by P. D. Kalnay
“Ivy, Dula, open the main doors,” I shouted.
Dula pointed to a chunky padlock, “They’re locked.”
The doors slid on runners to either side, but the lock prevented it. Given the height, it was likely a safety consideration. The Arath made short work of the lock.
“Get them open,” I repeated.
As the doors opened under rusty, screeching protest, I returned to my questions, “Well?”
“The phoenix was a rare joint effort between two scholars, Master. Marielain Fireborn Talantial and Filiath Hailborn Lanaal. One crafted the metal frame and enchantments of movement, and the other provided the enchantments of wind. When the task was complete, neither would grant the other the right of first flight. With each commanding only half of the enchantments–”
“Nobody could fly it,” I finished. Typical for bloody fae.
“As you now have both winathen and petrathen blood, Master, all the enchantments should be within your grasp.”
“And you know how to fly it?”
“I contain the notes of both enchanters, Master.” The doors banged into their end stops.
“Time to go!” I shouted.
A powerful draft ripped through the open doorway, drawing smoke and ash. It had just become the top of a really big chimney. The metal spider climbed up a wingtip and moved nimbly to stand on the head of the bird. I jumped up onto the saddle in front of the wings and pulled Ivy, and then Dula up behind me. Although the saddle was generous, three was a crowd.
Lighter bits of flaming debris flew by and out, and hot wind pushed against my wings. Ivy pulled me tight with one arm around my waist.
“Can you fly this?” she shouted.
“I hope so,” I shouted back, and then I turned to the spider, “How does this work?”
“You must extend the wings and stand, Master.”
More explosions rang out behind and a large section of roof collapsed across the hall.
I let my senses flow through the metal bird. Thousands of words from the Titans’ language were inscribed across and inside it. The interior was hollow, in the same disappointing way many chocolate Easter bunnies are. It wasn’t the right time to worry about that. The words inscribed around the many joints were like those on the gates of Marielain’s workshop and the hand at the end of my left arm. Stretching the wings wide was as easy as wishing them open, and standing it up on the legs was a wobbly process, but also straightforward. The wobbling continued amid the buffeting of hot wind and smoke.
“Now what?”
“You must activate the lifting enchantments on the wings and tail, Master.”
Besides the petrathen enchantments carved in metal, there were winathen enchantments bound around and within the bird. They’d accomplished the binding by anchoring those enchantments to others in the metal body. It was the only example I’d seen of combining different methods of fae enchantment—other than the simple, deadly ones surrounding the warehouse in Havensport. In terms of complexity—there was no comparison. I knew enough of gliding to understand the basics.
It would have to do.
I activated all of them and the air thickened in a thin zone under us and thinned along the top skin of the golden bird. Air also left the inside cavity and a near perfect vacuum formed. The whole bird became lighter which meant less stable at the top end of the inferno.
“Now what?”
“Step off and fly, Master.”
What? That was all the instructions? We’re going to die.
As more explosions rang out behind, their shock waves slid us half the distance to the open doorway on screeching talons. It looked as if we’d be leaving one way or the other. I wished I had a hand free with which to hold on. I moved the legs, walking forward a few cautious steps and was about to warn my companions when we reached the brink. A final explosion tore that opportunity from my grasp, as it flung us out, launching us from the side of the collapsing building.
We glided out and away so smoothly that at first I thought we’d be fine. That lasted maybe three heartbeats before the left wing dipped and we began a spiralling dive towards rim of the waterfall and the ruins of the southern bridge. Ivy screamed my name, Dula just screamed, and the little spider was repeatedly saying something it took a hundred feet of mad free-fall for me to understand, “Flap, Master. Flap the wings!”
Then an epiphany struck as the roiling water raced up to meet us. It was a bird, not a plane. I flapped the wings. The first flap provided no lift, but it levelled us out and calmed our fall. I tried to imagine that the bird’s wings were my own and flapped up a storm trying to stop our decent. That proved impossible, but I did get some control and slowed us. I even managed to turn and fly past the edge of the falls.
We missed the jagged rock and spraying water by a good ten feet as we passed between the remains of footings from the southern bridge. Time slowed as we hung out over the brink. Instinct caused me to turn my head in that moment and look straight into the eyes of Vraith Stormshadow, standing on the far bank. He watched from the last footing of the collapsed bridge. In that instant he flashed me a satisfied smile and offered an ironic salute before turning south.
Only later did I recognise the thick, red leather tome he had tucked under his other arm.
Out past the falls I calmed down, spread the wings and tail to their maximums, and flapped continuously, while also managing a wide descending spiral. Pretty good, I thought, for a first flight, but we were still going rapidly downward, and I tried to aim for the little island where Falan waited. Instead, I overshot the lake.
The water rushed up and met us a short minute after taking flight. We were downriver from the island, and just up from the worst rapids. I’d seen Falan racing to launch the boat during a last frantic glance.
Those facts constituted all the good news.
Instinctively, I pulled the wings in tight before we splashed down. Then the world became a dark, wet nightmare, and I lost all sense of direction.
Even in my tumbling, turbulent trip downriver, I held the hammer tight. I knew that surviving without it would be pointless. Something smashed me in the side of my head and I fell fast asleep—after taking a deep breath of water.
***
“Jack! Wake up!”
Somebody slapped my face. That seemed unfair, but I slept in an uncomfortable position, so I didn’t resist. The more I woke, the less comfortable that position became. I was wet, cold, and my leg hurt. Falan was upside-down, which was weird. Then a sharp ripping pain in my right knee dragged me closer to wakefulness.
“Jack, you must release your hammer,” Ivy shouted, over top of the rumbling of rapids.
“I can’t lose it,” I said.
“It’s shallow here,” she said, “Let it go.”
I could never say no to Ivy, and the hammer slipped from my fingers into the water. Falan pushed me up, against the current, and I discovered that he wasn’t upside-down, but had merely been standing over me.
“Princess, can you free it?” he shouted.
“I believe so,” Ivy shouted back.
I screamed as she wrapped her arms around my thigh and heaved my foot free from the rocks of the riverbed that held it trapped. I was all the way awake. Falan pushed me further forward and put my arm around his neck. We were near the northern shore, in the shallow, rocky bend we’d passed before sighting the waterfall. I’d floated a long way downstream before becoming wedged. Falan set me on the bank, falling on his back beside me, huffing and puffing. A moment later, Ivy sat on my other side.
My leg hurt a lot, but it wasn’t the only part that did. My left eye had swelled shut. I’d definitely bounced off of things during my trip downriver. I saw that they’d tied the boat to a tree downstream.
“What happened?” I asked. “Is Dula safe?”
“He’s back at the campsite,” Ivy said. “He kept hold of the metal bird. After Falan collected me from the water, we towed them to the island. The many legged creature also held on and
is safe. When I catch my breath, I shall examine your injuries.”
***
Ivy held my swollen knee and sang. The pain diminished, and the swelling vanished before my eye. When she removed her hands, I flexed the leg. It was stiff, but not terrible. I was reminded of a question I’d meant to ask for a long time.
“Is the singing part of the enchantment?”
Ivy flushed as she looked up at me.
“Yes, petrathen shape in stone or metal, winathen most often cast upon the winds, and florathen sing. The foci of our enchantments are rarely stationary.”
“Huh, thanks. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve saved me.”
“Falan helped,” Ivy said.
“Thanks, Falan.”
He still lay on his back, only giving me an acknowledging wave.
“Nine,” Ivy said.
“What?”
“But who’s counting?” She smiled a tired smile. “We should return to the campsite.”
***
I collected my hammer before we headed back upriver. Dula stood on the flat, rocky shoreline next to the golden bird, and it was hard to be sure, while still a ways off, but once we got close, I grew certain… the bird had shrunk. It looked undamaged by the crash landing, but was now half its original size. Falan sat at the tiller, and I jumped from the prow ahead of making landfall. I regretted doing so, with a pained grunt, when my weight came down on my still tender knee. Ivy called me an idiot under her breath.
“What happened to the bird?” I asked Dula.
“I’ve no idea, Prince Jakalain. It has diminished in size over the last hours.”
The metal spider appeared on the top of a nearby boulder.
“Do you know what happened to it?” I asked.
“Yes, Master, the phoenix is waning much like the creature it is named for.”
“Jack!”
Ivy pointed upward, and I followed her finger to the library. With one final, powerful explosion the last standing section of the flaming complex collapsed in on itself. The Great Library of Anukdun, which had stood for thousands of turbulent millennia, hadn’t survived one full week of us.
“It’s gone,” Dula whispered, staring up at the smouldering ruins.
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“Vraith has found vengeance upon his prison,” Ivy said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe the library has fallen…”
“It’s my fault,” I said.
“How so?” Dula asked. He still hadn’t turned his tear streaked face from the black pillar of smoke.
“I released Vraith Stormshadow from his cage,” I said.
“Why would you do such a thing? The loss of the library is unfathomable… So much knowledge that can never be replaced.”
Dula’s shoulders shook as he wept into his hands.
“Everything will be lost if we fail,” I said.
It was a hard thing to say, but also true, and sparing the library while letting the world end wasn’t a better choice. I turned to Ivy who gave me a grim nod.
“We’ll rebuild the library,” I said. “Knight’s Haven is a more logical place for a central repository of knowledge.”
That idea came to me in the moment.
“The library wasn’t the buildings, it was the knowledge within,” Dula said through his hands.
“Exactly,” I looked over at the silver spider perched on a boulder beside us. “How much did you get?”
“All of it, Master, as per your instructions. Except the most recent material—not included in the stacks.”
“Jack?”
“You have to understand Marielain Blackhammer,” I said. “What he cared about and the kind of jerk he was.” I shrugged. There was no denying that I had a bit of that same jerk in me. “When I saw inside the library, I coveted the knowledge and wanted it for myself.”
“We are what we are,” Ivy said.
“Yes, and so was old Marielain. He’d figured out a way to create magical computers with limitless storage capacity, capable of operating independently for a very long time. No living being could read through all the stacks in search of an answer, and patience wasn’t one of Marielain’s virtues anyway…”
“So you’re saying…” Ivy stared at the metal automaton.
“Yes, it’s all in there.”
“What is a computer?” Dula asked.
“A thinking machine from the Seventh World,” Ivy said.
“Truly?”
“More or less,” I said. “The knowledge from the library is intact. That may be the only positive to be found here today.”
“Prince Jakalain?” Falan asked.
“Yeah.”
“What are you talking about?”
Chapter 34 – Moonborn
Falan and Dula slept by the campfire, and Ivy and I sat next to one another on the highest part of the little island. I felt less tired than I should have, considering the last few days. Unease washed over me in the middle of our silent vigil, along with a nagging sense that I’d forgotten something important. Having just brought a fiery end to the oldest institution of learning on the oldest world in all of creation—my logical mind said I’d already done more than enough.
It was the second night of the triple eclipse or whatever they called the lining up of the moons, and they were beautiful—a silver centre, ringed by pink and pale blue-green halos. Ivy seemed content to sit silently with me, moon gazing, for so long that I assumed she was lost in her own thoughts.
I gave a start when she spoke.
“Happy birthday, Jack.”
Was it my/our birthday? I’d lost track of the days. The keeping of any calendar was pointless since there was nothing organised about my life. Ivy was tied tightly to the cycles of living things, so if she said it was our birthday, I didn’t doubt her.
“Happy birthday. Back on Earth we’d be adults.”
“Three more years for us here,” Ivy said, “but there is something we should decide now.”
I’d hoped to leave the next hard choices till morning, after at least a few hours of sleep.
“What’s that?”
“We are now eighteen…”
Ivy obviously waited for me to say something. I had no clue what. She stared up at me, and thanks to the bright moonlight I could see the wet filling her eyes.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing is wrong,” Ivy glanced up at the still smouldering ruins on top of the waterfall before adding, “Many things are wrong, but I’m speaking of us. We are eighteen.”
“I’m still not following.”
“We can now perform the second part of the binding—of our marriage ceremony.”
That was something I knew about, but had, I think, reasonably forgotten in the madness.
“Do we have to do it on our birthdays? What if we had different birthdays?”
Ivy frowned at me.
“Of course we don’t have to do it on our birthdays. The only requirement is that we are both of age, but…”
“But?”
“We have the chance to continue the binding under the most auspicious conditions possible, given you are moonborn, however—if you have doubts…”
I didn’t know what my middle name had to do with anything, but Ivy’s eyes had spilled over and leaked down each cheek, so I kissed her.
“You explained none of this to me,” I reminded her. “The only thing I don’t have doubts about is us. How do we do the second part?”
“You are certain?”
“I was the one who wanted to get married months ago.”
“That is true, though I suspect you were most interested in the wedding night.”
Denial was pointless—I just shrugged. That actually cheered her up, and Ivy gave me a mischievous grin.
“Each binding is deeper and stronger than the one preceding it. The first binding was merely a bond of words, which is the most fragile, as intentions may be tenuous. The second binding is one of flesh. We must
mingle our blood and say the vows.”
“And number three?” I asked.
“The final vows will further bind us, and the enchantment will become unbreakable when we…”
“When we what?”
“Become one as husband and wife.”
It looked as though some things were the same everywhere.
“So how does this work?”
“In ancient times, they used teeth, but a knife is more common.” Ivy reached across my waist and drew the small belt knife I used for cooking and camp chores. She placed one sharp edge against the palm of her right hand. “Now, clasp hands with me around the blade. I’ll say the vow first, and then you repeat it.”
I gently intertwined my fingers with Ivy’s around the razor-sharp blade, being careful not to press too hard. Without warning, Ivy clenched my hand tight and tore the knife downward—cutting us deep. Then she squeezed even tighter, pressed our wounds together, and spoke.
“I accept the bond of your blood.”
Short and sweet, but I supposed for a ceremony that traditionally involved teeth that was to be expected.
“I accept the bond of your blood.”
The first part of the bonding had done nothing I’d noticed at the time, although I’d also had a thorny vine digging into my wrist, distracting me. As soon as the words left my mouth, sharp pain flared in my hand and a wave of something ran through my body. It felt vaguely similar to the sensation when we’d formed our pact with Falan, and I my truce with Vraith, but more personal and intense. For a split second I could feel Ivy’s body like it was my own, right down to the sharp rock poking her backside. Then the shared sensation vanished again.
Ivy didn’t release my hand until she’d healed our wounds. No pain remained, but I had new scar across my palm. Ivy’s healing usually left no scars.
“That was intense,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Does the enchantment prevent you from healing the scars?”
I examined the pale line of skin.
“No.” Ivy held up her own scar-free hand. Then she touched her necklace, “I have left my mark for all to see.”
That was a bit weird, but my hand was otherwise fine, and I had plenty of scars already. Ivy shifted on her rocky seat. I moved away so she could get off the sharp patch, and she moved to my former spot. The binding had been very personal if more disturbing than romantic.
