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    Twixt Firelight and Water: A Tale of Sevenwaters
    Twixt Firelight and Water: A Tale of Sevenwaters
    Twixt Firelight and Water: A Tale of Sevenwaters
    Ebook72 pages1 hour

    Twixt Firelight and Water: A Tale of Sevenwaters

    By Juliet Marillier

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    About this ebook

    A mysterious and magical tale plays out in the fabulous lands of Sevenwaters ... this is a must for fans of Juliet Marillier's enthralling series.
    Long ago, the sorceress Lady Oonagh cast a curse over her own child. Now a druid, an ill-tempered raven and an adventurous young woman are drawn together as the time approaches for the evil magic to be undone. Fans of the Sevenwaters series will love this new episode, which fleshes out the history of druid Ciaran and his constant companion Fiacha.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins Publishers Australia
    Release dateNov 1, 2011
    ISBN9780730499305
    Twixt Firelight and Water: A Tale of Sevenwaters
    Author

    Juliet Marillier

    Juliet Marillier holds advanced degrees in music and languages, and has had a lifelong passion for both Celtic music and Irish folklore. She is the author of the internationally acclaimed Sevenwaters trilogy, Wolfskin, Foxmask and The Bridei Chronicles. She resides with her family in Perth, Western Australia.

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    Reviews for Twixt Firelight and Water

    4/5

    54 ratings3 reviews

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    • 3/5
      A brief, pleasant diversion that fills in some background information about the Sevenwaters series. It might have been nice, however, if it were a slightly longer novella that continued a bit further past the "end," rather than just implying eventual triumph.

      1 person found this helpful

    • 4/5
      A novella of sorts (54pg)It traces the history of druid Ciaran and his constant companion Fiacha.Very enjoyable!”

      2 people found this helpful

    • 5/5
      I really loved this little book. In it we learn a bit more about Ciáran’s life (one of my favourite characters) and about his raven, Fiacha. It’s a story that ties loose ends and brings back the magic of Sevenwaters’ woods to our hearts. Simply perfect.

      2 people found this helpful

    Book preview

    Twixt Firelight and Water - Juliet Marillier

    CONRI

    A fair maid in the wildwood lies

    A raven pecks her sightless eyes

    Then wings into the heavens again

    To shriek his song of death and pain.

    I have a tale to tell. I would recite its verses while playing the harp, had not a sorceress long ago robbed me of my capacity to share my story. That may be just as well, for my tale would only make you sad. I was a bard then. I brought tears to the eyes of my listeners, made them hold their breath in anticipation, gasp in wonderment, cheer as the hero won his battle, cry as the fair lady lost her true love. In those days, I contrived happy endings. Folk like to see lovers reunited, challenges met and overcome, good triumphant over evil.

    If ever my voice is returned to me, I will sing only sad songs.

    I listen as my companion instructs a clutch of green novices.

    ‘In the land of Erin dwell three races,’ he tells them. ‘First are the Tuatha De Danann, commonly known as the Fair Folk, proud and strong, noble and wise.’ With a few notable exceptions, I add in my mind. ‘They dwell in hollow hills and in deep forests,’ the druid continues, ‘though such sanctuaries are shrinking with the coming of the new faith. Second are the Old Ones, the Fomhoire, whom I should perhaps have placed at the start, since they have prior claim. Their shapes are many, their attitudes inscrutable. Long time and endless patience provide their solutions. They blend; they wait; they observe. The Old Ones are survivors. Last, human folk, late come to this land, short-lived, unsubtle, as moody and changeable as a Connemara shore in autumn.’

    Up speaks a bright young fellow, all bony wrists and eager eyes. ‘Master Ciarán? There are surely more than three races here. What of leprechauns? Clurichauns? What of the bean sidhe?’

    ‘What about the Sea People?’ another novice chimes in.

    ‘And there’s those wee things that drink the milk straight from the cow,’ pipes up a red-cheeked lad who, from the looks of him, has but recently replaced his hayfork with a druid’s staff.

    ‘True,’ says my companion, unruffled as always. ‘There exists a fourth race, a fifth, a sixth; perhaps more than we will ever know. Set them aside for now and consider another variant. Ask yourself what may ensue when the pure blood of the three races is mixed and blended, creating something new. Imagine a being with human passions and frailties combined with Fomhoire endurance, say, or human stubbornness alongside the pride and craft of the Tuatha De. Imagine an individual with the Old Ones’ long memory and the Fair Folk’s facility in magic; picture a warrior of superb skill and courage, who possesses the ability to become rock, water, earth, tree in a heartbeat.

    ‘Such blends are not common. The three races of Erin seldom have congress with one another, and such alliances rarely produce children. When there is a slipping across boundaries, a union between old enemies, and an infant is born of that coupling, chances are the child will be something exceptional. The bravest heroes and the darkest villains are oft products of such unsanctioned pairings.’

    The tutor pauses, his mulberry eyes seeing something beyond this grove, beyond this forest, beyond this summer day. I, too, contemplate. Hero or villain? If I still had my human tongue, I could answer for him. My companion walks the path of light. Here in the nemetons, his vocation is to teach, to guide, to set the feet of the young on right ways. His choice brought him some peace of mind. Some. He has suffered losses as painful as my own. The shadow of death lingers in those dark eyes even as he leads the young brethren in a prayer.

    Hero or villain? It depends. I was once hero of my own tale, loved by a girl with star-bright eyes and hair like a soft shadow. I had youth, talent, a path before me. And then … and then … Had I a human voice, I would turn the fresh faces of these young druids pale with horror. I would shout and scream my story to the treetops, I would sit by the pool and let my tears fall into the still water, one and two and three. I would whisper her name to the wind, I would teach it to skylark and thrush, to sparrow and nightingale, and they would sing it abroad, an anthem, a lullaby, a love song, a dead march. Oh, if I had my voice again, there would be such a tale to tell. And in that tale, perhaps I would be hero and villain both.

    I glimpsed her first ’twixt lake and fire

    My heart took wing; soared high and higher

    Lóch was her name. The moon above

    Smiled down, pale witness of our love.

    Ah, that night! She stood reed-slender, the fire’s glow warming her face, and behind her the bright moon danced on the waters of the lake. My heart gave one great leap and I was changed forever. But I get ahead of myself. First I must tell of a day some years earlier: the day when I watched my mother bringing her new son home to the Otherworld.

    I was hiding. At thirteen, I was in more fear of her than I had been as a little child. By then I’d begun to understand the darkness she carried within her, a weight of bitter resentment so tightly woven into the fabric of her that it was plain nothing would ever shift it. She’d been away. Three years it had been, three wonderful, peaceful years without her. I’d spent them making verses, practising the harp, and hoping beyond hope that she’d never come back. With her gone, folk had begun to befriend me. I had started to believe it might be possible for one of my kind to follow the paths of light. Yes, even a son of hers.

    I was hiding high in the cradling branches of an oak. I watched her pass

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