The House Of Gaian (26 page)

“I’ll think about it,” Liam said. “That’s all for now.”

The man nodded and walked to the door, the Fae guards behind him. When he reached the door, he looked back. “Baron? We didn’t raise a hand against your people. But if you give us back our weapons, we’ll fight alongside them when the Witch’s Hammer comes.”

The door closed behind the prisoner and guards. Liam leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“I’ll send out messengers to warn the Clans east of here,” Varden said. “Won’t be enough Fae to stand against an army, not alone, but if they can get down the shining road in time, they may be able to save the witches in the Old Places and make sure a few less men arrive at Willowsbrook.”

“What makes you think they’ll listen now when they never did before?” Liam asked.

“Your sister is entertaining the Huntress and you ask me that?” Varden smiled grimly. “I doubt there’s a Clan in Sylvalan that wants Lady Selena looking in their direction—even more so when they find out what happened here today.” The smile faded. He shifted uneasily. “Besides ... we’re to blame for the Black Coats.”

Liam straightened up and stared at Varden.

“What are you talking about?” Donovan snapped.

“The Black Coat almost escaped. He was wounded but he got away and got caught by Squire Thurston and the men the squire had gathered to come here to help you.”

“How could a wounded man get away from a group of armed men?” Liam asked, wondering why Varden looked so sick.

“He’d almost persuaded them to let him go when some of my men rode up. The Inquisitor’s Gift of persuasion works well on humans, but it doesn’t work on the Fae. We’ve the same gift, you see.”

Donovan sank into the chair in front of the desk. “Inquisitor’s Gift of persuasion? They can
persuade
someone to believe what they want them to believe?”

“They can. But since the gift comes from the Fae, we’re better at it—and we persuaded the Black Coat to tell us a few things.”

“Varden, you make no sense.” A sick feeling churned in Liam’s belly.

“He makes a great deal of sense,” Donovan said slowly, his eyes fixed on Varden. “He’s talking about magic, Liam. The Fae’s kind of magic. Which means the Inquisitors ...”

“Are part Fae,” Varden said bitterly. He shook his head. “I never left a child in the human world, but I know plenty of men who enjoyed a girl until he’d filled her belly and then left her and never looked back.

Among the Fae, a man sires a child, but it’s the woman’s Clan who raises it. But that’s not the way in the human world, and we understood that once—at least, understood it enough to provide gifts and bestow favors on the woman’s family so that having a child by a Fae Lord wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

But things changed, and the Fae started abandoning the woman and child, making both outcasts among their own people. Outcast children, unwanted by either race, until someone recognized they had a power that could be shaped into a weapon.”

“Mother be merciful,” Donovan said. “And some of those children would have been born of witches.”

Varden nodded. “Fae Lords always found the women who lived in the Old Places appealing, even if we never understood who those women were.”

“You provided the vessels for the Master Inquisitor to fill with his own fever of destruction,” Liam said. “

Your people can shoulder the blame for abandoning the children and the women who bore them, Varden, but you didn’t shape them into what they’ve become.”

“Which begs the question,” Donovan said. “If the Master Inquisitor was able to recognize a power he could shape to his will, what, exactly, is
he
?”

Silence.

Liam stared at Donovan.

Do no harm.

Varden swore under his breath and turned away.

“Witch’s Hammer,” Liam said quietly. “Does he hate what he once loved?”

“Or what he once wanted to love him?” Donovan countered. “The son of a witch whose bloodline also carried the magic of the Fae?”

“Whatever he is, he’s not just a human,” Varden said, turning back to look at them.

“No,” Donovan agreed, “he’s not just a human.”

Do no harm.

Liam suddenly stood up, unable to stay in that room anymore. He wanted,
needed
, to see Breanna, to feel grounded again in that blend of practicality and power, that promise that being something more than just a human wouldn’t turn him into something monstrous.

“I’d better see to my guest,” he said as he restrained himself from bolting for the door.

As he opened the door, he heard Donovan ask, “What happened to the Black Coat?”

And Varden’s heavy reply, “Baron, your people and mine are just getting to know each other and neither side feels easy yet. It’s better not to ask about some things.”

Out of the study and down the hall to stand at the parlor’s closed door. Liam took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself.

“You won’t find out anything until you open the door,” Donovan said, coming up beside him.

Bracing himself for another encounter, Liam opened the door, took two steps inside the room, and stopped. The table was strewn with tea things and a large bowl of water.

“Look,” Breanna said, giving him a sloppy smile. “It’s Liam. And he’s wearing his baron’s face.”

Selena looked blearily at the men. “How can you tell?”

“I’m his sister. I can tell. And if you don’t believe me, I will phoof you.” Breanna struggled into an upright position. “
Phoof
.”

A
gust of wind lifted Selena’s hair.

“Well,” Selena said. “I’ll phoof you back.
Phoof
.”

A
gust of wind blew Breanna’s hair around her face.

They both collapsed in their seats, giggling.

Gwenn stared sadly at the bowl of water. “I can’t phoof. I just burble.”

The water in the bowl rose in the center, creating a small fountain that... burbled.

Donovan just shook his head as he walked around the couch to get a good look at his wife. “What have you been drinking?”

“Tea,” Gwenn said, spoiling the prim tone with a hiccup.

Donovan picked up the cup and sniffed. “This isn’t tea.”

“It’s in a teacup. Therefore, it is tea.”

Donovan put the cup down, kissed his wife’s forehead, and picked her up. “Come on, Gwenny, you need to take a little nap now.”

“Don’t want any chicken soup,” Gwenn said, pouting.

“Just a little nap.” Donovan carried her out of the room.

Liam looked at the two women who were staring rather owlishly back at him and raked his fingers through his hair. If anyone had asked him what he’d expected to find when he walked into the room, three tipsy witches wasn’t it. What was he supposed to do with these two?

“Well,” Breanna said, slowly getting to her feet. “I’d better get home and give Gran a hand with things.”

She took a step forward and teetered.

Liam caught her, wrapping one arm around her waist.

Selena stood up. “And I’d better... do something, too.” She took a couple of tottering steps and fell against him, almost sending the three of them to the floor.

“The only thing either of you is going to do is take a nap,” Liam said sternly, trying to turn them around to head them toward the door.

“Oh, phoof,” Breanna said.

“No more phoofing,” Liam said.

“Do you have children?” Selena asked.

When he turned to look at her, he realized all it would take was bending his head just a little to indulge in a kiss. Heat washed through him. “No, I don’t have children.”

“Funny. You sound just like my father.”

Liam sighed. “Come along, you two.”

He’d finally gotten them into the hall when someone pounded on the front door. Suddenly, Varden was there, an arrow nocked in his bow before Sloane could reach for the door.

As soon as Sloane opened the door, a Fae woman rushed inside. The man with her, seeing Varden, grabbed her and pulled her behind him, shielding her from the arrow.

“It’s Gwynith,” Selena said. “You missed tea,” she added— and hiccuped.

“Lady Selena?” Gwynith stepped away from her escort. “Are you all right? I waited for you at the Old Place, but when you didn’t return ...” She frowned. “Selena?”

“She needs a nap,” Liam said.

“Yes, I can see that.” Gwynith hurried over to slip Selena’s arm across her shoulders. “I’ll help you—”

She looked at Liam.

“She’s using my mother’s room. Upstairs.”

Gwynith sighed. “Stairs. All right then. Up we go.”

Selena balked at the foot of the stairs. “I won’t take a nap unless you promise to do something.”

“Whatever I can,” Gwynith replied.

“Tell the Sleep Sister I don’t want to dream tonight.”

“I'll tell her, Selena.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No, but I’ll tell her anyway.”

Hoping that wasn’t supposed to make sense, Liam half carried Breanna up the stairs, paused long enough to point out his mother’s room to Gwynith, then led his tipsy witch to Brooke’s room.

He dumped her on the bed and knelt down to remove her boots.

“It hurts, Liam,” Breanna said quietly.

He looked up, wondering how undoing her boot laces could hurt. Then he looked into her eyes and realized she wasn’t quite as tipsy as he’d thought.

“It hurts,” she said again. She pressed a fist over her heart. “In here. What Selena did, she did knowingly, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt her to break our creed. We’re all going to dance on a knife’s edge until this war is over, and some of us will be cut to the bone. We needed to forget that for a little while.

Selena most of all.”

“I understand.” He got her settled, tucked a quilt around her, and kissed her the same way he would have kissed Brooke— comfort and love. “Get some sleep.”

When he stepped back into the hallway, he saw Donovan leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

“At least they’re cheerful when they’re tipsy,” Donovan said.

Liam rubbed his hands over his face. “I wish we’d joined them.”

“Are you going to tell them what Varden said?” Tell the Huntress. That’s what Donovan really meant. ‘

Tomorrow,“ Liam said. ”We’ve all dealt with enough today.“

He walked to the stairs, feeling much older than he’d felt that morning.

“Stop, Minstrel.”
The horse has more brains than I do today
, Aiden thought as Minstrel moved out of the line of horses to avoid bringing all the huntsmen behind him to a stop.

“Aiden?”

It was worry that made Lyrra’s voice sound sharp as she maneuvered her horse out of the line to join him. Or, perhaps, it was his own fretfulness and embarrassment that made him hear sharpness where there was none. It wasn’t easy for a man to be dependent on someone else to feed him and help him take care of natural functions.

He couldn’t use his hands. The Clan healer had lightly wrapped them in gauze that morning to protect them, but now the bandages felt too tight.

“Aiden?” Lyrra said as she brought her mare alongside Minstrel. “What’s wrong?”

“The bandages are too tight. I have to get them off. Please, Lyrra.”

Sheridan and Morphia rode back to join them.

“What’s wrong?” Sheridan demanded.

“Aiden says the bandages are too tight,” Lyrra replied. “I think he needs to rest.”

I’m not a child. I can speak for myself
. But he felt like a child for whom the adults had to slow their pace. Wasn’t that why Ashk had left with some of the huntsmen early that morning? She planned to pass through two Clan territories before going down a shining road and riding on to deliver Padrick’s letter to one of the midland barons whose county bordered the southern part of Sylvalan. The rest of them, led by Sheridan, were to travel at an easier pace, go down the same shining road, and find a place to camp in the Old Place that anchored that road.

He knew she was riding extra miles so that he wouldn’t have to, doubling back to join them after delivering Padrick’s letter instead of going on to reach the next Old Place. She hadn’t suggested that he remain at a Clan house until he healed, and he was grateful for that. But if he slowed her down too much, she would never reach Willowsbrook by the full moon.

Sheridan studied Aiden’s hands and frowned. “The bandages do look tighter than they did this morning.

Can you ride on a bit further, Aiden? Some of the men have scouted up ahead. There’s a good stream and pasture for the horses. We can set up camp there.”

“I can ride awhile longer,” Aiden said.

Sheridan and Morphia rode back to the head of the line. Huntsmen reined in to let Lyrra and Aiden slip into the line.

Aiden slumped in the saddle, his hands crossed over his chest. He couldn’t even rest them lightly on the saddle for balance as he’d done that morning.

He wasn’t sure how long they continued to ride. He’d begun worrying about his harp, carefully secured to one of the pack-horses. He craved the feel of it as a thirsty man craved water. Would his fingers ever dance over the strings again? That morning, his hands hadn’t looked that bad. The skin was red and more blisters had formed, but they hadn’t looked bad. Lyrra had been so relieved by the healer’s brisk assurance that he would be fine in a few days that he hadn’t told her the look of his hands was a lie. He
knew
Lucian’s fire had damaged him under the skin. He could
feel
it. And now his hands seemed to be straining against the confinement of the gauze bandages.

Finally they reached the place where Sheridan had decided to set up camp. After praising Minstrel for keeping him safe in the saddle, Aiden stood out of the way, pushing aside impatience while the others took care of the necessary chores.

He was ready to use his teeth on the bandages’ knots when Ashk and her escorts rode into camp.

Seeing her so grim and exhausted shamed him into patience. Her brusque “Later” when Sheridan asked if there was news warned everyone that whatever Ashk had to tell them wasn’t good.

“Now, then,” Lyrra said with a brisk cheerfulness that struck Aiden as being off-key, “let’s unwrap the bandages and let your hands breathe for a bit.”

He tried not to flinch as she tugged at the knots. He tried not to see the worry in her eyes as she realized how large his hands looked. And he tried to deny the stab of fear when she got the bandages off his left hand—and she screamed.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Ashk demanded, rushing up to them. She stared at Aiden’s left hand before quickly unwrapping the bandages on his right. “Mother’s mercy.”

They were so swollen, they didn’t look like hands anymore. The skin was stretched so tight, he thought it would split open if he tried to move a finger.

I’m going to lose my hands. What kind of Bard can I be without my hands?

“Sit down, Aiden,” Ashk said, leading him to hollowed log. “Sit down.”

Blind to everything but his hands, he paid no attention to the crows cawing a warning until Ashk’s snarl startled him.

“Riders coming,” Sheridan said, reaching for his bow and arrows.

“Our men,” Ashk replied, moving forward. “And someone with them.”

The huntsmen rode up casually, reining in a few feet from Ashk. The dark-haired woman with them placed a soothing hand on the neck of her dark horse, who pawed the ground and laid his ears back.

The gold pentagram around the woman’s neck flashed in the sun.

“Blessings of the day to you,” Ashk said.

“Blessings of the day,” the woman replied.

“The lady has been traveling,” one of the huntsmen said. “Alone.” He packed all of his disapproval into that word.

The dark horse snorted.

The woman’s lips twitched. “Not quite alone.”

“We suggested that she camp with us tonight,” the huntsmen said.

Ashk studied the woman. “You’re most welcome to share our camp. You really shouldn’t be traveling alone. Not anymore. And not any farther south.”

The woman closed her eyes. “I know. Blood stains the land. The Mother drinks it and weeps bitter tears.

” She shook her head and opened her eyes. “I would be pleased to share your camp tonight.”

“Come and be welcome,” Ashk said.

When the woman dismounted and took a step toward Ashk, the dark horse nipped her sleeve and tried to tug her back.

“Fox, behave. We’re guests.” She untied her saddlebags, slung them over one shoulder, then grabbed the horse’s ear when he tugged at the saddlebags. “Let the Fae Lords take off your saddle and bridle so you can have a nice roll and play with the other horses. I’m staying right here.”

Snorting with every step to let them all know he wasn’t happy, Fox allowed the men to lead him away.

“I’m Ashk, from Bretonwood.”

“I am Rhyann.”

Before Ashk could continue the introductions, Rhyann dropped her saddlebags, walked over to Aiden, and knelt in front of him, studying his hands.

“Do you have any healing skills?” Ashk asked.

Rhyann’s fingers hovered over his hands. “Fire trapped in earth. Water seeks to quench it, but is trapped between its banks and presses on the earth it seeks to protect.” She paused a moment. “How did this happen?”

“The Lord of Fire did this to him.”

The cold anger in Ashk’s voice didn’t chill Aiden as much as what he saw in Rhyann’s woodland eyes before she turned to look at Ashk.

“One of the wiccanfae did this?” Rhyann asked softly.

“I doubt Lucian wants to think of himself as wiccanfae,” Ashk said.

“It doesn’t matter what he wants to think. What matters is what he
is
,” Rhyann replied sharply. She looked toward the stream. “Sweet, flowing water. Come with me.” She rose, gripped Aiden’s arm, and pulled him to his feet.

With Ashk, Sheridan, Morphia, and a silently weeping Lyrra trailing behind them, she led Aiden to the stream. She took off her boots and stockings, waded into the stream, and knelt down facing the bank.

“Kneel there.” She pointed to the bank in front of her.

Ashk and Sheridan held his arms to support him as he sank to his knees.

Rhyann grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands into the water. She closed her eyes, and said, “Fire, release your hold on the earth of flesh and bone. Give your heat to the water that flows free. Water, seep up from the banks of skin and join with the water that flows from the Mother. Earth, give your strength to flesh and bone to mend what has been harmed. As I will, so mote it be.”

Aiden felt power gather around him. Heat poured out of his palms, constantly washed away by the stream’s current until there was no more heat. He felt sweat bead on his skin, rising up and flowing away.

He felt a different kind of warmth flow into his hands, traveling slowly from his wrists, where Rhyann held him, all the way to his fingertips. When that warmth faded, the power faded with it.

Rhyann lifted his hands out of the stream. “Can you move your fingers?”

Aiden stared at his hands. Normal hands. Even the blisters were gone, healed. He cautiously curled his fingers until he made loose fists. His hands felt tight, tender. He would have to work them slowly to regain the dexterity he needed to play the harp. But he
would
play again. He was certain of that.

Tears filled his eyes as he uncurled his hands. “Thank you.”

Rhyann smiled at him, then accepted Sheridan’s help out of the stream. After picking up her boots and stockings, she followed Sheridan and Morphia back to the camp.

Aiden felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked at Ashk, surprised as much by the tears in her eyes as by the delighted smile.

“I’ll play again,” he said, his voice rough.

“That you will, Bard. That you will.” Ashk kissed his cheek and helped him stand.

When he turned toward the camp, he saw Lyrra standing there. He took a step toward her. She ran into his arms.

“There was nothing I could do,” she said, still weeping. “If I could have traded my hands for yours, I would have done it, but there was nothing I could do.”

“Lyrra, my love, even if you could have offered, I wouldn’t have let you.” He ran one hand over her hair, thrilled by the feel of it. “Come on, now. No more tears.”

Lyrra eased back and rubbed her cheeks dry. “No more tears.”

With their arms around each other, they walked back to camp.

* * *

Ashk waited until the evening meal was done. Seeing Aiden’s hands had shaken her. Seeing Rhyann restore his hands had shaken her in a different way. She knew the pentagram Rhyann wore gave her a comfort that might well be illusion. The witch sitting beside her was a stranger—and a powerful one. Since they were most likely traveling in the same direction for a while, she needed to know just how powerful Rhyann was—and she needed to find a way of asking without giving offense.

“It’s time, Ashk,” Aiden said.

Yes, it was time
. Ashk sighed, allowing herself that one indulgence before she sat up straight. She had to believe they could win. Despite what she’d heard from both the baron and the Fae, she had to believe.

“An army is marching toward the southern end of the Mother’s Hills. They’ve already crushed two counties when the barons there tried to stand against them. Our forces are still too scattered. The barons are gathering and leading their men at best possible speed, but they may not have time to come together as an army of their own.”

“What about the Fae?” Aiden asked.

Ashk smiled grimly. “I don’t know if it’s fear of me or the Huntress, or if they’ve finally seen the enemy in a way that makes the danger to Sylvalan clear even to the most stubborn among them, but they’re all on the move as well. I just don’t know if they’ll be in time to hold the Inquisitors’ army.”
Or defeat it
.

“The storms will slow down the Black Coats’ army,” Rhyann said quietly.

Ashk looked up at the clear night sky. “What storms?”

“Rain will turn roads into rivers of mud,” Rhyann said, her voice sounding dreamy in a way that made Ashk shiver. “Creeks and rivers will rise, becoming impassable, and stone that had held a bridge strong for a hundred years will tumble into water. Wind will sing so fiercely no other voice will be heard. And lightning will be fire’s steed. Yes, the storms will slow them down, and your people will have time to gather.”

“What makes you certain there will be storms?” Aiden asked.

Rhyann smiled at him. “I can taste them on the air. I felt them in the water. The Grandmothers will not let the Inquisitors harm Sylvalan.”

“They didn’t do anything to stop the Inquisitors before now,” Ashk said, suddenly feeling like she was standing on a cliff that could crumble beneath her at any moment.

“Did the Fae do anything before now?” Rhyann countered.

“No,” Aiden replied. “To our shame, we did not.”

Rhyann brushed her hair back. “The wiccanfae did not ask for help, and the House of Gaian doesn’t usually interfere in the lives of others.”

Aiden shifted uneasily. “The witches who died by the Black Coats’ hands didn’t ask for help because they didn’t know there was anyone they
could
ask.”

Rhyann nodded. “They have forgotten much of who and what they are. Just as the Fae have forgotten who and what they are.”

Ashk stiffened. “Meaning?”

Rhyann gave her a considering look. “Do you not know the story of how the Fae came to be? It is an old story. Have your Grandmothers never told you?”

Chills raced through Ashk. “No, I’ve never heard the story. Have you?” She looked at Lyrra, who shook her head.

“Do you know the story?” Aiden asked, leaning forward. “Could you tell us?”

“Do you really want to know?” Rhyann replied.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Ashk wanted to throw another log on the fire, but she doubted it would ease the chill inside her.

“Because you’re the Hunter,” Rhyann said gently.

Ashk twisted around to stare at the witch. “Why would that make a difference? And how did you know?

”

Rhyann smiled. “You said the Fae feared you and the Huntress. Since the Huntress is justice and will not harm those who do no harm, you must be the Hunter, the one who rules the Fae.”

“I don’t rule the Fae. Not in the way you mean.”

“Yes, you do. Because the Hunter was the oldest, the strongest, the first. And it was the Hunter’s love of a witch that created the Fae.

Long ago, there was the Great Mother. She was earth and water. She was air and fire. Everything
that lived depended on her for food and shelter, and while she was not always benevolent, she was
generous with her bounty and the world thrived.

But the animals and birds and creatures of the sea and stream were not the only ones who were
nurtured by the Great Mother.

There were people who lived in the long ridge of hills, and they had a gift of sensing the Mother in
a way other creatures could not. They became Her vessels, drawing in the power of Her branches
and breathing it out again. They became the Sons and Daughters of the House of Gaian.

In that long ago time, there were also spirits in the woods. Small spirits... and powerful spirits.

They had no shape of their own, so sometimes they slipped into a living thing to enjoy the feel of
wind on leaves or water through gills or the warmth of the sun on a furred body. Many of the
spirits remained in a small piece of the woods or in the meadows around it, needing the familiar.

Others wandered the land, residing in a part of the woods for a season or two before moving on.

One of those wanderers was a very powerful spirit, the oldest and strongest of them all. He did
not need a host body in order to have form because he had the power to draw on the branches of
the Great Mother to create a cloak of flesh. He needed to slip into a host body once in order to
learn its shape, but after that, he could change at will. His favorite form was a stag, but he also
walked the woods as a wolf or rode the air as a hawk. The other spirits quickly learned that when
he walked as a stag, he was simply there to live among them. But when he appeared as hawk or
wolf, he hunted
—
and when he hunted, he was feared
.

One day, he had wandered close to the long ridge of hills and caught unfamiliar scents on the
wind. So he followed them, curious to see what kind of creature smelted that way.

They walked on two legs and lived in strange stone burrows above the ground. Smoke rose from
the burrows, a warning of fire, but he saw no fire that would be a danger to the woods. The
ground was turned in a way he’d never seen before, and plants grew in even rows.

For many days, safely hidden at the edge of the woods, he watched the creatures. Then one
morning, just after dawn, he approached the turned earth and nibbled one of the plants. Pleased
by the taste, he ate more, forgetting to be cautious
—
until he heard something running toward him
and harsh sounds filled the air
.

The scent of female filled his nostrils and delighted him in a way he didn’t understand. What he
did understand was the sounds she was making were like snarls and growls. The female was not
pleased. When she picked up a stone and threw it at him, he bounded back into the woods.

But he kept coming back, day after day, to watch the female and her mate and the two small ones.

And because he remained there, other spirits became curious and wandered to that part of the
world to watch the strange creatures.

She danced with the earth. She sang to the wind. She was not of the woods, but she understood
the woods. Her joy filled the air with a rich sweetness. Her anger was the sharp edge of a storm.

He watched her through the turn of the seasons, followed her when she walked through the woods
gathering nuts and berries and plants, followed her mate when he hunted or gathered wood.

Most of the spirits were content to watch the female and her mate, but there were some who
resented the two-legged creatures coming into the woods, some who were filled with a darker
nature and preferred to inhabit host animals that could express that nature.

One day, that old spirit felt the presence of one of those angry spirits moments before he heard a
startled cry, smelled blood. He ran toward the sounds and smells
—
and saw the female’s mate on
the ground, being gored by the angry spirit in the form of a wild pig. As the pig ripped open the
male’s flesh with its tusks, he felt a fury toward his own kind that he’d never felt before. He
lashed out with his power and ripped spirit from flesh, destroying both
.

As the other spirits who were nearby fled from his rage, he stared at the male on the ground.

Releasing his stag form, he flowed as spirit into the body of the male.

Death surrounded him, and another spirit, another will strove with all its remaining strength to
reach him, touch him. Afraid of Death, he still reached out for that other spirit. Knowledge and
feelings flooded into him, then pushed him away.

He drew on the branches of the Mother to create a cloak of flesh that matched the new shape he’d
learned from the dying male. As he knelt beside the man, the whispered sounds became words.

“Please look after her. Help her. Please.”

When the flesh no longer lived, he walked to the stone burrow
—
cottage
—
and stood at the edge
of the garden until the woman noticed him. Fear filled her face as she stared at him. He didn’t
know enough words yet to tell her about her mate, so he pointed toward the woods and started
walking back the way he ‘d come. She followed him, and her young followed her
.

Her grief shuddered through the woods when she saw the body of her mate. Her tears turned the
streams bitter. Wind keened her heartache
.

For a while, she clung to her young, grieving with them. Finally, she wiped her face and called the
Great Mother to take the body of her mate
.

Earth shifted, moving under her mate’s body until the flesh sank deep into the ground. Earth
shifted again, covering flesh
.

When it was done, the woman took her young and walked out of the woods
.

For days, he watched her but kept his distance. She feared him now that he had taken a form like
her own. How could he tell her she would be safe in the woods when he couldn‘t get close enough
to use the man words
?

Perhaps... Perhaps he had done something wrong with the form and that was why she feared him

?

He found a pool of water on a still day and stared for a long time at the face looking back at him
.

The woods looked back at him. The wild places of the world. A human face, but not completely
human. Never completely human. The small pointed ears still looked like a stag’s ears
—
and
small antlers rose from his brow
.

Discouraged, he stayed away from her cottage for several days
.

Then, one day at dawn, he saw rabbits feeding in her garden and chased them away,
understanding now that these were the kinds of plants she and her young needed to eat, and if the
rabbits ate them, she would not have enough to eat over the winter
.

When he chased the last rabbit away, he turned and saw her watching him. He struggled to say
the man words, hoping she would hear him before she ran away
.

“
I did not harm him
.”

She smiled at him, and he felt the warmth of the sun again
.

“
I know,” she said. Then she went back into her cottage
.

Slowly she got used to him. Slowly she began talking to him while she worked in her garden
.

One day, when he brought her a rabbit he’d hunted for her, she invited him into her cottage, gave
him clothes that had belonged to her mate, and let him eat with her young
.

She called him Fae, which meant Other.

The other spirits called him Hunter, because now he walked through the woods with a different
purpose.

Eventually the cottage became home to him.

Eventually her feelings for him ripened, and one night she took him to her bed and taught him the
human way of mating.

Eventually, when he watched her suckle the child that had come from his seed, he knew he would
never go back to being what he had been.

And when the other spirits saw his joy, they, too, wanted to know this form. And slowly they
learned. And slowly they changed, becoming spirit always cloaked in flesh, but flesh that retained
the gift of changing into a form that belonged to the woods. Some of the smaller spirits became
the Small Folk. Other spirits became the Fae. And as other Sons and Daughters of the House of
Gaian came down from the hills to cherish other parts of the Great Mother, the Fae lived with
them, learned from them, mated with them. Some of those children were witches, vessels of the
Mother. Some were Fae, with their gift of changing form and their ties to the woods. And some
were called wiccanfae because they had gifts from the Mother as well as the woods.