The House Of Gaian

way of looking at the world.”
    Neall stared at her.
    Ashk huffed in exasperation. “If the fight comes here, it’s not just the Fae at risk.”
    “You mean all the children, don’t you?” Neall said slowly.
    She nodded. “From the Clan, the village, the gentry homes, the tenant farms. Yes. All the children. And your horses.”
    “You can’t protect things just because they’re mine.”
    “I want Ari protected because she’s a witch, one of the Mother’s Daughters, and as she grows heavier with the babe, she won’t be able to outrun an enemy if it comes to that. You have two of the finest Fae stallions anywhere in the west, not to mention the Fae mares that were bred by the Lord of the Horse himself. We can’t count what has already been lost because of the Inquisitors coming to Sylvalan. We can’t know what else will be lost before we’re able to drive them out. But we can do our best to protect the people and things we’ll need to rebuild our land and our lives. So you’ll do what I need you to 4o. I can’t look back, Neall. When I ride out of here, I need to go with an easy heart. And that is a burden I place on your shoulders.”
    Neall looked away. When he looked at her again, his eyes were years older. “I’ll do what you need.”
    “Thank you.”
    Neall sighed. “This is just talk anyway. Nothing is going to happen to Padrick, and nothing is going to happen to you. You’ll still be the Hunter when you’re a wrinkled great-grandmother.”
    “No, I don’t think so,” Ashk replied quietly. “Power waxes and wanes, Neall, and it doesn’t always follow the years. There are some who have ascended to command their particular gift and remained strong for decades, and there are others who have burned brightly for a few years before their power faded and another’s power blazed. I was twenty when I became the Hunter. In a few more years, you’ll be a seasoned man in your prime, and I’ll be quite content to be nothing more than a Lady of the Woods playing with my grandchildren.”
    “You’ve got some years to go then,” Neall said. “Evan’s only eleven years old.”
    “And you’re twenty-two and will soon be a father,” Ashk replied. “There’s a river of living between where he is in his life and where you are, but in another ten years, that river won’t be as wide as you seem to think.” She stepped up to him, cupped his face in her hands. “I hope you have a long Green Season. I hope when this is over, there will be years and years when you and Ari need to do nothing more than raise children and horses. I hope that with all my heart, for your sake and Ari’s—and for my sake and Padrick’s as well. But if that isn’t to be, then know, here and now, that you’re strong enough to be what you have to be.” She kissed him lightly, then stepped away. “You’ll do, Neall. You’ll do just fine. Come along now. The others are waiting. Padrick wants to talk with all of us.”
    “If you’re gone, how will I know how to be the Hunter?” Neall asked softly.
    Ashk’s hand froze over her gear for a moment. Then she settled her quiver comfortably on her back and picked up her bow and canteen. “The knowing is part of the gift. There are some things that aren’t spoken of between the one whose power is fading and the one who ascends. But when that moment comes, the knowledge comes with it.”
    Including knowing why the Fae have good reason to be wary of the Hunter. But that’s something you don’t need to know until the time comes. That’s something Kernos wouldn’t tell me. If the Fae aren’t careful, they’ll discover they have a more vengeful enemy than the Inquisitors. The Inquisitors can only kill them. I can destroy them. I wonder if Aiden knew that when he came looking for the Hunter to help him convince the Fae to protect the witches and the Old Places against the Black Coats.
    “Let’s go, young Lord.”
    Morag, the Gatherer of Souls, leaned against a tree that gave her a clear view of one of the trails that led to the Bretonwood Clan house. Shivering, despite the warmth of the summer day, she wrapped her arms around herself. It didn’t help.
    “Are you cold?” Aiden asked quietly, coming to stand beside her.
    In body and soul , she thought as she studied the black-haired, blue-eyed man who was the Bard, the Fae Lord of Song. “Why do bards and minstrels romanticize war? What is so glorious about men coming together at a certain place and time to die