Twixt Firelight and Water by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online Page A

but I spotted a deer, a wild pig and a wary fox. I found a stream and, after refilling my water skin, I followed its course as best I could. Here and there the waterway lost me, gurgling among tumbled rocks netted with brambles. The day passed, and the massed trees stretched ahead. By morning light I had admired the myriad greens of their foliage, the patterns of sun and shade, ever-changing; I had enjoyed walking to the sound of rustling leaves and calling birds. Now, in late afternoon, they were starting to look more like guards, an army of dark trunks blocking my way. I found I was longing for open ground.
     
    I walked on, sure I was heading due west, yet uneasy, for there was a sameness about this row of leaning beeches, this stone somewhat resembling a toad, that suggested I had passed this way before. I was not the kind of traveller who walked in circles. There was a true direction in me; I had never been lost. Under my breath I uttered one or two choice epithets, keeping to Galician, though with only the poxy trees to hear me I might just as well have cursed in Irish. This was ridiculous. If I didn’t find a better path soon I’d be spending the night in here. All right, I had a blanket, I had food and water, I had slept in far less comfortable places in my time, but I grappled with the sense that the forest of Sevenwaters was shutting me out. Or in.
     
    ‘My grandfather was a chieftain of Sevenwaters,’ I said aloud, finding myself faintly ridiculous. ‘If I can’t come in, who can?’
     
    I expected no reply and I got none, save for the mocking kraak of a raven as it flew to alight on a branch nearby. The creature turned its head to one side, assessing me. Was I imagining things, or did it have a particularly inimical expression in its eye? As I looked up, it flew a short distance away, then alighted and peered at me again.
     
    ‘Would I trust a bird with eyes like those to show me the way?’ I muttered. ‘Not for an instant. But as I’m headed in that direction anyway, by all means tag along.’
     
    The light was fading fast. The thick canopy and the filtered sun had made me misjudge the time of day. With hardly a clearing to be found and the broad, leaf-strewn paths of this morning completely absent, the wise choice would be to make camp the next time I came upon some rocks that might provide shelter, and accept the fact that I would not reach the keep today.
     
    There were, of course, no rocks. I was starting to believe Father’s stories now, and wishing I had asked him for better directions. As for the wretched raven, I didn’t like the look of it at all. It seemed altogether too knowing for a wild creature, and it wouldn’t go away.
     
    ‘Rocks,’ I said, slithering down a muddy incline bordered by stinging nettles. ‘An outcrop, perhaps a cave, that’s what I want.’ I eyed the bird with distaste, wondering if ravens made good eating. I suspected this one’s flesh would be as tough and bitter as the look in its eye. I slid to a halt, digging my walking staff into the ground. ‘Or then again ...’
     
    We had emerged at the edge of a small, circular glade. It was a patch of light in the dark forest, and in its centre the stream flowed into a neat pool circled by flat stones. A campfire burned on the stones, and by it sat a man, cross-legged. His back was as straight as a child’s, his hair a striking dark auburn, his eyes a peculiar shade of mulberry. He looked around my own age, and was clad in a long grey robe. As I stood at the edge of the clearing, waiting for him to speak, the raven winged its way over and landed on his shoulder. I winced, imagining those claws digging in.
     
    The red haired man rose gracefully to his feet. His garb seemed that of a religious brother of some kind, though I saw neither cross nor tonsure. All he wore around his neck was a white stone strung on a cord.
     
    ‘Please, warm yourself at our campfire,’ he said courteously. ‘We see few travellers