The House Of Gaian

circle of light, Morag fought against revulsion, fought against the desire to fling those four wisps of spirit as far away from her as she could. Children. Bad things. Something that could tatter a spirit after the body died. Something that had consumed almost all of the spirit within itself.
    She’d known since her first encounter with them that there was nothing inside a nighthunter for her to gather, which was why her gift did nothing more than stun them. But she hadn’t realized there had been a spirit residing in that flesh once—a spirit the creature had consumed as it changed.
    Children. The Inquisitors had done this to children. Mother’s mercy.
    “Mama!”
    The ghost of an older woman stepped out of the other circle of light and opened her arms. The short-haired ghost ran to her, held on to her.
    Morag mounted the dark horse, who had followed behind her, then held out her hand. “Come.”
    The ghosts floated over to her, floated up behind her. The fog cleared for a moment, showing her a stone bridge that spanned the brook she could hear but not see. As she turned the dark horse toward it, the older ghost said, “Can you take them, too?”
    She looked at the spot the ghost pointed to and saw the Small Folk standing on the bank, watching her. “

    Come. I’ll take you up to the Shadowed Veil.”
    After she crossed the bridge, she paused a moment before turning the dark horse toward the field, riding slowly as she followed Death’s summons. When she reached the field that climbed to a low rise, she guided the dark horse around it, keeping behind the trees that bordered it. Then she opened the road that led to the Shadowed Veil and took the ghosts as far as she could on their journey to the Summerland.
    With eyes filled with pity, the older ghost gathered up the four wisps of spirit and cradled them in one arm. Taking her daughter’s hand, she walked through the Veil. The Small Folk raised their hands in farewell, then followed the witches.
    Morag rode back down the road and through the trees until she reached the big field on the other side of the rise. In whispers, in pleas, in cries, Death called her.
    She rode into the field and began gathering the spirits of the dead—and the spirits of the men who, wounded and suffering, wanted to leave the world of the living.
    “Master Adolfo!”
    Adolfo finished pouring wine into a glass and settled himself on the blanket-padded bench inside his tent before he said, “You may enter.”
    A young Inquisitor almost leaped through the tent’s opening, his face shining with excitement. Two guards came in behind him, dragging a bound, bridled man.
    “Master,” the Inquisitor said. “We caught this witch-lover.”
    “Any man who fights against us is a witch-lover,” Adolfo replied in the tone he used as a mild scold—and warning. “What makes this one special?”
    “Remember the nest of witches we cleaned out from that estate along the Una River?”
    Of course he remembered. He’d drained some of those old women while learning to create nighthunters at will. “What of it?”
    The Inquisitor fairly danced with excitement. “We didn’t know what had happened to the young ones in the nest.”
    “I’m aware of that.” The Inquisitor’s excitement stirred his interest, but Adolfo took care not to let it show.
    “This is one of them. His name is Rory. One of the men who came from a village near there recognized him. We think they ran to this Old Place to escape us.”
    Which meant the man was known to the bitches who lived in this Old Place. Was, perhaps, even kin to them. Which made him perfect.
    Draining the wine glass, Adolfo set it aside and stood. “Bring him.”
    The Inquisitor looked crestfallen. “Don’t you want to question him about the witches, Master?”
    Adolfo smiled. “I have a better use for him.”

    There were so many. Morag lost count of the number of spirits she had taken up the road to the Shadowed Veil, and there were still so many. She couldn’t keep going. She was tired. The dark horse was tired. She’d ridden all day to reach the Old Place and had been gathering spirits for hours now. Time to stop. Time to rest. She needed to make her way back to the Old Place and find Ashk.
    This would be her last trip up the road to the Shadowed Veil. She would open the road right here and let the spirits nearby follow her to the Veil.
    Just as she opened the road, she saw a ghost moving toward her. He smiled and raised a hand in