“They won’t turn, even for their rider. They’ll mourn, and often die of grief if their rider turns to Odran. If their rider was enslaved, didn’t choose, they wait.”
As he rode, Keegan ran a hand over Cróga’s smooth scales. “He’d destroy them all if he could because they’ll never be his. There.” He gestured. “The South, and its sea.”
Distant yet, but she saw the bluest of blue water stretched into the forever, and the golden beaches that edged it.
Faeries on the wing, and sheep on the green, green hills that rose and rolled toward the sun, and thick forest that spread beyond the sand.
On a hill above the beaches and the sprawling village, she saw a large dolmen, white as chalk.
“Is that the memorial?”
He circled to study it from all sides.
And yes, he remembered.
“There stood, year by year, the Prayer House, granted to the Piousafter so many of their faith—and this is the wrong word, for it’s not faith that had them torture, persecute, and kill. But this was granted to them, in treaty, with their oath to devote themselves to good works. Toric and his kind used this gift, this forgiveness to betray all. For them, there will be no forgiveness, and the house that stood holding its evil is gone, the ground it stood on consecrated.
“The dolmen stands for the sacrifice of the fallen who gave their lives here to protect all.”
“It’s beautiful.” And sad, she thought. Like grief held in stone. “It’s all beautiful, the sea, the beaches, the village. What we saw in the fire on Samhain was hard and brutal and brave. I watched you fight, you and Mahon, Sedric, all the others. Now it’s beautiful again.”
“Talamh stands, because it must.”
He guided Cróga to the hill, leaped down, then waited while Bollocks did the same before he held up a hand for Breen. She took it, and though her stomach dropped, dismounted to take the jump to the ground.
“We’ll let them fly awhile and find a resting place. They’ll come when they’re needed.”
“So will he. Go ahead,” Breen told Bollocks as he danced in place.
He streaked down the hill, across the beach, and into the water. A young Mer spun out of the water with a laugh, then dived again to play with him.
“He always finds the fun.” She turned to face the dolmen. “It’s powerful, a powerful symbol. Reverent.” She laid a hand on one of the legs that rose taller than two men. “And warm in the sun.”
Then stepped back as Mahon flew to them. Keegan’s right hand and brother-in-law folded his wings as he landed. “Welcome, and you timed it well. We only raised the capstone this morning.”
“And well done,” Keegan told him. “How go the repairs?”
“All but finished. Mallo and Rory had some unkind words when you stole Nila.” He grinned, stroked his mahogany beard. “I won’t be repeating them. But they worked wonders true enough, kept the work moving steadily. You can see for yourself, the village thrives again, and those who come for a holiday enjoy it as much as the dog down there.”
As Breen had, Mahon laid a hand on the stone. “And this stands to remind them why they can.”
“There’s nothing left of Toric or his kind here,” Breen said. “Here where the ground is fertile and green again and the dolmen rises in reverence and remembrance for the brave, for the innocent. And stand it will, for all time, as the Fey stand.”
Caught in the magicks, in what stirred in her, she walked between the two legs to stand under the capstone.
“But when they look on this hill, when they walk on the green, there must be more than sorrow. There must be…”
She trailed off, held up a hand, shook her head.
“No, let it come,” Keegan demanded. “What do you see?”
“First, I feel. Power, white and bright and strong, that lives in the stones, in the ground beneath them. I feel the air and the sun on my skin, so warm. When night comes, the twin moons rise up and over the great monument to the brave, the innocent, the lost. This is true faith and honor.
“There, trees, three that bloom in spring as hope blooms even as the air shakes their blossoms to cover the ground. They fruit in the summer, for this is bounty, and their leaves burst with color as the wheel turns to autumn, for this is the cycle. So as they fall, a dance in the air, the wheel turns and turns until they bloom again.”
She stepped out, stepped over. “The pool, with water clear as glass, and any who drink feel at peace. And on the great stone, the fire eternal, and in its flames lives strength and purpose.
“So all who look upon this place, or walk on the green, know the four elements linked together and bound by magicks. All who come honor the brave and the innocent, and feel hope renewed as they know death isn’t only an ending, as life and love and light renew.”