Twixt Firelight and Water by Juliet Marillier Page B

suitably polished. Conri, I have work for you.’
     
    ‘Yes, Mother,’ I croaked.
     
    ‘There’s a child. A boy. I’ve left him with human folk, right on the margin between that realm and this — you know the cottage in the forest, close by the place they call Hag’s Head in the human world?’
     
    I did not tell her I’d been watching as she passed her baby boy over to strangers. ‘Yes, Mother,’ I said.
     
    ‘Folk might come looking,’ she said. ‘Human folk. The child is too small to be brought to our realm as yet; he requires a tiresome degree of feeding and cleaning. He’ll stay with these cottagers for a year or two. I’ve set a ward over him, of course. But you will watch, also. There will be a certain degree of ill will towards me, I imagine.’
     
    ‘Are not human folk too weak to break these wards, Mother? They have no magic.’
     
    She smiled thinly. ‘These are not your everyday human folk,’ she said. ‘They’ll be rather determined, I fear. Conri, you must tell me immediately if you see anyone loitering close to the cottage, or in the woods nearby. And I need to know if my son’s guardians become at all careless. I don’t anticipate that will happen. They understand the importance of this task, and the punishment that will befall them if they do not fulfil it to my expectations.’
     
    ‘Your son,’ I said, making my tone suitably surprised. ‘So I have a little brother.’
     
    ‘Hah!’ There was neither affection nor amusement in the sound. ‘A half-brother, but you’d be wise not to regard him as kin. You will not approach him, Conri. The child is mine only. As soon as he can listen and obey, I will commence his training. He will be subtle; clever; powerful. Ciarán will be my sword of vengeance.’
     
    * * * *
     
    It sounded ridiculous. That little scrap, not long out of swaddling clothes, the instrument of her fell power? Time passed. I watched as his carers tended to him, as he learned to run and to climb, as he began to talk. I watched him solemnly investigating all he discovered. I saw him gazing into tranquil pools; I observed him sitting so quietly the birds came up to perch on his toes. He was still a very small boy when I saw him bring a ripe plum down from high in a tree, right into his hand. Not long after, he sang a fox out of the bracken to lie down by him, obedient as any pet dog. My brother; my clever little brother. The cottagers tended him well, but they had no time for play. I wanted to show him how to catch a ball; how to make a little house in the woods; how to tease minnows into his hand. I wanted him to know he had a brother.
     
    I reported regularly to my mother. ‘Nobody has come looking for him. Nobody at all.’ Of the magic, which Ciarán explored further with every passing day, I said not a word.
     
    In time, inevitably, she discovered to her fierce satisfaction that this second son possessed all the potential the first had failed to exhibit, and she began his training. My job as overseer was at an end. I found myself at once relieved and saddened. I was free now to pursue my music. I did so within both worlds, for I could pass as a talented human bard provided I was careful not to reveal my eldritch gifts. Those were meagre enough beside my tiny half-brother’s.
     
    I was selfish to step away from him. I knew how cruel she could be; I had experienced her training at first hand. She would not understand the frailty of a small child. She would not care what damage she inflicted. I told myself I could do nothing about it. She was a sorceress, powerful and without conscience. I was a half-and-half. My only assets were a good singing voice and nimble fingers. I reminded myself of this when occasionally I chanced upon my mother and the child working together. My brother’s small face had become pinched and pale; his eyes, so like our mother’s, were smudged with a bone-deep weariness. I saw her punish him. He took it stoically and tried harder