The Pillars Of The World

before me. We shouldered the burden and then were dismissed from thought — or were treated as paupers who should beg for scraps of affection. We have stayed because we loved the land, and we have stayed out of duty. But duty is a cold bedfellow, and it should no longer be enough to hold us to the land .
    Morag read a little further, but there was nothing Astra hadn’t already said to her. She replaced that journal, skipped over several, then pulled out another.
    We are the Pillars of the World. The Fae no longer remember what that means. Or else they no longer care and just expect us to continue as we have done for generations. I know why they forgot us. I am old now, but I remember my Fae lover well, the father of my daughter. I remember his charm — and I remember his arrogance. The Fae, he had said, have no equal. And that may be true. It also explains why they don’t want to remember the ones who had been more powerful —
    and still are, in our own way, more powerful. They do not want to remember that it was the Daughters who had the magic needed to create Tir Alainn, to shape the Otherland out of dreams and the branches of the Mother — and will. As we will it, so mote it be. And so it was. The Fair Land .
    They can’t abide that, can’t admit that. If they do, they will have to give up their arrogance, their supreme belief that there is nothing to compare with them. And they do not want to see that they are fading, that they are so much less than they once had been.
    Shaken, Morag replaced the journal, selected another. The witches had created Tir Alainn? If that was true, that certainly explained why their disappearance from the Old Places was causing pieces of Tir Alainn to disappear as well.
    We are the wiccanfae, the wise Fae. We are the Mother’s Daughters, the living vessels of Her power. We are the wellsprings. All the magic in this world flows through us, from us. Without us, it will die.
    Morag leafed through a few more pages, then closed the journal in frustration. Ari would be back soon, and she didn’t think the girl would appreciate someone reading her family’s history without permission.
    But the answers were here, if only there was time enough to find the right one.
    “Why are you the wellsprings? Why are you the Daughters? Why? Why ?”
    She pulled out another journal, close to the beginning. The book was so old the binding cracked when she opened it. Trying to peer at the pages without opening the book too far, she swore in frustration. The writing was spindly, and the ink had faded so much it was barely legible.
    She walked over to the window, where she would have the most light, and carefully opened the journal to the first page. She stared at the words.
    I am Jillian, of the House of Gaian.
    She closed her eyes, counted to ten, opened her eyes.
    The words didn’t change.
    I am Jillian, of the House of Gaian.
    The House of Gaian. The Clan that had disappeared so long ago. The ones who had been Fae— and more than Fae. Not the Mother’s Children. The Mother’s Daughters. Her branches. The living vessels of Her strength.
    “Mother’s mercy,” Morag whispered. Tears filled her eyes. She closed the journal before any could fall and ruin the ink.
    The House of Gaian hadn’t been lost. They’d been forgotten because they were the Pillars of the World, and the rest of the Fae hadn’t wanted to remember that they had not created Tir Alainn.
    Rubbing her face against her sleeve, Morag gently replaced the journal, then ran out of the cottage. She swung up on the dark horse’s back.
    “We have to go back to Tir Alainn. We have to—” Her voice broke. “We have to tell the Lightbringer and the Huntress about the Daughters.”
    The dark horse planted his feet, refusing to move.
    “We have to go back one more time—for Ari’s sake.”
    He hesitated, then leaped forward. She let him have his head, let him race through meadow and woods, let him charge up the shining road to Tir Alainn. She had to get there before Dianna and Lucian did something foolish. She had to make them understand.
    Or stop them if there was no other choice.
    “Lucian!” Dianna hurried to meet Lucian as he walked out of that private place in the gardens.
    Lucian raised his head, reminding her of her shadow hounds when they scent prey. “Have you heard from Morag?”
    “Yes, I heard from her.” It was easier now to feel angry when she wasn’t close enough to the Gatherer to feel afraid. “She refuses