The Pillars of the World

by Anne Bishop

  She did as he asked. As she walked toward the stables, she realized the place already felt empty and there was no sign of the men and horses.

  Another of Ahern’s men met her halfway.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  “Going . . . or already gone,” he replied. “Ahern had told us he was leaving, going back to the Clan he’d come from.” Tears filled his eyes. He blinked them away. “He said he wanted to remember Brightwood as it was. He’d settled our wages and given us our pick of the horses. Except the special horses. He said they would find the place where they belonged.” He hesitated. “I guess Ahern will be staying after all.”

  “His body will rest here within the Mother, but his spirit will go to the Summerland,” Morag said gently. “That I can promise you.”

  The man nodded, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “He said you would need a horse and gear. He chose them, early this morning, before . . .”

  Morag stared at the man. How had Ahern known she would need another dark horse? He couldn’t have known what would happen today.

  But as the Lord of the Horse, he would have sensed the dark horse’s fear of the shining roads through the Veil, and he must have guessed that she would look for a way to let the animal go rather than continue to endure that fear.

  “If you need help saddling him, I’ll be nearby,” the man said, brushing his fingers against the brim of his cap before he walked away.

  Morag continued toward the stables. As if that was the awaited signal, a dark horse stepped out of the shadows, his ears pricked.

  “You are a fine lad, aren’t you?” she said softly, holding out her hand.

  He came forward to get acquainted.

  Yes, he was a fine horse, she decided as she petted him. Fine and strong, with the courage of his breed. Since Ahern had chosen him for her—and had chosen her for him—she had no doubt they would forge a strong partnership.

  “Let’s see how your saddle fits,” Morag said.

  As she stepped into the stables, she heard the whimpering. Following the sound, she opened a stall door.

  “Ah, Merle,” she said softly.

  The puppy looked at her with heartbroken eyes.

  Morag held out her hand for him to sniff. He crept toward her. The tip of his tail began to wag as he sniffed her.

  He smells Ari, she thought sadly, petting the puppy. She picked him up and cuddled him, not sure which of them found it the most comforting.

  “I don’t know where she’s going, Merle. I don’t know where to find her. And it’s better that way—for now.” She set him down, then slipped out of the stall, closing the door behind her.

  He immediately began whimpering again.

  She looked at him over the stall door. “Quiet, little one. There’s a journey I have to make, and it’s on a road that you can’t travel. But I’ll come back for you. You won’t be left behind. You won’t be alone. That I promise.”

  She saddled the dark horse, then checked to see that Merle had food and water. She would come back for him in the morning. It would be better not to take him to the cottage and then take him away again.

  This time, when she returned to the bedroom, Ahern was ready. She gathered him gently. His body took its last breath as his spirit stepped away from it.

  The housekeeper, sitting beside the bed, covered her face with her hands and wept. The man on the other side of the bed bowed his head to hide his own tears.

  Ahern’s ghost frowned.

  You were cared for, Ahern, Morag thought. Let them grieve.

  She guided him out of the house.

  “You approve?” he asked as they walked toward the dark horse.

  “I approve,” she replied quietly. After she mounted, Ahern floated up to sit behind her.

  She didn’t immediately seek the road to the Shadowed Veil. Instead, she went back to Brightwood, back to the hill where the wind always blew, and Astra, as well as Ahern, made the journey with her.

  She left them standing before the Shadowed Veil. When she looked back, she saw Ahern hold out his hand . . . and she saw Astra take it. Together, they walked through the Shadowed Veil to the Summerland beyond.

  Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again.

  She wasn’t sure about the partings, but she hoped that, when their spirits had rested and were reborn in the world, Astra and Ahern would find each other again. Perhaps, the next time, they would be able to build a life together.

  It was growing dark by the time she returned to Ari’s cottage, where Morphia waited for her.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  In the early dawn light, Dianna’s pale mare trotted wearily beside Lucian, heading for Brightwood.

  It was pointless trying to talk to him yet. He hadn’t changed back to his human form once since those men showed up yesterday, intending to burn down Ari’s cottage.

  Perhaps it was better that she couldn’t talk to him. She wasn’t sure she would want to hear what he had to say—not after she’d seen what he’d done to the village of Ridgeley. The Lightbringer had been a vengeful Lord of Fire, and nothing had been spared. If humans had built it, he had burned it—and anyone who hadn’t had the sense to flee.

  Of course, the fact that he wouldn’t talk to her right now meant she didn’t have to tell him how many of those he’d allowed to flee had died anyway when they were confronted by the Huntress and her shadow hounds.

  And she didn’t have to ask if he knew for certain that Ari hadn’t been in the village, held prisoner, before he burned it down.

  So she urged the mare to keep pace with her brother, all the while hoping that what they would find at Brightwood would justify what they had done.

  Lucian snorted, pricked his ears, and lengthened his pace.

  Dianna let the mare fall behind—until she saw the two horses grazing in the meadow. “A little farther,” she told the mare, urging her on. “Then you can rest.”

  The mare tried, but when her pace faltered, Dianna dismounted and ran the rest of the way to the cottage. Ari was back. Ari was safe. And so was the Clan and their home territory in Tir Alainn.

  Lucian changed form and strode toward the cottage. He looked at the half-open kitchen door and stopped suddenly, giving Dianna time to catch up to him.

  Oh, Lucian, try to act like a joyous lover instead of an angry man. We won and—

  Morag opened the other half of the kitchen door and stepped out of the cottage.

  Dianna felt as if she were falling off a steep cliff, waiting for the pain of hitting the ground.

  “Where is Ari?” Lucian demanded, looking past Morag to see inside the kitchen.

  “She’s gone, Lucian,” Morag said quietly.

  “Gone?” Dianna echoed. “How could she be gone when she’d been captured by—” She felt the blood drain from her head, making her dizzy.

  “The Black Coats,” Morag said, finishing the sentence Dianna had started. “And now she’s gone.”

  “Bring her back,” Lucian said, his voice calm and deadly. “The Gatherer can summon a spirit back from the Summerland if it hasn’t been there very long.” The calm broke, turning to fury. “How could you have taken her without consulting us first?”

  “Why should I have consulted you?” Morag asked. “It was not your decision to make.”

  “Bring her back. She belongs here in Brightwood, with us.”

  “Even if I could do that, where would her spirit go? Do you know where her body lies right now? I don’t.”

  “Her spirit could reside as a part of Brightwood,” Dianna said.

  “To feel the bite of every ax when wood was needed? To feel the cut of the spade when land was turned? Or would you have me bring back her ghost and leave it in the meadow? If her spirit doesn’t reside in flesh, would she be able to do what you want of her?”

  “Then we’ll find another body for her to inhabit.”

  “Whose?” Morag asked softly. “A spirit doesn’t leave a healthy body.”

/>   “You could gather another person’s spirit and give the body to Ari,” Dianna insisted.

  “Whose?” Morag asked again, looking so pointedly at her that Dianna broke into a sweat.

  “You’re the one who took her without our consent. You’re the one who should make it right.”

  Morag said nothing, but the coldness that crept into her dark eyes chilled Dianna.

  “Bring her back,” Lucian said.

  “Why?” Morag asked.

  “Because she’s needed here. And because I care for her.”

  Morag gave him an odd look. “Death can’t be cheated, but, sometimes, a bargain can be struck. Are you willing to bargain with me?”

  “I’m in no mood for games, Gatherer,” Lucian warned.

  “And I do not play games, Lightbringer. But, here and now, I will make a bargain.” Morag held out her hand. “Your life for Ari’s. If you go to the Summerland now, I’ll find a way to bring her back to Brightwood.”

  “Fine,” Lucian snapped. “Bring her back, and I’ll consider it.”

  Morag lowered her hand and shook her head. “That’s not the bargain.”

  Shocked speechless for a moment, Dianna regained her voice—and her fury. “He’s the Lightbringer. How dare you demand such a thing from him!”

  “That is the bargain,” Morag said implacably. “Lucian’s life in exchange for Ari’s. Either agree to it or accept that she’s gone and prepare to bring your Clan down to Brightwood to live.”

  “No man would agree to a bargain like that when you’re standing there ready to accept it,” Dianna said bitterly.

  “That would depend on how much the man cared.”

  A thought occurred to Dianna. “Then why don’t you take that Neall in exchange for Ari? Surely, he’s a worthy enough sacrifice.”

  “He is already gone.”

  Dianna wanted to scream in frustration. Why couldn’t the man have lived a little longer so that his death could at least be useful?

  Morag looked at Lucian. She held out her hand. “You were willing to destroy others for her sake. Are you willing to give yourself for her as well?”

  The conflict showed clearly on his face, and Dianna felt it as keenly as if she were the one forced to make the choice. When he started to raise his hand, she wanted to cry out, wanted to tell him to stop. But she bit her tongue and kept silent.

  His hand slowly rose toward Morag’s. It began to shake. Before his fingers touched hers, his hand froze, then fell back to his side. He looked away.

  “Ari is gone, Lucian,” Morag said gently. “Accept it.”

  Bitterness swelled in Dianna until there was nothing else. “In that case, since we have no choice but to live here, Brightwood now belongs to the Clan. And you are no longer welcome on our land. Nor will you ever be. And by the time I finish telling the rest of the Clans about how you betrayed the Fae, no Clan will be willing to receive you—including your own. Tir Alainn will be as closed to you as it is to us.”

  Morag just turned and walked into the cottage.

  Dianna stared at the open kitchen door. A few minutes later, Morphia came out and saddled the horses. As soon as she was done, Morag left the cottage. She tied her saddlebags to her dark horse, mounted, and she and Morphia rode away.

  A sob rose in Dianna’s throat. She turned away from the cottage that would soon become her home.

  And saw Lucian disappear into the woods, heading for the place where the shining road anchored itself in the strength of Brightwood.

  For a moment, she was stunned. How could he just leave her here alone?

  Then she shook her head. Someone had to tell the Clan what had happened and rouse them to prepare to leave Tir Alainn. She just hoped they would have enough time before the road through the Veil began to close.

  Morag filled another sack with grain. At least the horses would have some feed besides the grazing, and there was no reason to let it rot.

  The house and the stables had been empty when she and Morphia returned to Ahern’s farm. The housekeeper’s little cottage also stood abandoned. No one here would begrudge her taking what was needed simply because she had done what needed to be done.

  Banish her from Tir Alainn? Have her own Clan shun her? The Huntress had enough influence among the Fae to do exactly that. She had expected something like that from Dianna—and Dianna’s solution for getting Ari back, while unexpected, hadn’t been surprising. There were stories about such exchanges, and she knew the power to exchange spirits between two bodies resided within her, just as she had the power to gather someone’s life strength and give it to another. That Dianna wanted her to relinquish her body so that Ari’s spirit could inhabit it wasn’t surprising either. Astra had been right: the Fae were very good at expecting someone else to shoulder the burden for them.

  What had surprised her was how close Lucian had come to accepting her bargain. Perhaps he had cared more deeply than she’d suspected. But still not enough, may the Mother be thanked. If he had accepted the bargain, she would have fulfilled her part of it. She would have gone after Ari and brought the girl back to Brightwood, no matter what Neall thought or said. Now they were both safe, and, hopefully, no word of them would ever reach Lucian or Dianna.

  “Blessings of the day to you,” a male voice said softly.

  Morag turned toward the voice, not sure what to think when Aiden stepped inside the stables. “Blessings of the day to you.”

  “Dianna’s very upset,” Aiden said, slowly walking toward her. “And Lucian as well. Understandably so.” He hesitated. “Was there nothing you could have done, Morag? Did we have to lose another Daughter from the House of Gaian?”

  Morag studied him. He was a clever man with words, and that made her wary.

  “Did you tell Dianna and Lucian about the Pillars of the World?”

  Aiden nodded.

  “If they had known before now who the witches were—and are—do you think they still would have expected Ari to oblige them, living a sterile life for their convenience and pleasure?”

  He didn’t answer for a long time. “They would have expected that whatever they offered would be enough, regardless of whether or not it truly was. And they would have resented her as much as they would have needed her to maintain Tir Alainn once she was old enough to no longer bend to their wishes.”

  Morag finished filling the grain sack and tied the opening securely. “Then things have worked out for the best.”

  “Not for Ari.”

  She heard the grief in his voice—and realized he wasn’t grieving for a lost piece of Tir Alainn. But he was a clever man with words. “She’s gone, Aiden.”

  “So you told Dianna. And the young man, the one who loved her, is gone, too.”

  “Yes.”

  Aiden rubbed the back of his neck. “You took them to the Shadowed Veil yourself?”

  “Yesterday I took a man and a woman to the Shadowed Veil. I saw them cross through it and go on to the Summerland. Together.”

  He started to nod, then he frowned. “What happened to Ahern’s spirit? You didn’t leave him here, did you?”

  She didn’t ask how he’d heard about Ahern. The Bard was sometimes capable of hearing far too many things. “I took him and Astra to the Shadowed Veil.”

  “Astra? Who is—” He stopped. “You took Ahern and Astra to the Shadowed Veil.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Ari . . .”

  “Is gone.”

  Aiden sifted through the words. Morag knew the moment when he understood what she was saying.

  “The bargain you asked Lucian to make wasn’t a fair one, Morag,” he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. “No man would have agreed to it while you were standing in front of him.”

  “One man did.” She paused, and then added, “I didn’t need to take what was willingly offered, but it was offered, Aiden, not asked for.”

  His eyes widened. Then he said, more to himself than to her, “So she did go with a man who could give h
er love’s jewels.”

  Morag frowned at him. He just smiled and shook his head.

  As he turned to leave, Morag said, “What will you tell Lucian and Dianna?”

  “What can I tell them that is different from what you’ve already said? Ari is gone.” He raised his hand in farewell. “May you find firm roads and soft beds on your travels. And may the House of Gaian prosper,” he added softly, “wherever it may be.”

  By the time Morag left the stables with the grain sacks, Aiden was already gone. Morphia was outside, trying to find the best way to tie food sacks to the saddles.

  She looked at Morag, then shrugged. “They look clumsy now, but they’ll empty quick enough.” She fiddled with the saddle, not actually doing anything to it. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ride with you for a while.”

  “What about your Lord of the Woods? Isn’t he waiting for you to return?”

  A long pause. Then Morphia said, “I’ll ride with you for a while.”

  Morag didn’t ask any more questions. She walked back into the stables, opened one of the stall doors, and picked up Merle. “Come on, little one. It’s time to go.”

  She mounted her dark horse and adjusted the pup so that she could hold on to him comfortably. When she and Morphia rode away from Ahern’s farm—and Brightwood—she didn’t look back.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  They were gone, Adolfo thought numbly as he packed his meager belongings in a cloth traveling bag. During the slow journey back to Rivercross, he’d kept telling himself that his messages had gone astray, that that was the reason he’d had no replies, that his men would meet him here as intended. But they weren’t going to meet him here. They were gone. All the fine men, all the Inquisitors he had brought with him a few months before to rid this land of the stench of magic were gone. He hadn’t been able to find out what happened to them. Every time he asked about his men, he got the same response: The person would spit on the ground and make a sign against evil.

  He’d like to meet the man who wrote that song about the Inquisitors, calling them the Black Coats, magicians of dark magic who were the Evil One’s servants, accusing them of creating the nighthunters that were plaguing several villages where Inquisitors had been.