Shadows and Light

Chapter Twenty-four

Morag and Ashk studied the two dead trees and the partially eaten bodies around them. Birds. Squirrels. Even a young fox.

“You’ve seen this before?” Ashk asked quietly. She looked at the surrounding trees—and kept her fingers on the bowstring, ready to draw back the loosely nocked arrow.

“I’ve seen this before,” Morag replied. “Where there were nighthunters.”

“So the Black Coats did leave some of their foul magic behind.” Ashk went back to studying the dead trees. “Those trees weren’t dead a couple of days ago. The Clan has stayed watchful. The hunters have ridden out every day, checking the trails, looking for signs of these creatures. None of them noticed two trees that were suddenly dying or animals killed and then left to rot.”

“I think they consume the blood first. That’s what they prefer to devour—and the spirit once the body dies. They eat the flesh last, if they’re still hungry.” But even if the victim managed to escape, the bites would fester and rot the flesh around them. A slower death, but death nonetheless. Remembering the nighthunter attacks she had managed to evade, Morag shuddered. Her gift as Death’s Mistress could do little against the creatures since there was nothing in them for her to gather. Releasing her gift would only stun the nighthunters, but it would kill any other living creature that was around them.

“None of those kills are fresh,” Ashk said. “But they didn’t happen that long ago, either.”

“They’ve moved on,” Morag said, turning in a slow circle, listening. Listening. “Once they kill the tree they’re nesting in and can’t draw anything more from it, they move on, find another tree for the nest. There are a lot of them. Somewhere in the Old Place, there are a lot of them.”

Ashk gave her a considering look. “Why do you say that?”

“They killed too much too fast. There was no sign of them yesterday. At least, nothing we could see and recognize. Now, today, there are dead trees and devoured animals. There has to be a lot of nighthunters to consume so much so fast.”

“This is close to Ari and Neall’s part of the Old Place.” Ashk let out a huff of air. “Which direction did they go? Is it possible that enough of them were created that they’ve formed more than one nest?”

Shivering at the thought, Morag shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“We’re going to have to find out. Let’s get back to the Clan house and warn—”

A flutter of wings made Ashk whip around. Before she finished turning, her bow was drawn back, the arrow ready to fly.

The raven that had just perched on a tree branch let out a startled caw.

Ashk lowered the bow and carefully eased the tension on the bowstring. “Report.”

The raven fluttered to the ground and changed to a flustered adolescent girl. “I thought you should know that Evan and Caitlin went out riding. Evan said there were a couple of things he wanted to get from the manor house, and Caitlin said she needed some things, too.”

Temper blazed in Ashk’s eyes. “I didn’t give them permission to go out riding, let alone ride to the manor house.”

“That’s what we told them, but they were mounted and ready to ride out before any of us noticed that they hadn’t just gone into the stables to groom their horses. We told them not to go, but Evan insisted that they couldn’t come to any harm since it was daylight and you’d defeated the Black Coats.”

Ashk bared her teeth and snarled.

The sound, coming from a human throat, startled Morag enough to stop thinking. In that moment, when her mind was blank and open, she heard Death’s whisper.

“Owen went with them. They said they didn’t need an escort, but he rode out with them anyway.”

Morag pictured the young Fae male. Death crooned a warning.

“We have to go,” she said, pushing past Ashk to reach the place on the trail where her dark horse waited for her. “We have to find them.”

They’d left the horses at a place where a game trail crossed the forest trail the Fae rode. Had left them there because the horses had picked up the scent of death even before Ashk, with her keen sense of smell, had.

Now Morag flung herself into the saddle, hearing Ashk, behind her, telling the girl to warn the Clan that signs of the nighthunters had been found. The dark horse turned on his own and trotted up the game trail, waiting for Morag to gather the reins and shove her feet into the stirrups before changing to a canter.

This way, Morag thought. Yes, this way. It wasn’t the same path the children would have taken, but it was going in the right direction.

She heard the pounding of hooves behind her. Knew that Ashk had caught up.

Foolish children. What made them think they were beyond Death’s attention? They knew there were dangers in the woods, even at the safest times.

But they were children, and they still believed there were no shadows in the light, just as they probably believed there was no light in the shadows. It would take a few more years before they understood you didn’t have one without the other.

Great Mother, let them have those years.

A break in the trees. A narrow clearing.

The dark horse stretched into a gallop.

She heard a male voice scream, broken by fear and pain. She heard other voices scream, young and high pitched.

And Death summoned.

Too late. Too late.

“This way!” Ashk yelled.

They rode hard, weaving through the trees with reckless speed until they burst out into daylight.

And saw.

“No!” Ashk screamed.

A moment caught by the eye, frozen by memory. Morag knew she would see it for a long time whenever she closed her eyes.

A small horse galloping away from the edge of the woods, the rider cringing desperately to the saddle, the horse running for the place it still remembered as home, the place that meant safety. Running back to Neall.

Two riderless horses galloping after the small horse.

Owen, still thrashing weakly, covered with winged, black bodies tearing at his flesh, gulping down his blood.

Evan on the ground, the small knife in one hand raised in an effort to defend himself from the swarm of nighthunters that were almost on him.

And the stag, with nighthunters already covering its haunches, leaping into the swarm, drawing the creatures’ attention away from the boy by offering them that big, powerful body.

Then Ashk was gone, her saddle empty, the bow and quiver of arrows on the ground beside her trembling horse.

And a snarling shadow hound raced for the boy.

Morag reined in hard. Tumbled out of the saddle. Ran back a few steps and grabbed the quiver of arrows. The bow wouldn’t do her any good, but the arrows ...

The stag, almost completely covered by nighthunters, tossed its great head, catching two nighthunters on the tines of its antlers as it tried to dislodge the creatures closest to its eyes and throat. It went down, rolling to crush some of the nighthunters under its weight. Got back up on its feet and kept struggling, fighting.

The shadow hound reached Evan. He yelped when her teeth sank into his shoulder, nipping flesh along with the shirt and coat. She pulled him back a few feet, away from the nighthunters still flying around trying to get a piece of the stag who kept pivoting, kept swinging its head, using the antlers as a many-pronged knife. Then the shadow hound changed back to her human form and pulled the large hunting knife out of the sheath in her boot.

There was nothing Morag could do for Ashk and the boy, but there was something she could do for Owen. Pulling an arrow from the quiver, she ran toward him. Sensing the moment when his body gratefully yielded to Death’s caress, she gathered his spirit and pulled it away from the dead flesh before the nighthunters could begin to feast on it.

Narrowing the focus of her gift, she released it straight at the dead body. The nighthunters rose up, squeaking—and headed right for her.

They were bigger, stronger. Twice the size of others she’d seen. Mother’s mercy!

She released her power again.

Two nighthunters veered off, flying erratically for the shadows of the woods. The others fell to the ground, squeaking and flopping around.

Not much time, Morag thought as she ran toward them. She drove the arrow through the body of the first one she came to, pinning it to the ground. Pulling out another arrow, she drove it into the next body, jumping back when it tried to lunge and sink its sharp teeth into her foot. Again and again, she drove an arrow through a black, winged body until all those nighthunters were pinned to the ground.

Glancing at the woods, she quickly moved away from the trees. The nighthunters didn’t like daylight, but if prey was close enough, they’d dart out of the shadows to feast.

She turned toward Ashk, not sure what she could do—and saw the remaining nighthunters abandon their prey and fly back toward the safety of the trees; saw the stag stumble for a couple of steps before it bounded away, blood flowing from wounds that were already turning dark and rotten; saw Ashk, her face stark with a kind of brutal beauty, splattered with gore from the nighthunters that had come within reach of her knife, standing over her son; and, with some surprise, saw Neall, mounted bareback on Shadow, releasing an arrow and bringing down another nighthunter before it reached the trees.

The ground was littered with the creatures’ bodies—and there were still more of them hiding in the shadows.

Neall swung a leg over Shadow’s neck and slid to the ground, an arrow nocked in his bow, his eyes still watching the trees as he sidestepped over to where Ashk stood.

Her legs trembling, Morag walked over to join them.

“Caitlin?” she asked, looking at Neall.

“She’s fine,” Neall said. “I was bringing the horses in closer to the stables when I saw her. After she told me where Evan was, I sent her to the cottage. Ari will look after her.”

“Mother?” Evan said, pushing himself up until he was sitting. His face pinched up with an effort not to cry. Tears spilled over anyway. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

Ashk stared at nothing, said nothing.

“What happened?” Neall asked, his tone sharp. “Why were you out riding on your own?”

“I—I wanted to get a couple of things from the manor house,” Evan stammered. “It was daylight, and the Black Coats were gone, so I— We weren’t going far, and we’ve gone by ourselves lots of times before. But Caitlin asked if she could ride my horse, and I said she could ride it a little, so we stopped here, just for a minute. But the horse kept acting strange once Caitlin got on his back. Kept trying to pull away and head for your cottage. Then Owen said he thought he saw something in the trees. Told me to hold his horse while he went to take a look. He didn’t go very far into the trees before he screamed and ran out and those ... things ... were on him. And the horse ran away with Caitlin, and I couldn’t hold the other two and Owen was on the ground with those things all over him, and I tried to run but I turned my ankle and fell and ... Mother, I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ashk said in an empty voice. “You were wrong to leave the Clan house without permission, wrong to think you knew more than those of us who had warned you there was a new danger in the woods. Those mistakes are yours, and you must answer for them. But what happened here to Owen and—” She pressed her lips together.

Morag watched Ashk fight some inner battle for control.

“What happened here wasn’t your fault,” Ashk said, finally looking down at her son. “The first person who rode this way would have been attacked.”

Evan’s lips quivered as tears ran down his face. “But it wouldn’t have been Owen ... or him.”

Him? Morag wondered, then realized Evan meant the stag.

“Whether you were here or not, he would have been,” Ashk said. “He would have sensed their presence in the woods, would have searched for that dark festering until he found its source.” She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Neall, it would be a kindness if you’d take Evan back to the cottage with you and keep him and Caitlin tonight. There’s something I need to do.”

“I can track the stag,” Neall said gently. “I’ll find him and—”

“No. I know where he’s gone. Just... look after my children, if you will.”

Ashk walked back to her horse, picked up her bow, and mounted.

“Go with her,” Neall said, looking at Morag. He slipped the arrow into the quiver on his back, then held out a hand to Evan. “Up you go, laddy-boy. Let’s see if you can hobble over to Shadow, or if he has to come to you.”

Leaving them, Morag hurried to her dark horse. She slung the quiver over one shoulder and stifled a curse when strands of hair tangled in the straps and pulled. Now she understood why Ashk had started braiding her long hair and wrapping the braids around her head.

She caught up to Ashk easily enough and almost pointed out that this wasn’t the direction the stag had headed—and she doubted he would get very far.

But he wasn’t always a stag. That had slipped past her in that frozen moment because his leap into the swarm had seemed so terrible and so right.

No, he wasn’t always a stag, and when they finally reached a meadow, Morag saw that she’d underestimated him. He was there, moving slowly, painfully toward the center of the meadow where wildflowers danced and there were no shadows. When he reached the spot, he stood there, his legs spread and shaking, his head down as if he could no longer hold up the great rack of antlers.

Ashk rode out partway to meet him. She dismounted, then waited for Morag to do the same.

Morag looked at the stag. Blood dripped on the grass beneath him. In the stillness, she could hear his harsh effort to breathe.

Ashk held out a hand.

Morag slipped the quiver off her shoulder and offered it.

Ashk took one arrow, nocked it loosely in the bow.

“Who is he?” Morag asked softly.

Ashk kept her eyes on her bow. “Kernos. He was the Green Lord, the Hunter. He’s still the old Lord of the Woods. And he’s my grandfather.”

“But... another took his place as the Hunter years ago.”

“Another became the Hunter years ago, but there’s no one who could take his place, no one who could be what he was.” Ashk looked up at the stag. Her eyes were clear of tears ... and full of a terrible grief.

Morag placed a hand on Ashk’s arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

“In his own way, he chose a warrior’s death. He chose to leave this world as the old Lord of the Woods. So I’ll honor him by taking him while he still stands.”

Morag’s hand tightened on Ashk’s arm. “You don’t have to do this,” she said again—and saw the moment when Ashk understood what she was saying. She could gather his spirit, take it from that dying body without Ashk doing anything.

Ashk stepped aside, pulling away from Morag’s hand. “Yes, I do.”

She walked out into the meadow until she stood a few yards away from the stag. She took aim, drew back the bowstring, and waited.

The stag slowly, painfully raised his head until he stood straight and tall for the last time, his dark eyes watching Ashk.

“Good-bye, Grandfather. We’ll meet again in the Summerland.”

The arrow sang Death’s song. Pierced the chest. Found the heart.

The stag fell.

Morag closed her eyes. You could have asked me, Ashk. I would have spared you that pain. When she opened her eyes, she saw the ghost of an old man, limping slightly, moving toward her. He stopped when he came abreast of Ashk—and he smiled.

“Ashk?” Morag said. “Would you like me to ride back to the Clan house with you?”

Ashk shook her head, her eyes still focused on the stag. “You have your own journey to make now. I’ll stay with him and keep watch. But I’d consider it a kindness if you would stop by the Clan house and let them now I’m here—and also ask if someone will go to Ari’s cottage. If she’s willing, and feels strong enough, I’d like her to turn the earth for him. I’d like him to return to the Great Mother in the spot where he chose to fall.”

Morag looped the quiver’s strap over the horn of Ashk’s saddle. She mounted her dark horse, waited until Kernos’s ghost floated up behind her. Then she rode away from the meadow, following a wide forest trail that she was certain led to the Clan house. She hadn’t gone far when she met up with several Fae males, who were scouting that trail for signs of nighthunters, and delivered her messages.

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.

Ashk shifted in the bed.

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