Phoenix Reborn (Woodland Creek)(18)

“Yes,” she said. “Whatever you throw my way, it’ll be better than living in the dark another day.”

The old man stood and wandered to a cabinet that he always kept locked, in which he stored jewels, precious stones and the like. But today when he opened it, he extracted an old photo album.

“This relic,” he said, laying it on the table in front of her, “is from the time when photographs were printed on paper.”

“I remember. I’m not that young.”

He opened it, revealing first a picture of her parents, together and happy.

“They loved you,” he said. “Even before you were born they asked me to look after you should anything happen, as if they already knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That they would be removed somehow from you. That at some point you would be isolated, vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable to what? The cold? Hunger?”

“Among other things. But mostly vulnerable to those who search for your kind.”

“My kind? You’re talking like I’m an endangered species.”

“That’s because you are.” Ranach looked at her from under his bushy eyebrows. “Ashling, if there’s one thing I know about you it’s that you would like to figure out your place in this universe. And I have avoided helping you with that, if only for your own protection. You will be far easier to locate when you come fully into your powers, you see.”

“Powers? Like starting fires out of the blue? Melting silver and gold with my bare hands? More a curse than power, don’t you think?”

“That’s the beginning,” he said. “Only the beginning. You have not yet transformed, and I suppose that I should help you to do so. But only if it’s truly what you want.” Ranach stood, his eyes locked on hers. Suddenly he seemed taller than ever before. “Is it what you wish for, Ashling?”

“Yes,” she said, though she had no idea what he meant. She would have given anything to understand.

The old man closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, the dim light of the workshop altering to sunlight. The walls seemed to melt, the ceiling disappear and all of sudden she stood with him in an open field.

“This is the best place for this discussion,” he said. “The grass is moist, the air pure and no one is around to see.”

How on earth had this happened? Ashling felt as though she’d wandered unwittingly into a dream; the strangest one she’d ever had. Was this her doing, or his?

“The best place for what? Please, are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?”

“Your fire,” said Ranach. “Do you recall the first time that it occurred?”

Ashling let her mind travel to that first time, in his studio. The faded memory, a blur of images, of sensations. The surrealism of recalling experiences from one’s youth that may or may not have ever occurred.

“What were you feeling then, and every time since?”

“Anger, hurt, I suppose. Abandoned by my parents. I felt alone.”

“Good. Intensity is the key, then. You felt intensely. But you need to learn to control your emotions as well as the fire. And I can see that you have already begun to train yourself. Fresh burn marks on the studio wall are fairly strong evidence of that.”

“I wanted to see if it could be controlled. All my life I’ve been afraid of it, Ranach. I wanted to know if I actually had any power over the flames, or if they would control me.”

“You must learn to use your power in positive ways. Because the flames don’t come from rage; they are simply a part of you. Of what you are.”

“And what am I?” she asked, her voice weak, deflated. “I’ve always known that I’m an oddity. I’ve always known that I don’t belong. But you’re saying I’m something else?”

“You are a shifter, Ashling. More specifically, a shape-shifter. One of the magical species of this world.”

She wondered if his mind had gone in his old age. “A shape-shifter? What are you talking about? You mean I can turn into a bookshelf?”

“I mean that you can turn into something far more beautiful than that. If you learn how. Come, sit down for a moment.” He laid down the jacket that he’d been carrying on the damp grass and gestured to Ashling to take a seat, doing the same next to her.

“In this town,” he began, “Are what we call ley-lines, areas of land which have mystical attributes. You have felt them, I know; I am aware of your attachment to the earth, to the outdoors, though you may never have deduced why you are so attached. Anyhow, these areas bring out the magic in us, and those with special properties gravitate to such places as Woodland Creek.”

“There are…others?”

“Yes, and there always have been. You have always felt like an outsider, I know. But you have never been alone, Ashling. Never. I must tell you, though. The people that you consider ‘normal.’ The humans — they don’t know about your kind.”

“But you say that I’m a shape-changer. I don’t understand…”

“Your parents trusted me with you because they knew what you are. Because they were of the same sort as you. You come from their blood. But the shifters are a hidden species. You understand — you call yourself a freak. So you know that others feel the same way. But in this very town are many like you. Those who can change into cats, bears, even water creatures.”