Shadows and Light (30 page)

As Barry approached the table where she and Morag sat, Ashk noticed two of her Clan’s men set aside their work and wander over. Nothing unusual about that — unless you noticed one of them held a walking stick stout enough to double as a club and the other had an arrow loosely nocked in his bow.

“A good day to you, ladies,” Barry said.

“A good day to you,” Ashk replied. Barry had married later in his life, after his father had died and he’d taken over the tenant farm. So he was a fair number of years older than she and had the lined, grizzled look of a man who’d spent his life outdoors. But he hadn’t looked
old
. Not old in the stooped, shrunken way he looked now. Before she could ask him if something was wrong, he jerked his head toward the pony cart.

“My cousin’s boy,” he said. “Works as some kind of clerk in one of the larger towns. Needed a bit of country air, so he came here for a visit.” He shifted a little, effectively cutting off Ashk’s view of the young man — and his view of her — and just as effectively putting his young kinsman directly in Morag’s line of sight.

“Since he’s visiting, my wife did some extra baking. Made a couple loaves of her special sweet bread.” Barry looked directly at Morag; then he set the cloth bundle on the table and unwrapped it to reveal a loaf of the bread. “Lady Ashk is partial to my wife’s sweet bread. We’d heard she’s been away and was expected back today, so my wife told me to bring this on over to welcome her home. When she gets home, you be sure to give it to her.” He reached out, tore off a small corner of the bread. Popped it
into his mouth, chewed a couple of times, then swallowed. And stared at Morag. “Lady Ashk sure is partial to my wife’s sweet bread.”

Morag didn’t move, didn’t answer. Simply stared back at him.

Ashk frowned at Barry. Why was he talking as if she wasn’t there, as if she hadn’t returned to the Clan house yet? Had he suffered some kind of brain seizure that had left him confused?

Barry brushed a finger against the brim of his cap. “Good day to you.”

He hurried back to the cart before Ashk had a chance to thank him for the bread. When he climbed onto the seat and looked at her, she reached out, intending to pinch off a corner of the bread and eat it so that he would know she appreciated the gift.

Morag slapped her hand so hard she jerked back, feeling like a child who’d been caught trying to snitch something from the kitchen.

“You know better than that,” Morag said loudly, angrily. She stood up and tossed the cloth back over the bread, covering it. “Lady Ashk is always willing to share, but it’s custom that she gets the first slice. No one is going to touch this until she gets home.”

Ashk stared at Morag. Was the woman still drunk? Had she been in the sun too long today on the journey back from the harbor? Was she having some kind of brain seizure, too, that she couldn’t remember who she’d just spent the day with?

A little stunned, Ashk looked at the men in the pony cart — and saw the way Barry’s kinsman, wide-eyed and pale, looked at Morag before slapping the reins across the pony’s back and returning to Barry’s farm with more speed than prudence.

As soon as the cart was out of sight, Ashk stood up, pushing the bench hard enough to knock it over. “What’s
wrong with you?” The queer fury in Morag’s dark eyes made her uneasy.

“There are shadows on his face,” Morag snapped. “They weren’t there when he arrived. They weren’t there until he ate the bread.”

A chill brushed over Ashk. She looked at the covered loaf of bread.

“He knows who I am,” Morag continued. “He knows
what
I am. That’s why he ate it. So I would see what only I would see. And warn you.”

The chill was still there, but it had turned into calm ice. Ashk recognized the feeling. Accepted it. Understood she was about to walk in the darker shadows of the woods. “He’ll die?”

Morag didn’t answer the question. “And that other man? I doubt he’s any kin. He, too, recognized what I was — and he has reason to fear me. I think he’s one of the Black Coats.”

Ashk didn’t ask why Morag thought that — especially when Morag half turned, and whispered, “Ari.”

“Go,” Ashk said. “You take care of Ari and Neall. I’ll take care of Barry’s ‘kinsman.’”

Morag changed into her raven form and flew away, heading toward Ari and Neall’s cottage. Her dark horse galloped after her.

Once more, the Fae had dropped their work and hurried toward her. She wondered if they saw the same queer fury in her eyes that she’d seen in Morag’s. She picked up the bread, shoved it into a woman’s hands. “Lock that up for the moment. Don’t allow anyone to eat it, not so much as a crumb.” She pointed at two other women. “Gather the children and get them into the Clan house. None of them go out until I give consent. Get the elders inside, too.” She pointed to others, giving orders. “Take some men. One group goes to Ari’s cottage to help Morag; the other goes to the manor house. Warn them there may be Black Coats among
us. Two of you go on to the village. Tell the magistrate so he can call out his guards. Some of the youths can go out to the tenant farms and give the warning.”

“Will you sound the horn?” one of the men asked.

If she did, it would be heard far beyond the boundaries of the Clan house. But would the Inquisitors know what it meant? “Bring it.”

A youth ran to the Clan house while some of the men and women changed into their other shapes and ran or flew to Barry’s farm or headed out for the other farms to give the warning about the Inquisitors’ presence. Others quickly saddled horses, gathered up bows and crossbows.

Ashk mounted her horse, took her bow and the quiver full of arrows from one of her huntsmen. The youth returned from the Clan house, held up the horn.

In anyone else’s hands, it was just a hunting horn. In the hands of a Lord or Lady of the Woods, its notes could command anything and everything that belonged to the woods.

Ashk took a deep breath to steady herself.
Grandfather, stay away. Don’t answer the horn
. Afutile wish, but she made it anyway as she drew upon the gift that was hers and put the horn to her lips.

Flocks of birds exploded from the trees, taking wild flight, obeying commands as old as the woods. Some circled the Clan house. Others headed for Barry’s farm.

As she blew the horn again, summoning, commanding, she felt the pulse of life responding to it. The woods had come alive. And the woods were angry.

She attached the horn to a ring on her saddle, pressed her heels into her horse’s sides, and galloped toward Barry’s farm. She didn’t know if there was any way to save the man, but she wouldn’t let the Black Coats have his family.

When they reached the farm, she saw two horses circling fearfully in the small paddock next to the barn. She heard the pony’s terrified neighs. And she saw the
saddled Fae horse dancing and rearing just outside the barn, holding three wolves at bay.

Her huntsmen circled the cottage on their silent horses. She reined in her horse a few feet away from the partially opened front door. A man’s foot, shod in an old work boot, lay across the threshold. Barry hadn’t even been able to get all the way inside the cottage before whatever was in the bread — or something else — brought him down.

Ashk dismounted, nocked an arrow in her bow. As she approached the door, she heard a woman’s tearful voice saying, “Stop. Please stop.”

She kicked the door, ready to leap into the room. It opened halfway before hitting something that stopped it. She stepped on Barry’s legs to get through the opening, twisting around toward the voice as soon as she got past the door. She pulled the bowstring back.

Her arms shook with the effort. Her eyes refused to stay open and focused.

She bit her lip until it bled, using the pain to force herself to remain clear-sighted.

The woman, who was on her knees, twisted around to look at Ashk. “Please. Can you make them stop?”

The bow weighed as much as a tree. Her legs wanted to buckle. Mother’s tits! What was
wrong
with her?

“Please?” the woman said.

Ashk fought to study the woman, despite the fatigue that was blurring her vision. She looked at the black hair, the dark eyes, the face that was softer and fuller than the one she knew but enough alike. “You’re Morphia.”

“Yes.” The word came out in a relieved rush of air.

Her arms straining, Ashk raised the bow high enough so that if her fingers slipped on the bowstring she wouldn’t shoot Morag’s sister. As soon as the arrow was once again loosely nocked in the bow, she felt the fatigue lift. And she noticed all the bodies in the room. There were foxes and ferrets, wolves and hawks, crows and ravens, owls and
falcons. A young stag lay across the legs of one of Barry’s sons. There were rabbits and, Mother’s tits, even a pile of field mice. The room was full of bodies tumbled over bodies. Some were Fae in their other form, but most were animals her hunting horn had summoned and directed toward this place.

“Mother’s mercy!” One of her huntsmen thrust his upper body through an open window, his crossbow ready to fire.

Morphia whipped her head around to face him.

“No!” Ashk shouted, not sure to whom she was giving the command. She pointed to her huntsman. “Out. Tell the others to stay out. And have someone call off the wolves.”

The huntsman disappeared.

Ashk and Morphia stared at each other.

“What did you do to them?” Ashk asked quietly.

“They kept trying to attack me, so I put them to sleep.”

“You put them to sleep.” Morag had told her Morphia was the Lady of Dreams, the Sleep Sister. Looking at all the bodies, Ashk didn’t know if she should laugh or weep. She’d never thought of sleep as a weapon, but dropping someone into an instant, deep sleep was an effective way of stopping an attacker.

She looked down, saw Barry’s legs, and shouted for one of her huntsmen. “Fetch one of our healers. Tell her she’s needed here
now.”

“Jana is here. Came riding in behind us.”

“Then tell her —”Ashk looked around. There was no place to work in this room, no place for another person to stand. By luck or instinct she’d managed to plant her feet on either side of a fox without crushing any furred or feathered bodies beneath her boots. But she couldn’t turn around to get back out the door. “Pull Barry out the door. Carefully. Take him to the barn and do what you can for him.”

As her men pulled Barry out the door, she saw the crow, sparrow, young ferret, and tiny whoo-it owl sleeping on his
back. And as she turned back to look at Morphia, she noticed the Sleep Sister was cradling a falcon in her hands, her fingers nervously stroking his breast feathers.

Ashk was fairly certain that Sheridan, who was Bretonwood’s Lord of the Hawks, would have been delighted to have Morphia stroke his chest — especially if he’d been in his human form and had been awake to enjoy it.

“Can you wake them a few at a time, or do you have to wake them all at once?”

“I can wake them a few at a time,” Morphia said quickly.

Ashk licked lips that had suddenly gone dry. “Can you wake Barry? The old man?”

Morphia closed her eyes. When she opened them, tears filled them, spilled over. “If I wake him, he’ll suffer.”

“Then there’s nothing we can do for him?”

“I don’t know. I sense the suffering beneath the sleep, but that’s all I can tell you. Morag would know, if she were here.”

And Morag didn’t answer when I asked. Which may have been an answer after all
. “Wake him. Just for a minute or two. I’d like him to know his warning was understood.”

Morphia nodded.

“Can you wake the ones who are between me and the door? But not the Black Coat,” she added, seeing another male body almost hidden under feathers and fur.

Morphia nodded again.

The fox between Ashk’s feet stirred, opened its eyes, snarled at Morphia.

“No,” Ashk said firmly, giving the animal a nudge with her boot. “Go home now. Go back to the fields and the woods.”

The fox turned and nimbly leaped for the open door. Birds woke, fluffed their feathers, and flew off. As soon as Ashk could move without hurting anyone, she dashed out the door and ran to the barn. She heard the harsh
breathing, stumbled toward a stall. She fell on her knees beside Barry and took one of his hands in both of hers.

“L-lady Ashk,” he said. “The Gatherer …”

“She understood the warning. We didn’t eat the bread.”

“Good. Good. Didn’t want to bring it. But they said they’d … they’d…”

“It’s all right,” Ashk said. “Your family is safe, and they’ll be looked after. And those men will never bring harm to anyone again. This I promise you.”

Barry’s only answer was a gasp of pain.

Ashk laid his hand on his chest and walked out of the barn. Then she ran to the cottage, shouting, “Morphia!”

Animals streamed out of the doorway, so she pushed open a window’s shutters, ducked to avoid the crow that flew through the opening, and climbed into the cottage’s main room.

“He sleeps,” Morphia said softly.

Ashk sniffed. Brushed tears off her cheeks. When had she started crying?

Then she looked at the two Inquisitors, and her tears dried up.

Morphia looked at the women. The mother was tied to a chair. The daughter was on the floor, her skirts pushed up to her thighs.

“I was looking for the Clan house,” Morphia said. “I saw the cottage, and I heard someone scream.”

“So you rode in, not knowing what you were up against.”

Morphia’s dark eyes stared through her, and Ashk thought she understood why Morphia and Morag, the Sleep Sister and the Gatherer, had remained close.

“I knew what I could do,” Morphia said. “And I knew that I would do it — even if it meant they never woke.”

Ashk looked pointedly at the women. “Will you wake them, Sleep Sister? Or is there a reason why they should never wake?”

“I thought it best if there was someone they knew here when they woke.” She gently set the falcon on the floor, then stiffly got to her feet.

“Let’s get the rest of the animals out of the house,” Ashk said. There were three wolves and the falcon left. One was a real wolf. The other two were Fae. Of the three of them, only the real wolf wasn’t annoyed by the unexpected nap. He just shook himself and trotted away. The other two glared balefully at Morphia until Ashk grabbed them by their scruffs and hauled them out the door.