The House of Gaian

by Anne Bishop

  He wouldn’t run. Curse whatever shivered through him, he wouldn’t run. But…

  Almost without thought, driven by something he could barely control, he cut between two companies of men and rode toward the tumble of stones.

  They came down the rise in terrifying silence. Silent horses, silent hounds. That was the way of the Wild Hunt. Only the horn gave the warning that the Fae were out riding to hunt.

  They came down the rise with their bows drawn, but the first line of men who froze when they caught sight of them fell before the first arrow was loosed, clutching their heads or throats, dropping weapons as stones shot from slings broke hands or wrists. The second line fell from arrows flying out from the trees.

  Then she was down amongst the enemy, letting her bow sing Death’s song, turning her horse to cut a straight path toward the tumble of stones while the shadow hounds pulled men down, ripping open a leg or tearing out a throat before racing on to the next prey.

  Men scattered, ran toward the shelter of the trees and were met with arrows and stones.

  Ashk glanced to her right and saw the V of the other Wild Hunt—and saw several men fall before an arrow could touch them. Good. Morphia had joined the hunt. Yesterday, the Sleep Sister had worked with the healers to ease the suffering of the wounded. Today, she would use her gift to put some of the enemy to sleep, making it easier for the huntsmen to deal with the others.

  The human companies poured down from the center of the rise, keeping the Hunt from being surrounded as it continued toward the stones.

  Then an arrow struck her horse in the chest. It was more luck than skill that she managed to land on her feet when she threw herself out of the saddle.

  “Hunter!” One of the huntsmen slowed, reached out a hand for her.

  “Go on!” she yelled.

  They flowed around her, giving her a breathing space. She reached back—and touched her last arrow. Unbuckling the harness, she dropped bow and quiver beside her dead horse, then crouched, waiting for the last of the huntsmen to pass by her.

  When she could see again, she cursed viciously to herself. Mother’s tits, Liam! Don’t you ever listen?

  He was in the field, fighting with a short sword now, out-matched by the guard captain, who had a longer sword and the benefit of training. Liam took a wrong step, lost his footing. As he went down, the guard captain raised his sword for a killing blow—and was struck by an arrow in the throat.

  Well done, Varden, Ashk thought as she looked back toward the rise. But it wasn’t Varden nocking another arrow, it was Breanna taking aim at the next man who came near her brother while a hawk, a vixen, and a whoo-it owl did their best to protect her back.

  She understood Falco going into the field with Breanna, but she was going to have a talk with the Bard and the Muse when this was over. What did they think a fox and a whoo-it owl could do in the middle of a battle? The two of them had more courage—or more compassion—than sense.

  She half rose from her crouch, then froze at the sight of more companies of men running out of the trees at the far end of the field. She glanced back at the rise, but there were no more fresh companies of men coming over the top to join the battle, no more Fae. Mother’s mercy, how many more men did the Witch’s Hammer have?

  Then she realized they weren’t running to join the battle. They were fleeing.

  She couldn’t move, could barely breathe when she saw the dark horse burst out of the trees, saw those men fall in waves as the horse and rider caught up to them, cut through them.

  The Gatherer had come.

  “Liam!” Breanna screamed.

  He turned toward Breanna, unaware of the danger riding straight at him.

  “Go!” Ashk shouted. She changed into a shadow hound and charged Liam. He saw the movement and had started to turn to meet it when she slammed into him, sending his sword flying as they hit the ground.

  She spun around, crouching over him, her fangs bared as the dark horse came closer, closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Breanna running back toward the rise, followed by the hawk, vixen, and whoo-it owl.

  And she saw Morag—and what Morag had become.

  For one long, painful moment, their eyes locked. Then the Gatherer rode past her, turning the dark horse toward the center of the field at the same moment Selena, with moonlight streaming around and behind her, came over the rise, followed by the Sons and Daughters of the House of Gaian.

  Not the Huntress, Morag. Not Selena. Mother’s mercy, not Selena.

  She barely noticed Liam shoving her off him, barely noticed the fighting still going on in the rest of the field. All she could see was Selena galloping toward the stones, the enemy fleeing ahead of her—and the Gatherer galloping toward Selena.

  Selena raised her hand and the pairs of riders broke formation, shifting to become a staggered line with her in the lead. She swung to the left, taking the line with her. Dark horse and gray passed each other with barely any daylight between them.

  Morag rode on, turning back toward the trees at the far end of the field. Selena continued her wide curve around the stones. As she rode, with Rhyann behind her, a circle of moonlight and fire began to form. Wind whipped around the stones, splintering arrows before they could touch the riders.

  She changed back to her human form and stood up.

  “Ashk?” Liam said warily. “What’s happening?”

  “Can you move?” she replied, evading his question. When he nodded, she retrieved his sword and handed it to him. “Let’s go.”

  She walked back to her horse, picked up her bow and quiver, and headed for the stones, not even looking back to see if he followed, terrifyingly aware that she and Liam were the only people alive in that part of the field.

  The last rider following Selena swung into place, completing the circle. They circled again. And once more. The ground trembled. The wind howled. Lightning slashed the sky, bringing with it a brief cloudburst of rain. And fire ringed the circle made around the stones.

  As the last circle was completed, Selena swung left again, turning Mistrunner sharply back to face the stones. The others swung out of the circle and went past her, turning back until they formed a crescent with Selena at its center.

  Selena raised her arms. The cloudburst ended. Moments later, the sun shown down upon the field. And still moonlight glowed around the circle, forming a barrier.

  “Witch’s Hammer!” Selena shouted. “Show yourself, Master Inquisitor, or someone else will bargain for you!”

  Nothing happened. There were plenty of men moving among the stones, but no one answered. Finally, a cloaked, hooded figure appeared.

  “What are you to think you can bargain with me?” a growling voice shouted back.

  “I am vengeance—and I am justice. You tried to reshape our world to your own liking—and you have failed. We stand, and we will always stand. We are the Mother’s Daughters. We are the Mother’s Sons. We are the Pillars of the World. We are the House of Gaian. And we are going to grant your wish. You and your followers are exiled from this world, Inquisitor, but we will give you another to shape as you will.” Selena raised her arms higher. “I call earth!”

  “We call earth!” the Sons and Daughters repeated.

  “I call air!”

  “We call air!”

  “I call water!”

  “We call water!”

  “I call fire!”

  “We call fire!”

  Power flowed into the circle. Flowed and flowed.

  “By the light of the sun, by the light of the moon, by the four branches of the Mother, we make a world beyond this world, anchored to it but never a part of it. We make it out of dreams and will.” Selena pointed at the Witch’s Hammer. “As you will, so mote it be.”

  The ground shook. Lightning flashed. The fire that formed a circle rose so high Ashk could no longer see the stones.

  The power swirled inside the circle. Swirled and swirled.

  Then, with a tremendous thunderclap t
hat knocked Ashk to the ground, it was gone.

  Chapter 52

  waning moon

  Adolfo slowly got to his feet and looked around. Stone.

  Nothing but stone. And a spear of gold and silver light no thicker than a fist touching the stone a man’s length in front of him and rising up, up, up until it disappeared somewhere in that vaulted ceiling of stone.

  He didn’t like that light. Hated that light. It felt…clean…and repulsive. He moved away from it. He had no trouble seeing. Fire burned among the stones, and the air reeked with the smell of sulfur. He tore off the cloak that now felt too hot and confining and went searching for the water he could hear trickling nearby. It spilled out from a crack and pooled in a hollowed stone that formed a basin. Bending over, he lapped the water. It tasted of blood, of gore, of rotting bodies. Delicious.

  He heard voices below him, saw the rocks piled together to make rough stairs leading down into the stones and the fire.

  “What happened?” asked one frightened voice. “Where are we?”

  “Where’s Master Adolfo?” another voice said. Then, shouting, “Master! Master Adolfo?”

  He walked down those rough stairs, moving toward the voices.

  “Where are we?”

  “It’s—Mother’s mercy! This is the Fiery Pit! We’ve been thrown into the Fiery Pit!”

  There is no Mother here, Adolfo thought. Only the Master. Only…

  Hunger.

  He followed the curve of the stairs, stopping when he saw them. Wolfram barons. Sylvalan barons. Guard captains and bowmen. His…

  Meat.…Inquisitors. His…

  Feast.

  …followers. He would show them the glory of the world he’d created for them. He would show them he was…

  Hunger.…. was…

  An Inquisitor looked up, saw him, and screamed, “It’s the Evil One!”

  He laughed as he watched them flee, running deeper and deeper into the Pit.

  Feast.

  He followed them deeper into the Pit. And he hunted.

  Frowning, Selena studied the sky above the stones. The Black Coats and their followers were gone, so the magic had worked, but where was the anchor of light?

  One by one, the Sons and Daughters rode away from the stones to help the humans deal with the prisoners and find the wounded until only Rhyann stood with her. Then Ashk joined her…and Liam.

  “I don’t see the anchor,” Selena said quietly. Steam rose from the ground inside the circle—ground that was now cracked and barren.

  “There.” Ashk pointed to a glow barely visible among the stones.

  “But”—Rhyann shook her head—“it’s going down. Why would it go down?”

  A chill went through Selena. “Dreams and will. His dreams. His will. He made the world he wanted. Mother have mercy.”

  “Vengeance and justice,” Ashk said. “You gave him both, Huntress, in a way no one else could have.”

  Selena turned to look at Liam, who stared at her with unreadable eyes. “I am sorry the anchor had to be placed here.” She hesitated. “Your people should build a wall just beyond the circle. What was made here…I don’t know what would happen to anyone who stepped onto that barren ground or climbed among those stones.”

  “When all the bodies are given back to the Mother, this will be a field of the dead. I don’t think anyone will go near those stones after what happened here today, but we’ll build the wall.”

  Aiden and Lyrra rode up on Minstrel, followed by Breanna and Falco on another horse. Aiden helped Lyrra slide down from behind him before dismounting. Hand in hand, they came forward. “It’s done?”

  Selena nodded. “The Witch’s Hammer and his followers are gone.”

  Morphia rode up, followed by a few of the Fae. She gave them a brilliant smile, her face lit with happiness and relief as she dismounted to join them. “Ashk! Morag’s here. Did you see her? I only caught a glimpse of her as she rode back into the trees, but she’s here.”

  Selena felt Ashk shudder. Then Rhyann said, “Selena,” in a quiet, tense voice.

  She heard a muffled cry of fear, watched men scatter, leaving a clear path for the dark horse that walked toward her.

  “Morag!” Morphia called. Then, puzzled and a little fearful, “Morag?”

  Selena saw Aiden and Lyrra rush over to Morphia. She heard Liam whisper, “Mother’s mercy.” And she felt Ashk walk away as Morag dismounted and walked closer to them.

  Morphia’s face crumpled in disbelief and horror. “Morag!”

  Selena grabbed Rhyann’s arm, pulling her sister behind her. An illusion of protection, nothing more. But Morag stopped a man’s length in front of her. She saw something savage in those dark eyes, something that would ride through villages and leave nothing but empty corpses in its wake. But the woman Morag must have been was also shining out of those dark eyes, pained and so weary.

  I have the power to shape a world beyond this world, but I don’t know how to change this. I know nothing that can change this.

  “What do you want, Morag?” she asked gently.

  One tear spilled down a dark, leathery cheek. “I want to go home.”

  Silence.

  Then…

  “Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again.”

  A moment caught by the eye, frozen by memory.

  Morag, standing straight and tall, turning toward that voice. Ashk, waiting, the bow drawn back, her eyes clear and yet filled with a terrible grief.

  Then the arrow sang Death’s song. Pierced the chest. Found the heart.

  And Morag fell.

  “Noooo!” Morphia screamed as Aiden struggled to hold her back.

  Ashk dropped her bow, moved forward slowly.

  “How could you?” Morphia screamed. “How could you?”

  Ashk stared at the body. “I promised to do what needed to be done.”

  Mist rose from the body, took the shape of a slender, lovely woman.

  Morag turned to look at her sister. Raised a hand in farewell to Aiden and Lyrra. When she looked at Ashk, she smiled.

  “You’ll be missed,” Ashk said softly. “Don’t stay away too long.”

  Morag raised her arms. Her ghost changed into the shape of a raven. As she flew toward the shimmering road that suddenly opened in the field, Selena watched ghosts flow up the road behind her as Morag led the spirits of the dead to the Shadowed Veil for the last time.

  Before Selena could say anything, do anything, Ashk turned away from all of them and started walking toward the rise.

  Ashk reached the top of the rise before Breanna caught up to her.

  “Ashk! Ashk!”

  Ashk stopped walking, but didn’t turn to look at her.

  Breanna reached out but didn’t touch. Ashk looked like a woman about to shatter. She knew how that felt. “She shouldn’t stay in that field, Ashk. She shouldn’t be buried near that…place. Where should we take her to give her back to the Mother?”

  Ashk swallowed hard. “Morphia is her sister. It should be Morphia’s choice.”

  “No,” Breanna said slowly, “I don’t think so.” She waited until Ashk looked at her. “You freed Morag from what she’d become, for her sake. Morphia would choose a place that gives her comfort, but you’ll choose a place that’s right for Morag.”

  Ashk clenched her hands, and Breanna watched strength battling grief. Finally, Ashk said, “Somewhere in the Old Place. A spot where there are shadows and light.”

  “As you will, so mote it be,” Breanna said.

  She watched Ashk walk down the other side of the rise. Alone.

  Chapter 53

  waning moon

  Ashk took a deep breath to steady herself before knocking on the guest room door. “Morphia? It’s Ashk.”

  She waited a long time before she heard a muffled, “Come in if you must.”

  She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her—and simply watched in silence while Morphia packed her saddlebags.

 
; “Where are you headed?” Ashk finally asked.

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe back to the home Clan for a while.”

  “If you can wait a couple more days, you can ride with—”

  “I don’t want to ride with you, Ashk.” Morphia’s hands clenched around the camisole she’d just folded. Sighing, she shook it out, refolded it, and tucked it into the saddlebag before looking at Ashk. “I don’t want to ride with you, Hunter. You did what you thought was right—and maybe it was. But you didn’t give it a chance. If I’d had another moment or two to collect myself, I could have put her to sleep for a while—at least until the witches had a little time to discover if they could have changed her back.”

  A moment or two, Ashk thought bleakly. You might not have had that moment or two. If she lost control of what was inside her for even a heartbeat of time, you could have ended up dead. Worse than dead. Would you have wanted Morag to fight her way back to clarity to find your torn body, to find no trace of your spirit, knowing what must have happened to it? But she couldn’t say those things to the woman staring at her with dark, grieffilled eyes.

  Morphia shook her head and went back to packing her saddlebags. “Maybe if Sheridan had lived…Maybe when enough time has passed…But right now, Ashk, when I look at you, all I see is the person who killed my sister. So I don’t want to travel with you. I don’t want to be in the part of Sylvalan where you rule. There’s work to be done in the world. I’ll find a place to do it.”

  “Safe travel, Morphia,” Ashk said as she opened the door.

  “Ashk.” Morphia hesitated. “For Morag’s sake, and in her memory, I wish you gentle dreams.”

  Ashk bolted out of the room, turned blindly down the hallway, and ran straight into Aiden.

  He caught her arms to keep them both from a tumble. When he saw the door, still partially open, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the room she shared with Gwynith. She was grateful Gwynith wasn’t there and wished desperately that Padrick was.

  “Liam asked us to stay for the council meeting tomorrow,” Aiden said. “He seems to think my writing is neater than his, and he wants to be sure the other barons can read the decisions that are made without stumbling over half the words. You’re staying, too?”