Shadows and Light (36 page)

We are forbidden to write stories and poems and plays. We are forbidden to write music, to paint, even to sketch. We can read only books men have given us permission to read, can play only the music it has been deemed acceptable for us to play
.

We cannot write anything, not even a shopping list, without a man’s approval, and that approval is indicated by his initials at the bottom of the page. That’s why I haven’t written to you. There is nothing I could say that I would want a man to see, and, because I’ve been known to be opinionated, I doubt I could write anything blandly enough to meet with approval. Trying to send a letter without that approval…One woman tried to write to family in another village farther west of here, asking if any of her male relatives would be willing to fetch her since we are no longer permitted to travel beyond the confines of our own village without the escort of a male relative. The letter was confiscated. On the orders of the baron and the magistrate, two of the woman’s fingers were cut off so that she could no longer hold a pen
.

We cannot talk to each other without a man present. If we do, we are brought before the magistrate and questioned ruthlessly about what was said — and telling the truth, that the conversation was nothing more than one woman seeking housekeeping advice from another, isn’t believed. The women are “softened” by “small
disciplines” until one of them breaks, confessing to having said whatever the magistrate or the baron — or the Inquisitor, if one is in the village at that time — has told her she said. Then, because those “confessions” usually admit to being a servant of the Evil One or having had contact with a witch, one or both women are killed
.

And any man, especially if he isn’t one of the gentry, who protests having a wife, a mother, a sister questioned or, may the Mother help him, tries to stop the killing after a woman has been condemned, is also condemned because, of course, no decent man would protest so he must already be ensnared by the Evil One. So even good men who are sickened by what has happened here have become harsh out of fear for their families
.

But all these things are not the worst they’ve done to us. The baron decreed that too many incidents of “female hysteria” have disrupted the village and disturbed the community, meaning the men. A “procedure,” brought over from Wolfram, I believe, was declared necessary for people’s well-being, meaning the men. Neither the baron nor the magistrate nor the physicians who performed it explained what this “procedure” was, but men were assured they would not lose the use of their females for more than a few days, and that once it was done, we would be far less likely to be ensnared by the Evil One
.

They cut us, Elinore. They took away that small nub of flesh so that there’s no longer even the possibility of pleasure when we’re with a man. They took that away from all of us — not just the women in their prime, but the elders and the girls. Maureen …A year ago, my daughter began looking at the young men in the village with interest. As the
chains of the baron’s decrees have tightened around us, she looked at those same young men in fear. Now she looks at them with soul-deep dread. She will never know the juicy excitement of being with a man. All she will know is passive submission. That’s all any of us know anymore. It breaks my heart when I hear her crying at night
.

We’re still alive, but we’re no longer living, except in our dreams
.

How many of us, desperate and despairing, made a heartfelt plea for some solace, some escape? Perhaps many of us. Perhaps all of us
.

One night I dreamt I was in the Old Place — not as it is now, with so many of the trees cut down and the meadows ripped by plows, but as it was a year ago when the witches who had lived there still walked the land. Maureen and I stood in a meadow, and soon other women and girls joined us. There, for the first time in so long, we could hold each other to give comfort. We could laugh, cry, rage, grieve without being silenced
.

All the women from the village gathered in the meadow of dream. That first night, I noticed a woman standing at the edge of the meadow, almost hidden in the shadows of the trees. I think, somehow, we had summoned the Sleep Sister, the Lady of Dreams, and it was her gift that made it possible for us to be together in spirit while our bodies slept
.

The first couple of nights, we were too relieved about being together to think much about the woman standing at the edge of the meadow. Then some of us began to wonder how physically close she had to be to be able to create this dream meadow for us, and we began to fear what would happen to her if she were found
.

The third night, I approached her. She is truly lovely, Elinore, with her black hair flowing down her back and those dark eyes that see so much. I thanked her for the dream meadow — and I told her it wasn’t safe for her to stay near this village unless she was staying in Tir Alainn most of the time, and even then it wasn’t safe. Tears filled her eyes, and she told me that destroying the witches and the Old Place had also destroyed that piece of Tir Alainn. She told me she had to leave, it was too dangerous to stay, and when she left, the dream meadow would begin to fade. Some of us would be able to find it in our dreams for a few more nights, but she didn’t think we would be able to find it in a way that we would be together
.

So I went back to the other women. We talked and talked and talked. The next night, we gathered again, but the edges of the meadow were soft, like a watercolor, instead of sharp like a painting done in oils. We made a choice that night, and we made a plan. Not all the women agreed because, they argued, we had a place to be together for a few hours. But the night after that, when only half of us were able to come together in the dream, we knew there weren’t many nights left before we would be alone again, isolated again
.

We cannot fight against the baron and his magistrate or the guards at their command, and we cannot fight against the Inquisitors. Even if we did, we wouldn’t be able to take back our village and our lives. The other eastern barons would come in and crush us if we tried. There is only one way we can see to escape, and, at the same time, send out a warning to the rest of the women and men in Sylvalan. That is the choice we have made
.

On the night of the Summer Moon, a night when
the women of Sylvalan have traditionally celebrated their sexuality, we will gather at the Old Place for the last time
.

The sky will begin to lighten soon. I must wake my guests and send them on their way before too many men are stirring
.

I don’t expect you to understand the choice I’ve made. I hope the day never comes when you have reason to understand. But I also hope that, after a time, you’ll be able to think of me again with kindness
.

Blessings of the day to you, Elinore
.

Your loving cousin, Moira

Liam’s hand fell limply into his lap. The fingers holding the letter tightened on the paper as he stared at the ground just ahead of him.

“They’ve gone mad,” he said softly. “That’s the only explanation. The barons in the east truly have gone mad. How could they expect us to do this? To give the orders for
this?”

“They courted ambition and other barons’ purses,” Padrick said. “During all their talk in the council chamber, they were very careful not to explain what the ‘procedure’ was. And I’m not sure it’s madness that has consumed them.”

“What else could explain this?”

“The Fae aren’t present here in the east, are they?” Padrick asked, as if seeking confirmation.

Puzzled by the change of subject, Liam shook his head. “You hear things once in a while about them coming down the shining roads when they want to amuse themselves in the human world. I’ve certainly heard stories about people who have sworn they’ve seen one of the Fae. More often than not, it’s a young woman with a swollen belly claiming that she
was seduced by a Fae Lord, but sometimes it’s someone who needed help and was answered by one of the Fair Folk.”

“In the west, the Fae’s presence balances the power the barons have in the counties they rule. No human touches an Old Place, or the witches who live there, without answering to the Clans. If the Fae are nothing more than visitors here in the east, there are only the witches in control of large tracts of land that the baron and the gentry can’t touch. Prime timber, prime pastureland, prime hunting. If a man is greedy enough, wants that land enough, perhaps even fears that those women have power that could rival his own if they chose to use it, would he refuse the assistance of men who can promise to get rid of the witches in a way that no one will dare protest? If the Inquisitors have the means to force women to confess to things they’ve never done, then the baron conveniently eliminates the obstacles between himself and what he covets. Would such a man actually refuse to have a family of witches killed — especially when he doesn’t have to get blood on
his
hands? I think not.”

Padrick looked up at the leaves over his head and sighed. “But the blood
is
on his hands because he brought the Black Coats to his county. I imagine the eastern barons who agreed to that bargain discovered soon after that they were …ensnared …and don’t dare refuse to carry out any other suggestions the Inquisitors now make about controlling females.”

“I can’t believe the barons who voted on the decrees would agree to have this carried out throughout Sylvalan. I
won’t
believe it.”

Padrick gave Liam a long, thoughtful look. “I wonder how many barons in Wolfram and Arktos said the same thing at one time. And I wonder how many of those barons who refused to follow the Inquisitors’ dictates met with accidents. If you had died and the Inquisitors came to Willowsbrook to eliminate the witches and the female power they represent,
would your successor have stood against them? Would he have risked his newly acquired wealth?”

“I — I don’t even know who my successor would be,” Liam said. “Probably some cousin on my father’s side.”

“You don’t know,” Padrick said quietly. “I think they do. I think the Inquisitors control the eastern barons now, and whoever controls the Inquisitors … If you ever see
him
, you will see the face of evil.”

A child laughed. Was quickly shushed by the others.

Such a normal sound, Liam thought. A child laughing.

Would his father have ordered this “procedure” done to Elinore? To Brooke?

Oh, yes. And the bastard would have smiled while giving the order. And he would have rejoiced if they’d taken Nuala and Keely and Breanna and …

No. That had been a nightmare, a fever dream while they’d ridden through that Old Place. Just a nightmare.
Had
to be just a nightmare.

But Padrick had cried when they’d ridden away, too late to do anything, too fearful of who might be coming after them to stay a moment longer.

“What can I say to my mother?” Liam asked. “What can I possibly say to her about this?”

“I don’t know. But I think, if they are willing, we need to talk to the Daughters.”

“Not Keely. She’s…damaged. Nuala and Breanna …yes, I think they’ll talk to us.” Folding the letter carefully, Liam tucked it in a pocket. He stood up — and felt old, used up. “Let’s get it done.”

As Padrick rose to stand beside him, a boy raced toward them, skidding to a stop a few feet away.

“Rory and Clay say there’s a rider coming. Clay says it’s Squire Thirsty and wants to know if the men should let him come in.”

“His name is Thurston,” Liam said, “and, yes, you should let him come in.”

The boy raced back to the arch where the armed men waited. Liam and Padrick stayed where they were. Since the children had moved toward the stables, the bench under the tree was a good place for private conversations.

Squire Thurston rode through the archway, dismounted, and threw his horse’s reins to the boy standing closest, then trotted toward the tree where Liam and Padrick waited. He was a middle-aged man who doted on his wife and was a good father to his four children. His land was well tended, his tenant farmers and servants well cared for. A cheerful man who was content with what he had, his opinion about almost everything was respected by villagers and farmers alike, which had always incensed Liam’s father.

The man trotting toward them didn’t look cheerful or content. There was fear, almost panic, in his face.

“Baron Liam,” Thurston said, panting. “Thank the Mother you’re back! Is it true, sir? What did the barons say? What are they going to
do?”

“Do about what?” Liam asked.

Thurston gaped at him. “About what happened in Pickworth!”

Pickworth. Moira’s village. “What happened?” Liam said sharply.

“I — I thought that’s why you were delayed,” Thurston stammered. “I thought the riders had reached Durham before the council ended and that’s why”

“Mother’s tits, man,” Padrick snapped. “Just tell us what happened.”

“Baron Padrick and I left Durham on the night of the Summer Moon, after I … became ill,” Liam said.

Thurston stared at them for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite understand what they’d said. Then he whispered, “That’s when it happened. On the night of the Summer Moon. The women”

Liam’s stomach churned as he remembered Moira’s words.
On the night of the Summer Moon, a night when
the women of Sylvalan have traditionally celebrated their sexuality, we will gather at the Old Place for the last time
. “What about the women?”

Thurston’s eyes shone with tears. “They killed themselves. They killed their daughters, even the babes. They — They’re all dead, Liam. All dead. From the oldest granny to the youngest babe. Many of them snuck out of their homes and went to the Old Place. But even the ones who were still safely at home … They’re all dead. All of them.”

Liam stumbled back a step, sank down on the bench as his legs gave out.

Padrick muttered, “Mother’s mercy,” and wiped his hands over his face. “How did you hear of this?”