Shadows and Light

Padrick in the human way, and the Green Lord stood beside me while I did it.”
    “Your grandfather sounds like a fine man.”
    “He taught me. He taught Padrick how to shift to his other form. Padrick had been raised human, and his Fae heritage had been slow to ripen.”
    Like Neall ? Morag wondered.
    Tears flowed down Ashk’s cheeks. “He taught me everything I know, but it’s not enough. It’s still not enough. And now h-he’s gone.”
    Morag wrapped her arms around Ashk as the wall finally broke and the grief flowed with the tears.
    “He’ll be remembered, Ashk,” Morag said, rocking the woman in an attempt to give comfort. “He’ll be remembered.”
    “How? He’s from the west, and the B-Bard has never troubled himself to come here. Who will remember him for all that he was?”
    You will, Morag thought. And, somehow, I’ll find a way to reach Aiden and convince him to come here and listen to the stories about Kernos, the Green Lord, the Hunter, the old Lord of the Woods.
    But she didn’t say that, having heard the underlying bitterness in Ashk’s voice. Now that she thought of it, it was true there weren’t many songs about the Hunter, and the only one she could vaguely recall was the one about a young Lord of the Woods ascending to become the new Hunter and sparing the life of the old Lord.
    Kernos. The old Lord had been Kernos, who had been given a reprieve from Death’s arrow years ago and had had those years to watch his beloved granddaughter marry and become a mother, to play with his great-grandchildren—and to save one by offering himself.
    But she didn’t mention that, or make any promises about finding the Bard. Instead, she waited until Ashk had cried herself out for the time being; then she gave her Kernos’s message.
    “Thank you,” Ashk said in a rough whisper. “That means a great deal to me.”
    There was a quick tap, then Morphia eased the door open.
    Morag looked at her sister.
    Nodding, Morphia slipped into the room. She brushed her hand lightly over Ashk’s head.
    “You need to rest now, Ashk,” Morag said as she tucked Ashk into bed and arranged the light summer covers. “You need to sleep.”
    “No,” Ashk said, her voice slurred. “I’ll see him again. I’ll see him leap.”
    Morphia leaned over, kissed Ashk’s forehead, and whispered, “No dreams but gentle ones.”
    Ashk slept.
    Before Morag could move, Morphia turned and kissed her, too. “No dreams but gentle ones,” she whispered again. Linking her arm through Morag’s, she led them from the room.
    Morag’s legs got heavy. Her eyelids drooped. If Morphia wasn’t leading her to her room, she would have stopped where she was, curled up, and gone to sleep.
    “You could have waited until we got to my room,” Morag complained sleepily.
    “But then you would have realized what I wanted to do, and you would have argued about it.”
    “Wouldn’t have.”
    Morphia laughed softly. “No, of course not, Morag. You don’t argue about anything.”
    “Iz not nice to laugh at your sister when you’ve put her to sleep,” Morag grumbled as they reached her room and she just tumbled into the bed. “You get the last word.”
    “At least until morning,” Morphia agreed.
    Ashk shifted in her sleep.
    It was the meadow, and yet the sunlight touched it differently, softly.
    She saw him walking through the grass and flowers, and felt a pang that, even here, he limped a little. He didn’t seem to notice. His attention was caught by something else. He began to move faster—and he laughed the laugh that had taught her more about the joy of life than anything else ever had.
    She saw him flow from his human form into the shape of the stag. Now he bounded across the meadow, and her eyes could follow him as he headed for the woods.

    An old woods. A very old woods. A place where favorite spots would always be found. A place where there would always be a new path to explore. A place where he could wander the trails in the form he’d loved best. A place where there was peace, even in the shadows.
    Then he went into the trees where her eyes couldn’t follow, but she’d find him again one day, in that old woods.
    Ashk shifted in the bed.
    One tear trickled from beneath her closed eyelids, but her lips curved in a soft smile.

Chapter Twenty-five
    It was a Clan house. In an Old Place. At first, despite the feel of power rising up from the land, Lyrra hadn’t understood what she was seeing because they’d come