The Pillars Of The World

she have reached it by now?
    A storm was coming. She could feel it.
    Mist drifted across the road.
    Where was the Veil?
    There!

    Morag looked at the dark gray wall of mist they were swiftly approaching and clenched the reins. She couldn’t see beyond it. That wasn’t right. The Veil was usually translucent, not opaque. What if it was like that when they were passing through it? Would the dark horse be able to stay on the road if he couldn’t see it? If he misstepped and took them into the walls of mist on either side of the road, they would never find their way back. No one ever had.
    The dark horse hesitated. Morag leaned forward, her eyes intent on the Veil. “Go.”
    He surged forward. And they were nowhere, surrounded by heavy, thick mist.
    No one gathers the souls of those who have slipped into the mist , Morag thought, fighting against a growing fear as second after second passed and they were still riding through mist. No one gathers the souls . . . because no one can find them. If I’m lost here, would I be able to find the other lost ones but not be able to guide them to the road that leads to the Shadowed Veil? Or could I find that particular road no matter where I am ?
    The dark horse snorted, gathered himself for another burst of speed.
    They exploded out of the mist. Gently rolling land bordered the road now. Ahead of her, she saw the Clan house rising up out of the land. Unlike the great houses the humans built, boxy and predictable, the Clan houses consisted of many buildings of various shapes and sizes connected by gardens and courtyards, a tumble of living areas for the families that made up a Clan.
    Breathing easier, and suddenly exhausted, Morag reined the dark horse back to an easy canter. A minute later, they rode into the first large courtyard, where the stables were.
    Dismounting, she looked around. Why had no one come out of the stables to meet her? The stable doors were open, so someone must have heard her arrive. Where were all the Fae?
    There’s a storm coming.
    Shivering, despite it being a warm summer evening, Morag led the horse toward the open stable doors.
    “I suppose you’ll be wanting him rubbed down and fed.” The surly voice came from the shadows inside the stable.
    “Yes, I do want him rubbed down and fed,” Morag replied.
    A Fae male stepped out of the stables. He eyed her with dislike. “Tis suppertime, and I’ve a fine meal cooling on my plate.”
    “The quicker you attend to your duties, the sooner you can get back to it.”
    “A horse can’t be expected to wait,” he said. “ ‘Tis rude to be coming through the Veil when there’s a fine meal cooling.”
    “I'll remember that,” Morag said softly.
    He finally looked at the horse. His eyes widened. “That’s a dark horse.” He wasn’t referring to just its color.
    “Yes.”
    He looked at her again, all the color washed from his face. “You’re—”
     
    “The Gatherer.”
    He just stared at her for a moment, growing paler. “I’ll take good care of him,” he whispered.
    “I know you will. He’s not just a horse, he’s a friend.” Turning away from the man, Morag untied the saddlebags and pulled them off the dark horse’s back. There wasn’t much in them—a change of clothes, a few gold coins, a comb and brush that she hadn't used in days.
    She patted the dark horse’s neck. “Rest well.”
    He turned his head and lipped her sleeve.
    She stepped back, but waited until the Fae male came forward and led the dark horse into the stables.
    She smiled, and knew if the male had seen that smile he would have been terrified by the bitterness and fury it held.
    With manners like that, you could be human , Morag thought as she walked to the steps that led to the first tier of the Clan house. There was another courtyard there, this one splashed with flowers.
    What would she do if the matriarchs of the Clan greeted her the same way, forgetting Clan courtesy because she had inconvenienced them during a meal?
    Anger grew until it was powerful enough to sweep away anything in its path.
    She took a step toward the door leading into the Clan house. A voice, filled with delight, stopped her from taking another.
    “Morag! Well met, sister!”
    “Morphia!” Morag dropped the saddlebags and rushed toward her sister. They hugged with less restraint than the Fae usually showed in public.
    They stepped back at the same time. Morag looked at her sister, younger by two years. The same black hair and dark