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.But I suspect it was mostly natural inclination.Some lone children become merely strange.Those with God-given resources maybecome observers of the human condition, practitioners of solitary arts likepainting, philosophy.and magic.Pierrette, spurred by innate intelligence, by vague comprehension of hermother's arrested ambitions, contented herself with developing her logicalmind far beyond what might be expected of a child of her years.Otho, Bishop of NemaususThe Sorceress's Tale* * *Page 20 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlIn the tiny cellar, Pierrette dipped her fingers in water.She dribbled thefluid on a pinch of tinder in another bowl, while a dun snake watched withsilent stare.It was a viper, subsisting on occasional mice, but she imaginedit a friend.Touching the wet tinder to the candle's flame didn't ignite it.Yet tinderdribbled with olive oil burnt with sputtering and black smoke."The essence of fire," (she didn't frame her thoughts in quite such maturewords), "is in tinder and oil, but water is heavier and stronger, and drivesit away."Flames fascinated her.Were they alive? Were the flames of a burning log theescaping soul of the tree? Was steam the soul of water, rising until the potboiled dry? Was a person's soul a fire within?She dared not discuss such speculations with anyone, even Father Otho.Perhaps her preoccupation arose from memory of thegens' bonfire, the nightshe and Marie hid in the cave, or of the torches the villagers had carried, asnake of lights creeping into the hills.Perhaps it was the flames that litthe almost-forgotten face of their rescuer, of whom Pierrette remembered onlyfeathered clothing and mobile ears that grew larger in her memory as months,then years, passed.The hidden wooden box gave new scope for experimentation.She recognized thearomas of some powders: rosemary and thyme gathered on the unforested hills,other herbs from woods and garden, white ashes and black, powdered charcoal.But there was also red powder that smelled like spoiled liver, and whitecrystals that puckered her tongue.Some burned easily, giving off strongodors.Others didn't burn at all, or smothered flame.Liquids didn't burn, having as she thought of it watery souls.Then she foundthe tiny bottle, blue-green glass with a stopper so carefully ground that noessence had escaped in two years' storage.That liquid made tinder burnfiercely.It even burned all by itself in a bowl, and the flames pooled likewater, filling it, then overflowing onto the bedrock floor.Had Pierretteknown the word, she would have announced to herself that fire, like water andair, was a fluid, and that those three elements were unlike the fourth, whichwas earth, and which didn't flow.Her curious play, limited to the selection of materials in the box,inevitably involved substances in various combinations.Always, the unifyingelement was fire.One particular melange, when dampened with the liquid essence of fire, burstwith a loudpoof! into a ball of flame.Acrid, rolling smoke forced heroutside.Her eyes streamed, so she didn't even see the smoke that crept upbetween aged floorboards and out through the house's loose shutters.But Gilles, ascending the steps to the house, noticed, and saw his smalldaughter wiping tears with a soot-blackened hand.He pulled her away frombillows of foul smoke."Oh, not again!" He knew the source of the poisonous stuff.In his child'swet, blackened face, he saw what he most feared.Elen's eyes, streaming tears.Elen's face.Page 21 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlWhat now? He should have destroyed Elen's powders, but he had so little thathad been hers.He sat rocking his child, bewildered and hurt.By the time Marie returned from her stall in the marketplace the smoke haddissipated, but an acrid stink clung to walls, clothes, and bedding.She too knew what the odor meant.Unlike Pierrette, Marie had become devoutin the aftermath of death and terror."I'll find Father Otho," she said, andher set face a Roman face not at all like Pierrette or Elen's elfinvisages allowed no disagreement.* * *Otho squatted in the dusty street, and Gilles, more stiffly, did the same,bringing their faces level with Pierrette's.P'er Otho looked sad and amazed,as if she were a spirit from some far past.Gilles's eyes held fear and anger
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