Son of the Shadows by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online

her father, chose to spend every other year as a swan. From
    Samhain she would resume her birdlike guise; and on the day she changed, Aengus must take her to him, for that was the time she was most vulnerable. But he must be ready, warned Eathal.
    Winning her would not be without a cost.
    "It came to pass as Eathal had said. On Samhain Eve, Aengus traveled back to the Dragon's Mouth, and there on the shore were thrice fifty beautiful swans, each with a collar of beaten silver. Thrice fifty and one, for he knew the swan with the proudest plumage, and the longest, most graceful neck, was his lovely
    Caer Ibormeith. Aengus went up to her, and fell on his knees before her, and she laid her neck across his shoulder and raised her wide wings. At that moment he felt himself changing. A thrill went through his body, from the tips of his toes to the hair on his head, from his smallest finger to his beating heart; and then he saw his skin change and shimmer and his arms sprout forth snowy plumes, and his vision became clear and far seeing, and he knew he, too, was a swan.
    "They flew three times around the lake, singing in their joy, and so sweet was that song that it lulled all for many leagues around into a peaceful sleep. After that, Caer Ibormeith returned home with Aengus, and whether they went in the form of man and woman, or of two swans, the stories do not make plain. But they do say, if on Samhain Eve you travel close to Loch Beal Dragan and stand very still on the shore at dusk, you will hear the sound of their voices calling out in the darkness over the lake. Once you have heard that song, you will never forget it. Not in all your living days."
    The silence that followed was a sign of respect accorded only to the best storytellers. He had indeed told his tale with skill; almost as well as one of our own family might have done. I did not look at Niamh; I
    hoped her red cheeks would not draw undue attention. At length it was my mother who spoke.
    "Come forward, young man," she said softly, and she stood up, but her hand was still in my father's. The young druid stepped forward, somewhat paler in the face than before. Perhaps, for all his seeming confidence, this had been an ordeal for him. He was young enough, scarce twenty, I'd have thought.
    "You tell your tale with spirit and imagination. Thank you for entertaining us so well tonight."
    She smiled at him kindly, but I noticed the grip she kept on Iubdan's fingers behind her back, as if to steady herself.
    The young man bowed his head briefly. "Thank you, my lady. Praise such as this, coming from a storyteller of your reputation, I value highly. I owe my skills to the best of teachers." He glanced at
    Conor.
    "What is your name, son?" This was Liam, from across the room where he sat among his men.
    The boy turned.
    "Ciaran, my lord."
    Liam nodded. "You are welcome in my house, Ciaran, whenever my brother chooses to bring you here.
    Page 18

    We value our tales and our music, which once were all but lost from these halls. Welcome, indeed, all of the brotherhood and sisterhood who grace our fireside on Brighid's night. Now, who will play harp or flute or sing us a fine song of battles won and lost?"
    My uncle was, I thought, deliberately moving them onto safer territory, like the master tactician he was.
    The young man, Ciaran, melted back into the group of gray-robed figures seated quietly together in a corner; and with the passing around of mead jugs and the striking up of pipes and flute, the evening went on in perfect harmony.
    After a while I told myself I was being foolish. An overactive imagination, that was all it was. It was natural for Niamh to flirt; she did it without thinking. There was no real intention in it. There she was now, laughing and joking with a couple of Liam's young warriors. As for the tale, it was not uncommon to base a description of a hero, or a lady, on someone you knew. A boy brought up in the sacred groves, far from the halls of lord and