Anne Bishop - The Pillars of the World

Adolfo’s legs trembled. He forced himself to stand tall and show no weakness. These people were like a pack of feral dogs now. If he showed any weakness, they would attack.

“If you want answers,” the groom said, “you could always try to ask the Small Folk. I saw a few of them heading away from the manor house just before it all caved in. I reckon they could tell you what happened to the baron and the others.”

The Small Folk. The Fae. The witch. There was too much power here—power that should have been approached carefully instead of with haste. That had been his error. Felston had lured him here with the conviction that there was only one young witch to deal with. He should have proceeded with his usual caution instead of listening to the baron’s reassurances. And there was still the not-insignificant matter of his fee.

“Where is Royce?” Adolfo asked.

The groom shrugged. “He left earlier today to ride out with some of his friends. Haven’t seen him since.”

He didn’t want to know what happened to Royce, but it was possible the young man was still alive. It was possible.

“Saddle a horse for me. I’ll find Royce. He needs to be informed that he is the baron now.”

No one moved.

Then a shadow passed over them.

The groom looked up, watched the hawk for a moment, then turned to another man. “Winn, saddle a horse for him. The sooner he’s gone, the better. No point having the Fae or the Small Folk angry with us because he’s standing here.”

Adolfo watched the hawk slowly circle, as if it were taking a good look at the destruction. Suppressing a shiver, he said, “It’s just a hawk.”

The groom made a harsh sound. “And that black horse that burned Ridgeley was just a horse. Get away from us, Master Inquisitor. You brought nothing but ill with you.”

Winn came out of the stables, leading a saddled horse.

Not the best horse Felston had, Adolfo thought as he eyed the animal. An adequate beast and nothing more. But he mounted without comment, and rode away.

Once he was out of sight, he turned the horse away from the direction of the main road and cut across the fields so that he could pick up the road again on the other side of Ridgeley. He didn’t want to ride through the village. He didn’t want to be the scapegoat people accused of causing their pain and suffering.

He could reach the next village by late evening, even riding this inadequate animal. Once there, he would summon the other Inquisitors he’d brought with him to Sylvalan. Then he would return here and deal with the Fae.

Morag stood beside Ahern’s bed, watching the shadows deepen in his face. His housekeeper and one of his men kept the bedside vigil.

“Ahern,” Morag said softly. The Mother only knew how he’d made it back to the farm wounded as he was. She wanted to release him from the suffering, but wouldn’t gather him without his consent.

“Go outside, Morag,” Ahern said, his gruff voice now weak and gasping. “Go outside for a bit.”

She did as he asked. As she walked toward the stables, she realized the place already felt empty and there was no sign of the men and horses.

Another of Ahern’s men met her halfway.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Going . . . or already gone,” he replied. “Ahern had told us he was leaving, going back to the Clan he’d come from.” Tears filled his eyes. He blinked them away. “He said he wanted to remember Brightwood as it was. He’d settled our wages and given us our pick of the horses. Except the special horses. He said they would find the place where they belonged.” He hesitated. “I guess Ahern will be staying after all.”

“His body will rest here within the Mother, but his spirit will go to the Summerland,” Morag said gently. “That I can promise you.”

The man nodded, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “He said you would need a horse and gear. He chose them, early this morning, before . . .”

Morag stared at the man. How had Ahern known she would need another dark horse? He couldn’t have known what would happen today.

But as the Lord of the Horse, he would have sensed the dark horse’s fear of the shining roads through the Veil, and he must have guessed that she would look for a way to let the animal go rather than continue to endure that fear.

“If you need help saddling him, I’ll be nearby,” the man said, brushing his fingers against the brim of his cap before he walked away.

Morag continued toward the stables. As if that was the awaited signal, a dark horse stepped out of the shadows, his ears pricked.

“You are a fine lad, aren’t you?” she said softly, holding out her hand.

He came forward to get acquainted.

Yes, he was a fine horse, she decided as she petted him. Fine and strong, with the courage of his breed. Since Ahern had chosen him for her—and had chosen her for him—she had no doubt they would forge a strong partnership.

“Let’s see how your saddle fits,” Morag said.

As she stepped into the stables, she heard the whimpering. Following the sound, she opened a stall door.

“Ah, Merle,” she said softly.

The puppy looked at her with heartbroken eyes.

Morag held out her hand for him to sniff. He crept toward her. The tip of his tail began to wag as he sniffed her.

He smells Ari , she thought sadly, petting the puppy. She picked him up and cuddled him, not sure which of them found it the most comforting.

“I don’t know where she’s going, Merle. I don’t know where to find her. And it’s better that way—for now.” She set him down, then slipped out of the stall, closing the door behind her.

He immediately began whimpering again.

She looked at him over the stall door. “Quiet, little one. There’s a journey I have to make, and it’s on a road that you can’t travel. But I’ll come back for you. You won’t be left behind. You won’t be alone. That I promise.”

She saddled the dark horse, then checked to see that Merle had food and water. She would come back for him in the morning. It would be better not to take him to the cottage and then take him away again.

This time, when she returned to the bedroom, Ahern was ready. She gathered him gently. His body took its last breath as his spirit stepped away from it.

The housekeeper, sitting beside the bed, covered her face with her hands and wept. The man on the other side of the bed bowed his head to hide his own tears.

Ahern’s ghost frowned.

You were cared for, Ahern , Morag thought. Let them grieve .

She guided him out of the house.

“You approve?” he asked as they walked toward the dark horse.

“I approve,” she replied quietly. After she mounted, Ahern floated up to sit behind her.

She didn’t immediately seek the road to the Shadowed Veil. Instead, she went back to Brightwood, back to the hill where the wind always blew, and Astra, as well as Ahern, made the journey with her.

She left them standing before the Shadowed Veil. When she looked back, she saw Ahern hold out his hand . . . and she saw Astra take it. Together, they walked through the Shadowed Veil to the Summerland beyond.

Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again.

She wasn’t sure about the partings, but she hoped that, when their spirits had rested and were reborn in the world, Astra and Ahern would find each other again. Perhaps, the next time, they would be able to build a life together.

It was growing dark by the time she returned to Ari’s cottage, where Morphia waited for her.

In the early dawn light, Dianna’s pale mare trotted wearily beside Lucian, heading for Brightwood.