Child of the Phoenix. Barbara Erskine
As her eyes grew accustomed to the light, she saw the cell was empty save for a table placed against the wall. On it a rush light burned with a feeble flame. In the middle of the floor a small circular fire had been lit in the centre of a ring of stones. It smoked fitfully, and her eyes burned with the acrid smoke.
She glanced fearfully at Einion. In the faint light his tall figure cast a huge shadow on the wall as he moved slowly to the table and shuffled various small boxes around on it.
‘Sit down, child.’ He spoke softly now, his voice more gentle. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
She looked for something to sit on and saw nothing in the semidarkness save a folded blanket on the floor. After a moment’s hesitation she sat down on it, putting the fire between herself and the man who stood with his back to her. Straining her ears in the silence, she heard him taking the lid off something and the rattle of some object inside a box.
‘Listen.’ He held up his hand. ‘Tell me what you hear.’
Eleyne held her breath. The hut was full of sounds. The crackling and spitting of the fire as drops of water found their way through the roof, the rain outside on the trees, the heavy breathing of the man – but she could hear nothing else.
‘I can’t hear anything,’ she whispered.
‘Nothing?’ He swung round to face her. ‘Listen again.’
She swallowed. ‘There is the rain,’ she stammered, ‘and the fire.’
‘Good.’
‘And our breathing.’
‘Good. Listen now. And watch.’
He threw whatever he had in his hand into the fire. For a moment nothing happened, then there was a burst of clear bright flame and a hum from the burning wood.
Eleyne watched, enchanted. ‘A man told me once the burning logs remember the songs of birds,’ she whispered.
Einion smiled. ‘So they do. And more. Much more. Look. Look close into the flames. Tell me what you see.’
Kneeling up, she peered into the heart of the flames. The heat burned her face and her eyes grew sore. ‘Just the fire. The red centre of the fire.’
‘And now.’ He poured a scoop of some powdered herbs and another of juniper berries on to the logs. At once the fire died and threw off a bitter thick smoke. Eleyne shrank back, coughing, her eyes streaming. She was terrified.
‘There is mugwort and wormwood and yarrow to help you to see. And sandalwood from the east and cedar. Look, look hard.’ His voice was persistent. ‘Tell me what you see.’
‘I can’t see anything – ’
‘Look, look harder.’
‘It’s all black.’
‘Look.’
She stared as hard as she could, her eyes smarting. Now the heart of the fire was burning a deep clear red. She leaned forward, pushing her hair back from her hot face, then she reached out her hands.
‘Look,’ he whispered, ‘look.’
‘I can see –’ She hesitated. ‘I can see a sort of face …’
‘Yes!’ It was a hiss of triumph.
‘A man’s face, in the shadows.’
‘Whose face?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not clear.’ Suddenly she was crying. The picture was fading. Desperately she tried to hold it, screwing up her eyes. Her head was aching and she felt sick.
‘Enough.’ Walking over to her, he put a cool hand on her forehead. ‘Close your eyes. Let the pain go.’ He left his hand on her head for a few moments. She felt the pain lessen. Slowly she relaxed. When she opened her eyes, the pain had gone. He walked over to the door and threw it open, letting the cold woodland air into the hut.
Nervously she looked at the fire. It smoked gently on its bed of ash.
‘Throw on some twigs. The pile is behind you, in the corner.’ He was like a man trying to train a child not to be afraid of a wild beast. ‘There, see how it takes the fuel from your hand. It’s an ordinary fire again. There’s nothing to fear. Now, for another lesson. Something less arduous.’
‘That was a lesson?’ Eleyne was still staring at the fire.
‘Oh yes, child. You have to learn to command the visions. They must never rule you. That way leads to madness. You must learn to be their mistress. Now, how would you like to learn about the birds?’
‘The birds?’ She looked up hopefully.
‘Legends about the birds; the omens of which they speak. The messages they bring us.’
‘The curlews were there, crying of death when the Romans came in my dream.’ She scrambled to her feet and went to the door. ‘Where do all the birds go in the rain?’
‘They find shelter when the weather is hard, but usually they go about their business. There’s an oil on their feathers which casts off the rain.’
Now that he was speaking quietly, she found her fear had left her. She listened eagerly as the morning progressed. By midday the rain had stopped and a fitful sunshine slid between the branches of the trees. They walked for a long time in the woods, and he pointed out bird after bird which she had failed to see, telling her their names and the messages their appearance foretold. The sun slowly dropped in the sky. Her stomach growled with hunger but he talked on, pausing now and then to fire questions at her to check she was still attentive.
Twice she begged him to stop so they could eat or drink. He refused. ‘You must learn to rule your body, princess. You do not run because it wants meat. You must tell it to wait.’
He knew exactly the moment when she began to grow light-headed and once more he took her to the hut and closed the door. He motioned her to sit again before the fire and once more he threw on a scoop of powder.
She put her hands over her eyes. ‘No more, I’m tired.’
‘Look.’ He leaned over and tore her fingers away from her face. ‘Look. Look into the fire.’
This time the picture was there, cold and clear. She stared at it in wonder. ‘I see people standing about waiting for something to happen; crowds of people. The sky is blue and the sun is still low in the east behind the hills near Aber. It must be dawn. They are talking – now they are shouting. Someone is coming. A man. I see a man and they are putting a noose around his neck. They are – no! No!’ Suddenly she was sobbing. She scrambled to her feet and pushed past him to the door. Scrabbling frantically at the sneck she pulled it open as, behind her, the acrid smoke cleared, and ran outside.
It was nearly dark and it took a few moments before her stinging eyes could make out the figure of Rhonwen waiting beneath the trees. The two horses were tethered behind her.
‘Take me home!’ She ran to Rhonwen and clung to her. ‘Take me home. Please.’
Rhonwen looked over her head at the darkened doorway. It was some time before Einion appeared. He seemed unmoved by the child’s tears. ‘She did well. Bring her to me again in three days.’
‘Who was it?’ Eleyne spun round. ‘Who did I see?’
He shrugged. ‘You did not hold the vision. That takes time to learn. Maybe when you come again we shall understand what you saw and read the warning, if there is one.’
‘No. I don’t want to see it again. It was horrible.’ She pulled her cloak around her with a shudder. ‘And I don’t want to come again.’
Einion smiled coldly. He turned back to the hut. ‘Bring her,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘in three days.’