Free Child of the Phoenix by Barbara Erskine

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