EXCERPT
Copyright © 2001 Anne Bishop. Used with permission.
Chapter 1
Another road was closing. It would take a little time, but not
that long. For a few more days, that road through the Veil that
separated Tir Alainn from the human world would shine, as it
had for as long as the Fae could remember. Then the Veil would
thicken and the road would disappear, and any of the Fae Lords
or Ladies who tried to travel that road out of Tir Alainn wouldn't
come home again.
And once the road closed, the part of Tir Alainn that was connected
to that road would disappear as well – another piece of
what had been the Fae's most glorious act of magic mysteriously
devoured.
We do not ask what becomes of the Fae who lived in those
lost pieces, Dianna thought as she stared at the garden
beyond the open window. We do not ask if they are somehow
surviving in their Clan houses, cut off from the rest of us,
or if they've become lost souls who will never reach the Summerland
when the flesh gives itself back to the Mother.
Turning away from the window, she faced the man and woman who
had been patiently waiting for her attention.
They had the feral beauty that was common to the Fae. The woman
had dark red hair and woodland eyes – a brown-flecked green.
Some of the Fae said eyes that color harkened back to the House
of Gaian, a Clan that had disappeared so long ago it was barely
even a legend anymore. Whether that was truth or wishful thinking,
no one could say any more than they could remember why the House
of Gaian had been special –
or why it had disappeared.
The man had black hair and blue eyes that were usually filled
with sharp amusement. She saw storms in his eyes now, and sadness
in the woman's.
“You found nothing,”
she said, not bothering to make it a question since their eyes
had already answered.
“We found nothing,”
Lyrra replied. “Inspira, Cariden, and I have asked every
storyteller and poet we could find. None remember anything that
would help us understand why the roads are closing or how to
stop it from happening.” She hesitated. “I don't know
if this is related to the information we've been seeking, but
there was an old poet from another Clan who remembered hearing
a fragment of an ancient poem that spoke of the Pillars of the
World. But he had been a child when he heard it and could recall
nothing else about it.”
“The Pillars of the World,”
Dianna said, forcing herself to remain calm. “Do you know
what it means?”
Lyrra shook her head. “It's as if we had once known so
well what they were, there was no need to explain them, no need
to hold onto them with words.”
Dianna swallowed hope turned bitter.
“Then it's unlikely they have anything to do with what's happening to
us now.” She looked at the man.
“I found nothing,” Aiden said flatly. “The bards
know songs enough about riding the roads and the delights that
might be encountered on the other side of the Veil, but nothing
that will help us.”
If the Muse and the Bard can find nothing, who else can we
ask? Dianna wondered. Where else can we look for the
answers?
None of them mentioned what might have been known to the Clans
who had used the shining roads that had connected to the Old
Places in the human countries called Arktos and Wolfram – the
Clans who had been disappearing, one by one, since she was a
little girl.
Now, the only roads through the Veil were the ones connected
to Sylvalan, and those, too, were beginning to close.
Had warnings gone unheeded all those years, or had they never
been sent? Had the Fae whose territories had been connected to
the Old Places in those countries been willfully blind to the
danger, so sure that whatever had happened to another Clan couldn't
possibly happen to them – or had they kept to their
own Clan houses and their own territories because they'd been
afraid that it would happen to them? Or had it been that
those Clans had always seemed so distant anyway that no one in
this part of their world had paid much attention?
Now the danger was no longer distant, no longer happening to
someone else. Now it was devouring their Clans, and they
hadn't been able to find out why – and they hadn't been
able to stop it.
“I am sorry, Dianna,”
Lyrra said softly.
“My thanks for trying,”
Dianna said, turning back to the window.
A rustle of fabric. Quiet footsteps walking away.
Only one set of footsteps.
Looking over her shoulder, she could almost see the swelling
anger in Aiden. “Something else?”
He joined her at the window. “Before coming to the Clan
house here, I went down one of the other roads.”
His expression was bland, but his eyes... “I traveled through
a couple of villages in the northeastern part of Sylvalan.”
“And no doubt stopped at the taverns to hear a minstrel
or two,” she said, working to give him an indulgent smile
that might ease his mood.
He didn't smile back. “I listened,” he said curtly.
And hadn't liked what he'd heard.
“The minstrels are singing songs about beings they call
wiccanfae.”
Dianna stiffened at the arrogance of anything else referring
to itself as Fae. “And they are?”
“Wicked fairies. Witches. Creatures who, out of spite,
will make a cow dry or a woman barren, who will creep into a
house and devour a newborn's soul so that the mother finds the
babe dead in its cradle with no mark upon it. They sometimes
steal babes to sacrifice to their master, the Evil One, so that
he will come and indulge in carnal acts with them. They use their
love charms on chaste young women of good name and family, causing
them to become so overcome with lust that they fornicate with
men, without the honorable bond of marriage. They are the vessels
of dark magic.” He paused. “And they control the Small
Folk, who are soulless creatures full of mischief magic. Creatures
that must be cleansed from the land so that honest men can take
the land's bounty without coming to harm. Do you want to hear
more?”
“No,” Dianna said, feeling a winter wind brush past
her face even though spring would soon give way to summer. But
what she wanted and what duty required were two different things. “Do
you think these...wiccanfae...are the reason the roads are closing?
Could they be using their magic to keep us out of the human world?”
“It is fact that the shining roads close in the human world
before we lose a piece of Tir Alainn.”
Dianna saw something shift in his eyes. “What happened
at those taverns?”
“Just as the Muse can still a tongue or open an inner door
inside a person that allows the words to flow, so I can give
the gift of music – or take it away.”
Dianna hesitated. Even for the Lady of the Moon – a title
that made her the most influential female among the Fae – it
was the better part of wisdom not to antagonize the Bard. Provoked,
he wouldn't hesitate to shape a song that would diminish a person
into a fool. “If the witches are our enemies, why stop the
minstrels' songs?”
“I cannot stop what already exists, but I can stop any
more from being created.”
She place a hand on his arm, felt the tight muscles. “Why
stop them?” she asked, wondering how much he hadn't told
her.
“One doesn't need to drink from a cup to know that it contains
poison,” Aiden said harshly.
“There's something wrong with those songs. Music that hasn't flowed through
the heart on its journey to the hands offers little and can take much.” He
smiled bitterly. “And those who play those songs have sold their hearts
for a bag of gold coins.”
“Minstrels have to eat,”
Dianna said cautiously.
“There is warm gold and cold gold, and I know which has
been taken by the end of the first tune. These minstrels play
songs that create an ugliness in the hearts of those who hear
them. And they've put new words to old tunes – tunes we created – that
once spoke gently of magic and the gifts that magic gives. That
is too deep an insult, Dianna, because that is an offense against us. The
decision to take back the gift of music is mine, and only mine,
to make.”
“Has Lyrra decided to take back the Muse's gift as well?”
His eyes darkened until they were almost black.
Oh, yes, Dianna thought. The Bard heard far more than
he has said.
“I have asked her to take back her gift from any minstrel
who sings those songs,” he said quietly. “But that
is her choice.”
Which meant that, unless she had a strong reason to oppose him,
the Muse would honor his request. She and the Bard weren't
exclusive lovers, but they were lovers nonetheless and often
gave – or withheld – their gifts in tandem.
“And there is another reason to silence the music that
would smear all magic with the offal of the witches' deeds.” Aiden
crossed his arms, leaned against the wall next to the window. “We
travel through the Veil and use our gifts to hinder or help the
humans.”
“We do that because it amuses us, not because we need to,” Dianna
said impatiently.
“We do that because it amuses us,” Aiden agreed, “and
because it's...invigorating.”
Dianna let out a delicate snort. She knew quite well what “invigoration” Fae
men found in the human world. Fae women seldom found a similar
kind of “invigoration.”
Aiden's blue eyes twinkled, a sure sign that he knew exactly
what she was thinking. Then the twinkle faded, leaving him serious
again. “That isn't exactly what I meant. Living in Tir Alainn
is like floating in the sun-warmed water of a quiet pond. Dealing
with humans and their world is like riding the rapids of a fast
river. One brings peace, the other stirs the blood.”
“There's nothing wrong with peace,” Dianna insisted. Especially
when it might be taken away at any moment.
“Tell me something, Dianna,”; Aiden said. “When
you ride with your shadow hounds for the Wild Hunt, do you gallop
over the perfect, rolling hills of Tir Alainn or the rough imperfection
of the human world?”
She didn't want to answer that, didn't want to acknowledge the
truth in what he was saying –
that the Fae traveled to the human world because the peace and
perfection of Tir Alainn became boring after a while – so
she said nothing.
After a moment, Aiden said, “I'll see if I can find any
other references to the Pillars of the World. It may have been
nothing more than a bard's way of referring to the roads at one
time or other, but even knowing that much is more than we know
now.”
She nodded in agreement. Then there was nothing more to say.
“Dianna,” Aiden said, bowing slightly.
“Aiden,” she replied.
After he left, she remained at the window. If they didn't find
the reason behind the roads closing, the day would come when
she would look out and see...what? What had any of the lost Fae
seen before their piece of Tir Alainn disappeared?
Wiccanfae.
Her mouth shaped the word without giving it voice.
If they were the reason her beloved Tir Alainn was dying, they
would soon discover what it was like to have the Lady of the
Moon, who was also called the Huntress, for an enemy.
