The Phoenix King: The Thunderheart Chronicles Book 2

by Alexander Brockman

  “Reklatorr!”

  Rarely did the magic obey Timothy, since he didn’t have his own soulrock, but tonight it seemed to be in a sympathetic mood. The lock opened with a gentle click.

  Timothy pulled open the door and felt power wash over him. Some of it was good, but some of it was very, very wrong. As he stepped up into the little room lightning flashed behind him, and he could see an outline of a human body. Mom?

  He heard someone yelling for him from the boat, but he didn’t care. The young boy fumbled in his pocket for the match he always kept there and stuck it as he heard the ramp being lowered from the ship.

  What he saw filled him with sadness, rage, and terror. His mother was wearing a battle robe, and even in death clutched her wand with all her strength. Her eyes were open, her face contorted in that last horrifying expression of pain and fear. But the worst were the bolts. They were small and had been fired from a crossbow, a coward’s weapon of choice. Three of them protruded from his mother’s chest. They weren’t made of wood, or metal, or any material that Timothy knew. They were black and purple, and oozing with a strange sort of power Timothy had never felt before. He reached out his hand to touch one, but his fingers passed right through as if the bolt held no more substance than wind.

  Timothy stepped back from the awful scene before him and lost his footing. He hit the dock hard as he heard feet pounding next to him, muffled by the pattering rain. The young boy closed his eyes hard to stop the tears, but they came anyway. He barely felt his father scoop him up in strong, sailor’s arms.

  “Mom,” Timothy said, burying his head in his father’s chest. “They killed her.”

  “I know, Tim,” his father said. Timothy had never heard his father cry before, but now the merchant’s voice shook as he held his son.

  Timothy felt his heartbeat start to slow as his father carried him back to the ship. Slowly, the panic died, replaced by cold, hard rage.

  “One day I’m going to find who did this,” Timothy said, “and I’m going to kill him.”

  “I don’t doubt it Tim,” his father said, “and I hope you will make him pay dearly for your mother’s pain.”

  Timothy felt Eleanor gently grab his hand, pulling his mind to the present. Aidan had paused and was watching them, concern etched on the wizard’s face.

  Timothy shook his head to clear the memories. “Did Malcommer say how we are supposed to find Garret?”

  Aidan shook his head. “He said Kyra would know something. Any luck on that translation spell, Eleanor?”

  She nodded. Timothy was grateful that her fingers were still entwined with his. “I have a rough spell ready. It needs a constant power source, and you have more magic than any of us Aidan, so I’m going to put it on you. Well, technically it’s a curse on you, a spell on the paper, but I don’t think you’ll really notice it. It won’t be perfect, and it will only last until you run out of writing space. Do you have your notebook?”

  Aidan nodded and pulled out his empty notebook. Timothy smirked. He was filling his second leather bound journal. His first had become a sketchbook of the various plants and wildlife he had seen in the Nefarious Lands.

  Eleanor took the book and pulled out her own, where she had written the spell.

  “This is going to take a few hours. You two can try to get some more rest.”

  Aidan stumbled back to his sleeping bag, but Timothy stayed where he was as Eleanor started chanting. Her delicate hands were clasped in her lap, her gorgeous blue eyes closed as the Sorcerer’s Tongue skillfully departed from her mouth.

  After a minute or so she opened the eye closest to Timothy and stopped speaking. The magic that had been building in the air dissipated.

  “This isn’t easy with you staring at me.”

  Timothy grinned. “I’m just admiring the spell.”

  Eleanor grinned back. “It seems like you’re admiring the spellcaster.”

  “I’ll try to admire more quietly.”

  Eleanor sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, I guess you can watch. Just stop me if I say something wrong. I would hate to turn Aidan into a grasshopper.”

  Timothy laughed. But as he remembered his mother’s eyes, her face permanently etched in terror, he felt like they were all little more than grasshoppers. And they were about to go up against the most vicious of birds.

  ***

  Aidan tried to sleep again, but every time he drifted off the roc let forth another cry and he was jolted from his slumber. Aaliyah returned as the sun began to rise above the trees, dark rings under her eyes.

  “The giant hole in the mountain is where the roc enters and exits. Other than that, there are no other openings,” she reported. “Also, we have a problem. I think I could see some hellhounds beyond the river. They seem to be avoiding the roc’s territory, but they’re blocking our retreat.”

  Eleanor finished her spell-weaving about an hour later, right as Kyra woke up.

  It was all Aidan could do not to laugh. When he saw Aaliyah in the morning, her amogh hair was just as straight and pretty as when she went to sleep. Not so for Kyra. Her hair had essentially become a cloud of wool that made her look like a very pale-faced black sheep.

  Eleanor wasted no time in making her and Aidan place their hands on his journal while she said the last few bits of the enchantment.

  Aidan immediately felt the curse begin to suck the magic out of him and into the notebook.

  “Is it working?” he asked. He felt more power go out of him and looked down. Messy handwriting was scrawled across the page, in a language he didn’t understand.

  Kyra said something to Eleanor, and again Aidan felt that power leave him. The journal had chosen much neater lettering for the witch, full of loops and curves.

  He’s not very bright, is he?

  Aaliyah laughed. “Remember when I said I didn’t want her to come along? I changed my mind. She can stay.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes and stepped away from the notebook before Kyra could make another comment about his intelligence.

  “The spell will only work if you’re both touching the paper,” Eleanor said, “that way it doesn’t fill up with everything you say.”

  “You should ask her about the Dark Angel,” Timothy said. Aidan wasn’t sure, but he thought his friend’s voice got a little bit tighter whenever they were talking about Malcommer’s rogue agent.

  Eleanor nodded. “Good idea. The more we can learn, the—”

  At that moment a screech echoed from the cave, but this time it was different. For one it was louder, far louder than anything they had heard the night before. The noise was so great that one by one Aidan’s friends fell to the ground, their hands over their ears, until he was the last one standing.

  And it wasn’t by choice. His head felt as if it was going to burst but, try as he might, his arms refused to budge from his sides. He had heard of people being rooted in terror, but this went beyond that. He couldn’t even move his head to look up, even though he could hear the massive wings flapping above him, feel the power of their wind on his head.

  He felt a talon hook under each arm, but amidst the screeching he could do nothing to stop it. Terror flooded his body as his feet left the ground. He saw Aaliyah try to stand and help him, but it was too late. His body became weightless as the ground dropped away from beneath him, Aaliyah screaming his name.

  7

  Aidan had flown on the backs of many griffins since becoming a sorcerer. He had heard tales of men whose griffins were so well tamed that they could carry their riders in their front talons. He wondered if the experience was anything like this.

  At first, the beast carried him far above the top of the mountain, where it finally stopped its horrendous screech. Aidan was certain the great bird would simply drop him to his death.

  If I can reach my wand before I hit the ground, maybe I can cast a spell that will—

  Before he could finish the thought, the bird dove toward its cave. Aidan felt blood rush to his head from th
e sudden change of direction.

  Of course it won’t drop me; I’m a creature of magic. It wants to eat me.

  The first thing Aidan noticed as they entered the darkness of the great hole was the size. Even with its wings fully outstretched, the bird was able to glide into the cave with ease. The second thing Aidan saw was the light. A bright ball of magic was attached to the ceiling, illuminating everything in soft blue light.

  The bird dropped Aidan several feet away from the ground, and he rolled when he hit the floor. He picked himself up as quickly as he could, wand in hand. The roc had landed in front of him, in what appeared to be a nest. But instead of being made from twigs and grass, the roc’s dwelling consisted of massive trees, logs, and branches, placed with careful precision in a circle around the roc’s feet. The rest of the cave was littered with piles of bones of various sizes, and in one corner what appeared to be a half-eaten bridge troll.

  Put your weapon away before you hurt yourself, the great bird said. Aidan didn’t know how, but the roc’s voice was inside his head. It sounded strong and frail, old and young at the same time.

  “Not likely,” Aidan replied. He could feel a familiar magic in the room. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed that power until now.

  The roc seemed to squint at the young wizard. It brought a massive foot up over the next and towards Aidan.

  Partially from instinct, Aidan yelled out a spell that could, under the right circumstances, slay the most powerful magical creatures he had ever fought. Dragons. “Mahor yok wenne!” Roughly translated, magic come out.

  Aidan felt the rush of energy that he had grown to love and the roc screeched in pain, withdrawing its foot.

  It has been a long time since I felt the sting of a sorcerer, boy.

  “Want to feel it again?” Aidan asked. Now that the boy knew he could hurt the beast, the terror was slowly being replaced by the all too familiar rage that burned deep in his gut.

  The roc stared at him for a few more moments as if wondering how best to eat the annoying hornet it had brought into its home.

  Why have you come to my dwelling? I have done you no harm. Do you wish to hunt me, as some have attempted before? It will not end well for you.

  “No,” Aidan said, never lowering his wand. “I’m here for what’s mine. The phoenix egg. I can feel it in this room.”

  The giant eagle cocked its head. Its brown speckled feathers rustled as it did so, making it look even larger than it was.

  An egg is a precious thing, wizard. It is an unborn life, and belongs to no man or beast.

  Aidan’s courage was growing with his anger. “That egg was a gift from my father. I have been sent to the Nefarious Lands to hatch it. You will give it back.”

  The roc’s mouth opened and a strange sort of cackle came out.

  You are either very brave, very foolish, or very desperate. Whatever the case, I cannot allow you to have one of my brethren’s children without a valid reason, even if you are one of our kind.

  Aidan’s anger disappeared, as quickly as it had come.

  “What do you mean?” Aidan asked.

  You can’t feel it in me? That old, familiar magic? The mark is why I chose to bring you here, rather than one of your friends.

  Now that the roc mentioned it, Aidan could feel something strange in the air. It was similar to the power he had felt during Kyra’s prophecy and the energy he felt in the egg. They were by no means the same power, but there was an identical strand of magic in each of them. It was almost like the food Aidan had eaten at Fort Phoenix. Even though there were hundreds of different meals, all of them had been magically enhanced and, after a while, tasted the same.

  “I can feel the magic. Why is it?” Aidan asked. His wand had slowly lowered without his noticing.

  The bird seemed to be judging Aidan, as if whatever the boy said next would qualify or disqualify him as the eagle’s next meal.

  It’s a mark on our arorr, older than time itself.

  “How did I get it?” Aidan asked. He knew that if the bird kept talking, it would give him time to find the egg.

  It can be passed on from mother to daughter, father to son. Or you may have undertaken a journey that you know nothing about. Tell me, how does one who does not understand the mark hope to hatch a phoenix egg?

  Aidan ground his teeth together. The bird was more cryptic than Aeron the elf.

  “The lands to the north,” Aidan said. “We’ve heard phoenixes still live there. And there’s a chance my father is there too.” Aidan didn’t know why he included the bit about his father, but somehow it felt important.

  Suddenly, the young wizard felt it. The phoenix egg was screaming for him, and he knew where it was—underneath a pile of massive bones, about twenty feet away from him. He couldn’t tell from here, but he was pretty sure the skeleton belonged to a griffin. All he had to do was get there.

  And why do you wish to hatch the egg? The roc said.

  “Malcommer is attacking out country. We need to defend ourselves,” Aidan said, slowly inching towards the griffin bones. He was getting closer to the egg, but he was also drawing closer to the giant eagle with every step he took.

  Typical human. You wish to take the greatest creature to ever grace this world and use it as a weapon. I know not who this Malcommer is, but no sentient creature should have to fight and die for another’s war.

  “Malcommer is the man who killed all of the phoenixes. They are nearly extinct because of him.” Aidan had moved at least ten feet. He was considering making a dash for the egg, though he didn’t honestly know what he would do once he got there.

  The bird looked up at the ceiling, as if thinking. Interesting. So this phoenix would be able to have vengeance for the death of his people. How poetic. A fine tale to add to the story of life.

  Aidan had moved another five feet while the roc was distracted. If he could keep it talking for just a few more seconds, the egg would at least be in arms reach.

  “What do you mean, story of life?”

  The giant eagle made that cackling noise again. Boy, when you are as old as I am, you will understand that life is made of stories, not substance. Every creature, every magic, every grain of sand is a story that has been told and will continue to be told until the end of time.

  Aidan’s foot touched the first bone. He could see the wooden box that held the egg underneath the pile of white remains, but he dared not touch it yet.

  “What’s your story?” Aidan asked.

  Long. Very long. But alas, it is almost over unless I consume an energy that bears the mark. So you see my dilemma with allowing you to walk away with the egg.

  Aidan began to feel cold sweat trickle down his back.

  “You told me that an egg is a precious thing,” the wizard said.

  The roc seemed to sigh. Yes, it is, which is why I have not yet tried to fill myself on its magic. But every moment it sits there I wish to devour it. Of course, there is another option, now that you are here.

  Aidan gripped his wand tighter, ready to grab the box and run. “What is that?”

  If you are willing, you could donate to me some of your power. It would recharge after a few days, but you would be completely vulnerable as I drained you.

  “How do I know you won’t just kill me?” Aidan asked.

  You don’t, the roc said. But you don’t really have a choice. Either you allow me to take your power, or you leave the egg here and sentence it to death. And since I have attempted to save myself without consuming the egg, I will have no regrets about doing so once my first choice is gone.

  Aidan felt dread building in his stomach. The box was trapped under two large bones, he was going to have to use magic to remove them. A creature as powerful and old as the roc would definitely notice that.

  Of course, you could try to take the box you have been sneaking toward and run for freedom. But I do not deal well with betrayal. You would not make it past the river. And your little curse earlier surprised me
more than hurt me. Fighting your way out will not end well.

  Aidan was beginning to feel anger and fear rise again, but he knew everything the roc said was true.

  So what will it be, wizard? You or the egg?

  Aidan looked down at his ring. He knew which one Marcus would choose.

  “Afterwards, will you take us to the phoenixes?” He asked.

  I’m not a griffin. But I will take you as far as the witch’s village if you allow me to feast on your strength.

  Aidan closed his eyes. “Will it hurt?”

  It will be excruciating.

  The wizard tucked his wand into his cloak and steeled himself.

  “Okay. Do it.”

  ***

  Aaliyah was no stranger to pain. She had been shot, stabbed, sliced, beaten, and poisoned. She bore a scar on her cheek from when she was just a girl, and there were several more hidden by her clothes. She would have rather gone through every single one of those, at the same time, than feel what Aidan was going through now.

  It felt as if Aidan’s soul was being ripped apart. She could feel him screaming in agony, their shared heartbeats completely out of control. And the worst part was, this was her fault. Each person on this quest had a purpose. Aidan was the leader, Timothy was a healer, Eleanor could defend the group from magical attacks, and even the witch was useful as a guide. Aaliyah, though, was supposed to be the protector. The one who kept the best hope of defeating Malcommer from getting kidnapped by giant death-birds.

  Timothy and Eleanor huddled together, trying to come up with a quick spell to get the roc to come out of the cave. Kyra was doing something with her powders. But Aaliyah could only stand in their wrecked campsite and watch while Aidan screamed in her head.

  It was getting worse, too. With every blow, Aidan grew weaker, and Aaliyah’s rage and grief grew larger. She closed her eyes to hold back the tears and tried to send words of comfort via their heartsoul link, but she didn’t know how.