still taking that in, as her mouth said, without any thought on
her
part, “Come in, Godmother.” And the village witch stepped across
the threshold and entered the kitchen like a beam of sunshine.
For
the third time in her life, Eleanor’s life turned upside down.
She
sat, in something of a daze, on a stool beside the kitchen fire, where her
prosaic soup-pot full of beans and the end of the ham simmered, and listened to
impossible things.
Things
which she never would have believed—if her finger wasn’t buried
beneath the hearth-stone.
Sarah
looked perfectly comfortable in the sunny kitchen with its blackened beams and
whitewashed walls. Eleanor never even thought to invite her into the parlor.
But then, these were not particularly discussions for the parlor.
Eleanor
was hearing, for the first time, that the woman her father had thought he had
married was no more than a fraction of what she actually was.
“…so
your father never knew, of course,” Sarah concluded. “Never knew
that your mother was a Fire Master, or that we were such friends, she and I,
never even knew such a thing as magic existed at all.” Her cheeks went
pinker, and she gave Eleanor an apologetic little shrug. “That’s
the way of it, usually, when one of Us marries one of Them, Them as has no
magic. We generally keep it to ourselves, for more often than not it does no
good and a great deal of harm to try and make them understand. The ones with
minds stuck in the world they can see are usually made very unhappy by such
things. Either they think
they
have gone mad, or they think their
spouse has, and in either case it only ends in tears and tragedy.” She
nodded wisely. “Like the Fenyxes. Him and his father,
they
have
the magic—or Lord Devlin did before he died, but Lady Devlin, she’s
got no more idea than a bird.”
Eleanor
gaped at her. This was somehow harder to believe than that her own mother had
magic. The Fenyx family? Were what Sarah called Elemental Masters?
Sarah
went right on, not noticing Eleanor’s state of shock—or else,
determined to get out everything she needed to say without interruption.
“So we met here, of a night, or of an afternoon, over cups of tea as two
old friends from such a small place often do, and your father would look in on
us and laugh and ask us if we were setting the world aright, and of course, we
never told him that we
were
—in small ways, of course, but small
ways have the habit of adding up.”
“You
were—setting the world aright?” Eleanor repeated, and shook her
head. “But how—”
“A
little magic here, a little magic there; hers more than mine, you understand,
since I’m but a mere Witch, and she was a Master. But—oh, she would
speak to the Salamanders of a night, and find out whose chimneys were getting
over-choked with soot, and I’d have a word with the owner of the house
by-and-by, and Neil Frandsen would come along and clean it, and there’d
be no chimney fire, do you see?”
Eleanor
blinked again. “Is that the plumber, Mr.Frandsen? The man that cleans
chimneys with a shotgun?”
Sarah
threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, aye! But less often then than he
does now, I’m afraid—he was nimbler when he was young; now he
don’t like to go atop the houses much. But you see what we did? And there
was other things—
never
a house-fire have we had hereabouts once
she came into her powers, nor a barn-fire, and no accidents with fire either.
If a cottager’s baby tumbled
into
a fire, it tumbled right back
out again, with just enough scorching on his smock to make his mama take better
heed. No fires from a coal hopping out; no curtains blowing into candles nor
gas-flames. Sometimes it isn’t so much doing things that’s
important as it is keeping them from happening.” She sighed. “I
remember how she used to put you in your cradle next to the fire, or once you
were old enough, just on a blanket. No worries you’d be burned, of
course—the Salamanders
her
part, “Come in, Godmother.” And the village witch stepped across
the threshold and entered the kitchen like a beam of sunshine.
For
the third time in her life, Eleanor’s life turned upside down.
She
sat, in something of a daze, on a stool beside the kitchen fire, where her
prosaic soup-pot full of beans and the end of the ham simmered, and listened to
impossible things.
Things
which she never would have believed—if her finger wasn’t buried
beneath the hearth-stone.
Sarah
looked perfectly comfortable in the sunny kitchen with its blackened beams and
whitewashed walls. Eleanor never even thought to invite her into the parlor.
But then, these were not particularly discussions for the parlor.
Eleanor
was hearing, for the first time, that the woman her father had thought he had
married was no more than a fraction of what she actually was.
“…so
your father never knew, of course,” Sarah concluded. “Never knew
that your mother was a Fire Master, or that we were such friends, she and I,
never even knew such a thing as magic existed at all.” Her cheeks went
pinker, and she gave Eleanor an apologetic little shrug. “That’s
the way of it, usually, when one of Us marries one of Them, Them as has no
magic. We generally keep it to ourselves, for more often than not it does no
good and a great deal of harm to try and make them understand. The ones with
minds stuck in the world they can see are usually made very unhappy by such
things. Either they think
they
have gone mad, or they think their
spouse has, and in either case it only ends in tears and tragedy.” She
nodded wisely. “Like the Fenyxes. Him and his father,
they
have
the magic—or Lord Devlin did before he died, but Lady Devlin, she’s
got no more idea than a bird.”
Eleanor
gaped at her. This was somehow harder to believe than that her own mother had
magic. The Fenyx family? Were what Sarah called Elemental Masters?
Sarah
went right on, not noticing Eleanor’s state of shock—or else,
determined to get out everything she needed to say without interruption.
“So we met here, of a night, or of an afternoon, over cups of tea as two
old friends from such a small place often do, and your father would look in on
us and laugh and ask us if we were setting the world aright, and of course, we
never told him that we
were
—in small ways, of course, but small
ways have the habit of adding up.”
“You
were—setting the world aright?” Eleanor repeated, and shook her
head. “But how—”
“A
little magic here, a little magic there; hers more than mine, you understand,
since I’m but a mere Witch, and she was a Master. But—oh, she would
speak to the Salamanders of a night, and find out whose chimneys were getting
over-choked with soot, and I’d have a word with the owner of the house
by-and-by, and Neil Frandsen would come along and clean it, and there’d
be no chimney fire, do you see?”
Eleanor
blinked again. “Is that the plumber, Mr.Frandsen? The man that cleans
chimneys with a shotgun?”
Sarah
threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, aye! But less often then than he
does now, I’m afraid—he was nimbler when he was young; now he
don’t like to go atop the houses much. But you see what we did? And there
was other things—
never
a house-fire have we had hereabouts once
she came into her powers, nor a barn-fire, and no accidents with fire either.
If a cottager’s baby tumbled
into
a fire, it tumbled right back
out again, with just enough scorching on his smock to make his mama take better
heed. No fires from a coal hopping out; no curtains blowing into candles nor
gas-flames. Sometimes it isn’t so much doing things that’s
important as it is keeping them from happening.” She sighed. “I
remember how she used to put you in your cradle next to the fire, or once you
were old enough, just on a blanket. No worries you’d be burned, of
course—the Salamanders
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