The Pillars Of The World

luxurious garden and the green, rolling land beyond it. “They can use their gifts among themselves or when they visit nearby Clans. They have no need to go through the Veil and touch the human world. But Cullan can’t use his gifts unless he walks in the Old Place, and every time he goes to the human world he feels less welcome when he returns.”
    Having a visitor who arrived by coming through the Veil didn‘t please the Fae here either , Morag thought. Are they afraid I’ve been contaminated somehow from my contact with humans? That somehow I’m no longer truly Fae ?
    “At least in our Clan, there are many of us who visit the human world and use our gifts as we can, so Cullan could spend time in the forests of the Old Place where our Clan's shining road is anchored and not feel like an outcast when he returns to Tir Alainn.“ Morphia smiled ruefully. ”It seems we have been a bit too free in our mating with the western Clans of Sylvalan and we’re a bit sullied because of it.“
    Morag stared at her sister for too long. “I hope,” she finally said with deadly gentleness, “that no one will require the Gatherer’s help while I’m here.”
    “Oh, Morag, no,” Morphia said worriedly. “You take the words as a personal insult.”
    “Why shouldn’t I, since that’s how the words were meant?” Morag snapped. “What gives them the right to judge who among the Fae we mate with? If other Clans are considered inferior, who does this Clan mate with? Themselves?”
    “Let’s speak of something else,” Morphia pleaded. “Let’s not spoil the morning. Please.”
    They walked in silence again, but this time it was neither easy nor comfortable.
    “You’re different,” Morphia said quietly.
    “I’ve been Death’s Mistress too many times lately. Too many deaths. Too much pain. Too many unanswered questions. And here are these fools, with their razor smiles, sitting here passing judgment on who is or isn’t Fae by their exacting standards while Tir Alainn itself—”
    Morag stopped, squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. She took a slow breath to calm herself, to keep the uneasiness that swirled around her at bay. “Have you ever looked at a pond or a small lake when the water was perfectly still and seen the land reflected in the water? Sometimes the reflection is so clear and so perfect, you can’t see any difference between the reflection and what is being reflected. But there are other times when the reflection is slightly smudged. The lines are soft, a little hazy. Not so much that you would notice it unless you took the time to really look, but enough for you to know that what you’re seeing isn’t real.”

    “Is that how you see the human world?” Morphia asked, puzzled.
    “No,” Morag said, dread making her heart pound too hard, too fast. “That’s what I’m seeing now. Here.
    ”
    Alarmed, Morphia looked around the garden. “You’re wrong, Morag,” she said after a minute. “It looks exactly as it is.”
    Morag shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. The edges are becoming smudged, hazy.”
    “I don’t see it.”
    “You wouldn’t,” Morag said. “You’ve been here for a while now. You see what you expect to see. You don’t have any reason to look closely. Neither does anyone else who lives here. But it’s been some time since I’ve been in Tir Alainn, and I’ve never visited this Clan before, so I look with no expectations of what I should see.”
    “This is foolish talk,” Morphia snapped.
    “Is it? How many years has it been since anyone has heard from any of the Clans who had used the shining roads in Arktos and Wolfram? Now the roads to Sylvalan are closing too. What if this is the warning, Morphia? What if this is how it starts?”
    Morphia shook her head. “The matriarchs say it’s the Clans that mingle too much in the human world who have disappeared, that they brought something back with them that weakened the magic and that’s why the roads closed and they were cut off from the rest of Tir Alainn.” She huffed. “You’re tired, Morag. You’ve been too long in the human world. That’s why you’re talking this way.”
    Perhaps. But there’s a storm coining. I can feel it. Death is waiting . “Do you know where the Bard is residing now?”
    Still troubled, and a little angry, Morphia said warily, “I heard he’s staying with the Huntress’s Clan.”
    “That’s to the south, along the coast, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.” Morphia hesitated.