The Pillars Of The World (25 page)

He
had
seen her before ... on the night of the Summer Moon, riding a pale mare with her shadow hounds running ahead of her.

Mother’s mercy, why was the
Huntress
spending time at Brightwood pretending to be human?

Darcy shoved him. He raised a hand and rested it on the gelding’s muzzle—and felt another wave of dizziness sweep over him.

Ahern, who raised the finest horses in this part of Sylvalan—perhaps in
all
of Sylvalan. Ahern, whose face sometimes blurred for the first few seconds when Neall saw him. Ahern, the gruff old man who seemed to have a proprietary interest in the women who had lived at Brightwood—and the girl who still lived there.

Ahern, too, was Fae.

Slowly climbing to his feet, Neall leaned against Darcy for a few moments to get his balance before mounting.

It was tempting to turn around and ride to Ahern’s farm, but he needed time to think and steady himself before he confronted the old man.

The Fae had been present all along. But why were so many of them showing up now? And why had the Lightbringer and the Huntress, the two who could command all the others, suddenly becoming interested in Ari?

Morag woke from an uneasy sleep. At first, she thought the light was so pale because it was just past dawn. Then she heard children playing outside and knew it was later than that.

There’s a storm coming.

Shivering, she quickly dressed in black trousers and black overdress. Her
own
clothes. For the past few days, she’d worn garments loaned to her by other women in the Clan while her “corpse clothes” were cleaned and mended. The words had been teasingly said, but the women’s eyes had conveyed something else. There was no one in
their
Clan who was one of Death’s Servants, and in her own clothes, she looked too much like who she was. For Morphia’s sake, she had yielded. But not today.

Picking up her brush, she turned to the mirror to work the sleep tangles out of her hair.

The brush slipped from her hand and clattered to the table beneath the mirror.

There were shadows on her face. The same shadows she’d been seeing on Morphia’s face for the past few days.

Moving quickly, she packed her saddlebags and left the room. She hurried down one flight of stairs, almost tripping in her haste, and cursed the Clan elders who had given her sister a room on a different floor from hers.

She ran through the corridors until she reached her sister’s room. She tried the door, found it locked, then pounded her fist against it.

There was annoyance on Cullan’s face when he opened the door and saw her—and there were shadows. Morphia just looked at her with amused resignation when she brushed past Cullan and entered the room.

“We were just going down for the morning meal,” Morphia said as she walked toward the door. “Will you join us?” Then she smiled, and added, “I told Cullan you wouldn’t tolerate looking like a bouquet of spring flowers for very long, even if the colors
did
flatter you.”

Black flatters me more
, Morag thought, grabbing Morphia’s arm to prevent her from leaving.

“Morag!” Morphia protested. “Let me go!”

Not if there’s a way to prevent it.

She saw Cullan watching them, his mouth tightened in disapproval. Was he reconsidering his decision to go with Morphia now that he had met her sister? It was one thing to know the Gatherer was closely related to the Sleep Sister. It was quite another to see them together and realize they weren’t always so far apart as others might think.

“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Cullan said, sounding a bit too sulky for Morag’s liking.

As soon as Cullan closed the door behind him, Morphia rounded on her sister. “What is the matter with you?”

“Stay close to me today,” Morag said fiercely.

Morphia let out a huff of exasperation. “Enough is enough. I have listened to your vague complaints that something is wrong because I know you’re troubled, but even I have limits.”

“Then extend your limits and listen for a little while longer. If you love me at all, promise me you’ll stay close to me today!”

Morphia studied Morag. Then she paled. “Is it my sister or the Gatherer who is asking?” She shook her head. “Don’t answer. What do you want me to do?”

“Pack what you can in your saddlebags. If you brought more than that, leave it. See what you can bring in the way of food and drink, then meet me at the stables. I’ll get the horses saddled.”

“Horses! Where are we going?”

“Down the road through the Veil. We’re leaving here. Now.”

Morphia shook her head. “No. This isn’t just a casual mating. I care about Cullan, and—”

“
Then bring him with you
. But don’t delay, sister.” Morag headed for the door.

“You say enough to frighten but not enough to illuminate,” Morphia said angrily. “What is it you think is going to happen?”

Morag turned to look at her sister’s shadowed face. “I don’t know. But I don’t think we have much time left.”

As she left the Clan house and hurried toward the stables, she passed three children—a boy and girl ripening toward maturity, and a little girl.

“The fog’s so thick beyond the gardens, if you hold out your arm, you can’t see your hand,” the boy said.

Morag stopped, turned, stared at the children. Their faces were shadowed. Death could never be cheated, but there were times when Death was willing to turn aside for a while.

“I don’t believe you,” the girl said. “I think you made it up.”

The little girl tugged on the older one’s sleeve and pointed. “Look! That part of the Clan house has a white veil.”

Morag looked in that direction and shivered. One part of the Clan house
did
look as if it had been covered with a sheer gauze that paled the color of the stones.

“Come with me,” Morag said, grabbing the hand of the little girl. “All of you, come with me.”

She didn’t wait to see if the other two would follow. When the little girl balked, she picked her up and moved toward the stables at a speed that left her breathless by the time she set the girl down to one side of the stable doors.

“Stay here,” she ordered.

The little girl looked at her with wide eyes filled with fear.

Morag rushed into the stables. “Saddle the horses,” she snapped at the men who had stopped whatever chores they were doing to stare at her.

“They haven’t been fed yet,” one of the men protested.

“Leave it. Get them saddled. Now.”

The dark horse thrust his head over the bottom half of the stall door and watched her.

She opened the bottom half of the door, dropped her saddlebags over it, then turned to retrieve her tack. “Step out of there,” she said over her shoulder. “We have to go.”

When she came out of the tack room with her saddle and bridle, she saw the men still standing there, doing nothing.

“Saddle those horses, or it’s the
last
thing you’ll refuse to do,” she snarled.

Coming from her,
that
threat they understood.

She saddled the dark horse, then hesitated when he lowered his head to accept the bridle. She stuffed the bridle in her saddlebags, tied them to the saddle, and hurried out of the stables, knowing he would follow her.

The fog was playing with the part of the Clan house that had been veiled a few minutes ago, obscuring part it for a moment, then lifting enough to reveal it again. But each time, more of it remained to shroud the walls.

She picked up the little girl and set her on the dark horse’s back.

“My sister,” the girl whimpered.

“You stay here with him,” Morag said. “I’ll find your sister.”
And mine
.

As Morag ran toward the Clan house, the fog retreated, then swept in again. The most distant part of the Clan house disappeared—and didn’t return.

“Mother’s mercy,” Morag whispered. “Morphia.”

A thin layer of fog swiftly covered half of the Clan house.

Morag ran faster.

When she reached a terrace, she skidded to a stop. She couldn’t see into the fog that formed a wall, cutting her off from the house. She hesitated, then thrust her arm inside the fog. The boy had been right.

She could barely see her hand.

‘“Morphia!”

She thought she heard a muffled sound nearby. She swept her arm in that direction, hit something, grabbed it, and pulled.

The boy stumbled out of the fog, bringing the girl with him. They looked at her with terrified eyes.

“Y-you can’t see in there,” the girl stammered. “You can’t see
anything!”

“Go down to the stables.” Morag gave them a push. “Hurry.
Go!”

Thrusting her arm back into the fog, she walked the length of the terrace, grabbing at anyone who brushed against her.

“‘Morphia!
Morphia!”

By the time she paced the terrace twice, she’d had to retreat until her leg was brushing against the terrace wall.

“Morphia!”

Morphia would have come out this way—unless she’d gone back to find Cullan and try to persuade him to come with them.

“Morphia!”

“Morag?”

Fog drifted over her. She could barely see her black sleeve—and couldn’t see her hand. Keeping her leg pressed against the terrace wall, she turned far enough to see behind her. And saw nothing at all.

“Morag!”

“Morphia!”

Clamping one hand on the wall, Morag stretched as far as she could, shouting for her sister.

When she’d almost given up hope, a hand brushed against her outstretched one. She lunged, losing her grip on the wall but finding that hand again. Her heart pounded as she groped for the wall—and her breath came out in a sob when she found it.

“Stay close to me,” she said, inching her hand along the wall as fast as she dared.

“I promised that I would, didn’t I?” Morphia replied, but she sounded like she was weeping.

One moment there was stone under her hand. The next, nothing. She moved her hand back, felt the comfort of stone.

‘“We must be at the terrace stairs,” she said, shuffling her foot and wondering if there would be anything beneath her feet when she took the next step.

“Can you see?” Morphia asked.

“No, but—” Her foot dropped, pitching her forward. “I did find the stairs.” But there was no stone railing, nothing to guide her hand. She tugged and guided until Morphia was standing beside her. “We get down these stairs and walk straight ahead.”

Morphia said nothing, just squeezed her sister’s hand.

They felt their way down the stairs.

“That’s the last of them—I think,” Morphia said. “Ahead of us is grass, then a garden with a fountain.”

“Then we go forward,” Morag replied. She counted the paces. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. How much farther?

How much time had she spent looking for Morphia? Were they already too late to escape?

The fog thinned suddenly, enough for her to make out shapes. To her left she could hear the fountain.

“I know the path through this garden,” Morphia said. “I’ll lead.” She moved forward, guiding Morag.

Halfway through the garden, they stepped out of the fog and ran down the path until they reached another terrace.

Morphia turned back. “Mother’s mercy.”

Morag pulled on Morphia’s arm. “We have to get to the stables. We have to get down the road through the Veil while we can.”

Morphia pulled away. A couple of pieces of the Clan house were still visible, but the ground around them was thick with fog. “Cullan is still in there.”

“You don’t know that. If he has any sense at all, he’ll have run.”

Morphia shook her head. “He cares about me, Morag. He would have tried to find me when he realized the danger. I can’t leave him—”

“You
promised
me.”

“Morphia!”

They looked up, saw Cullan leaning out of a tower window.

“Cullan!”

“Go!” he shouted. “Get away from here! I’ll meet you.”

Morphia hesitated, looked at the fog.

Morag gripped her sister’s arm. “You can’t go back into that.”

“I’ll meet you!” Cullan shouted, waving at them to move.

Fog danced at their feet.

“We’re going through the Veil!” Morag shouted back.

Before Morphia could resist or do something foolish, Morag pulled her toward the stables. By the time they’d taken a dozen strides, they were running.

“I dropped the saddlebags and food sacks somewhere,” Morphia panted, bracing one hand against a wall when they finally reached the stables.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Morag replied, looking around. The dark horse stood outside the stables. The little girl was on his back, and the boy and girl she’d pulled out of the fog were standing beside him.

There were no other horses.

She burst into the stables. A handful of horses were saddled. “
What have you been doing
?”

The men eyed her with dislike.

“What’s the hurry?” one of them said. “Is the world about to end?”

“Yes,” Morag snapped. “It is.”

Their mouths fell open. One rushed outside, the others followed.

Morag slapped the rump of the first saddled horse. “Outside. Go!” Not waiting to see if the horse obeyed, she ran to the rest of the stalls, flinging the doors open, and shouting, “Outside! Go!”

At the far end of the stable, a horse trumpeted a challenge.

She ran to that stall, looked inside.

The stallion pawed the straw. It was a sun stallion, called that because of the golden hide and white mane and tail.

“We have to get down the road through the Veil before it’s too late,” Morag said. She flung the door open and stepped aside.

The stallion charged past her. The rest of the horses followed him.

She ran outside. The Clan house had completely disappeared. A few of the Fae were running toward the stables, but not many.

The girl was now mounted on the dark horse behind her little sister. The boy was mounted on another horse. Morphia was helping a couple more children mount the horses that were saddled. The grooms were simply staring at the fog in disbelief.

Morag turned her back on the Clan house. She had tried to talk to the elders, had tried to talk to anyone who would listen. Now there was nothing more to say—and no time to do anything but save what she could.

She went to the dark horse, pressed one hand against his cheek.