By Monica Wenzel
It was another good morning in Miriel’s garden. Her dog, Matteo, lounged in all of his bulk at her feet. She liked big animals, whether they be dragons or dogs. Since there were no dragons in the town, she settled for a big dog. She sipped her tea and admired her flowers. Her garden was full of shades of yellow and gold.
Yes, she told herself, the morning was starting nice and peaceful, with plenty of time for a few cups of tea. Later, she’d visit Jillian and convince her to bake strawberry pie while they chatted.
She swore in a language that no human ear could understand. Now she’d done it. There is a rule about a person getting too comfortable and thinking everything in their corner of the world was going well.
She smelled the danger first. Somehow, she’d never lost her sense of when a fire was dangerous or part of daily dragon life. And she was thankful for that now.
She was running out of her garden before the town bells rang their warning with a quick stop in the house for her knitting needles. Matteo ran before her. She jogged as fast as her old legs could move. If any parent had seen her running with pointy needles, they would’ve scolded her before they recognized her white hair.
When she got into town, she saw smoke rising behind the square. Her stomach dropped. Please, not Jillian’s house. Her friend liked to lounge in bed since she’d retired from the bakery.
When she got closer and saw that it wasn’t Jillian’s house, she heaved a sigh of relief. She still had time to save Jillian’s house before the fire caught. She leaned against a tree to catch her breath.
A window in Carl’s house burst open and flames erupted. Okay, maybe not that much time.
“Matteo, find Jillian!” Miriel commanded.
The dog sprinted to Jillian’s door and started barking. Miriel’s friend took a few seconds to get to the door. She saw Miriel and went right for her open arms.
“Good boy, Matteo.”
The dog barked, as if agreeing.
“Are you okay?” Miriel asked.
She nodded weakly as she stared at the blaze next door.
Carl ran up to them with two buckets and thrust one at Jillian.
“Good, you’re unhurt. Help save my house.”
He ran to his well and hauled up a bucket of water. Jillian and the other neighbors who’d shown up by that point took turns hauling up water and throwing it on the burning house. They wouldn’t make a difference. Not like the one Miriel could make.
She had a solution right in her hands. But she also had a problem. The townspeople, especially Jillian, knew that she’d spent a few years away when she was a young woman. No one guessed the truth, and she never told. How could she explain that she’d lived those years with dragons in the distant mountains? Or how those years were the best in her long life?
More importantly, she’d learned some magic from the dragons and could put out the fire and save the neighbors’ houses. Wood and thatch burn fast, but she’s faster. She wouldn’t be able to disguise it and everyone would know. All the care she’d taken to protect her secret over the years since she’d returned would be for nothing.
She was still debating when Matteo made the choice for her, as was his habit with the really important things.
Matteo ran out of Carl’s open front door and right up to Miriel. He spit something at her feet that turned out to be a sooty kitten. He coughed before turning back to the house.
“Matteo, stay,” Miriel said.
He turned his head and barked at her.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” she scolded.
Miriel held her needles out and started knitting the open air while chanting in a language that sounded like a crackling fire. After a minute, her needles circled Matteo’s head. She told him to go, and he ran back into the house, but this time with a weaving of air around him.
That was easier than she’d expected without regular practice. She might as well keep it up. She chanted and knitted. She pulled at the water in the dirt beneath her feet, in the grass, and around the well. Without thinking about it, she pulled water from the tree she was leaning against. With a flick of her needles, she sent the knit ball of water into the flames. Part of the fire hissed as it extinguished.
Her forehead broke out in sweat. Her forearms burned. Her chest ached. She didn’t slow down. She sent ball after ball of water at the house. Steam hissed and rose up into huge clouds.
Everyone stopped their bucket hauling. Carl stared at Miriel, then looked around her.
“My lawn! My tree! What did you do?” Carl yelled.
“She saved the neighborhood from burning,” Jillian said. “On the plus side, you can’t complain about the cost of firewood now.”
Carl grumbled and stalked away.
“He’s going to complain all through the winter,” Miriel said.
Jillian slowly approached her friend. “How did you do that?”
Miriel held up her knitting needles, too tired to talk.
“Really?”
Miriel shrugged. Matteo wagged his tail.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Could you have believed me?”
Jillian bit her lip. “Well, no. Not until now.”
“Let’s go back to my place for some tea and cookies,” Miriel offered. “I have some explaining to do.”
“I could use a cup after all this.”
Matteo led the way back to the house. Miriel hoped that the rest of her day would be enjoyable even if it wasn’t going to be peaceful. No, not peaceful or enjoyable. She’d openly used her skills, and her friend knew the truth. But she’d saved the village, and her friend. It was going to be a satisfying day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I’m thrilled to be included in Thriller Thursday! Thanks for reading.
Wait! Miriel! It’s a grease fire! A massive magical ball of water won’t put it out! You need to knit a massive magical fire extinguisher instead!
I like t he description of a language sounding like a crackling fire. It really fits.
Really like this, especially the relationship between Miriel and Matteo, which is deep and really fleshed out. Love the way she saved the house/village.