Belladonna

imaginary arch to the other fist. "Lee makes one of his bridges and connects —"
    "No." This was going to hurt him. She knew him well enough now, could feel the depth of his heart and know this would hurt him. "Heart wishes are powerful magic, Magician. A true heart wish can change your life. It can change the world. In those moments when Ephemera was manifesting the heart wishes that were reshaping this part of itself, two women said in anger, 'I don't want you.' And they meant it, Michael. They meant it." She lowered her fists, watched him physically brace for the verbal blow.
    "These two landscapes will reject each other because the hearts that Ephemera used to define these landscapes had rejected each other. So these landscapes can't meet. At least, not right now. Maybe never. Lee could build a thousand bridges to connect Lighthaven to the White Isle, and every one of them would fail."
    "But ..." He sank to his knees. "Does Caitlin know?" She crouched in front of him.
    "No. And there's no reason to tell her. Not yet."
    "She's not a child," Michael said, the snap of temper in his voice. "Don't you think she should know what she's done?"
    "Not yet." She touched his cheek. He immediately reached up to press her palm against his face, holding on to the contact.
    "She's been told for so long where she doesn't belong. Let's find the place where she does belong. I said it yesterday, and I'll say it again. No one who stood by that gate was innocent, and no one is more to blame than the others for what has happened to the White Isle."
    "I started this," he said, his voice rough with the clash of emotions. "I started this by writing a letter sixteen years ago."
    Who would have guessed the man would even thinkof wallowing in blame, let alone actually do it? "Opportunities and choices, Magician. You wrote a letter; Brighid chose to answer it. And she chose to have the three of you live in Raven's Hill. She could have brought you back here to the White Isle and found a family willing to foster the two of you if it wasn't possible for you to live with her at Lighthaven."
    He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "The demon-spawn children? Our new 'family' would have thrown us in the sea as soon as Brighid was out of sight."
    That he believed the words was a weight on her heart. But she gave him a light kiss and stood up. "As a child, you believed that," she said briskly. "As a man, it's time to adjust some of those beliefs. Let's go."
    She meant to ride on to the buildings enclosed within their stone wall. Like the Landscapes' walled gardens. Something to think about since no other Place of Light had shut itself away quite like this. But the lake pulled at her, and she reined in a man-length from the edge and studied the black water.

    Brighid had been Lighthaven's anchor at one time. While the Guardian's heart had maintained the simple way of life that suited a Place of Light, Glorianna suspected the ebb and flow of feelings within the community of Sisters had been more natural.
    For one thing, there must have been children in order for the bloodlines to continue. Therefore, there must have been lovers, however temporary.
    Now Merrill was the anchor. And Merrill, so fearful of the feelings that lived within the human heart, had managed to deny the Dark currents so strongly that Ephemera had created a dark landscape to provide an outlet and a balance.
    A shimmer of thought, a butterfly of feeling fluttered through her. Something there. Something to remember.
    Then the moment was gone, and it was time to face the next part of the journey — and all the troubled hearts now stirring up the currents in this landscape.
    Merrill brought in a tray and set it on the table before studying the woman who stood at the window, staring out at the gardens they had both helped plant so many years ago.
    "Does itlook the way you remember it?" Merrill asked.
    "Yes," Brighid answered quietly, sadly. "It hasn't changed."
    "I kept it as it was. Shaela wanted to change some things, but I was the leader, and I kept it the same." For you.
    "Why didn't you let it change?" Brighid asked, turning away from the window, the dried tracks of tears still visible on her face.
    "The songs that mark the waxing and waning of the day should remain the same because they are tradition. They ground the heart and give us the comfort of knowing that these same words have flowed through the air and seeped into the land going back to ancestors who are nothing more than myth.