Shadows and Light

empty voice. “You were wrong to leave the Clan house without permission, wrong to think you knew more than those of us who had warned you there was a new danger in the woods. Those mistakes are yours, and you must answer for them. But what happened here to Owen and—” She pressed her lips together.
    Morag watched Ashk fight some inner battle for control.
    “What happened here wasn’t your fault,” Ashk said, finally looking down at her son. “The first person who rode this way would have been attacked.”
    Evan’s lips quivered as tears ran down his face. “But it wouldn’t have been Owen ... or him.”
    Him ? Morag wondered, then realized Evan meant the stag.
    “Whether you were here or not, he would have been,” Ashk said. “He would have sensed their presence in the woods, would have searched for that dark festering until he found its source.” She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Neall, it would be a kindness if you’d take Evan back to the cottage with you and keep him and Caitlin tonight. There’s something I need to do.”
    “I can track the stag,” Neall said gently. “I’ll find him and—”
    “No. I know where he’s gone. Just... look after my children, if you will.”
    Ashk walked back to her horse, picked up her bow, and mounted.
    “Go with her,” Neall said, looking at Morag. He slipped the arrow into the quiver on his back, then held out a hand to Evan. “Up you go, laddy-boy. Let’s see if you can hobble over to Shadow, or if he has to come to you.”
    Leaving them, Morag hurried to her dark horse. She slung the quiver over one shoulder and stifled a curse when strands of hair tangled in the straps and pulled. Now she understood why Ashk had started braiding her long hair and wrapping the braids around her head.
    She caught up to Ashk easily enough and almost pointed out that this wasn’t the direction the stag had headed—and she doubted he would get very far.

    But he wasn’t always a stag. That had slipped past her in that frozen moment because his leap into the swarm had seemed so terrible and so right.
    No, he wasn’t always a stag, and when they finally reached a meadow, Morag saw that she’d underestimated him. He was there, moving slowly, painfully toward the center of the meadow where wildflowers danced and there were no shadows. When he reached the spot, he stood there, his legs spread and shaking, his head down as if he could no longer hold up the great rack of antlers.
    Ashk rode out partway to meet him. She dismounted, then waited for Morag to do the same.
    Morag looked at the stag. Blood dripped on the grass beneath him. In the stillness, she could hear his harsh effort to breathe.
    Ashk held out a hand.
    Morag slipped the quiver off her shoulder and offered it.
    Ashk took one arrow, nocked it loosely in the bow.
    “Who is he?” Morag asked softly.
    Ashk kept her eyes on her bow. “Kernos. He was the Green Lord, the Hunter. He’s still the old Lord of the Woods. And he’s my grandfather.”
    “But... another took his place as the Hunter years ago.”
    “Another became the Hunter years ago, but there’s no one who could take his place, no one who could be what he was.” Ashk looked up at the stag. Her eyes were clear of tears ... and full of a terrible grief.
    Morag placed a hand on Ashk’s arm. “You don’t have to do this.”
    “In his own way, he chose a warrior’s death. He chose to leave this world as the old Lord of the Woods.
    So I’ll honor him by taking him while he still stands.”
    Morag’s hand tightened on Ashk’s arm. “You don’t have to do this,” she said again—and saw the moment when Ashk understood what she was saying. She could gather his spirit, take it from that dying body without Ashk doing anything.
    Ashk stepped aside, pulling away from Morag’s hand. “Yes, I do.”
    She walked out into the meadow until she stood a few yards away from the stag. She took aim, drew back the bowstring, and waited.
    The stag slowly, painfully raised his head until he stood straight and tall for the last time, his dark eyes watching Ashk.
    “Good-bye, Grandfather. We’ll meet again in the Summerland.”
    The arrow sang Death’s song. Pierced the chest. Found the heart.
    The stag fell.
    Morag closed her eyes. You could have asked me, Ashk. I would have spared you that pain. When she opened her eyes, she saw the ghost of an old man, limping slightly, moving toward her. He stopped when he came abreast of Ashk—and he