The Pillars Of The World

anything? You never listen to us. They were the only ones who listened. They cared for someone and something besides themselves. And now they’re gone.”
    The dryad took a step back. “ That’s your answer, Lordling. We have nothing more to say to you .”
    “Then talk to me,” Morag said quietly. “Tell me what happened to the witches.” She heard Morphia’s quiet gasp, and several Fae muttering.
    The dryad studied her. “You’re not from this Clan.”
    “No, I am not.”
    “Are you truly the Gatherer?”
    “I am the Gatherer.”
    The dryad hesitated. “If I answer your questions, will you promise to show them the way to the Summerland?”
    “No.” Morag watched hatred flood back into the dryad’s eyes. “I will not use souls as markers on the bargaining table. I will guide them to the Shadowed Veil whether you speak to me or not. But I’ve guided too many witches lately, and I want to know why.”
    The dryad bowed her head. When she raised it, tears filled her eyes. “The Black Coats came. The . . .
    Inquisitors. They’re witch killers. That’s all they do. Warnings were whispered on the wind, and we all told the witches they should flee. And they were going to, but—” She looked at the grave. “Her time came early. They had to wait for the birthing. The other two, the Crone and the Elder, wouldn’t leave her. The Black Coats came with other men while she labored in the childbed.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “They burned the Elder. They dragged her from the childbed and buried her alive, with her legs tied together. We could hear her screaming, but there was nothing the Small Folk could do to help her. Not against so many humans.”
    “And the Crone?” Morag asked softly. “What did they do to her?”
    “They—” The dryad pressed her lips together and shook her head. After a long pause, she said, “We couldn’t save the witches, but we made sure those Black Coats will never harm another.” She looked up.
    “One of them stood under my tree after they buried the witch. I asked the tree for a sacrifice, and it gave it willingly. See where the branch had been? It was big ... and heavy. The tree sacrificed the branch so fast he didn’t even have time to look up before it fell and crushed his head.”
    “And the other one?” Morag asked.
    The dryad smiled. “Streams are dangerous. It’s so easy to slip and hit your head on a stone and drown.
    Especially when a stone leaves the sling with enough force to stun and the water sprites hold you under the water. They’re quite strong for their size.”
    “While we sympathize with you for the loss of your friends,” Morphia said, “what does that have to do with the road closing?”
    Morag ground her teeth and wished Morphia had held her tongue. These Small Folk had no liking for the Fae.
    The hate-filled smile was back. “Everything,” the dryad said. A chittering sound in a nearby dead tree caught her attention. “The Black Coats have some magic, too. They have the power to create those .”
    Something black spread its wings and flew toward them.
    Morag shuddered with revulsion. It looked like a nightmarish cross between a squirrel and a bat. When it opened its mouth, she saw needle-sharp teeth.
    The dryad raised her hand, made a hissing sound.
    The creature screeched and returned to its tree.
    “What is that?” Morphia said.
    “We call them nighthunters,” the dryad replied, watching the dead tree. “That tree was alive not so many days ago. But the nighthunters suck life out of things. And they devour souls.” She looked at Morag and smiled. “It must be painful, having your soul torn into pieces and chewed. The Black Coat’s ghost remained near my tree—and they found it. We heard him scream, too.”
    “Can they be destroyed?” Morag asked.
    “They can die like anything else.”
    Hearing the message—that Fae could die as well— Morag thought it best to go back to something the dryad didn’t hate. “So the witches know the key to using the power in the land, the power that anchors the roads to this world.”
    “The witches are the key.” The dryad looked thoughtful. “The Fae can anchor the roads, too,” she added grudgingly, “but it takes so many of you to do what one of them can do. You may be the Mother
    ’s Children, but they are the Daughters.” She looked uneasy, as if she’d said too much. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” She pressed her hand against the tree and