“It was like a sickness inside him, because once he managed to get the words down on paper, he was fine for the rest of the day. But it was destroying him, and his family feared for his sanity. It was speculated that the lady he’d met had been the Muse, or one of the ladies who shared that gift of words, and she had cursed him by forcing this need upon a man whose joy came from the land and who had no gift for words.
“One autumn, he disappeared. The family didn’t see him again until spring, when he returned. He wouldn’t say where he had been, but the family could tell he was different. He had a slender wand made of oak that he carried with him. He was still compelled to write a poem every day, but he no longer wrote on paper. He used that wand to write words in the grass, in the creek, in the air. The compulsion no longer tortured him. He would simply write some little poem, then, with the compulsion satisfied for the day, he would go on with his work.
“The one thing he did when he came home was to urge his brother, who was the baron, to pay his respects to the Ladies who lived in the Old Place. He was quite insistent that the baron had to make sure their basic needs were met, that they had wood for the fires, fabric for clothes, enough food to eat, that their home was kept in good repair. When the baron asked why, he promised to tell his brother in one year’s time if his brother helped look after the witches.
“So the baron kept his promise, and found it no hardship to do so. His wife invited them to small dinner parties or musical evenings, and slowly the witches, who had kept to themselves because they’d believed they wouldn’t be accepted, became part of the community, and they repaid the friendship they’d found by using their gifts to help the farmers and villagers.
“During that year, whenever the baron asked his brother about why the man had insisted on helping the witches, the only answer was, ‘We must never forget who calls them kin.’
“One year after the baron paid his first courtesy call to the Ladies in the Old Place, his brother handed him a sheet of paper with a poem written on it. It was the only poem he had written on paper since he’d returned home. It was the last one he ever put to paper.”
Donovan refilled his glass with whiskey, then sighed. “That poem has been handed down to the heirs in my family since that day. The original paper has been carefully preserved, and is brought out long enough for the heir to make a careful copy in his own hand, which the ruling baron checks against the original to be sure no word is lost or changed.” He hesitated. “I married Gwenn because I fell in love with her and wanted to be her husband. Before her family consented to the marriage, we made a journey, and I learned what my great-great-uncle meant about never forgetting who calls my lady wife kin.”
As he sipped his whiskey, Liam noticed the slight tremble in Donovan’s hand.
“Gentlemen,” Donovan said in a hushed voice, “I tell you plainly, the eastern barons are fools to have allowed the Inquisitors into our land. They are fools to have done so much harm. Even if they gather an army and defeat us, they will lose. Because the day will come when they kill the wrong witch, and then…And then may the Great Mother have mercy on us all.”
No one spoke while whiskey glasses were refilled again.
Perhaps it was because he was no longer quite sober that Liam asked, “What does the poem say?”
Donovan stared at some distant point the rest of them couldn’t see. Finally, he recited:
“Do not wake the Mother’s Hills.
Do not break the quiet dreaming of
The ones who walk there.
If roused, their wrath can
Shake the world,
And men will not see the
Light of day again.”
“Mother’s mercy,” Liam whispered just as someone rapped softly on the dining room door.
Breanna entered, followed by Gwenn.
“Please pardon the intrusion, gentlemen,” Breanna said, “but I—”
“You said it was a pissing contest,” Liam said. “But are there witches in the Mother’s Hills who really could summon a wind like that or bring the sea so far inland?” You’re drunk, laddy-boy. But he sobered up second by second as he saw both women go absolutely still.
“Not among my kin, no,” Breanna said carefully. “At least…I don’t think so.”
“There are some questions it is best not to ask about the House of Gaian,” Gwenn whispered.
Donovan slowly rose to his feet. “Gwenn?”
She shook her head, then began rubbing her hands over her upper arms, as if suddenly chilled.
“There are Crones,” Gwenn said reluctantly, “who know the old magic. Things the rest of us never learn. They are very powerful. You didn’t meet any of them.”
Liam glanced over at Donovan and saw him swallow hard. Mother’s mercy. Donovan had obviously been awed by those he had met—and now Gwenn was telling him there were others even more powerful?
“Mostly they teach,” Gwenn continued. “They teach the strongest and the best, the ones whose hearts embrace our creed. The ones who also have the temper to use that power if it’s needed.”
“We need allies, Gwenn,” Donovan said softly. “I don’t think my people can stop the Inquisitors. Not alone.”
“That’s why Gwenn needs to come to the Old Place this evening,” Breanna said. She held up a small piece of paper. “Rory brought this a short while ago. It’s from my cousin Skelly. He says something is happening tonight, and we need to stay aware for whatever might be written on water, whispered on the wind.”
“What’s tonight?” Liam asked.
“The new moon rises,” Gwenn replied, still rubbing her arms.
“Whatever it is, the House of Gaian is paying heed,” Breanna added. “So whatever happens tonight could change everything.”
Liam rose, then walked slowly to the door. “Let me see if the cook has the means of providing a meal for all of us. Then we can ride out to the Old Place.”
Breanna nodded.
As he stepped into the hallway, he heard Gwenn say quietly, “I met two of them a few years ago, when I studied for a while in the Mother’s Hills. Two who were being instructed by the Crones. They are too strongly trained in the creed, as the most powerful of us must be, to ever strike first, but may the Mother have mercy on anyone foolish enough to provoke Selena or Rhyann into striking back.”
Chapter 10
new moon
Selena stopped fiddling with the saddlebags already tied to Mistrunner’s saddle, took a deep breath, then turned to face the people watching her. Their hopeful smiles scraped her raw nerves. Ella and Mildred had spent the day fussing over her; washing and pressing the slim white trousers and the split overdress; preparing a bath for her; helping her wash and dry her long black hair; urging her to rest and eat and rest some more. Chad and Parker had cleaned all her tack and then brushed Mistrunner until his coat gleamed. And all through the day were the excited murmurs spoken not quite out of her hearing about how there would finally be a Huntress who was one of them, who would stand by the witches and be the protector she was meant to be—and had been once a long time ago.
But nothing she heard indicated that Ella or Mildred understood why the Huntress was the protector. If witches who lived beyond the Mother’s Hills no longer remembered why the Ladies of the Moon were connected to the Mother’s Daughters, had the Fae forgotten as well?
And what will they say when I tell them why they’re standing in that clearing tonight? Should I tell them? If they had known before, would they have stood back and watched a part of Sylvalan die under pain and fear and hatred? How will they react to an outsider telling them a truth I doubt they want to hear? How can they deny it when the truth is in their own blood and bones?
Rhyann stepped forward and placed her hands on Selena’s shoulders. As she kissed her sister’s cheek, she whispered, “You’re thinking too much. Just go to the dance. Celebrate the gift that wants to rise in you.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back here after
ward,” Selena whispered, her arms going around Rhyann and holding her close.
“You won’t be coming back. You’ll have to deal with the Fae—and give them a chance to understand what it means to deal with you.”
Selena leaned back. “What does that mean?”
Rhyann just grinned.
She tried, but she couldn’t return Rhyann’s grin. “Where will you go tomorrow? Will you try to find the source of your dream?”
Rhyann shook her head. “South…and west. It’s pulling me now. I feel like I’m a key. If I can find the door…”
“Remember your promise to father—and to me. Don’t travel alone south or east of the midlands.”
“I’ll remember if you will.”
Selena hugged Rhyann, reluctant to let go.
“The dance waits,” Rhyann said softly.
“I know.” Selena drew back until they were no longer touching. “Merry meet…”
“…and merry part…”
“…and merry meet again.” Selena looked at Ella and her family. “Thank you…for everything.”
Ella linked arms with her husband and mother. “Blessings of the day to you, Lady Selena.”
Mistrunner stamped his foot, jingled the bridle.
Selena mounted. Her white overdress, split at the waist to make riding easy, flowed down Mistrunner’s sides. Since the horse had been impatient about her delay, she felt annoyed at the way the gray stallion stood still while Rhyann twitched folds of the overdress into place until she was satisfied with the way it looked.
When Rhyann stepped back, Mistrunner turned in the direction of the clearing where the Ladies of the Moon would gather. As he cantered across the meadow to the forest trail that would take her to the clearing, Selena put aside her worries and fears and surrendered to the power that was calling her to the dance.
Dianna rode her pale mare to the edge of the circle of women. Dozens of women, Ladies of the Moon, had come to witness this challenge to her authority, to her power. She’d spent the day studying her potential rivals and had seen no one who could meet her in a test of power. But someone had challenged. Someone’s gift was ascending in a way that required challenge. She’d wondered about the five women who had come from the western Clans, then had dismissed them. Except Gwynith. That one had power. Not enough to defeat her, but enough power that, if it grew any stronger, she might be a serious rival. Perhaps, after she’d reestablished her dominance over all the other Ladies of the Moon, she would strip the gift from Gwynith, just to avoid another challenge in a year or two. After all, it was her right to do so.
If there was no challenger, why had they been drawn here by the feel of power ready to ascend? And why here? She should have chosen the Old Place where the challenger would meet her. The place was always decided by the one who ruled a particular gift. If she hadn’t made the choice, who had?
She dismounted, handing her pale mare over to one of her escorts to lead back to the edge of the clearing. She strode past the other women, who hurriedly stepped aside. She took two steps into the circle before she stopped, frozen by a rush of jagged fear.
Power filled the very center of the clearing, pulsing with the need to be released. So much power. But there was something…not quite right…about it. It was almost as if the power was the challenger, daring any of them to find a way to take it without being consumed by it.
But that wasn’t right. Couldn’t be right. The challenge to ascend and rule a gift always came from another Fae, not the gift itself.
She took six more steps toward the center of the clearing and what waited there, then stopped, unable to force herself to go any closer.
“Who challenges me?” she shouted. As she turned slowly to look at all the women gathered in the circle, they averted their eyes. Or, like the ones from the western Clans, they stared apprehensively at the center of the clearing.
“Who challenges the Lady of the Moon for the right to lead the Fae?”
No answer. No one stepped forward to test their power against hers.
Then she saw a glow among the trees, coming toward the clearing. As it came out of the trees, it took shape as a woman riding a gray horse.
Two Fae males stepped forward to intercept the intruder, took a long look at the woman’s face, then hastily stepped back, bowing respectfully.
The woman dismounted, rested a hand on her horse’s neck, then walked to the circle. The Ladies of the Moon stepped aside to make room for her, but she walked past them into the clearing until she stopped a few lengths from the center, her face lifted as if she were looking at something hovering above the ground.
The glow on the woman’s dress, on her skin…It was as if the moon itself had walked into the clearing.
Jagged fear slashed through Dianna again. No. There was nothing special about this woman who had intruded into one of the Fae’s private gatherings. There wasn’t. It was just a trick of the starlight. The woman was just an intruder, while she, Dianna, was the Lady of the Moon. How dare this stranger ignore her? This time, when she asked the question, her voice rose in a scream. “Who challenges me?”
Selena heard the words, but they had no meaning. Nothing in the clearing had meaning…except that glory in its center. She felt the pull of it, the hunger of it, and she felt the jagged need within it.
It should have been glorious. And it was. But it was also dangerous. Why had these women raised power like this and then never used it? Why hadn’t they released it back into the world, or grounded it to merge with the rest of the magic that lived in the Great Mother? It had the flavor of something that had been done over and over again. They’d taken what they’d needed and had ignored the rest. Now that power was no longer willing to be taken…or ignored. It was going to release tonight. Whether it became something wonderful or something devastating would depend on how it was shaped by those who could channel it.
She glanced at the women around the circle. Why weren’t they coming forward to start the dance? Couldn’t they feel the urgency? What were they waiting for?
Her eyes rested briefly on the woman standing opposite her, inside the circle. Was this the current Lady of the Moon? She could see the glow of their magic, could see the waxing and waning of the gift within each woman, just as they could surely see it in her while they stood together in this place. There was strength in the woman standing on the other side of that globe of power, strength that was anchored to earth. But…She looked at the woman directly to her right. That woman also was anchored to earth, and while she wasn’t quite as strong as the woman inside the circle, her power was richer.
Puzzled, Selena turned slowly to look at the other women. More of them had power anchored to air or fire than earth or water. Neither air nor fire could channel the power that had been raised—at least, not without careful, extensive training—but they could have supported earth and water. Why hadn’t they?
And what were they waiting for?
She looked at the woman inside the circle, looked at the clenched hands and a face now hardened by hatred.
The test. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of test to see who would ascend to be the Lady of the Moon, the Huntress? When would it start? How was she to indicate she wanted to be part of that test? How…
The test, the Fae…everything had to wait. Because the point had been reached when the dance wouldn’t wait.
She walked forward, felt the air grow thick and heavy as she moved to the very center of the clearing, the very center of the power.
She didn’t know the dance for the moon. She knew the spiral dance and other ritual dances, but she’d always danced for the moon in her own way, for her own pleasure.
She looked at the other women. No one moved.
They don’t know how to do this. They don’t know how to dance to draw power into themselves and send it back out into the world. All right. A spiral dance, but not one that draws power to the center before being released. The power has already gathered, so the spiral has to go
outward, giving the power a clear path to follow. So, a dance for the moon. Never changing, ever changing. Dancing around her older sister while the Great Mother moves through the seasons. Waxing moon. Waning moon. Full moon to dark of the moon. Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again…little sister.
Smiling, Selena raised her arms and tilted her head back. The strength of the earth rose up through the soles of her feet, filling her slowly as it anchored her to the land. Within that strength was a hint of fire, the warmth of the summer sun. Above her was air…and water in the clouds that had slowly covered the night sky, turning it a pearly white.
As she lowered her arms, she brought her hands together, forming a cup out of them. Within her cupped hands, the power in the clearing began to glow—a ball of delicate, glittering moonlight. She shifted the ball of moonlight into her right hand, leaving the left open and free.
Holding her right hand close to her body, she turned in a slow circle. As she turned, a streamer of moonlight from the ball followed the movement. With each circle, she extended her hand a little farther. By the time her arm was fully extended, the air around her glowed. The power in the clearing, having been given a gentle channel of magic, constantly refilled the glowing ball in her hand.
Then she began to dance, her steps circling, spiraling out from the center. She let her movements represent the tides and the phases of the moon, while streamers of moonlight followed in her wake. She extended her left hand out in invitation, letting the other women know they were welcome to join her in the dance.
Blank faces. Wary faces. And the sullen anger from the woman standing inside the circle.
For a moment, her temper flashed, and she felt the power she was drawing from the branches of the Great Mother as well as the power in the clearing hesitate for just that moment, trembling on the edge of following this new channel.
Then, as she circled again, she saw the face of the woman she’d noticed before, the one with the richer strength. Her face was filled with wonder and delight—and a yearning.