Shadows and Light (31 page)

Morphia studied the sleeping falcon. “He’s a Fae Lord, isn’t he?”

“He’s our Clan’s Lord of the Hawks.”

“He’s not going to be happy.”

Ashk slanted a glance at Morphia. “I won’t tell him you fondled his feathers if you don’t.”

Morphia blushed. Ashk liked her because of it.

“Just wake him up and let him preen his ruffled feathers,” Ashk said.

Stepping away from the door to give him a clear exit, Morphia obeyed.

The Fae Lord stared at Morphia for a long moment before flying out the door.

Well, well
, Ashk thought.
Maybe he wasn’t as unaware of being fondled as I’d thought
. But she decided not to share that with Morphia just yet.

They woke Barry’s son. He had a bump on his head but was otherwise unharmed. Looking at the knife beside the Inquisitor’s body, Ashk suspected he would have come to great harm if it hadn’t been for Morphia’s arrival.

Barry’s wife had bruises. So did the daughter. But there was no blood on the girl’s thighs.

Another reason to be grateful to Morphia.

While a couple of her huntsmen led Barry’s family to the barn, others saddled the Inquisitors’ horses and tied the still-sleeping men over the saddles.

“Come,” Ashk said, leading Morphia out of the cottage. “We’ll take you up to the Clan house where you can eat and rest. I’ll send someone to tell Morag you’re here, but I think she’ll stay at the cottage tonight.”

Morphia stopped walking. “Morag is here? She’s staying with your Clan?”

“No, she’s not actually staying with us.”

A skim of ice came over Morphia’s eyes. “Because she’s shunned by the Clans. If you don’t want her, you don’t want me. Just tell me where to find her.”

So much anger and bitterness in those words. Because of that, Ashk swallowed the urge to snap to her Clan’s defense. “Morag is welcome to stay with us, but when Neall and Ari asked her to live with them, that was her choice.”

The ice in Morphia’s eyes thawed. “Ari? Neall? She’s all right? They’re all right?”

“They’re fine, and she’s round with their first babe.”

Morphia looked at the ground. “I’m sorry. I thought —”

“Don’t be sorry. You had no reason to think otherwise. But” — Ashk gave Morphia an odd smile — “as the rest of the Fae have so often remarked, we’re different here in the west.”

One of the huntsmen stayed with Jana, the healer — and to keep watch over Barry’s family. Another rode off to tell the other son what had happened. The rest of them rode back to the Clan house.

Ashk reined in beside a narrow forest trail. “How close do you have to be to wake them?” she asked, tipping her head toward the Inquisitors.

“Not that close,” Morphia replied.

Ashk nodded. “My men will take you up to the Clan house. When you get there, wake these two.”

“What are you going to do?”

Ashk looked Morphia in the eyes and said softly, “Don’t ask questions.”

When Morphia rode off, Ashk held up a hand to hold back the last escort. “You know where we’ll be?” “I know.”

“Then meet us there. And bring the bread.”

She turned her horse to the narrow forest trail, the men leading the Inquisitors’ horses riding behind her. She was aware of the old stag following them and had a moment’s regret that he would see her this way. There was nothing clean or honorable in what she was about to do — but she was going to do it. Not even her grandfather’s opinion, or her Clan’s — or Padrick’s, if it came to that — would stop her.

Death called her.

Morag flew as fast as she could, already knowing she was too late to stop whatever she would find at the cottage. Death had come.

As she flew over the trees and reached the open land around the cottage, she saw Ari on her knees in her kitchen garden, her arms around a blood-spattered Merle. She saw the savaged body of a man, his fire-blackened hand still clutching a knife. She didn’t think Ari could see the ghost shaking a clenched fist and silently shouting at her, but the fact that the shadow hound kept snarling convinced her that Merle knew something was still there.

She saw Neall running toward the kitchen garden, shouting Ari’s name. His left sleeve was soaked with blood, and he held it tight to his body as he ran.

Glenn stood near the stables, holding a pitchfork, the dark mare and her new foal behind him. Nearby, Shadow, the dark horse she had given to Neall, kept bugling angrily as his hooves came down again and again on the man he’d already killed.

She called to the horse, a caw that was more a command than comfort. He broke off the attack, but continued trotting around the body in a wide circle, ready to attack again. He wouldn’t fear the ghost beside the body.

He’d been her companion for too long and had seen too many ghosts to fear one.

She felt a bittersweet pang at his response to her command, but that was the way with the dark horses. He remembered her, but his loyalty belonged to Neall now, and only Neall’s assurance that they were safe would calm him.

She circled back to the kitchen garden. Neall had scrambled over the garden wall and was on his knees, holding Ari with his good arm. Merle stood in front of them, still snarling and focused on the ghost.

She landed on the garden wall, changed to her human form, and lightly jumped down into the garden. She winced at the sight of the trampled plants — and wondered if Ari would be able to eat the food that would grow in the blood-soaked earth.

Morag shook her head. Flesh was just flesh. Meat that returned to the Great Mother. And she would take care of removing the rest.

She knelt beside Neall. Rested a hand on Ari’s shoulder.

“Do no harm,” Ari said, sobbing quietly. “It is not our way to do harm. But I was frightened, and angry — and I let fire act as anger’s voice.”

“He would have hurt Merle,” Neall said firmly. “He was going to kill you and the babe. You had to protect yourself.”

“I told you once before that your creed serves you well most of the time,” Morag said. “But it would be foolish not to use your power to protect what you love when someone intends harm. You can’t deny these men came for any reason except to hurt you and Neall.”

Neall mouthed the question, “Black Coats?”

Morag nodded, watched his expression turn hard.

“Neall! Is Ari hurt?”

Morag looked over her shoulder as Glenn ran up to the garden wall. A hawk landed on the wall behind Neall and Ari. A young stag bounded toward the garden, followed by
several Fae on horseback. Within moments, the kitchen garden was surrounded by armed men.

Merle snarled a warning.

No one tried to go over the garden wall.

“Lady Morag?” one of the older huntsmen said.

“They both need a healer,” Morag said.

Ari brushed tears from her face, smearing her cheeks with dirt. “I’m not hurt.”

“Neall is.”

Ari pushed away from Neall. She paled when she saw the blood on his shirt.

“It’s shallow,” Neall said quickly, “and it’s already stopped bleeding.”

“He needs a healer,” Morag said firmly.

The young stag bounded away, racing up the forest trail that led to the Clan house.

“Come,” Morag said, getting to her feet. “You should both go into the cottage and rest.”

“I need —”

“Young Lord,” the huntsman said. “I think you need to stop arguing with Lady Morag.”

Morag saw a muscle jump in Neall’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. Mother’s tits! Couldn’t he realize Ari would be calmer with him nearby?

He didn’t argue, just used his good arm to help Ari get to her feet.

Glenn cleared his throat. “Neall, if you could give Shadow a whistle, it would ease things.”

Neall let out a piercing whistle. The dark horse broke off circling the Inquisitor’s body and trotted toward the cottage. So did the dark mare and her foal. By the time Neall and Morag led Ari to the cottage’s kitchen door, the horses were waiting for them. Morag gave them a minute to reassure the animals, then hustled them into the cottage, ordering Merle to stay outside until he’d had a bath. Ari didn’t need to see bloody pawprints on her floors.

Neall was right. The knife slice on his upper arm was long but shallow enough that even a novice healer could deal with it. Morag let Ari tend it, fetching the things that were needed. There really wasn’t anything to do for Ari, but she worried about what the strain of the attack might do to the young witch and the babe she carried.

She made tea, using the mixture Ari had made from herbs she’d gathered and had labeled SOOTHING.

While the water heated, she tried not to pace continually between the table where Ari and Neall were sitting and the kitchen door where Merle whined because he wasn’t allowed inside. In another minute, he’d start howling to let everyone know he wasn’t happy about being so far away from Ari. Which wasn’t going to soothe any of them.

She made the tea, set the mugs in front of Ari and Neall — and went back to the kitchen door. How long did it take for the healer to arrive?

This time she saw the young stag — and the horse and rider following it. She opened the bottom half of the kitchen door. Merle streaked past her, but she felt too stunned to grab him. She stepped outside as the blackhaired woman flung herself out of the saddle and ran toward the cottage.

“Morphia,” Morag whispered.

“Morag!” Morphia shouted.

So good to hold this woman who was a sister of the heart as well as the flesh. “Merry meet, Morphia.”

Morphia leaned back, her eyes full of tears, her smile brilliant with joy. “You’re well?”

“I’m well. But I could use your help.”

Morphia’s smile faded. “What do you need?”

Morag leaned close and whispered, “The kind of restful sleep you can give.” She took Morphia’s hand and led her into the cottage, saying, “Come in and be welcome.”

Neall jumped to his feet, his whole body tense.

Morag smiled. “Neall. Ari. Do you remember my sister, Morphia?”

Ari said, “Blessings of the day to you.” Neall remained wary — until his eyes dropped to the lacings on Morphia’s bodice.

“Why do you have a feather in your lacings?” Neall asked.

Morphia glanced down — and blushed an interesting shade of crimson. She plucked the feather out of the lacings, and muttered, “I hope it wasn’t one he needed.”

Neall’s lips twitched. “He?”

Morphia nervously smoothed the feather, then stuck it back in the lacings. “It’s a long story.”

“Which my sister will be glad to share —”

“No, I won’t.”

“— after the two of you have gotten a little rest,” Morag said.

Morphia muttered. But she went over to the table and got a good grip on Ari’s arm to persuade her to get up.

Morag walked up to Neall and smiled. She could tell by his expression that he remembered quite well the last time he’d tried — unsuccessfully — to deal with the two sisters. So it wasn’t so hard as it might have been to coax Neall and Ari to lie down for a little while. Especially since Neall, at least, realized he was going to sleep and his choices were the bed or the floor.

A light brush of Morphia’s fingers once they were settled on the bed was all it took for the two of them to fall sound asleep.

Morag grabbed Merle by the scruff and dragged the whining shadow hound outside. “No,” she said firmly. “You are
not
climbing up on that bed with them until you’ve had a bath.”

The whines increased.

“Hush!” Not that his whines were going to wake Ari or Neall, but there was no reason for the rest of them to have
to listen to Merle’s opinions and complaints. She closed the bottom of the kitchen door and watched Merle lope over to Glenn, probably hoping the man might have a different opinion.

Glenn looked at Morag. Morag looked at Glenn.

“Come along, laddy-boy,” Glenn said. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Merle hung his head, but he followed Glenn back to the stables.

Morag turned back to the cottage. Morphia stood inside, watching her.

“What brought you to Bretonwood?” Morag asked.

“I came looking for you,” Morphia replied. “I’d rather be with my sister than with the rest of the Fae.”

Had it come to that? “Morphia…”

Morphia shook her head. “Ashk says the Fae in the west are different.”

“Yes,” Morag said softly, “they are.”

“I’m guesting at the Clan house, but when word came that a healer was needed here … The healer was already occupied, so I came instead.”

“You were what they needed.” Morag hesitated. “Can you stay with them for a little while? There’s something I need to do.”

“I can stay.”

Morag walked to the kitchen garden, where her dark horse waited. She stopped when the older huntsman approached her.

“We’ll take care of the bodies,” he said.

“I don’t want them on her land. I don’t want them near her. Not even as corpses.”

He hesitated. “There is a place, deep in the woods, some distance from the Clan house. There are several places in the woods where we give our dead back to the Mother, but this place … There is good and bad in every people, Lady Morag. Wishing it wasn’t so doesn’t change that it is. So
there is a place in the woods where we sometimes bury one of our own. Nothing will grow there but thorns and thistles. It’s a cold place, even in bright sunlight.”

“That will do.” A place where even daylight was shadowed. Yes, that would do for the Black Coats.

Shadows.

“Something else,” Morag said, resting her hand on the huntsman’s arm. “Warn Ashk. Warn the Clan to be wary of the shadows in the woods. If the Inquisitors were here long enough, they could have drawn on the power in the Old Place and twisted it to create nighthunters.”

“Nighthunters?”

“Creatures the Mother never would have created. They devour flesh and spirit.”

The huntsman gave her a long look. “I’ll tell Ashk. If these creatures are here, we’ll rid our land of them.”

Morag nodded. Having seen nighthunters, she didn’t think it would be that easy to destroy them, but she wasn’t skilled with a bow, so perhaps he had good reason to be confident of the Fae’s ability to cleanse the creatures from Bretonwood.