Shadows and Light ta-2

by Anne Bishop

  “He seems like a good man,” Breanna said slowly. “Why would the rest of the Fae do nothing to help him?”

  Lyrra hesitated; then she said carefully, “He believes, as I do, that the witches are the House of Gaian.”

  Breanna shrugged. “Why should that matter to the rest of them? We are the House of Gaian.”

  Lyrra raised her head. Sat up slowly. “You remember that?”

  Breanna tipped her head, obviously puzzled. “We live at the foot of the Mother’s Hills. How could we forget?”

  “Some ... Well, we’ve actually met only one other witch to speak to, and she didn’t know.” Only the Crones in Ari’s family did, after reading the journals of those who had come before them.

  Breanna looked in the direction of the hills. “If they’ve forgotten who they are, what else did they forget?”

  “I don’t know. But Ari... Ari was someone I would have liked to have as a friend. I wish there had been time to know her better.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s... She disappeared after the Black Coats came.”

  Breanna sighed. “Well, I’ll mention it to Gran. This may be something the elders should know about—if they don’t already. But that’s for Gran to decide.” She handed the tankard to Lyrra, folded a piece of bread around a slice of cheese. “Here. Have a bite to eat, and drink the cider. Are you tired?” Weary to the marrow of her bones. “I’ll do. Why?” Breanna studied her. “Come spend an hour with me in the garden. I think you need what earth can give.”

  Aiden woke to the cheerful sound of water singing over stone. That made no sense. He was laying in a bed in one of the guest rooms in Nuala’s house—the same room he’d been given before. There wasn’t a brook close to the house, so how could he hear one?

  Turning his head toward the sound, he opened his eyes and stared at the bowl on the table beside the bed. With a few grunts and groans, he managed to sit up and slide his legs over the side of the bed so he could get a better look.

  Arranged stones filled the center of the bowl. Water rose up between them, spilling down over the stones’ edges.

  A brook in a bowl, Aiden thought, smiling. But how was it done?

  Curiosity got him out of bed when nothing else would have at that moment.

  He found clothing on a chair. The belt and the boots were his, but the shirt and trousers had belonged to someone else. Still, he put them on, grateful for the loan—and tried not to curse too loudly when his bandaged hands and side made the task of getting dressed a fumbling challenge.

  A comb and brush had been left on the dressing table beneath a small mirror. He picked up the brush, looked in the mirror—and froze.

  His true face, his Fae face, stared back at him.

  He and Lyrra had forgotten to use the glamour when they’d returned to the human world.

  Breanna had seen his true face, so she’d probably told the others he and Lyrra were Fae. That’s why they hadn’t seemed surprised. Or maybe they were too intent on helping him to really notice the shape of his ears and the feral quality of his face.

  Unsure if that made him feel relieved or uneasy, he brushed his hair and left the room.

  He wandered back to the kitchen, since it was the only part of the house he was familiar with. Glynis escorted him to a parlor, where Nuala sat near an open window, doing some needlework.

  She rose when he crossed the room, placed one hand lightly on the side of his face, and studied him for a long moment.

  “You look better,” Nuala said.

  I look Fae. But he wasn’t comfortable pointing that out to her, so he asked a question. “The ... fountain ... in the bedroom. How did you do that?”

  Her woodland eyes twinkled with amusement before a soft smile curved her lips. “Water is my strongest branch of the Mother, and I have a connection with earth and fire, as well. So it’s not so difficult to ask water and stone to dance together to soothe a weary heart.”

  He’d been dazed when she and Keely had led him into the kitchen and sat him down at one end of a worktable. But he remembered how Nuala had quietly murmured while she ran her fingers over his hands and Keely poured water over them. He remembered seeing bits of dirt and stone rise up out of his flesh to be washed into the bowl on the table.

  “You called the earth out of my hands,” he said.

  “It didn’t belong there.” Her fingers trailed down his cheek before she lowered her hand. “It’s almost time for the evening meal. Why don’t you sit and rest a bit?”

  Aiden took a step back, shook his head regretfully. “As much as we enjoy your hospitality, Nuala, we have a long journey and can’t delay.”

  She gave him a stern look that made him want to scuff his toes against the carpet. “Do you have a grandmother?”

  “Yes.” Although I doubt she’d be willing to acknowledge me now.

  Nuala nodded, as if he’d given her the answer she expected. “I am old enough to be your grandmother, and since yours isn’t here, I will stand for her this evening. You, young man, will stay here tonight to rest and gather your strength for the journey ahead. As soon as Breanna and Lyrra join us, we will discuss your plans to see what can be done to ease the journey.”

  “But—”

  She pointed to a small sofa that faced the windows. “Sit.”

  He sat. And he wondered how different the Fae might have been if the grandmothers in the Clans had perfected that tone of voice.

  Nuala returned to her chair and picked up her needlework.

  After a few minutes, he relaxed. Under different circumstances, he could see himself sitting in this room for an hour, idly playing his harp, perhaps even picking out a new tune while she quietly worked on her embroidery. There was so much peace and strength in this room, in this house.

  “Why are there no men here?” he asked, a question more for himself than directed to her.

  Nuala didn’t even glance up. “No men? Then Edgar and Clay are... ?”

  Aiden shrugged, winced a little when the movement pulled the scabs forming on his right side. “I meant... companions.” Lovers, actually, but he wasn’t going to say that.

  “My husband died when Keely was still a child. Because of what happened to her, she will never think of a man in that way. And Breanna hasn’t yet found the man who touches her heart. As for other kinds of companions...” Nuala’s lips twitched. “That, grandson, is none of your business.”

  Aiden grinned.

  The door opened, and Breanna and Lyrra walked into the room.

  “Aiden!” Lyrra cried, rushing over to him as he struggled to get to his feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with an intensity that made him blush, since he knew Breanna and Nuala were watching with great interest. “How do you feel?”

  He wrapped his arms lightly around her. “Better.” She, on the other hand, looked exhausted and yet peaceful. “What have you been doing?”

  “I worked in the garden.” She turned her head and gave Breanna a dark look. “And I turned the compost piles.”

  Breanna just smiled and took the other chair near the windows. “I just let you learn one of Gran’s lessons: Given time, even muck will change into something that nourishes.”

  “Did I phrase it that way?” Nuala asked mildly.

  “No, you phrased it much more nicely, but the lesson remains the same.”

  Smiling, Nuala put her needlework aside. “Sit down, you two. There are things to discuss.”

  Aiden eased himself back down on the sofa. Lyrra sat beside him, one hand on his arm as she rested lightly against his left shoulder.

  “Now, Aiden. You’ve lost your horse.”

  Grief stabbed through him. No one knew what happened to those who got lost in the mist. He couldn’t say if the horse was dead, injured, or wandering around alive until lack of food and water killed it. It was easier to believe it had died swiftly, cleanly.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “We don’t have a horse we can offer yo
u, but I could inquire tomorrow if the baron would be willing to lend you a horse.”

  Aiden shook his head. “I thank you for the offer, but to travel as we do, I would need a Fae horse. I doubt any would be found in the baron’s stable.”

  Nuala nodded. “I thought that would be the case. So. What are your plans?”

  He felt Lyrra tense beside him. She wasn’t going to like the decision he’d made at some point while he’d slept. “We need to reach the western part of Sylvalan as soon as we can. So we’re going to go through the Mother’s Hills.”

  “Aiden!” Lyrra pulled away from him. “We can’t go through the Mother’s Hills.”

  “Why not?” Breanna asked.

  “Because ... because the Fae don’t go into those hills. We just don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re afraid of them,” Aiden said quietly. “I can’t tell you why. It’s never spoken, but it’s understood that we do not go there. But I don’t see that we have a choice.”

  “We have a choice,” Lyrra said heatedly.

  “What choice?” Aiden snapped. “To add more days and delays to the journey?”

  “We don’t even know it will be worth it!”

  “We won’t know anything if we don’t try!”

  “I think I know why the Fae don’t like the Mother’s Hills,” Nuala said quietly.

  A chill went through Aiden, banking his temper.

  “It’s an Old Place,” Nuala continued. “The Old Place. From the northern tip to the southern end, the Mother’s Hills are the home of the House of Gaian. The power there ...” She shook her head. “I don’t think the Fae would want to have to acknowledge the power that lives in the Daughters and Sons of the House of Gaian. So they’ve stayed away until they’ve forgotten why. If what Lyrra told Breanna is true, that whole families of witches have forgotten who they really are, then it would be easy for those witches to come to believe they are less than what they are. And far easier to believe that a people who appear only occasionally in the human world are more powerful.”

  “We do have gifts of our own,” Lyrra muttered.

  “I didn’t say you didn’t. I only offer a reason why the Fae may have avoided the Mother’s Hills.”

  A long, thoughtful silence.

  Then Aiden said, “Can we cross through the hills?”

  “As long as you offer no harm, you’ll come to no harm.” Nuala reached into her work basket, pulled out two wooden disks strung on thin cords of leather. She handed them to Aiden and Lyrra. “Here. Wear those where they can be seen.”

  Aiden studied the disk. On one side was a rough image of a willow tree in front of some wavy lines that probably were meant to be water. The carving had been stained somehow to stand out against the lighter wood.

  “We have kin in the Mother’s Hills,” Nuala said. “That is our family symbol. Show it to anyone you meet there. They will know you guested with us ... and that you were welcome.”

  “Thank you,” Aiden said, slipping the leather cord over his head.

  “We can also give you a purse to pay for food and lodging on the journey.”

  “Nuala,” Aiden protested. “We can’t—”

  “Grandson.”

  He knew there was only one thing to say in response to that tone of voice. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

  Nuala smiled.

  A brief knock on the door before Keely opened it and stuck her head in the room. “Glynis says she’s ready to serve the meal.”

  “Thank you, Keely.” Nuala rose. “I think that’s all we need to discuss.” She walked out of the room.

  As soon as Nuala left, Breanna chuckled. “Ah, Aiden, you looked good sitting there like a hooked trout, just thrashing around and getting nowhere.”

  His pride stung, he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “Thank you, Breanna.”

  “Oh, it’s I who should be thanking you.” Breanna grinned. “It was a treat to see someone else on the receiving end of that tone of voice. Even more of a treat to discover that even the Bard can’t argue against it.”

  Aiden gave her what he hoped was a scalding look. Her grin just got sassier. Sighing, he gave up. His sharp tongue and his way of shaping words might intimidate the Fae most of the time, but he had a feeling that Breanna, with a lifetime of practice behind her, would have come out better in this “discussion” with Nuala than he had.

  With Lyrra’s arm tucked through his, he slowly followed Breanna out of the room.

  “Grandmother?” Lyrra whispered, looking at him a bit wide-eyed.

  “An honorary one.”

  “Do you think you’re going to acquire any more grandmothers on this journey?”

  “I sincerely hope not.” One was more than he could handle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ashk rode beside Evan on the wide forest trail that led back to the Clan house. He was doing well on this practice ride with the new horse—easy hands and good seat— and the horse had a sweet way of moving. A good partnership for the time being, but she’d noticed how the small gelding’s attention tended to stray whenever it heard Caitlin’s voice. The horse accepted her son as its rider, but it was far more attached to her daughter. Ah, well. The animal wouldn’t pine for Evan when he outgrew it.

  I did what you’d asked, Padrick, Ashk thought dryly. I did my part of the bargaining—or tried to, anyway—and Neall managed not to kill himself choking back the laughter as we wrangled down to the price he wanted. Of course, offering twelve coppers and six rabbits might not have been where I should have started my end of the bargaining.

  She tried not to sigh out loud. Despite the time she’d spent with humans because of being Padrick’s wife, she still couldn’t understand why they enjoyed this haggling for goods. But watching Neall fight to keep a straight face gave her more understanding for why the merchants in the village were so hesitant to name an amount whenever she became interested enough in something to inquire about its price. She’d probably shocked them by paying the asking price— and probably terrified them into worrying that the baron would be along shortly to demand an explanation for what he would consider out and out thievery. Which probably explained why there were always a few coins tucked into whatever she’d purchased. She’d simply thought it was a custom among merchants to return a bit and had given the coins to the children to spend.

  And Padrick, she suddenly realized, had simply smiled all these years when he saw her remove the coins from a package and had never said a word.

  As they came in sight of the Clan house, Ashk saw the horse and rider. She recognized both. She still reined in, raising a hand to signal Evan to stop, as well.

  “It’s Gordon, Mother,” Evan said. “I wonder what he’s doing here.”

  Nothing good. Ashk studied the groom who worked in her husband’s stable. She’d made a point of riding over to the manor every couple of days since Padrick had left for the barons’ council, so whatever had brought the groom to the Clan house was out of the ordinary—something the servants didn’t feel could wait for her next visit.

  “Stay here.” She looked at her son, saw him flinch, and knew he was seeing something in her face that reflected the side of her that even the other Fae approached cautiously. “If I tell you to ride, you turn that horse around and head for the heart of the woods. Do you understand me?”

  “But, Mother—”

  “Do you understand?”

  His eyes widened. “Yes, Lady.”

  She caught a glimpse of something coming along on the trail behind them. Her hand slid down to the large hunting knife strapped to the outside of her right boot. Then she caught the flutter of black between the trees and relaxed. Morag, coming back from her own ride with Caitlin.

  Brushing her heels against her horse’s side, she rode toward the Clan house and the man waiting for her.

  Had he been too fearful to enter a Clan house of the Fae? Or had the invitation never been given?

  A compromise, she decide
d, noticing how a couple of the Fae men holding crossbows hung back—and how the other men who were closer to their guest were still standing where they wouldn’t interfere with a clean shot if one were needed. But they’d given the groom a mug of ale and had brought a bucket of water for the horse.

  Gordon smiled when he saw her, obviously relieved by her presence. How ironic since, with the exception of Morag, she was the one he should fear the most.

  “Lady Ashk,” Gordon said, settling for a brush of his fingers against his cap when he realized he couldn’t bow without spilling the ale.

  “Is there a problem at the manor?” Ashk asked.

  “Not a problem exactly, but Finlay asked could you come to the manor. Some boxes for the baron, but the man that brought them said he won’t leave them until he talks to the baron. Then he said he’d speak to the baron’s lady since he was just remembering that the barons were having a big meeting in the east. So that’d be you, Lady Ashk. Will you come?”

  “Just one man?” Morag said sharply as she rode up beside Ashk.

  Ashk watched the groom’s eyes widen. Dressed in one of her black outfits, there was no mistaking who Morag was.

  “T-three, Mistress. Lady.” He looked at Ashk, a silent plea in his eyes to help him say the right thing to the Gatherer.

  “Three men,” Morag said quietly. There was nothing gentle in that quietness.

  “T-the captain of the ship and two of his men,” Gordon stammered.

  Padrick had said nothing about expecting a shipment. So who was this captain, and why had he come to Breton?

  Ashk looked at Morag. “Will you come with me?”

  Morag studied Gordon a moment longer. “I’ll come.”

  Ashk glanced at the men standing near the groom. A moment later, two ravens and a hawk took flight, heading for the manor—and for Ari and Neall’s cottage, since it was between the Clan house and Padrick’s estate. Two would remain close to the cottage to keep watch; the other would continue on to the manor to give warning if it was necessary.