Free Twixt Firelight and Water by Juliet Marillier

but the woman — Aisha, her name is — nods her head. At the last moment, she reaches up and tweaks a corner of her elaborate head-cloth. The cloth unwinds; a cascade of hair descends, black as night and glossy as silk. Even my ascetic brother gawks at her. Suddenly, despite her height, her garb that might be a man’s — long tunic, woollen hose and boots — despite the strength and challenge in her gaze, a warrior’s look, Aisha is all woman.
     
    She turns her dark eyes full on me. ‘Conri,’ she says, quiet as a breeze in the grass, ‘I’m sorry your hand-fasting cannot be as you once dreamed. I did not know your Lóch, but I am certain she would not want you to spend the rest of your life this way. I can never replace her. But I can offer you a new kind of life. I can offer my best effort.’
     
    Sheer terror churns in my gut. I don’t want this! Why would I want my life back without Lóch? If this works, what will I be, so many years on? A wrinkled greybeard with the mind of that young lad who thought himself man enough to wed and be a father? What if Ciarán speaks the words and I become a creature with a man’s body and a bird’s mind? What if I turn into a monster? I never asked for this, I never expected anyone to do it, I don’t want it ...
     
    ‘Are you ready, Conri?’
     
    I look at Ciáran’s face, high-boned, steady-eyed, calm as still water. I do not look at Aisha; there is no need. I feel her presence beside me, strong as oak, fearless as Queen Maeve herself, beautiful as the keen flight of an arrow or the piercing cry of the pipes. I want this. I want it from the bottom of my heart. I want it as the parched earth wants rain. I want it as a man wants sunlight after long winter. I want it with every wretched, bitter, cynical corner of my body.
     
    I cannot give Ciarán an answer, so I stretch my wings and fly to Aisha’s shoulder. She flinches, then straightens, ready for the challenge. Her strong mouth softens into a smile.
     
    ‘We’re ready,’ she says.
     
    Ciarán paces steadily, casting a circle in the clearing. He greets the spirits of the quarters, asks the gods for a blessing, then moves to stand before us in the centre. We are on the stones between the campfire and the pool. Aisha and I face north, Ciarán south. The star-jewelled night sky forms our wedding canopy.
     
    As my brother begins the hand-fasting, a deep stillness seeps through me, a peace I have seldom known before. It is something like the sensation a bard feels when a song is done; when the music lingers on the air and in the heart long after the final measure.
     
    ‘Under sky and upon stone,’ the druid says, “twixt firelight and water, I ask you, Conri, and you, Aisha, to make your solemn vows of hand-fasting. Aisha, repeat these words after me.’ The mulberry eyes meet hers and I feel the smallest shiver run through her body. I edge along her shoulder until my wing feathers brush her cheek, black on black. And she says it, phrase by phrase, word by sweet word, she says it.
     
    ‘By earth and air, by fire and water, I bind myself to you. Until the stars no longer shine on us, until the earth covers our bones, until the light turns to dark, until death changes us forever, I will stand by you, Conri, my husband.’
     
    She does not shiver now. Her voice is the note of a deep bell, strong and steady.
     
    Ciarán draws a breath. Looks at me. His eyes are suspiciously bright. ‘Conri, best of brothers. Repeat these words after me. By earth and air, by fire and water ...’
     
    Oh gods, oh gods ... The change is quick. My heart has barely time to hammer a startled beat, my wings hardly manage to carry me down from Aisha’s shoulder before my body stretches and lengthens and thickens, my features flatten, my vision alters with sickening speed, pool and flames, man and woman, stars and dark branches swimming and diving all around me. Stone under my cheek; stone under my chest, my belly, my limbs ... a