by Anne Bishop
Rhyann tipped her head. “What is your other form?”
“I’m a shadow hound.”
“So is Selena. So it’s simple, isn’t it? You snarl at her, she snarls at you, and then the two of you go off and bite someone else.”
A laugh burst out of Ashk. “Fair enough. Are you offering to be our escort through the Mother’s Hills?”
“Since it appears I’m going the same way, I could do that.”
They settled back around the fire. This time there was no tension in the silence.
Ashk was about to suggest they turn in when Lyrra said, “If the Hunter is the oldest spirit of the woods, I wonder who the next oldest is?”
“Can’t you guess?” Rhyann replied.
Ashk suddenly felt the darkest shadows of the woods brush against her. She shivered. “The Gatherer. Death’s Mistress.”
Rhyann nodded. “Or Death’s Sister, as she’s called in some stories. Like the Hunter, hers is an old and powerful spirit. And like the Hunter, hers is a dual nature.”
“Why?”
“Because Death’s Sister is both mercy and destruction.”
Ashk said nothing. She simply unrolled her sleeping bag, pulled off her boots, and settled herself for sleep. With her eyes closed, she listened to the quiet sounds of the people around her, knew when her companions around the fire finally fell asleep.
She opened her eyes and stared at the night sky.
Death’s Sister. Mercy and destruction.
She thought of Ari and Neall—and what could happen if the Lightbringer reached Bretonwood.
Find him, Morag. Find him…and do what needs to be done.
Chapter 29
waxing moon
She chased him relentlessly, and still he remained ahead of her. He had the advantage. When he tired of running in his other form, he changed back and demanded a horse, which that Clan provided. The Fae ran to fetch him food and water, rushed to make up a comfortable bed for him to sleep in for a few hours. Anything for the Lightbringer.
But for the Gatherer…
The Clans had no horses to spare. No, none at all. And no one could be spared from his duties to look after her dark horse or bring her food. No one at all. So she fed and watered the dark horse, unsaddled and groomed him. She stumbled to the Clan house’s kitchen, reeking of sweat and reeling from exhaustion, to devour whatever food was easily available. Sometimes she collapsed in the dark horse’s stall and slept for a couple of hours, but the dreams chased her as relentlessly as she pursued the Lightbringer, driving her away from any possible rest until she saddled the dark horse and headed out again.
She did what she could to spare the dark horse. He had courage and stamina, but he’d already made a hard journey across Sylvalan. So she changed to her raven form and flew until she thought muscles would tear. She walked beside him to spare him carrying the extra weight. And she rode when fear of what she might find at Bretonwood overwhelmed her concern that she was ruining a good horse.
So she chased the Lightbringer relentlessly—and the dreams relentlessly chased her.
Chapter 30
waxing moon
Dianna cantered over the bridge to the next Clan territory.
The new Huntress had turned the Fae into panicked children scrambling for a crumb of approval. Oh, they acted pleased to see her when she arrived at a Clan house, but they didn’t have time to talk with her, barely had time to show her to a guest room and have the Clan healer look at her arm. So much to do. Hurry hurry. Scramble scramble.
The Black Coats had sent whole armies against the humans in Sylvalan. Why should the Fae care about the humans? The fewer of them, the better. They’d caused nothing but trouble lately. Just like the witches.
It was the Black Coats’fault. All of it. They were the ones who started all the trouble in Sylvalan. At the core of it, they were the reason she was now shunned by her own Clan and cautiously welcomed by others. If they hadn’t come, she wouldn’t have been trapped at Brightwood, wouldn’t have lost the challenge to that usurping bitch.
If you’d listened to Morag, Aiden, and Lyrra a year ago, you could have gathered the huntsmen from the Clans and driven the Black Coats out of Sylvalan. You could have been the one who protected the witches and the Old Places…and Tir Alainn. You would still be the Lady of the Moon, and the Fae would still love you…as they used to love you.
Maybe she had been mistaken about a few things, but she’d done her best for the Fae. For the Fae. They didn’t seem to remember that. They certainly hadn’t wanted to live in the Old Places or deal with humans or do any of the things they were now scurrying to do.
Her pale mare stumbled over something, almost fell. Mist suddenly enclosed them. Dianna slowed the animal to a trot while fear produced jagged spikes to scrape her nerves.
She should have reached the other side of the bridge by now. At the very least, she should be seeing the glow from the arch that indicated the end of the bridge. And…why was she riding through mist? There was no mist on the bridges.
But there had been. Thin wisps of it that swirled around her mare’s knees. She remembered that now.
She dug her heels into the mare’s sides, desperate to get clear of the mist.
A few strides later, the mist thinned. A few strides after that, she was galloping over flat green land—and the Clan house was no more than a few minutes away.
Reining in the mare, she looked back.
Mist. Swirling, spreading, devouring.
When the mare stumbled…She must have stumbled at the end of the bridge, where it connects to this Clan’s territory. Which means I’ve been riding through mist in Tir Alainn.
She wheeled the mare and galloped toward the Clan house, then changed direction to intercept the stream of people hurrying toward the markers that indicated the shining road.
As she reached the markers, she reined in and shouted, “What’s happening?”
A woman holding a baby stared at her with terror-blank eyes. “The road is closing! We have to get away now!”
Two boys shoved the woman, causing her to stagger against Dianna’s mare. They continued pushing and shoving through the crowd in front of the markers until they’d gotten clear and were running down the shining road.
A moment later, a male voice shouted hoarsely, “Go back! Go back! Mother’s mercy, you can’t go down there!”
The pain in that voice silenced the Fae crowded in front of the markers. And in that silence, Dianna thought she heard faint screams.
A few moments later, a man lurched into sight, sweating and struggling to get up the last few steps of the shining road. He had an arrow in one shoulder, another arrow in his thigh. Two men near the front of the crowd dropped their bundles and rushed to help their wounded Clansman.
Dianna’s heart pounded as the wounded Clansman was helped past the markers.
“Stand back now!” an older female voice ordered. “Stand back.”
There were mutters and low curses as people trod on the toes of those behind them in an effort to obey.
Seeing the woman who stepped into the cleared space around the wounded man, Dianna muttered a curse of her own. She’d forgotten this was Sorcha’s Clan. The woman had always disapproved of the way the Fae interacted with the human world and never hesitated to say so. And Dianna had the feeling Sorcha hadn’t really approved of her and Lucian becoming the leaders of the Fae, which is why she’d never felt comfortable around the old woman. But when Sorcha demanded obedience, she was obeyed, and that strength of will would help all of them now.
“What’s happening down there?” Sorcha demanded.
“They’re killing us,” the wounded man gasped. “They’re killing us. The Black Coats are down there with an army of men.”
Gasps and murmurs ran through the crowd.
“What about the huntsmen who were down there keeping watch on the Old Place?” Sorcha asked.
One tear spilled down the man’s cheek before he closed his eyes. “
Dead. Slaughtered. And the witches…I saw what the Black Coats did to the witches. I saw.”
A man’s voice rose from the crowd. “The Black Coats couldn’t have killed all the Fae. My sister went down the shining road with her children.”
“Mine too!” another man’s voice said. “I sent her down as soon as we saw the warning signs that the road was going to close. She must have gotten away.”
The wounded man shook his head. “Dead. All dead. Women, children, babes, old men. The Black Coats didn’t care. They were waiting at the end of the shining road. Just waiting for us with swords and bows. They killed all of them.”
A woman cried out, “The shining road is fading!” Another cried, “The mist!”
Dianna twisted in the saddle. The mist was creeping across the land, a wall more formidible than any wall of stone could be. She twisted back around and stood in the stirrups to look at the road. It was flickering now, fading. When it vanished, the mist would consume everything. Everyone.
“No!” She threw herself out of the saddle, heedless of the pain the movement caused in her arm, equally unaware that she’d shoved the woman with the babe to the ground in her haste. They would never find the bridges in all that mist, even if the bridges still existed. The shining road had to stay open long enough for them to escape.
Escape where? To a fast death rather than a slow one?
She didn’t know, didn’t care. She flung herself at the shining road, closing her left hand over that flickering shimmer.
Power flooded out of her, making her gasp. Down her arm, through her hand, flowing into the flickering golden air enclosed by her hand. Down, down, racing down until it touched something old, something that was still strong. The golden air stopped flickering as power flowed back up to her hand, her arm. Not filling her, not giving back as much as it took, but completing a circle.
More power flowed out of her, draining her strength before the circle of power sent it back. Different somehow when it came back. She could almost smell earth, almost hear the ominous rolls of thunder, almost feel the lash of rain that gave the land more nourishment than just water. Power, soaking back into the land, flowing back up to that bit of shining road to anchor Tir Alainn.
Gasping, weeping, she felt someone’s arm around her shoulders, felt a hand close around her left wrist.
“That’s enough now, Dianna. That’s enough. You did well, darling girl. You did well.”
With effort, she opened her hand. Watched it shake as she held it above a shining rope no more than three fingers wide. A Fae whose other form was a tiny whoo-it owl might be able to walk down that rope to the human world, but nothing else would be able to escape.
“You did well, Dianna,” Sorcha said again. “You’ve given us a chance to survive.”
Dianna just stared at the shining rope.
“Sorcha!” a man yelled. “The mist has stopped moving forward!”
She felt Sorcha’s forehead rest on her shoulder for a moment.
“What do we do now?” a woman asked.
Sorcha slowly got to her feet. “We survive. That’s what we do.”
“How?” someone wailed.
Sorcha huffed. “We turn over some of the flower gardens and plant more vegetables. We turn the earth on some of the open land and plant grain, which will hopefully be able to feed the horses we keep. The cock and hens that were recently acquired in the human world for the cookpot will be kept for eggs, and if the cock does his duty, we’ll get chicks from some of those eggs, and when they grow, we’ll have more food. It will be hard for all of us, and it’s going to be some time before any of us goes to bed with a full belly. But thanks to Dianna’s gift, we still have an anchor to the human world—enough to keep our piece of Tir Alainn. If there are witches with the power to close a road, then they must also have the power to open one.”
“How long will that take?” someone asked fearfully. “When will the Huntress come and free us?”
Sorcha shook her head. “The Huntress and the Hunter and all the Fae who are joining them to fight must defeat the armies the Black Coats have set against Sylvalan. They must drive the Black Coats and their followers out of the land. Until that is done, they cannot spare thought or strength for anything else. So we will wait until the shining road is opened again—and we will survive.”
“The new Huntress is very powerful. She’ll defeat the Black Coats.” “With the Hunter joining the fight, it won’t take long to rid Sylvalan of these creatures.” “The shining road will be open again before the season changes.”
Voices swirled around her. Hopeful. Fearful. It made no difference. Dianna stared at the shining rope. She heard Sorcha giving orders to take the wounded man to the Clan house, heard someone else say it was fortunate the Clan’s healer hadn’t gone down to the human world.
Voices swirled around her as the Fae slowly returned to the Clan house, still not realizing how much their lives had changed. It made no difference. She just stared at the shining rope.
“Come now, Dianna,” Sorcha said with brisk kindness. She pulled and tugged until Dianna got stiffly to her feet. “You need to rest now. I’ll have someone keep watch on the anchor to the human world. Never fear about that.” She rested a hand on Dianna’s cheek and smiled. “I don’t know how you managed to cross that bridge or what brought you here today, but I’m thankful for it.”
Dianna stared at the older woman. Tears filled her eyes.
“There now, girl, no need for tears. We’ll survive. You’ll see.”
Blinded by tears, Dianna didn’t resist when Sorcha led her to the Clan house.
No need for tears? Did the old fool actually thinking she was weeping out of relief—or even joy?
Survive. She’d fought against returning to Brightwood, fought against having to survive there. She’d thought of it as a cage, confining her to a place. A bright, rich place, despite the crowded rooms in the cottage. There was meat from the woods there, wood for the fire. She could have ridden with her shadow hounds to hunt for meat. With so much land within Brightwood’s borders, she could have avoided riding through the crops her Clan had worked hard to plant and grow.
Petty anger had made her strike back at her own Clan. Petty anger had made her take and take and take because she felt her people wouldn’t give enough to make up for her having to stay in the human world. She’d wanted to live in Tir Alainn. She’d wanted to do what she wanted to do—as she’d always done.
Well, she was in the Fair Land now, being exactly what she’d sulked over being for her own Clan. Except there was no hope of escaping this cage until someone else decided to turn the key. Knowing that, unshakeably certain of that, she realized she hated Tir Alainn.
Chapter 31
waxing moon
Selena rode beside Liam, tucked in the middle of a company of human and Fae escorts. A few months ago, those same men wouldn’t have considered riding together, would have met each other on the road with uneasiness and suspicion. Now there were murmurs of conversation, the occasional muffled laugh that said plainly enough that, despite the differences in how their peoples lived, there was also common ground.
As they crested the low rise that gave them a clear view of the land beyond the village, she reined in. So did Liam. A sharp whistle from one of the escorts behind them was sufficient warning to those who rode ahead that the company had halted.
“It would be better for my people if we could meet the enemy before they reach the village or the farms and estates around it,” Liam said quietly as he studied the land. “But I doubt the enemy will accommodate my wishes.”
“It isn’t likely,” Selena agreed. “But the land…” She closed her eyes. Connecting to the land here was as easy as breathing in and breathing out again. Did Liam realize that the people in his home village prospered so well because the magic that flowed out of Old Willowsbrook was so strong and far-reaching? Even here, miles from the Old Place, she could feel the ripples of it in the air, in the ground beneath Mis
trunner’s hooves. She would be able to taste it in the water. A celebration of life. The acknowledgment of harvest. The spiral dance that takes and gives back.
“Lady Selena?”
Liam’s voice pulled her back to the here and now. She opened her eyes. “But the land will be our ally—and our weapon.”
As soon as she said the words, she heard the low rumble of thunder, felt the sliver of cold air on the wind as the dark clouds raced overhead, coming out of the west from the Mother’s Hills, shutting out the sun.
“We’re in for a storm,” Liam said.
Selena watched the clouds for a moment, then shook her head. “A soft rain. A farmer’s rain, soaking in deep to nourish the crops. It will wet down the roads, making it easier to travel without all the dust. But when the storm reaches a place where there is no Mother’s Daughter to greet it and ask it to be gentle, that’s where it will break. Roads will turn to mud and creeks will run too high to cross. The Black Coats will struggle through the storm’s wrath, and that will give us time.”
“Time for what?” Liam asked with a trace of bitterness. “The barons from the neighboring counties have sent messages, promising men to help fight the Inquisitors, but there’s no sign of those men. Other barons have declared themselves neutral, hoping to be spared if either army marches through their land—and hoping their estates will remain intact because, even if they didn’t fight for the winning side, they didn’t support the losing side, either. The Fae from the nearby Clans have sent men, but they’re also guarding the Old Places to keep their Clan territories protected.”
“Do you blame the Fae for that?” Selena asked, curious about this bitterness.
Liam shook his head. “No, I don’t blame them. We’ve gotten more help from them than I ever expected, and they’re more skilled with weapons than the farmers and merchants I can bring to the fight from the villages under my rule.” He sighed. “But we’ve heard nothing from the midland barons, and without their support, we can’t win. And even if they are gathering men and marching toward Willowsbrook, they’ll have to fight their way here from either the north or the south, and that delay, and the loss of men, will work in favor of the Black Coats’ army that’s marching toward us.”