Shadows and Light

had rained the first day after the strangers arrived, and, noticing one man go to the barn to tend the animals, they had reckoned everyone else had chosen to stay inside out of the wet.
    But the second day, the men left late in the afternoon— and rode out in a hurry.
    That’s when some of the Small Folk went to the house and found the warding spells that usually protected the house were gone. So they went inside—and they found the witches.
    Two hours later, Aiden and Lyrra rode up to that house.
    The youngest witch was still alive, had been left in a room with the bodies of her mother, grandmother, and elder sister. The men, whom Aiden strongly suspected were Inquisitors, hadn’t been worried about leaving her. There was nothing anyone could have done to mend her poor tortured body.
    Please, let it end. Please, let me die. Please.
    If he’d known where to find Morag, he would have begged her to come to that house and take the girl’s spirit from that suffering body. Without the Gatherer, he and Lyrra and the Small Folk did what they could to make her more comfortable, which was pitifully little.
    Please, let me die. Please.
    Lyrra stayed with the girl while he and the Small Folk dug the graves for the other three women. He didn’
    t ask the small men if any of the Fae had bothered to make themselves known to the witches. At one point, while he was resting his back and hands, he wondered if he should ride up the shining road to Tir Alainn and warn the Fae that the road would be closing soon. Then he looked at the half-dug grave and went back to work. The Fae could take care of themselves. When had they ever done anything else?

    The girl died at dusk on the second day after they’d arrived at that Old Place. While Lyrra washed the body, he and the small men went out to dig another grave.
    They’d barely broken ground when one of the small men noticed the swarm of nighthunters flying toward them and gave a cry of warning.
    Shouting at Lyrra to close the windows, Aiden dropped his shovel and ran to the barn. The house was still sturdy enough, but the barn had been neglected, and he couldn’t leave the horses in a structure that would make them easy prey.
    It didn’t occur to him until he led the horses out of the barn that he didn’t have a chance of reaching the house before the nighthunters attacked.
    A stone shot from a sling knocked one of the nighthunters down. The small men shouted at him to make good use of his legs as they shot clods of dirt and small stones at the creatures.
    He ran to the house, got himself and the horses inside. The small men continued to hold off the nighthunters long enough to reach the house, too. They huddled together that night, listening to the nighthunters’ bodies hitting the shutters as the creatures tried to find a way into the house. Then they listened to the screams of agony from the three ghosts when the creatures finally abandoned the living and sought another kind of sustenance by devouring the spirits of the dead.
    The next morning, knowing what would happen once the sun went down, none of them could bring themselves to bury the girl. So they dug up earth and covered her with it where she lay on the bed. They put a bowl of water on the bedside table, set the stub of a candle next to it, and, for a few tense minutes, opened the bedroom window to let in fresh air.
    Earth, air, water, fire. The four branches of the Great Mother.
    He didn’t know if there were special words that should have been said, so he played his harp for a few minutes. Lyrra sang a poem about witches that she had written last winter and that he’d recently set to music.
    Then they closed up the house, saddled the horses, said good-bye to the Small Folk, and rode away.
    Now here they were with only a bridge separating them from another Old Place.
    Aiden took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Brushed his heels against his gelding’s sides to urge the animal forward.
    A small stone hit his boot.
    “Deceiver,” a voice hissed.
    Aiden looked down. Even knowing what to look for, it still took him a moment to locate the water sprite standing on a flat stone near the bank of the brook. She stared at him with such loathing, he couldn’t suppress the shiver that went through him.
    “Deceiver,” she hissed again.
    “We mean no harm,” he said quietly.
    “Then show the Daughters your true face. Let them see who stands before them before they bid you welcome.” She waited a moment. When he