The Pillars Of The World

can’t tell you about the Pillars of the World,” said an unfamiliar voice, “but I can tell you why the witches are leaving the Old Places.”
    Dianna turned toward the intruder. “This is a private—” A chill went through her when she saw the black-haired woman standing in the doorway.
    The woman entered the room, carefully closed the door, then walked toward them, her black gown fluttering around her in a way that made Dianna’s skin crawl. Stopping before she was close enough to touch any of them, her dark eyes traveled over each of them.
    “Who are you?” Dianna asked, knowing already . . . and hoping she was wrong.
    “I am Morag,” the stranger said. “The Gatherer.”
    Silence settled around the room.
    “Why are you here?” Dianna said, not realizing that her voice had gone shrill until Lyrra gave her a sharp, warning look.
    Something flashed in Morag’s eyes so fast Dianna couldn’t identify it.
    “I came seeking the Bard, the Huntress, and the Lightbringer. I came seeking answers.” Her eyes pinned Aiden to his chair, then swept over Lucian and Dianna. “And I came to give a warning. The Fae have to protect the Old Places and the ones who live there. If they don’t, soon there will be nothing left of Tir Alainn.”

    “At the moment, it seems you have one more answer than we do,” Aiden said. “Why are the witches leaving the Old Places?”
    “Because,” Morag said softly, “they’re being slaughtered.”
    Dianna sat with her hands clenched in her lap, unable to think of anything to say. What could anyone say after listening to Morag’s tale?
    “Who are these Inquisitors?” Lyrra finally asked. “Where did they come from?”
    “Arktos, maybe,” Aiden said thoughtfully. He narrowed his eyes. “Or Wolfram. I think the roads through the Veil started closing there first.”
    “And then they spread like a plague against magic,” Lyrra added, brushing her hair back wearily. “It certainly explains the songs and stories we’ve heard lately. It’s so much easier to stand by and let someone suffer if you’ve been told they’re evil.”
    Dianna sat up straight, excitement coursing through her. “But if some of the witches fled before the Inquisitors could capture them, all we would have to do is find them and bring them back to an Old Place. Then the road through the Veil would open again. There might still be Fae who survived.” She slanted a look at Morag. “You did say you weren’t sure what happened to the Clan when the mist covered that part of Tir Alainn.”
    “No, I don’t know what happened to them,” Morag replied too calmly. “But you’ve given no reason why any witches who have survived in Arktos or Wolfram—or even in the eastern part of Sylvalan—would want to return to an Old Place and let anyone know they still live.”
    “Why wouldn’t they be willing to return if the Fae are willing to protect them?” Dianna asked.
    “I must go,” Morag said abruptly, rising from the bench. “I’ve done what I’ve come for.”
    Dianna and the others exchanged a startled look as Morag walked out of the room. Seeing the way her gown fluttered like tattered black shrouds made Dianna jump up and follow.
    “Morag,” Dianna called. She suppressed a shudder when the Gatherer turned to face her. I am the Huntress. I am the female leader of the Fae. There’s no reason why I should fear her. She, too, answers to me. And there is no one better suited to take care of this . “There is something you can do that will save this part of Tir Alainn.”
    He fears the shining roads , Morag thought sadly, feeling the tension drain from the dark horse when he was back in the human world. Has feared them ever since we barely escaped having one close around us. Even in a place like Brightwood, where the magic is so strong, he no longer trusts that the roads will be safe. And each time we’ve taken the road to the Shadowed Veil, it’s been harder for him. The day will come when fear will rip something from his heart that can never be restored.
    But if I choose another dark horse and leave him, it would break his heart. There has to be a way to let him go without hurting him.
    Where two trails in the woods met, the dark horse firmly headed for the one that led to Ari’s cottage.
     
    “No,” Morag said, turning him toward the other trail. “There’s something we have to do first.”
    He didn’t like it, but since they weren’t returning to the shining road through the