Born of the Phoenix

by Forrester, David Murray

  The debris of the fire began to stir as a hand emerged, fingers stretching and reaching into the night. Crystal crawled from the pyre, her skin stained with ash and soot. Brisk air bit at her naked body. She stood. With a grin she glanced back into the red embers, she felt at peace, as though Fe’anorr’s great fiery wings were wrapped around her in a warming embrace, the agony of death a distant memory.

  Hundreds of years ago she had stood in the shrine of judgement, the mouth of a great phoenix statue as all surangi did who wished to become arcane knights. Her body consumed by holy flames while Fe'anorr looked into the depths of her soul to determine whether or not she was worthy to receive the gift of his blood. Those who chose to take the pilgrimage were not sparred the agony of burning alive. It was brutally painful and not many brave souls could endure the suffering. Those who didn’t possess a strong enough conviction often renounced their choice, opting for a quick death which Fe'anorr would grant. Many others Fe'anorr judged to be unworthy, they perished in the flames and were never seen again amongst the living. These poor souls however were not dishonoured, their kinsman hosting them honourable funerals for they had the courage to stand before the eyes of god.

  Less than a quarter of those who took the pilgrimage were granted resurrection. These few, the arcane knights, were heralded as the true champions of the surangi. The phoenix god’s blood granted them not only immortality, but infused them with strengths and abilities far beyond that of mortals. Coupled with the modesty and kindness that already resided within the essence of their souls, no other race could boast heroes of such might, valour and chivalry.

  Melody crawled from her pyre, soot falling from her short golden hair.

  “How are you feeling?” Crystal helped her up. Melody’s grip was firm; it made Crystal happy knowing that Melody had arisen with renewed strength after how severe her wounds had been.

  “Good,” Melody nodded, brushing ash from herself. As she stood erect she realised she didn’t feel good, she felt better than good, invigorated, strong, her mind alert and aware as though she had just reached an epiphany. It was an amazing sensation, she smiled.

  “We should find some clothes and get out of here.” In the late hour Crystal was confident they could escape without being seen by any guards.

  “What about Osrown though, we’re not going to just leave after what he did to us are we?”

  “For now we must,” with a scowl she thought about her own vengeance, he was definitely going to pay dearly for what he did. “I want to come back with Brackish, there’s something else going on here, I can feel it, I think some of those women he burned were mages, not witches, he had to have known that, and the way he looked at me while I was on the pyre, there was something sadistic about it, as though he enjoyed putting us through pain,” the image of his eyes appeared in her mind, “Something’s definitely askew.”

  “Such an astute observation,” Osrown had approached them at unawares. He stood calmly, hands gently clasped behind his back. “It appears you were telling the truth about yourselves after all, I see you survived the pyre.”

  Melody covered her nakedness from Osrown’s glaring eyes. Crystal cared not, standing tall and proud before him.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said we’re surangi,” Crystal approached him holding his gaze, “now that you know who we truly are I expect you to respect our freedom and allow to leave unhindered.” She figured he had overheard their conversation so there was no point being false or polite, Osrown wasn’t a very intimidating figure, Crystal knew she could take him down in a heartbeat.

  “Blunt and to the point, I like that, I should expect no less from someone as confident as yourself,” his smile was unnerving, as he spoke his voice began breaking, becoming deeper, fragmented. “My little fire bird, your visit here has only just begun.”

  A dark cloud of miasma surrounded the two girls choking and disorienting them with its foulness. Arms and hands appeared from the shadows, seizing and clawing at them. They struggled against the dark horrors but there were just too many hands in the darkness to fend off and more continuously appeared until the two warriors were totally helpless within their terrifying grasp. A great entropy and weariness came upon them as they felt themselves losing consciousness. Quickly their strength ebbed away. The darkness set in, their minds consumed with horrific thoughts and hallucinations.

  Osrown stood over the two girls, their eyes open in waking nightmares. This was only the beginning of the horrors he would have them endure. They were a great prize and he relished in the fact.

  Pain; her arms shackled, wrists bleeding from the iron chains that suspended her from a ceiling rancid with putrid mould. Colourful spores fell from the mould which floated in the air as dust. A foul odour assaulted her, wafting from a decomposing corpse slumped in the corner of the dank cell. With great constitution Crystal gathered herself. Slowly her mind turned her thoughts coherent, a numbing haze still clouding her vision.

  Draped once again in rags, she hung a foot above the ground. Incarceration had been unknown to her. Never before had she been held prisoner but now Osrown had ensnared her twice in as many days. Crystal felt a great sense of shame; she had let her guard down and paid dearly for it. Osrown’s powers plagued heavily on her mind, his ability to control the darkness in such a way as to cripple her body and mind so completely, she hung pondering how to defend against such attacks.

  It was clever though, his disguise, she gave him that. Quite the cunning ruse to play the cleric, he could brand anyone he pleased as a witch and the people would praise him for burning them alive. From what Crystal had seen it appeared he quite enjoyed it. She suspected there was a deeper element to it though, a secret yet to be unravelled.

  As the ceiling was in a state of degradation and decay Crystal used her strength to pull the chains free from the stone which crumbled as the iron pins were wretched from their homes. Gracefully she landed on the ground, rising in determination to be free from this abhorrent incarceration.

  A solid iron door barred her way to freedom. Its surface was heavily rusted. As Crystal placed her hand upon its coarseness she could feel a power emanating from it. Enchantments, and powerful ones at that, there was no way to surpass it. She slunk into the shadows to brood and ponder her escape.

  Hours had passed, perhaps days. In the dank cell Crystal had lost perception of time. She knew of darkness, biting hunger and the foul stench of her surroundings. Sorrow had not come to her, nor dismay or fear. The desolation of the cell was nothing to her save fuel for her inner desires. Melody was always on her mind and Johnathon also. Approaching footsteps roused her, she clasped onto the chains bound upon her wrists. A key was entered into the lock which clicked loudly as it turned the inner pins. The rusted hinges sighed as the heavy door swung open.

  Two men entered wearing blackened iron masks, there was no slit for the eyes and their mouths exposed revealed decayed teeth surrounded by rotten flesh. Inhuman they were, ghastly, bodies hidden beneath grey cloaks bound in black sashes. Osrown entered behind them, her eyes narrowed. With ferocity she came upon them as a predator striking its prey at unawares. The chains, once her bondage were transformed into the keys of her freedom. Such violence she unleashed with the chains, killing the two henchmen with intense brutality.

  Bleeding and gasping for breath Osrown crawled before her. Stripped of his strong demeanour he squirmed pathetically at her feet, a broken and defeated man. Taking no chances Crystal brought her foot down upon his throat. She would not have him whispering a spell or summoning the darkness once again to do his bidding. Frantically he grasped at her leg; eyes widened knowing that death was imminent. Unable to draw breath his life ebbed away until he was nothing but a limp, empty husk.

  As Crystal approached the door it slammed shut with an awful crash immense as thunder. Her skin crawled as she heard the sounds of splintering bone and the tearing of flesh. Osrown’s body was being torn apart by long twisted fingers. In an explosion of blood a hideous sh
ape began to rise from within the corpse. Despair seized Crystal as she bore witness to the creature’s full form. It hovered above the ground before her, wraith like, partially ethereal. Four lanky arms hung at its side in a state of constant movement like gently rolling waves. Its torso was a mess of decayed flesh with exposed bones, an obese stomach, rotten and dripping with ooze. Its eyes were all encompassing, two deep vortexes’ that could quell the most steadfast heart, courage stealers, deceivers that held ageless knowledge. A terrifying scream escaped its skeletal mouth as it descended upon her.

  Her lips and chin were covered in blood; it dripped from multiple wounds on her body to form small pools upon the ground. Consumed with pain, she slumped against the wall, barely able to keep herself standing, breathing came deep and laboured. Crystals stared at Osrown’s true form with bitter fury. A gluttonous reaver, a truly malevolent monstrosity. Despite her great strength and fighting prowess, this commander of arcane knights knew that she faced a foe far beyond her means.

  “Is that the sum of your strength fire bird!” Osrown bore down upon her once more. Aggressively Crystal defended herself wielding the chains with immense might and wrath. It came to naught. Osrown overpowered her, smiting her body with horrific wounds sending her reeling to the floor in agony.

  “It would seem as though arcane knights are pathetically weak,” blood dripped from his claws, mouth curled in a snarl Osrown floated above her gloating in his victory, “I was hoping a warrior with the blood of Fe’anorr would have given me a much more challenging fight, the mighty phoenix god isn’t so powerful after all.”

  Pure resolve fuelled her muscles as she rose to her feet. She wouldn’t allow this vile creature to insult her divine lord. “Unchain me and I’ll give you the fight you so badly desire.”

  “I see, what you lack in strength you make up for in guts,” his eyes studied her, deep and penetrating they were. Defiant as always Crystal stood unyielding before his gaze. “So be it little fire bird.”

  The chains snapped, showering the ground as metallic sand.

  “Look at that!” his demonic voice was brimming with excitement, “there is hope in your eyes, an eagerness for victory and a hunger for revenge! You’re still lacking one thing, so let me give it to you.” Reaching into the darkness Osrown withdrew a shimmering sword. Crystal’s eyes widened in joy, it was Herakas, her blade, as familiar to her as her own body was. A great hope was born within her, she smiled humbly, Osrown had just summoned his own demise.

  “Reef steel,” Osrown examined the blade, “a few low level enchantments, not a terribly powerful weapon but effective enough.”

  Crystal was surprised when Osrown handed her the sword, she half expected the reaver to throw the weapon at her feet. He had shown respect for the blade, there was a shred of honour in him after all.

  “Funny that a fire bird would wield a water blade, do you know much of reef steel?”

  “Only that its name isn’t very imaginative. It’s mined on the sea shore and once tempered is much stronger than steel and iron, yet still cannot compare to blades forged of dempt stone.” She wondered why he had suddenly become so chatty; it worked highly in her favour though for her phoenix blood had already began to heal her wounds. His over confidence would lead to his downfall.

  “Eons ago when the world was young there were colossal titans that roamed the great oceans. These mammoth hulking giants often fought with each other turning the oceans red with blood. Great currents washed the carcasses upon reef and shore and over thousands of years their bones fossilised into a very rare ore. Your blade is made of the bones of a creature that was once so powerful your pitiful mind could never comprehend their magnificence.”

  “Yet you said this sword in itself was not very powerful?”

  “Because it is not, not once compared to a real weapon.” A black sword materialised in his gnarled hand. Long and serrated it carried with it an aura of complete dread. The colour of the blade reminded her so much of Sunderfall, a weapon of immense killing power. Sunderfall was demon forged; this blade of Osrown’s was not to be taken lightly.

  Without hesitation Crystal surged forward. Clearly the attack came as a surprise to the reaver who was slow to react. Arcane knights weren’t powerful, Crystal scoffed at the words; she would teach this monster not to underestimate her. Now that she wielded Herakas she would unleash her full might upon him.

  There was a great noise as flesh and bone was destroyed. The ground was spurted with blood as an arm fell crashing down. A mortal arm, Crystals arm. She collapsed to her knees, left arm completely torn from its socket. Rushing in; it was such a classic rookie mistake, how could she have been so foolish.

  “Pathetic fool!” Osrown roared in coarse laughter. The wound he had inflicted upon her was devastating, flesh and muscle torn beyond recognition. Serrago, the organ flayer, blade forged to ruin the flesh of man.

  It was the Terrifos rage that came next absolutely consuming every particle of Crystals being. Akella had mastered the rage and knew how to channel it to devastating effect but Crystal had not, for she had never known or faced the adversities that her sister had. Crystal was now a mindless vessel of hatred attacking Osrown with unrelenting brutality, sword glistening in the darkness with every powerful blow. Berserker, unfeeling, unthinking, the pain of her wounds nothing to her as she continued her frenzied attacks until at last the blood loss rendered her body useless. She collapsed, unconscious.

  “Little fire bird, you are now my favourite prize.” The dramatic increase in the power of her attacks once dismembered truly impressed him. Osrown grinned wickedly as he thought of all the tortures he could suffer onto her. Humans died so quickly under extreme pain, but a fire bird, he shivered at the thought.

  As Osrown sealed the cell door he transformed back into his human disguise, a whistle escaping his lips as he strut his way along the dungeon passages.

  The tower ramparts gave a magnificent view of the valley surrounding the monastery. Osrown stood on the balcony of his chamber as the dawn sun rose in the east. It was mockery of course, to stare at the sun in jest at Fe’anorr while the fire birds endured imprisonment in the dungeons below.

  Soldiers began calling to each other in the guard houses as the fortified steel gates were slowly opened. A lone figure entered atop a tall brown mare. His garb, a green and ivory robe with silver ribbons was worn and soiled from his travels. Osrown stared down at the stranger wondering who would come so early and unannounced. The stranger drew back the hood of his cloak revealing long grey hair. His face was aged and care worn, his smile bright and warm. The soldiers were at ease around him, conversing freely with this man of whom they held great respect.

  It couldn’t have been more fortuitous. Osrown beckoned his servant over, the young acolyte always stood within his chamber, ready to serve unless dismissed.

  “Have Delrawk brought to me at once, inform him there is a matter of pressing urgency for which I need his immediate aid.”

  “At once my lord,” with a courteous bow the acolyte hurried from the room.

  The crystal glasses sparkled as Osrown poured in a generous amount of aged brandy, the sweet aroma from the liquor arose as it danced within the elegant glass. Delrawk entered, Osrown met him with a smile handing him the exotic beverage. “It’s good to see you my friend, you’re looking well,”

  “As well as one can for this time of morning,” Delrawk relished the brandy; it was greatly welcomed after his long travels. “I’m afraid I have travelled far only to come to your door with dark tidings,” his eyes were burdened; a great weight was upon him. With a deep sigh his face warmed, as though his mind was suddenly cleared of his ill thoughts, “we can speak of that in a moment, your ward said you had pressing need of me.”

  “I do,” he strolled out onto the balcony, Delrawk in toe. Gazing out across the vast forest his words came slow, thoughtful, “masked behind the beauty of our land is a terrible evil, constantly it plagues us, growing in strength it strikes at
those who are ill prepared to defend against it. That evil has grown bold, entering these holy walls under a cunning disguise to strike me down so that its master may rise unopposed to crush all that it good and pure.”

  Delrawk’s face shadowed with concern as he listened to the clerics tale.

  “You must forgive me for what I am about to ask of you my old friend, but I fear I face a power that I do not have the means to overcome.”

  “What is it?” Delrawk placed a soothing hand on Osrown’s shoulder; he couldn’t stand to see such woe upon his friend, “what has come to plague you so?”

  “A pair of witches assaulted me, only by the valour of my soldiers was I saved, for they were terribly powerful,” his tone was one of humility, acknowledging his frailty. Delrawk was moved by his honesty, always Osrown had displayed such modesty, “I had their souls cleansed and their bodies burned, and for that a terrible retribution is coming for me.”

  “Retribution? Who is coming for you?”

  “One of the witches I burned, her name was Crystal Terrifos. I have learned she has a sister, a witch of incredible power who has recently has been committing horrific atrocities across the lands. Now in vengeance she will come for me, Akella Terrifos, a true and murderous servant of the dark ones.”

  From his pocket Delrawk produced a long pipe. “I too know of this witch, in fact, she is the reason for my coming here.” He filled the pipe with fragrant swamp weed, inhaling deeply as he lit the pungent mixture.

  “You know of her?”

  “For months I have been following a trail of ever amassing corpses and have had nothing but conflicting stories and hearsay to go on,” a thick puff of smoke escaped his lips, “but now the pieces are coming together and I can see more clearly the reason behind so much slaughter. I came here to tell you the tale and seek your advice only to find that you yourself are part of the story, and a crucial part. I suspected they might be witches for many of their deeds have required abilities beyond that of mere mortals, and now the evidence is concrete.”