by Anne Bishop
“No, just thinking,” Aiden replied, smiling when he noticed the whistle tucked into Taihg’s belt. “Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll see what two bards can do?”
Taihg pulled the whistle from his belt and hurried over.
For the first few minutes, harp and whistle played idle notes that twined around each other. Then Taihg slid into a gentle tune, and Aiden let the harp follow and fill in, absorbing the whole of the tune as easily as he breathed.
When the song ended, Aiden stilled the harp strings. “You wrote that?”
“Yes,” Taihg said.
“Did you write a harp accompaniment as well as the whistle melody?”
“No, I think you just did that.”
They grinned at each other. Then Aiden looked away.
He’d met Taihg a few weeks ago, when he and Lyrra had stopped at this Clan house while searching for the Hunter. He had threatened to strip the bard of the gift of music when the man refused to tell him what the western Clans knew about witches—and had been stunned when Taihg said he’d prefer to lose his gift rather than his home and Clan.
If I’d been fool enough to strip him of his gift, the loss of his music would have been on my head.
He’d backed down, and Taihg had yielded enough to send him and Lyrra to Ashk, Bretonwood’s Lady of the Woods. And there they had found the Hunter, who was not what they had expected…and more terrifying than he could have imagined.
Needing a rest from troubling thoughts, he gave his attention back to the music, and said, “Let’s try it again to make sure it’s set in the hands and the heart.”
They went through it twice more before Aiden nodded, satisfied. “Can you get the part for the harp written in with what you’ve got for the whistle?”
“I-I haven’t written anything down. It was just a little tune I—” Taihg swallowed hard as Aiden’s blue eyes flashed with annoyance.
“Write it down,” Aiden said. “Lyrra will need the music to learn the whistle part.”
“Learn the—You actually want to play it outside of the Clan here?”
You’d think I’d just asked him to jump off a cliff. Maybe I have. “Yes, I want to play it. I want it heard. I want other bards to take it up and send it on.” He began plucking idle notes again. “And I do want you to go with me for part of the journey.”
“Me?” Taihg’s voice rose close to a squeak. “Why?”
“The Ladies of the Moon are gathering somewhere in the midlands,” Aiden said quietly, “but there’s something not quite…right…about this. Dianna’s power isn’t waning, no one has come forward as the challenger who wants to try to take her place as the Lady of the Moon, and this isn’t the phase of the moon when these challenges take place.”
“There may not be a challenger, as such,” Taihg said hesitantly.
“Meaning?”
“There’s a saying in the west: The gift commands, and the gift chooses. That’s why the Fae in the west haven’t traveled to these gatherings much. It’s really just a formality, a ritual so that the new leader can be acknowledged. If the gift chooses someone, that person will ascend no matter where he or she is.”
“If that’s the case,” Aiden said grimly, “let’s hope whoever ascends is in that Old Place tonight.”
“Why?”
Aiden set his harp aside and turned on the bench to look at Taihg. “If Dianna loses, we need to know who the new Huntress is. We need to know if she’s going to be like Dianna and refuse to do anything to help in the fight against the Inquisitors or if, the Great Mother willing, we might have another ally in the fight that’s coming. When we leave here in the morning, we’ll have a few days before Ashk has to decide if we’re heading for the southern end of the Mother’s Hills or going straight to Willowsbrook. I want you to travel with us until we get word about who the new Lady of the Moon is. Then you’ll come back to the west and make sure all the bards and minstrels have all the information we can glean about her.”
“Ashk will be getting that information, too, and she’ll send word back to the west.”
“How the Hunter and the Bard interpret that information may not be the same. Ashk needs to consider it from the view of protecting Sylvalan. I’ll consider it with the view of deciding whether or not the minstrels and bards will support the female leader of the Fae, whomever she might be.”
Taihg stared at him. “If you ridicule the Lady of the Moon in a song, the Clans won’t have anything to do with you in fear of offending her.”
“Does that include the Clans in the west?”
Taihg hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Unless, of course, the Hunter takes offense.”
“Then I’ve nothing to lose,” Aiden replied. “The Clans beyond the west already disapprove of me.”
Before Taihg could reply, an annoyed male voice beyond the courtyard said, “Mother’s tits! Considering how far I’ve traveled, I’m going to talk to someone.”
Aiden couldn’t hear a reply, but a moment later, a man strode into the courtyard. He had sable hair that fell to his shoulders and dark eyes full of sharp intelligence—and more than a little annoyance. A tall man, with a honed body that moved with sleek grace, yet gave the impression of suppressed violence, like the sea on the edge of a storm.
The man was definitely Fae, but Aiden felt uneasy the moment he saw him. He rose to face the stranger.
“Who are you?” the stranger demanded.
“Aiden. The Lord of Song.”
“The Bard, is it? I’m Murtagh, the Lord of the Selkies. I was looking for the Hunter, but you’ll do for now.”
“Will I?”
Murtagh flashed a feral smile that made Aiden wish for a large knife and the skill to use it. He had the feeling Murtagh possessed both.
“When you’ve the time, Bard, I’d appreciate it if you’d come by Selkie Island and give the minstrels there a bit of encouragement. We’ve a handful of them on the island, and there’s not one of them that will lift his ass to fart let alone learn a new song. Don’t any of you write anything new?”
“Occasionally,” Aiden said dryly.
Murtagh eyed Taihg. “If you’re too busy, you could send another bard.”
“I get seasick,” Taihg said quickly.
Murtagh sighed. “Well, see what you can do. I’ve been hearing the same songs since I was a boy. I’d throw the lot of them into the sea, but they’re selkies, too, so it wouldn’t gain me anything.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Aiden said, “but there are other concerns right now.”
“True enough.” Murtagh raked a hand through his hair. “There’s talk, Bard, and I don’t like what I’m hearing.”
“What have you heard?”
“That witches are being killed by men called Black Coats. That the Old Places are being taken over by humans, and the Small Folk are being driven out.”
“It’s true.”
“Well…Mother’s tits! Why aren’t the Mother’s Daughters going up the shining roads to escape and letting the Fae deal with the bastards?”
“The Fae in the east of Sylvalan refused to do anything to help the witches—and now the Fae are lost as well, trapped in their Clan territories in Tir Alainn after the shining roads closed. If they’re surviving at all.”
Murtagh stared at him. Then he swore softly. “If that’s the case, they’ve gotten what they deserve.”
Aiden studied Murtagh with more interest. “Would you allow a witch into your Clan’s piece of Tir Alainn?”
Murtagh’s dark eyes flashed with temper before he smiled ruefully. “My gran’s a witch whose gift of water is best suited to the sea. She’s fit and spry for a woman her age, but cold, damp weather is hard on old bones, so I bundle her and the other elders up every year when the autumn winds take on the edge of winter and tuck them in the Clan house in Tir Alainn. Not that she’ll stay there. She misses the moods of the sea, so she’ll come back down and spend a few days before she’ll let me bundle her back up.” He paused. �
��I’ve heard a young witch with a love of the sea has recently come to Sealand.”
“I’ve heard that, too,” Aiden said cautiously.
Murtagh shook his head. “I saw that ship pass. If I’d known there was a witch in the hold, I would have persuaded the captain to put in at one of our ports for a day or two.”
“The witch is content where she is,” Ashk said, stepping into the courtyard with Morag beside her.
Murtagh gave both women a long look and a small but courteous bow. “And I wouldn’t have held her if she wasn’t willing to stay. Just saying I would have liked an introduction before the lady decided on where to settle. We can offer as good a harbor as Ronat Isle.”
Ashk’s eyes searched his. “You would have offered her family safe harbor?”
“There’s more of them?”
Aiden winced, wishing Murtagh’s question didn’t sound like he was ready to scoop up any witch that crossed his path, especially when Morag said, “Answer the question,” in a voice that held a hint of the grave.
He saw Ashk shift her weight slightly and wondered what she thought she could do against the Gatherer if Morag decided to kill the Lord of the Selkies. Unfortunately, Morag had been withdrawn since they left Bretonwood, and not even Morphia had been able to discover why. But that dark turn of mood had made the rest of them cautious about dealing with the Gatherer of Souls.
Finally, Murtagh said, “I would have offered her safe harbor—and anyone she cared to bring with her. And I’ll offer it now to any witch looking for a place away from those bastard Black Coats and the Sylvalan barons who have lost their balls—or sold them in order to put more gold in their purses.” He looked away for a moment before focusing on Ashk again. “You’re the Hunter, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“You’re gathering the Fae to put a stop to the slaughter?”
“Yes.”
Murtagh nodded. “The Hunter rules the woods. The Lord of the Selkies rules the sea. So. How can I and mine help you? Fae whose other form is suited to water are of little use to you on land, but we control the sea around our island, right to the shore of the mainland.”
“What do the barons on the coast say about that?” Aiden asked.
Murtagh smiled sharply. “A few years ago, when I first became the Lord of the Selkies, one of the coastal barons came to the island. He wasn’t pleased that our boats were fishing the same waters as his villagers since he got a share from every boat as well as what he made from his tenant farmers. Well, he came over and told me that since there was no baron ruling the island, he was taking it for his own. I explained to him that we didn’t need a baron, and I would rule my own people. He didn’t take kindly to that.”
“What did you do?” Ashk asked.
“Sank his ship. We rescued the people on board, but it was close to a fortnight before the baron set foot on ground he could call his own, and he learned a few things about how a baron’s power compares to that of a Fae Lord. He drowned a couple of years later. Wasn’t my doing, but no one mourned his passing, especially once people found out he’d made a deal with the sea thieves who had been making things difficult for merchant ships. His son was barely old enough to take up the title, but he’s done well for his people, and he and I have an understanding that suits us both. So if there are ships coming that need safe harbor, they’ll have it.” Murtagh paused. “And if there are ships that need to sleep at the bottom of the sea, and their crew with them, I’ll see it done.”
No one spoke.
Finally, Ashk asked, “Do you still have trouble with sea thieves?”
That sharp smile flashed again. “Not in my waters.”
“I would consider it a kindness if you would keep watch for one ship. It’s called Sweet Selkie, and Mihail is her captain. If you see her brother safely home, I think he’ll oblige you with an introduction to the new witch at Sealand. But I can’t tell you about other ships.”
“I understand, Hunter. I’m honored to have finally met you…and the Gatherer of Souls.”
Morag just stared at him before turning and walking away.
“Blessings of the day to you,” Ashk said quietly before she, too, walked out of the courtyard.
Aiden took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taihg slump on the bench, as if exhausted. So, his weren’t the only nerves stretched by this encounter.
Murtagh watched the courtyard entrance a moment longer before turning to Aiden. “They’re a pair, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Aiden said softly, “they’re a pair.” And he wasn’t sure he’d sleep easy tonight if he started thinking about the journey he was about to make with two women who embraced Death, each in her own, but equally deadly, way. He gave himself a mental shake. They were exactly what Sylvalan needed for the fight ahead.
“Well, then,” Murtagh said.
Aiden shifted his foot and nudged Taihg’s boot. The other bard jerked, stared at him blankly for a moment, then jumped to his feet.
“My Clan would be pleased to have you guest with us tonight,” Taihg said.
Murtagh smiled and shook his head. “You just want another target available in case either of those two become annoyed about something.”
“True,” Aiden said, pitching his voice over Taihg’s stammered protest. “But if you decide to stay, I can promise you’ll hear a new song or two.”
Murtagh laughed. “You set a mean bargain, Bard, but it’s not one I’ll refuse.”
Good, Aiden thought, picking up his harp. Of course, he fully intended to hear a few of the songs Murtagh knew, since he suspected many of those “old” songs had never been heard beyond Selkie Island, but there was no reason to mention that.
It hunted. Vicious. Almost mindless. Hungry. It hunted.
She raced through the trees at Bretonwood, desperate to find It before…
The rattle of a ponycart’s wheels on a forest trail. A babywailing in fear. She saw Ari looking back, terror turning the young witch’s face into an almost unrecognizable mask.
Flesh. Blood. Souls. Food. It hunted.
She ran. Ran and ran and ran…and still couldn’t find the enemy. How could she get between It and the ponycart if she couldn’t find It?
Closer. Closer. It could hear the female’s raspy breathing, even over the baby’s cries.
She ran faster. The enemy was too close to those she loved. Too close.
A stag hidden among the trees leaped out, landing in the center of the forest trail.
For a moment, she thought he was the old stag, thought this was the memory of that terrible leap that had saved a boy from the nighthunters. But this stag was younger, blue-eyed, the build not yet as mature and powerful as it would one day be, the rack of antlers smaller than the one she remembered.
Food!
The stag charged, fought with antlers and hooves. Screamed in pain as claws sank into shoulder muscles, ripping, tearing. Screamed as sharp teeth pierced the throat, and It gulped the blood gushing from the wound. More. More. It wanted more. Its insatiable hunger always wanted more. First the blood. Then It would devour the soul.
No!
She stood on the forest trail. She couldn’t see the enemy. All she could see was the stag crumpled in front of her, dying. She watched as the stag changed back into a man. As the blue eyes dimmed, Neall gasped one word: “Morag.”
Gasping for air, Morag flung herself out of bed and stumbled to the window, clawing at the shutters to get them open. She sank to her knees, clinging to the windowsill as she worked to steady her breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest, racing ahead of the fear that threatened to consume her.
It was the third time she’d had this dream. The first time had been the night before she left Bretonwood with Ashk. She’d lain awake the rest of that night, too frightened of what might be waiting for her if she fell asleep again.
The next morning, as they were getting ready to leave Bretonwood, she’d almost asked Morphia if she had
sent the dream. But the Sleep Sister wouldn’t have shaped a dream like that and sent it to someone she cared about, and certainly not to her own sister.
Unless it was a true dream, a warning of danger.
But how could she protect Neall and Ari when she didn’t know what the enemy looked like? How could she recognize what she couldn’t see?
Feeling brittle, Morag pushed herself to her feet, then staggered over to the wash basin. She poured water into the basin, dipped her hands into the soothing coolness, and splashed her face. When she felt steadier, she straightened up, letting the water drip down her face and neck.
After that first time, she had almost convinced herself that it had been nothing more than a bad dream conjured up from the depths of her mind and cobbled together with images of some of the frightful things she’d seen since the Inquisitors came to Sylvalan last summer. If it had come to her only that one night, she might have dismissed it as nothing more than that. But…three times. No, she couldn’t dismiss a dream that returned to haunt her.
So. Danger was coming. Something that terrified Ari. Something that would kill Neall if she couldn’t stop it. But there was the babe in the ponycart to consider. Ari still had several more weeks before the babe was due. There was time to continue the journey with Ashk and give the Hunter whatever help she could before she turned back and returned to Bretonwood.
Morag went back to bed and sank into restless, but dreamless, sleep.
Chapter 9
new moon
Liam rubbed his hands over his face, then leaned back in his chair to stare at the sheet of paper on his desk.
No matter how he tried to look at the situation, it always came out the same: Willowsbrook had six guards who served under the village magistrate. Six men who were trained in weapons and fighting to protect the village and surrounding farms. Six.
His father had thought it extravagant to have so many guards for a village the size of Willowsbrook. In a way, the old baron had been right. It did seem an excessive number of men to handle the occasional drunken brawl on market day and to make sure arguments between neighbors were brought before the magistrate instead of having something small escalate through acts of petty vengeance into violence. Now…