Phoenix Rising (Maggie Henning & The Realm Book 1)

by Lisa Morgan

  Michel, I can end this. That’s what The Realm has waited all these years for and that’s why I’m here. I can’t control the fire yet and they know it, but I can control this.

  “Please, don’t do this, Maggie!” he begged, still fighting Luc’s restraint.

  I just found you, I went on, finality in my choice and trying my best to hide my emotions. If this is the price to keep all those I love safe, I’ll gladly pay it.

  I turned to face the revenant, shutting out the rest of Michel’s pleas. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward with my hands in front of me. When I reached the monster, I could feel its eyes on me. I tried to raise my chin in defiance, but couldn’t bring myself to.

  I saw Seatha scurry toward The Realm’s army after being shoved to the ground. Her wings, once so beautiful, were wrinkled and ruined.

  “Bind her,” the revenant commander ordered. Heavy solid black chains were clasped around my wrists.

  “Obsidian. Do not bother to attempt to use your fire, it is useless against this stone,” the leader explained to me.

  “I said I’d go with you,” I responded with dissent, looking at it full on. Its sickly yellow eyes were nothing except light beneath his cowl. There was almost no flesh left on its skull, and I could see the vertebrae that made up its neck.

  And I could feel its sense of success as the orbs watched me.

  He raised his hands skyward and a collective groan rose up in response from the skeletal army behind him. I watched as they began to disappear, transporting them to where ever it was that they called home with the same bright flashes of light that had brought them here.

  The leader stepped around me to face my friends, keeping his bony hands tight on my shoulders and cutting into me. I fought to hide the wince of pain the creature’s hold caused, not wanting to display weakness.

  The world around me was growing black, like I was being dragged into a tunnel. The last things I heard before the darkness took its claim over me was Luc screaming out in fury, and Michel calling my name.

  Thirty Four

  My vision returned slowly, and I rubbed my eyes as I tried to regain focus on the world. There was little light and the air felt cold. I realized the restraints I’d been wearing were gone from my wrists.

  I took a few steps, trying to discern where I might have been taken. There were no windows to look out of, the only light coming from glowing orange spheres that seemed to float around the chamber just out of my reach. Bars that appeared to be made of the same stone my cuffs had been held me captive in the tiny room. I grabbed them and tried to wiggle them free, to no avail. I was trapped in this cell.

  It was damp and cold, and the air smelled of must and sewage. My feet were bare and freezing, standing on an unforgiving stone floor. I saw that my armor was gone, replaced by an oversized white crepe gown that was far too big and flowed freely around me. I leaned against the rough stone wall before sliding to sit on the floor, drawing my knees to my chest and holding them tightly to fight off the chill.

  I’d done the right thing, giving my friends and The Realm a chance to save themselves. I tried to hold on to those thoughts as my own terror fought against them.

  I hoped Michel would live and one day forgive me after seeing I’d done what was best for everyone. He was going to live and would eventually find love again, maybe even have a few children. As I willed a picture to life in my imagination of Michel in the castle of Celine, spinning a raven-haired little girl around him in his arms, I felt a pang of hurt as my heart broke.

  I silently prayed that Autumn wouldn’t blame herself for the witch’s magicks not being enough to hold back the revenants. I offered an appeal to whatever gods Seatha worshipped to heal her wings so she’d fly again, maybe even remove that nasty scar King Edwyn had pronounced on her as punishment.

  I could see my grandfather sitting at the old desk in the library, scrawling down the tale of Maggie Henning, the final Phoenix, and the sacrifice she’d made to save all of The Realm and the world of humans, too.

  I couldn’t help but smile briefly, remembering Luc catching me when I’d lost my footing before the king’s gala, his green eyes seeming to have been memorizing my face. I saw his father, his hand on Luc’s shoulder. I felt the memory of the wind on my face when I’d rode his motorcycle, trying to clear my anger at his brother. Now I felt sick that Michel’s words had wounded me so.

  The smile faded as I heard Luc’s plea echo through my thoughts, begging me not to fight. I heard his promise play over and over as if it was a skipping record.

  I will keep you safe, even at the cost of my own life.

  I hoped he found humor in the irony that it was me and not him that had been the one to fulfill that promise.

  I knew he wouldn’t. I knew that he’d be wretched, blaming that damned curse. I prayed that somewhere, he heard me thinking, ordering him not to blame himself for this.

  Chains rattled from a dark corner of the cell, sending a whole new wave of fear coursing through me. I scurried to stand, pressing myself as close to the opposing wall as I could.

  “Who’s there?” I asked timidly. I was glaring in the direction the noise had come from, straining to see what was in the prison with me. Another rattle of chains, and then two red eyes reflected back at me.

  A scratchy voice mused from the shadows, “This is the great Margaret Henning, the child of John Henning and last of the all-powerful Phoenix?”

  I tried to breathe as I watched the red eyes move closer, slowly creeping their way from the corner.

  “I am,” I forced, moving a few sideways steps to distance myself from whatever creature was nearing, finally coming to a stop against the stone bars. I was left with nowhere else to go.

  “But you’re here … in this cell with me. I do not recall this chapter in all of the stories of your arrival.”

  “Show yourself,” I demanded, but without the mettle behind the command. The chains clinked as the creature in the shadows stepped out into the orange haze of light.

  Standing in front of me was a man. He was skinny—too much so—and I suspected he was malnourished. His clothes, the ripped and filthy garments covering him, hung off his wilted frame. From his chin, a shaggy beard grew, tangled and crusted. His hair hung down to touch his chest, matted and as brown as the whiskers on his face.

  His eyes, red in the gaunt sockets, peered at me. Heavy looking chains around his ankles, wrists, and neck bound him to the wall. I saw dried scabs under the bindings where he must have fought to escape.

  I tilted my head to try to observe him without getting any closer. I didn’t see horns, wings, or any other feature that would tell me what manner of being he was. Squinting to see his mouth, the thin man smiled as if he sensed what I was doing. No fangs, but his teeth did look razor sharp.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  He gave a chuckle as he backed up to slacken his chains and sat on the floor. “Well, I’m chained to a wall in a revenant keep. I guess that would make me the same as you, Henning. A prisoner.”

  “What manner of creature are you?”

  He bowed his head without shifting his eyes from my stare. “My name is Davis. I, too, am the last of my kind.”

  “Which is?”

  “Lycanthrope.”

  “You’re a werewolf?” I exclaimed. “How is that possible? King Edwyn ordered the entire species’ execution after the first war with the revenants.”

  A growl rumbled in his throat as he answered, “I do not require a history lesson from you, little fire bird.”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized sincerely. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just surprised.”

  Davis leered at me, his teeth bared. He watched me like I was a hamburger, and goose bumps rose on my arms.

  Seeming pleased with my reaction, he smiled. “The king did order the destruction of my race, many years ago. However, we’re a clever group, and some of us were able to evade Edwyn’s soldiers. We hid ourselves in the world of humans.
”

  “How did you get here?” I asked, sinking back to the floor and resuming the tight hold on my knees.

  “My pack had been reduced to only a baker’s dozen worth of members after Edwyn’s declaration. We escaped his knights and fled to the human realm,” Davis said, sadness at the reliving of the memory hanging in his words.

  “We were unfamiliar with the workings of humans. When we’d lived within the Realm, we’d stayed to the forests; hunting, reproducing, and keeping to ourselves. In the human world, we would only surface two or three at a time, scavenging for food.”

  I nodded for Davis to go on.

  “Early one morning, a loud explosion woke us in the burrow where we’d been staying. The area began to tremble, and the hard packed walls of dirt trickled down on top of us. We scattered, trying to escape the collapse, but the opening we’d dug had already given way. We worked together, as a pack always does, trying to scrape a way back out. There was another explosion and the rocks over us crumbled, pinning us down.

  “The howling …” Davis seemed to be hearing it in his memory, his eyes drifting past me as he recalled the experience like a war veteran may recall a terrible fire fight. “The sounds of the wailing as my pack struggled for escape, as they died around me. It haunts me still.”

  Davis took a breath and tried to casually wipe the moisture from his eyes before he continued, “I’d curled into a ball nearest my father’s body, using it to try to leverage the rocks away, but they wouldn’t budge. That’s when I realized the stones had crushed my legs. I couldn’t move.

  “The revenants arrived shortly after the collapse. I watched as they picked at my pack, ripped them apart piece-by-piece, and stuffed them into boxes. I tried to lie still, hoping they wouldn’t see me, but the monsters did. One crouched beside me, its eyes glaring down as it examined me. I tried to howl for help, but the creature grabbed my chin in its hand and crushed my jaw until it shattered. I blacked out from the pain, and when I woke, I was here, bound to the wall.”

  I shuddered, picturing the lycan’s story. I could see all of it. I could feel the suffering and hear the howls. I’d heard those noises on the battlefield just hours ago.

  I choked, wiping at me eyes, “How long have you been here?”

  “I can’t be sure,” Davis told me. “The time has passed slowly, and with no moonlight shining through, I haven’t shifted. I have no way to measure, nor does it make a difference. I am here, a captive, until the revenants chose to end me.”

  “Maybe I can help?” I offered timidly. “With how long you’ve been here, I mean?”

  Davis’s eyebrow rose at my suggestion. “How do you think to help me?”

  I slid myself closer to him, yet still out of his reach. “Have you ever heard the revenants speak about the events that brought you here?” He nodded. “Maybe there’s some clue in their words.”

  “When I first woke, the monsters would chide me about the loss of my pack,” Davis recalled.

  “Can you remember exactly what they’d say?”

  Again, Davis nodded. “I’ll never forget the words. Those revenant guards appeared more human than bone. They’d laughed at me as they mocked my pain. They held black and white printed papers full of strange shapes. They’d teased me with them, knowing I didn’t recognize the shapes.”

  “What did the shapes look like?”

  Davis leaned forward, his arm pulling against his chains, and pressed a sharp talon-like claw to the stone floor. Scratching into the stone floor of our cell, he formed the remembered shapes as best he could.

  Twoluo miners founb baob

  I studied Davis’s scratching. Letters, some discernible English letters, marked the floor; the script of the Realm didn’t come close to looking like any alphabet I’d ever seen. I knew that they must be from his memory. Davis had seen these letters. The captors had black and white papers with letters.

  As I squinted at the shapes he’d scrawled on the floor, something from my own memories came back to me.

  “May I?” I asked, reaching for Davis’s hand. He pulled away, seemingly shocked at my touch. I looked at him, aware that I was grabbing onto the hand of what looked like a severely underfed werewolf, but his expression wasn’t one of anger. He looked terrified by my touch.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I promised softly. “I can’t scratch into the floor. I don’t have the nails you do.”

  Timidly, Davis let me cover the top of his hand with my own, his breathing shallow and quick as I touched him. I smiled to him, hoping to set his mind at ease.

  Applying a little pressure and using his nail like a pencil, I scratched letters on the floor. I could feel him watching me as I printed out the words I’d seen once, recalling the context of when I first read them.

  Looking at what I’d spelled and directing him to look, too, I asked him, “Is this what the revenant’s paper looked like?”

  Davis looked in my eyes, and then peered down at the marks I’d made.

  Twelve miners found dead

  I watched his eyes as he blinked at the scored letters I’d made. Slowly, recognition filled him. He looked back to me, amazed. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve read them before,” I replied, looking at the scratches, “in a human newspaper. It was a story my grandfather had used to explain how the revenants found humans to turn.”

  He spoke with sadness, running the pad of his finger over the letters I’d made, “They’d bragged about how the ignorant humans would believe such a story. They mocked me about how my pack had escaped Edwyn’s wrath, only to fall at their hands.” Davis’s words drew my attention back to him.

  “My pack, my father … Lycans can’t be turned to the skeletons; something about our innate shifting prevents the switch from working.” He struggled with his explanation.

  I asked, afraid of an honest answer to my inquest, “Why do they keep you here, chained, if they can’t turn you?”

  “Amusement?” Davis answered in disgust, his eyes glowing red while he spoke. “Torture? A joke? I don’t have the answer. Perhaps they plan to parade me around The Realm as the prize that got away from the king. How am I to know the workings of their twisted minds?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, looking back to the words again.

  “Do you know?” he quizzed, his voice softening and his eyes returning to normal as he stared at the letters I’d made. “How long have I been here?”

  Closing my eyes, I searched the picture in my memory of the newspaper I’d read the headline from, scanning the letters I’d seen on the page. Finally, the dateline glared at me like a school bully.

  “June third,” I exhaled, opening my eyes with realization and looking at Davis’s waiting expression.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” I offered, remorse in my voice and reflecting on the date I saw clearly in my mind as I did the math in my head, “You’ve been here ten years.”

  The lycan’s expression changed. A howl rang out, bouncing off the walls of the cell. I covered my ears as Davis’s wailing cried out around me. It was frightening, but only in how much sorrow it held.

  I watched him as the cry grew silent, slowly drifting away until the werewolf had no air left in him to continue. I took my hands from my ears, watching a tear roll down his face, leaving behind one clean streak on an otherwise filthy face.

  He slumped forward, bracing his arms on his knees. “I was eight, in human years, when they took me. I was due to turn one year more on the eleventh full moon.”

  My limited knowledge in astronomy didn’t tell me exactly when his birthday would have been. I thought I recalled thirteen full moons a year, but I wasn’t positive. His birthday fell in either November or December. In any case, he’d been nothing more than a child when the revenants had caged him.

  My heart broke. “That would make you eighteen or nineteen years old in the human world.”

  “A man grown,” he went on, his voice a mixture of sorrow and disgust. �
�I should’ve been mated, a family of my own begun. If not for King Edwyn’s bias and the revenants chaining me … Now what good am I?” he asked me softly, lifting his face.

  “I’m sixteen,” I answered. “I should be thinking about learning to drive and stalking hot guys at the mall. But here I am, the revenants planning to do whatever to me in order to take over the universe.”

  An angry tear fell with my words as I looked down to my hands. “Guess neither of us ended up doing what we planned.”

  I heard the chains rustle and felt Davis’s whiskers scratch against my neck. I could feel the heavy weights that held him trapped as he put his arms around me, pulling me to him. It wasn’t an attempt at anything romantic. Rather, it was a shared pain. He’d been alone in the cell for ten years, and I felt he needed the nearness as much as I did.

  I didn’t fight off the embrace and I didn’t try to pull away. No matter how Davis looked, I wasn’t afraid he’d hurt me anymore. I needed to not feel alone right now as I waited to see what fate I was to be dealt.

  He muttered in my ear, hearing the strain in his voice as he tried to keep control of his emotions, “At least we’re together for this time. No one should face destiny alone.”

  Thirty Five

  The lycan and I remained in that embrace, sharing stories with each other for what felt like hours; trying to distract ourselves from what awaited me when the revenants arrived to escort me to what I knew would be my death.

  He told me about his family. His father had been the second in command of his pack prior to the king’s order to kill all the werewolves. He swore to me, offering a blood oath, that no lycan would’ve turned to the revenants other than to kill the creatures.

  I judged by his voice, by the honesty I felt in his words, that it was the truth. I was angry by the king’s decision to wipe out Davis’s people, but the man holding me told me there was no time to waste on looking to the past.

  When I would shudder, wondering about the nightmare I was going to face, Davis would try to distract me by telling stories about hunts he’d been on, sharing tales his mother would tell the young in his pack.