The Pillars of the World

by Anne Bishop

  “You’re troubled, aren’t you?”

  About many things I cannot speak of. Not to you. “I have some concerns.”

  Ari nodded. “Working in the earth doesn’t provide solutions to problems, but it can ease the heart. The clothes you wore the last time are in the trunk in the dressing room.”

  Dianna smiled. “I’ll find them.”

  “I’ll look after the mare . . .” Ari’s eyes widened when she finally took a good look at the pale mare.

  Dianna tensed. Could Fae magic cloud a witch’s mind?

  “You should meet old Ahern someday,” Ari said. “He has beautiful horses, too.”

  “We’re acquainted,” Dianna said tersely.

  “Oh dear. Did he admire the mare too much or too little?” When Dianna didn’t answer, Ari added, “I just wondered because he has a gray stallion that he might have wanted to mate with your mare.”

  Dianna choked. No. The girl couldn’t know the gray stallion was the Lord of the Horse in his other form. Although . . . There were some unsavory legends that said such matings were how the Fae horses had been created in the first place.

  “I’ll change my clothes,” Dianna said. Leaving Ari to deal with puppy and mare, she hurried to the kitchen door.

  “Go in and be welcome,” Ari called.

  That constant welcoming must be a witch custom, Dianna decided. Did it have to be said every time a person visiting walked out of the cottage and wanted to go back in? It must be a tedious custom if that were true. She’d have to ask. It wouldn’t seem strange to ask since she knew Ari was a witch. And the Fae needed to know as much as they could.

  There was only one trunk in the dressing room, and the tunic and trousers, washed and neatly folded, were lying on top of the other garments. Taking the clothes, Dianna closed the trunk and looked around. One side of the room contained a wooden chest with drawers as well as two staggered rows of pegs that she suspected held all the clothes Ari owned. The other side of the room contained a small desk, a threadbare chair that, nonetheless, looked comfortable, and a table with an oil lamp. It also contained a bookcase with leaded glass doors.

  The bookcase was the finest piece of furniture in the cottage, speaking of a time when Ari’s family must have had more wealth than was apparent now. Peering through the glass, Dianna frowned. The books inside didn’t look impressive. All about the same size and thickness, they were bound in leather and reminded her more of the journals she’d heard gentry women were fond of keeping than tomes that had any value. Opening the bookcase, she took out the last book and opened it to the first page.

  I am Astra, now the Crone of the family. It is with sorrow that I have read the journals of the ones who came before me. We shouldered the burden and then were dismissed from thought—or were treated as paupers who should beg for scraps of affection. We have stayed because we loved the land, and we have stayed out of duty. But duty is a cold bedfellow, and it should no longer be enough to hold us to the land. I don’t think my daughter will listen, but I hope I can find the words to tell Ari—

  “What are you doing?”

  Dianna jumped, surprised by Ari’s sudden appearance as well as the anger in the girl’s voice. “I saw the books and wanted to look—”

  “Those are my family’s private journals. They weren’t written as entertainment for the gentry.”

  “I—”

  Words of apology and explanation died when Ari snatched the journal from Dianna’s hands, carefully replaced it in the bookcase, and closed the leaded glass door. Keeping her back to Dianna, she said, “Even a friend should respect privacy.”

  “I meant no harm, Ari. Truly. I thought they were just books, and I was curious.” Dianna paused, wondering how badly her next question would offend. “Have you read them?”

  Ari shook her head. “Only the crone has the age and the experience to read them, and she is the one who records the next chapter in our history.” She turned to face Dianna. “I am in no hurry to read them. I think they have some awful tales to tell.”

  “What could be so awful?”

  “I don’t know. But the year my grandmother’s body declared her fully a crone, she read the journals over the winter. My mother and I watched her grow old during that time, as if a heavy burden weighed on her heart. She didn’t live to see another winter. So I’m in no hurry to find out what bent a strong woman until she broke.”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked at the tunic and trousers, and felt a pang of regret that she wouldn’t feel the earth beneath her hands. “Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t stay today,” she said, hoping Ari would politely disagree.

  “I think that would be for the best.”

  Dianna walked to the doorway, then looked over her shoulder. “I meant no harm. I hope we can be friends again on another day.” When your anger has faded—or you become lonely enough to overlook what was, after all, a mistake.

  “On another day,” Ari agreed.

  The mare was still saddled. A bucket of water stood nearby, still cool to the touch. Ari must have drawn the water from the well and then realized she had sent a stranger into the room that held what her family prized the most.

  When Dianna mounted, the puppy yapped at her as if he knew he no longer needed to fear what she thought of him.

  I hope I did at least that much right, Dianna thought as she took the long way around to reach the shining road through the Veil. And I hope she will greet me as a friend on another day—not just because we need to understand her kind, but also because I like her.

  “Falco!” Hurrying toward her quarry, Dianna ignored the startled looks of the other men standing with the Lord of the Hawks. She also ignored Falco’s protest when she grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room.

  “Dianna! Is something wrong?”

  “Yes. No. Not exactly.” She’d thought this over on the ride home. Her gift would be enjoyed more if there was a way to feed it, and there was something she could do about that. “I want you to catch a rabbit.”

  Falco started to reply, then changed his mind—twice. “You want me to catch a rabbit,” he finally repeated.

  He was acting like it was an odd request—which it was, but that was beside the point. “Yes.”

  Falco smiled hesitantly, as if he would be willing to share the joke, even one at his expense, if she would just explain it to him.

  “I want you to go down to the human world, shift to your other form, catch a rabbit, and take it to the cottage near the sea.” When he still hesitated, she snapped, “Why is this so difficult? You like catching rabbits. You’ve said so.”

  “That’s the witch’s cottage,” Falco said carefully. “The one the Lightbringer warned me to stay away from.”

  “And now, I, the Huntress, am giving you a new command.”

  “Why?” Falco asked, sounding a little frightened. “If I’m going to have his wrath come down on me, at least tell me why.”

  Dianna winced. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to reveal that much. “I gave her a puppy.”

  “You—” Falco’s mouth fell open. “You gave the witch a shadow hound?”

  “It was one of the mongrels, of no value to us,” Dianna said testily. “Not really a shadow hound at all.”

  “But—”

  Chaining her own agitated feelings, Dianna rested her hands on Falco’s shoulders, as much to give comfort as to keep him from bolting—possibly straight to Lucian.

  “Falco, Aiden feels certain that the witches are involved in some way with what’s happening to Tir Alainn. This one is young, and not against us.” At least, she hoped not. “If we are her friends, she won’t want to do us harm. She might even be able to help us understand what is happening, might even be able to help us stop it. The puppy needs to be fed, so she needs the extra meat.” She studied his eyes and realized Lucian’s temper wasn’t the only reason he was wary of approaching the cottage. “You don’t have to stay. Just leave the rabbit where it can be found easily.”
r />   “All right.” He stepped back, bowed to indicate this was a formal discussion, then quickly walked away.

  “Falco!” Dianna called before he turned a corner. “It might be best not to mention this to anyone for the time being.”

  He gave her a measuring look, the same look she imagined was in a man’s eyes when he was ordered into a battle he knew he couldn’t win.

  “Huntress, there is no one I want to mention this to.”

  Yap. Yap yap yap.

  Ari looked at the cow shed guiltily. She’d never had a puppy before, but it had only taken a few minutes to convince her that puppies and young gardens weren’t a good match. Since she didn’t want to let him out on his own until he got used to his new home, she’d spent a few minutes running around the meadow with him to tire him out, then put him in the cow shed with a pan of fresh water. She’d have to ask Neall if he had any ideas about how to teach a puppy not to squat in the house.

  Yap. Yap yap yap.

  A couple more chores, then she’d let him out and find something for both of them to eat for the midday—

  “AAIIIEEEEE!”

  Ari raced to the cow shed, pulled open the door, and just stood there, not certain if the puppy or the small man clinging to the top rail of the stall would be more offended if she laughed.

  “Don’t just stand there!” the small man shouted. “Get an ax and defend yourself!”

  Oh dear.

  Ari grabbed the puppy and held the indignant bundle of fur close. For something so small and young, he was certainly a fierce little creature.

  “It’s all right,” Ari said.

  Yap yap. Grrr.

  “All right?” the small man shrieked. “I come in here to get a bit of rest and find this hulking great beast ready to tear off my limbs, and you think it’s all right?”

  “Hush!” Ari said to the puppy.

  After one more yap, the puppy hushed. The small man glared.

  “He’s just a puppy,” Ari said soothingly. “You probably startled him as much as he startled you.”

  “Not likely since he’s got a meaner set of teeth.”

  “He’s a puppy.”

  The small man made himself more comfortable on the top rail. “Puppy,” he said ominously. “You mean to say that hulking beast is going to get bigger? How much bigger?”

  “I don’t know. But he’s bound to get a little bigger than he is now.”

  The small man looked at the puppy. His eyes narrowed. “A stray you found in the woods, was he?”

  “No, a . . . friend . . . gave him to me.”

  “Friend.”

  “Yes, she—” Startled by a hawk’s cry, Ari turned toward the door. She heard the small man scramble down the stall rails, felt him brush against her legs as he cautiously peered out of the door.

  “You’ve got company,” he said in an odd voice.

  A hawk stood on the chopping block, a rabbit held securely in one taloned foot. He watched them in a way that made Ari uneasy.

  “Do you suppose some of the gentry are out hunting, and one of their hawks strayed too far into Brightwood?”

  “No jesses,” the small man said. “That one belongs to no one but himself.”

  “Why would a wild hawk bring his kill so close to a cottage?”

  “That’s something you’ll have to ask him.” The small man paused. “Best to leave the hulking wee beast here. No use having him killed before you have a chance to be annoyed with him.”

  “But . . .” Ari looked at the hawk. “Surely it would just fly away if the puppy ran after it.”

  “If it was only a hawk, it might do just that.”

  A chill ran through her. It deepened when she saw the small man pull a sling and a couple of stones from his pockets. The Small Folk were as skilled at hunting with slings as they were with bows.

  “You’d best go out and see what the Fae Lord wants. The sooner his business here is finished, the sooner he’ll be gone.”

  “Fae? If he’s . . . If he knows . . . Surely he can’t mean me harm. I mean, the Fae Lord I’ve met was friendly.” More than friendly. Just remembering Lucian’s kisses made her knees weak. Or, perhaps, it was remembering his anger the last time she saw him that was producing that effect.

  “Oh, they’re always friendly when they get want they want. It’s when they don’t that you have to take care. The Fair Folk have a streak of meanness in them. They have that in common with humans.” His smile was grim and malicious. “Go on out now. I’ll see you come to no harm.”

  Setting the puppy down and hoping he would understand somehow what stay meant, she wiped her suddenly sweaty hands on her tunic and walked slowly toward the chopping block.

  “Blessings of the day to you, brother hawk.”

  The hawk stared at her, looked down at the rabbit, then back at her.

  “That’s a fine rabbit you have.”

  The hawk ruffled its feathers. Waited.

  What was it waiting for? Ari wondered. If this was a Fae Lord, what did he expect of her? He couldn’t . . . Oh, Mother’s mercy, he couldn’t think she would open her arms to any of them simply because Lucian had been her lover. Could he?

  After a long pause, when neither of them moved, the hawk released the rabbit. Waited.

  “You brought the rabbit for me?” Ari asked. Why would he do that? Not that the meat wouldn’t be welcome, especially with the pup.

  Moving slowly, stretching her arm as far as she could to keep her face away from the beak and talons, Ari’s hand gripped the rabbit. She stepped back, still holding the rabbit out, ready to drop it if the hawk seemed angry.

  It just watched her.

  Finally, when it lifted its wings, Ari said, “You did the work, so you should have part of the bounty. Wait a moment, if you please.”

  Hurrying into the kitchen, she pulled the largest knife she owned from the wood block, put the rabbit in the kitchen basin, and cut off a hind leg. Grabbing a towel to hold under the leg and catch the blood, she went back out and set the leg on the chopping block.

  She almost thought she saw surprise in the hawk’s eyes.

  “Thank you for the rabbit.”

  Another pause. Then the hawk sank its talons into the rabbit leg and flew off.

  Ari sank to the ground, her legs suddenly feeling too watery to hold her up.

  The puppy barreled out of the cow shed, yapping frantically.

  She looked at the small man walking toward her and wondered what magic he had used to keep the pup quiet and contained.

  “You did well, Mistress Ari,” the small man said.

  “It could have been just a hawk.”

  “And I could be a giant.” His expression was grim. “This friend who gave you the pup. What’s she look like?”

  “She’s fair-haired, has light brown eyes, and,” Ari added, attempting to smile, “she’s fairly useless in the garden. I thought even gentry ladies knew plants wouldn’t bloom in a handful of days. She does have some fine horses, though. Especially the gray mare she was riding this morning.”

  “She rides a pale mare.”

  Puzzled at the odd phrasing, Ari said, “Yes. At least she did today. Do you know her?”

  “I’ve seen her.” He didn’t seem pleased about that.

  As if it knew who they were talking about, the puppy whined and climbed into Ari’s lap.

  “I’d best be about my business,” the small man said. “Take care, Mistress Ari.”

  Ari watched him walk across the meadow. Despite watching, she lost sight of him long before he reached the woods. But that was the way with the Small Folk. They were never seen unless they chose to be seen.

  Had he been right about the hawk? Had it been a Fae Lord? Why would any Fae be showing themselves now? They’d never done so before. At least not that she could recall. Was it just curiosity because Lucian had been with her, and his presence here had been taken by some of the others as tacit permission to make her aware of them? Or was it something more? An
d if it was more, what did they suddenly want from her?

  And what hadn’t the small man said about the pup and Dianna?

  Sighing, Ari rubbed her nose against the puppy’s head. “Come on. There’s a rabbit waiting for us. A stew for me and meat for you. And while the stew is cooking, we have an important task—finding the right name for you.”

  Neall leaned over, cupped his hands under the spill of water, and drank. The last handful he splashed over his face.

  They could use a soft, soaking rain. The streams and creeks were already running a bit low, and crops weren’t growing as well as they should. To make things worse, the tenant farmers had chosen yesterday, when he’d been with Ari, to bring their complaints and concerns to Baron Felston’s bailiff. The bailiff, in turn, had brought them to the baron’s attention. And Felston had blamed Neall’s “sloth” for fewer acres being planted and the lack of rain to help what was planted grow.

  How many times had he told Baron Felston that people would not starve through the winter in order to plant full acres in the spring when the reward for the hunger and hard work was to have more of it taken in tithes. Being blamed, again, for the problems caused by Felston’s greed was the last wound in a lifetime of such wounds. Today, while riding to all the tenant farms to verify the complaints—as if he needed to do again what he’d been doing since the spring—he was trying to decide if he was going to head west to his mother’s land and come back later for Ari, or if he was going to try to find a place nearby where he could stay and work while she considered whether she was going with him or staying at Brightwood.

  He filled his canteen and stepped away from the creek. “Come on,” he told Darcy. “Let’s get this finished.”

  A round stone hit his boot hard enough to sting.

  He scanned the strip of woods that separated a couple of fields. Saw nothing.

  “You would be wise to look to Brightwood, young Lord,” said a gruff voice.

  Nothing more. There was no use searching. There would be nothing to see, no one to find.

  Neall threw himself into the saddle. The Small Folk didn’t give idle warnings, which meant something had happened that they wanted him to know about.