Fae didn’t bother with such things, and she certainly didn’t when she stood as the Gatherer. But the Fae had magic, and the Fae were feared. So it was sensible to approach a human dwelling looking like a human and not frighten the people inside to the point where the door would be barred against her.
Halfway across the clearing, she released the glamour, knowing it wasn’t needed. At the new moon, when she had skirted this clearing on her way out to the human world, she had smelled the woodsmoke, had seen the glow of lamps in the windows. Now the cottage was dark and empty. Not the waiting emptiness of a place where the people were away for a little while and were coming back, but the thick, stark emptiness of abandonment.
And all around the cottage, Morag could feel a deep well of magic drying up, withering like a tree whose tap root had been severed.
Turning away from it, she guided the dark horse to the edge of the clearing. She sensed the presence of the Small Folk, knew they were watching her pass by, but none of them came forward to greet a Lady from Tir Alainn. That, too, was something that had changed in recent years.
But it was the sound that was gathering under the rustle of leaves and water flowing over stone that made her urge the dark horse into a canter. She didn’t slow his pace until they reached the human road a few minutes later. Then she reined in and listened.
It had been nothing more than the wood nymphs and water sprites. She knew that. But it still sounded as if the brook and the trees had been weeping, as if the land itself was grieving the loss of ... something.
Who had lived in that cottage? Why had they left? And why would their leaving make so much difference to an Old Place in so short a time? Was the magic bleeding out from the land the reason the road through the Veil was no longer strong enough to carry her home?
“We’ll find a place to rest,” Morag said, petting the dark horse’s neck. But not here .
Shivering from weariness and from night air that suddenly seemed colder, she studied the road. She had been traveling slowly but steadily toward the south of Sylvalan until she had reached this Old Place and had used the road through the Veil to return to Tir Alainn for a brief rest. When she came back down the shining road at the dark of the moon, she had drifted on the outskirts of the nearby villages before circling back here. She had no desire to go back to any of those places, no desire to see what might have happened to other women in those villages.
Turning the dark horse, she resumed her journey south.
Chapter Six
Ari hurriedly filled the small pack with cheese, apples, and two of the fairy cakes she had made to celebrate the Summer Moon. She strapped two canteens of water into their places on the pack, then looked around. A blanket would be nice, but she didn’t want to be too burdened down. Her cloak would have to do for bedding. With the moon shining tonight, there was no need for a lantern, even if she would have dared use anything that might help someone locate her.
She wiped her hand on her trousers as she stared at the small package lying on the table and fought the revulsion that had been growing throughout the day. Then she gritted her teeth and stuffed the fancy into her left trouser pocket. Her folding knife went into the right pocket.
Grabbing her dark cloak, Ari took one last look around. She’d let the fire in the main hearth go out and had banked the one in the stove. The windows were all shuttered and locked. She’d put every warding spell she knew on the cottage to keep it safe. She’d even extended one of the wardings to protect the cow shed and her garden.
Nothing left to do.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she slipped out of the cottage and paused to listen.
Silence. Not even the usual night sounds.
Would the Huntress be out tonight with her pack of great hounds, riding over the land while her
Halfway across the clearing, she released the glamour, knowing it wasn’t needed. At the new moon, when she had skirted this clearing on her way out to the human world, she had smelled the woodsmoke, had seen the glow of lamps in the windows. Now the cottage was dark and empty. Not the waiting emptiness of a place where the people were away for a little while and were coming back, but the thick, stark emptiness of abandonment.
And all around the cottage, Morag could feel a deep well of magic drying up, withering like a tree whose tap root had been severed.
Turning away from it, she guided the dark horse to the edge of the clearing. She sensed the presence of the Small Folk, knew they were watching her pass by, but none of them came forward to greet a Lady from Tir Alainn. That, too, was something that had changed in recent years.
But it was the sound that was gathering under the rustle of leaves and water flowing over stone that made her urge the dark horse into a canter. She didn’t slow his pace until they reached the human road a few minutes later. Then she reined in and listened.
It had been nothing more than the wood nymphs and water sprites. She knew that. But it still sounded as if the brook and the trees had been weeping, as if the land itself was grieving the loss of ... something.
Who had lived in that cottage? Why had they left? And why would their leaving make so much difference to an Old Place in so short a time? Was the magic bleeding out from the land the reason the road through the Veil was no longer strong enough to carry her home?
“We’ll find a place to rest,” Morag said, petting the dark horse’s neck. But not here .
Shivering from weariness and from night air that suddenly seemed colder, she studied the road. She had been traveling slowly but steadily toward the south of Sylvalan until she had reached this Old Place and had used the road through the Veil to return to Tir Alainn for a brief rest. When she came back down the shining road at the dark of the moon, she had drifted on the outskirts of the nearby villages before circling back here. She had no desire to go back to any of those places, no desire to see what might have happened to other women in those villages.
Turning the dark horse, she resumed her journey south.
Chapter Six
Ari hurriedly filled the small pack with cheese, apples, and two of the fairy cakes she had made to celebrate the Summer Moon. She strapped two canteens of water into their places on the pack, then looked around. A blanket would be nice, but she didn’t want to be too burdened down. Her cloak would have to do for bedding. With the moon shining tonight, there was no need for a lantern, even if she would have dared use anything that might help someone locate her.
She wiped her hand on her trousers as she stared at the small package lying on the table and fought the revulsion that had been growing throughout the day. Then she gritted her teeth and stuffed the fancy into her left trouser pocket. Her folding knife went into the right pocket.
Grabbing her dark cloak, Ari took one last look around. She’d let the fire in the main hearth go out and had banked the one in the stove. The windows were all shuttered and locked. She’d put every warding spell she knew on the cottage to keep it safe. She’d even extended one of the wardings to protect the cow shed and her garden.
Nothing left to do.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she slipped out of the cottage and paused to listen.
Silence. Not even the usual night sounds.
Would the Huntress be out tonight with her pack of great hounds, riding over the land while her
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