by Anne Bishop
Chapter 50
waning moon
Breanna closed her eyes as the ponycart approached the circle of moonlight guarding Nuala's grave. She couldn't bear looking at the rose bushes—and wondered if she ever would be able to again. Best to close her eyes before the grief numbed her again. Best not to wonder if the light in the circle was really waning or if it was this soft light before dawn that made the circle look dimmer. Best not to think about what would happen to Nuala's spirit once the light waned since they could no longer spare men to guard the grave. Best not to think at all.
"I'm glad to have your company," Elinore said as she guided the pony over the stone bridge and headed for the baron's house. "And a chaperone, since I'm being escorted by four handsome men."
Breanna pictured one of the Fae huntsmen riding with them offering Elinore a hesitant smile, uncertain if flirting with Baron Liam's mother would be considered acceptable in the human world. Strange how the Fae had become more wary of dealing with humans now that they'd been forced to become more aware of them.
"Are you sure you won't come with me to the village?" Elinore asked. "I'm told the Widow Kendall wraps her hair around strips of rags at night to produce those curls other women envy. The result is certainly beautiful, but I imagine the sight of her first thing in the morning is something that takes getting used to. Since I'll be knocking on her door at an indecent hour, we might find out for ourselves."
Breanna opened her eyes and focused on the pony's ears. A safe thing to look at. "Thank you, but I'll just visit with Gwenn and Lyrra for a bit. I'm sure they'll be up by now."
"Yes, I'm sure they will be."
She was grateful Elinore didn't continue trying to make conversation. She didn't want to talk to anyone. Not really. She just needed to get away from her home, from the rooms so choked with memories she couldn't seem to breathe. She just wanted to sit with two women who weren't kin and weren't bent under the same weight of grief.
But you don't know what happened yesterday. You don't know if they're breaking under their own grief.
When Elinore pulled up in front of Liam's house, Breanna got down from the ponycart. Elinore smiled at her, but the smile couldn't win over the worry in the older woman's eyes.
"If you want to go back before I return, one of the men will escort you," Elinore said.
Breanna just nodded and walked to the front door. She turned and raised a hand in farewell as Elinore and two of the Fae escorts headed for the village. Watched the two other escorts lead their horses to the stable, where they would wait for her. Tried not to scan the fences and roofs and trees for some sign of—
She hadn't thought of him. Wouldn't allow herself to think of him. He hadn't come back to the Old Place. There were many who hadn't come back to the Old Place. She hadn't been able to help Fiona, Glynis, and the other women when the wounded arrived yesterday, but she'd heard the women talking. Heard the break in Fiona's voice when she asked if anyone had seen Rory.
How long would it take before she didn't look toward the clothes lines to see if the hawk was perched on one of the posts, keeping watch? Months? Years?
She wouldn't think of him. Or she would pretend he had gone away. Back to Tir Alainn. Back to his home Clan. Had just gone away without saying good-bye. Which, in fact, was exactly what he might have done.
As she turned back toward the door, it opened. Sloane stepped aside to let her enter.
"Good morning, Lady Breanna," Sloane said.
"Blessings of the day, Sloane. Is anyone up yet?"
"The Hunter, the Huntress, and Baron Liam rode out toward the village at first light. The Ladies Rhyann and Gwynith went with them, along with Lord Varden. Ladies Gwenn and Lyrra left for Squire Thurston's house a few minutes ago. The Bard sent a messenger to let them know Lord Donovan was badly wounded but had survived the night and was healing well."
"So Aiden and Donovan survived," Breanna murmured. "That's good."
Sloane smiled. "And Lord Falco. He made it back to the squire's house before the fog made travel imprudent."
She was suddenly lightheaded, floating. A warm hand closed on her arm, grounding her.
"Lady Breanna?" Sloane said. "Are you well? Have you eaten yet?"
"I. . . don't remember."
"Why don't you go sit in Lady Elinore's morning room? I'll have some tea and toast brought in for you."
"Thank you, Sloane. That's very kind of—"
A scream sliced through the house. A maid rushed through the servant's door at the back of the hall. She tripped over her skirt and went sprawling across the floor, still scrabbling wildly to reach the front door.
Sloane hauled her up by one arm and said sternly, "What's the matter with you, girl? There's wounded in the house. Do you want to give everyone a fright?"
"There's something in the kitchen," the maid gasped. "Something terrible."
Breanna moved toward the servant's door. This was her brother's home. These servants were her brother's people. Since he wasn't here to deal with this, she would. Somehow, she would find the strength to deal with this.
When she walked into the kitchen, she saw the cook and her helpers pressed against one side of the room, staring with terrified eyes at the black-haired woman bent over one end of the work table. Her black overdress and trousers were dirty and torn, and her breathing was as rough and ragged as her clothes.
"What do you want?" Breanna asked.
The woman spun around, snarling.
Not a woman, Breanna thought as her blood chilled. No longer a woman. Leathery skin. Sharp teeth. Talons at the ends of its fingers. But the dark eyes that stared at her. . . The woman was still in there, still aware, still fighting against what she was becoming.
The creature raised one hand. "Hot blood. Strong spirit." She shook her head fiercely, then turned away.
"What do you want?" Breanna asked.
"Food. Drink. Grain for the horse."
Mother's mercy. "Sloane, ask one of the footmen to fetch a small sack of feed from the stables."
"At once, Lady Breanna."
The creature twisted around, stared at her again.
A chilling calm settled over Breanna. "Cook, bring out a wheel of cheese—and one of the carry baskets Elinore uses." She took a step toward the table. The creature moved around to the other side. Moved away from her. Which gave her enough courage to keep moving forward. There was bread on the table, along with a cold beef roast and some vegetables. The cook had started to make a beef broth for the wounded and a heartier soup for anyone who could take more solid nourishment.
"Bring me some butter and a jar of preserves." She sliced bread, carved the meat. The cook crept to the table, handing her things as she asked for them. By the time Sloane returned with the sack of grain, she had built two generous beef sandwiches as well as a butter and preserve sandwich, cut a thick chunk of cheese from the wheel, wrapped it all in the white napkins that were used at the servants' table, and placed it in the basket.
"Do we have any canteens?" she asked Sloane.
"There are a few that are not in use," he replied.
"Fill one with water, the other with ale." Breanna looked at the creature who had watched her in silence. "Is ale acceptable?"
The creature hesitated, then nodded.
While Sloane filled the canteens, Breanna repacked the basket to fit the bag of feed in one end. No point having those talons ripping through the cloth and having the feed spill out. If the woman inside still cared enough about her horse to ask for feed, it would hurt her to have nothing to offer because of what her body had become.
When the canteens were placed on the table, Breanna stepped back. "If there's something else you want, take what you can gather."
The creature made a hideous sound that Breanna realized was meant as laughter. Cruelty filled those dark eyes for a moment before it was battled back by a strong will. "I can gather armies." She reached for the basket, then hesitated. "Breanna."
Breanna swallow
ed hard and wished Sloane had never spoken her name.
"The witches in the Old Place. In the circles of light."
Her heart pounded, throbbed in her temples. "My m-mother and grandmother."
"They have gone to the Summerland."
Tears pricked her eyes. Keely's and Nuala's spirits were out of reach now. Safe.
Grabbing the basket and canteens, the creature hurried toward the open kitchen door. Then stopped. "Have you seen the Hunter?"
"I've seen the Hunter."
"Tell her . . . Warn her that the Gatherer has come."
Breanna saw the dark horse waiting a few steps beyond the open door, saw the creature mount and ride away . . .
The Gatherer has come.
. . . felt the floor disappear . . .
. . . and heard someone saying, "Bless the Mother, she's all right. She just fainted, is all."
Fainted? How embarrassing.
"Nothing to be embarrassed about, Lady Breanna. Never saw anyone with so much foolish courage."
She didn't remember speaking, but she must have since Liam's housekeeper was answering her.
Her eyes popped open. They'd carried her to Elinore's morning room. A smell of burnt feathers stung the air. She'd never understood why gentry households thought burning feathers was so useful for bringing someone out of a faint, but maybe she could add a few coins to the house funds by selling Falco's molted feathers to gentry ladies. Would he be offended by the suggestion or find it amusing? She must remember to ask him, must remember . . .
The Gatherer has come.
She struggled to sit up. "Where's Sloane?"
"Here, Lady Breanna."
She focused on him. The foolish courage the housekeeper had praised was deserting her, and she had to tell him before her body began shaking so badly she wouldn't be coherent. "Send the Fae who are waiting for me. They have to find Ashk and Selena and bring them back here now."
"Yes, Lady."
The housekeeper urged her to lie down again, tucked a blanket around her. Fear was a runaway horse inside her, and she couldn't stop shaking. Mother's mercy, what were they supposed to do? What could Ashk or Selena or any of them do? The Gatherer has come.
Ashk, Selena, and Liam stood on the low rise overlooking the field. The sun was barely on the horizon, but most of the fog was already gone, giving her a clear view of the field.
"The bodies are gone," Ashk said. They'd had to leave the dead on the field last night. Finding the wounded and getting them to a house where they could be tended had taken all their effort.
"We gave them back to the Mother last night," Rhyann said.
Ashk closed her eyes and wished a silent farewell to the men who hadn't returned from that field. Then she pushed aside any thoughts about those who were gone. She had to do her best for the living—and for the land.
"Those stones," Selena said softly, dreamily.
Ashk looked at the tumble of huge stones that dominated the field. "A den for their longbowmen."
"A den," Selena said in that same soft, dreamy voice. "Yes, a den for the Black Coats."
"Selena?" Worry sharpened Ashk's voice. Neither of them had gotten much sleep, and she didn't like the unfocused look in Selena's eyes.
"Earth. Air. Water. Fire. Light of the sun. Light of the moon. Dreams and will. That's what it takes."
Mother's tits! What is the woman talking about? But the way Rhyann's expression sharpened told Ashk that, while the words meant nothing to her, they were important.
"Yes," Rhyann said after studying the stones. "But how to drive the Black Coats to that spot? Fighting isn't enough. We need something they'll run from without thinking, something they'll fear in their hearts and react to."
That she could answer. "The Wild Hunt."
Selena and Rhyann looked at her thoughtfully. Varden nodded.
"The Wild Hunt?" Liam asked, sounding skeptical.
"It would be better if we had packs of shadows hounds—"
"We have them," Gwynith said, hurrying back to them. "I was just talking to one of the Fae Lords. He said three Ladies of the Moon arrived at the camps just before the fog closed in last night. They came with their huntsmen—and their packs of shadow hounds."
"If you want something humans will fear, Huntress, there's your answer," Ashk said.
Selena nodded. "Two arrows driving the Black Coats to those stones. One coming from the road, the other from this end of the rise. The human companies will take the middle of the field, coming down from the rise."
"And the House of Gaian?" Liam asked.
"We have a different task." Selena looked at Rhyann. "I'll leave it to you to gather the Sons and Daughters."
Rhyann nodded. "And I'll gather what we'll need."
"Need for what?" Ashk asked.
Selena smiled coldly as she stared at the stones. "For justice . . . and for vengeance. I have no interest in the men who were commanded to fight, but the Black Coats, the barons, and the guard captains . . . I want them driven into those stones."
Liam raked a hand through his hair. "The barons—"
Selena turned on him. "Show me a baron who did not order the death of a witch, and he is yours to deal with as you choose. But the others come to me."
Liam stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. "What will you do with them?"
Selena's smiled turn colder. "We'll give them what they want."
"Let's move," Ashk said. "The sun's coming up, and the Black Coats will be forming their companies. We have to do the same."
As she turned to go down the rise, she saw a huntsman galloping toward her.
"Hunter!" he yelled. "Hunter!"
"What is it?" Ashk demanded. "What's wrong?"
"You have to come to the baron's house. Lady Breanna says she has to speak with you right away."
Breanna was at Liam's house? She was relieved to hear Breanna was no longer lost in that horrible frozen retreat she'd sunk into yesterday, but. . . "Tell Breanna I'll be there as soon as I can. We've a battle coming in a few hours and—"
"Hunter, you have to come now. And the Huntress, too."
"Go on," Liam said. "I'll stay here and start bringing our people into position."
Knowing what it must have cost him to stay, Ashk nodded. "We'll be back as soon as we can." She touched his arm lightly. "She's strong, Liam. The grief will ease, and she'll heal."
"That she wants to talk to anyone is a relief." He tried to smile.
Ashk and Selena hurried down the rise to where their horses waited and galloped away, leaving the Fae Lord who had brought the message trailing behind them.
When they reached Liam's house, it was clear by the way Sloane hovered at the front door, watching for them, that something had happened.
As they reached the door, someone called out, "Hunter!"
A young Fae Lord trotted over from the stables and handed her a wax-sealed piece of paper. "I was told to hand this to the Bard, or to you, Hunter, if the Bard wasn't here."
Ashk nodded, tucked the paper under her belt, and went inside.
They found Breanna in the morning room, wrapped in blankets, both hands around a large glass of whiskey.
Ashk went down on one knee in front of her. Selena sat beside her, putting an arm around Breanna's shoulders.
"Breanna?" Ashk touched her knee and realized Breanna was trembling. The woman was strong, but how many blows could she take before she broke?
"I have to tell you . . . warn you . . ."
"Tell me what?"
"The Gatherer has come." Breanna began shaking so hard, Selena had to help her raise the glass of whiskey so that she could drink.
Relief flooded through Ashk. "Morag has come? She's here?"
Breanna shook her head. "We gave It food . . . and grain for the horse. It went away."
It? "Breanna—"
"She's changed!" Breanna's voice rose, spiked with fear. "She's been changed!"
Relief turned into shards of ice that sliced Ash
k's heart. "What do you mean, she's been changed?"
Tears rolled down Breanna's face. "The Gatherer has been changed into a nighthunter."
Ashk walked out of the house, bolted for trees on one side of the drive. She collapsed against one, fighting the sick churning in her belly.
Morag changed into a nighthunter? The Gatherer of Souls changed into a creature that feasted on—
"Morag," she whispered. "Mother's mercy, Morag."
"What should we do, Hunter?" Selena asked softly.
She wasn't surprised that Selena had followed her out of the house—both because the Huntress cared about people and because she would want answers.
Ashk straightened up, feeling painfully old, desperately weary. "We do what must be done, Huntress. We form the Wild Hunt. We bring up the companies of humans. We fight the battle that must be fought today."
"What do we do about the Gatherer?"
"Leave it alone, Selena."
Selena studied her for a moment, then nodded. "You know her best." She took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh. "What was the message?"
She'd forgotten about the message. She pulled it out of her belt, broke the seal, and read. "The Black Coats army in the south has been defeated. And the . . . the warships that were sent to attack the west were also defeated."
"Then this is it. It comes down to us and the Witch's Hammer. It comes down to what happens on that field today. If we win, it's over."
Ashk refolded the paper and tucked it into her belt. Not quite, she thought grimly. Not quite.
Chapter 51
waning moon
Adolfo watched swollen, putrid flesh push through the rotted skin on the prisoner's chest—and smiled. A bite to the shoulder, something a healer would think of as a simple wound. But whatever was in a nighthunter's bite that tainted a wound had spread so swiftly, the black rot had already crept down the prisoner's arm, crept toward his heart, crept up his neck.
All it had taken was one bite from him. One. The nighthunters he'd made from small animals would kill a man if there were enough of them, but a man could live after being bitten in a limb—if he was willing to sacrifice the limb. But with his bite, the rot spread too fast. A simple bite became a mortal wound.