I did; the circle for the lion’s face, and the wavy lines going out from it, all around, that were the lion’s mane. I cleaned the knife on my robe, and handed it back to the man. But his eyes were still on my family sign, and his face had a strange, deep look. “Are you sure that is a lion, Elsha?”

“Of course, lord. It has been my family’s sign for generations. It is marked on the outside of my father’s tent, and on our bowls and belongings. It is a lion.”

He gave me a faint smile. “For the Chosen, that sign is a symbol for something else,” he said.

“What else, lord?”

He took his knife and sheathed it, and did not tell me. But his eyes were on my face, and he was deep in thought. I sat and picked up my stew and began to eat again.

“The Chosen think that you Quelled cannot even talk,” he murmured. “They think you have no intelligence, no mind.”

I chewed my stew, and said nothing.

“You have a mind,” he added quietly, his amazing violet eyes aglow. “Tell me what is in your mind, Elsha of the Quelled.”

A moment I hesitated. Then I said, “Fire.”

He rolled up his book, placed it on the mat beside him, and sat up. Being on opposite sides of the fire, we faced each other, and our faces were well lit. I wished mine were in the shadows. I did not like his quiet appraisal of me, as if he measured all my soul. I put the last of my meat aside until morning, stood up, and heated some water to wash our bowls. Always, his eyes followed me. It seemed an age before I sat down again, and I picked up the woman-stone and pretended to polish it. Still his eyes burned into me.

“So, there is fire,” he said, as if no time had passed since last we spoke. “What else, Elsha?”

I looked straight into his face and said: “My mind is my own, lord.”

“It is not your own,” he said softly. “Not now. You are the Firelord’s now. Tell me what is in your mind, Elsha, besides fire.”

“Love,” I said, tearing my eyes from his face, and looking at the woman-stone I held. “Love for myths and legends, music and song … and firestone power … and dreams.”

He leaned forward, his face solemn and intense. “Ah – there we have it,” he said quietly. “Firestone power and dreams. Those words the Firelord says to me. Firestone power, and dreams. And you mentioned legends, Elsha. What legends are there, of the Quelled?”

I lifted my head. “Legends of a world filled with light,” I said. “Legends of a huge orb burning in the sky, that gave warmth and light and life, and there was no need then for our little fires. No need for firestones, mines, or Quelled. In those days, all were Chosen. We Quelled were lords, then. We lived in great dwellings high in the mountains, with vast gardens that hung there in the shining light, gardens of green trees and fruit and many-coloured flowers. And our children played in the light, and were naked, and not cold. Because the light was warm.”