Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (39 page)
"I don't know if I can. Caedmon-"
"Learn from your mistakes," he said, fiercely. "Don't stop telling tales. You can pass the knowledge on. Future generations of this family will benefit from whatever you learn."
"Perhaps," I said. "Would you want to learn too?"
"No, son, my time for telling tales has passed. It's up to you now. You're the bard of Silver Downs. The tales, and their power, lie with you."
Papa might not be a bard any more, but even so, I felt the power of his words. They lodged securely in my mind and refused to let go. Could I be the one to really understand this strange power of ours? Could I be the first to pass down the legacy in full, not just the gift but also the knowledge of how it worked?
For the first time in many months, snippets of a new tale began stirring in my mind. A fragment of words, a brief image. So the tales were still there after all and they still called to my blood. Perhaps I could be a bard again one day after all.
When I am ill, my dreams are filled with things that aren't really there. Some of these things I have really seen, like the power of a fire as it rages out of control and the might of a winter storm that strips branches from beech trees and thatching from houses. Others I have never viewed with my own eyes. They probably came from the tales my bard brother told. Titania, queen of the fey, glowering at me. Tiny beings no larger than my thumbnail, human-shaped but with wings. A creature, in appearance nothing more than a rock, but clearly sentient. I longed to see these beings but I could never hope to live a normal life, let alone one in which I might actually meet such creatures.
The images repeated one after another but eventually they returned to the boy. Always the boy. He appeared to be around my own age, although the fey can seem any age they choose. His milky skin and crimson lips shouted his fey heritage, and his dark hair was roughly cut as if he cared little about the result. Blue eyes stared at me, never blinking or looking away, just watching, considering. Unusual eyes, for a fey. He stood silently in the corner of my bedchamber and watched as I drowned in fevered dreams. Sweat soaked my linen nightdress and my damp hair stuck to my cheeks.
As the fevers subsided, the dreams disappeared and the boy with them, and I once again became aware of my surroundings. It was always startling to emerge from the dreams and discover that time still had meaning.
I lay in my bed, staring up at the knotted ceiling. I turned my head to see sturdy wooden furniture now coated with a thin layer of dust. Thick green drapes shielded the window. A hand-knotted rug lay in front of the fireplace. The air smelled stale and old. Mother sat beside my bed, her eyes shadowed and her face pale.
"Welcome back, Eithne," she said.
I struggled to sit up but my limbs were weak and I collapsed back down onto the bed.
"How long?" I asked. My voice was hoarse and my mouth tasted dry and bitter. Mother hesitated but I knew she wouldn't lie to me.
"Nine days," she said.
Her words chilled me and eventually I realised I was clutching my woollen blanket so hard that my knuckles had gone white. I forced my fingers to relax and straighten the blanket. Its wool was coarse and prickly.
"It's never been that long before," I said.
Mother nodded.
"It's getting worse, isn't it?"
I needed to hear it, to know that it wasn't all in my head. Like the dreams, no matter how real they seemed.
Mother sucked in a breath. She looked away, towards the window where the drapes were tightly drawn, hands smoothing the skirt of her work dress.
"You can say it," I said.
She looked back at me and her dark eyes glistened. "Yes, Eithne, it's getting worse. We always knew the illness might progress but I had hoped you would have a little more time."
I inhaled deeply, steadying myself. I knew what was ahead of me, had known since I was old enough to understand the truth. She had never tried to shield me from it. Death was the end of the journey for each of us. It just came sooner for some.
"There's never enough time though, is there?" I said, too fatigued to hide the bitterness in my voice. "We are always too young to die."
Mother swallowed hard. "Always too young, my darling." She avoided my eyes as she gathered up the pitcher and mug sitting on the small white table beside my bed. "I'll take these to the kitchen. I'll be back in a little while, to sit with you."
"I would like that."
I knew she was leaving because she needed to compose herself, not because the pitcher needed to be returned to the kitchen immediately. We had servants who could undertake such a task.
I stared up at the ceiling as Mother closed the door. I traced a crooked crack with my gaze and tried to pretend I couldn't hear her crying. Death had ever loomed present for me, from the day I first struggled out of my mother's womb, eager to be born and far too early with the birth cord wrapped tightly around my neck.
A sickness of the blood, the wise woman said when I told her about the recurrent fevers and chills. The days where I couldn't keep down even the thinnest of broths. Nights where my blood boiled within my veins. No cure, she said. Even the druid could only shake his head and say he was sorry. When one lives with the idea of death every day, one becomes somewhat used to it. At least I saw fabulous things in my dreams. They let me feel like I had lived just a little.
Tales of Silver Downs series
Book One: Muse
Book Two: Fey
Book Three: Druid (available December 2016)
See
kyliequillinan.com
for more details
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I welcome contact from readers. You can write to me at
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or at PO Box 5365, Kenmore East, Qld, 4069, Australia. If you would like to be notified of new releases, you can sign up for alerts at
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Thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Megan Grey Walker and Hannah Ivory Wright. Your insightful feedback gave me the confidence to finish this story.
Thank you to David Farland for teaching me everything I know about description and for advice when I didn't know what direction to take an early draft of what would eventually become
Muse
.
Thank you to my awesome editor, Meghan Pinson. Without you, this book would be nothing like it is today. Thank you to Glendon Haddix for a beautiful cover. I'm beyond thrilled.
Thanks also to everyone who has read this far. I started this manuscript at a time when I wasn't sure I wanted to continue writing and it led me here. I hope Diarmuid and Brigit's story fills your heart the way it does mine.
And, finally, thank you to my family for supporting me through this journey. To Neal for all of the many hours you've tiptoed around the house, being quiet while I wrote. To Muffin and Lulu who are always convinced I can't write if they aren't there right beside me, guarding me. To Frehley, who really couldn't care less as long as I stop writing to feed her on time. And to my angel Bella. I miss you every day.
Kylie lives in Brisbane, Australia, with her pack of one husband, two dogs, and a cat. She spent most of her childhood wandering in fictional worlds but it was many years before she made the connection between her own made-up worlds and the written word. She has been a writer ever since. She will read almost anything but is drawn most strongly to fantasy.
Her other interests include canine nutrition, miniatures and organic vegetable gardening. She blames the dishevelled state of her house on her dogs but, in truth, she hates to clean.
Check
kyliequillinan.com
for details of upcoming releases.
First published in Australia in 2015
by Kylie Quillinan
ABN 34 112 708 734
Copyright © 2015 Kylie Quillinan
All rights reserved.
The author has made this work available without Digital Rights Management (DRM) so that you can enjoy reading it on any of your personal devices. This ebook is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this ebook, or make this ebook publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce, or upload this ebook other than to read it on one of your personal devices.
Apart from any use as permitted under the
Copyright Act 1968
, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Enquiries should be addressed to Kylie Quillinan at PO Box 5365, Kenmore East, Qld, 4069, Australia.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication data:
Quillinan, Kylie
Muse / Kylie Quillinan
Paperback ISBN:
978-0-9943315-2-6
Ebook ISBN:
978-0-9943315-0-2
A823.4
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.
Edited by My Two Cents Editing.
Cover art by Streetwise Graphics.
Proudly independent. Please support indie authors by legally purchasing their work.
This work uses Australian spelling and grammar.
LP11072016