Five tales from the wondrous world of Nirunen!
Oppressed women and men who aren't yet heroes; journey with five individuals across the three Ages of Nirunen.
From the deep oceans to the high settlements and ancient cities of the First Age, through the Hidden Land of the Second Age and into a time of immigration and fear in the Third Age; these stories are riveting reading.
If you've not yet started reading The Kaerling saga, this collection is an excellent introduction to the history and heroes of the past, present and future. And, if you're already reading The Kaerling series, this makes perfect background reading for those who can't get enough of Freya Pickard's lyrical style.
Excerpt
Elsewhere in the garden the air is filled with fragrance; rose, wisteria and honeysuckle. In other flowerbeds, the plants stand neatly in their own space, not intruding on their neighbours. The soil there is weed-free and every plant knows its place. Many people wander through the old royal gardens on days when the sun shines. But no one comes to this corner.
I suppose it was the lack of order that drew me. I like bright colours and sweet perfumes but the riotous, unchecked growth beyond the silent fountains caught my eye. Others hurried by, looking for order and colour. Not me. I squeezed through the rusted, wrought-iron railings and trod on uncut grass, feeling dew soak my sandals and feet.
Behind me rose the rusty iron fence with sharp-edged stingers and needle-like thistles to deter the faint-hearted. On three sides, brick walls rose, partially concealed by the fecund growth of thin branches, narrow leaves and great sprays of purple-hued flowers. In the centre of the uncut grass, stood a single stone seat; I sat upon it, marvelling at the sights and scents around me.
The breeze moved gently in the sheltered spot, making the long tendrils of flowers bob and weave, like slow-moving fireworks. Purple was the colour that I recognised first but as I gazed, I saw the varying shades; pink, lilac, violet, mauve, lavender, fuchsia, magenta and white. The air was full of a musky scent that hung heavily in the heat. It was neither sweet nor revolting. Maybe that was why no one came here; the scent could not be identified as either good or bad.
I glanced up, feeling the sun’s heat on my neck, to see the bright blue sky overhead unmarked by any trace of whiteness. At that moment the breeze died and a sense of expectancy thrilled along my skin. Nothing appeared to have changed at first when I looked back at the motionless flower sprays. I had noticed the butterflies before, drinking from each individual flower. Now I realised how many butterflies there were. Such creatures were part of the enjoyment of the gardens and I could name the common ones. Nowhere else had I seen such a concentration of insects.
Veined-whites and large whites fluttered around peacock and admiral; clouded yellow danced with skipper, blue and copper; emperor and painted lady courted whilst tortoiseshell and comma spiralled dizzily together; fritillary and marbled-white converged as grayling and gatekeeper sipped delicately of nectar; meadow brown and heath let the breeze blow them towards the straggling shrubs as ringlet and monarch flitted in the sunlight. I stared at the variety. Why did they like these shrubs more than anything else in the gardens? What was so special about these plants?
