Throw-Back Thursday Presents:
by Naomi Novik
Genre: Fantasy, Fairy Tale Adaptation
"Wait!" I said, as he began to turn away. "Why would you take me? You must know I have no magic, not really: I can't change silver to gold for you in your kingdom, if you take me away."
Witch-Trees of Irrisen
After 1,400 years of winter, nearly all growing things in Irrisen are long dead or locked in eternal hibernation. The great birches, elms, and oaks of the forests are bare of leaves, and only tall evergreens such as firs, pines, and spruces provide a green break to the endless blues and whites of ice and snow. The coniferous winteryew tree, believed to have been brought to Golarion from some far-off world by Baba Yaga, is absolutely essential to the survival of many species of Irrisen. Winteryews’ cones produce edible seeds year-round, and their bark, which grows back even in Irrisen’s frigid temperatures when stripped from the trunk, provides nutrition for other animals, including humans. Were it not for the winteryew, known colloquially as the “witch-tree,” no wildlife could survive in this wintry land.
In coming up with this recipe, I focused on flavors that come from bark, roots, and coniferous trees, as these all strike me as the types of ingredients which would be available in Waldsby. I chose the apple-based wassail for, not just because alliteration is fun, but because apples would be one of the fruits which might reasonably be imported into Irrisen without spoiling.
Keep on reading for step-by-step instructions to make Winteryew Wassail, and also a cocktail version of the drink that I imagine might be enjoyed on special occasions or by the more well-to-do in the Hoarwood region.
by Gregory Maguire
Genre: Historical Fantasy, Fairy Tale Adaptation (Adult)
But I have come out of one death, the one whose walls were glass; I have awakened into a second life dearer for being both unpromised and undeserved. Anyone who walks from her own grave relies on the unexpected. Anyone who walks from her own grave knows that death is more patient than Gesù Cristo. Death can afford to wait.
The thing about a mirror is this: The one who stares into it is condemned to consider the world from her own perspective. Even a bowed mirror works primarily by engaging the eyes, and she who centers herself in its surface is unlikely to notice anyone in the background who lacks a certain status, distinction. Or height. Like a dwarf, for instance. Or a young child.
Elizabeth Wilcox. Writer, Avid Role-Player, Amateur Mixologist. Survivor.