Cate Tiernan - Night's Child

But before she could speak, Morgan squeezed her hand and strained forward. Moira followed her mother's gaze, and her mouth dropped open. In the face of the tall rocks was a cave opening, barely visible. But they could see the outline of a person, a human, shuffling toward them from the entrance.

He had to be here-he had to, Morgan thought in despair. But she could feel nothing, pick up on nothing. She had risked her daughter's life to try to save her muirn beatha dan's. But there seemed to be nothing here-only grotesque, deformed trees and sharp bits of rock that stabbed at her feet through her shoes. She gripped Moira's hand more tightly. Hunter is here somewhere. He simply has to be.

Then she saw it-an opening in the wet, black rock face. A cave. Visible only because of a faint, flickering light deep inside the rock. The light was blocked, and slowly an outline appeared, a person. A human being was walking toward them.

Morgan's heart constricted painfully, her eyes straining to see into the cave's darkness. Holding hands, she, Moira, and Sky hurried toward the cave. There was no need for words. Their hearts and minds were too full to speak.

They were almost upon the cave when the figure shuffled awkwardly out into the storm, into the palest, most fractured bit of light available. It was not Hunter. "Oh, Goddess!" Morgan whispered, staring in dismay at the wizened old woman. The woman had wild, tangled gray hair, large, vacant eyes, and sunburned skin crinkled in folds over a face that scarcely looked human. A woman. A leftover witch, put here by some MacEwan, possibly Ciaran, for all Morgan knew. Put here and forgotten for who knew how long.

The woman's faded gray eyes fastened on them blankly. "You're not real," she muttered indistinctly, shaking her head and looking away. "You're not real. They never are." She turned around and began to head back into the cave.

"We're real," Morgan called strongly, starting to follow her. "We're real. We're looking for-"

Her words wisped away into the wind. A second figure was blocking the cave entrance. This one was tall, thin, gaunt. He had long, pale blond hair and a darker blond beard. His eyes were deep set and an odd, light green, as if bleached by the sun and sea.

Morgan could do nothing but stare silently, desperately praying that this wasn't an apparition, that what she was seeing was real. She was shaky, unsteady on her feet as the figure stepped slowly closer.

Oh, Goddess, it's Hunter! Hunter, after all these years! He stared at them, first Morgan, then Moira, then Sky, as if recognition was taking a long time to seep into his brain.

"Do you see him?" Morgan asked Sky, not taking her eyes off him.

"Yes," Sky croaked, her voice broken. "Yes, I see him."

"Hunter. Hunter," Morgan said inadequately, tears springing to her eyes.

"Morgan," he whispered in disbelief. Frowning, he shook his head, not seeming to make sense of what he was seeing.

A few quick steps brought Morgan right up to him, where she had to tilt back her head to meet his eyes. He looked so different-it had been so long. Goddess only knew what atrocities he'd lived through these past sixteen years. But deep within his oddly light eyes, Morgan saw the Hunter she loved.

He raised one shaky, bony hand, the knuckles bruised and scraped, and ever so gently brushed a strand of wet hair off her cheek. Bursting into tears, Morgan threw her arms around his waist, clasping her hands in back of him as if she'd never let go.

"Hunter, Hunter!" she cried, her tears mingling with the rain. Sixteen years fell away as she closed her eyes and pressed her face hard against his ribs. Then his arms came around her, pulling her even closer as he rested his head on hers. Here was Hunter, her love, back from the dead. It was a miracle, a blessing. "I thought I'd never hold you again," she sobbed. "I thought I'd never, ever see you."

"Morgan," he said, his voice a raspy croak, ruined, but definitely Hunter's voice. "Morgan, my love. You're life itself, you're my life."

"And you are mine. Always." Morgan's heart had stopped when she saw him; now it seemed to thump slowly once, twice, and more. A damp warmth seeped through her sweatshirt: her heart was bleeding again. This was Hunter, and he was speaking to her. He was alive, and she had found him. As she held him, she felt him start to tremble and realized that he, too, was crying. Pulling back, she looked up at him, at his tears, at his dear, beloved face, now broken and battered and much too thin. She blinked, then glanced at the sky to see if the sun had come out. It hadn't-the clouds still hung heavy and low, deep gray and sullen. Quickly she looked from Hunter to the rocks to the sea to Sky, who was weeping silently, a smile on her face, to Moira, who stared solemnly at this stranger who had fathered her.

Everything was brighter, the colors deeper, richer, as if a filter had been taken off her eyes. Every sound seemed clear and precise and exact-she could hear each small wave breaking, each twisted tree branch creaking in the wind. Moira and Sky looked so bright and alive. All those years ago, on the dock in Wales, when she'd felt nothing of Hunter's spirit, everything had dimmed. Everything had become dull, every sight and sound had seemed as if a fine, thin wall of cotton separated it from Morgan. Now the wall was gone, torn away by the indescribable joy of seeing Hunter again.

"She told me you had died," Hunter said hoarsely. "She told me you had died, trying to save me when the ferry went down. Then I saw you, days ago, saw you scrying for me."

"I don't know why I couldn't find you before," Morgan said. "I tried, so many times."

Hunter looked down at her sadly. "You found me now because Iona wanted you to find me," he said. "I told you not to come, Iona wanted you to come here, to get you here."

A dull dread sank over the joy in her heart. She and Sky had feared this, and they'd been right. Now they were here, as Iona had planned, and would have to face whatever she had in store for them-whatever she'd set up.

In the next second Morgan's breath left her in a harsh gasp, and she froze, unable to move, Iona Morgan recognized it as the same binding spell that Iona had used-was it only yesterday? — at the ruined castle. The New Charter had promised to send someone right away-and no one had warned Morgan that they hadn't successfully taken Iona into custody, Iona's powers must be much stronger than Morgan had realized. Who knew what she had done to the people who had come for her? Morgan felt a pang of guilt that she hadn't done something more to Iona when she'd had the chance. She focused her energy, trying to break through the binding spell… but nothing. Stunned, her mind clouded by emotion, Morgan looked to Hunter.

"Morgan!" Hunter said next to her as Sky and Moira ran over.

"Mum, Mum, are you okay?" Moira asked, her eyes wide with horror. Sky took a moment to reach out and grab Hunter's arm, as if to reassure herself that he was real, then turned her attention to Morgan.

"Don't touch her!" Iona said, appearing between two tall black rocks. "What I have is for her alone." Slowly Morgan edged her eyes over to see her half sister standing above them, holding a dark stick in one hand.

"Hello, all," Iona said, giving them her disturbing, skeletal smile that seemed to unhinge her jaws. Her thin, graying hair was plastered to her skull with rain, and Morgan wondered again why Iona seemed so old, so ill, yet burning with such an odd energy.

"Sixteen years of hard work have finally paid off," Iona said, her voice sly and satisfied. "Poor Morgan. Haven't you figured it out yet? Lilith Delaney's been keeping tabs on you for years, but I didn't decide to move on you till this year."