Read Online The Pool of Two Moons by Kate Forsyth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Forsyth
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy, Contemporary, Juvenile Fiction, Magic, Witches, Epic, Fantasy - Epic, Fantasy - Series, Occult, Paperback Collection, australian
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shaking loose leaves and twigs. Restlessly they leapt around her, butting their horns against her slender trunk, but without the scent of blood to agitate them, they soon galloped after the caravan.
As soon as she dared, Lilanthe reversed the changing process, anxious about the safety of her friends. Knowing there was nothing she could do to protect them, she nonetheless ran as fast as she could in their tracks. She came round a corner to see the caravans backed up against a tree, the horned women cavorting around them. Nina was in the doorway with a frying pan in one hand, just managing to keep them off. Morrell was slashing all about him with his claymore, trying to defend the mares who reared and neighed in terror. Dide was crouched beside Enit's cart, a long dagger in each hand. As the horned women rammed the caravan, he slashed one on the shoulder so blood splattered down her side. The blood only served to excite them, and the caravan rocked dangerously.
Suddenly the woman with seven horns bounded up the steps and rammed Nina, ignoring the frying pan raining blows on her naked shoulders. Nina screamed and fell. Just as Lilanthe thought she must be trampled, Enit began to sing.
The song wrapped Lilanthe's mind in smooth harmonies. She felt her senses benumbed, the frantic beating of her heart stilled. Without realizing it she took a step closer, then another, her body swaying, her eyes half closing. Something close to a purr began in her throat. Humming and swaying, she thought of spring mornings and deep water and starry nights. Closer and closer to the caravan she danced. Part of her mind noted without curiosity the dancing, swaying figures of the horned women. Dide and Morrell were dancing too, and little Nina jiggled about on the step, a blissful smile on her face. The music softened and Lilanthe felt her eyes closing, her breath slowing. One by one the dancing figures sighed and drooped, curling where they lay to sleep.
When Lilanthe woke it was night and she was wrapped in a blanket that smelt of horses. She opened her eyes, wondering why she felt so at peace, so wonderfully rested. Behind her was a stone wall, firelight flickering over it. She lay still, listening to the voices speaking beside her.
"Pretty song teach?" a gruff voice asked.
"It canna be taught, Brun," Enit replied. Her voice was sad. "I had sworn never to use it again. The Yedda are dead and gone, the song-masters lost. What use living in the past? Besides, it be dangerous." Without changing the timber of her voice, Enit then said, "Our tree-changer is awake. How do ye feel, Lilanthe?"
"I am no' a tree-changer," Lilanthe said. "My mother's people are tree-changers, but they will no' accept me either. I call myself a tree-shifter."
"I have never heard o' a tree-shifter afore."
"Neither have I," Lilanthe said. "I think I'm the only one."
"Hmm, I imagine human and tree-changer offspring are rare. I dinna even think it was possible."
"Well, it obviously is," Lilanthe answered and sat up, stretching. "What happened? Who are those horrible women? Where are we?"
"I sang them to sleep," Enit said. "Unfortunately, I sang ye all to sleep too, but the magic is indiscriminate."
"No' sing me," the furry voice said. Lilanthe raised herself on her elbow so she could see who had spoken. It was a cluricaun, a short, hairy creature with a pointed face and large, tufted ears. When he moved, the many small, bright objects hung around his neck clashed and jingled, and Lilanthe remembered that cluricauns were never to be trusted with anything flashy.
"No, that's right, Brun," Enit said. "Why is it ye were no' lulled to sleep? All creatures within sound o' me should have slept."
"Magic songs no' magic to me," Brun said and hopped to his feet so he could stir the pot hanging over the fire blazing in the massive stone fireplace. Above the mantel was a stone shield emblazoned with stars and faint runes of writing, and below it a device of two masks, one
As soon as she dared, Lilanthe reversed the changing process, anxious about the safety of her friends. Knowing there was nothing she could do to protect them, she nonetheless ran as fast as she could in their tracks. She came round a corner to see the caravans backed up against a tree, the horned women cavorting around them. Nina was in the doorway with a frying pan in one hand, just managing to keep them off. Morrell was slashing all about him with his claymore, trying to defend the mares who reared and neighed in terror. Dide was crouched beside Enit's cart, a long dagger in each hand. As the horned women rammed the caravan, he slashed one on the shoulder so blood splattered down her side. The blood only served to excite them, and the caravan rocked dangerously.
Suddenly the woman with seven horns bounded up the steps and rammed Nina, ignoring the frying pan raining blows on her naked shoulders. Nina screamed and fell. Just as Lilanthe thought she must be trampled, Enit began to sing.
The song wrapped Lilanthe's mind in smooth harmonies. She felt her senses benumbed, the frantic beating of her heart stilled. Without realizing it she took a step closer, then another, her body swaying, her eyes half closing. Something close to a purr began in her throat. Humming and swaying, she thought of spring mornings and deep water and starry nights. Closer and closer to the caravan she danced. Part of her mind noted without curiosity the dancing, swaying figures of the horned women. Dide and Morrell were dancing too, and little Nina jiggled about on the step, a blissful smile on her face. The music softened and Lilanthe felt her eyes closing, her breath slowing. One by one the dancing figures sighed and drooped, curling where they lay to sleep.
When Lilanthe woke it was night and she was wrapped in a blanket that smelt of horses. She opened her eyes, wondering why she felt so at peace, so wonderfully rested. Behind her was a stone wall, firelight flickering over it. She lay still, listening to the voices speaking beside her.
"Pretty song teach?" a gruff voice asked.
"It canna be taught, Brun," Enit replied. Her voice was sad. "I had sworn never to use it again. The Yedda are dead and gone, the song-masters lost. What use living in the past? Besides, it be dangerous." Without changing the timber of her voice, Enit then said, "Our tree-changer is awake. How do ye feel, Lilanthe?"
"I am no' a tree-changer," Lilanthe said. "My mother's people are tree-changers, but they will no' accept me either. I call myself a tree-shifter."
"I have never heard o' a tree-shifter afore."
"Neither have I," Lilanthe said. "I think I'm the only one."
"Hmm, I imagine human and tree-changer offspring are rare. I dinna even think it was possible."
"Well, it obviously is," Lilanthe answered and sat up, stretching. "What happened? Who are those horrible women? Where are we?"
"I sang them to sleep," Enit said. "Unfortunately, I sang ye all to sleep too, but the magic is indiscriminate."
"No' sing me," the furry voice said. Lilanthe raised herself on her elbow so she could see who had spoken. It was a cluricaun, a short, hairy creature with a pointed face and large, tufted ears. When he moved, the many small, bright objects hung around his neck clashed and jingled, and Lilanthe remembered that cluricauns were never to be trusted with anything flashy.
"No, that's right, Brun," Enit said. "Why is it ye were no' lulled to sleep? All creatures within sound o' me should have slept."
"Magic songs no' magic to me," Brun said and hopped to his feet so he could stir the pot hanging over the fire blazing in the massive stone fireplace. Above the mantel was a stone shield emblazoned with stars and faint runes of writing, and below it a device of two masks, one
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