The Pillars of the World

by Anne Bishop

  Ari folded some small towels into pads so they could hold the soup bowls without burning their hands. She brought out some cheese and lightly buttered bread and set the plate between them on the bench.

  They ate in silence while they watched the horses graze.

  Contentment seeped into Morag. The horses were relaxed, even the dark horse and the sun stallion. That was a good sign that there was nothing here that would harm them. They’d both been uneasy since the first meeting with the nighthunters.

  “May I ask a favor?” Ari said.

  “You may ask,” Morag replied cautiously.

  “You can see the spirits of the dead.” Ari waited for Morag’s nod before continuing. “I was wondering . . . I’d like to know before I leave Brightwood that my mother and grandmother have gone on to the Summerland.”

  “That I can do,” Morag said. She started to set her bowl of soup aside, then stopped when Ari touched her arm lightly.

  “There’s time,” Ari said.

  When they finished the meal, Ari led her to a bedroom off the main room. “I’ll make up a bed in one of the upstairs rooms for you, but for now, you can sleep here.”

  Unsettled by the strength of the relief she felt that Ari would allow her to stay for a day or two, Morag just nodded and sat down on the bed. She waited until Ari closed the door before stretching out on top of the covers.

  Sleep didn’t follow exhaustion. She lay awake for some time, listening to the quiet sounds of living. She was just starting to drift off when she heard a nervous snort followed by the sound of the window being pushed up by someone outside.

  Opening her eyes just enough to see, she watched the window, tensed.

  The dark horse’s head poked into the room.

  “See?” Morag heard Ari say in a low voice. “She’s fine. She didn’t leave you. She’s just sleeping. Now get your hooves out of my flower bed, you big oaf.”

  The dark horse withdrew his head. Morag heard Ari scolding him to watch where he put his feet if he was going to keep poking his head through the window.

  The dark horse snorted. Ari huffed.

  Picturing the standoff made Morag smile. And smiling, she fell asleep.

  The daylight had already softened by the time Morag woke up. At first, the silence was peaceful, soothing. Then she sat up and listened hard.

  Should it be so silent? What if something terrible had happened and she’d slept so deeply she hadn’t been aware of it? No. Surely if something had happened, she would have heard the dark horse. Surely.

  Yap yap yap.

  Turning toward the sound, she got out of bed, went through the arch that led to the adjoining dressing room, and looked out the window. What was a shadow hound puppy doing here?

  Then she saw the tan front legs, which explained well enough why the pup had been abandoned in the human world. Not a responsible thing to do—and not a safe one. The shadow hounds had been bred to run with the Wild Hunt, and even an animal that wasn’t a purebred shadow hound would grow into a large, fierce hunter.

  Wondering if she should talk to Ari about the pup, she watched from the window for a minute before she realized the dark horse and the sun stallion were playing “tease the puppy.”

  The sun stallion pranced in front of the puppy, catching its attention. Yapping, the puppy did its own less-than-graceful prancing, daring the stallion to come closer. While the pup yapped at the sun stallion, the dark horse silently came up behind it, his head low to the ground. When his muzzle almost touched the puppy’s hindquarters, he snorted. Loudly. Yipping, the pup dashed away.

  “Stop it, both of you,” Morag heard Ari say sternly. “You shouldn’t be teasing him. You’re both so much bigger.”

  Smiling, Morag turned away from the window to join Ari outside. As she left the room, she noticed the glass-doored bookcase, but didn’t stop to look at what was inside.

  When Morag appeared at the open kitchen door, the dark horse trotted over, looking very pleased with himself.

  “If he nips your nose, it’s no less than you deserve,” Morag said quietly. But she smiled and petted him to soften the scold. She knew he had a playful side—it was part of his breed—but he seldom had a chance to play.

  Seeing Morag, Ari walked over to the kitchen door, the puppy sheltered in her arms.

  “This is Merle?” Morag asked, remembering that Ari had been concerned about finding someone to take care of Merle when she’d thought Morag had come to gather her.

  “Yes, this is Merle.” Ari looked at the dark horse and huffed. “What is it about horses that color that they enjoy teasing puppies?”

  Morag’s hand froze against the dark horse’s cheek. “Horses that color?”

  “Dark, like yours. Neall’s gelding does the same thing. He thinks it’s funny. The gelding, that is.” Ari frowned. “Neall probably thinks it’s funny, too, but he’s smart enough not to say so.”

  Morag stared at Ari. “Neall. The man you’re going to marry. He rides a dark horse?”

  “Well, his gelding is the same color as your horse, so I guess it could be called a dark horse,” Ari said. She looked puzzled. “He bought it from Ahern, and Ahern told me the gelding was sired by a dark horse. One of his special horses.”

  One of Ahern’s special horses? Oh, yes, they were special. So who—and what—was this Neall that Ahern would sell him an animal sired by a dark horse?

  “There’s still plenty of light left,” Ari said. “Did you want to ride over to Ahern’s?”

  Morag stepped out of the kitchen. She didn’t want to ride anywhere at the moment, didn’t want to pass the borders of this place. She focused on the wounded mare, and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “She looks a little better.”

  “Yes,” Ari said thoughtfully. “I think, in her own way, she’s been undoing the harm done to her so that she can heal.” She pointed to a spot in the meadow that, to Morag’s eyes, looked no different than the rest. “I’ve watched her today. She’s stayed near that spot where I did the Solstice dance. And as she’s grazing, she keeps moving widdershins to undo what has been done.”

  “She can’t undo what the nighthunters’ bites did just by moving in a certain direction,” Morag protested. “If it were that simple, she would have done it before.” Even as she said it, she knew why the mare hadn’t done it before. “It’s not that she knows. She’s just instinctively following something that’s here.”

  Ari looked uncomfortable. Rubbing her cheek against Merle’s head and giving him one last pat, she set him down. He sat on her foot and stared at Morag. “Yes, I think so. My family has done a lot of dances in that meadow over the years. Even when it’s quiet, the magic is strong there.”

  “If you’re willing, I’d like to let the horses stay here tonight.”

  “Of course.” Ari paused. “Is there something you would like to do? I have some stew cooking. It should be ready soon.”

  “I’d like to answer your question about your mother and grandmother.” Morag looked at the dark horse and added a bit plaintively, “Do we have to ride?”

  Ari chuckled. “No. It’s a pleasant walk. This way.”

  When they reached the edge of the meadow, Morag looked back. The dark horse trotted up to her. The sun stallion was watching her, as if uncertain if he should round up his mares and follow.

  Morag sighed. “We’re just going for a walk,” she said, raising her voice enough for the sun stallion to hear. “You can all stay in the meadow. You too,” she added quietly.

  The dark horse shook his head. He knew why she was taking this walk.

  Merle yapped once at the dark horse, then trotted ahead of Ari to see what interesting messages his nose might pick up.

  Ari led the little procession to a pond. A large oak tree grew near it.

  “My mother used to sit under that oak tree and watch the pond,” Ari said. “Her body is there.”

  Morag looked at the tree and all the surrounding land. She shook her head. “She isn
’t here. I didn’t show her the road to the Shadowed Veil, but one of the others who are Death’s Servants must have done so.”

  There was something about Ari’s sigh of relief that Morag found disturbing. “How did your mother die?”

  Ari stared at the pond. “Lung sickness. We have a small ice cellar to keep food cold and fresh. I had a chill that day. She told me to stay home and keep warm, and she went out to cut the ice by herself. She fell into the pond, and—” Ari stopped. Closed her eyes. “She didn’t fall in. Water was her branch of the Mother. When she commanded, water obeyed. She could walk across that pond when there was only a skin of ice and come to no harm.”

  Morag felt something wash through her. Something dangerous and feral. “Do you know who pushed her in? That is what happened, isn’t it? Someone wanted the witches gone from this place and attacked her when she was alone, throwing her into the pond to drown.”

  Ari shuddered. “Anyone else, weighed down by heavy winter clothes, would have drowned. But the water obeyed. And she got out of the pond and made it home. But the lung sickness took hold, and there was nothing I could do for her.”

  “Did she tell you who pushed her in?”

  Ari shook her head. “She kept mumbling ‘Ridgeley,’ but that’s the name of the village. She had a fever, so it’s not surprising that she made no sense.”

  “What else did she say?”

  Ari shrugged. “She talked about daughters, about how Gran was right—the daughters needed to go away.”

  Morag stared at the pond. “Why didn’t she fight? She had magic. She had power. Why didn’t she fight?” The depth of her anger surprised her. She had no right to aim it at Ari, who had shown her nothing but courtesy. But there are things you do not ask of the dead that can be asked of the living.

  Ari looked at her warily. “It is our creed to do no harm with our magic. Besides,” she added with a bit of temper, “what could she have done? Her gifts were water and a little earth.”

  “She could have broken the ice beneath the feet of whoever attacked her and drowned the bastards,” Morag said fiercely.

  Ari’s eyes widened.

  Struggling not to let the rage inside her escape, Morag took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Ari, on most days your creed is a commendable way to live. But there is a great difference between doing no harm and defending yourself. I have shown too many young women the road to the Shadowed Veil because they followed your creed. For them, it was already too late to say anything. But you . . .”

  “I—I’m not sure I could do that. I’m not sure I could use magic to harm someone, even if—”

  “Do you love Neall?” Morag demanded.

  “Y-yes.”

  “If someone was trying to hurt him, would you just stand by and let him suffer or would you do something?”

  Ari didn’t answer.

  Morag sighed. “Where is your grandmother?”

  “This way,” Ari said in a subdued voice.

  They didn’t speak on the way to the hill. Even the animals were subdued, picking up the changed mood.

  The moment Morag set foot on the bottom of the hill, she knew. But she said nothing.

  When she reached the top of the hill, a light breeze played with her hair and made the wildflowers dance.

  “Even on the stillest day, there’s always a little wind on this hill. This was Gran’s favorite spot.”

  “Her gift was air?” Morag asked.

  Ari nodded, then looked at Morag anxiously.

  The ghost of an older woman smiled at them, then pressed one finger against her lips.

  “There is no one here,” Morag lied.

  “Thank you.” Ari sighed in relief. Then she smiled. “We should get back to the cottage. I left the stew on the back of the stove where it would just simmer, but it will be done by now.”

  Morag followed Ari. Before leaving the crest of the hill, she looked back and whispered, “I will return.”

  Yes, the ghost replied. There are things to be said.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “That’s all the messages said?” Dianna asked impatiently, her eyes raking Lyrra and Aiden, then skipping past Lucian. Ever since he’d learned of Ari’s intended marriage, his brooding had taken on a surly quality.

  “The bards from several Clans have all basically sent the same thing,” Aiden replied, his own patience sounding strained. “Which makes sense since the Sleep Sister is the source of all of the messages. ‘The witches know the key to keeping the roads through the Veil open, and they need to be protected.’ ”

  “Well, it’s a little hard to protect them when they blithely decide to run off with some . . . human.”

  “They aren’t Fae,” Lyrra said carefully. “They can’t be expected to think like we do. Or care about the same things we do.”

  Dianna whirled around to face Lyrra. “But it’s not too much to expect them to show a little heart. If Ari leaves, this part of Tir Alainn will be lost—and the Clan with it. He doesn’t need her. We do. And one way or another, she’s going to stay here.”

  “That explains what’s threatening our part of Tir Alainn,” Aiden said. “But that doesn’t explain the rest. We need to find out why the witches are leaving the Old Places, and we need to find out how they’re connected to the Pillars of the World. Because I’m sure there is some connection.”

  “I can’t tell you about the Pillars of the World,” said an unfamiliar voice, “but I can tell you why the witches are leaving the Old Places.”

  Dianna turned toward the intruder. “This is a private—” A chill went through her when she saw the black-haired woman standing in the doorway.

  The woman entered the room, carefully closed the door, then walked toward them, her black gown fluttering around her in a way that made Dianna’s skin crawl. Stopping before she was close enough to touch any of them, her dark eyes traveled over each of them.

  “Who are you?” Dianna asked, knowing already . . . and hoping she was wrong.

  “I am Morag,” the stranger said. “The Gatherer.”

  Silence settled around the room.

  “Why are you here?” Dianna said, not realizing that her voice had gone shrill until Lyrra gave her a sharp, warning look.

  Something flashed in Morag’s eyes so fast Dianna couldn’t identify it.

  “I came seeking the Bard, the Huntress, and the Lightbringer. I came seeking answers.” Her eyes pinned Aiden to his chair, then swept over Lucian and Dianna. “And I came to give a warning. The Fae have to protect the Old Places and the ones who live there. If they don’t, soon there will be nothing left of Tir Alainn.”

  “At the moment, it seems you have one more answer than we do,” Aiden said. “Why are the witches leaving the Old Places?”

  “Because,” Morag said softly, “they’re being slaughtered.”

  Dianna sat with her hands clenched in her lap, unable to think of anything to say. What could anyone say after listening to Morag’s tale?

  “Who are these Inquisitors?” Lyrra finally asked. “Where did they come from?”

  “Arktos, maybe,” Aiden said thoughtfully. He narrowed his eyes. “Or Wolfram. I think the roads through the Veil started closing there first.”

  “And then they spread like a plague against magic,” Lyrra added, brushing her hair back wearily. “It certainly explains the songs and stories we’ve heard lately. It’s so much easier to stand by and let someone suffer if you’ve been told they’re evil.”

  Dianna sat up straight, excitement coursing through her. “But if some of the witches fled before the Inquisitors could capture them, all we would have to do is find them and bring them back to an Old Place. Then the road through the Veil would open again. There might still be Fae who survived.” She slanted a look at Morag. “You did say you weren’t sure what happened to the Clan when the mist covered that part of Tir Alainn.”

  “No, I don’t know what happened to them,” Morag replied too calmly. “But you’ve given no reaso
n why any witches who have survived in Arktos or Wolfram—or even in the eastern part of Sylvalan—would want to return to an Old Place and let anyone know they still live.”

  “Why wouldn’t they be willing to return if the Fae are willing to protect them?” Dianna asked.

  “I must go,” Morag said abruptly, rising from the bench. “I’ve done what I’ve come for.”

  Dianna and the others exchanged a startled look as Morag walked out of the room. Seeing the way her gown fluttered like tattered black shrouds made Dianna jump up and follow.

  “Morag,” Dianna called. She suppressed a shudder when the Gatherer turned to face her. I am the Huntress. I am the female leader of the Fae. There’s no reason why I should fear her. She, too, answers to me. And there is no one better suited to take care of this. “There is something you can do that will save this part of Tir Alainn.”

  He fears the shining roads, Morag thought sadly, feeling the tension drain from the dark horse when he was back in the human world. Has feared them ever since we barely escaped having one close around us. Even in a place like Brightwood, where the magic is so strong, he no longer trusts that the roads will be safe. And each time we’ve taken the road to the Shadowed Veil, it’s been harder for him. The day will come when fear will rip something from his heart that can never be restored. But if I choose another dark horse and leave him, it would break his heart. There has to be a way to let him go without hurting him.

  Where two trails in the woods met, the dark horse firmly headed for the one that led to Ari’s cottage.

  “No,” Morag said, turning him toward the other trail. “There’s something we have to do first.”

  He didn’t like it, but since they weren’t returning to the shining road through the Veil, he obeyed.

  I’ll find a way to let him go. I’ll find someone to take my place for him. He’s too young to be given to Death simply because he’s inconvenient. Just like . . .

  Morag’s lips thinned to a grim line. The dark horse was the least of her problems at the moment.