by Anne Bishop
At least the Lightbringer and the Huntress were aware of the danger to Tir Alainn. At least they didn’t scoff and refuse to listen. At least they’d said they wanted to protect the witches. But she’d sensed the undercurrents swirling in the room. She hadn’t understood them . . . until Dianna had asked her to gather a particular spirit and show it the road to the Shadowed Veil.
Neall. The young man Ari loved. The man Dianna wanted eliminated so that Ari would stay at Brightwood. The man who had bought a dark horse from Ahern.
Very soon she would have to make a decision about Neall. But there was a visit to be made first.
When she got to the hill where the wind always blew, she left the dark horse at the bottom of the hill and climbed to the top. She walked over to the ghost, sat down beside her.
They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. Then the ghost said, “The wind from the north carries much sorrow.”
“Yes,” Morag said softly.
“There are warnings whispered. A violent storm has come to Sylvalan, a storm that rejoices in the Daughters’ pain. They must flee the Old Places and hide before it strikes them.”
Daughters? Morag wondered. But she asked a different question. “Did none of Death’s Servants come to show you the road to the Shadowed Veil and the Summerland beyond it?”
“One rode this way,” the ghost said. “She took my daughter with her. I chose to stay for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because of Ari. I wanted to know that she was going with Neall, that she had the strength to leave duty and choose a life that would nourish her heart.”
Morag shifted uneasily. “You want her to leave with him? You approve of Neall?”
“Oh, yes.” The ghost smiled. “He’s a fine young man. With him, my granddaughter will have a richer life than she could ever have here.”
“If she leaves here,” Morag said carefully, “the road through the Veil will close and a piece of Tir Alainn will be lost. The Fae need her to stay.”
The ghost’s smile turned brittle and bitter. “The Fae are very good at knowing what they want. They’re also very good at having someone else shoulder the burden in order for them to have what they want. They may want Ari to stay, but they don’t need her to stay. The Fae can hold the shining road.”
“Then why haven’t we?”
“Because you had us to do it for you.” She paused for a long time. Then, “Tir Alainn was meant to be a sanctuary, a place to rest and renew body and spirit. But the Fae found life in a land that required little toil was more to their liking than a world where the rose and beetle both reside. They lived above the world like creatures who live in the branches of a tree and touch the ground only to play—or when they see something they want. But they forgot that without the roots the tree cannot survive.”
“And you are the roots?”
The ghost looked out over the land. “The Fae are the Mother’s Children. But we are the Daughters. We are the Pillars of the World.”
Morag shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you? The answers are in plain sight, if you choose to look for them.”
This is why I never converse with the ghosts of old women, Morag thought irritably. They no longer need plain speaking, so they adore riddles.
“What makes Neall so special that you would have Ari leave the land and home your family has held for generations?” Morag asked.
“He can give her more than trinkets,” the ghost replied sharply. She was silent for a moment. “If the Fae here did persuade Ari to stay in order to keep hold of their part of Tir Alainn, would they live here with her, day after day, from season to season? Would they accept the disappointments as well as the joys of living in this world? Or would they fawn over her until Neall finally left without her? And once he left, how long would it be before they stopped visiting because it was no longer necessary?”
Morag brushed some dirt off her boot. “You’re very bitter about us, aren’t you?”
“I have read my family’s history. I have reason to feel bitter.” The ghost sighed. “And I know that the fault doesn’t lie just with the Fae. The women in my family chose trinkets of affection. But I want Ari to have the richer jewels of love.”
Morag stood up. “When she’s gone, I’ll come back and show you the road to the Shadowed Veil.”
“When she’s gone, I, too, will be ready to go.”
Morag walked over to the point where the hill sloped downward. Then she turned back. “What is your name?”
“I am Astra.”
Nodding to acknowledge that she’d heard, Morag walked down the hill to where the dark horse waited.
“What do you think of her?” Ahern asked, resting his arms against the top rail of the paddock.
Neall grinned as he brought the dark mare to a halt and dismounted. “She’s light on her feet, responsive to commands, and smart enough to compensate for the most inept rider. She’s a beauty, Ahern.” He stroked the mare’s neck. “I hope you won’t have to let her go to someone who won’t appreciate her.”
“The dark horses go where I will,” Ahern replied. He paused, then added, “She’s for Ari.”
Neall’s hand froze on the mare’s neck as he stared at Ahern. “For—For Ari?”
“As you said, the mare can take care of a green rider. You’ll need another horse for the journey, so I’ll see that Ari’s mounted as it suits me.”
“But—”
“You have some objection?”
One look at Ahern’s stern face had Neall turning his attention back to the mare. He needs to do this because he cares about her. He’s watched her from a distance all her life, and when we leave, he won’t have even that. But every day he’ll think of Ari and the mare and take some comfort in it.
“No, sir,” Neall said. “It’s a very generous gift—and a welcome one.”
“That’s settled then.” Ahern opened the paddock gate. “Get her settled in her stall before you head over to—”
The clip-clop of a horse’s hooves, immediately followed by silence, made them turn.
A chill went down Neall’s spine when he saw the woman on the dark horse riding toward them. A Fae woman on a Fae stallion. The dark horse had deliberately made that sound to alert them to its presence.
The woman dismounted and joined them at the paddock. Neall wished she’d just go away. Something about her unnerved him.
“You are Ahern?” When Ahern nodded, she said, “I am Morag.” Then she looked at Neall and her interest sharpened.
“Blessings of the day to you, Mistress,” Neall said.
She smiled warmly, and whatever it was about her that unnerved him vanished in that warmth. “You must be Neall.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the way Ahern tensed. Fear spiked through him, although he couldn’t have said why. The woman certainly hadn’t done anything to cause it. “How did you know?”
“I’m staying with Ari, and your name has come up a time or two.” The way she said it made it plain that it had been more than “a time or two.” He felt his cheeks heat with pleasure. He hadn’t been certain that Ari was pleased with her decision, but if she was actually talking about him—about them—surely that was a good sign.
“And I’ve heard that you’re a fine young man who rides a dark horse,” Morag added, looking at the mare. “So it wasn’t difficult to figure out.”
Ahern opened the paddock gate wider. “Take care of the mare,” he said gruffly.
The abrupt dismissal surprised Neall. Ahern could be blunt to the point of rudeness, but, somehow, while the bluntness had been directed at him, the rudeness had been aimed at the woman.
He doesn’t want me around her, Neall realized as he led the mare to the stable. No. He doesn’t want her around me. Why?
He stopped just inside the stable, where he wouldn’t be easily seen. As he turned to study the two Fae, he heard Ahern say, “Now what brings the Gatherer to Brightwood?”
“I imagine he’s going to see if his heart is still at Brightwood,” Ahern replied. “Is she?”
“Ari? I imagine so. I haven’t seen her since early this morning, so where else—” Morag’s heart leaped. She clutched the paddock railing for balance. “She wouldn’t go into the village by herself, would she? She wouldn’t go alone.’
Ahern’s frown turned to puzzlement. “She might. She’s been doing just that since her mother died. Although lately—”
“She mustn’t go by herself,” Morag said urgently. “She mustn’t.” She told Ahern everything she knew about the witches dying at the Inquisitors’ hands. She told him about the nighthunters and about her escape down a shining road just before it closed. She felt a keen satisfaction in the brutal grimness that filled Ahern’s face.
“You think they’re coming here,” Ahern said. “To Brightwood.”
Morag closed her eyes. “I’m not sure, but . . . Death is whispering. Death is coming here. Soon.”
Ahern nodded. “Ari wants to wait to bring in the harvest so that they can take it with them. But that won’t be for another few weeks—and that’s too long, isn’t it?”
“If the Inquisitors come here, even a day may be too long,” Morag said wearily. “It doesn’t take much time for someone to die a hard death, Ahern. It doesn’t take much time at all. It was hard enough with the others, but I didn’t know them. I’ve talked with Ari, eaten with her, come to know her a little. I don’t want to show her the road to the Shadowed Veil. Not now. Not because of them.”
“Then we’ll have to convince her to leave without the harvest.”
“Can you convince her?”
“Between us, Neall and I will convince her,” Ahern said. “And if we can’t, we’ll tie her to the horse so that he can take her away.” He shook himself, as if he could shake off the grimness for the time being. “Now what’s this about horses?”
It will be all right, Morag thought a short while later as she and Ahern rode to Brightwood to look at the sun stallion and the mares. She’d been startled by his fierce determination to, as he’d phrased it, “put the whole of Sylvalan between Ari and the Inquisitors,” but she’d welcomed that determination. He, too, was Fae. He knew as well as any of them what Ari’s leaving would mean to the Clan who used the shining road anchored to Brightwood. He still wanted her to go, wanted her to be safe. Knowing he would do everything he could to make sure Ari and Neall were on their way to their new home heartened her—and made it easier to think about tomorrow morning, when she would go back to Tir Alainn and tell the Huntress her decision about Neall.
Stepping out of his carriage, Adolfo noticed the way the baron’s smile faltered as the man took note of the other two Inquisitors and the guards who rode behind the carriage.
“Baron Felston?” he said, taking a step forward to reclaim the man’s attention. “I am Adolfo, the Master Inquisitor, the Witch’s Hammer.”
“I’m pleased—grateful—that you could put aside your other duties and attend to my little problem so quickly,” Felston said.
And you will express your gratitude with more than words, Adolfo thought. In advance. Or you will find yourself bargaining for more than the witch you wish to be rid of.
Felston flicked an uneasy glance at the other Inquisitors. He leaned toward Adolfo. “Are all these men really necessary?” he asked in a low voice. “There’s only one witch at the Old Place, and she’s not very powerful.”
Adolfo stared at the baron in a way that had wilted stronger-willed men. “Many of your associates have also assured me that the witches who are plaguing their people weren’t all that powerful. So I sent fully trained Inquisitors to deal with the creatures. In the few weeks I have been in Sylvalan using my skills to help the people here rid themselves of the Evil One’s foul servants, I have lost more Inquisitors than I’ve lost in years in Arktos and Wolfram.” He shook his head. “Do not tell me my business, Baron Felston. I know far better than you what kind of creature lives outside the village of Ridgeley, and I know what is required to deal with her. Besides,” he added when Felston seemed about to argue again, “there is evidence that the Fae are also nearby. They, too, can be dangerous.”
Bright spots of color appeared on Felston’s cheeks, making Adolfo wonder if the man had already had an encounter with the Fair Folk.
“Come, Master Adolfo,” Felston said after a moment, gesturing toward the front door of his house. “Let’s get you and your men settled in. Then I think you should have a talk with my daughter, Odella.”
Adolfo replied gravely, “If she has had the misfortune to have any dealings with the witch, I think that would be wise.”
“Ari? Ari!” Neall vaulted out of the saddle, his heart pounding wildly when he didn’t immediately see her. “Ari!”
A golden stallion galloped toward him, cutting him off from the cottage before he could take a step toward the half-open kitchen door.
Neall took a step forward. The stallion laid his ears back.
The dark mare nipped his sleeve and pulled him back.
Wondering how the warding spells would react if he tried to climb in through a window—and wondering if he could get in fast enough to avoid the stallion’s hooves coming down on his back, Neall cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Ari!”
An upstairs window opened. Ari leaned out. A delighted smile lit her face when she saw him. “Neall! Wait there. I’ll be right down.”
“Doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere,” Neall muttered, eyeing the stallion. He felt a flicker of amusement when Ari reached the kitchen door and found herself peering around a golden rump.
“Move,” Ari said, giving that golden rump a timid smack.
The stallion kicked the bottom half of the door in response.
Ari disappeared. A few moments later, she appeared from around the side of the cottage. Before the stallion could charge toward her, she pointed a finger at him, and said sternly, “No matter what you seem to think, I am not one of your mares. I’m his mare.” She frowned. “I didn’t say that right, but you know what I mean.”
Neall grinned, the relief of seeing her safe and well making him a little silly. “I think you said it just fine. And I promise you I have more finesse in certain areas than he does.”
The stallion snorted.
Ari dashed over to Neall. “I was taking a look through the linen cupboard upstairs to see what we could use, and—” The light went out of her face when she noticed the dark mare. “What happened to Darcy? Is he hurt?”
Neall put his arm around her, needing the contact. “No, he’s fine. He’s probably mad at me for leaving him, but I wanted—” No, that wasn’t why he’d come. He’d ridden the mare because she was already saddled and handy. But he’d have to take care how he said other things if he didn’t want to end up battering at Ari’s stubborn streak. “I wanted you to see her.”
Ari held out her hand, palm up. The mare approached, quite willing to be introduced. While Ari and the mare were getting to know each other, Neall kept an eye on the stallion—who seemed to be keeping an eye on him. Then the wind shifted enough for the horse to catch his scent. The stallion suddenly relaxed and trotted off to join his mares.
“That’s strange,” Neall said quietly.
“Maybe he senses the Fae in you, and that told him you were all right.” Ari patted the mare’s neck, fingercombed the mane.
“What difference would that make?” Neall asked— and then knew. The horse’s hooves had made no sound. “He’s a Fae horse.”
Ari nodded. “Morag ended up with the sun stallion and the mares, so she decided to bring them to Ahern since she can’t keep traveling with a herd of horses following her.”
Neall leaped at the opening Ari’s words provided. “She showed up at Ahern’s a short while ago. Ari . . .
You do know who she is, don’t you?”
Giving the mare a final pat, Ari turned to face him. “Yes, I know. And while she’s a guest in my house, I expect her to be treated with courtesy, Neall.” She looked away. “I know what it’s like to feel unwelcome.”
There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make Ari defensive.
“All right,” Neall said. “Since I’m here, is there anything I can help you with?”
Before Ari could answer, the dark mare pricked her ears and whinnied a greeting.
Neall tensed, turned to face whoever was coming.
Ahern and Morag rode around the cottage. When the Gatherer looked at him, her dark eyes were filled with too much understanding.
Ari’s right. I doubt she ever feels welcome.
“Blessings of the day to you, Ahern,” Ari said. She smiled at Morag. “I see you found him.”
Morag returned the smile. “Yes, I found him.”
When they dismounted, Ahern studied the sun stallion, who was nervously pawing the ground as he watched them.
“He’s a fine one,” Ahern said. “So are the mares.” His gaze swung to the wounded mare, grazing by herself. He winced.
“She’s better than she was,” Ari said hurriedly. “I think she’ll heal.”
Ahern nodded, but Neall didn’t think the movement was expressing assurance or confirmation of Ari’s opinion.
“Will you take them back to your farm?” Ari asked.
The sun stallion, who had been moving closer to them, suddenly reared and laid his ears back.
Ahern snorted, sounding very much like a horse. “You can walk them over in the morning,” he said dryly. “Then I’ll deal with them. And I think a little more time here will do that mare more good than I can do her.” When he turned toward Ari, his expression was grim.
Neall felt Ari press against him for support. When he glanced at Morag, he saw that her expression was equally grim.
“Now, girl,” Ahern said. “There are things happening in Sylvalan that make it necessary for you and Neall to leave as soon as you can. Tomorrow would be good.”