The House Of Gaian

exploded from the heat, showering them with bits of flaming wood. She screamed in fury, in fear, and guided him as best she could through the tunnel of fire, her eyes slitted against the smoke and heat.
    Death roared in that fire, and when the dark horse almost stumbled on something soft, she hoped it was a rabbit and not one of the Small Folk who lived in Bretonwood.
    Curse you, Lucian. May you never have a moment’s peace for the rest of your life.
    The trail split. The fire hadn’t reached the right-hand fork, leading to the Clan house. For a heartbeat, she thought of taking that trail, circling round. But images from the dream flashed in her mind—Neall, dying on the trail; Ari, fleeing from an enemy. She didn’t have time. Whatever it cost her, she didn’t have time.
     
    So she turned the dark horse onto the left-hand fork that burned, burned, burned all the way to Neall and Ari’s cottage.
    The dark horse’s breathing was harsh and labored, but he ran. He ran until they burst out of the trees into the meadow where she saw a nightmare—and hope.
    She let him turn toward the kitchen garden, toward the grass untouched by the battle taking place in the meadow. Choking, gasping for air, she watched, not daring to do more at that moment when her vision was blurred and her control too shaky to summon her power.
    The black horse and the stag circled each other, looking for an opening to strike a blow. Merle circled with them, also looking for an opening. The stag had a hoofprint branded onto his left flank, but Morag didn’t think Neall even realized he’d been struck. Flames rose wherever Lucian’s hooves touched the ground, but they were quickly extinguished, as if someone was grounding the power as fast as Lucian could summon it.
    Morag looked at Ari, who stood a few feet from the cottage. Tears ran down the young witch’s face, mixing with the sweat that soaked her hair and the bodice of her dress. Her teeth were gritted, and her hands pressed against a belly that looked ripe enough to burst.
    “No, Lucian! No !” Ari screamed. “I won’t go back with you. I made my choice. Lucian !”
    Horse, stag, and shadow hound kept circling, paying no heed to the woman they fought over.
    Ari screamed again—and Morag shivered at the rage she heard growing under the fear. “You think if you burn out my life, I’ll crawl back and accept whatever crumbs you give me because you’ve left me with nothing else? I won’t crawl. I won’t go back. I’m not some trinket for you to play with !”
    Smoke rose from the cottage roof, but Morag saw no flames. She looked at Ari and saw determination etched in a face that would never again look as young and fresh as it had even just a few hours before.
    She’s grounding the fire. She’s matching his power and holding it back. But how long can she do it without harming herself or the babe ?
    Morag straightened in the saddle, still fighting to take a full breath. If Neall slipped ... If Lucian got in a lucky blow ... She couldn’t wait for Death to tell her whom to gather.
    Then Merle dashed in, snapping at Lucian’s belly. Lucian whirled to strike back at the shadow hound—
    and gave Neall the opening he’d been waiting for. His antlers raked across Lucian’s side, cutting through the skin. Fire roared up in front of Neall, forcing him to leap away. But the flames died fast, and he was back, circling, circling. He moved forward, putting himself in reach of Lucian’s front hooves.
    Screaming in fury and triumph, Lucian reared—and Merle struck from behind, his jaws closing on a hind leg, his teeth ripping muscle and tendons.
    Lucian fought for balance while Neall leaped away. As his front hooves slammed into the ground and blood poured from his side and his crippled hind leg, Ari yelled, “Neall! Merle!” The power of earth rolled in her voice.
    They backed away from Lucian, moving toward her.
    Ari and Lucian stared at each other. Morag watched them, waiting. Then something else caught her attention and she turned her head to stare at the trees—at the fire disappearing from their blackened skeletons.

    She looked back at Ari, alarmed. And she felt a moment’s pity for the man who was the Lord of Fire.
    Lucian, you fool. There is good reason why witches are called the Mother’s Daughters .
    “You want fire, Lightbringer?” Ari said. “ Then I will give you fire !”
    A column of flames roared up in the meadow, rising toward the sky. Trapped in the center