these eleven years, Dinah has become my best friend, she is practically my sister. We were somewhat similar with this red-haired beast. Maybe because of freckles and stubborn nature. She is only two years older than me and, by the way, she has possessed the magic of fire. However, not very strong one. You should train and develop your gift. But she knew all the books in our library. And she helped me keenly with the mechanisms, using spells she breathed life into them. And if we did some mischief, we were punished equally, despite the fact that I am Lodesco. But it wasn’t offensive to me. Because if we have done a mischief, it means we deserve the punishment. You need to be responsible for your actions.
Every birthday friend gave me something unusual: she conjured a flint, a useful thing for someone who doesn’t have magic; then a self-igniting candle, although it was fat, it burned out even before the New Year; then firecrackers that scatter like sparks when you throw them up (I heard they call them fireworks in the capital), and on holidays they light up the whole sky with them. I wonder what awaits me this time?
Dinah came over and put the paper package on the table. I looked inquiringly at my friend, and she blushed. Freckles became even more noticeable.
– Well, come on, open it quickly. Why are you standing as if frozen? – she was always impudent when she was nervous.
I unwrapped the paper and emptied the contents onto my hand. What is it?
– Glass? – I stared blankly at Dinah. I wonder that it is unusual.
Neat, smooth pieces, like drops of colored rain, were sparkling on my palm.
Dinah blushed and held out her hand.
– If you don’t like it, then return it! – tears appeared in her green eyes.
– No, wait! I didn’t say I don’t like it! I just don’t understand what kind of glass is it?
Grandpa Marash looked into my palm and grunted.
– Fancy that! Did you do it yourself? – Marash appreciated in a respectful tone.
Alice and Varya also bent down with interest. Only I didn’t understand anything.
– Yes. From the sand beneath his oak tree. It’s white and clean, I’ve just added a little paint from crushed gems, – the girl sniffed offendedly.
Slowly it was dawning on me. She had probably learned this from the books. And she used the sand from a place which is dear to me.
– Are these pieces a sand? But how? – I asked cautiously.
– The magic of fire. I’ve just melted the sand with a new spell. I’m still not very good at it, and that’s why the glass came out so small… – Dinah muttered and shook her outstretched hand. – So that. Are you going to give it back?
– No, I’m not! Are you kidding me! This is your first glass made with magic of fire! And you have used the sand under my oak tree. I won’t give it back for anything! – I gripped the gift.
Dinah wiped her wet eyes with a contented smile.
– Thank you! You are a real magician! You will grow up and become the guardian of Phaeton!
Let’s be heroes together! – I said enthusiastically, wrapped the gift back in paper and put it in the survived pocket of my trousers.
Smiling cheerfully, Alice congratulated Dinah on a successful attempt at magic and sat us down at the table by the window. She put a plate with my favorite rolls, milk and honey under our noses.
Most of all in the house I love the kitchen… Yes, I know, Alice says I’m thin as a stick. But eating – it’s a sacred thing for me. Cook Varya fed everyone for the slaughter. The breakfasts were the most excited. I like to eat and look out the window. Omelet with freshly baked bread or cottage cheese pies. Oh, and an apple pie with cinnamon – it’s some kind of miracle! You can admire a summer landscape outside the window. You can see a lake, round as a saucer, and pine idols on the distant shore. And our oak tree, my and mom’s tree. I peered into the landscape and blue spiers of the mountains were running along, propping up the skies. As if they were turning around and lurching in our direction. It fascinates and frightens at the same time. In winter, when there was a snowstorm outside, I sat down by the oven, Varya wrapped me in a knitted blanket and gave me chamomile tea with ginger cookies. However, everyone knew that I’d gave my preference to the cinnamon rolls. Because my mother baked them for me when she was still at home. I missed her.
I was chewing the rolls, blinking and sniffing frequently. Dinah was looking at me, but she was silent. Somewhere in my chest there was a compressed spring and it was painfully pressing my heart. Mom. For eleven years I haven’t felt her smell, haven’t heard these tender words, «love you, babe». She hasn’t blown on my injured knee, hasn’t praised me for repaired things, for skillfully made watch that can be fixed directly on the wrist and you can go with it wherever you want. I’ve missed her love. I was looking at a mountain of rolls, at a transparent kitchen window, at a landscape that now wasn’t delighted, it was causing a nostalgic pain. Tears were covering my glassy eyes. She probably doesn’t even remember me… Why would she need an ungifted son? I was thinking about her, chewing a roll.
«Mom, you and dad will be proud of me! I promise I will become a hero like you!»
The silence around me was alerting. I heard some rustle behind me and a soft pat on the floor. I turned around slowly, as if getting out of a lingering dream. She was standing at the doorway. Nearby there was a huge duffel bag. Mom? I forgot her smell, voice, but her face… her image appeared to me in my dreams. Golden blonde hair, thin, like an elven, face and deep blue eyes, in which you can drown. She was so young and beautiful. She was standing with her outstretched arms for an embrace. I shifted my gaze and blinked blankly. Her belly seemed to be pumped up with air.
– Mom? – I screwed up my eyes incredulously. Am I still sleeping?
– Hello dear! Happy Birthday! And I have a present for you! – she stroked gently her belly. – A sister!
I finally realized that my mom had really returned. Although the news about my sister was still coming to me. I felt a huge lump in my throat. I timidly walked over and hugged her. The last time I barely could reach her chest. Now, embracing, my mom put her head on my shoulder. I grew up and was no longer that snotty boy who cried, saying goodbye to her eleven years ago.
– Forgive me… – she whispered.
I stroked her back.
– I understand. Father…
She didn’t answer. But I knew that I was right. My father still couldn’t accept the shame that I was blank. But forbidding my mom to see me – it was cruel. Did I hate him for that? No. His action only spurred me to learn and improve the skills of mechanic. And I also began to appreciate what I have; and I have people who loved me not for my talents or status. They just loved me for who I am.
My chintz shirt was wet. It got wet from her tears. While I was trying to breathe in her lavender scent, she spoke.
– Well, how are you here without us? – her voice was trembling. Her fingers ran over my chestnut mop.
– Oh,
