by Anne Bishop
They didn't talk after that, simply rode until the trail came to one of the main roads. It was tempting to turn south toward friends and family. She hadn't been gone that long, but she yearned to be a daughter again, just for a day, to regain the sense of who she was and where she came from before resuming the challenge of shaking the Fae out of their complacent way of life.
Instead, she turned north. The Crones had summoned her.
An hour later, she and her companions cantered down the lane that led to the sprawl of buildings and gardens where she and Rhyann had spent a summer in order to learn from the Crones, the Grandmothers of the House of Gaian.
One of them was waiting for her at the edge of the open courtyard, resting lightly on the cane Selena suspected was still carried so that it would be easily at hand if a difficult student needed a whack on the rump to understand a point that was being made.
"Blessings of the day to you, Grandmother," Selena said.
"Blessings of the day, Granddaughter," the Crone replied. "You've brought guests."
"I have."
The Crone studied the Fae. Then she lifted her cane and pointed to the two young men who had hurried toward them from the stableyard. "The boys will see to the horses and have your saddlebags brought up to your rooms. Come in and be welcome."
Working to hide her relief—she hadn't been sure the Crones would welcome the Fae here—Selena dismounted. Mistrunner snorted, sat back on his heels in a way that indicated he was going to be stubborn, and laid his ears back in warning.
"Ah, now," one of the grooms said, holding out a hand. "We've got good grain and cool water, and a soft rain came by the other day to sweeten the grass. But if you'd rather stand here wearing a saddle in the hot sun . . ."
Selena wasn't sure how much Mistrunner understood beyond grain, water, grass, and hot, but apparently those words were enough. His ears pricked, and the next snort sounded thoughtful.
"Go on, then," she said, stepping forward to hand the reins to the groom. "You deserve a bit of pampering. And I'll be with the Grandmothers, so I'll be perfectly fine." Unless one of them decides I deserve a whack on the rump. Now that would certainly convince the Fae I'm a power to be reckoned with, wouldn't it?
She felt a little stab of envy that the Fae's horses didn't show any obstinance about being led away. She wondered, again, why she'd ended up with a horse who thought for himself too much of the time.
As the Crone led them to a shady part of the courtyard, Selena noticed the way Gwynith and the escorts were looking around, wide-eyed.
"It looks like a Clan house," Gwynith said quietly.
"Or perhaps Clans houses look like this," the Crone said, settling herself on a cushioned bench.
No cushions for the guests, Selena noted as she sat on the hard wooden bench to the left of the Crone's bench. Never any cushions for the students. Some things hadn't changed. Gwynith sat down beside her. The escorts chose to stand. Selena wished she could do that without giving offense. The bench felt doubly hard after days in the saddle.
"So, Granddaughter, you have brought one of the wiccanfae to visit us."
"I have." Selena slanted a look at Gwynith.
"I-I am pleased to meet you," Gwynith stammered.
The Crone smiled. "No, you're not. But if you do no harm, you'll come to no harm." She looked at Selena, her woodland eyes taking measure with some invisible yardstick before she nodded, apparently satisfied. "And you, Granddaughter. You've become the Lady of the Moon. The Huntress and protectress."
"I have," Selena replied carefully.
Silence. Then, softly, "Was there no joy in it for you?"
Selena closed her eyes. "The dance was glorious—and there was joy in it."
"There was no joy in the storm you shaped and sent into the world."
"No." She swallowed hard. "That was fury . . . and hurt."
"Who hurt you?"
Was there something under the mildly spoken question? Oh, yes. In this place, she needed to choose her words with care.
She opened her eyes, letting the Crone see beyond the words. "The former Lady of the Moon took offense at being replaced by a witch. I lost my temper."
"She challenged you after you ascended," Gwynith said fiercely. "She had no right to do that. And you still gave her a chance to yield. If she hadn't pulled the knife on you, you wouldn't have hurt her."
Selena looked down and watched her hands curl into fists. "There was too much at stake and too much power in that clearing. Anger gave that power form."
"And mercy tempered that anger," the Crone said quietly. "You did what you could to ease the nature of that storm."
"If Rhyann hadn't been in the Old Place to help me, it could have harmed a great many people."
"Yes, it could have. But it didn't. There will be other storms, Selena. The path you have chosen—or that has chosen you—will not be an easy one. The Huntress does not have the luxury of doing no harm. She is justice . . . and she is vengeance. Perhaps the Fae needed to be reminded of that as well as being reminded of their place in the world."
Gwynith stiffened. "We know our place."
"Do you?" the Crone asked.
"I've given the Fae a choice," Selena said. "They can be a part of the world or they can remain apart from the world. If they choose to remain apart, I said I would close the shining roads in a way that wouldn't destroy Tir Alainn but would prevent the Fae from coming down to Sylvalan."
"You would do that?"
Selena looked at the woman who had first taught her that she was a Lady of the Moon, had helped her understand the Fae half of her heritage. "Yes, I would."
The Crone studied her. "What does the Hunter say about this?"
Selena smiled grimly. "I don't know. The Hunter is heading east to a place called Willowsbrook. I expect, when we meet there, I'll find out."
"What about you?" Gwynith asked, the words bursting out of her. "Why hasn't the House of Gaian done anything to help the witches and save the Old Places?"
"The wiccanfae did not ask for our help," the Crone replied mildly. She used her cane to trace the shapes of the courtyard's stone floor. "Do you understand who and what the House of Gaian is? Do you understand what we are in the world—and what we can do to the world? We are the Mother's Sons and Daughters. We are the vessels for Her joy and celebration—and we are the vessels for Her terrible justice. We are the rich fields that feed Her children, and we are the storms that can destroy those fields, leaving starvation and death in our wake. Are you sure you want us to walk in the world again?"
Gwynith shivered. The escorts shifted their feet uneasily.
"I'm sure," Selena said. "The Black Coats will never destroy the magic in the world as long as the House of Gaian stands in the Mother's Hills. Sooner or later, they will come here, and sooner or later, we will fight."
"Yes, we will," the Crone agreed.
"Then let it be sooner. Let the power of what we are sing in the world again before the Inquisitors leave villages in ruins and—" She swallowed hard against a sudden wave of sickness. "And children are slaughtered."
Silence shrouded the courtyard until the Crone said, "As you will, Huntress, so mote it be."
Selena pressed her lips together and nodded, not daring to speak yet.
The Crone leaned over and laid one hand on top of Selena's clenched ones. "You can only do what you can, Granddaughter. It is the Hunter who will make the final choice for the Fae. You understand that?"
Selena nodded again.
Gwynith frowned. "The Lightbringer and the Huntress lead the Fae. What does the Hunter have to decide?"
The Crone stood up. "The Lightbringer and the Huntress may lead the Fae, but it is the Hunter who rules the Fae. That was true in the beginning, and it is true now."
Gwynith shifted on the bench. "I don't understand."
"Don't you? Then the Fae have stayed away too long and forgotten too much. Come. First we will enjoy the midday meal and take a walk in the gardens. And
then I will tell you a story."
Chapter 20
waxing moon
"I can't travel any more today," Dianna said, slumping in the saddle as if exhausted. She peeked through her lashes at Connor, her Clan's Lord of the Deer and her senior escort on this twice-cursed journey, and felt uneasy when his expression became grimmer, harder. It was bad enough that she'd lost her place as the Lady of the Moon to that half-breed bitch and was savagely injured in the bargain, but her escorts' lack of sympathy on the way back to Brightwood hurt as much as her physical pain.
Connor waved on the other three escorts, who rode a few more lengths before reining in. Then he looked her over, his grim expression never changing. "There's still plenty of day left to travel, and the bridge to the next Clan's territory is a short one. We can stop there until morning."
True enough, but going on to the next Clan meant they were a hard day's ride from Brightwood—and she didn't want to get back to Brightwood until she figured out how to get someone else to act as the anchor for the Old Place's magic. "I tell you I can't travel any more today. I need rest if my arm is ever going to heal."
"You traveled well enough while we were still in the midlands," Connor said suspiciously. "You had no complaints about a full day's travel then. You didn't start whining about your arm until we reached the southern Clans and were closer to home."
"I endured the pain because I felt it was important to leave the midlands," Dianna replied coldly, pride making her sit up straight in the saddle. "It would have been awkward if she showed up at a Clan house where I was staying. No Clan is going to accept her as the Lady of the Moon while I'm present."
Connor let out a short, harsh laugh. "It's time you looked at the world as it is and not how you want it to be. No Fae is going to defy the new Huntress. No one, Dianna, is going to want to face her wrath because of some foolish show of defiance."
"She's a half-breed witch who shouldn't have been there in the first place," Dianna snapped.
"Since she was drawn to the place where the Ladies of the Moon were gathered, I'd say she was meant to be there."
"Meant? Meant?" Dianna's voice rose to a shriek. "She knows nothing about the Fae."
"That is true, but she understands more about the world than you ever did. And I'm thinking that maybe that's why she ascended. Maybe we need someone who can remind us of our place in the world."
"We. Are. The. Fae. That is our place in the world!" Why couldn't he see that? How could he have forgotten that?
Connor looked at her with open dislike. "You and Lucian both did well enough as leaders when you only had to deal with the Fae, but you played with the Brightwood witch as if her life were a casual amusement, and what came of that? The Blacks Coats. That's what came of it. And the only one who tried to help her was the Lord of the Horse."
"And it killed him."
"It killed him because he was the only one in the fight."
Dianna stared at him. "You're blaming Lucian . . . and me . . . for that?"
Connor looked away. Stared hard at the Clan house in the distance. Finally, reluctantly, "No, I'm not blaming you and Lucian for that. We all share the blame, and the shame, of having lost the witch. If we'd made the effort to know her before last summer, maybe it would have made a difference. And I'm thinking that if we'd listened to the Bard and the Gatherer a year ago, some of the Clans that have disappeared since spring would still be with us, would still be able to do something to change things."
"You think too much," Dianna said, but a ball of sickness started forming in her belly.
"A man has plenty of time to think on long winter nights."
She shuddered. She was not going to spend a winter in the cottage at Brightwood. She wasn't.
Connor continued to stare at the Clan house. "But you wouldn't know about that. You wouldn't know about the struggle to build a mean little place to live that doesn't quite keep out the cold sea winds. You wouldn't know about not having quite enough to eat or making do with blankets that are fine in Tir Alainn but aren't warm enough in the human world. No, you stayed away and let Lyrra learn those things."
"I was the Lady of the Moon and had duties to all the Fae. It was Lyrra's selfishness—"
"Lyrra wasn't from our Clan. She didn't have to stay as long as she did. She didn't have to stay at all. And as the Muse, she had duties to all the Fae, too. If she'd left us during the winter, we wouldn't have blamed her. We didn't blame her when she did leave this spring. At least, none of us at Brightwood. But I've been hearing plenty on this journey, Dianna. Hearing about how you twisted the way of things—"
"I twisted nothing!"
"—to put Lyrra in the wrong for leaving, hearing how the Clans wouldn't give her or the Bard any help because the only reason she left was to keep Aiden's bed warm so he wouldn't look elsewhere for company. Selfish? Aye, there's been selfishness in all of this, but it hasn't been Aiden's or Lyrra's doing."
Dianna's heart pounded, causing her wounded arm to throb. "You wouldn't be saying any of this if that bitch hadn't tricked the power into believing she could be the Lady of the Moon!"
Connor finally looked at her. "Tricked, is it?"
"I wouldn't have lost the challenge if my strength hadn't been drained by anchoring the magic at Brightwood!" She had to believe that. Needed to believe that.
He shook his head, looking weary and sad. "I was your escort when you ascended to become the Lady of the Moon. Since it wasn't that many years ago, I remember it well. So I'm telling you, Dianna—you never were what she is. You don't know what she knows. Mother's tits, woman! She danced with the moon! She created a bridge out of moonlight. What she did in that clearing before . . . before things went sour . . . was something the Bard should have witnessed and set to music."
Dianna felt her lips quiver, felt the sting of tears. "You like her better than me."
"I think she's the Huntress we need in the days ahead."
Anger, hot and bitter, welled up inside her. "If that's what you think, then get her to find an anchor for Brightwood because I am not going back to a place that won't appreciate the sacrifice I made by using my power that way."
A long pause. Then Connor said quietly, "You weren't going back anyway, were you? That's what all the delays and complaints have been about since we reached the southern Clans. You've been trying to find someone who would yield to your pleas to help you anchor the magic while your arm healed. But if someone else agreed to help, you would have stayed in Tir Alainn to recover and never set foot in Brightwood, expecting us to make that person enough of a captive that she wouldn't be able to leave. That would have suited you quite well, wouldn't it have, Dianna?"
Yes, that would have suited her. Was there anyone in the Clan who wouldn't be trying to do the same thing if they were in her place?
"So I'll tell you this now," Connor continued quietly. "We've been talking to the squire, since he's the leader of the humans left around Ridgeley. They're mostly farmers and a few craftsmen. They've been afraid to rebuild the village. Don't really want to rebuild on the same ground. They say some of them feel the presence of too many ghosts there. But they're also afraid to buy supplies from the nearby villages to the east, especially since there're rumors that things are turning bad at Seahaven. They don't want the Black Coats looking at Ridgeley again."
It was hard to swallow, hard to breathe. "What does that have to do with the Fae?"
"We've worked out a barter. We'll act as traders to get the supplies from villages in this part of the south and sell them to the humans in exchange for supplying some of the food and grains we need, as well as helping us build sturdier cottages to live in."
"You're going to sweat and toil like humans? How will you face the other Fae?"
"I'm thinking they're going to learn a bit about sweat and toil themselves. And if the Black Coats come in force, they'll learn about bleeding and dying as well." He let out a gusty sigh. "So here's your choice. We're going on to the next Clan territory. We wan
t to get home. You can come back with us and be the anchor we need to hold the Old Place's magic—or you can stay here in Tir Alainn."
A giddy excitement filled her. He wasn't being unreasonable after all. "I can stay?"
Connor nodded. "But if you stay, you will no longer be welcome in the Clan's piece of the Fair Land."
The excitement turned dark and brittle. "What do you mean I won't be welcome? That's my Clan. They won't shun me."
"Oh, we won't shun you. We'll throw you over the back of a horse and take you back over a bridge to another Clan's territory. We'll bear them no hard feelings if they welcome you, but we'll not have you with us. It's your choice, Dianna. What will it be?"
"I have to decide now?"
"Now."
"I don't believe it. You may think you can make ultimatums, but I'm sure the Clan elders have something to say about it!"
There was pity in the way he looked at her, as if he suddenly remembered the days when they'd all been so proud of her. "That is what the elders say about it."
Tears filled her eyes. Her Clan was betraying her, abandoning her. All because that bitch had stolen her place as the Lady of the Moon. They wouldn't have done this if she were still the female leader of the Fae. "But I suppose Lucian will still receive a warm welcome," she said bitterly. He'd backed down. That's what was being whispered in the Clans. Instead of insisting that Selena yield to a Lady who was really Fae, when the Huntress had done a bit of her thunder-rumble witch magic, he'd backed down. Her brother. Her twin. Even he had abandoned her.
"The Clan will still welcome Lucian," Connor said quietly. "But I'm thinking that he won't find many who will listen to the manure he spews about witches being servants and the Fae being above the concerns of the world. And I'm thinking that, now that the minstrels and bards are looking hard for Aiden, when he shows up again, we're all going to be listening a lot more carefully to what the Bard has to say." He paused. "What will it be, Dianna?"
"I can't ride any more today," she said, her voice breaking.