Down Under Fantasy Realms (eBook)

An Anthology By New Zealand and Australian Authors

Brett Adams, Kirsty Anderson, Ashley Capes, Belinda Mellor, Sue Perkins, Wendy Scott, Kate Shaw (Autoren)

eBook Download: EPUB

2022 | 1. Auflage
306 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-6678-3778-9 (ISBN)

Infos

Gathered here together are twenty fantastic stories by seven fabulous Antipodean authors - authors you may not be familiar with ... yet; authors you will want to read again and again. High fantasy and low, magical realism, retold fairy stories, and even a hint of science-fiction - it's all here. Some stories in this collection are excerpts, others are background or spin-off stories about characters in pre-existing novels, yet others are tasters of works-in-progress; the remainder are stand-alone tales. You will meet star-beings, enchanted amphibians, dimension-traversing private investigators, faerie changelings, mysterious teachers, mercenaries, and cowgirls. Within these pages, children are born who have a special destiny, and old men relinquish their powers as their journeys come to a close; truths are found and lies are exposed; fears are faced and dreams become reality. There are links to the authors' websites and social media pages, too, so that when you discover your next favourite writer, you'll know where to find them.

Textauszug

 

 

Song for Marid
by Belinda Mellor

 

A Silvana Short Story

 

This gentle little tale is a glimpse into the background of some favourite ‘Silvana’ characters. It takes place in a hitherto unchronicled part of Fabiom’s story, when he is nine years old, at the time of the birth of his cousin Yan. Music, archery and the lure of the wildwood already imbue Fabiom’s life.

 

As Marid came through the open door, Fabiom – who was sitting against the low stone wall in the corner of the conservatory, his knees up under his chin – turned his face away and tucked his hands under his folded arms.

“What’s wrong, dear heart?” She dropped to her knees beside him.

He shook his head.

“Let me see.”

He did not move, but neither did he resist as she caught his wrist and pulled his right hand out. Dark red welts ran across the middle joints of his fingers. Without prompting, he gave her his other hand, similarly marked. She raised them to her face and rested her cheek against them, then pulled him against her.

After a moment, she heard him chuckle.

“Your baby just kicked me!”

“He does that,” she agreed, wondering who had punished Fabiom, and why. Would the day come when Tarison took a rod to the child growing within her, left his hands smarting and bruised?

“What happened?” she asked quietly, guessing that Fabiom was reluctant to go into the house proper.

“I couldn’t play the music properly. I’m no good at it.” He sighed.

“Who did this to you?” Surely neither Tawr nor Vida would hit him for failing to learn a tune.

“My music teacher.”

Marid felt a wave of relief. “He must be very fierce!”

“She,” Fabiom corrected. He looked up, grinning. “She’s rather scary.” Then his smile faded. “She says I have to get it right by tomorrow, and I know I won’t.”

Marid shifted to a slightly more comfortable position. “I can’t see that making your hands ache is going to help you play better.”

“She says I can’t get any worse,” he said mournfully.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do: if your hands are not too sore, we’ll go and shoot a few arrows first. You beat me yesterday, which makes us even, so I have to try to beat you today! Then we’ll have a go at this music, see if we can’t at least save you more punishment.”

 

They carried their bows to the storeroom to put them away. As he was victor, though by the narrowest of margins, Marid told Fabiom he could choose the next competition between them.

“Listen.” She held the bow up and plucked the string. A single note reverberated.

“Mine’s different,” Fabiom said, after doing the same.

“That because it’s a different length. Do you know any tunes with just two notes?”

They twanged the strings a few times, laughing at the results.

“What are you two doing?” Tarison stood in the doorway of the storeroom.

“I’m learning my music,” Fabiom told his uncle.

“You’ve arrived just in time.” Marid handed her husband a full-length longbow. “We were struggling a bit. We can manage four between us, but we need five at least.”

“And, I’m to do what?”

“Play when I tell you,” Fabiom said confidently.

“Play?”

“Well, twang.”

“Twang. I can do that.” Tarison gave a tentative pull on the string.

“You have to do it faster,” Fabiom explained, demonstrating on his own longbow and a short bow.

“The lyre string, the bowstring, they play the same music …” Marid sang, her voice soft and tuneful.

Tarison and Fabiom joined in, picking the closest notes from the respective bows as they went, getting as many wrong as right and finally laughing too much to continue.

Back in the house, Marid asked Ramus, the house-steward, for a lyre, then together she and Fabiom worked out which strings corresponded most closely with the bows they had been playing. Tentatively, he picked out the old, familiar tune with a plectrum.

“I did it!”

“And now the one you have to play for your music teacher.”

For a moment, panic came over his face.

“You can do it. Which bow would give you the first note?”

“The tallest, Father’s.”

“Off you go then.”

 

The following day – having accepted his challenge to attempt to shoot one of the topmost lemons growing on the tallest of the lemon trees in the garden – Marid was relieved to see the marks on Fabiom’s hands were less angry and no new ones were evident.

“Fabiom. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but, your father – does he ever punish you?”

“Oh yes,” Fabiom said. He pulled a face. “I often forget to do things I’m meant to do. Or I get distracted. Or I go to the woods and lose track of time and forget to come home when I should. Cleaning up in the silk mills is his favourite form of torture!”

Marid fired her second arrow and a fat lemon fell from the tree. “Yes, I know. But I meant, more harshly. Like your music teacher did?”

“He might,” Fabiom said thoughtfully, “if I lied. He’s very strict about honesty. But otherwise, not really. Except –”

“Except?”

He chuckled. “There have been –” he paused and cocked his head, thinking “– three times when he’s punished me quite severely.”

“And you find that amusing?” she wondered. There was a thump of another lemon falling. “Oh, well done!”

“He only does it when I scare him badly. Last year there was a big storm, and a tree fell across the river near Valehead, you know – just below the waterfall, where the gorge is narrow and really deep. I was in Valehead with Father, and he was busy so I went off with some boys from the vineyard. We were the first to cross it.

“Oh yes.” Marid smiled. “I know where you mean. Tarison made me cross there when I first arrived. I was very nervous.”

“It’s quite safe if it’s dry,” Fabiom assured her. “But we – we were crossing in the rain. It was slippery, and we were daring each other to do it blindfolded.” He had the grace to look ashamed. “I slipped. I was lucky not to fall. I do understand why he was so angry. Usually, I try not to displease him, and not risk my life. Mother can’t have any more children, you see.”

She hugged him. “Even if she could, darling boy, it would break their hearts – and your uncle’s – and mine – if anything happened to you. Children are not replaceable, however many there are in a family.”

“I suppose.” He regarded her quizzically, “Why did you ask me that?”

“Oh, no reason, really. I was just thinking about my baby. I don’t like the idea of Tarison ever being so angry …”

Fabiom was laughing. “Uncle Tarison rescues me any time Father is cross with me, if he can. Or else he helps me with whatever chores Father sets me. I don’t think you need be scared.”

 

* * *

 

Dusk had fallen. The tension that had held Deepvale’s hold house in thrall all day had lifted. Muted laughter and chatter and the cheerful busyness that accompanied food preparation, flower gathering and celebration spilled into the evening.

Meeting in the portico, Tarison crushed Fabiom in a hug that lifted him right off the ground and nearly knocked the lyre he carried from his hand.

“May I see them?” Fabiom asked breathlessly when he had regained his feet and his ability to speak.

“Of course!” His uncle tousled his hair. “Not for too long though, she’s very weary.”

 

As Fabiom closed the guest-bedroom door, the sounds were banished once more.

From the bed, Marid smiled at him, a tiny, swaddled bundle at her breast.

“Is he awake?”

Marid glanced down. “Barely. He’s stopped feeding.”

“I’ve brought you a present,” Fabiom whispered. “But I don’t want to disturb Yan. I can give it to you later.”

“You won’t disturb him, sweet one. What have you brought me?”

“A song. I wrote it myself. Well, I wrote the words. You’ll recognise the tune, I think.”

“I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“I write poetry. It’s quite easy to turn a poem into a song.”

She leant over to lay her baby in the woven, rush-and-fern-frond cradle beside the bed.

“Perhaps you can sing him to sleep?”

“I can try,” Fabiom said, as he sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the cradle.

 

“Where is the nearest wood?

Where is the nearest stream?

That is where you will find me

For that is where I dream –

Of Tree-ladies and woodmaids

Of songs I barely hear

– whispered sounds – wind in the leaves,

Or Silvanii lingering near?

Along the winding wildwood tracks

My restless feet have strayed –

I dreamt I heard a woodmaid call

And found her Dancing Glade.

Where is the nearest wood?

Where is the nearest stream?

That is where you will find me

For that is where I dream.”

 

Fabiom placed his lyre on the ground and stood to lean over the cradle. “He’s asleep.”

“I imagine he’s dreaming of woodmaids singing,” Marid said, with a smile. “It is a beautiful song, Fabiom. Thank you.”

He stroked the baby’s cheek. “I borrowed some of the words from my favourite poets.”

“All poems and stories are composed...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 17.5.2022
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Fantasy
• ISBN-10: 1-6678-3778-8 / 1667837788
• ISBN-13: 978-1-6678-3778-9 / 9781667837789