Anne Bishop - Shadows and Light

She rode on until she found another small clearing, bright with daylight. She could open the road that led to the Shadowed Veil from anywhere she was, but she didn’t want to come back down that road and touch the world again among the shadows of the woods.

Once she opened it, the dark horse cantered up the road to the Shadowed Veil. When they reached the Veil, she released Owen’s spirit, saw his ghost form a few feet in front of her. He bowed to her—or, perhaps, it was to the ghost who rode behind her—then turned and walked through the Shadowed Veil to follow the path to the Summerland.

Kernos floated down to stand beside the dark horse. “Gatherer, is it permissible for you to give a message from the dead to the living?”

“It’s permissible.”

“Then tell her I am proud of her courage. I am proud of her heart.”

Morag swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ll tell her.”

Kernos studied her for a moment. “You’re of a kind, you and Ashk. It’s glad I am to know she has such a friend in this season of her life. Blessings of the day to you, Gatherer.”

“Blessings of the day to you, Kernos.”

He walked up to the Shadowed Veil, and through it, without looking back.

Morag stared at the Veil for a long time before she turned the dark horse and went back down the road to the living world.

It was late that evening before Morag tapped on Ashk’s door. She didn’t wait for an answer before going in, wasn’t sure she would get one.

After returning from the Shadowed Veil, she’d come back to the Clan house to wait for Ashk and Ari. When they’d finished giving Kernos’s body back to the Great Mother, Ari had stayed at the Clan house long enough to have a bite to eat, then had gone home, her pony cart surrounded by armed Fae.

Ashk had said little, had eaten little. She had simply sat at the big outdoor table, her silent grief a wall none of the Fae could breach.

Now that everyone had retired for the night, except those who were standing guard, it was time to see if she could reach the woman behind that wall of grief.

Ashk sat on the bed. She’d put on a nightgown and had taken her hair down so that it flowed in waves down her back. But her eyes still stared at nothing—or at something only she could see.

Morag sat on the bed, close but not touching.

“The meadow was our favorite place,” Ashk said softly. “He’d take me there to play, to learn, to talk. He taught me everything I know about the woods, taught me how to use the knife and the bow, taught me about the shadows and the light. And he ... accepted me when the rest of my family couldn’t. Even in the west, many of the Fae are not... easy ... about being around a Fae whose other form is a shadow hound.”

“It’s a rare form to have,” Morag said, keeping her voice as soft and low as Ashk’s. And a dangerous one.

“I loved him.” Ashk’s voice broke. The first tear slipped down her cheek. “He had a laugh that— When you heard it, you knew it was the Green Lord, laughing with joy and delight. And after I’d met Padrick... after the night of the Summer Moon when I realized I was carrying Padrick’s child and he wanted me to wed him in the human way ... We sat in the meadow, and when I told Grandfather I carried a child, he laughed that laugh. He said my womb had ripened for a fine man, and I should take the man as well as the seed. He said it was the green season of my life and I should honor it, that the other seasons would come soon enough. So I married Padrick in the human way, and the Green Lord stood beside me while I did it.”

“Your grandfather sounds like a fine man.”

“He taught me. He taught Padrick how to shift to his other form. Padrick had been raised human, and his Fae heritage had been slow to ripen.”

Like Neall ? Morag wondered.

Tears flowed down Ashk’s cheeks. “He taught me everything I know, but it’s not enough. It’s still not enough. And now h-he’s gone.”

Morag wrapped her arms around Ashk as the wall finally broke and the grief flowed with the tears.

“He’ll be remembered, Ashk,” Morag said, rocking the woman in an attempt to give comfort. “He’ll be remembered.”

“How? He’s from the west, and the B-Bard has never troubled himself to come here. Who will remember him for all that he was?”

You will, Morag thought. And, somehow, I’ll find a way to reach Aiden and convince him to come here and listen to the stories about Kernos, the Green Lord, the Hunter, the old Lord of the Woods.

But she didn’t say that, having heard the underlying bitterness in Ashk’s voice. Now that she thought of it, it was true there weren’t many songs about the Hunter, and the only one she could vaguely recall was the one about a young Lord of the Woods ascending to become the new Hunter and sparing the life of the old Lord.

Kernos. The old Lord had been Kernos, who had been given a reprieve from Death’s arrow years ago and had had those years to watch his beloved granddaughter marry and become a mother, to play with his great-grandchildren—and to save one by offering himself.

But she didn’t mention that, or make any promises about finding the Bard. Instead, she waited until Ashk had cried herself out for the time being; then she gave her Kernos’s message.

“Thank you,” Ashk said in a rough whisper. “That means a great deal to me.”

There was a quick tap, then Morphia eased the door open.

Morag looked at her sister.

Nodding, Morphia slipped into the room. She brushed her hand lightly over Ashk’s head.

“You need to rest now, Ashk,” Morag said as she tucked Ashk into bed and arranged the light summer covers. “You need to sleep.”

“No,” Ashk said, her voice slurred. “I’ll see him again. I’ll see him leap.”

Morphia leaned over, kissed Ashk’s forehead, and whispered, “No dreams but gentle ones.”

Ashk slept.

Before Morag could move, Morphia turned and kissed her, too. “No dreams but gentle ones,” she whispered again. Linking her arm through Morag’s, she led them from the room.

Morag’s legs got heavy. Her eyelids drooped. If Morphia wasn’t leading her to her room, she would have stopped where she was, curled up, and gone to sleep.

“You could have waited until we got to my room,” Morag complained sleepily.

“But then you would have realized what I wanted to do, and you would have argued about it.”

“Wouldn’t have.”

Morphia laughed softly. “No, of course not, Morag. You don’t argue about anything.”

“Iz not nice to laugh at your sister when you’ve put her to sleep,” Morag grumbled as they reached her room and she just tumbled into the bed. “You get the last word.”

“At least until morning,” Morphia agreed.

Ashk shifted in her sleep.

It was the meadow, and yet the sunlight touched it differently, softly.

She saw him walking through the grass and flowers, and felt a pang that, even here, he limped a little. He didn’t seem to notice. His attention was caught by something else. He began to move faster—and he laughed the laugh that had taught her more about the joy of life than anything else ever had.

She saw him flow from his human form into the shape of the stag. Now he bounded across the meadow, and her eyes could follow him as he headed for the woods.

An old woods. A very old woods. A place where favorite spots would always be found. A place where there would always be a new path to explore. A place where he could wander the trails in the form he’d loved best. A place where there was peace, even in the shadows.

Then he went into the trees where her eyes couldn’t follow, but she’d find him again one day, in that old woods.