Legends of Australian Fantasy

by Jack

  * * * *

  LEGENDS

  of Australian Fantasy

  Edited By Jack Dann

  And Jonathan Strahan

  Scanned & Proofed By MadMaxAU

  * * * *

  Contents

  Introduction: Homegrown Legends

  Jonathan Strahan and Jack Dann

  To Hold the Bridge: An Old Kingdom Story

  Garth Nix

  The Mad Apprentice: A Black Magician Story

  Trudi Canavan

  ‘Twixt Firelight and Water: A Tale of Sevenwaters

  Juliet Marillier

  The Dark Road: An Obernewtyn Story

  Isobelle Carmody

  Crown of Rowan: A Tale of Thyrsland

  Kim Wilkins

  The Spark (A Romance in Four Acts): A Tale of the Change

  Sean Williams

  The Corsers’ Hinge: A Lamplighter Tale

  D. M. Cornish

  Tribute to Hell: A Tale of the Tainted Realm

  Ian Irvine

  A Captain of the Gate

  John Birmingham

  The Magic Word

  Jennifer Fallon

  The Enchanted: A Tale of Erith

  Cecilia Dart-Thornton

  * * * *

  Introduction:

  Homegrown Legends

  Jonathan Strahan and Jack Dann

  We could quibble about dates and times, about which particular starting point to choose, but for the purposes of this particular book ‘ground zero’ happened some time in early 1961. That year an American editor, Donald A. Wolheim, spotted an opportunity. There was, he believed, a flaw in North American copyright law that would allow him to publish an out-of-copyright edition of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.

  Wolheim’s mass market paperback editions of Tolkien’s classic might not seem to be particularly important at first glance. After all, Tolkien’s trilogy had been published in England in 1955, had been well-reviewed, and was fairly well-known. But it didn’t become a ‘phenomenon’ until Wolheim published his ‘bootleg’ paperback editions. In large measure Wolheim’s editions turned The Lord of the Rings into the underground pop culture and international literary classic that it is today, with major publishers producing ‘authorised’ hardcover and mass market editions.

  So how does all this lead into Legends of Australian Fantasy?

  Well, we could argue the details, but The Lord of the Rings was the first enormously successful secondary-world fantasy that sold to young and older readers alike. Tolkien, an ageing English university professor, became the first-ever fantasy bestseller. His work directly inspired Terry Brooks, whose novel The Swords of Shannara — which attempted to create a more widely accessible version of Tolkien’s work — became a runaway bestseller too when it was published in 1977. That book, and its many sequels, went on to sell millions of copies. That same year Stephen R. Donaldson published Lord Foul’s Bane, the first volume in his The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, a darker and more challenging book; but still an enormously successful epic fantasy.

  Within only a few years writers like Donaldson and Brooks, and later David Eddings, Raymond E. Feist, Terry Goodkind, and Robert Jordan, proved that readers the world over were not only willing to, but were desperately eager to read epic fantasy adventures, and read them in enormous quantity. There’s little doubt that their work inspired millions of readers, some of whom went on to become successful writers themselves.

  While Australia has a long tradition of creating wonderful fantasy stories, especially for younger readers — Patricia Wrightson’s stories, the work of P.L. Travers and others immediately come to mind — it took a little while for the epic fantasy phenomenon to hit our fair shores. The stories told by Tolkien, Brooks, Eddings, and Feist seized the imaginations of Australian readers; but it wasn’t until the late 1980s (when Isobelle Carmody’s very successful ‘Obernewtyn’ series debuted) that an Australian writer really attempted to create an epic fantasy adventure on a grand scale.

  Novels by Martin Middleton, Tony Shillitoe and Shannah Jay soon followed Carmody’s epic fantasy, but it took until 1995 for Australia to produce its first bona fide bestselling fantasy writer. That year Sara Douglass’s BattleAxe was the first title to come from HarperCollins Australia’s new Voyager imprint. It went on to become a runaway bestseller and was, in turn, followed by wonderful epic adventures from Traci Harding, Sean Williams, Garth Nix and many more.

  Each year the fantasy and science fiction community gathers in a city somewhere around the world for the World Science Fiction Convention. The majority of readers picking up this book will most likely be unaware that it is being published on the eve of the 68th World Science Fiction Convention, which is set to be held in Melbourne for the fourth time. The last time WorldCon was held in Australia, in 1999, this book would barely have been possible, and the time before that it would have been completely impossible. Now it seems inevitable.

  This book is, we believe, something very special: a collection of eleven stories written especially for this volume by some of Australia’s own legends of fantasy. In these pages bestselling authors Garth Nix, Trudi Canavan, Juliet Marillier, John Birmingham, Isobelle Carmody, Kim Wilkins, Sean Williams, D.M. Cornish, Ian Irvine, Jennifer Fallon and Cecilia Dart-Thornton have created brand new short novels set in their most popular ‘signature’ universe ... or in a brand-new universe they are just starting to create. Here is a chance to settle back into the familiar worlds of your favourite fantasists ... or to sneak a ‘first look’ at the characters and settings that they will be creating in future.

  So settle back into your armchair and enjoy these glittering jewels of magic and imagination. These stories will sing to you; they will shock, delight, and amaze you; and they will transport you to dangerous, fabulous and unknown places.

  Enjoy the trip.

  We certainly did!

  Jack Dann & Jonathan Strahan

  Melbourne/Perth, June 2010

  <>

  * * * *

  Garth Nix was born in 1963 in Melbourne, Australia. A full-time writer since 2001, he has previously worked as a literary agent, marketing consultant, book editor, book publicist, book sales representative, bookseller, and as a part-time soldier in the Australian Army Reserve. Garth’s novels include the award-winning fantasies Sabriel, Lirael and Abhorsen and the YA SF novel Shade’s Children. His fantasy books for children include The Ragwitch; the six books of The Seventh Tower sequence; and the seven books of The Keys to the Kingdom series. His books have appeared on the bestseller lists of The New York Times, Publishers Weekly, The Guardian, The Sunday Times and The Australian. His work has been translated into 38 languages. He lives in a Sydney beach suburb with his wife and two children.

  * * * *

  To Hold the Bridge:

  An Old Kingdom Story

  Garth Nix

  Morghan stood under the arch of the aqueduct and watched the main gate of the Bridge Company’s legation, across the way. The tall, twin leaves of the gate were open, so he could see into the courtyard, and the front of the grand house beyond. There was great bustle and activity going on, with nine long wagons being loaded, and a tenth having a new iron-bound wheel shipped. People were dashing about in all directions, panting as they wheeled laden wheelbarrows, singing as they rolled barrels, and arguing over the order in which to load all manner of boxes, bales, sacks, chests, hides, tents and even a very large and over-stuffed chair of mahogany and scarlet cloth that was being carefully strapped atop one of the wagons and covered with a purpose-made canvas hood.

  The name of the company was carved into the stone above the gate: ‘The Worshipful Company of the Greenwash &
Field Market Bridge’. That same name was written on the outside of the old and many-times folded paper that Morghan held in his hand. The paper, like the company, was much older than the young man. He had seen only twenty years, but the paper was a share certificate in an enterprise that had been founded in his great-grandfather’s time, some eighty-seven years ago.

  The Bridge Company, as it was universally called, there being no other of equal significance, had been formed to do exactly as its full name suggested: to build a bridge, specifically one that would cross the Greenwash, that wide and treacherous river that marked the Old Kingdom’s northern border. The bridge would eventually facilitate travel to the Field Market, a trading fair that by long-held custom took place at the turn of each season on a designated square mile of steppe some sixty leagues north of the river. There, merchants from the Old Kingdom would meet with traders from the nomadic tribes of both the closer steppe and the wild lands beyond the Rift, which lay still farther to the north and west.

  Despite the eighty-seven years, the bridge was still incomplete. During that time the company had constructed a heavy, cable-drawn ferry; a small castle on the northern bank; a fortified bastion in the middle of the river, and the piers, cutwaters and other foundation work of the actual bridge. Only the previous summer a narrow planked way had been laid down for the company’s workers and staff to cross on foot, but the full paved decking for the heavy wagons of the merchants was still at least a year or two away. Consequently, the only way to safely carry loads of trade goods across the river was by the ferry. The ferry, of course, was also a monopoly of the Company, as per the licence it had obtained from the Queen at its founding.

  The ferry, and the control it gave over the northern trade, was the foundation of the company’s wealth, nearly all of which was reinvested in the bridge which would one day enormously expand the northern trade and repay the investment a hundred-fold. It was this future that made the old, dirty and many-times folded share certificate Morghan held in his hand so valuable.

  At least, he had often been told it was very valuable, and he hoped that this was true, since it was the sole item of worth that his recently dead, feckless and generally disastrous parents had left him. The only doubt about its value was that they had left the share certificate to him, rather than selling it themselves, as they had sold all other items of worth that had been handed down from his grandmother’s estate.

  There was only one way to find out. The grim and cheerless notary who had wound up his parents’ estate had told him the share could not be freely sold or transferred without first being offered back to the company, in person, at Bridge House in Navis. Of more interest to Morghan, the notary had also informed him that the share made him eligible to join the company as a cadet, who one day might even rise to the exalted position of Bridgemaster. Then, true to his miserable nature, the clerk had added that very few cadets were taken on, and those only after most rigorous testing which none but the best-educated youngster might hope to pass. The implication was clear that he did not think Morghan would have much of a chance.

  But it was a chance, no matter how slim. So here Morghan was in Navis, after a rough and literally sickening three-day sea voyage from Belisaere, a passage that had cost him the single gold noble he possessed. It had been the gift of one of his mother’s lovers when he was fourteen, not freely given but offered to buy his silence. The weight of the unfamiliar gold coin in his hand had so shocked him that the man was gone before he could give it back, or tell him that he had no need to bribe him. He had learned young not to speak of anything his parents did, whether singly or together.

  One of the gate guards was looking at him, Morghan noted, and not in a friendly way. He tried to smile inoffensively, but he knew it just made him look even more suspicious. The guard rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and swaggered across the road. After a moment’s hesitation, Morghan stepped out from the shadow under the aqueduct and went to meet him. He kept his own hand well clear of the sword at his side. It was only a practice weapon anyway, blunt and dull, not much more than a metal club. That was why Emaun had let him take it from the Academy armoury; it had already been written off for replacement in the new term.

  ‘What are you up to?’ demanded the guard. His eyes flickered up and down Morghan, taking in the cheap sword but also the Charter Mark, clear on his forehead. The guard had the mark too, though this didn’t necessarily mean he was schooled in Charter Magic as Morghan was — at least to some degree. Not that he could do any magic, even if the guard decided he was some sort of threat and attacked him. There were probably a dozen or more proper Charter Mages within earshot, and many more around the town. They would note any sudden display of magic and come to investigate. A penniless trespasser would not be accorded much consideration, he was sure, and misuse of magic — Charter or Free — was a serious offence everywhere in the Old Kingdom.

  ‘I ... I want to see the Bridgemaster,’ said Morghan. He held out his share certificate, so the guard could see the seal, the crazed wax roundel bearing the symbol of the half-made bridge arching over the wild river.

  ‘Bridgemistress, you mean, till tomorrow,’ said the guard, but his hand left his sword-hilt. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Morghan.’

  ‘In from the ship this morning? From Belisaere?’

  Morghan shrugged. ‘Most recently.’

  ‘And what’s your business with the Bridgemistress?’

  ‘I’m a shareholder,’ said Morghan. He lifted the certificate again.

  The guard glanced at the paper, and then at Morghan. He didn’t have to say anything for Morghan to know that he was looking at the young man’s frayed doublet that showed no blazon of house or service. His shirt had too few laces, and his sleeves were of very different colours, and not in a fashionable way. Even his boots, once of very high quality, did not quite match, the left boot being noticeably longer and more pointed in the toe. Both had been his father’s, but not at the same time.

  ‘You’d better see her, then,’ said the guard amiably, which was not the reaction Morghan had been expecting.

  ‘T-thank you,’ he stammered. ‘I ...’

  He waved his hand, unable to say that he’d been expecting to be kicked to the roadside.

  ‘Don’t thank me yet,’ said the guard. ‘If you have real business here, that’s one thing. If you don’t, you’ll get worse from the Bridgemistress than you’d ever get from me. Go on in, across the court, up the stairs.’

  Morghan nodded and walked on, past the other three guards at the gate, into the courtyard. He wove his way through all the activity, ducking aside or stepping back as required, trying to keep out of the way. It was difficult, for there were at least a hundred people hard at work. As he weaved his way through and heard snatches of conversation, Morghan caught on that the entire caravan was leaving soon, that he had arrived just in time to catch the seasonal changing of the work crew on the bridge. This was the winter expedition, near to setting off, and when it arrived the autumn crew would return to Navis and refit for the spring.

  There was as much bustle inside the house as out. Morghan walked gingerly through the open front door into a high-vaulted atrium dominated by a broad stair. The room, though very large, was entirely full of clerks, papers, maps and plans. A long table stretched some forty feet from the rear wall, and was heaped with stacks of ledgers, books, map cases and rolled parchments tied with many different-coloured ribbons.

  There were several people sitting on the steps, with their papers, books, inkwells and quills piled around them so widely that Morghan had to tread most carefully.

  At the top landing, another guard waited patiently for Morghan to step over an abacus that was precariously perched next to a clerk stretched out asleep on the second-last stair.

  Though she was at least six inches shorter than him, wore only a linen shirt and breeches rather than a mail hauberk like the gate guards, and had a long dagger at her side instead of a sword, Morghan k
new that he would not last a second if he was foolish enough to try to fight this woman. The dark skin of her hands and wiry forearms was covered in small white scars, testament to a score or more years of fighting, but more telling than that was the look in her bright blue eyes. They were fierce, the gaze of a well-fed hawk that has a pigeon carelessly held, and though it can’t be bothered right now, could disembowel that prey in an instant. She also bore a Charter Mark on her forehead, and Morghan instinctively knew that she would be a Charter Mage. A real, trained Mage, not someone like him who had only a smattering of knowledge and power.

  ‘Pause there, young master,’ she said, and held up one hand.

  Morghan stopped below the topmost step, so that their eyes were almost level. The woman pointed two fingers towards the Charter Mark on his forehead, and waited.

  Morghan nodded and raised his hand to touch the woman’s own Mark at the same time she laid her fingers on his brow. He felt the familiar, warm flash pass through his hand, and the swarm of Charter symbols came close behind, a great endless sea of marks rising up to him as he fell into it and was connected with the entirety of the world ... and then they were gone as he let his hand fall and the woman stepped back to allow him up the final step, both their connections to the Charter having proven true, neither one corrupted or faked.