ʺThat’s what Dad said.ʺ
ʺDo you suppose he was—Flame was—somehow—sent?ʺ
Miri thought about his sad red eyes when she’d first seen him at the pound—about the depth of that sadness. Had she been drawn to that sadness because she was supposed to be? ʺNo,ʺ she said, after a moment. ʺI think he—after he—after he defected, I think he’s been having, um, culture shock. I think that’s probably why he’s . . . a dog.ʺ
ʺI don’t like the way this conversation is going,ʺ said Jane. ʺNext you’re going to tell me there’s a lot of stuff like the graveyard—what that graveyard used to be—around.ʺ
Miri said, ʺI think there probably is. But there’s a lot of stuff like us and Leslie and our barn too, isn’t there? Like those two guys from the preserve who were going to look for Mal and Leslie even after dark because they know the area so well. Or even you telling Leslie’s mom to go home, that Leslie can spend the night here. And we have Flame.ʺ
At the sound of Miri’s voice saying his name, Flame opened his eyes and thumped his tail.
ʺThen maybe,ʺ Jane said drily, ʺyou were right about Peggy and Tamari too.ʺ
Miri knelt beside Flame and began stroking his long extra-ribby side. ʺMaybe I am.ʺ
Flame moaned with pleasure, just like an ordinary dog.
Jane said, ʺTamari’s owner rang yesterday. She’s got a new show pony. She says it’s an angel. In fact that’s its name—Angel. She says Greyhaven is the best barn she was ever at and she wants to come back.ʺ
ʺBut there’s a catch,ʺ Miri said.
ʺShe’s still got Tamari.ʺ
Miri sat back on her heels and laughed. Laughing felt good. ʺTell her we’ll have him—at double rates. Because only you and I will be able to do anything around him, even fill his water bucket. Tell her that the extra money will go into the indoor arena fund—we’d be even better than the best barn she’s been at if we had an indoor arena.ʺ
ʺMy decisive new business partner,ʺ said Jane. ʺThat’s kind of the way my mind was going too. You’re two years older and here all the time. We can cope.ʺ
Flame had raised his head and was looking at Miri meaningfully. She started petting him again. ʺAnd you know,ʺ she added, ʺI bet they’ll write a big newspaper story about what happened tonight—isn’t Leslie’s mom dating a journalist?—and they’ll get everything wrong because we won’t tell them any of what we’ve been talking about, but we’ll tell them about Flame finding Mal and Leslie and then coming back to the barn to tell you he’d found them and to lead you back. And I bet all these people come out to get a look at this weird hero dog with the red eyes. And I bet some of them decide we look like a nice place and they and their kids should take some riding lessons. And when we can put the indoor arena up in two years instead of three, we can call it the Flame Arena.ʺ
Now Jane laughed. It was a nice sound: easy. Happy. ʺOkay. It’s a deal. Are you ready to go to bed yet?ʺ
ʺYes,ʺ said Miri. ʺI have to feed the horses in four hours. And I’m going to dream about the Flame Arena.ʺ
FIREWORM
PETER DICKINSON
This was the story Nedli told:
Long ago there was only the Great White Owl, the spirit owl, so there was always ice and snow and darkness. There was never any thaw, never any long, warm days. No people lived in the mountains. Then the Sun sent his children, the Amber Bear and the Blind Bear, to drive the Great White Owl away beyond the mountains, so that people could live here. She was not the Blind Bear then, but as they fought the owl he pecked out her eyes.
Never was such fighting. The earth shook, and the mountains smoked and flamed and poured out burning rocks, but in the end the two bears drove the owl away, and the sun came, and the long, warm days.
The sun brought people, and animals for the men to hunt, and roots and nuts for the women to gather. But the people did not have fire, so they ate their food raw.
Now the two great bears grew fat and lazy in the good times, and they found a cave far up Bear Mountain and went to sleep, and the Great White Owl came back, bringing the snow and ice and darkness.
The forest animals did not know to go south, so they froze and died. But the people huddled into a cave. They broke branches from the forest and made a wall to keep out the wind and snow. But still they were cold, cold, and they had nothing to eat, and soon they would die. So they cried to the bears to save them.
Their crying woke the Blind Bear, and she said to her brother, “I cannot sleep for the crying of the people. Make yourself into a snow bear and go to the people and give them your old pelt, your amber pelt, to keep them warm.”
The Amber Bear did as she said, and as he journeyed the Sun came up for a little while and saw a great white bear crossing the glacier, carrying an amber pelt across his back. The Sun’s light struck sparks from the pelt and they fell on the glacier and melted a hole in it, and that is why in summertime there is a lake in the middle of the glacier. Only a few little sparks stuck in the hairs of the pelt.
When the Amber Bear reached the cave, he found the entrance blocked with branches. He pushed his way through, and as he did so those few sparks fell out and set the logs on fire. He left his old pelt on the floor and went back to the Blind Bear.
The people woke and found a great amber pelt on the floor of the cave and a fire at the entrance. They rushed down to the forest to fetch more branches to feed their fire, and there they found the frozen body of a deer. It was hard as ice, so they put it by the fire to thaw, but they piled so many branches onto their fire that when they came to eat the deer they found they had roasted all one side. So they learned that meat is best if it is cooked.
Now they had both warmth and food, and could live through the White Owl season, until the two bears woke feeling mean and hungry, and fought the owl again and drove it away and brought the sun back.
That was the first of Nedli’s stories. If you asked her whether it was true, she would tell you, ʺIt is true in the spirit world. My stories are a way of seeing, and a way of saying.ʺ
Tandin knew he was dreaming. The cave he was in wasn’t the Home Cave, but some kind of a dream cave. It was pitch dark, but he knew that the Blind Bear was there, though he couldn’t see her or smell her or touch her. Dream terror welled up, shuddering through him, forcing him out of his dream.
Just as he was waking, the Blind Bear whispered in his mind.
One word.
Fireworm.
And now he was swimming up out of sleep, sleep deeper than he had ever known. Only the Blind Bear’s whisper drove him into wakefulness, ordered his eyes to open, forced him up onto his elbow, to stare around the Home Cave. And all seemed well. The fire glowed in the entrance. It glowed through the cave, lighting the overarching rock, glinting off the hairs of the great bear pelt that hung on the back wall, casting shadows among the huddled bodies of the sleepers around him.
There was a strange, sweet reek in the cave, dragging him back into sleep. His body sagged.
Fireworm.
What did it mean?
ʺListen to your dreams,ʺ Nedli would say. ʺMostly they are silly, but some are messages from the spirit world. You will know when it is one of those, but they come as riddles, and you must guess their meaning.ʺ
This was one of those, Tandin was drowsily sure. Fireworm? Another of Nedli’s stories said that the Great White Owl hated fire, because it came from the sun, and sent the fireworm to take it away. For three winters people tried to fight the fireworm, but in the end they gave up and moved away. That was long ago, among different mountains. Probably it was only a story, a way of seeing, or a way of saying, but the dream had been so strong. . . .