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filled with terror that quickly turned into a haunted resignation. There was no way to fight, and no way to flee. On this day, at this time, she had taken a path that led only to a catastrophe, for both herself and her daughter.
    There was no hope, and yet with a mother’s instincts she pushed the girl behind her.
    â€œRun,” she whispered, and when the little girl did not move, she shouted, “Run!”
    H é lo ï se turned and took a couple of stumbling steps down the path. Willem watched her run. He saw the mother swing the basket at the raptor as it approached, and how easily the beast dodged it, with rapid, darting movements. He watched H é lo ï se freeze in horror as she looked back to see the body of her mother jerking on the ground, her throat in the jaws of the meat-eater.
    Not content with the mother, the raptor released her, dying but not yet dead.
    Lying on the path, looking up at the trees, her throat torn out, Madame Libert’s eyes met Willem’s.
    The firebird was distracted, and it had other prey to chase. Willem could have escaped.
    But her eyes would not allow him to.
    Now H é lo ï se turned and tried again to run, but her legs were small; she was young and slow. The firebird was quick and vicious. It would be a bloody, violent death.
    Until a shaking, terrified, seven-year-old boy jumped from his tree between the raptor and the girl. The raptor slewed to a halt, surprised at this sudden appearance.
    Neither Willem nor his father had ever attempted to mesmerize a meat-eater of this size. They were simply too dangerous.
    Nevertheless, on this most terrible day of days, Willem stepped into the path of the firebird armed with nothing more than a simple conjuring trick.
    He expected only to die, and hoped he was spending his life wisely, buying time for the girl, to allow her to escape. To survive.
    But God must have been watching this place, at this time, for He gave the firebird pause, and in those few heartbeats, face-to-face with the creature, Willem was able to produce the illusion, the mesmerizing technique. And in a strange kind of miracle, it worked.
    With the beast motionless on the path in front of him, Willem stepped even closer, doing nothing to rouse it from its trance-like state.
    Close enough to touch the thorny teeth, he took a small pouch from around his neck. A pouch his father had insisted he always wear in the forest.
    He emptied it into his palm and, leaning even closer to the snout of the creature, he blew sharply.
    A cloud of fine pepper enveloped the beast’s head and Willem leaped backward as a thousand tiny grains stung the delicate membranes of the creature’s evil, yellow eyes.
    It bellowed in agony, thrashing its head around, trying to shake away the pain, wiping at its eyes with claw-like hands.
    Blinded and enraged it lunged once, twice, three times at Willem, but its jaws only snapped shut on air where Willem had been.
    It turned and ran, stumbling from the path. It disappeared into the forest, careering from tree to tree in blinded rage.
    Amazed that he was still alive, Willem took off after the girl.
    He couldn’t find her.
    Afterward he returned and held the hand of Madame Libert as the light faded from her eyes. It was the light of gratitude and unbearable debt. He told her the truth as she was dying. That he could have saved them both. If he had not been selfish. If he had been braver. She must not have understood him, because there was no anger, nor condemnation in her eyes. So he told her again, tearfully apologizing for the cost of her life.
    Still the light of gratitude shone.
    A few days later the firebird was seen near Brussels, on the other side of the forest, and killed by a hunting party.
    H é lo ï se was not seen for almost six years, and it was assumed that she had died, alone in the forest. But one morning she had returned, standing silently at the saur-gate, dressed only in rags, almost unrecognizable. Her