Robin McKinley - Fire - Tales of Elemental Spirits

It was as if she saw him now. The porch, and the cottage behind it, stood in the wildflower meadow. She raised her hand and waved. The dog saw her first; he lifted his head and thumped his tail. Then her grandfather noticed her. What are you doing here, girl? he said.

I—it’s about Mal, she said. I—I have to get him back.

Her grandfather ran his hand over his head, just the way his son still did. You got a special permission, do you, girl?

I—I guess so. She thought: I have a hellhound. With eyes as red as your wild poppies.

You be careful. Don’t you come any farther this way.

There are some—people here, who—shouldn’t be here, I think. I think they’re lost.

You want to send ’em this way? You do that. I’ll help ’em. You just don’t come any farther.

Grandad—

Yes, girl?

I miss you.

I miss you too. But I sit here, watching you. Watching you grow up. Watching Jane and Ned grow you up. It’s nice here. Peaceful. It’s nice to have old Sunny with me too, and he leaned over and put his hand on the dog’s back. And I’ll see you here some day, and that’ll be wonderful. But that day’s a long way off for you. I think you better go back now.

Mal—

You send those people along of me, and go back to Mal. It’s a long time for Mal too.

Her heart had jumped up from its leaden misery at her grandfather’s last sentence, before she realized that it didn’t necessarily mean what she wanted it to mean. Oh, but —she began, and then Flame was in front of her, bumping her backwards as he had bumped her forwards, into the old graveyard. And she heard her grandfather laugh.

Gelsoraban, he said. You sure show up in the strangest places.

And then she was back in the black, cold, dead place, surrounded by loneliness. She made a huge effort and said, ʺMy grandfather will help you. He says so. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to be so lonely you let horrible black things k-kill people to give you some company. Come on. It’s this way. Look.ʺ And she made an even greater effort, and she was no longer cold and dead and paralyzed, and she looked over her shoulder, and she could still see the meadow, and her grandfather, and Sunny. It didn’t look too far. It didn’t look like too far to walk, even if you were old and weak and had known for too long that you were hopeless and there was no way out.

And then the darkness and the cold began to break up, like storm clouds after a storm. There was something like a gentle breeze that blew past her; something like the rustle of people walking past you in the dark. It was a clean-smelling breeze, not rotten or moldy; it smelled of freshly turned earth, of the fields in spring right after the farmer has dragged his harrow over them.

There was something else too. Something she could not put a name to: this is a place of power. For a moment she felt borne up by something large and strong and—and—she had no idea, but she thought that if she could have seen it, it would have been beautiful. Beautiful and free. Free.

As the darkness cleared she found she was standing in the old graveyard, with Flame standing leaning against her, and her hands wrapped around his ears as if he were a sturdy tree limb and she had just fallen over a cliff. When she let go, her fingers felt stiff. It was a clear, calm night, with a million stars overhead, in spite of the bright moonlight.

There was no black thing standing among the tombstones, and the old graveyard felt strangely . . . empty.

And then there was a scream—Leslie’s scream. Miri turned and bolted back down the path, in spite of the dark under the trees.

Mal was sitting up, and had put his arms around her and was saying, ʺThere, there, I’m sorry I frightened you—I frightened the hell out of myself, believe me—but I guess I was just stunned somehow—I’m okay now—I’m okay—ʺ And Leslie was clinging to him and crying and crying and crying.

Miri firmly put both Mal and Leslie on Balthazar, and walked beside them as they started home. Mal and Leslie had both tried to argue, but not very hard, and before they’d gone far Miri had her hand on Mal’s leg to help keep him in the saddle, or rather to pinch him when he fell asleep. Every time she dug her fingers into his thigh and he twitched awake with an ʺuggh, take it easy, that hurtʺ she remembered the limp, insensible hand she had held when she’d first found them. Leslie sat behind him, and sometimes Miri had to let go of Mal long enough to pinch her.

Flame had shot on ahead of them as soon as they’d got themselves sorted out and were started back in the right direction, and sooner than she’d expected she saw flashlight beams and heard voices, and then Flame reappeared, dancing like a puppy. ʺHere!ʺ she shouted. ʺWe’re here!ʺ

Jane reached them first. She threw her arms around Miri because, Miri thought, she had to throw her arms around someone, and Miri was the only person available on the ground. But Miri was glad to hug her back. Balthazar had stopped when Miri did, but when Leslie made to slide down so that Mal could dismount more easily, Jane put her hand on Leslie’s leg and said, ʺNo. You just stay up there. I’m sure you’re exhausted. Flame—ʺ

But she didn’t have a chance to finish, because Ned was there and began saying all the same things, and by that time the first of several strangers had arrived, wearing what Miri guessed was a police uniform although it was hard to tell in the dark, and Mal and Leslie had to insist to each of them as they appeared (especially a very bossy woman who appeared to be the head of an ambulance crew) that they were fine and were happy to ride the rest of the way back and did not need a stretcher or anything else.

While this was going on Miri was discovering just how exhausted she was. She moved a little away from the gathering crowd around Balthazar and his two riders, bumped into something that felt like a tree stump, and sat down on it. It was very uncomfortable but for a moment at least it was better than standing up. She felt that even sitting up was almost too much, and slumped over, propping her elbows on her thighs. And then there was a flicker of red in the corner of her eye, and Flame put his nose in her ear. She sat up again.

She reached out to cup his long face between her hands. ʺThank you,ʺ she said. ʺThank you, thank you, thank you. Gelsoraban, or whatever your real name is. I don’t know what you did but—thank you. I can’t begin to . . . I’d feed you steak every day for the rest of your life only I can’t afford it. Or foie gras or—or—ʺ And she discovered she was crying.

A very, very long tongue extruded itself and licked her face. ʺYes, you’re right,ʺ she said. ʺSilly of me to get all collapsed and shocky when everything’s okay. Everything’s fine. Thanks to you. No. No, I’m not going to cry any more, I’m really not. I think you’ve got some extra tongue, like all those ribs. . . .ʺ But her hands were shaking, so she took them back, and chafed them together. ʺI’m sorry I’m behaving like such a dork. . . .ʺ

There was the oddest sensation in her head. It was a little like finding a parcel on your doorstep that someone had left for you, that you weren’t expecting, that you’d overlooked. There was nothing so clear as words, but she realized that she’d been given an awareness that what had happened in the graveyard was as much her responsibility—her achievement, her victory—as it was Flame’s. ʺI don’t know,ʺ she said, because she was a human and words were what she used. ʺI don’t know. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Mal’s okay. That’s all that matters.ʺ