by Anne Bishop
Morag brushed her black hair away from her face. Ashk and Neall were coming down the trail, both looking solemn. She turned away and walked to the large outdoor table where Padrick waited—and she wondered if the Gatherer or the Hunter would be Death's true mistress in the days ahead.
Ashk studied the faces of the people sitting around the table. Padrick had asked to talk to just the Fae at this gathering since he would be meeting with the squires, magistrates, and captains of the guard at another time to plan the human defenses.
Good people, she thought as she studied them. Strong-willed people.
Aiden, the Bard, with his sharp mind and tongue and his passionate desire to protect the witches, the Daughters of the Great Mother. Lyrra, the Muse, whose gift nurtured the poets and storytellers. Morag, whose passion for life made her even more dangerous as Death's Mistress. Morphia, the Lady of Dreams and Morag's sister. Sheridan, the Clan's Lord of the Hawks, who had recently become Morphia's lover. Neall and Ari, who had changed the lives of many of the Fae around the table simply by being the people they were. And Padrick, Baron of Breton, gentry and Fae, Ashk's friend, lover, and husband.
Combined with the humans, would they be able to hold on to the things they held dear and to keep them safe?
Padrick unrolled a map of Sylvalan and placed a stone on each corner to hold it down.
"I've heard from two of the western barons," Padrick said. "Despite Baron Liam's absence for the vote at the barons' council a few weeks ago—or, perhaps, because of his absence after his impassioned speech—the vote went against all the decrees the eastern barons were trying to get accepted so that they would apply to all of Sylvalan. But there was no vote to demand that the eastern barons restore the rights of the women who live in their counties. Which leaves the people in those eastern counties at the mercy of the men who rule them."
"That is the human way, is it not?" Aiden asked.
Ashk could hear the effort he was making to keep his voice neutral.
"It is," Padrick said. "A baron can rule as he pleases and do what he pleases. The decrees provide a standard we're all expected to honor, but no one is naive enough to believe every man with power wields it in the same way. However, this has left the eastern barons who sold themselves to the Inquisitors twisting in the wind, especially after the news that an entire village of women chose death for themselves and their daughters rather than live with the constrictions that had been put on them. The fact that the news traveled so swiftly and couldn't be contained has also changed things. Any eastern baron who had considered bringing in the Black Coats won't do it now, at the risk of having his own people turn against him. Those men can't be counted as allies, but they aren't enemies. At least, not yet. That leaves the rest of Sylvalan standing against the eastern barons who are controlled by the Inquisitors."
"Stalemate," Aiden said.
Padrick shook his head. "I don't think so. If the Inquisitors had been willing to let us live as we choose, they never would have crossed the Una River. So I don't think a vote in the barons' council is going to stop them; it will just change the way they attack." He ran his finger down the eastern side of the map, from the north down to the southern coast. "They've been pushing steadily east and south, always pushing out from a place where a baron has reshaped his county to match the Inquisitors' demands. From what I can tell, since their return this spring, they've concentrated on destroying the witches to eliminate the magic in the Old Places. Or they did until Liam gave them another enemy to focus on."
"He wasn't the only baron the Black Coats focused on," Ashk said softly.
"No, he wasn't," Padrick replied grimly. "That was a mistake on their part. They may know of the Fae, but they don't know the Fae."
Ashk met Padrick's eyes for a long moment, then focused on the map. He was right. If the Black Coats had realized what kind of enemy they would awaken by attacking Breton and Bretonwood, they would have kept their distance.
"You think they're going to attack the baron you helped?" she asked.
Padrick hesitated. "I think if this Master Inquisitor is as intelligent and powerful as he seems, what he's going to focus on destroying is this." His finger landed heavily on the map.
"The Mother's Hills," Ashk whispered, feeling a chill go through her.
"As long as the House of Gaian rules the Mother's Hills, there will be witches. As long as there are witches, there will be vessels to embrace and channel the Great Mother's power and breathe magic into the world. As long as there is magic in Sylvalan, there will be the Small Folk—and the Fae. So, yes, once he realizes those hills are the wellspring of magic in Sylvalan because of who rules there, he'll throw everything he can at those witches until he destroys them—or until he and those who follow him are destroyed. And Liam, and the people of Willowsbrook, are standing squarely in his path."
Neall leaned closer to the map. "Those hills cover a lot of land, and I doubt the eastern barons can gather enough men to form an army big enough to take them."
"If the Inquisitors control the barons of Wolfram and Arktos, and it seems likely they do, they can gather an army that's strong enough to be a real threat," Padrick said.
"If they divide the army and have half swing below the hills to come up on the other side, they'll be attacking from both directions," Neall said.
"So we block the way," Ashk said. "Follow the curve of the hills to the south and north. If the barons who rule the counties there will stand against the Inquisitors with the help of the Clans in those areas, there would be no threat to the midlands or the western side of the hills, so the midland barons could send warriors to defend the gaps."
"Assuming you can get enough of the Fae to help," Aiden said with a trace of bitterness.
"If they want to spend time in the world, they can help defend the world," Ashk said coldly.
An uneasy silence settled around the table until Padrick finally cleared his throat. "There might be another problem with the Fae's presence in those southern counties. I've gathered that their. . . manners . . . haven't made the humans think well of them. The barons may not accept the Fae being among their people."
"They'd better accept it if they don't want to be outnumbered and crushed in a battle," Ashk snapped. Then she relented. She'd heard enough over the years about how the Fae dealt with humans in other parts of Sylvalan to understand why the humans wouldn't trust the Fae, even to fight a common enemy. "All right. We'll head for the southern end of the Mother's Hills first to convince the barons there to accept us as allies. Letters from you might ease things."
"You'll have them."
They talked for another hour, but it was more to confirm the things she and Padrick had already decided. A meeting of all the western barons would take place in Breton in a few days. Ashk had sent out the call to all the western Clans to have some of the huntsmen from each Clan join her. Now she'd divide those men, sending some to the northern end of the Mother's Hills and some to the south—and some would go to Willowsbrook. She hoped Baron Liam was as open-minded as Padrick thought. Based on what she knew about the Fae beyond the west, Liam and his people were about to meet something they hadn't seen before.
The meeting concluded, they'd all risen to stretch their legs and get something to eat when Ashk noticed the woman standing far enough away not to intrude on their discussion, but just as obviously waiting for her attention.
As Ashk walked over to meet her guest, tension tightened her shoulders.
"Blessings of the day to you, Lady Ashk," the woman said.
"Blessings of the day, Gwynith," Ashk replied. "Forgive my being blunt, but I've a long journey ahead of me and much to do before I go. What brings you here?"
"I'll be heading for the midlands myself come morning," Gwynith said. "I came down this way to tell you."
Ashk frowned. "A Lady of the Moon doesn't need to tell me her plans to travel."
"That's why I had to tell you. All the western Clans have heard the Hunter's call, and we've heard a
bout the Black Coats, so I had to tell you because I don't know how this might change what you need to do."
"What are you talking about?"
"Dianna's power is waning." Gwynith frowned. "No, not waning, exactly, but there's a. . . challenger. . . and those of us who share the gift of the moon are being drawn together to find out who will ascend to become the new Lady of the Moon—and the Huntress."
Ashk said nothing for a moment. She didn't approve of Dianna or the Huntress's refusal to do anything to protect the witches and the Old Places, but at least she was a familiar adversary. A new Huntress . . . Gwynith was right. For good or ill, this could change things. "Then I wish you well."
Gwynith shook her head. "I'm not the one. I feel the call, so I go to bear witness, and to offer my pledge of loyalty to the one who commands my gift. But I wanted you to know, if I have to choose between the Huntress and the Hunter. . . You need only ask, and I'll do whatever you need."
Knowing Gwynith could be stripped of her power if she defied whoever became the Lady of the Moon, Ashk said, "Let's hope you don't have to make that choice."
Chapter 2
waning moon
"You don't have to do this."
Selena stopped packing the toiletries she'd set out on the dressing table to take with her on the journey, looked into the mirror, and met her younger sister's woodland eyes. "Yes, I do."
"You don't owe them anything."
Selena struggled not to smile. So fierce, so protective. Rhyann had always been that way, willing to hurl insults—or sticks and clods of dirt when words weren't sufficient—in defense of a sister who was different, who wasn't even a real sister by birth.
What she wouldn't tell this sister of the heart was that it was Rhyann's loyalty and love that was as much a spur to making this journey as her own needs.
"No, I don't owe them anything." Selena turned to face the young woman who had been a touchstone during the storms in her life. "I'm not doing this for the Fae, Rhyann. I'm doing it for myself. The moon calls. I can't escape its pull any more than the sea can. There's a power in me waiting to be released, filling me until it's become everything. I could celebrate that rising alone, but I think I need to do this by the Fae's customs. This time I need to stand among them."
"Why?" Rhyann asked, her voice worried and a little plaintive.
Selena sat on the dressing table stool, then waited for Rhyann to settle on the corner of the bed. "Do you believe what the storyteller, Skelly, told us when he came traveling this way? Do you believe there are men called Inquisitors who have made it their work to kill witches and destroy the magic in the Old Places?"
Rhyann nodded reluctantly. "It's hard to deny what he said when the wind tells the same tale. Every puff of air that comes from the east brings sorrow and anger and fear—and a feeling of malevolence that rejoices in the sorrow . . . and especially in the fear."
"Do you believe it was the Fae Lord of Song, the Bard himself, who brought that news and the warnings to Skelly's village?"
Rhyann shrugged. "That makes no difference."
"Yes, it does." Selena leaned forward. "It means there are some Fae who haven't forgotten who and what the House of Gaian is. It means there are some Fae who care about more than themselves. If they have finally been stirred to care, can we sit in our villages here in the Mother's Hills and do nothing?"
"No one has said we'll do nothing!" Rhyann snapped.
Selena stared at her sister, no longer really seeing her. "I've been having dreams since the Solstice. They've been getting stronger and stronger. I'm standing in a meadow I've never seen before, and there, in the center of it, the grass is greener, richer. Somehow, I float above it, and I can make out the shape of a stag. When I float back down, my bare feet touch that spot, and I feel the vibration of thousands of feet marching in step. I breathe in and choke on the stench of blood and death. I walk a little ways away and drink from a pool of clear water—and gag on the thick taste of gore that chokes the stream that feeds the pool. And I hear a heartbeat, slow and big, and I know that the woods has come alive. It hears. It sees. And it's coming toward the Mother's Hills. Then I'm surrounded by moonlight, filled with moonlight, and I know I can't stop whatever is in the woods from coming here, can't change its coming. But I can become strong enough to meet it."
Rhyann tipped her head to one side. "What happens then?"
"What?"
"In the dream. What happens?"
"I—" Selena pressed her lips together. Two shadow hound bitches racing through moon-bathed woods, racing toward a common enemy—a shadowy male figure standing in the center of a high, wide circle of female corpses. "I don't remember." She rubbed her hands over her face. Mother's mercy, she was tired. "I have to go, Rhyann. Succeed or fail, I have to try. This power inside me won't let me be unless I try."
"I'm going with you."
Selena let her hands fall into her lap. "No, you are not. I've already had this discussion with Father. I don't need an escort. It's better if I go alone."
"It's better if we travel together for a while. Father won't worry as much."
A chill ran through her, making her voice sharp. "What are you talking about? You're not going anywhere."
"I've reached my majority," Rhyann replied, equally sharp. "I can do whatever I want without asking anyone's permission." She sighed. "If we're willing to believe that the Bard cares for more than the Fae, isn't it possible that the Lady of Dreams also cares?"
"What do my dreams have to do with your leaving?" Rhyann couldn't leave. She couldn't. Father was simply going to have to do something about it. He'd always been the more successful parent when it came to dealing with Rhyann.
"Not because of your dreams," Rhyann said reluctantly. "Because of mine." After a long hesitation, she continued. "I dream of fire. Angry fire. Dreadful fire. I feel the heat of it, the pain of it. And then music is . . . silenced. Lost. Devoured by flame." She rested her head against the bedpost. "That's why I have to go. I don't think I can stop the fire, but I can prevent the music from being silenced."
Rhyann closed her right hand into a loose fist. When she opened her hand, a small ball of golden light filled her palm. "Dreams and will," she said softly. "Once upon a time, we made a whole world out of nothing more than dreams and will."
"And earth, water, fire, and air," Selena said, just as softly.
"Sunlight and moonbeams as the path between worlds. Do you remember the Crone whom Mother took us to see eight years ago, the summer I turned thirteen and was given my pentagram?"
Selena reached up and brushed her fingers across her own pentagram. She'd also gone through a ceremony that formally acknowledged the start of a girl's journey toward becoming a woman of power, a woman of the House of Gaian. And she remembered, at seventeen, standing with her mother and father while the Crones performed the ritual and presented the girls with the pentagrams that symbolized their bond to the Great Mother, that identified them as witches, as the Mother's Daughters. She couldn't say then, and couldn't say now, if she'd been prouder on the day when she'd received her pentagram or on the day when she'd watched Rhyann receive hers.
"I remember her," Selena said. "I remember what she taught us that summer."
"So do I."
Selena sighed. "Promise me you won't travel east of the Mother's Hills by yourself. Promise me that much."
"Will you promise the same?"
Her temper flashed, and she felt the heat of it under her skin, but she held back the scalding reply she wanted to make. Rhyann's temper could match hers any day, so what was the point of hot tempers now and hotter tears later when it was love holding the torch to the kindling?
"I promise the same."
Rhyann stared at her in surprise. Then she exhaled gustily and stood up. "Let's finish packing your saddlebags so I can take care of mine. We'll need to get an early start tomorrow."
Selena stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing in the night-dark room, her heart pounding too hard, too fa
st.
Just a dream, she thought as she crawled out of bed and stumbled toward the wash basin. Her hands shook as she poured water from the pitcher into the basin. Just a dream, brought on because I know Rhyann isn't going to stay home where it's safe. Or as safe as any place can be these days.
She stripped off her sweat-soaked nightgown, then twisted her hair to hold it back long enough to splash some water on her face. She dunked a washcloth in the basin, rung it out, and rubbed it over her body. The water didn't make her feel as chilly as the sweat drying on her skin, and she imagined washing off the scum of the dream along with the sweat.
Then she focused her thoughts and sent a flicker of the Mother's branch of fire to the candle sitting on the dressing table. The wick lit, and the single flame softened the dark into varying shades of gray.
Moving slowly, she went to the dressing table, sank down on the stool, and stared into the mirror.
The face that stared back at her wasn't human. Had never looked human. Her hair was a pure black, not the dark brown that was common, and her eyes were a gray-green instead of the brown-flecked green that was the dominant color among the people who came from the House of Gaian. Neither of those things would have drawn much attention to her, but the face . . . People looked at her and saw one of the Fae. And she was. May the Mother help her, she was as much Fae as she was witch, the product of an affair between a Fae lady and a feckless young man. The Fae lady hadn't wanted a child with a mixed heritage, and the feckless young man had turned to his married older brother for help with the babe the lady had left with him before disappearing from all of their lives. Just like the young man, who asked his brother's wife to watch the babe one afternoon and never came back. A year later, he sent a brief letter, letting his brother know he was well. He didn't ask about or mention the child, and they never heard from him again.