by Anne Bishop
“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?”
“Horses,” Morag said. Before she could say anything more, Neall and the dark mare burst out of the stables, galloping toward Brightwood. “Is something wrong?”
“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.”
“Tomorrow?” Ari’s mouth fell open. “We can’t possibly leave tomorrow. There are all the things to pack—”
“You need to get as far away from here as fast as you can,” Ahern said bluntly. “The two of you can travel fastest on horseback, so that’s the way you’ll go. You can make a list of what you want from the cottage. Neall can tell me where to find you. I’ll see that a wagon is packed, and I’ll have a couple of my men bring it to your new place.”
“But—” Ari stammered. “But there’s the harvest—”
“May the Mother blight the harvest,” Morag said fiercely.
Neall felt the shock run through Ari that anyone would say anything that . . . obscene.
“The men who created the creatures that harmed that mare may be coming here soon,” Morag said. “You have to be gone before they arrive.”
Ari stared at Morag. “If they’re coming to harm Brightwood, then I should stay to protect the land.”
“They aren’t coming here for the land. They’re coming to kill you. Just like they’ve killed the others who are like you.”
Ari paled, and Neall wondered what Morag had told her. It didn’t matter. Morag had just said enough to convince him not to delay.
“Ari—”
Ari shook her head.
Mother’s mercy, Neall thought. This was no time for her to get stubborn.
“Your grandmother wants you to go,” Morag said.
Ari’s knees gave out so suddenly Neall grabbed her to keep her from falling.
“But— But you said she was gone,” Ari whispered.
“I lied. She didn’t want me to tell you she was still here.”
“My . . . mother?”
“She has gone on to the Summerland.” Morag gentled her voice. “Your grandmother wanted to wait until you and Neall left Brightwood. She wanted you to go, Ari. She still wants you to go. And . . . the Inquisitors aren’t the only reason you should leave Brightwood as soon as you can.” She flicked a glance at Neall.
Ari stiffened as if she were braced to fight—or defend. Then she sagged again, and asked hesitantly, “What about Merle?”
“The pup can stay with me for a few weeks,” Ahern said impatiently. “He’ll come along with the wagon— and the harvest.”
“Ari . . .” Morag took a step toward them, her eyes so full of emotion Neall had to look away. “Ari, please go. Death is coming. I want you gone before it arrives.”
Ari closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they were filled with bleak resignation.
Neall’s heart ached for her. This wasn’t the way she wanted to leave Brightwood. This wasn’t the way he wanted her to leave. “Ari . . .”
Her hand closed over his arm, held on tight. “I need tomorrow to take care of things. Then, if Ahern doesn’t mind, I could stay there tomorrow night and we could leave first thing in the morning the day after.”
Looking at Morag and Ahern, Neall held his breath.
Ahern appeared to be doing the same thing, his attention focused on the black-haired woman beside him. She seemed to be listening to something only she could hear.
“All right,” Morag finally said. “The day after tomorrow should be soon enough.”
Chapter Thirty
Ari looked doubtfully at the pile of clothing on her bed, then at the saddlebags Morag had given her. “I’ve never been anywhere before. Except to Seahaven once, but I was only gone for a couple of days. How can I know what I’ll need?”
Morag picked up the comb, brush, and handmirror from the dressing table and brought them over to the bed. After wrapping a camisole around the mirror, she put it in the still-empty saddlebags. “You pack clothing, since that’s what you’ll need immediately, toiletries—and whatever you use for personal needs.”
Ari puzzled over that last part until Morag added pointedly, “a woman’s needs.” She dashed to the bathing room, opened the small chest that held those supplies, then hesitated.
“You’re going to be living with the man,” she told herself sternly. “And it’s not like he doesn’t already know what these cloths are for.” Still, she felt her cheeks heat as she took some of the rolled cloths. Well, she would just have to get used to it. But looking at the cloths reminded her of something else.
Dashing for the kitchen, she took out the jar of herbs she used during her fertile days. That reminded her to take the “recipe” book that contained the notes for the various simples and teas that she and the other witches in her family had made. Of course, she couldn’t be certain she would find the same plants in the western part of Sylvalan, but these were things she couldn’t leave behind. And the small jar of healing ointment would be handy to have as well.
By the time she got back to the bedroom, Morag had one saddlebag filled to bulging.
“Give me those,” Morag said. Unfolding the tunic, she had just folded, she wrapped the jars and book.
Ari jammed the rolled cloths in the bottom of the second saddlebag. The jars and book went in next. While Ari folded another tunic and a pair of trousers, Morag opened the dressing table drawers. She pulled out the jewelry box.
“You’ll want to take this.”
Ari shook her head. “They’re just trinkets.” If Lucian had truly cared, would she be leaving Brightwood today?
Yes, I would. He just made it easier for me to decide. Lucian was like a powerful storm, intense and overwhelming, impressive in its moment. But Neall is soft rain, the kind of quiet rain that sinks deep into the earth. Storms may be exciting for a while, but it’s the soft rain that I love and want to embrace for a lifetime.
Morag opened the jewelry box. “These may be trinkets in one respect, but they do have value. Keep a couple of pieces for sentimental reasons and sell the rest.” She held up one piece. “A pin like this will buy you the best room at an inn, a good meal, stabling and feed for the horses, and a hot bath. After a few days on the road, you’ll welcome all of those things.”
