Phoenix

by S. F. Said

  The old Axxa looked as antiquated as his stall. He had bushy whiskers that met in a cavalier-style moustache, and great white horns upon his head. His eyes were hidden behind a huge pair of horn-rimmed spectacles.

  A bird perched on his shoulder, eyes closed. It was about the size of a parrot, but its feathers were amazingly intense colours: crimson gold, like flames. Even in the dim light, it seemed to glow like a little sun.

  ‘Professor Byzantine?’ called Bixa.

  The old Axxa looked up sharply, peering over the top of his spectacles. He seemed confused for a second. Then a smile spread across his face. ‘Bixa Quicksilver?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s me!’ She grinned, needles blushing pink.

  ‘And do my eyes deceive me, or do I behold young Frollix?’ The Professor peered up at Frollix’s huge bulk. ‘My goodness – you have grown!’

  ‘Well, it’s been ten years!’ said Frollix almost shyly as they embraced the old man.

  The bird on his shoulder woke up. It flexed its wings, and then turned to look at Lucky, who was still hanging back, feeling troubled.

  The bird blinked. It flew over to him, and landed by his feet. Up close, its face looked old and wise; perhaps even ancient. It seemed playful though, and started pecking at his hooves.

  He bent down to stroke its feathers. They were soft to the touch, and very warm. And then, as he stroked it, the bird opened its beak and spoke, like a parrot.

  ‘Baaa-zoookaaaa,’ it chirped, as a little jet of fire flared around its beak. It wasn’t hot enough to hurt, but Lucky hadn’t been expecting fire – or words, for that matter – and he was startled. He jerked backwards, and bumped into the stack of boxes at the front of the stall.

  The antiques teetered one way, then the other. ‘No!’ gasped Lucky, and stuck his hands out to steady them.

  It was the worst thing he could have done.

  Boxes started tumbling down around him: first one box, then two, three, and then a rain of boxes, a shower, cascading disastrously, faster and faster . . .

  By the time it was over, he was knee-deep in broken antiques, surrounded by clouds of dust. And the little bird was chortling at the chaos.

  ‘Bazooka!’ called Professor Byzantine sternly. ‘Come here, girl.’

  The little bird flapped her wings, and led Lucky over to her master. The Professor scrutinized him as he approached, peering over the rims of his spectacles. For all his great age, the fire in his eyes burned bright and keen. He was no bigger than Lucky or Bixa, but he held himself ramrod straight and proud.

  ‘I – I’m sorry,’ said Lucky. ‘It wasn’t your parrot’s fault – it was mine—’

  ‘Parrot?’ said the Professor, whiskers bristling. ‘She is no parrot, sir! She is a phoenix. Or a zhar-ptitsu, a simorgh, or a feng-huang, depending on where and when you are. In any event, they are extremely shy, and never, ever go near strangers. What mischief did you do her?’

  ‘I didn’t!’ said Lucky. ‘She just came over, and wanted to play.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Lucky could tell that the Professor didn’t believe him. He looked guiltily at the fallen pile of boxes. ‘I – I’ll pick it all up, I promise—’

  ‘I beg you, no!’ said the Professor. ‘Do not touch another thing.’

  Frollix put a huge arm around Lucky. ‘Prof, this is Lucky,’ he said. ‘He’s riding with us on the Sunfire. He’s kinda clumsy, but he’s a good kid – even though he’s Human, under that disguise.’

  ‘Human, is he?’ muttered the Professor. ‘And why have you brought him here?’

  Lucky almost didn’t dare speak, but this was what he’d come for. ‘I heard you might be able to help me with this,’ he said, pulling out the astrolabe. ‘It’s broken.’

  Professor Byzantine breathed in sharply at the sight of it. There was no other sound. Even Bazooka was silent before the astrolabe.

  The Professor swiftly ushered them behind the curtain, into the back of his stall, hidden from the market. He took the black metal disc from Lucky very carefully, almost as if he was afraid of it. As he examined the inside-out dials, the twelve symbols around its circumference started to flicker with faint silver light. The Professor murmured a phrase under his breath, and the dials began to move.

  ‘Can you fix it?’ asked Lucky, amazed that the old Axxa seemed able to operate it.

  Professor Byzantine ignored the question. All his attention was focused on the astrolabe, his face wrinkled with lines of fierce concentration as the black metal flickered under his fingertips, the dials moving faster and faster, pulsing and throbbing and blazing with light.

  And then the dials flipped right over, twisting and turning about so they pointed inwards again, as they were meant to, as they had before. The Professor jerked his fingers away from the astrolabe as if it was scalding hot, and thrust it back into Lucky’s hands – still without saying a single word.

  ‘So – is it fixed?’ asked Lucky. ‘Can I use it now?’

  Professor Byzantine came right up to him, placed a hand on his cheek, and stared deep into his eyes. Lucky tried to hold the gaze, but the old Startalker looked into him the same way Mystica had: openly, nakedly, reaching right into the centre of his brain.

  ‘Tell me this, first,’ said the Professor. He pulled Lucky’s face close to his own. ‘What happened to it? How did it get so tangled?’

  ‘I – I just asked it where my father was—’

  ‘You? You did this?’ said the Professor. ‘But you are too young to operate such a device.’ He stepped back a pace. ‘Who are you . . . truly?’

  At his words, something inside Lucky flared into life.

  A spark of power. It was rising up inside him. He couldn’t stop it.

  His fingertips began to shine.

  ‘Tell me!’ demanded the Professor. ‘Who are you, coming here with an astrolabe like this, and such power inside you?’

  Lucky held up his hands. They were glowing, brighter and brighter. White light was spreading up his hands, his wrists, his forearms . . .

  Terror tightened in his chest. Panic. What if I burst into flames again?

  The Professor clasped Lucky’s shoulders. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Control yourself.’

  But the light was growing stronger, illuminating the dusty curtains and fragile objects all around them, threatening to combust into scorching flame. Lucky’s heart was racing, his mouth dry. At the back of his throat, he could taste something like sulphur rising up, filling his senses. ‘I can’t control it!’ he cried. ‘It’s too strong—’

  ‘You are panicking,’ said the Professor. ‘Think of something that makes you happy, something that matters to you. Do it – now!’

  Lucky couldn’t think straight. His mind was too full of fear. But right in front of him, he saw Bixa staring at him with her silver eyes –

  – and the fire subsided, just a little.

  ‘Yes!’ said the Professor. ‘Whatever you are thinking of, think of it some more.’

  Lucky didn’t move. He didn’t think. He just kept looking straight ahead, at Bixa.

  Gradually, the panic eased. The fear ebbed away. And as it did so, the glow faded from his hands, and the light stopped streaming out of him at last.

  The Professor let him go. Lucky’s heart was still racing; he felt exhausted. But he hadn’t burned. This time, he hadn’t burned. The Professor’s words had saved him.

  The old Axxa turned away from Lucky, hands trembling, shaking his head. Bixa and Frollix were both gaping at him, eyes aflame. It was the first time they’d seen his power in action, and they seemed unable to speak.

  ‘Please don’t be afraid of me!’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone—’

  ‘But have you?’ said Professor Byzantine.

  ‘Three Axxa pirates,’ said Frollix, finally finding his voice. ‘They were armed to the teeth. Seems he torched ’em with his bare hands. Nothing left but ashes.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ protested Lucky.

&nb
sp; ‘Until you learn to control your power,’ said the Professor, ‘you will keep doing it, and worse.’

  ‘But how do I control it? It’s so strong . . .’

  ‘It is not something separate from you,’ said the Professor. ‘It is part of you. It is you! Therefore, the only way to control it is to control yourself. If you panic, then of course it will overwhelm you. To keep it in balance, you must restrain your mind, your feelings, your body . . .’ He squinted at Lucky’s hands. ‘What else can you do, other than kill people?’

  ‘I – I think maybe I can hear the stars, sometimes . . .’

  ‘Mystica reckons he might be a new kind of Startalker,’ said Bixa quietly.

  The Professor twisted his whiskers. ‘Hmm. What do you think, boy?’

  ‘I wish I could get rid of it,’ he groaned. ‘I hate it.’

  Professor Byzantine looked startled. ‘Get rid of it? Our legends tell us that when people have such powers, it is always for good reason. No, no – you must learn to use it. You must test it, see what it can do, discover its true purpose—’

  ‘But it hurts! When I burn, it hurts so much – don’t you understand?’

  ‘I understand one thing,’ said the Professor. ‘With such power in you, the day will soon come when you must choose what to do with it, whether you wish to or not.’ He nodded briskly. ‘And on that day, you will need mental strength, moral clarity and, above all, a proper understanding of who and what you are.’

  ‘But all I want to do is get my astrolabe fixed!’

  ‘Ah yes, the astrolabe,’ mused the Professor. ‘That troubles me, too. Where did you obtain it?’

  ‘It’s my father’s. He knows the truth about my power, and it’s the only way I’ve got of finding him. Can you help me with it?’

  The Professor twisted his whiskers. ‘Frollix, Bixa,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Is there room for one more passenger on the Sunfire?’

  They glanced at each other, and then nodded slowly. ‘Actually,’ said Frollix, ‘Mystica asked us to invite you—’

  ‘Splendid. Then I offer you this bargain, boy. I will come back to the ship with you. I will accompany you, and assist you with the astrolabe, as you ask. And in return, you will submit to my teaching.’

  ‘Teaching?’ said Lucky, surprised. ‘What teaching?’

  ‘As Startalker of the Past, I know certain things about your power and the legends that lie behind it. I can help you learn to use it – painful as that will undoubtedly be.’ He surveyed the ruins of his stall. ‘Understand me: I will be travelling with you, and I do not wish to travel with a Human time bomb! So I will help you – but only if you submit to my teaching.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Do we have an agreement?’

  Lucky looked away, stomach churning. He couldn’t face that terrible fire again. Whatever the Professor claimed, he felt sure the power would overwhelm him next time. It would burn through his body and his brain: that scalding light, that scorching flame. It would destroy him, and everything around him too.

  But his father was out there, in trouble. A prisoner. He needed Lucky’s help. And if the Professor really could teach him how to stop the fire . . .

  He looked at the astrolabe. It glimmered and shimmered and shone with starlight, as if it was calling him on, pulling at some invisible cord inside him . . .

  ‘All right,’ he replied, though he could hardly believe he was saying the words. ‘If you’ll really help me find my father – let’s get back to the ship.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  After their adventures on Leo Five, the Sunfire felt warm and welcoming. As they climbed back on board, Lucky was glad to feel his hooves locking onto the ship’s surfaces once more. It was good to smell that strange scent of gunpowder, chocolate and spice again. It seemed reassuringly familiar now.

  Mystica and the Captain were waiting for them in the hold. Mystica was wearing her turquoise robe and headscarf. All her golden rings were gleaming, as if she’d polished them up specially. She beamed when she saw Professor Byzantine and, above him, Bazooka the phoenix, flapping onto the ship with infectious glee.

  ‘Welcome, welcome, my old friends!’ she called. She clapped her hands with delight, filling the air with joyful jingles.

  ‘Mystica Grandax!’ said the Professor. ‘You are a sight for sore eyes!’

  ‘Baa-zoookaaaa!’ agreed the little phoenix, landing on her shoulder.

  Mystica smiled, and her eyes shone like the sun. ‘Oh, it is good to see you, old comrades. I missed you so much! I remember when you first came to him, Bazooka – you were just a little chick.’ She stroked the phoenix, and Bazooka’s feathers glowed with warmth. ‘Tell me: how do I look?’

  ‘Magnificent!’ said Professor Byzantine, bowing gallantly. ‘You are as radiant as ever.’ It was true: Mystica seemed to light up in the Professor’s presence. And the Professor, for his part, seemed much warmer and more affectionate than he had on Leo. Before Lucky’s eyes, the two old Startalkers appeared to shed the years. He could easily imagine what they must’ve been like in the past, when they were young and strong.

  Professor Byzantine was flattering Mystica shamelessly. ‘Did you know she was a sensation in her day?’ he was telling Frollix and Bixa. ‘Songs were written about her eyes of gold and lustrous long hair . . .’

  Mystica looked embarrassed, and even a little sad, but then a small smile spread across her face. ‘I was quite something back then, wasn’t I?’ she said.

  She led them through the cloistered corridors, hobbling slowly but purposefully towards the Sunfire’s main cabin. As they went, Lucky told her everything they’d learned on Leo Five.

  ‘Well, at least now you know more about your father,’ she said, her stick clacking on the ground. She glanced at the Professor. ‘What do you think, old friend? Can you help him with his astrolabe?’

  ‘Why, of course I can!’ said the old Axxa, and his words gave Lucky hope. But then the Professor edged ahead to walk beside Mystica, and his voice dropped very low. ‘However, if his father is on the other side of the Spacewall . . . well, that is a dangerous place, and this is a dangerous time. Something has gone dreadfully wrong with the galaxy. The stars themselves are in peril. Do you not feel it?’

  Mystica’s reply was so quiet, Lucky had to strain to overhear her words. ‘Of course. I feel it in my own body . . .’

  The Professor twisted his whiskers. ‘Many feel it in their minds. Everywhere, there is the suspicion that nothing means anything any more. The Living Death is spreading, and so are these strange stories. The Wolf That Eats the Stars . . .’

  ‘What is it, this Wolf?’ shuddered Mystica.

  ‘I would give anything to know,’ said the Professor. ‘I suspect its origin lies in the Aquarius system. But I have heard no word from Aquarius for a year now. I dread to think what the Humans are doing there, under cover of their blockade. There is but one source of hope: the return of the Twelve Astraeus.’

  Mystica’s face lit up. ‘Ah! So you have dreamed of them too?’

  ‘Indeed I have! Every night.’

  They had reached the silver archway at the entrance to the main cabin. Lucky’s skin prickled as he glimpsed the walls inside. The vidscreens were all gleaming like stained glass in a cathedral, showing images of those amazing people with their wings and haloes, their tridents and scythes, holding whole worlds in their hands.

  ‘But – who exactly are the Twelve Astraeus?’ he couldn’t help asking. ‘Are they gods?’

  Mystica turned to him and smiled, eyes shining. ‘They’ve been called that, and many other things through history. Gods, angels, devils, demons – all the supernatural beings you ever heard of. But we call them the Twelve Astraeus. They go right back to the beginning of everything. Always, they were there: at the creation of the universe, at the dawn of Earth, and then later, as we spread out across the stars and found our way to this galaxy. Every culture has known them. Images like this have been found in the ruins of every ancient civilization. They have ta
ken different forms in different times and places, but always, the images point back to the same twelve beings, the same magnificent immortals, returning time and again.’

  Lucky gazed at the shimmering images, and wondered if such stories could be true. ‘Have you ever seen one?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, if only!’ she said. ‘The Astraeus have not been seen for countless years. Generations.’

  ‘And what makes you think they’ll come now, when they haven’t for so long?’ said Captain Nox. He moved to stand by the two Startalkers, while Lucky, Bixa and Frollix hung back behind them.

  ‘They come at times of greatest need,’ said Mystica. ‘When could the need be greater than now, when the galaxy is torn apart by suffering and war?’

  ‘But what if they’ve abandoned us?’ said the Captain quietly. ‘What if . . . they were never real in the first place?’

  ‘Never real?’ said the Professor, visibly shocked.

  ‘Where were they when Joxi and Jonathan died?’ asked the Captain. ‘Where were they when we lost our homes, and had to leave our worlds?’

  ‘They will come!’ insisted the Professor. ‘I believe they are in Aquarius right now. They must surely be somewhere behind the Wall. Why else would the Humans be expending such vast resources, if not to hide great secrets? I say we take the bull by the horns. We should cross the Wall, and find the Twelve Astraeus ourselves!’

  Mystica nodded in agreement. ‘The Professor is right,’ she murmured. ‘We must cross the Spacewall, and go into the War Zone.’

  Captain Nox stared at them, and then shook his head. ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘We are doing no such thing.’

  Lucky’s insides tangled as he listened. For if the Sunfire crossed the Spacewall, then he’d be so much closer to finding his father. And yet the Captain’s fears troubled him, too.

  ‘But everything points to it,’ said Professor Byzantine. ‘Everything lies out there, beyond the Wall. The Twelve Astraeus. The Wolf That Eats the Stars. Even this boy’s father—’

  ‘The boy?’ said Nox darkly. ‘I fail to see the relevance.’

  The Professor’s eyes glinted. ‘I feel sure he has some part to play in all this. Perhaps he is a new kind of Startalker. Or perhaps he is a guide: someone the stars have sent to help lead us to the Twelve.’ He glanced at Lucky, who shivered at his words. ‘In any event, we must go back.’