“I will have faith, as Teagan asked. Every night I will light a candle. I will light it with the little magick I have so that it shines for you, for Teagan, for Eamon.”
“I know you fear the power.”
“It’s my blood as well. You are mine as you were hers. This I will do, every sunset, and in the small light I’ll put my faith. Know it burns for you and yours. Know that, and be safe.”
“We will come back. In that I will have faith. We will come back, and you will hold the child now inside me.”
•••
THEY JOURNEYED ON, WITH A LITTLE SPOTTED PUP GIVENthe children with much ceremony, and with promises for a longer visit when they returned.
The air grew colder, the wind brisk.
More than once she heard Cabhan’s voice, sly and seductive, trailing on that wind.
I wait.
She would see Teagan look out over the hills, or Eamon rubbing his fingers over his pendant—and know they heard as well.
When the hawk veered off, and Alastar strained to follow, Kathel leaped out of the wagon, trotted off on a fork in the road.
“It’s not the way.” Eoghan pulled his horse up by the wagon. “We would make Ashford by tomorrow, but that is not the way.”
“No, not the way to Ashford, but the way we must go. Trust the guides, Eoghan. There’s something we must do first. I feel it.”
Eamon drew up on the other side. “Near home,” he said. “All but near enough to taste. But we’re called.”
“Aye, we’re called. So we answer.” She reached out, touched her husband’s arm. “We must.”
“Then we will.”
She didn’t know the way, yet she did. With her mind linked with the hound’s she knew the road, the turns, the hills. And oh, she felt him reaching out, that darkness, hungry and eager to take what she was, and more.
The hazy sun slid down toward the western hills, but still they rode. Her back ached from the hours in the wagon, and a thirst rose up in her. But they rode.
She saw the shadow of it in the oncoming dark—the rise of it with fields around. A place of worship, she thought, she could feel that.
And a place of power.
She stopped the wagon, breathed the air.
“He can’t get through. It’s too strong for him to push through.”
“Something here,” Eamon murmured.
“Something bright,” Teagan said. “Strong and bright. And old.”
“Before us.” Grateful for the help, Brannaugh let her husband lift her from the wagon. “Before our mother. Before any time we know.”
“A church.” Gealbhan reached up to lift Teagan from the saddle. “But no one’s here.”
“They’re here.” Weary, Teagan leaned against him. “Those who came before us, those who sanctified this ground. They will not let him pass. This is a holy place.”
“Tonight, this is ours.” Brannaugh stepped forward, lifted her hands. “Gods of light, goddesses bright, we call to you across the night. By the power you have given, by the purpose we are driven, we seek your blessing. A night within your walls before whatever fates befall, this respite, this resting. We are Sorcha’s three. Dark witches come to thee. By thy will, so mote it be.”
Light bloomed like sun, shining through the windows, the doors that opened with a wind like breath. And warmth poured out.
“We are welcome here.” Smiling, she lifted her daughter, and all the fatigue from the long journey fell away. “We are welcome.”
