Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits by Peter Dickinson, Robin McKinley

long now.ʺ
    ÊºBut how . . . how . . . ?ʺ
    ÊºLivin’ backwards. This ninety year that’s what I been doin’. ’Undred afore that was forwards, same as anyone else, so put ’em together and I’m an ’undred an’ ninety. ’Ard to take in, I dessay, but don’t you fret on it now. You’ll get it soon as you’ve met Sonny. Nothin’ to be feared of—’e’s been around since you first come, on’y you won’t ’ave seed ’im. ’E’ll be down when ’e’s through with ’is ’ymn.ʺ
    Ellie continued to stare while Dave returned to his notes as if nothing of more than passing importance had happened. At last he looked up and grinned at her, a normal boy’s grin of pure, harmless mischief.
    ÊºBit much to take in, I dessay,ʺ he said. ʺCome along, then. Wouldn’t want you to miss this.ʺ
    They walked together back towards the cottage, past grown trees, some of which, Ellie was creepily aware, must first have shouldered their way out of the soil long after the boy beside her had been born. The idea made her shiver, not with fear, but from its sheer strangeness.
    Back at the cottage she settled beside Welly to help her enter up the day’s notes on the PC while Dave cooked—strong tea with lots of sugar, and fried potato baps with bacon scraps and onion in the mix, greasy but crunchy crisp on the outside, and utterly contrary to all Mum’s dietary rules. Delectable. She was finishing her second helping when Dave picked up his mug, handed it to her and rose.
    Êºâ€™Bout time now,ʺ he said.
    Welly backed her chair from the table and wheeled herself to the door, down the ramp and round beside the bench, where Dave and Ellie settled. All three waited in silence.
    The front of the cottage was in shadow now, with the setting sun just lighting the topmost branches of the trees along the eastern edge of the clearing. Above that the sky was a soft, pale blue. The evening was full of the good-night calls of birds. They hushed, and the whole wood waited.
    The song began so softly that Ellie wasn’t sure at how long it had been going on when she first heard it, a series of gentle, bubbling notes, close together but distinct, so like a human melody that Ellie felt she could almost have put words to it. It became louder, wilder. Ellie closed her eyes and in her imagination saw the song as a swirling fountain of individual droplets above the trees, each note glittering into rainbow colours in the sideways light, the fountain rising and spreading into a circling canopy of light, which then un-shaped itself and fell in a gentle shower onto the waiting leaves below.
    Again she couldn’t tell for certain when the song ended, but as she opened her eyes the birds of the wood resumed their calling.
    ÊºLayin’ it on some tonight,ʺ said Dave. ʺThat’s for you, Ellie. ’Ere ’e comes.ʺ
    Ellie followed his glance in time to see a large bird launch itself from the top of the oak opposite, glistening with the reflected colours of the western sky—or so she imagined. But when the bird glided down into shadow, the sunset hues stayed with it until it landed, glowing, on the hitching rail beside the door.
    Ellie rose—it seemed rude to stay sitting—and stared, her heart pounding. The bird gazed back considering, judging, her.
    ÊºThis is Sonny,ʺ said Welly’s voice behind her. ʺHe’s the Phoenix. You’ve probably read about him. But I’ve always found it easiest to think of him not as a magical creature out of a story-book, but as a god. He comes from Egypt, where they didn’t have just one god, they had lots. But he’s the only one left. Go closer. He won’t hurt you.ʺ
    ÊºNo. No. Of course not,ʺ murmured Ellie, allowing her feet to drift her towards the hitching rail. The bird drew itself up and spread its wings wide as she approached,