Flight of the Phoenix (Nathaniel Fludd, Beastologist, Book I)

by R. L. LaFevers

  A pinch of ashes from the fire of a phoenix can cure the gaze of a basilisk, the bite of a manticore, the scratch from a dragon's claw, or any human illness,

  Once a phoenix is finished with his nest, he will gather all the ash and twig into an egg, In ancient times he carried the egg to the temple of the sun god, It is considered a most precious offering,

  Nate closed the book gently. Interesting, but it wouldn't help him keep the ashes warm. He set the book down and searched the tent until he found the pile of cinnamon twigs. He grabbed a handful, then hurried outside to the palm tree.

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  How was he to reach the nest? He looked around for something he could stand on, but there was nothing. He ran back into the tent and began dragging Shabiib's saddle outside. The hard wooden frame would make a perfect step stool.

  Greasle ran over and hopped up onto the saddle. "Wheel" she said.

  "You're not helping." Nate gritted his teeth. The soft sand dragged against the saddle, making it hard to pull.

  "Aw, come on. I don't weigh much, and this is the most fun I've had since you knocked me brother off the propeller."

  Guilt poked at Nate, so he said nothing and let Greasle enjoy her ride. Finally, they reached the tree and he shooed her off. Holding steady against the trunk of the palm, he stood up on the saddle. He could see a small bed of glowing ash. Nate sighed in relief. It hadn't gone out, which meant he hadn't ruined anything. Not yet, anyway.

  "Don't worry," he whispered to the pile of ash. "I won't let the fire go out. I promise." He took a couple of cinnamon twigs from his pocket and fed them into the embers.

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  As the night breeze picked up, he turned his thoughts to creating a shelter for the nest.

  He could fashion a tent of some kind, but if the Bedouin came back, they would see it and perhaps figure out there was a second person. It was too bad the palm fronds didn't grow straight up, like a wall. Then he wouldn't even have to worry about the wind.

  That was it! He looked at the other palm trees around the oasis. He could borrow some of their leaves. He hopped down from the saddle, then began dragging it to the next closest tree. Greasle hopped onboard. "Whatcha doin' now?

  "I'm going to make a windbreak." Nate tugged harder on the saddle. "But I need palm leaves for it."

  "Why didn't you say so?" Greasle hopped off and scampered up the tree. A second later, her head popped out from behind the leaves. "How many do you want?"

  "Uh, five or six ought to do it."

  Her tiny hands neatly snapped the leaves from the tree. Nate gathered them into a pile, then dragged the saddle back, Greasle hopping onboard once more.

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  [Image: Greasle and Nate.]

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  Hot and sweaty, Nate picked up the first palm frond and climbed up onto the saddle.

  After thinking about it, he decided to weave the leaves together, like Miss Lumpton braiding her hair. A sharp wave of homesickness for his own little room flooded him, but he pushed it aside and got to work.

  A long time later, he tucked the last palm frond into position. He leaned back to survey his handiwork. It was a bit lopsided and the leaves stuck out at odd angles, but it held. And it would keep the wind out. Even better, it blended in with the existing leaves so that it wouldn't be detected.

  Nate glanced up at the sky. Once the sun rose, his work would be done and he could get some sleep. He fed a couple more twigs into the glowing ash and waited for it to grow warm.

  As soon as the sun's rays shone down on the nest, Nate dragged the saddle back into the tent. Then he dropped onto his bedroll, every muscle sore and tired, his body screaming for sleep.

  Greasle scurried over and sat on his chest. "Do you think they'll notice them tracks in the sand if they come back?"

  Nate groaned. "You're right." He forced himself to get

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  to his feet and went back outside. He found a loose palm frond and used it to erase the tracks he'd made with the saddle. Too tired to even think, he returned to the tent and collapsed face-down onto his bedroll.

  He was just drifting off to sleep when he heard voices.

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  ***

  Chapter Twelve

  N ate rolled to his knees. Greasle froze with a date halfway to her mouth.

  Nate crawled to the tent flap and peered outside.

  A group of Bedouin girls carrying water skins dismounted from their camels. Chatting excitedly in Arabic, they pointed at the tent as they made their way to the water's edge. Nate ducked farther back into the shadows. He held his breath and watched. One girl set her water skin down and went to study the ground at the base of the tree where the phoenix

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  nest was. Nate had left a couple of unused palm leaves on the ground.

  Luckily, two of the other girls began scolding her to fill her water skin and she was called away from the tree. Once they'd filled their skins, the girls lugged them back to the camels and strapped them on. Nate's whole body sagged in relief as he watched them ride away.

  "That was close," Greasle said.

  "Too close." Nate turned from the tent flap. "What if they had decided to look in here? We would have been discovered for sure."

  "We could have hidden behind those packs there."

  "Yes, but there are two bedrolls. They'd know that Aunt Phil had been lying when she said she'd come alone."

  "Ooh. Right you are!"

  All thought of sleep forgotten, Nate sprang into action.

  "What are you doing?" Greasle asked.

  "I'm packing up all of Aunt Phil's things. Then, if they come back and decide to explore the tent, it will look like only one person ever meant to sleep here."

  When Nate did finally sleep, it was fitfully. He jerked

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  awake at every noise, afraid the girls--or worse, the men-- had returned. Finally, near late afternoon he gave up. He untangled himself from his bedroll, picked up his sketchbook, and drew until nightfall.

  [Image: Nate and a camel.]

  The second night passed much as the first, except Nate had to enlist Greasle's aid in keeping awake. He'd instructed her to pinch him every time he started to fall asleep. She'd taken to her duties a little too eagerly, he thought. By the time morning came, he was black and blue all over.

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  "Quit complaining. You're still awake, aren't ya?" Greasle pointed out.

  He stumbled to the tent, grabbed a breakfast of dried meat and dates, then fell face first onto his bedroll. He felt Greasle's weight on his back as she climbed on top of him. "Can't you find someplace else to sleep?" he asked.

  "Oh, all right," she grumbled. "But creatures is supposed to sleep in packs, you know."

  Nate didn't know. He had no idea how creatures were supposed to sleep or, indeed, anything about them.

  Greasle pinched him.

  "Ow! I'm sorry I didn't know you were supposed--"

  Greasle clamped one of her tiny hands across his mouth. "Shh! They're coming."

  Nate rolled over and crawled back to the tent flap. Four mounted camels approached the oasis. Listening carefully, he could detect the girls' voices.

  "Hide!" he whispered.

  He and Greasle scrambled over to one of the large saddles along the side of the tent. Nate curled up on the ground behind one and pulled the saddle blanket over himself. Greasle wiggled up next to him.

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  [ Image: Nate, Greasle and the girls.]

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  They held perfectly still as they listened to the girls at the water's edge. The girls' voices rose and fell as they filled their water skins. After what seemed like forever, Nate heard the voices change position. But instead of moving away, they were coming toward the tent!

  Alarmed, Nate listened to the voices draw closer and closer. He heard a whoosh as the flap door was thrown open. Silence hung in the air, and then the girls began whispering.

  Nate's hiding place stank of camel and he trie
d not to sneeze. He made himself as small as possible and hoped they wouldn't come all the way into the tent.

  He heard a rustling sound as a pack was opened. There was more rustling as the girls came into the tent and began rifling through all their things. After an eternity, they seemed to grow tired of their game. With a last flurry of giggles, they left the tent.

  Nate went weak with relief. He waited a few more moments to be sure they'd gone, then crawled over to the tent flap. He peered out in time to see one lone girl returning to the oasis. She climbed off her camel, then went to retrieve the water skin she'd left behind.

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  As she walked past the tree with the phoenix nest, she hesitated. Had she seen the windbreak? Noticed something unusual about the tree? Slowly, she set the water skin down and walked toward the tree. When she was close enough, she raised her hands and gripped the trunk. She was going to climb it! She would disturb the nest!

  Without pausing to think, Nate was out of the tent in a heartbeat. "Wait! Don't!"

  Shocked, the girl froze with her hands on the tree.

  Too late, Nate realized he'd just given himself away.

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  ***

  Chapter Thirteen

  S lowly, the girl stepped back from the tree and turned to face him. They stared at each other warily.

  "Who are you?" the girl asked in halting English.

  "Nathaniel Fludd. Who are you?"

  "Fadia, daughter of Khalid Jabbaar." She lifted her chin. "This is our oasis. You shouldn't be here."

  "I-I have been sent to watch over the phoenix," Nate said.

  The girl narrowed her eyes. "The phoenix!" She studied

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  him a moment, then looked over her shoulder at the tree. "They say that is but a myth."

  Nate shook his head. "No. It's real."

  Fadia took a step closer. "You have seen it?"

  "Yes. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said simply.

  "If there was a phoenix, it belongs to us."

  "I don't think something like a phoenix really belongs to anybody," Nate said.

  "Perhaps that is true," she said. "But you do not belong here. This oasis is ours."

  "I just need to stay for another day or two. I promise not to harm anything."

  Fadia shook her head. "It is not my place to say yes or no. I have a duty to report you to my tribe. They will decide."

  "No! Please don't tell them." Nate couldn't risk getting captured like Aunt Phil. Who'd be left to tend the nest?

  "I must. It is my duty to my tribe."

  Before Nate could think of something that would persuade her, Greasle crawled up to his shoulder, and glared at the girl. "He's not going to hurt anything, you big dolt."

  Fadia recoiled. "A jinni! You command a jinni?"

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  [I mage: Fadia, Nate and Greasle.]

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  "No. It's a gremlin. Not a ... whatever you said."

  Some of the fear left Fadia and she grew haughty again. "What is this gremlin?"

  Nate looked from Fadia to Greasle, then back again. He whispered out of the side of his mouth to Greasle, "Just go along with what I say." Then, louder: "Actually, it's our name for jinni."

  "How do you have the power over a jinni? You are no older than I?"

  Nate tried to look powerful. "It's what my family does. Have power over jinni."

  Worry creased Fadia's face. "Please do not set it upon my people."

  "Will you keep my presence here a secret?"

  She stared at Greasle. "I will do as you ask. I will not tell that you are here."

  "Will the rest of them return for water tomorrow?" Nate asked.

  Fadia nodded. "Yes, it is our daily chore."

  "We will hide again, but try to get them to collect their water and leave right away. No exploring like you did today. If you do exactly as I say, I will not let the jinni harm you."

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  "Oh, brother," Greasle muttered in his ear. "As if I could hurt a big lug like her." Nate reached up and rubbed away the tickle.

  "I promise," Fadia said. With one last nervous glance at Greasle, she scurried over to her camel. She mounted the animal, then left the oasis.

  With Greasle still on his shoulder, Nate went over to the palm tree. "That was close," he said. It seemed they'd been saying that a lot lately.

  Greasle tugged on his ear. "So what's a jinni, then?"

  "I'm not sure," Nate said. "I think I read about them in a book once. They're like an elemental spirit. One that can be controlled by sorcerers and told to do bad things."

  Greasle snorted. "You ain't no sorcerer."

  "Well, I know that. And you know that. But Fadia doesn't. It was the only bargaining tool we had. If she's afraid you're a jinni and will hurt her people, she'll do what I say. So if we run into the Bedouin again, you be sure to look as jinnilike as you can."

  "Right-o." Greasle put her fingers into her mouth and drew it wide open, then wiggled her ears.

  "Perfect," Nate said.

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  ***

  Chapter Fourteen

  A fter the close call with Fadia, Nate was finally able to get some rest. He curled up in his bedroll and fell asleep before his head hit the sand.

  Hours later, he woke up feeling disoriented. Unsure what had awakened him, he sat up, listening for voices. He heard nothing.

  The angle of the light told him it was late afternoon. He'd slept most of the day. Maybe he just woke up because he wasn't tired anymore.

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  Then he heard it. A faint ripping sound. That was what had awakened him.

  He looked toward the noise and saw the tip of a knife cutting through the wall of the tent. The blade slowly worked its way through the material, making as little noise as possible.

  Once the knife disappeared, a thick, hairy hand emerged through the tear. It groped silently about, as if looking for something.

  The hand felt its way toward Aunt Phil's pack. After another minute of groping, it landed on the corner of The Book of Beasts. Aunt Phil's words echoed in Nate's head: I would protect the book with my life. Before thinking it through, Nate sprang forward and grabbed the book with both hands. The intruder's hand gripped tighter, its knuckles growing white.

  "Greasle! Help!" Nate yelled, not knowing what else to do.

  The gremlin joined him. She gripped the stranger's hand and sank her sharp little teeth into it.

  There was a bellow of pain. The hand let go of the book and flung the gremlin off.

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  [Image: Greasle and the hand.]

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  Greasle did a somersault, came up on her feet, and hurried over to the tent flap. Nate was close on her heels, the book safely in his hands.

  They stumbled outside in time to see a man in black robes running to a waiting camel. Once he'd clambered onto the animal's back, it lurched to its feet and broke into a run. The man's turban was knocked from his head. Nate only had time to note that the intruder had bushy ginger-colored hair before he disappeared over the ridge.

  "Who was that, I'd like to know!" Greasle spat. "He tasted right awful, he did."

  "I don't know. But I think he was after Aunt Phil's Book of Beasts."

  "Why would anyone want that stupid ol' thing?"

  "I don't know," Nate said. He was tired of that answer. There were so very many things he didn't know. A sick feeling rose up in his stomach. But then Greasle came over and leaned up against him. Her warm presence at his side reminded him that he had done the right thing by her. Even if it had meant disagreeing with Aunt Phil.

  A cool breeze stirred. Nate glanced overhead. The sun had set. It was time to tend the nest. Even if he failed at everything else, he could still try to get that right.

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  He shoved the book into his rucksack, then slung the pack over his shoulders and got to work.

  ***

  Greasle quickly grew bored watching the nest. She
curled up and fell asleep at Nate's feet.

  Perched atop the saddle, he leaned against the palm tree and fed a cinnamon twig into the smoldering ash. Was it just his imagination or had the ash taken on a more solid shape? It seemed lumpier to him. If he squinted his eyes, it was almost bird shaped.

  "What am I going to do about Aunt Phil?" he asked the small pile of ash. "How can I rescue her when I have no camels, no weapons, nothing?"

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  "Who are you talking to?" Greasle asked sleepily from her spot near his feet.

  "No one," Nate said, embarrassed to have been caught. "Just thinking out loud."

  "Well, stop it." Greasle yawned. "Some of us wants to sleep."

  "Sorry," Nate mumbled. He kept his mouth firmly closed while his mind worked furiously to come up with a plan.

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  ***

  Chapter Fifteen

  When the morning of the third day dawned, Nate still didn't have a plan. The Bedouin period of hospitality would soon be over and Aunt Phil would be tried for trespassing.

  Discouraged, he fed the last cinnamon twig into the ash just as the sun rose over the ridge. He turned to watch the gold and pink rays shoot out across the oasis.

  There was a crackling sound behind him, drawing Nate's attention back to the nest.

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  It glowed bright red now and was definitely a lump. As he watched, the lump began to grow. It stretched up and up and began to fill out.