The Phoenix Grail

by Helen Savore

  She never learned how she had recovered. While she was not the Phoenix as Phoenix Sparked she still had a tenuous connection to others’ life energies. Perhaps the accumulated deaths from the massacre had brought some life back to her. Enough to survive, but not enough to recover. Was it kindness or calculation that had moved Titania to save her all that time ago?

  Moralynn slowed, solidifying the vine for more support, and jumped off onto the landing to stride out between the tree's great roots.

  The Keep of Annwn was one of the few things that still amazed her in her too-long life. It combined natural elements into a living castle. Back even before her birth, legends claimed the souls of former Llehfin assisted, still others thought there had been a Smith Phoenix. Moralynn did not see how a soul would be of any help, but a human Smith constructing this seemed dubious.

  No live fae could visit Annwn’s placid shores, it was both relief and bane to Moralynn. It reminded her she still held a spark of humanity, not entirely fae despite the body. A chimera. But if she remained here alone, it meant there were no chimera’s left either, further separating her.

  Fae did not retain their memories, or their bodies, when they came to Annwn, only their souls survived the journey. They manifested as children that ran wild within Annwn’s serene forests. Alive, Moralynn despised fae, not able to forget everything their kind did to her and her family. But on Annwn, the children did not recall the actions of their previous lives. They simply were, and they were delightful, playful, carefree children. Inevitably her anger at them, individually, fell away, and she would return them to life.

  Instead her displeasure took deeper root within and she blamed Oberon for forcing her into this cycle. Perhaps the Phoenix spark moved her emotions and it was part of the process. If so, she doubly cursed Oberon for sticking her with the duties without the powers to balance the cycle of rebirth.

  Moralynn dashed forward, letting the thud lead her to the edge of the crystal wall. She rested a hand on the plinth of amethyst, part of the jumble of minerals that shielded her home. The strength of the thrum in her chest guided her eyes to the east — somewhere near the natural bridge, likely in the outer forest. The Pull hit her again, and she doubled over. This soul would be a precocious one.

  If the soul needed her attention so soon, she did not have time to walk. She ran her hands along the amethyst plinth, getting a feel for its crystal matrix before she leaned into her mineral foci. This was not the heat of battle, using that peculiar sixth sense reserved for elements she could make this Shaping more elegant and functional. Once satisfied with her intended shape, Moralynn yanked a chunk of amethyst out of the plinth and tossed it into the forest. She continued stealing from the plinth to grow the bridge over the horizon towards the Pull. She could not see its end, so she was not sure it reached, but it would guide her much of the way.

  The forests surrounding the Keep, all the forests of Annwn, did not have clear paths. It was not meant to be a traveled place. Paths dead-ended, game trails disappeared, and the horizon was always further away than it appeared. Some patches refused to even stay still, causing the rest of the wood to shuffle around in the wake of its intrusion.

  Moralynn suspected the Phoenix of old, only serving their handful of human years, would lose their direction as well on the sleepy isle. There were few landmarks, beyond particularly populated groves, and the Keep, the only construction in the forest. The Phoenix made their residence here since their origin, but their footprint was small.

  Moralynn searched the span of trees ahead, the Pull still thrumming in her chest. What had this fae done to command her immediate presence? Moralynn was no judge, but part of her responsibility was to mind those fae souls that would spend a longer time in peaceful purgatory. There was nothing official, like a ledger, to track those years beyond the refreshment the soul need stay. Even an improper Phoenix, like Moralynn, could see the unsettled soul of a child who still suffered from turmoil, and was not ready to be reborn.

  Despite the bridge bypassing the meandering not-trails, her jog would still take time. The physical need to draw near and meet the new soul was not a pain she could shove away using her life shaping. Moralynn knelt and got a sense of the crystal again. She had only extended it, and had left the surface uneven, giving her something to grip.

  Moralynn drew her hands along the edges of the crystal bridge, encouraging them to smooth, and sent the impulse along the line of the bridge. The crystal rippled as its shape changed, and the excess grew the bridge farther. She was not done yet.

  One of the glorious things of the isle was the excessive moisture. Drawing on multiple foci she took water from the air, and slicked her boot surface. She shoved against the air to reset her balance and get a feel for the currents surrounding her.

  Moralynn skated on the smooth crystal surface, exercising her shaping over water and wind to recycle the small puddles and maintain her balance. She laughed as she shook her head, allowing her hair to come out of its customary binds and billow along the small wind. For a moment she was just here, skating along this beautiful mysterious forest. There was no responsibility, no Pull. No fae to reincarnate, or those she wished to hurt for pain visited upon her and her family. No, in this brief moment she was just the wind.

  Moralynn's eyes drifted to the tree tops. The crystal bridge disappeared ahead, and she came closer to the canopy of green. She resisted the urge to jump off and fly through the branches. Flying led to other things.

  She followed the bridge down, crashing through the levels of the forest. The sounds of the region took over her senses. A buzz of something insectoid disrupted the more natural rustling of leaves accompanying her descent. She slid too fast to duck from the denizens of the forest. The songs of different birds established small melodies that competed with each other. She passed a panther who bared its teeth, but Moralynn was gone before it could pounce. As she neared the bottom, squirrels joined her on the crystal bridge, running up and down its thin expanse.

  Moralynn stepped off the terminus, and, when she found no souls near, she realized her mind had returned to responsibility, despite no violent Pull to remind her.

  If the forest were not overgrown and shifted, there would be a grove close by. She pushed through the tight packed trees, not entirely minding the slack in the supple branches. The few that broke added an odd scattered rhythm to her foot falls. Her nose twitched as she caught the increased humidity in the air. She was near one of the more considerable rivers.

  Moralynn stumbled in the clearing and caught the empty eyes of the new child.

  It was both familiar and not. She did not think she had seen a child of this build in some time, but it was not the child’s form that caught her attention. The soul itself cried out to her. A blaze of haunt and pride filled its eyes, but there was beauty, too.

  This one was a craftsman, one filled with regret for what they had lost. A Smith in one life did not guaranty such capability in the next.

  "Boderien?"

  Souls lost their identity quickly on Annwn, faster than humans lost their way. They had no body to anchor it and no memories to remind it. This one arrived only a short time ago, but most of what made him Boderien had drifted away. Still, the child looked to her.

  She rushed forward, letting her feet ooze over the terrain to slip down to the child’s line of sight. She took the child's chin in her hands and searched its eyes. That would prove the easiest path into the nascent soul child.

  "Boderien, how did you die?" She tried to look in his eyes, hoping for a glimpse or an echo or something. But the eyes whirled and became blank.

  The child squirmed away, shaking his head, blond hair falling into his face. He beamed. "I’m gonna play now."

  "Yes." Moralynn rose. This child, skipping away, had no recollection. She gathered it was him, but she could not be sure. If she were correct—if this was indeed Boderien—then it was not only his life at stake.

  Moralynn rushed out of the wood. She needed to fin
d Alexandrea now.

  7

  Alexandrea’s research excuse became a reality, as it often did. A few days buried in books, then visiting the sites. She’d just received a particular tome on Cenwalh’s campaigns from the late seventh century. She tried to shy away from fifth century conflicts, the last time of magic before it died at Camlann, but the sites still fascinated her, and she enjoyed the stroll through Glastonbury, imagining how it looked during those times.

  Now it was time to return to town and the store. Alexandrea crossed the threshold to Bardic Tomes. In addition to indulging in history lessons, the few days away gave her an opportunity to work the hands. Though she’d healed them, they were still a bit stiff, and she didn’t want any hint of something unusual around her too-observant bookstore staff.

  Karen and Claire greeted her politely, but not with any particular enthusiasm. Nothing of note had happened in the past few days, not even a new shipment. Half the town suspected Alexandrea owned the bookstore more to keep herself in books than to sell to the townsfolk.

  She hesitated by the counter, unsure how to occupy herself. Looking out, her eyes lingering over each shelf. This could have been her life if it were not for her responsibilities. Would this be enough? Did she do things in halves—own but not run a bookstore, research but never publish—because she did not have the time to pursue anything to completion?

  Her eyes continued to scan the room as she ruminated, then caught something. Moralynn stood in the store, browsing the sci-fi shelves.

  She blinked. It wasn’t just that she was here days earlier than even her earliest estimate, today she wore a business suit, the grey jacket and pants similar in color to her unpainted plate. She blended in perfectly.

  Karen came round and waved at her. “Considering rearranging the sections again?”

  Alexandrea thumped the counter. “No, though I think that shelf needs fronting.” She nodded and strode to the YA corner. It wasn’t directly in sight of sci-fi, but Moralynn must have seen her. She would come to her, right?

  Then there was the clothing. In all her years of tutelage, Moralynn had never dressed in anything modern. It was rare to see her hair loose, not braided or pinned or tied back. Maybe after the last incident with Bethan it sunk in that children saw her and that it might not be the best thing to stick out like a sore thumb.

  Alexandrea’s breath caught. Could someone be impersonating Moralynn? A fae here, parading in public? Their magic and lingering curses were constant obstacles, though they usually preferred the few remaining natural corners of the world. Alexandrea did not miss the irony that her favorite places were likely the most dangerous, but that wouldn’t stop her from pursuing her passions.

  Alexandrea was proud of what she managed to learn in her short span of human years, but she knew her limits. Anyone daring to impersonate Moralynn would be something fearsome.

  While I am no warrior, I am not helpless.

  An illusion would not have an obvious physical manifestation, like elemental shaping, but the shaping itself would emanate beneath the illusion. She finished straightening the books and quietly stalked through the shelves, until this maybe Moralynn came into view again.

  Alexandrea summoned a shaping aura. She touched her torc first, the small contact helping her call psyche, then she tapped her forehead and risked pointing to the figure. A spike of pressure built within her head and fled, leaving her drained.

  Alexandrea’s sense of psyche shaping appeared as colors and patterns, auras in the general vicinity of the magician. A gust of embarrassment filled Alexandrea as the outlines surrounding Moralynn shined a thin, radiant strip, creating shadows in the rest of the room. Neutral white. The figure, Moralynn, did not appear to be projecting psyche.

  Abashed, Alexandrea smoothed her sweater and walked to her. She dropped the aura when she entered the stacks, not wanting to be distracted by the shadows it cast.

  Moralynn exhaled as Alexandrea drew close, creating little wind currents to surround them. The wind turned inward, creating strange echoes in Moralynn’s speech. “We should not be standing here.”

  “While I appreciate your circumspection today…” Alexandrea wrinkled her brow. “Why?”

  Moralynn crossed her arms. “You will not be able to keep your composure when you hear what I have to say. Dismiss them, or we go elsewhere.”

  Alexandrea cupped her mouth and called out. “Karen? I’ll be reviewing books in the back.”

  Alexandrea led the way to her office, past the lavatories, under the stairs. The office was a conceit, given she owned a small, not-too-successful bookstore. It had been her father’s, so she kept it after she renovated the rest of his old practice. It fit snug against stairs that led to the next level, holding a desk, shelves, and a closet that tapered off beneath the stairs. Rotating piles of boxes took up much of the floor space until she finished dithering and brought them home.

  She stopped at the door, pausing for Moralynn, but she remained still. It figured, the one time Moralynn volunteered to retreat to the office, she hesitated.

  “Well?” Alexandrea asked, motioning to the door.

  Moralynn nodded to her and entered. Alexandrea followed. Reluctant to take her usual seat, instead she scooted onto her desk.

  “What is it? What couldn’t you say out there?”

  Moralynn took precise steps, avoiding the piles. “Where is Boderien?”

  “What do you mean, where is Boderien? He’s home; at the forge.”

  Moralynn stood beside her and thumped the tabletop. “Where do you think I came from? He is not there.”

  Alexandrea’s tried to imagine Boderien anywhere else. “There is no reason for him to leave, he is pleased enough to create. He isn’t running low on anything. Not that I’m aware of.” She shrugged. “He is there, Moralynn.”

  Moralynn leaned in and spoke into her ear. “What was he doing, Alexandrea?”

  Alexandrea jumped. She stood too close. Her speech tickled her ear uncomfortably. There must be a point to this discussion and Moralynn’s behavior, she just didn’t understand what.

  “What he always does,” she said. “He’s quite predictable. Did you look outside? What about the kitchen? He needs to leave the forge to forage.” She shrugged.

  “No, Alexandrea.” Moralynn swung around. She slammed her hands on the table beside her, trapping Alexandrea in place. “I am asking, what was he working on?”

  Alexandrea held her breath. She had mentioned thoughts for foci she might like, but knew they weren’t the priority. There was nothing to distract him from his planned work. He was cackling over how wonderful her new fire-life foci functioned, but Moralynn already knew that. How could Moralynn not know what he was working on? Moralynn’s angry eyes made her rethink the question.

  “What would distract his attentions? What was he doing?” Moralynn leaned in closer, stopping millimeters from Alexandrea’s forehead. “Imagine if any of the fae found him, what would they do?”

  Suddenly, the office door slammed open and crashed into the wall, causing a cascade of books to fall. Storm clouds boiled into the room, coalescing between Alexandrea and Moralynn, stray currents slammed into more shelves in the room.

  Moralynn answered herself from within the miniature storm. “I do not know. You tell me!”

  “Moralynn?” Alexandrea attempted to clear the clouds. Her foci shivered against the pressure she fought.

  Beneath the layer of smoke and soot the real Moralynn stood, covered in chain mail from head to foot. Each ring vibrated, creating a metallic hum. Her long braid flapped on currents of the wind storm, small tendrils escaping and floating round her face.

  Who in the world have I been speaking to?

  “Moralynn, what’s going on? You’ll tear down the store.”

  “That cristiline is impersonating me.” Moralynn grabbed the impostor by the arm and flung her back. The impostor crashed into another shelf, sending yet more books tumbling.

  Alexandrea gasped. “Cristilin
e?” Of course she had sensed no psyche. Cristilines were unique even amongst Oberon’s creations. They were inherent Shapers, composed of living minerals. They required no foci to shape their own bodies, and that implicit instinct helped them become fearsome practitioners of elemental shaping. The immature ones were little more than rock piles, but elders were practically demigods.

  Moralynn drew circles in the air. “Not just any cristiline, I suspect. There are few that would dare impersonate me.” A blast of wind spiraled in front of her. As it accelerated, it turned in on itself and became a solid circular wall of air. She stepped towards the fallen form. “Raebyn. Why have you come here?”

  “Raebyn?” Alexandrea’s voice jumped as her stomach fell. Raebyn. Robin Goodfellow. Puck. Son of Oberon, and his primary messenger. “Puck is in my shop?” Alexandrea was torn between staying to witness more of such a famous fae and fleeing from the obvious danger.

  The fake Moralynn laughed, and it took on a strange, dark, echo before turning into a cry. Tears flowed down her face, the drops growing to monstrous size and dissolving the figure’s head until all that remained of the body was a scintillating azure blob. It swirled up and fell into a new hairy, horned, cloven-footed form.

  All vestiges of Moralynn were gone. Raebyn wore no clothes now, although coarse hair covered his chest, legs, and everything in between. He resembled a malevolent faun under a blue lens. He was not only the azure of the blob, but a whole spectrum of constantly shifting blues.

  Alexandrea dashed to Moralynn’s side. “At least he was being quiet until you arrived. Someone is bound to hear the commotion.” She flashed Moralynn a weak smile.