand, then began tossing it from one hand to the other, occasionally stopping to pantomime shooting the various people around him.

Sean rolled his eyes, then caught Kate's gaze and inclined his head towards the crates. Kate walked over to the crate, deftly avoiding Patrick as he swung his gun around, and pulled out another gun. It was a Fabrique Nationale design, the FN-49 pistol. Kate began meticulously taking the gun apart, examining its condition in detail. It reminded Kate of the Browning Hi-Power she had reluctantly discarded two years ago before passing through a police checkpoint. She wouldn't be able to do the same today, she was sure. She'd be arrested, gun or no gun. The price of being too successful...

The Belgian watched nervously as Kate disassembled the gun. "They're good, just like we promised," he asserted. Sean glanced at Kate, who nodded in confirmation. This was quality merchandise. Not like some of their previous deals. But that was before they had earned their reputation as one of Northern Ireland's most dangerous paramilitary groups.

Sean whistled, and another man entered the warehouse, carrying a briefcase. Sean accepted the briefcase, then offered it to the Belgian, who quickly opened it and began leafing through the stacks of cash inside. "Courtesy of Ulster Security Services," Sean added, grinning wryly. The Belgian nodded. The daring daylight attack upon the armored truck had been front page news throughout Europe.

Kate looked at the Belgian. He's thinking about asking for more money, she thought. Sean's a braggart and a fool, the newspapers said how much money we got, and this ain't half of it. The Belgian's eyes met Kate's. They stared at each other for several seconds. Then the Belgian turned to Sean and said, "If you need more, let us know."

Kate slammed a clip into the FN-49. "We'll be in touch, I'm sure."

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon as Kate pulled her car off the road and began slowly driving into the woods. After she was deep enough to not be seen from the road, she put the car in park, grabbed the duffle bag of guns and ammo, and continued on foot.

She was several dozen miles from Belfast, but not far from the little town she had grown up in. She had played in these woods as a child. She knew every big rock, every hollow tree, every conceivable place to hide. Or to hide something. This wasn't the first time she'd used these woods to stash something. As she passed, she cast a critical gaze across the hiding place of some of the group's cash. Satisfied that it was undisturbed, she continued on.

When she reached the spot she had in mind for hiding the guns, a large rock resting partly on a smaller one, she took a shovel and made a hole under the large rock. She stuffed the duffle bag in it, then replaced the dirt and piled leaves and brush around the rock. The sun had set while she was working, but between her flashlight and the nearly full moon, she had no trouble seeing. She circled the rock once, counterclockwise, looking for any telltale hints that something had been disturbed, but finding her handiwork perfect, she left.

On her way back to the car, she looked at the moon, rising into the sky. She was reminded of the night she had slipped out of her home unseen and came to these woods to play at night, under the light of a full moon. There was a clearing with a circle in it, and everyone said the fairies danced in the circle by moonlight. She had wanted to see for herself. She remembered coming to the clearing with the circle. She remembered later pounding on the door of her home, her clothing torn and her skin covered with scratches, bleeding all over, as if she'd run through the woods without regard for anything. But she couldn't remember anything in between.

She shook her head. Foolish thoughts. She had been a superstitious little girl, too easily frightened. By what? She stifled the thought. But it kept resurfacing. Suddenly she stopped, a look of resolve coming over her face. Let's settle this, here and now, let's just go have a look at the stupid circle in the stupid clearing so we can see the big nothing and get on with life. She resumed walking, heading resolutely for the clearing.

She practically stormed through the woods, all pretense at stealth gone. She was tired of avoiding that place at night. It was silly. A grown woman afraid of... of... what? Fairies? Monsters in the woods? She laughed at herself, a cold, condescending laugh. She quickened her pace, and soon strode boldly into the clearing. Where she abruptly stopped. Stopped walking. Stopped moving. Stopped breathing.

There were no fairies in the circle. But there was something there in the clearing with her. She saw it. She heard it. She felt it. The terror paralyzed her, and she simply stared at it, frozen, unable to move, to breath, to think.

There was a great, white stallion. So white it was blinding in the light of the moon. It looked at her and snorted. Then the rider turned and looked at her as well. He looked like he was eight feet tall, sitting majestically on the back of his horse. He was wearing a long brown cloak. His hair was brown, his eyes were green, and his great antlers were light brown. Light brown and several feet long. Several feet long and wide and with many points. Many sharp points. She was too numb to try to count them.

"Good evening, Katie Morgan," the rider said. There was a friendly tone in his voice, as if he was genuinely pleased to meet her on this fine, September evening.

The greeting broke the spell, Kate was no longer frozen. She drew in a long, shuttering breath. She was still scared, but she was Kate Morgan, and Kate Morgan wasn't afraid of anyone. To prove it, she took another step forward and yelled, "Who the Hell are you?" She was somewhat chagrinned when this came out more like a screech. But she defiantly placed her hands on her hips and glared at the rider, waiting for his response.

"Why, I am the Lord," he replied serenely.

"Like Hell you are! You look more like the Devil himself!"

At this, the rider laughed. "You flatter me, Katie. I'm nowhere near that young."

"And my name is Kate, thank you very much." She glared at him with her best I am very cross with you look.

"Sorry," he apologized, and he sounded like he meant it. "You've certainly grown into a beautiful woman, Kati... Kate. As I always knew you would."

"Who are you?" she asked again. "And how do you know my name?"

"I have no name," he paused, then added, "I have many names. I've never understood the human need to name everything. But if it helps you feel more comfortable, Kate, pick a name. How about Herne? I've always liked that one."

"You're trying to tell me you're the Lord of the Hunt," Kate said incredulously.

"More labels," he sighed. "Yes, Lord of the Wild Hunt, Opener of the Gates of Life and Death, The Grim Reaper, Hades, et cetera et cetera... Honestly, I don't know where humans come up with all these labels. Do you prefer 'Lord of the Hunt', or should we stick with Herne?"

"They're one and the same," she replied.

"Obviously. They're all the same. The first man I ever met called me..." and at this point the rider emitted an inarticulate grunting. "At least, those were his last 'words' before I took his life. As a species, you weren't very talkative for many, many years."

Kate didn't understand any of this, so she decided to ignore it and press her other question, "You still haven't said how you know my name."

"You told it to me, when last you came," he explained. "Don't you remember? Why don't you come ride with me, and we can talk. I can refresh your memory, and you can tell me about your life and all the people you've killed."

"How do you kn... what makes you think I've killed anyone?" Her bravado was starting to wear thin.

"Pleaase," he drawled, "I'm the Lord of Violent Death, who comes to take people away before their time. I know a fellow Hunter when I see one. Besides, I've been watching you. Come, ride with me. Join the Hunt. We ride in search of prey tonight."

The impossibility of the whole situation overwhelmed her. "I've got better things to do than waste my time babbling with imaginary spirits. Quit wasting my time and go bother someone else."

He smiled. "May I remind you that it was you who came to this clearing to 'bother' me."

"Ooo!" she puffed. "That's it. I'm leaving. You're nothing but a big waste of time. If you really wanted to make yourself useful, you'd go kill some Brits for us, like that idiot general or his ugly English soldiers that are always bullying us around on our own Irish streets." And with that, she stormed off, back into the woods.

Sunday, September 22^nd, 1991

Kate drifted, as the sound of the priest's voice droned on in her ears. After a lifetime of Catholic liturgy, she could listen and respond perfectly, even while her mind was somewhere very distant from the cathedral. Troublesome thoughts drifted through her mind this morning. She half-remembered a meeting last night, a meeting that surely she must have dreamt. It was a stressful day, and it was past my bedtime, she thought.

A collection plate passed by. It was all but empty. With unemployment among Catholics at nearly 50%, people had little change to spare for God. Kate imagined heaping trays being passed around the Protestant churches. They didn't have any trouble finding jobs. Bastards. Kate dropped several large bills into the plate, hoping no one noticed. It was a rather large donation for an unemployed woman. Each Sunday since they'd stolen the money from the armored truck, she'd been putting similar amounts in the tray. So far, no one had said anything. She thought maybe they were afraid to ask.

Her thoughts drifted again, this time back to the armored truck. Sean, frozen with his gun pointing at the security man, knowing he had to but unable to pull the trigger. Kate hadn't realized that in all these years, Sean had never killed anyone. Maybe after a bomb was planted or something, but never face to face. She remembered walking up beside the man and blowing his brains out. She remembered the red star that appeared on the side of the white truck behind him, a supernova, red streaks exploding out from the center with an artistic symmetry. It was beautiful, for a moment, before it began to run. She remembered the look in Sean's eyes as he looked at her, at the man, at her. It was like he'd never seen someone kill someone before. "Patrick, I can see the rage in his eyes," he said. "But yours are just flat. Just fucking flat. Don't you feel anything?" Stupid, stupid questions. You do it, you go on. Of course you don't feel anything. How could you do it, otherwise?

With a start, she realized mass was over. Everyone was filing out of the cathedral. She got up and joined them. On the way out, she passed the confessionals. She thought briefly about stopping. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been four years since my last confession. Since that time, I've killed nine men, not counting anyone who may have died from bomb explosions, those don't really count. But they were all Protestants, that's okay, right? She paused, then thought, Oh, and I've been consorting with the Forces of Darkness in the woods, too. How many Hail Mary's should I recite? The sheer comedy of it made her grin. It was a dark, cynical grin. It wasn't pretty.

Sean and Patrick and the other guys were already sitting around drinking beers when Kate arrived at "HQ". HQ was a run-down home in one of the scummier parts of Belfast. It belonged to Sean. It had been his parents house, before a bomb planted by Protestant Loyalist bastards had killed them. It hadn't been in very good shape then, and it hadn't received any upkeep since. Plaster hung from the ceiling in several places, and the paint was chipping off the walls. The carpet was coming up in several places. It usually smelled of mildew, but today it smelled more of beer.

"Hitting the booze a bit early, aren't we?" she asked pointedly as she came in.

"We're celebrating!" Patrick shouted, with that volume only attainable by the truly drunk. Sean nodded and added, "Haven't you seen the papers?"

"No," Kate replied, looking about the room. A newspaper was lying on the floor. The headline read: GEN. HARRINGTON FOUND DEAD! Underneath, in smaller print, it said: British Army General Dies Under Mysterious Circumstances. The room began to spin.

Suddenly, Sean was next to her, supporting her into a chair. "Looks like you've been hitting the sauce yourself!" he laughed, but his eyes showed concern.

"Sorry," she said. Then she added, "I've been kinda drifting in and out today, I think maybe I caught something last night in the woods. I'm going to go home and go back to bed."

"Don't be stupid," Sean replied, parroting one of her favorite expressions back at her. "If you're dizzy you shouldn't be driving."

"No, I'm okay," she insisted, standing back up. "Are we still planning to reconnoiter the Oranges on Monday?"

"Sure, it's not like we have anything better to do," Sean said, adding in his best boss impression, "Make sure you're at work on time, Kate. Punch the clock late one more time and I'll have to write you up!"

"Stupid man," she said, and left.

Kate was already in the woods by the time the sun set. She had intended to be in the clearing when it happened, but the sun dived below the horizon faster than she expected. It was already getting dark by the time she got there, just a little red on the horizon where the sun had disappeared. The moon was rising, even brighter than it had been the night before.

He wasn't there, but others were. The fairy circle was alive. Fairies of all sorts danced about inside. There was a silver throne next to the circle, and a pale figure sat in it. He looked tall and slender, and his pointed ears stuck out from his long, golden hair. A band of gold encircled his brow, making him appear royal. An elven prince, perhaps.

Prince or no prince, he was going to talk to Kate. She came here for answers and she wasn't going to take no for the first one. She strode up boldly to the elf and demanded, "Where's Herne?"

The elf looked at her in askance.

"Tall guy with antlers, rides a pale horse, perhaps you've seen him about? He's been known to show up here from time to time."

"Ah," the elf responded, "him." He paused for a moment, as if listening to some inner voice, then added, "They hunt not tonight." He went back to watching the fairies dance.

She was about to ask him how he knew that, but she was distracted by his gaze. She looked at the fairies dancing in the circle. Some of them (Brownies? Pixies? Leprechauns? She didn't know much about fairies) danced along the ground, while others (Sprites? Pixies?) had translucent wings, and flitted through the air above. They all seemed to be dancing in unison, but she could hear no music.

"What's the celebration?" When there was no immediate reply, she tore her eyes from the dance and looked back at the elf, who was once again giving her the quizzical look. She rephrased, "Why are they dancing tonight?"

"It's what they do," he replied. Suddenly, he stood up and turned, facing the woods on the other side of the clearing. She was about to ask him what he heard with those big pointy ears when he said, "Your lord approaches."

"He's not my lord," she objected, but the elf did not appear to hear her.

Herne emerged from the woods. He was on foot this time, walking casually yet majestically. He had appeared inhumanly tall on his horse, now he appeared to be just over six feet tall. That is, if you ignored the extra feet of height added by the antlers. A cool autumn breeze accompanied him into the clearing, blowing up dry leaves around him as he walked. His long brown cloak brushed the ground as he walked.

The elf stood beside the throne and gestured to it with one hand, but Herne shook his head, and the elf resumed his seated contemplation of the fairy dance.

"Well met by moonlight," Herne intoned.

"'Ill met by moonlight' would be more appropriate," Kate replied. "You killed that British general, didn't you?"

"Was that not your desire?" Herne asked.

"Is that why you did it? Just because I wanted it? Or did you have some higher purpose?"

Herne's brow furrowed, an expression of puzzlement crossing his immortal face. "Higher purpose?"

"Yes, you know, like, he was a bad, evil man, or something," she insisted.

"I don't know what you mean," Herne replied.

Kate turned that over in her mind, again and again. Finally she asked, "Are you evil?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean!" she burst out. "Are you good, or are you evil?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question," he replied.

"Listen, when you're Catholic, you pay attention to things like good and evil, and I just want to kn... hey, why are you laughing?"

Herne stopped laughing, and pinned her with a piercing look. She suddenly felt naked before his gaze. "You're no more Catholic than I am."

"What do you mean? I was at mass just this morning! I've been Catholic my whole life!"

Herne waved his hand as if to brush all that aside. "I care not what rituals you attend, or what gods you give lip service to. All that is important to me is what you do. And in that, you serve me well."

"Hey!" she cried. "What I do, I do because its right! They're the ones in the wrong here! It's our land they've stolen, our country they've fractured! I'm only doing what must be done to restore what is ours!"

Herne shook his head. "Stop it. Such justification is unbecoming. We have no need of such rationalizing. We kill because it is our place to do so. We kill because they are out there for us to kill. We kill because that is what we do."

"But you have to have a reason! You can't just kill for no reason! There has to be a reason!"

"Why?"

Kate fled back into the woods.

Herne stared at the woods for a while, staring at the point where Kate had disappeared. Finally he said to no one in particular, "Humans have strange notions."

The elven prince nodded sagely.

Monday, September 23^rd, 1991

Everyone huddled around the city map, laid out on the kitchen table at "HQ". A big black X permanently marked the location of HQ. Sean had his finger on another point, about fifteen blocks west and five blocks north. "Now, Danny says he's pretty sure he saw some Loyalists bringing boxes into there." Everyone looked at Danny, who nodded. Sean continued, "Now, my guess is, it's guns or something they're caching there. I want a couple of people to check it out, see whose hanging about the place, how many of them, you know, all the usual. Who wants to do recon?"

"I'll do it," Kate said.

"Me too," Patrick chimed in. "Looks like it's you and me, Kate."

"Nuh uh," Sean shook his head. "Neither of you have seen the place. At least one person who's seen it should go with. Danny, why don't you go with Kate."

Patrick shot Sean an angry look, but Sean pretended not to notice. Danny jumped up and asked, "Who's driving, you or me?"

"You drive," Kate replied. "I'll ride shotgun, so to speak," she said as she fingered her FN-49.

Danny drove by the front of the house while Kate scrunched down where she wouldn't be seen. Danny counted two people, both sitting at a table near a big picture window on the front of the house, from which they could easily see the front porch. After driving past, he turned right and stopped at the alleyway. Kate got out and began walking down the alley. Since they hadn't seen her in the car, so they wouldn't associate her walking by with Danny driving by. Also, for some reason, it seemed that a woman pedestrian always aroused less suspicion.

She walked along the alley, getting closer to the house. She noted the back door, as well as the man sitting at the kitchen table watching her walk up. She smiled at him, he smiled back. Suddenly, two men emerged from around the house. The man at the kitchen table stood up and came out the back door. Kate stopped, and began backing down the alley the way she had come.

From behind, she heard a car accelerating down the alleyway. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Danny behind the wheel, charging to her rescue. Looking forward again, she saw the three men pulling out guns. She pulled out her FN-49 and ducked behind a steel garbage can as they opened fire. She could hear Danny's car coming right up behind her now. Shouldn't it be slowing down?

She leaped sideways and jumped a fence into someone's back yard as Danny smashed into the garbage can she'd been hiding behind a moment before. She heard cursing as Danny's car continued past that point and nearly hit one of the men from the house. She heard Danny shout out, "Sorry, Ted," and the car sped up again. By this time, she was running between two houses, heading out towards the street in front.

Several gunshots rang out behind her, as she leaped over a parked car into the street. Peeking up over the hood, she saw the three men, running up between the houses. Just then, she heard Danny's car coming around the corner. She saw it slide, then recover, and begin bearing down on her position.

She stood up and starting firing. One man went down, the other two began firing at her. She dropped back down behind the car. Looking down the street, she saw Danny about four seconds away. She stood up again, firing almost simultaneously with the two men running up between the houses. One went down. A bullet brushed Kate's hair. She dropped to the ground and rolled under the car. Danny's car hit the parked car just as she was coming up from the other side. The last of the men from the house, running across the front lawn towards her location, seemed momentarily confused by what was happening. Join the club, she thought as she fired. A surprised look crossed his face as a bright red spot appeared on his chest. She turned around.

Danny's car was upside down on the sidewalk. It had apparently flipped over the hood of the parked car. Danny was lying on the roof, shaking his head as if to clear it. Kate ran over and pulled him out of the car. He was still dazed. "Why did you betray us?" she asked.

"I betrayed no one," he whispered. "I have always been loyal to Queen and country. I did what was right!"

"Stupid man," Kate said. She placed the barrel of her FN-49 against Danny's forehead and pulled the trigger.

Kate ran. For twenty blocks, Kate ran. She did not stop until she was through the front door of Sean's house. There, she simply stared at the corpses around her. She knelt down next to Sean. His lifeless eyes stared at nothing. They were flat, betraying no emotion at all. They matched her eyes perfectly. She wondered why she didn't feel, even now. She should be crying, she thought. Sean had been her best friend. Ever since Daddy moved to Belfast, Sean had been there. Whenever she'd needed help, Sean had been there. Now Sean wasn't there anymore. Just a rotting piece of meat, no Sean inside. Isn't that sad. Isn't it? Then why are there no tears?

Kate heard police sirens. Kate ran.

She was there, in the clearing, when the last of the sun slipped below the horizon. As the last rays of sunlight faded, he was there, too. He was on horseback again. Several other riders were with him. She even recognized one. George Tanner, a Loyalist who had disappeared without a trace two years ago. She had always assumed some other group had got him, but apparently not. He'd just gone off to join the Hunt.

Herne's horse trotted forward, and another horse as well, the second being riderless. "Once again, you grace us with your presence," Herne observed. "Come, join the Hunt. Ride with us tonight, help us hunt our prey."

"And who is your prey tonight," Kate asked.

"Does it matter?" Herne inquired.

Kate looked away, towards the fairy circle. The fairies were returning, resuming their dance. They danced, but they did not celebrate anything. They danced for no reason. The elven prince's words echoed in her mind, it's what they do. Why does the wind blow? Why do the rivers flow? They needed no reasons. Only humans need reasons. Are you good or evil? she had asked. I don't understand, Herne had replied. Is the mountain good or evil? Is the river good or evil? He was a force of Nature, and natural things are beyond such concerns. Only to humans do such questions apply.

Kate tried to feel inside herself, searching for her humanity, but she already knew it was gone. It had been gone for some time, all she had was a memory of her humanity, and that memory grew more distant every day. She thought she should feel sad, but she felt nothing. "I wonder what happened to my soul," she pondered aloud.

Herne extended a hand, a fatherly expression on his face. "We have time before the Hunt. If you've lost something, we can search for it together. Come, mount up."

Kate took Herne's hand and mounted her horse. Herne smiled, then asked, "So, this 'soul' you speak of, what does it look like?"

Kate looked to the horizon, where the last pink of the sunset was dissolving into inky blackness. "I don't know," she replied. "I guess it doesn't really matter anymore."

They rode off together into the night.