The Phoenix Grail

by Helen Savore

  Whenever Alexandrea told Arthurian stories, a second track in her mind recited the lesser known details. She couldn’t recall the last time she switched a part. She ought to give good old great-great how-many-times-removed Uncle Bedivere the role society believed he played. It wasn’t like she hadn’t already given Galahad his due several weeks ago, diving deep into one version of the Grail hunt. That was always tricky with the children. There were so many versions of these tales, but she had to pick the path that made the most sense to complete a full turn of the narrative.

  “Shall I continue?” The children murmured approval, and Alexandrea launched into the rest of the episode, describing Bedivere’s challenges with Excalibur, until the Lady of the Lake, Viviane, took it in hand. After King Arthur accepted the explanation, he passed, and she described the great queens bringing Arthur to rest on Avalon. She closed the over-sized picture book. “That is the story of the great King Arthur. Some say he still rests on Avalon this day, waiting to save us from our greatest peril.”

  Bethan, one of the little girls, wobbled and shook her pig-tails while raising her hands. “Why wasn’t Merlin at the battle?”

  Alexandrea frowned. How could she explain? Viviane, the Lady of the Lake, imprisoned him originally, but likely realized her mistake when Galahad returned Excalibur and released Merlin then. Somehow he escaped and made his stand against the fae court. When Oberon demanded Arthur’s life returned, Merlin instead killed himself, denying the Phoenix and thereby the fae’s path to reincarnation for several centuries.

  She wouldn’t share the actual morbid end, but in this case she could assign the blame to a worthier candidate. The one who tricked Viviane into imprisoning Merlin in the first place. “Because Morgan Le Fey trapped him.”

  After a moment of agreement from the children, they grew silent. She rattled her cymbal bracelet, an air and psyche foci. It caught her own air, her words, and increased her ability to influence through the psyche. She wanted to be sure she hadn’t unintentionally influenced the children, but no, she didn’t get a sense of any stray psyche energies in the room. Psyche shaping was not as well understood as elemental or life shaping, and it was more difficult to craft than elemental, at least that’s what Boderien claimed. She had rings and bangles for all the elements, but only two psyche foci. It was more subtle, invisible, and therefore more useful in her current mundane life.

  Not that she didn’t summon the occasional breeze in the summer-time.

  One thing she did not have any foci for was life shaping. While one could use a foci as a boost, no foci was necessary to shape life. Something inherent to the human soul itself served as the focus for life shaping, which was why only humans, or chimeras, could heal. But it wasn’t every person, only those with that particular spark to their soul. In the past they had been called Druids.

  Alexandrea stood and adjusted her sweater. "Thank you for coming. This has been story time at Bardic Tomes. Please feel free to peruse the stacks."

  Most of the children bounded up, looking for their parents, but Bethan waved at her.

  Alexandrea strode over and knelt by the little girl. "That was a good question you had today."

  Bethan's face lit up. "I've been reading."

  "I see that." Alexandrea grinned. "Any other stories?"

  Bethan ignored the question, and pointed. "Who's your friend?"

  "Friend?" Alexandrea twisted round and groaned. When had Moralynn arrived? Travel between Annwn and Earth was no everyday commute. Given that, Moralynn could never say when for certain she’d come.

  Moralynn and Boderien, and anything else from the fae realm, had proven to be invisible to adults. Alexandrea still worried that someday someone would notice their impact on the environment, if not Moralynn herself. Alexandrea was fighting to bring magic back into the world, but until she could, it was best to hide its existence from those who couldn’t understand. Most fae weren’t friendly, and she didn’t want to throw the world into a panic.

  But then, children had imaginations larger than the sun and could accept what their eyes saw.

  Bethan giggled. "She's dressed funny."

  Moralynn approached and knelt by the young girl. "This is Llehfin armor, little one. There is nothing funny about it." Moralynn's gauntleted hands traced the tongues of flame painted across her chest, rendered in rings of red, yellow, and orange.

  Bethan's mouth opened.

  Alexandrea shrugged, attempting to act casual. "I think it works for her."

  Besides the painted mail, Moralynn had pauldrons topping her shoulders, polished to a high sheen. A sword hung at each hip, a dagger hilt poked out of her left boot, and a secondary belt hinted at one Alexandrea knew she kept at her back. But these foci were overshadowed by the Phoenix mantle. A collection of five large stones—spessartite, emerald, diamond, sapphire, and turquoise—bound by rings of copper, iron, and steel.

  It was rare to see someone physically carry their responsibilities in today’s world, but fae magic, foci and artifacts alike, had a weight to them. Too bad the mantle alone did not a Phoenix make. The Investiture to summon the Phoenix involved several things: the mantle to bear the responsibility and connection to life forces; the Grail plate to kindle the flames, fueled by either the Spark, or the body of the previous Phoenix; and most of all, a Druid with great skill in life shaping. Alexandrea learned her lessons well, but Boderien still forged.

  She had come to know many of the children, telling them stories in the years she ran the shop, and sometimes in the library prior. She delighted in their ability to comprehend more complex stories as they got older, but she alone recognized and regretted the loss they suffered. No one else Alexandrea met saw the things she did past adolescence. Once innocence and imagination were lost, their sight was gone, and any memories of magic were soon forgotten. It was a selfish hope. She knew the world wasn’t ready, but every time she wondered: Would this one still see? Would there be someone who could understand what she did for the world? What she wrought?

  Rhian came round a shelf. "Who are you talking about?"

  "The funny lady." Bethan pointed again.

  Rhian swung her head. "Who?"

  Moralynn leveled her gaze at Bethan. "You must stop speaking of me, little one. She does not see."

  Alexandrea held her tongue. It was a selfish, dangerous wish to hope someone past childhood saw. While not ugly or gruesome, the fae were painfully beautiful creations of Oberon. They haunted the world less now, though sometimes still borrowed mineral wealth that was dwindling in the fae realms. It was more their lingering curses that hurt both those who could and could not see them. The fae relied on human life to fuel the fires of rebirth, and as the fae scuffles turned to war, more human lives were required to revive fae.

  It would be better to not see the doom and live in ignorance. But such a choice was not left to Alexandrea, not when she might be able to stop it.

  Bethan bobbled her head. "Shh, she's invisible."

  Rhian grabbed Bethan's hand. "Right. Mom's ready to go. C'mon Beth."

  Bethan waved, except her arc was stretched, appearing to also include Moralynn.

  4

  Alexandrea strode to the bay window, looking out on the town while waiting for the children to disperse.

  Nestled in the foothills of Snowdon, the highest mountain in Wales, most of the village was made of local stone. Alexandrea felt a kinship to the stone, though no faerie smith molded her town. The buildings were no foci that could be used to perform shaping, well, except for smiths themselves. Fae smiths were typically discovered when a young fae managed to shape earth, stone, or dirt without a foci. It was never much, and it typically hurt, mutilating the fae, but from that point on they knew, and their training as a smith began. They could not wield foci, only create them for others. Smiths were not Shapers. Was it due to the trauma from that initial shaping without a foci to help?

  Boderien had sometimes threatened to mold during his occasional visits, suggesting how he might r
eplace a stone here or there with a foci for particular effect. Foci, the talismans needed to shape the elements, were forged metal creations. The great contradiction in her life was choosing to stay in her wooden store, with its dumb, dead timber, when she was the only person in town that knew stone could hold magic. She wouldn’t leave it for all the magic in the world, the building used to house her father’s practice.

  Moralynn came to stand beside Alexandrea.

  “It is good of you to complete your story for today. Boderien has a new foci construct for us to try. We should depart.”

  Alexandrea tensed and tilted her head, avoiding the appearance of talking into blank space. A foci, but not the Grail. She suspected she’d have more warning if Boderien was that close to completing it. But he was always close, always on the right track. He just never got there.

  Because of this she had a wonderful collection of foci, but she was running out of places to wear them. Besides her cymbal bracelet were a collection of turquoise bangles to help with water. Each finger other than her pinkies had rings made of silver and copper, helping her with earth, water, and plant speaking. Woven within the braid of her leather belt were more rings made of some steel alloy granting her fire capabilities. Depending on the season, she could sometimes get away with ankle chains with charms of various small gems.

  She was especially proud of her torc, the gaudiest piece. It contained strands of all the shaping metals and a thin line of pearls. They melded into a spray of pearls on one side, and, on the other, a gem-studded copper falcon’s head—or a phoenix.

  “It is not the Grail yet, Moralynn,” Drea said softly.

  “I understand. However, it is progress.” Moralynn came closer. “You do not sound excited by this prospect.”

  “Of course I am.” She frowned. She wanted to be excited, but with each additional step, each new experiment, it seemed the Grail would never be done. She wanted to rise as the Phoenix, bring magic back, and make life safer. Alexandrea suspected fae magics forced humans to die and fueled some of the idiocy, war, and intolerance menacing the world. Imagine, without those pressures, what a place the world could become. She knew it wouldn’t be a utopia instantly, but some breathing room ought to help some of the persistent conflicts.

  Even if magic didn’t come back, that would be a world worth giving everything for.

  Alexandrea shut her mouth and tried to figure out how to wave Moralynn to the back. She could not have a complex conversation out in the open. There was usually a lull after folks dispersed from story time, but the store was not yet closed.

  Though she dared not speak aloud, her mind still raced. She knew what was at stake, but she didn’t have time to mourn every death and ponder if it was natural or taken in order to return a fae to life.

  The car accident was never far from her mind, no matter how much time passed. Weeks turned to months turned to years. The car had spiraled out of control, but if she hadn’t been too busy stitching herself she could have saved them. She knew how to heal. Why hadn’t she throttled her own skin to save her parents?

  She knew the answer.

  She had been afraid. They weren’t alone—a fae shadow lurked over the three of them as they lay strewn across the stony ditch. It had grinned at her and scampered up the scree. By the time she’d recovered from the fear it was too late, her parents had already passed.

  She took a deep breath and let it out in stages. She typically went through this exercise a couple times a day. It provided a kind of comfort. It was good to be known for more mundane eccentricities, instead of just magical ones.

  Alexandrea gazed out on the town square, still not ready to answer Moralynn, and caught someone out of the corner of her eye, near the pharmacy’s columns.

  It was Jamie.

  But it couldn’t be. He was at the university. Still, this guy had his lank frame and his comfortable attitude, as if wherever he stood was right where he meant to be. He even had tufts of brown hair poking out like Jamie did.

  The door chime interrupted her thoughts.

  That was how anxious she had become, she was imagining old friends. She regretted pushing them away, but once they summoned the Phoenix it would all be worth it. Alexandrea was just a bookworm, a bit of an amateur historian, but really, all she did now was help some kids with their imaginations. Even as a Druid she could only do so much—speed a body’s ability to heal, borrowing from future life. But if she became the Phoenix, she could help folks all over the world, save lives and bring wonder back to a world filled with hate.

  She shook her head and shrugged at Moralynn before walking towards a step stool, pointedly not looking out the window. She climbed the stool and fronted a few book spines. “I might show my excitement as cautious optimism.”

  A much more masculine voice responded. “That’s a fair start.”

  Alexandrea teetered on her stool and grabbed the shelf to steady herself. “Rhys?”

  “Do you need a hand?”

  She suppressed a frown. It wasn’t often she stood taller than someone. He appeared a touch broader from above, but with an edge of calculation to his carefree demeanor.

  Best to return to even footing.

  “No, thanks,” she said. “Can I help you, Rhys? That adventure module you asked for isn’t due for days.”

  He snorted. "I can't just stop by? Say hello? We are dear old friends, after all."

  Moralynn stepped beside them. "Who is this one?"

  Alexandrea took a step back, leaning on the shelf. “Dear old friends, huh?”

  Him being here did bring back memories. Her, Rhys, and Jamie had been quite a trio through school. Jamie had been the glue that kept them together. When he left for the university, she found she had little to share with Rhys anymore, magical studies aside. He’d already been doing some work as a mechanic, and then started working his way up through the local car dealership.

  “We’ve barely spoken in years, Rhys. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice you’re supporting the business, when you aren’t asking for my Dad’s car, but it’s been forever since we’ve been friends."

  “Friendship is stronger than words, Alexandrea,” he said, patting the book spines on the shelf above her. “I know you can appreciate how powerful words are, so you know what I mean. Time apart doesn’t end a friendship.”

  Moralynn shifted to loom over them both. “I do not like his stance. Why do you not dismiss him?”

  “But lack of touch points atrophies one." She squeezed out from between Rhys and Moralynn. She needed space. Why was she feeling like this? She’d imagined Jamie and instead got Rhys, but she was being rude. It wasn’t his fault she was having flights of fancy about his best friend.

  "I’m filled with surprises,” he said, apparently oblivious to her callousness. He grinned, and Alexandrea begrudgingly returned it. “I thought you could use some fun. Come out with me. We'll make a day of it."

  “I thought I wasn’t your type.” The moment Alexandrea said it, she regretted it. “Okay, still. Even as friends, a day with you? Let’s see, watching you lose football—"

  “Hey, the Mountain Miners haven't lost a game in weeks. You should see our new midfielder.”

  She’d given him too much credit. He must not have a date for the weekend, desperately so to be talking to a woman. Had he truly run out of folks in town by now? She went back to organizing books. “Right. Football, followed by drinks at the pub, with the guys. Followed by… some bumbling move?"

  "I make no moves my partner doesn’t want… and I don’t bumble. Jump down now, girl." Rhys dropped his smile and his face went cold. "There you go tearing off and trying to make this into something else. I was just suggesting we talk.”

  She swung around and crossed her arms. “Rhys, why now? We haven’t ‘just talked’ before. What are you really after?”

  He stamped a foot and glanced out the window. Alexandrea looked too, but there was nothing there.

  "No matter how giddy you sound to those children, you'v
e gotten cold, Alexandrea.” He strode past her and slammed the door on his way out.

  Alexandrea stood still, fighting an involuntary twitch of the eye. “What was that about?”

  Moralynn grasped her shoulders. "It matters not." She smiled and brushed the torc that circled Alexandrea’s neck. "We have much to do. We should find Boderien and depart."

  "Yes, of course." Alexandrea said, putting Rhys out of her mind. She couldn’t worry about him. But wait. “Boderien?” she hissed. She looked back out the window, trying to find the dwarf. Given they’d just done story time she was lucky he disdained her store. But Boderien was more than a bit fascinated with her town. Hopefully he’d wandered far enough before the children left. Maybe he was by the fields, checking out that stone circle he nattered about sometimes. To this day there were still mysteries dotting the countryside hidden in plain sight.

  Still, best to find him quickly. She walked over to the counter.

  “Karen, you have things in hand here?”

  Her manager stared back blankly, but a smile grew. It was a strange relationship they had, manager and owner. When she opened the store she had thrown a lot of herself into it. After her initial grief for her parents there were lessons and magic to distract her. She knew she wouldn’t always be around, so she pulled a bit away, though not completely. She needed to let her manager run things. Karen was patient, luckily, but they weren’t exactly friends, either. Maybe in another life.

  “Of course. When will we see you next?”

  Alexandrea tapped her fingers. “At least a few days, I’ve got a new avenue of research to pursue.” Karen nodded, but said nothing else. Alexandrea waved. “Thanks!”

  She paused at the door, letting Moralynn through, but for anyone else observing, it looked like she was surveying the store.