Anne Bishop - The Pillars of the World

He didn’t like it, but since they weren’t returning to the shining road through the Veil, he obeyed.

I’ll find a way to let him go. I’ll find someone to take my place for him. He’s too young to be given to Death simply because he’s inconvenient. Just like . . .

Morag’s lips thinned to a grim line. The dark horse was the least of her problems at the moment.

At least the Lightbringer and the Huntress were aware of the danger to Tir Alainn. At least they didn’t scoff and refuse to listen. At least they’d said they wanted to protect the witches. But she’d sensed the undercurrents swirling in the room. She hadn’t understood them . . . until Dianna had asked her to gather a particular spirit and show it the road to the Shadowed Veil.

Neall. The young man Ari loved. The man Dianna wanted eliminated so that Ari would stay at Brightwood. The man who had bought a dark horse from Ahern.

Very soon she would have to make a decision about Neall. But there was a visit to be made first.

When she got to the hill where the wind always blew, she left the dark horse at the bottom of the hill and climbed to the top. She walked over to the ghost, sat down beside her.

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. Then the ghost said, “The wind from the north carries much sorrow.”

“Yes,” Morag said softly.

“There are warnings whispered. A violent storm has come to Sylvalan, a storm that rejoices in the Daughters’ pain. They must flee the Old Places and hide before it strikes them.”

Daughters ? Morag wondered. But she asked a different question. “Did none of Death’s Servants come to show you the road to the Shadowed Veil and the Summerland beyond it?”

“One rode this way,” the ghost said. “She took my daughter with her. I chose to stay for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because of Ari. I wanted to know that she was going with Neall, that she had the strength to leave duty and choose a life that would nourish her heart.”

Morag shifted uneasily. “You want her to leave with him? You approve of Neall?”

“Oh, yes.” The ghost smiled. “He’s a fine young man. With him, my granddaughter will have a richer life than she could ever have here.”

“If she leaves here,” Morag said carefully, “the road through the Veil will close and a piece of Tir Alainn will be lost. The Fae need her to stay.”

The ghost’s smile turned brittle and bitter. “The Fae are very good at knowing what they want. They’re also very good at having someone else shoulder the burden in order for them to have what they want. They may want Ari to stay, but they don’t need her to stay. The Fae can hold the shining road.”

“Then why haven’t we?”

“Because you had us to do it for you.” She paused for a long time. Then, “Tir Alainn was meant to be a sanctuary, a place to rest and renew body and spirit. But the Fae found life in a land that required little toil was more to their liking than a world where the rose and beetle both reside. They lived above the world like creatures who live in the branches of a tree and touch the ground only to play—or when they see something they want. But they forgot that without the roots the tree cannot survive.”

“And you are the roots?”

The ghost looked out over the land. “The Fae are the Mother’s Children. But we are the Daughters. We are the Pillars of the World.”

Morag shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? The answers are in plain sight, if you choose to look for them.”

This is why I never converse with the ghosts of old women , Morag thought irritably. They no longer need plain speaking, so they adore riddles .

“What makes Neall so special that you would have Ari leave the land and home your family has held for generations?” Morag asked.

“He can give her more than trinkets,” the ghost replied sharply. She was silent for a moment. “If the Fae here did persuade Ari to stay in order to keep hold of their part of Tir Alainn, would they live here with her, day after day, from season to season? Would they accept the disappointments as well as the joys of living in this world? Or would they fawn over her until Neall finally left without her? And once he left, how long would it be before they stopped visiting because it was no longer necessary?”

Morag brushed some dirt off her boot. “You’re very bitter about us, aren’t you?”

“I have read my family’s history. I have reason to feel bitter.” The ghost sighed. “And I know that the fault doesn’t lie just with the Fae. The women in my family chose trinkets of affection. But I want Ari to have the richer jewels of love.”

Morag stood up. “When she’s gone, I’ll come back and show you the road to the Shadowed Veil.”

“When she’s gone, I, too, will be ready to go.”

Morag walked over to the point where the hill sloped downward. Then she turned back. “What is your name?”

“I am Astra.”

Nodding to acknowledge that she’d heard, Morag walked down the hill to where the dark horse waited.

“What do you think of her?” Ahern asked, resting his arms against the top rail of the paddock.

Neall grinned as he brought the dark mare to a halt and dismounted. “She’s light on her feet, responsive to commands, and smart enough to compensate for the most inept rider. She’s a beauty, Ahern.” He stroked the mare’s neck. “I hope you won’t have to let her go to someone who won’t appreciate her.”

“The dark horses go where I will,” Ahern replied. He paused, then added, “She’s for Ari.”

Neall’s hand froze on the mare’s neck as he stared at Ahern. “For— For Ari?”

“As you said, the mare can take care of a green rider. You’ll need another horse for the journey, so I’ll see that Ari’s mounted as it suits me.”

“But—”

“You have some objection?”

One look at Ahern’s stern face had Neall turning his attention back to the mare. He needs to do this because he cares about her. He’s watched her from a distance all her life, and when we leave, he won’t have even that. But every day he’ll think of Ari and the mare and take some comfort in it .

“No, sir,” Neall said. “It’s a very generous gift— and a welcome one.”

“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.