The Pillars of the World ta-1

by Anne Bishop

  He had turned twenty-one a few weeks ago. He could own property in his own name now, without “Uncle” Felston claiming control over it as his guardian. He could leave Ridgeley and finally go back to the mistily remembered place that had been his home as a small boy. His mother’s house. His mother’s land.

  “Why do I have to go with them?” Neall asked. Tears filled his eyes, despite his efforts not to cry, as he watched Ashk calmly fill the trunk with his clothes and the wooden toys his father had made for him. “I don’t know them.” His young voice rose to a wail.

  Ashk turned to look at him, her woodland eyes filled with dry grief. “Your father was a good man. If he had lived, he would have taught you what you need to know about the world. But he is gone, so you need to learn those things from his people, his family.”

  “But I don’t know them! Why can’t I learn those things from you? Why can’t I stay with you?”

  She knelt before him, brushed her fingers through his hair. “First you must learn what your father’s people can teach you. Then, when you are grown and return here, I will teach you other things about the world.”

  Neall sniffed, studied the eyes of his mother’s closest friend—eyes that reminded him of his mother’s. “I can come back?”

  “This house and land will be waiting for you. That much I can promise.” She hesitated. “But you mustn’t tell your father’s people about the land. It belongs to the daughters, and no one else has any say here.”

  So he’d kept the secret about the land from Baron Felston for all these years. One of the many secrets he’d thought he’d kept well since he was brought to the baron’s house as a young boy grieving the loss of both parents.

  Now that he was grown, and no longer legally Felston’s ward, there was only one thing that stopped him from saddling his horse and riding to the western part of Sylvalan: Ari. He wanted her to go with him, but he didn’t think she would ever leave Brightwood. And he knew, despite his daydreams of being her lover and husband, that being with her here would be no good for either of them. Even if they married, he would always be considered Baron Felston’s poor relation as long as he stayed around Ridgeley. And Felston, claiming a “family” connection, would look with already-greedy eyes on the bounty Brightwood held and expect to make use of it.

  Ari was still young, barely more than a girl. Now that her mother and grandmother were gone, maybe she would be willing to leave Brightwood, and the cruelty she faced every time she went to Ridgeley, and start a new life somewhere else . . . with him.

  He would give it another year . . . and spend another year working from sunup to sunset as the baron’s unofficial steward, wearing Royce’s castoff clothes while Royce, Odella, and the baron and baroness spent all the profits that could be squeezed from the estate, bitterly complaining all the while that he wasn’t trying harder to wring a little bit more out of the land already wrung dry.

  He would give it another year. Then, with her or without her, he was going to go home and put his heart and his sweat into his own land.

  Placing his hands under his head, Neall stared at the ceiling.

  If Ashk had understood what it meant to be a poor relation in a gentry family, would she have still sent him away to live with his father’s people? Would she have considered the lessons she’d wanted him to learn worth the misery of knowing he was unwanted and unloved?

  It had been made clear to him over the past fifteen years that his father had been an . . . embarrassment. . . a blot on the baron’s family tree—one the whole family had been happy to forget as soon as he was old enough to strike out on his own. He had been a child conceived during the Summer Moon, and his mother, Neall’s grandmother, had calmly refused to name one of the men in their village as the father, insisting that a Fae Lord had fathered her child. It was a common enough claim that was used if a young woman found herself with child after the Summer Moon and either didn’t want to marry the man who had sired it or found herself in the position of having the man deny any responsibility.

  Sometimes it was even true.

  Thinking about what the small man had said, he wondered if Ari would think of him differently if she knew the truth about him: that his paternal grandfather really had been a Fae Lord . . . and that his mother had been a witch.

  Chapter Seven

  “Be warned,” Lyrra said, pouring another cup of tea when Dianna joined her at the table that held the fruit and cakes. “The mood is rather sour this morning.” She glanced toward the windows where Lucian stood, his back to the room. “Or brooding.”

  Dianna casually looked around the large room. There were several of these gathering places within the Clan house. The women looked bored, but Dianna suspected it was a mask to hide their resentment over the lack of available lovers last night. The men seemed . . . disappointed . . . and were nodding as they listened to Falco. Aiden quietly played his harp, not a song as much as notes flowing together—something he’d been doing lately whenever his thoughts troubled him. And Lucian . . .

  “What about you?” Lyrra asked. “Did you enjoy the Wild Hunt?”

  “What’s Falco puffed up about today?” Dianna asked, abruptly changing the subject. She didn’t want to talk about last night, or the cottage with its broken door, or that strange-yet-familiar magic she had sensed at the edge of the woods.

  Lyrra gave her a long look, sipped her tea, then shrugged. “Listen for yourself.”

  Dianna moved until she stood at the edge of the cushioned benches where the Fae sat listening to the Lord of the Hawks.

  “What you say is true, Falco,” one of the other men said, shaking his head sadly. “I remember the tales about succulent women who gave joy to a man. I saw nothing succulent about the females roaming around last night.”

  “Predators, that’s what they are,” Falco said. “Like those female insects that devour the male while he’s mating with her.” He shuddered. “No wonder the males have taken to hiding.”

  “Not all the males hide,” Aiden said with a smile. He plucked a chord, and sang, “When springtime comes, the maidens bloom. They ripen for the Summer Moon.” He pressed his hands against the harp strings to quiet them. “The Summer Moon has been the climax”—he grinned at the word—“for the Courting Moon for generations in Sylvalan. It’s a night when the female expresses the power of her sex freely. Often, she is choosing a mate that night. Sometimes it’s only for that night. Sometimes it’s the man who will be her husband. For many, the mating that night just seals a bargain their hearts have already made, and the pledge made at Midsummer is the formal agreement before witnesses.”

  “If the men were as willing as you say, they wouldn’t call it the Ensnarer’s Moon,” Falco argued.

  The humor cooled in Aiden’s blue eyes. “A man has the right to say yay or nay. If he says yay, he takes his chances. If nothing more than a mating comes from that night, they can both walk away and simply remember whatever pleasure they’d given each other. If there’s a child, then the man has made his choice of wife. That, too, is part of their tradition.”

  “Unless the man is Fae,” another man said a bit maliciously.

  “That’s another thing,” Falco said. “Any time there’s a child and a marriage doesn’t take place, we get blamed for the child.”

  “Of course, the blaming is unjust, isn’t it?” Lyrra said, the sweetness in her voice warring with the sharpness in her eyes. “After all, it couldn’t be true, could it?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Dianna noticed Lucian stiffen, then watched his shoulders sag. She knew he hadn’t filled a human woman with his child. She knew it. So why had he reacted that way?

  “I think,” Aiden said, carefully setting his harp aside, “that it’s the custom of gifting that has taken the . . . charm . . . out of these encounters.”

  “That’s it exactly,” Falco said, jumping in. “The moment you approach a woman, it’s ‘give me gold, give me silver, give me jewels, give me beauty, gimme gimme gimme.’ Which
wouldn’t be so bad if what they were offering in return was worth the cost.”

  “So you take what you want and give nothing but your rod in return?” Dianna asked softly, feeling her temper chill. “I’m surprised you can convince any woman to take that bargain.”

  Falco’s eyes widened. He looked at the Huntress and the Muse, who were now standing side by side. “I didn’t mean Fae women!”

  Aiden winced.

  At least there’s one male here who isn’t going to wonder why he’s receiving a cold welcome, Dianna thought.

  “As I was saying,” Aiden began, giving Falco a warning look, “there was a time when a man would leave a token after spending the night with a woman, a small gift to please her. It was a male custom, not a female expectation. Do you see the difference?” He waited until Lyrra nodded. “Perhaps that was the Bard’s failing some time in the past; there’s a song about the jewels a lover brings his lady because she won’t accept him without them. Now, a song isn’t enough unless a bag of gold comes with it. And when you’re with that woman, you can tell she’s thinking about how to spend the gold, and if she thinks of you at all, it’s to wonder how much longer you’ll be at it.” He reached for his harp. “That doesn’t excuse our own failings, but, perhaps, it explains why we so often disappoint—and are disappointed.”

  An awkward silence filled the room until Falco broke it. “That wasn’t what I meant. It’s the way these humans approach the Fae that offends me. And we’re partly to blame.” He waved an arm to encompass everyone in the room. “We’ve been tolerant of these . . . creatures . . . for far too long. They don’t ask for our help, they demand it—as if they have any right to the magic we wield. They don’t approach us respectfully anymore. They act as if they’re our equals. They need some fear in their puny lives. That’s what they need. Why, just the other day, one of those females, the one who lives in that cottage near the sea, greeted me. ‘Blessings of the day to you, brother hawk’,” he mimicked nastily.

  “If you were in your other from, she couldn’t have known to greet you any other way,” Lyrra said dryly.

  Falco waved that comment away. “If she hadn’t at least suspected, she wouldn’t have given me any greeting at all. Humans never recognize any of the Mother’s other children.”

  “If she gave you greeting, it was sincerely meant.”

  Dianna looked at her brother. It was the first time Lucian had spoken, the first indication that he had been listening at all.

  “It was insolent and disrespectful,” Falco argued. He paused, then added darkly, “I’ve a mind to go back to that cottage and rake my talons across that creature’s face.”

  Lucian turned away from the window and faced Falco. “Leave her alone.”

  Silence.

  Don’t be a fool, Falco, Dianna thought. Remember to whom you speak . . . and take care.

  Falco looked away. “I beg your pardon, Lucian. It was just talk. I meant nothing by it.”

  No one moved until Lucian turned back to the window. Then all of them, except Dianna, crept out of the room. Putting her cup on the nearest table, she warily approached her brother.

  “It was just talk, Lucian,” she said, hesitating a moment before resting a hand on his arm. “You know how Falco can be at times. And if this female really did—”

  “She meant no harm,” he snapped.

  Dianna studied his face. She didn’t understand the anger and frustration she saw, but it was the sadness in his eyes that worried her. “You met her?”

  “Last night.”

  It was obvious he was holding something back. And it was equally obvious, to her, that he wanted—needed— to talk.

  “What happened?” Besides what you’d expect to have happen at the Summer Moon.

  “She gave me a fancy—a piece of sugar candy with some love magic added to it.”

  Dianna clenched her teeth. Maybe Falco was right after all.

  “After assuring me that the magic wasn’t binding on me, she promised me the affection of her body from the full moon to the dark, swearing that promise by the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon.” He smiled ruefully. “I was in my other form when she made that promise.”

  Dianna’s mouth fell open. “She promised herself to a horse?”

  The sadness in his eyes deepened. “She gave that promise to a horse because she didn’t want to give it to a man.”

  “But. . . But she gave that promise to you.” Watching him, she suddenly understood the sadness and decided to push. At another time she would have discouraged any interest he might have in a human female, but not now. There was no certainty they would see another Summer Moon, so why not take whatever pleasure could be wrung from each day? “She gave it to you, Lucian, whatever form you were in.”

  “She gave it to a horse.”

  “She made the bargain with you,” Dianna insisted. “And if you want—” She choked for a moment. How could Lucian want one of those females enough to be distressed like this? “If you want the bargain fulfilled, that is your right.”

  “What happened to all the feminine anger toward men who offer nothing but their rods?”

  That was different. They hadn’t been talking about her brother then. But that did explain why the talk had disturbed him.

  “If there was love magic involved, some man was going to have the use of her, isn’t that so?” Seeing him flinch, she regretted saying it that way, but kept pushing. “So why shouldn’t it be you?”

  She felt his anger rising, and knew from past experience he would become completely stubborn and not give in no matter what he wanted.

  “Why are you denying yourself this pleasure?” she demanded.

  “Because she has no choice!” he shouted.

  “Can’t you give her one?” she shouted back.

  Lucian stared at her.

  “Can’t you give her one?” she asked again quietly. She gave him a mischievous smile. “Perhaps she would find the man as interesting as the horse if she had the chance to decide. But if she doesn’t . . . if she truly doesn’t want a lover, you could walk away, couldn’t you?”

  “I—” His body relaxed a bit. “Yes, I could. But I can’t just knock on the door . . .”

  That’s exactly what you want to do. “A traveler, needing shelter, wouldn’t be refused hospitality. And nothing says you have to come empty-handed.”

  Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I be needing shelter?”

  “From the rain, of course.”

  “I’m going to get wet?”

  Dianna smiled sweetly. “Soaked. I suggest you bring an extra set of clothes in your saddlebags.”

  His smile came slowly, but it was warm and real. He kissed her cheek, then left her.

  Alone, Dianna wandered back to the table that held the fruit and cakes, but had no appetite for any of it.

  More of the roads through the Veil had closed. More of the Clans had disappeared because of whatever was devouring Tir Alainn. And they were no closer to finding a way to stop it. No other information had been passed on to Lyrra or Aiden about the wiccanfae and their dark magic, and the only scrap of information that a bard had recently passed on to Aiden about the Pillars of the World implied that, at some time, they had been connected somehow to the House of Gaian. Which didn’t help at all since the House of Gaian had disappeared so long ago and neither Lyrra nor Aiden had any clue about what the Pillars of the World were, let alone where to find them.

  There was nothing she could do about Tir Alainn right now, but there was something she could do to help her brother get the pleasure he sought.

  Dianna left the room. The Fae had long ago lost the ability to command the elements, but with some effort, she thought they could produce a brief storm around a certain cottage.

  Chapter Eight

  Ari winced as heavy thunder rolled over the cottage and the first fat drops of rain hit the windows. Hurrying into her bedroom, she finished latching the inside shutters and drawing the winter drapes acro
ss them. Normally she enjoyed watching a storm roll in from the sea, but this one seemed ominous, somehow.

  “You’re getting daft, Ari,” she muttered as she stripped off her clothes and pulled on her heaviest nightgown. “First you talk to horses, and now you think storms have moods.”

  But storms did have moods, and this one made her uneasy.

  A gust of wind struck the cottage hard enough to make the windows rattle.

  Ari froze for a moment, then shook her head. Only a fool would ride out on a night like this.

  She put on clean socks, stuffed her feet into slippers, then put the snug on over her nightgown. Running her hand down the heavy wool, she smiled sadly.

  The snug was her mother’s idea. Tired of shawls that never seemed to stay put, Meredith had taken one of her shawls and sewed up the sides to make loose sleeves. Ari had woven fasteners that could keep it closed with a button. The result was a cross between a shawl and a coat that Meredith, laughing when she tried on the result of their efforts, had said would keep them warm and snug even in the stiffest breeze.

  Another gust of wind had Ari moving into the cottage’s main room. She stood in front of the hearth, breathing steadily as she focused on the wood. The power of fire swelled inside her, making her right hand tingle a little. She banked that power, gently. Raising her hand, she fed the rest of it into the wood. A bit of smoke rose from the kindling. Then a tiny flame flickered, caught more kindling, and grew stronger. She continued to feed that tiny fire until the last log began to burn easily.

  Moving into the kitchen, she sniffed the aroma of rabbit stew and pressed her hand against her growling stomach. She started to smile, but it faded when she looked at the kitchen door with its shiny new bolts and locks.

  How had old Ahern known that her kitchen door had been broken last night? Surely he hadn’t come around last night because it was the Summer Moon? Surely not. He’d never looked at her that way. But in his own gruff way, he’d always been kind.