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Authors: Juliet Marillier
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curls he had filmy hair that resembled cobweb. The others did the same. One was a little woman with dark, penetrating eyes, one a gold-furred, catlike creature, and the third, somewhat taller, a being that fell somewhere between young man and badger, bearing a staff. They halted.
“Greetings,” said Sage, taking a step forward. “Out of winter’s darkness, you bring us light. Hail the light!”
“Hail the light!” Regan and I echoed, followed, a heartbeat later, by Tali.
“Our solemn greetin’ tae ye.” It was the little woman who spoke. “Out o’ sleep is born wisdom. Out o’ winter comes new life. The wise woman passes intae shadow; the warrior awakens. Hail the light!”
“Hail the light!”
As we gave our response, the last of the Northies reached the top of the stair. They gathered in a group, eyeing us suspiciously. There were many of them; the passageway was crowded. The sound that had accompanied the ascent had died down. I still did not know whether they had been singing, or humming, or whether they had created that compelling music by means of a magical charm.
The five tiny folk came forward, bearing their wreath. It was about the size of a woman’s wristlet. They stopped in front of Regan and held it up. They were saying something, but their voices were so small and high there was no making out the words. With considerable presence of mind, Regan dropped gracefully to one knee, which brought him somewhat closer to their level.
“A gift to you,” translated the cat being. “New growth. New life. New hope is born from winter’s darkness. Take it, warrior.”
Regan put out his hand, palm up, and the tiny folk laid the wreath on it. “I thank you,” he said quietly. “In the time of shadow we rest and are renewed. May the fallow season make us strong. May the light return to us; may its warmth restore us; may its beacon guide us forth.” He roseto his feet. “We welcome you to our hearth and to our hall. We welcome you to Shadowfell.”
I glanced at Sage, thinking the folk from downstairs would be entirely justified in arguing that Shadowfell was their hall, and that Regan’s people were only here because the Northies made it possible. Sage’s mouth quirked up at the corner, as if she shared my thought. The five tiny folk had gathered around Red Cap, whose resemblance to a pine marten—sleek brown fur and an open, guileless face under his scarlet hat—probably made him seem the least threatening being among us. The infant was uttering little squeals, as if torn between excitement and terror.
“We too have a gift,” I said, and from under my cloak I brought out the basket Eva and I had made together. We’d crafted it in the shape of a bird’s nest, and it was fashioned from many materials: uncarded wisps of wool; spun and dyed thread; twigs and dried leaves gleaned from Milla’s stock of herbs; five white stones knotted into a leather cord; patches of cloth from various worn-out garments, cut in the shapes of moons and stars; little plaits of hair, black, russet, gold; feathers, cobwebs, and dry seedpods. I supported it on my two palms and knelt down so they could see. Nestled within were tokens sewn of felt and stuffed with dried peas. We had made flowers and fish and leaves, rabbits and owls and mice, a thistle and an acorn. I hoped it would please our visitors.
“My name is Neryn, and I am responsible for disturbing you during your winter sleep, as you may know,” I said. “This is Sage and Red Cap, from the Watch of the West.This is Regan, Shadowfell’s leader, and this is Tali, his second-in-command. We offer you the work of our hands.”
The cobweb-haired man and the little woman stepped forward and took the basket between them. “Aye,” the wee man said, touching the fabric with a careful finger, “there’s old knowin’ in the makin’ o’ this, ’tis plain in every corner.” He glanced up at me. “Who was it learnit ye hearth magic, Caller?”
“My
“Greetings,” said Sage, taking a step forward. “Out of winter’s darkness, you bring us light. Hail the light!”
“Hail the light!” Regan and I echoed, followed, a heartbeat later, by Tali.
“Our solemn greetin’ tae ye.” It was the little woman who spoke. “Out o’ sleep is born wisdom. Out o’ winter comes new life. The wise woman passes intae shadow; the warrior awakens. Hail the light!”
“Hail the light!”
As we gave our response, the last of the Northies reached the top of the stair. They gathered in a group, eyeing us suspiciously. There were many of them; the passageway was crowded. The sound that had accompanied the ascent had died down. I still did not know whether they had been singing, or humming, or whether they had created that compelling music by means of a magical charm.
The five tiny folk came forward, bearing their wreath. It was about the size of a woman’s wristlet. They stopped in front of Regan and held it up. They were saying something, but their voices were so small and high there was no making out the words. With considerable presence of mind, Regan dropped gracefully to one knee, which brought him somewhat closer to their level.
“A gift to you,” translated the cat being. “New growth. New life. New hope is born from winter’s darkness. Take it, warrior.”
Regan put out his hand, palm up, and the tiny folk laid the wreath on it. “I thank you,” he said quietly. “In the time of shadow we rest and are renewed. May the fallow season make us strong. May the light return to us; may its warmth restore us; may its beacon guide us forth.” He roseto his feet. “We welcome you to our hearth and to our hall. We welcome you to Shadowfell.”
I glanced at Sage, thinking the folk from downstairs would be entirely justified in arguing that Shadowfell was their hall, and that Regan’s people were only here because the Northies made it possible. Sage’s mouth quirked up at the corner, as if she shared my thought. The five tiny folk had gathered around Red Cap, whose resemblance to a pine marten—sleek brown fur and an open, guileless face under his scarlet hat—probably made him seem the least threatening being among us. The infant was uttering little squeals, as if torn between excitement and terror.
“We too have a gift,” I said, and from under my cloak I brought out the basket Eva and I had made together. We’d crafted it in the shape of a bird’s nest, and it was fashioned from many materials: uncarded wisps of wool; spun and dyed thread; twigs and dried leaves gleaned from Milla’s stock of herbs; five white stones knotted into a leather cord; patches of cloth from various worn-out garments, cut in the shapes of moons and stars; little plaits of hair, black, russet, gold; feathers, cobwebs, and dry seedpods. I supported it on my two palms and knelt down so they could see. Nestled within were tokens sewn of felt and stuffed with dried peas. We had made flowers and fish and leaves, rabbits and owls and mice, a thistle and an acorn. I hoped it would please our visitors.
“My name is Neryn, and I am responsible for disturbing you during your winter sleep, as you may know,” I said. “This is Sage and Red Cap, from the Watch of the West.This is Regan, Shadowfell’s leader, and this is Tali, his second-in-command. We offer you the work of our hands.”
The cobweb-haired man and the little woman stepped forward and took the basket between them. “Aye,” the wee man said, touching the fabric with a careful finger, “there’s old knowin’ in the makin’ o’ this, ’tis plain in every corner.” He glanced up at me. “Who was it learnit ye hearth magic, Caller?”
“My
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