Shadows and Light

Chapter Three

Morag, the Gatherer of Souls, sat back on her heels and stared with dismay at the profusion of little green plants before her.

“It’s easy, he says.” She almost snarled as she said the words. “Just pull up anything small and green that doesn’t belong in that patch of the garden, he says. Mother’s tits, Neall, how am I supposed to know what doesn’t belong here?”

“That doesn’t belong,” a voice said. A slim stick came over the waist-high kitchen garden wall and pointed to a spike of green. “That’s grass trying to find a home for itself in well-turned earth.”

Morag looked up. Ashk, Bretonwood’s Lady of the Woods, stood on the other side of the garden wall, smiling at her.

Pushing at the strands of black hair that had escaped from the ribbon she’d used to tie it back, Morag gave Ashk a sour smile in return. “Are you certain? If I pull up the wrong thing, Ari will be upset and Neall will spend the rest of the year teasing me about it. ‘We’re having grass soup tonight because Morag weeded out the peas.’ Or the beans. Or whatever it is that’s supposed to be growing here.”

“The rest of the year?” Ashk said, her voice full of laughter. “You’re Clan now, darling Morag. You’d be lucky if he didn’t mention it for the next ten years.” She leaned farther over the wall and studied the little green plants. “But you may be right. Those might be the beans. Or the peas.”

“In other words, you don’t know either.”

“I can tell you what grows in the woods, but in the kitchen garden ...” Ashk shrugged. “But I am certain that that—” She pointed again with her stick. “—is grass and doesn’t belong there.”

Morag leaned forward, grasped the shoot of grass firmly between thumb and forefinger—and couldn’t bring herself to pluck it from the soil, to tear its roots out of the Great Mother. Last summer, she’d been steeped in death—cruel, vicious death—while she discovered the presence of the Inquisitors and uncovered why their destruction of the witches also meant the destruction of Tir Alainn. She had gathered too many spirits and taken them up the road to the Shadowed Veil so that they could pass through to the Summerland beyond. But here, staying in this Old Place with Ari and Neall, she was almost overwhelmed by the heady feel of life. So much of it, all around her. She didn’t want to hear Death’s whisper, not even for a weed.

“Day and night,” Ashk said softly. “Shadows and light. Life and death. They’re all part of the turning of the days, Morag. All pieces of the world. Life can choke out life. Weeds can leave no room for other plants to grow. Some harvesting must be done.”

“Are we talking about small green plants, Ashk?” Morag asked. The understanding in Ashk’s woodland eyes was as compelling as it was disturbing.

“We’re talking about life,” Ashk replied. She looked up, her gaze focused on the woods that bordered the meadow where Ari and Neall’s cottage stood. “This is the growing season. This is the time when the Lord of the Woods is called the Green Lord, the time when life is bursting into the world. But no one forgets that when the Green Lord walks, you can see the shadow of the Hunter, which is his other name.”

Morag rested her hands on her thighs. “My sister pointed out that there are no forests in Tir Alainn. I told her it was because life and death walk hand in hand there, that it was because forests have shadows and they’re too alive to be perfect.”

Ashk’s gaze returned to Morag. “Then you do understand. Pluck the weeds while they can still be plucked. The grass has its own place to grow. Let it grow there. But keep it out of the garden where it doesn’t belong.”

As they watched each other, a tension grew between them. Then a happy bark made Ashk turn, and the moment was broken.

“Ah,” Ashk said. “Here comes the person who can tell you what is weed and what is not.”

Getting to her feet, Morag saw Ari walking toward them while Merle ran exuberant circles around her. The big animal, half shadow hound, was still young enough to be puppyish in his behavior and had been acting even more so since being reunited with Ari.

When Ari reached one of the gates that opened into the big kitchen garden, she rested a hand on Merle’s head. “Go run and play in the meadow,” she said. “I’ll be right here with Morag and Ashk.”

Merle just looked at her and whined.

“It’s all right,” Ari said. She leaned toward him. “Go chase a bunny.”

With another happy bark, Merle turned and raced across the meadow, a black-streaked, gray shape. Only the tan forelegs gave away the fact that he wasn’t pure shadow hound.

Looking at the two women, Ari smiled ruefully. “When I closed him out of the bathing room last night, he sat at the door and howled.”

“We heard him,” Ashk said dryly. She laughed when Ari’s eyes widened.

“You may not have really heard him,” Morag grumbled, “but Neall and I certainly did.” And no command or scold could move the animal away from the bathing room door. She had taken the puppy when she left Ahern’s farm last summer, but Merle had never forgotten Ari, the first person who had loved him without reservation.

“Give him time,” Ashk said. “He’s been with you only a few days. He doesn’t trust yet that a closed door doesn’t mean you’ll go away.”

“I know,” Ari said, opening the garden gate. “At least Neall has convinced him that he can’t sleep in the bed with us.”

Ashk smiled. “The next step will be convincing him that he can’t always spend the night in your bedroom.”

Ari blushed. Then she frowned at the empty basket at Morag’s feet. “I came out to help you weed.”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Morag said as Ari sank to her knees, braced one hand on the ground in order to lean over, and neatly plucked the shoot of grass out of the soil.

“I rested,” Ari said, sounding a bit defensive. She tossed the grass into the basket and busily continued to weed that patch of the garden.

Life can choke out life, Morag thought as she sank to her knees beside Ari and reached to pluck a small plant from the soil.

Ari grabbed Morag’s hand. “That’s a bean plant.” She pointed to a sprout right beside it. “That’s a weed.”

“How can you tell?” Morag muttered. “They look the same.”

“No, they don’t. Their leaves look different.”

Maybe those leaves looked different to Ari, since witches were the Daughters of the Great Mother and drew their power from Her four branches—earth, air, water, and fire— but to Morag, they were all just sprouts of green that made the ground look soft and fuzzy.

“Besides,” Ari said, “I want to do the work now, before I get so fat with the babe I can’t get up off the ground by myself.” She sighed. “Our first harvest here, and I won’t be able to do more than waddle around while others do the work.”

“It was quite thoughtless of Neall to have his way with you after the Winter Solstice feast and not take into account you might be waddling by the harvest season,” Ashk said dryly.

Morag looked up at Ashk. There was something sharp behind the words that were teasingly said.

Ari didn’t seem to notice. She blushed fiercely, then laughed. “All right. We enjoyed each other, and neither of us was interested in counting on our fingers that night to see when a babe might come.”

Wanting to turn the conversation to something else, Morag said, “You planted a lot of beans. You must like them.”

Ari wrinkled her nose. “I like peas better, but Neall likes beans. I want to be sure enough plants grow so that he can eat all the beans he wants fresh and still give me enough to can so that he’ll have some over the turning of the seasons.”

Glancing at Ashk, Morag was surprised to see pleasure and pain in equal measure on the other woman’s face.

“Are you feeling well?” Ashk asked quietly. “Neall mentioned that you’ve nodded off a few times almost before you’ve finished eating the evening meal. You shouldn’t be that tired after sleeping during the day.”

“I—” Ari looked around, as if checking to make sure it was still just the three of them. “I don’t really sleep during the day.”

“Oh?”

“When Neall and I went to Breton last month, I traded some of the weavings I’d done over the winter for fabric to make clothes for the babe, and something for me to wear while the babe’s still growing in me. And I got a fine piece of linen to make Neall a shirt for the Summer Solstice. I hid the linen among the rest of the fabric because he would have dug in his heels about me getting something for him that cost so dear.” Ari hesitated, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “All those years when Neall lived with Baron Felston, he never had anything new, anything fine. All his clothes were Royce’s cast-offs. But this is Neall’s home; this is his mother’s land. He’s gentry here, and a Lord in his own right. So I want him to have something new and fine. And I want it to be a surprise, so I can work on it only when I’m supposed to be resting because that’s the only time when Neall takes care of chores that aren’t close to the cottage and I can be sure he won’t walk in before I can hide the shirt.”

What’s going on in your head and heart, Ashk? Morag wondered as that mixture of pain and pleasure filled Ashk’s face again before the woman looked away.

“Fair warning,” Ashk murmured. “The young Lord approaches.”

Ari started weeding vigorously.

Morag rose to her feet, feeling oddly protective but uncertain why that was so.

Neall strode toward the kitchen garden. He frowned when he reached the wall and saw Ari.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said.

Ari looked over her shoulder. “I rested. Now I’m teaching Morag how to weed the garden.”

“I already told her how to do that.”

“And now I’m showing her how to do it.”

Before Neall could say anything more, Ashk said briskly, “Come, young Lord. While Morag has her lesson, it’s time for yours.”

Morag watched Ashk and Neall walk toward the woods. Neall looked human, but his father had been half Fae and his mother had been a witch, a Daughter of the House of Gaian. Ever since their arrival here last summer, after he and Ari had fled from Ridgeley and the Inquisitors who had come there to destroy Ari because she was a witch, Ashk had been teaching him how to nurture the power that had lain dormant within him, how to be a Lord of the Woods.

That much Morag had learned from Neall in the handful of days since they had welcomed her as friend and family and invited her to stay with them. But there were things she sensed weren’t being said when she spent time with the Fae who lived in this Old Place. More often than not, when she asked a question, the answer was, “That is for Ashk to answer.” And Ashk, who could be quite forthright about many things, turned away far more questions than she answered.

Who are you, Ashk? I’ve never seen a Lord or Lady of the Woods rule over a Clan the way you rule this one. Who are you that you can command this kind of obedience? That’s the real question no one will answer. Not even you.

“The weeds are down here,” Ari said.

“What do you do with the weeds after you’ve pulled them from the soil?” Morag asked, putting aside the questions that had no answers.

“They go in the compost piles at the end of the garden,” Ari replied. “The heat of the sun, the rain, and the wind all help turn them into a rich food for the earth.”

Earth, air, water, and fire. The four branches of the Great Mother. The four branches of power that were the heritage of witches.

Life and death. Shadows and light. Witches understood those things, too.

Morag sank to her knees beside Ari. “All right. Show me what to weed.”

Ashk wandered the forest trails with Neall, her thoughts and feelings too scattered to remain focused on the intended lesson. Neall wasn’t paying much attention either. There were times in the woods when one could drift peacefully with one’s thoughts turned elsewhere. And there were times when a moment’s inattention could be fatal. A snapped twig, a subtly different scent in the wind were enough warning for her, but Neall was still learning to use the gifts that had come from his father and couldn’t afford to be careless.

Although, Ashk thought, when the teacher’s mind wanders, it’s hard to fault the student for the same thing.

“Since it’s only your body that trails along with me, should we end the day’s lesson?” Ashk asked mildly.

“What?” Neall looked puzzled; then he smiled an apology. “Sorry. My mind was elsewhere.”

“When you’re in the woods, young Lord, keep your mind with you.”

“Yes, Lady.” He hesitated. “There’s nothing wrong, is there? With Ari or the babe?”

“Why would you think there was?”

“You all seemed so serious when I approached the kitchen garden, so I wondered if Ari had mentioned something to you and Morag that she wouldn’t have told me.”

There were plenty of things Ari had said, none of which she wanted to discuss with the young man standing nearby.

“Ashk—”

“If you must know, we were comparing the cocks of the lovers we’ve known.” She spoke without thinking, answering him the same way she answered Padrick whenever he prodded her about something that she didn’t want to talk about. Padrick always laughed and held up his hands in surrender, knowing she’d talk to him when she was ready—or wouldn’t talk if whatever was on her mind wasn’t hers to tell.

She wasn’t prepared for the stricken look Neall gave her before he turned away.

Fool, she thought. You not only stepped off the trail, but you also landed in a tangle of thorns.

“So,” Neall said quietly. “How do I compare?”

Ashk stared at him. “Neall. I was teasing.”

The uncertainty in his eyes revealed things he’d kept well hidden until now.

“Ari chose you, Neall.”

“There wasn’t much choice,” he replied. “Not after the Inquisitors showed up in Ridgeley.”

“She made her choice before they came,” Ashk replied sharply. “That’s what you told me. Was it a lie?”

Neall shook his head. “But I can’t help wonder if... I wonder if I disappoint her as a lover, if she feels with me as much as she felt with ...” His voice trailed off. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“If she feels as much with you as she felt with the Lightbringer,” Ashk finished. Her emotions soared, as ferocious as they were protective. “Ari chose you, not Lucian. You. He’s not the one who’s been warming her bed all these months. It’s not his child she carries. Has she ever given any indication that what you share in bed doesn’t please her as much as it pleases you?”

“Of course not,” Neall replied hotly. “She’d never say anything even if—”

“If what?” Ashk said, just as hotly. “If you think she doesn’t enjoy your lovemaking, you should pay more attention. The two of you—” She broke off, trying to hold back feelings that had been building inside her for months. “You’re more like your father than you know.”

“What do you mean?” Neall asked.

Ashk laughed softly, a pained sound. “Kief used to worry over whether or not he was good enough for Nora, whether or not he pleased her as a lover. Your grandmother didn’t approve of him, you know, because he wasn’t a witch’s son or even pure Fae. But he loved Nora, and she loved him in that quiet, deep way she had. She planted beans that first summer. Lots of beans. Because they were his favorite. He didn’t understand it was a declaration of love, didn’t understand that passion doesn’t always burn hot and bright on the surface, not when it’s deeply rooted in the heart.”

“I remember them,” Neall protested. “I remember their laughter, how they looked at each other. I was a child when they died, and maybe I didn’t understand what those looks meant, except that I always felt warm and safe, but I would have known if they were unhappy with each other. I would have felt it.”

Ashk leaned against the nearest tree. “You can’t see how you and Ari look at each other. For me, it’s like seeing Nora and Kief again. The way you work together, laugh together, squabble about chores. The way you both look on some mornings, it’s obvious you spent a long night in bed and didn’t spend much of that time sleeping.” She sighed, closed her eyes. “There are times when I’ve come here and seen this dark-haired woman hanging out the wash. I almost call out Nora’s name before she turns and I know it’s Ari.” She opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on Neall. “It’s easy for passion to blaze for a short time when you don’t have to consider all the small day-to-day things that make up the rest of a person’s life. It flares hot and burns out quick, unless it’s nourished. When it came down to a choice, Lucian couldn’t offer enough to give her a reason to stay. Consider that the next time you doubt, young Lord of the Woods. A Daughter of the House of Gaian chose you over the Lightbringer, the Lord of the Sun.”

Neall picked up a small dead branch and idly broke it into pieces. “I don’t remember my grandmother. When did she die?”

“She hasn’t yet.” Ashk saw his eyes widen. “She lives on Ronat Isle with her Lord of the Sea, her selky man.”

“But—”

“Cordell’s gift is water, but it’s the wildness of the sea that calls to her, not the quieter songs of rivers and streams. This Old Place is too far away from the sea for someone like her. By the time I came to live here, she had left for good, leaving Nora and the land in her own mother’s care.”

Neall snapped to attention. “Came to live here? This wasn’t your Clan?”

No matter how she turned, she was still caught in those emotional thorns. “No. But I needed ... a different place ... so my grandfather brought me here where I would still have kin. That’s why—” She bit her lip.

“Why what?” Neall asked quietly.

“I didn’t know.” The words burst out of her. “I was nineteen when Nora and Kief died. My path wasn’t something I could change, so I couldn’t keep you here with me.”

“Ashk.” Neall reached out to touch her arm in comfort.

She stepped away from him. “I thought it would be for you the way it had been for me. People who were kin who would become family. I thought they would take care of you.”

“They did take care of me.”

Tears stung her eyes. “No, they didn’t. ‘Poor relation.’ I know what that means among the gentry in the human world. They had no right to say that to you. They had no right.”

Neall sighed. “Ari cares about me. I think she’s colored things blacker than they were.”

“And I think you try to heap flowers over a pile of shit to cut down the stink. It doesn’t make it any less a pile of shit.”

He said nothing for a long moment. “You told me I had to leave in order to learn the ways of my father’s people. And I did. And now I’ve come home. If I’d never gone to live with Baron Felston, I never would have known Ari. Shadows and light. Isn’t that what you keep showing me during these walks through the woods? She’s my light, Ashk.”

“If I hadn’t left my family and gone wandering, I wouldn’t have ended up here in the western part of Sylvalan,” Kief had said. “I wouldn’t have ended up with Nora.”

“Come on,” Neall said quietly when she didn’t respond. “I’ll walk you back to the Clan house.”

A subtle change in the woods instantly commanded her attention. The power was old and waning, but it still called to her.

“No,” Ashk said. “I have other business. You go home.”

He studied her a moment, then bowed and turned to leave.

“Neall.” She hesitated, then decided she could tell him this much. “Ari planted beans this year. Lots of beans. Because they’re your favorite.”

She watched him absorb the message. Even after he left, she remained where she was, sensing his presence in the woods. When she was certain that he wouldn’t come back, she turned and followed the trails that led to the oldest part of the woods.

She walked for several minutes, listening to the chirping of birds and the chattering of squirrels. Finally, she saw the stag, standing so still beside the girth of an old oak tree. If he’d been a true deer, his antlers would have been young and velvet-covered in this season instead of a full, mature rack. But he was one of the Fae in his other form.

“Kernos,” she whispered. It had been many years since he’d been the Green Lord, since he’d been the Lord of the Woods. That didn’t matter. Not to her, anyway.

She approached him slowly, bowed when she stood before him. “You honor me with your presence, Grandfather.”

He didn’t move. Just watched her with those dark eyes.

“There are shadows gathering in other parts of Sylvalan,” she said quietly. “If they aren’t stopped, they’ll creep into our part of the land, too.”

He turned and walked up the trail, his left hind leg dragging a little, just as it did in his human form ever since the brain seizure three years ago. He’d regained most of his strength, but his left leg still dragged a little and his speech was a bit slurred.

Obeying the silent command, Ashk followed him.

The Clan where he lived was a day’s journey from here. He shouldn’t be traveling so far alone. Not anymore. Not that there was anything that would dare touch him while he was in her home woods.

He had been there for her. Always. He had taught her to be a Lady of the Woods, and he’d trained her to be so much more.

He was the one who had knelt beside her the first time she’d made the transformation to her other form. He was the one who had petted her, soothed her, encouraged her while the rest of her family recoiled from what she’d become. A rare form. Dangerous. Nothing was safe from her in her other form.

She followed him until they came to a meadow deep in the heart of the woods. He bounded forward into the sunlight. She remained at the edge of the woods, in the shadows, pained by the knowledge that he was no longer fast enough to outrun a predator, no longer strong enough to stand and fight and win.

He looked back at her, waiting.

He used to bring her to this meadow to play. He’d change into the stag and let her chase him. When she was young, he ran just fast enough to let her almost catch him, just fast enough not to bruise her pride. When she got a little older, he ran faster, making her work to keep up with him.

She remembered the day when she caught up to him, ran side by side with him. She remembered the day when she realized she could outrun him—and still ran beside him.

And she remembered the day when he stopped suddenly and she ran past him. They’d stared at each other in that sunlit meadow, and she’d felt his silent, final command.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Ashk stepped into the meadow, changed into a shadow hound.

The stag bounded away.

Her gray, black-streaked coat stood out against the sunlit green, but in the shadows of the woods, or in the moonlight, she would blend in, a predator who wouldn’t be seen until her fangs sank into a throat. There was nothing in the woods—not stag, not wolf, not wild boar—that could stand against her in this form.

The shadow hound raced after the stag, snarling and snapping at his heels, running just fast enough to give him the thrill of the chase but not fast enough to bruise his pride.