Magic and Myth - Ireland's Fairy Tales

Myths, legends, and magic are woven together in a collection of enthralling Irish fairy tales from the New York Times bestselling author of the Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel series.

A haunting midnight dance that steals children away... An eerie fairy island that appears once every seven years... A magical silver horse that emerges from the depths of a dark lake...

Venture into the Otherworld with eleven timeless, enchanting Irish fairy tales that uncover the haunting, hidden world of the Sidhe--the fairy-folk. A master of Irish mythology, bestselling author Michael Scott has crafted stories guaranteed to enthrall young readers who love magic, legends, and lore.

And don't miss the companion collection of Irish folktales, Legends & Lore!

Leseprobe:

A Magical Midnight Dance
Time is different in the Otherworld, in fairy-­ land: what may seem like only hours there could be years in our human world. It is also said that, once you dance with the fairies, you hear their music forever more. Beware the enchantments of that magical land . . .
Paul sat up in bed. He could hear music coming from outside. He knew it was late because the house was very, very quiet, and the moonlight, which slanted in through his window when he went to bed, was now spilling in through the glass pane on the other side of the room.
He got out of bed, tiptoed over to the window, and peered out. The full moon lit everything in a ghostly silver-­white light and somehow made the shadows seem even darker.
But he could see no one.
He listened hard, trying to pinpoint the direction of the noise. It was thin and high, like a pipe or flute, or maybe even the delicate sound of a harp ­and it seemed to be coming from the little clump of trees that lay a t the bottom of the field.
Paul shivered, not with the cold but with excitement. He crept back to his bed and pulled on his shirt and trousers, grabbing his cardigan as he slipped from the room.
In the next room, his big sister Brona tossed and turned in her sleep. She was dreaming about a waterfall and the musical sound it made as it splashed into the pool beneath. And then she dreamt that she was standing on a plank of wood that was being tossed around on a stormy sea. Suddenly the wood tilted and she fell off ­and woke up. Paul was shaking her.
Wake up, wake up, he whispered.
What s wrong? she mumbled.
Music, he said excitedly. I can hear music ­outside.
What time is it? she demanded, realizing how dark the room was.
Oh, it s very late. Everyone s gone to bed, and the moon is beginning to sink.
It must be three in the morning, Brona said angrily, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She was a year older than her brother, ten years ol d to his nine years, and liked to consider herself more grown-­up.
That doesn t matter, Paul said. Someone is playing music outside.
At three o clock in the morning? Brona said in amazement. You re dreaming!
Listen, he said. Just listen.
Brona listened. And she too heard the music.
She hopped out of bed, and she and Paul stood on either side of the window, peering out from behind the curtains.
I think it s coming from over there, Paul said, pointing down toward the trees.
His sister nodded. I think so too.
Let s go look, Paul said.
But it s late . . . , his sister began.
Tomorrow s Saturday ­we don t have to be up for school, and no one will know. We ll just creep out by the back door and have a look. It might be a caravan, he added excitedly.
Or the Fairy-­Host, Brona whispered.
Fairy-­Host! Paul laughed quietly. He didn t believe in fairies. He wasn t so sure about ghosts, though.
Brother and sister crept down the garden path, staying close to the bushes and making for the wooden gate. The music was louder now, and they thought they heard distant voices and laughter.
They slipped through the gate and headed down the path toward the music. It was louder and clearer now, and the voices were much clearer, too. Paul and Brona stopped and listened. They weren t speaking English ­it sounded something like Irish, though Paul and Brona weren t able to make out what was being said.
It sounds . . . almost familiar, Brona said, looking over at her brother, her