Anne Bishop - Shadows and Light

Ashk shifted in the bed.

One tear trickled from beneath her closed eyelids, but her lips curved in a soft smile.

It was a Clan house. In an Old Place. At first, despite the feel of power rising up from the land, Lyrra hadn’t understood what she was seeing because they’d come into the Old Place from a branch of the main road leading west and had ridden past large fields surrounded by stone fences—fields filled with the green of crops. Those fields were interspersed with groves of trees and pastureland that had herds of cows, horses, and sheep grazing in them— which didn’t quite fit the way humans farmed, but it seemed too big. too much for a family of witches.

Then they rode through another stretch of trees.

The Clan house sprawled over several acres, looking more like a small village that flowed around and with the land. Some of the buildings were connected through the use of courtyards and gardens, but other buildings were separated from the rest by large stretches of mown grass. It was similar enough to the Clan houses in Tir Alainn to make her certain that was what she was looking at, and yet it felt... different.

“Do you suppose something happened to the witches here and the Clan had to come down and live in the human world in order to hold the shining road to Tir Alainn?” Lyrra asked quietly. They’d been noticed—had, no doubt, been noticed long before now—and the Fae men moving toward the road to meet them didn’t have any warmth in their eyes.

“They’ve been here a long time,” Aiden said just as quietly. “These buildings are old.” As they rode closer to the men now standing between them and the Clan house, he raised a hand in greeting. “A good day to you.”

Blessings of the day to you. Lyrra didn’t think anyone else had caught the slight hesitation before Aiden spoke, but she knew he’d changed what he’d been about to say. A year ago, that phrase had seemed strange, Other. Something said only by witches. Now that greeting felt so natural, it took conscious thought not to say it.

“What’s your business here?” one of the men asked.

Lyrra tensed when she noticed the archers who quietly joined the other men, positioning themselves on either side of the road. This wasn’t the way the Fae usually greeted each other. Then again, they were in the west now, and everyone who had encountered them said the Fae in the west weren’t like the rest of the Fae in Sylvalan.

“I am Lord Aiden, the Bard. This is Lady Lyrra, the Muse. If it’s not inconvenient, we’d like to rest and water the horses, and also speak to the minstrel or bard if there’s one in your Clan.”

“We’ve both,” the man replied. “The minstrel is in Tir Alainn at the moment, but the bard is here.” He studied Aiden, studied Minstrel just a bit longer, then said, “Come this way.”

They rode the rest of the way to the Clan house between a line of men, the archers falling in last.

To block the way out, Lyrra thought nervously. She glanced at Aiden. His expression held the confident arrogance of a Fae Lord, which was both a relief and a worry. His attitude said plainly enough that he was used to being treated respectfully by the Clans, but that didn’t mean these Fae would respond in the same way. And, in truth, ever since Aiden began opposing the Lightbringer’s attitude about witches, he hadn’t received much respect from the Clans in the rest of Sylvalan.

And she had the odd feeling that Aiden riding a dark horse meant more to the Fae here than his being the Bard.

Her nerves danced a little when they dismounted at the Clan house and she watched some of the men lead the horses away. Then she heard children laughing somewhere nearby, and some of the tension inside her eased. Surely she and Aiden could come to no harm if there were children close by.

They followed one of the Fae men through an arch that led to a large, sunny courtyard. The building that surrounded it had several doors on each side. Probably suites of rooms, Lyrra decided. Privacy and yet community. Flowers grew in raised beds of stone, and she saw a couple of birds fly down to drink from a large, shallow stone basin of water.

“It’s beautiful,” Lyrra said quietly. So easy to imagine the Fae gathering here at the end of the day to talk and laugh. So easy to picture the Clan’s bard or minstrel sitting on one of the wooden benches and playing for his own pleasure or to entertain whoever happened to be nearby. So easy to remember the cottage in Brightwood and Fae huddled together in the available beds or on thin mattresses on the floor because there hadn’t been room for all of them. So easy to remember the smaller, rougher cottages that Clan had built after so many of them had to come down to the human world in order to keep enough magic in the Old Place to hold the shining road open and their piece of Tir Alainn intact. Given enough time, would they eventually build a Clan house in the human world? Or would they continue to live a mean existence in Brightwood, doing only what they had to do to survive? “You’ve done so much work here.”

The man gave her an odd look. “We live here.”

“What about Tir Alainn?” Aiden asked.

“There’s a Clan house there, as well. The elders usually stay there during the winter months since the damp weather can be hard on old bones, and there are others who stay there much of the time to tend to things. The rest of us go there for a few days each season to rest. It’s a simpler place. It was meant to be.” He hesitated, looked a little puzzled. “I’ve heard it said that the Fae in other parts of Sylvalan live in Tir Alainn all the time. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Aiden said. “It’s true. Most of the Fae only come down to the human world to ... visit.”

The man shook his head. “Foolish thing to do, becoming a stranger to your own land.”

“If this is the Clan’s land, where do the witches live?” Lyrra asked. She saw the man’s expression, which had slowly warmed a little toward curious friendliness, change back instantly to wariness and suspicion. She felt the way Aiden suddenly gripped her hand in warning, and realized why he hadn’t asked if there were witches living in the Old Place. He’d intended to keep some things between themselves and the bard of this Clan, and she, caught up in comparing this place with memories of the Fae struggling through their first winter in Brightwood, had blurted out their interest in witches.

“That I can’t tell you,” the man said sharply. “The bard’s suite is this way.” He led them up a set of stairs to another archway that opened on the second floor of the building. A wide walkway stretched between one building and the next, ending at a rooftop courtyard.

A door at the opposite end of that courtyard took them down into a communal room for that part of the Clan house. The room was empty, which didn’t surprise her. If these Fae lived in the Old Place, there was plenty of work to be done in the daylight hours.

A brisk knock on an inner door a few doors down from the communal room. A muffled grumble behind it.

The man opened the door and gestured for them to go inside. “Taihg,” he said. “You’ve got visitors.”

She saw a man who looked a little older than Aiden hunched over a slant-top desk, busily scratching notations on a sheet of paper.

“I don’t have visitors until I’ve got this line down,” Taihg said irritably.

Before the man could speak again, Aiden just smiled and shook his head.

Lyrra saw a hint of warmth return to the man’s eyes. Apparently, he approved of the Bard showing that much courtesy to the Clan bard.

Raising two fingers to his temple in a salute, the man left, closing the door quietly behind him.