Beyond the Gateway (Cranksepticeye)

Thirty-five

The notes of the war horn tore at Jack. He put his hands over his ears as he ran and shut his eyes, which made him trip over what lau before him on the gravel pathway - a bloodied, wide-eyed apparition.
It was Bob.
He was gasping for breath and looked as if he might have run the entire way from the theater. He flung out an arm toward Jack and  tried to speak, but it was as if invisible hands clutched at his throat and covered his mouth. Jack instinctively recognized his affliction for what it was: The boucca wasn't simply out of breath; he had been enchanted. He struggled in vain to say something, but the words would not come out of his mouth. Flecks of pinkish foam appeared at the corners of his pale green lips.
Suddenly, as if the words of the Bard had a magic of their own, he began to quote his own limes from the play.
"Up and down, up and down," he chanted, kneeling with the effort to push the words past his pain-clenched teeth. "I will lead them up and down."
Jack wanted to help the boucca but found himself, instead, compelled to look past where Bob writhed in pain: up the road, to the top of the hill - and the carousel.
Dark glittering energy crackled and danced over the contours of the little building. The shuttered security doors, pulled tight for the night, wavered like a mirage and the darkened shadows beneath the carousel roof, and thunderclouds boiled in the sky above. In the distance, Jack could hear the baying of what sounded like a whole pack of Black Shuck.
All Jack could think of in his panic was to hide. Become invisible.
Hadn't Ethan once say he could do that?
The howling grew louder.
Jack wrapped his arms around Bob and wished with all of his desperate, terrified might that he could disappear. He looked down and saw Bob's pale green eyes go wide, and then he vanished from aight all together. Both of them did.
Hee could still hear Bob's ragged breathing, feel his limbs trembling in his grasp. The effort of casting the veil almost caused him to black out. Darkness threatened to descend upon him, but he fought against it, holding tight to the wounded fae in his arms.o
When he was able to see again, he looked toward the carousel, and Bob's warning became suddenly, devastatingly clear.b
The ride began to spin, wreathed in inky, glistening smoke. In the air above the carousel, the magnificent dark stallion that used to be Lucky galloped into view. He screamed and lashed put with teeth and hooves, long limbs coiled in shadow. Astride his back, the Rider kept his seat effortlessly upon the bucking, plunging mount.
Jack felt his strength falter as the tears streamed down his face and, briefly, the veil he had managed to call up wavered. The Rider's gaze shifted and for a moment they locked eyes. He cried out his name, but the Rider's expression remained remote.
Frozen and merciless.
Ethan . . .
The thin, cheerful music of the calliope twisted into a cacophony of skirling battle cries, and Jack cringed at the howling rage. He watched in horror as the wooden horses of the carousel convulsed, shuttering into terrible life. His nightmares were becoming real right before his eyes. Bloodthirsty Faerie hunters shimmered into being astride the gaily painted saddles.
Sounds of the Black Shuck approaching grew closer.
Jack pushed every ounce of strength he had into the protective veil he barely knew how to create. He looked down to see himself and Bob fade back into nothingness just as the Wild Hunt surged forth into the night.
Singing in their terrible joy, the hunters climbed into the sky to join their leader, the Rider on the Roan Horse. They were joined by a pack of thundering Black Shuck that burst through the trees and leaped into the air, snapping at the horses' heels.
Jack turned his attention back to Ethan. A gust of wind whipped his dark hair madly around his beautiful, remote face as his gaze raked the space where he had seen him cowering with Bob only a moment before. Jack whispered his name, but Ethan looked through him with unseeing eyes. Brow clouding with anger, he whirled his sword about his head and hauled savagely on the reins of his shadowy steed.
Together they climbed higher and higher into the storm, the Wild Hunt following in their wake.

This was all his fault. Even if he hadn't ever known who - what - he was, it was because of him that this was happening.
As the Hunt galloped off over the treetops and out of sight, Jack let the veil drop. He was trembling in every limb with the effort of having maintained if for even that short time. Huddled in his lap, Bob was still gulping for air, unable to speak. Fishing the clover charm from his pocket, Jack clasped it around Bob's neck. His gasping cries stopped almost immediately as the protective aura of the talisman enveloped him, and he looked up at Jack with gratitude.
"What happened to you?" he asked, his voice catching in his throat at the sight of him once again.
"Auberon . . . " Bob coughed - a sickly broken sound. "He came to the theater looking for you. Took it badly when I wouldn't tell him where you were . . . I came here to warn you. We were wrong. The Hunt . . . it wasn't Mabh. It was Auberon. Had to be. He doesn't want you back - he wants you gone. Dead."
"But he's my father,"  he whispered.
Bob attempted a sardonic grin that just came off as pained. "It's not like he sent you birthday presents, Jack."
"Thanks to you, Goodfellow, I didn't have an address."
The sound of the Faerie king's voice made Jack jump. He turned to see him stoop to retrieve something that lay in the grass beside the empty carousel house. When he straightened, Jack saw that Auberon clutched a tall bronze war horn in his fist.
He rose to his feet and stood protectively over Bob. Without the shield of the charm he'd worn all his life, Jack could feel his power humming in his veins, even drained as he was. The air seemed charged, electric, where it touched his skin.
"Impressive," Auberon said as he walked down the hill toward Jack, his glance sweeping over him, lingering on his luminous silver wings. He stopped in front of Jack and smiled coldly. "Well - the apple does not fall far, it seems."
"I'm nothing like you," Jack snarled. "I will be nothing like you."
"What will you be then? It is quite apparent, from where I stand, that you no longer belong to this world."
In the distance, they could hear the cries of humans in the park as the Wild Hunt - and all the other dangerous fae - rampaged through the night.
"Or what will be left of this world. After they are finished with it."
Jack felt himself falter.
"Of course, all of this can be remedied. But only I can remedy it." His father's voice softened. "Forsake your claim, boy. Give up the Unseelie power that resides within you. Do that, and I will grant you the means to stop the Wild Hunt. With my help, you cam keep this world safe and rescue Ethan Nestor from the fate of the Rider." He pointed to the sky with the horn. "Save the man you love, Son."
"I'd really rather you didn't call me that," he ground out between clenched teeth. As strong as he was now that his Faerie gift was unleashed, Jack knew he was still far too inexperienced. He didn't even know how to fly yet. There was no way he could even come anywhere close to stopping the Hunt. Not without help.
"Do we have a bargain?" his father asked.
"What the hell do you think?"
"I'm afraid I need to hear you say it," he murmured coldly.
"Yes, damn you." Jack stifled a sob. "Give me what I need to stop the Wild Hunt. So that I can save Ethan." He looked up into his father's cold, dark eyes. "Do that, and I will let you take the Unseelie power from my blood," he whispered.
"Agreed," Auberon said as he stepped toward Jack.
"Wait." In the distance, Jack could see one of Mabh's Storm Hags throwing thunderbolts at a careening carriage. He remembered what Herne had told him. "I also want something else in return."
"That is?"
"While I go take care of the Wild Hunt, Dad," he growled, "I want you to get 'Mom' and her psycho Bitch Brigade the hell out of my park. And this time make sure she never comes back."
"With pleasure, my dear." Auberon smiled magnanimously and spread his hands wide. "With very great pleasure."