She sees through the fire burning before her, which is fed by wood, but sees also through fire burning an upright pillar of stone. This mystery attracts her notice. She must speak, even if it might attract those who are looking for her. But her first words are not those she had intended. “How do you make the stone burn?” she demands.
“Rashly spoken,” he replies. With that, he begins to roll flax into rope against his thigh. But he appears to be thinking. He regards her unsmiling through the veil of fire, but he is not unfriendly. “You are of the human kin,” he says. “How have you come here? Yet I see my gift reached you.” She grasps the gold feather tightly, mirror to those trimming his leather gauntlets. “You have touched that which I have touched. I do not know how to read these omens.”
“I beg you,” she says. “I need help. I made fire—”
“Made it?” His smile is brief and sharp. “Fire exists in most things. It is not made.”
“No, no.” She speaks quickly because she does not know how long she has before she and Alain are interrupted, and this man—no man—this Aoi sorcerer is the only creature she can ask. “I called it. It’s as if the element of fire lies quiescent within the wood, and remembers its power suddenly and comes to life.”
“Fire is never quiescent. Fire rests within most objects, in some more deeply than in others.”
“Then in stone it rests more deeply than I can touch. Why can that stone burn?”
He pauses, flax rope draped over his thigh. “Why do you ask questions, child?”
“Because I need answers, old one. I need a teacher.”
He lifts the rope and twirls it through his fingers. The white shells on his waist-length cloak clack together as softly as the whisper of leaves on the forest floor. He turns, glancing once behind him, then back at her. “Are you asking me to teach you?”
“Who else will teach me? Will you?” The fire does not burn more fiercely than the hope which leaps up in her heart.
He considers. Shells, stones, and beads wink and dazzle in the firelight. He wears a round jade spool in each ear. His hair, bound simply into a topknot, is as black as the veil of night, and he has no beard. His dark eyes regard her, unblinking. “Find me, and I will.”
At first she cannot find her voice, as if it has been torn from her. Then, struggling, panicking, she gasps out words. “How do I find you?”
He lifts a hand, displaying the rope, gesturing toward the burning stone. “Step through. The gateway already exists.”
She rises, takes a step forward, but the heat is too strong. She can’t move any closer.
“I can’t,” she says, half weeping. “I can’t. How do I get there?”
“One strand of flax has no strength.” He twines a single unwound thread of flax around a finger. Straining, he snaps it through. Then he wraps the finished rope around a hand. “Twined together, they make a strong rope. But it takes time to make rope, just as it takes time to twine strands of knowledge together to make wisdom.”
Abruptly he stands, glancing around as if he has heard something. “They are coming.”
In that instant she sees beyond him down a path which snakes oddly through the trees. A short procession winds its way along the path, rather like King Henry’s progress but in smaller numbers. Bright colors so overwhelm her sight that she can make no sense of what walks there. One thing she sees: a round standard carried on a pole, a circular sheet of gold trimmed with iridescent green plumes as broad across as a man’s arms outstretched. It spins, like a turning wheel. Its brilliance staggers her.
“You must go,” says the sorcerer firmly. He licks a finger and reaches forward with it into fire as though to douse a wick. Moisture sizzles and snaps, popping into her face. She jerks back, blinks, then with a gasp leans forward again. But the veil has closed.
She saw nothing but raging fire and the mist of water rising as steam into the cool spring air.
“Liath!” A hand closed on her elbow, but it was only Alain, kneeling beside her. “I thought you were going to walk right into the fire.”
She licked her finger, reached out toward the fire as if to extinguish it—but nothing happened. “If only I could have.”
“Now, there,” he began, meaning to soothe her while behind him the hounds growled at the flames.
She shook out of his grasp and stepped back. The skin on her face felt baked; when she touched it, it smarted. “I saw the Aoi sorcerer. He said he’d teach me, if I could find a way to get to where he is.”