The Protectors war

On lonely shores where salt foam tumbles

No roof but leaves, above a bed of moss

By silver streams that shun the homes of men.

So flies my heart over mountain rock:

My brother the deer, my sister the wolf;

To run alone in the cold gray wet of autumn

With the harsh tapping of twigs

And the flutter of wind-stripped leaves: "

She stopped, confident that she had the begi

Damn! I never wanted it! All I wanted was to help my loves survive. I could see what must be done, and one thing led to another:

"Sorry, friends," she said, noticing that the column had halted; and feeling once more the chill, chafing discomfort of soaked clothing. "Didn't mean to keep you here cold and wet!"

"Sorry?" a woman said, laughing, tossing back long yellow hair darkened with the rain despite her slicker-Cynthia Carson Mackenzie, commanding the escort now that Sam had dropped off at his home at Dun Fairfax down in the little valley below. "Sorry?"

"We're sorry we won't hear the rest of it, Lady Juniper!" Astrid said.

I like the words, Mom, Eilir signed; she read lips well. A lot.

"Then you'll all hear the rest, though not today. And now let's go see if there's a hot bath and a dry robe, and what's on the hob for di

Mom: it's Ostara eve. You can bet there's something special!

They pressed their tired horses up to a trot, out westward onto the broad bench in the side of the mountain that held Dun Juniper, away from the creekside path up from the head of the valley. The level land beyond ran east-west, an oval nearly a mile long and half a mile wide at its broadest point, making an interval of rolling meadow between steep tall forests upslope and down. The graveled road wound through the spring flush of green meadow dotted with huge Oregon oaks; some from the days when her father's line settled here fresh out from East Te

She thought of the strange, solitary, childless old man and smiled fondly; he'd loved her in his way-probably- although she'd seen little of him, even when the family visited in the summertime. Willing the property to a teenager with an illegitimate deaf daughter had astonished the family nearly as much as it surprised her, but by then a whole generation of potential heirs had predeceased old Earl. Maybe he'd laughed from the Summerlands as she buckled down to make a modest success of her music, as much to hold on to the land as to keep a roof over her and Eilir's heads. And she had-just, if you counted selling some of the timber occasionally to make up shortfalls. They'd been doing well enough right before the Change:

And if only he could see it now! she thought.

The first blue camas flowers starred the meadows; they'd turn to sheets of color by April or May, and twinberry glowed dull gold, henbit reddish-purple. Cattle black and red, horses squat and powerful or tall and long-limbed drowsed behind plank fences or young hedges of white-flowered hawthorn, some raising their heads to watch as the riders went by. The Mackenzies kept their best breeding stock here for safety, the precious Suffolk punch roans, Arab and quarter horse saddle-breeds, fleecy square-set Corriedale rams and Jersey and Angus bulls. There were fewer fields than in the first desperate years; most of the grain came in now from more fertile parts of the Clan's lands westward in the Valley proper. But some brown plowland showed the green shoots of potatoes or the blue-green of oats, and a stretch of old gnarled apple trees painstakingly brought back into bearing with more new-planted, all showing the first creamy froth of flowers.

The little waterfall off to her right leapt down the steep mountainside into a pond fringed with reed and willows, larger now that they'd put up a turf-covered check dam. The waterwheel below it was still just now, without the querning sound of grain being ground or the ruhhh: ruhhh of the saw; the wood of the millhouse walls silvery with age-they'd rescued it from a tourist trap. A furrow from the pond watered acres of truck garden and berry bushes.

And westward Dun Juniper itself, still like a dream that might vanish and leave only Uncle Earl's lodge. The white walls grew solid enough as they neared, silver and then stained reddish with the dying sunlight behind it; spearheads glinted on the battlements, and the ba

"Is e do bhaile do chaislean," Juniper murmured.

"What's that, Lady Juniper?" Astrid asked.

"Very freely translated: A woman's home is her castle!"

Everyone in hearing chuckled. "And never were words more true!"

The road kept going westerly, through the flower beds just outside the Dun-her secret guilty indulgence in the fruits of power, although they were useful for ceremonies, too- and then one branch climbed along the side of the rise to the gates, exposing any attackers' defenseless spear-arm side to missiles from above. The people there were throwing things: flowers, in fact, or little braided grass figures of the Green Man, for luck. She waved and gri

She halted at the top of the laneway, amid an iron clatter of horseshoes on the small flat area paved in flagstone that spread before the entry. The gate was closed-had been closed so it could be symbolically opened again. Its frame was heavy timbers close-fitted into a solid baulk a yard thick, but the surface on both sides was quarter-inch sheet steel, painted bark brown. This last winter they'd had the leisure to get a little playful with it, and De

The Triple Moon above, waxing and full and waning, like a circle flanked by crescents; below that a man's face, wildly bearded and surrounded by a halo of curls, with horns springing from his forehead.

Juniper halted her horse and swung down from the saddle, not without a groan-riding for hours in cold rain did middle-aged joints no good-and thumped the side of her fist against the gate. It felt like striking a cliff of living rock, and she called up: "It's Juniper Mackenzie, Chief of the Clan Mackenzie by the Clan's own choice, asking for the gate to open!"

De

Inside someone shouted, and there was a long rumbling quiver as the great horizontal beams were drawn back into slots in the tower walls on either side; there were vertical ones as well, but they weren't used except in emergencies. Then came a rhythmic shouting, as teams pulled back on the gates. Each had heavy truck wheels built into its middle and the end where the leaves joined, and they rolled back easily enough.

Chuck and Judy Barstow walked out through the gateway, between the shaped and painted pillars-the God as Lugh of the Sun on the left, with his spear and solar disk and head wreathed in carved holly; the Goddess as Brigid on the right, with the flames of wisdom and the sheaf of abundance, crowned with rowan. Judy-once Maiden of Juniper's Singing Moon Coven and now High Priestess of her own Wolf-Star-poured wine from the pitcher into the long silver-mouthed horn Chuck held; that had started out as one of a pair over the bar of a Western-themed place in Sisters. Then he handed it to her.