Anne Bishop - Shadows and Light

Glancing at the woods, she quickly moved away from the trees. The nighthunters didn’t like daylight, but if prey was close enough, they’d dart out of the shadows to feast.

She turned toward Ashk, not sure what she could do—and saw the remaining nighthunters abandon their prey and fly back toward the safety of the trees; saw the stag stumble for a couple of steps before it bounded away, blood flowing from wounds that were already turning dark and rotten; saw Ashk, her face stark with a kind of brutal beauty, splattered with gore from the nighthunters that had come within reach of her knife, standing over her son; and, with some surprise, saw Neall, mounted bareback on Shadow, releasing an arrow and bringing down another nighthunter before it reached the trees.

The ground was littered with the creatures’ bodies—and there were still more of them hiding in the shadows.

Neall swung a leg over Shadow’s neck and slid to the ground, an arrow nocked in his bow, his eyes still watching the trees as he sidestepped over to where Ashk stood.

Her legs trembling, Morag walked over to join them.

“Caitlin?” she asked, looking at Neall.

“She’s fine,” Neall said. “I was bringing the horses in closer to the stables when I saw her. After she told me where Evan was, I sent her to the cottage. Ari will look after her.”

“Mother?” Evan said, pushing himself up until he was sitting. His face pinched up with an effort not to cry. Tears spilled over anyway. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

Ashk stared at nothing, said nothing.

“What happened?” Neall asked, his tone sharp. “Why were you out riding on your own?”

“I—I wanted to get a couple of things from the manor house,” Evan stammered. “It was daylight, and the Black Coats were gone, so I— We weren’t going far, and we’ve gone by ourselves lots of times before. But Caitlin asked if she could ride my horse, and I said she could ride it a little, so we stopped here, just for a minute. But the horse kept acting strange once Caitlin got on his back. Kept trying to pull away and head for your cottage. Then Owen said he thought he saw something in the trees. Told me to hold his horse while he went to take a look. He didn’t go very far into the trees before he screamed and ran out and those ... things ... were on him. And the horse ran away with Caitlin, and I couldn’t hold the other two and Owen was on the ground with those things all over him, and I tried to run but I turned my ankle and fell and ... Mother, I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ashk said in an empty voice. “You were wrong to leave the Clan house without permission, wrong to think you knew more than those of us who had warned you there was a new danger in the woods. Those mistakes are yours, and you must answer for them. But what happened here to Owen and—” She pressed her lips together.

Morag watched Ashk fight some inner battle for control.

“What happened here wasn’t your fault,” Ashk said, finally looking down at her son. “The first person who rode this way would have been attacked.”

Evan’s lips quivered as tears ran down his face. “But it wouldn’t have been Owen ... or him.”

Him ? Morag wondered, then realized Evan meant the stag.

“Whether you were here or not, he would have been,” Ashk said. “He would have sensed their presence in the woods, would have searched for that dark festering until he found its source.” She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Neall, it would be a kindness if you’d take Evan back to the cottage with you and keep him and Caitlin tonight. There’s something I need to do.”

“I can track the stag,” Neall said gently. “I’ll find him and—”

“No. I know where he’s gone. Just... look after my children, if you will.”

Ashk walked back to her horse, picked up her bow, and mounted.

“Go with her,” Neall said, looking at Morag. He slipped the arrow into the quiver on his back, then held out a hand to Evan. “Up you go, laddy-boy. Let’s see if you can hobble over to Shadow, or if he has to come to you.”

Leaving them, Morag hurried to her dark horse. She slung the quiver over one shoulder and stifled a curse when strands of hair tangled in the straps and pulled. Now she understood why Ashk had started braiding her long hair and wrapping the braids around her head.

She caught up to Ashk easily enough and almost pointed out that this wasn’t the direction the stag had headed—and she doubted he would get very far.

But he wasn’t always a stag. That had slipped past her in that frozen moment because his leap into the swarm had seemed so terrible and so right.

No, he wasn’t always a stag, and when they finally reached a meadow, Morag saw that she’d underestimated him. He was there, moving slowly, painfully toward the center of the meadow where wildflowers danced and there were no shadows. When he reached the spot, he stood there, his legs spread and shaking, his head down as if he could no longer hold up the great rack of antlers.

Ashk rode out partway to meet him. She dismounted, then waited for Morag to do the same.

Morag looked at the stag. Blood dripped on the grass beneath him. In the stillness, she could hear his harsh effort to breathe.

Ashk held out a hand.

Morag slipped the quiver off her shoulder and offered it.

Ashk took one arrow, nocked it loosely in the bow.

“Who is he?” Morag asked softly.

Ashk kept her eyes on her bow. “Kernos. He was the Green Lord, the Hunter. He’s still the old Lord of the Woods. And he’s my grandfather.”

“But... another took his place as the Hunter years ago.”

“Another became the Hunter years ago, but there’s no one who could take his place, no one who could be what he was.” Ashk looked up at the stag. Her eyes were clear of tears ... and full of a terrible grief.

Morag placed a hand on Ashk’s arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

“In his own way, he chose a warrior’s death. He chose to leave this world as the old Lord of the Woods. So I’ll honor him by taking him while he still stands.”

Morag’s hand tightened on Ashk’s arm. “You don’t have to do this,” she said again—and saw the moment when Ashk understood what she was saying. She could gather his spirit, take it from that dying body without Ashk doing anything.

Ashk stepped aside, pulling away from Morag’s hand. “Yes, I do.”

She walked out into the meadow until she stood a few yards away from the stag. She took aim, drew back the bowstring, and waited.

The stag slowly, painfully raised his head until he stood straight and tall for the last time, his dark eyes watching Ashk.

“Good-bye, Grandfather. We’ll meet again in the Summerland.”

The arrow sang Death’s song. Pierced the chest. Found the heart.

The stag fell.

Morag closed her eyes. You could have asked me, Ashk. I would have spared you that pain. When she opened her eyes, she saw the ghost of an old man, limping slightly, moving toward her. He stopped when he came abreast of Ashk—and he smiled.

“Ashk?” Morag said. “Would you like me to ride back to the Clan house with you?”

Ashk shook her head, her eyes still focused on the stag. “You have your own journey to make now. I’ll stay with him and keep watch. But I’d consider it a kindness if you would stop by the Clan house and let them now I’m here—and also ask if someone will go to Ari’s cottage. If she’s willing, and feels strong enough, I’d like her to turn the earth for him. I’d like him to return to the Great Mother in the spot where he chose to fall.”

Morag looped the quiver’s strap over the horn of Ashk’s saddle. She mounted her dark horse, waited until Kernos’s ghost floated up behind her. Then she rode away from the meadow, following a wide forest trail that she was certain led to the Clan house. She hadn’t gone far when she met up with several Fae males, who were scouting that trail for signs of nighthunters, and delivered her messages.