The Phoenix Grail

by Helen Savore

  “I am here to learn,” he said. “Show me how, Moralynn.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You are not afraid?”

  “Should I be?” Jamie danced from one foot to the other, creating a nice groove in the uneven grass and dirt.

  “This will not be fair.” Moralynn arced her right arm down, forming a curve in the air. “The point is to get you healing, not to defend each blow, yet still give you some hint of form and flow.”

  Jamie looked her over again. He marveled at how smooth Moralynn and Adhomai moved in their armor. He guessed the links of chain were flexible, or maybe some of those other types of magic helped. Jamie had never lost a fight. That mix up nights ago with Adhomai was a scuffle, not a fight.

  “So, armor for you, but none for me?”

  Moralynn’s eyelids drooped. “Do you know how to wear it?”

  “You put it on?”

  Moralynn held her right hand up again.

  I’m practically naked, and she’s armored. He opened his right hand and looked at it before making a fist again. I’m supposed to practice healing, but this way it’s not only the hits I take, it’ll be the hits I deal.

  He bounced on his feet again and put up his fists, protecting his face.

  Moralynn stepped forward, and their fists met. Jamie braced for pain, but it was more of a tap. He looked to her, the next fist came in, and he blocked instead. She stepped to the left, so he circled to the right, she shifted again. The pair continued to exchange slap for slap, tapping the tougher parts of their fists.

  He wasn’t even winded, and neither was she. Moralynn spoke as they exchanged fists.

  “The fae cannot heal, they are armored. Further, the armor is elementally enhanced, providing defenses against Shaping. So the attacks are more brutal in order to strike harder.”

  Jamie continued to block. He tried to stop the forming smile. He was holding his own.

  “The more skilled can temper their blows into precision strikes. Those are the ones who take part in the Trials. Most fae are focused on practical experience. We will get to how to handle shaping and elemental attacks later.” She stopped her circling and ducked.

  Jamie’s next toss missed her, without her having to block with her own hands.

  “Where to start?”

  “I thought we—”

  Moralynn jumped to the left and rammed her arm into his side.

  Jamie doubled over, howling. That was no mere tap. His abdomen swelled; her punch might have punctured his liver. He didn't want to consider what was spilling out.

  Another fist crashed into his ribs.

  Jamie gasped, but he couldn’t breathe.

  He fell.

  The ground was too stiff. Why hadn’t they stayed over the nice, loose dirt patch they were drawing in. His head spun. He needed to focus on figuring out how to breathe.

  “I think you hit him too hard.”

  Their voices were fuzzy; he couldn’t hear properly. They sounded as if they were echoing through a watery tunnel.

  “I did not hit his head.”

  Jamie’s vision fuzzed, the edges shrinking in towards the middle. The world was an old photograph, cut off, ragged, and discolored.

  Need air.

  He closed his eyes and tried to find the injury, but was blinded.

  Inside, everything was light. White, yellow, maybe a touch of gold. His eyes flew open, looking for grateful darkness.

  He gagged. There was no time. I have to do this. He closed his eyes and the light flooded his vision again. This time he kept his senses open and saw past the light. There. Those were his injuries. The lung first, no, wait, remove that bone.

  His breath returned. In, then out. He lay there, pushing away the pain of the other injuries, waiting for his breathing to resume a more normal rhythm.

  Just breathe.

  “What is the light? I saw or sensed, or something, not just my body, but this light floating within it,” he asked.

  “That is the life flow. A bright light throughout the body.”

  Jamie stopped talking and thinking. He concentrated on imagining bodily functions repairing themselves. He felt almost… well, normal wasn’t the right word anymore, but he felt put back together. This was some heady ability. When he dropped out of medical school, he knew he was giving up serious medicine, but with more training at this, maybe he wasn’t a failure?

  He took in one more breath and rolled over. He was well, maybe not tip-top, but certainly better than he should be for those sucker punches.

  Moralynn offered him a hand.

  He grabbed it. “Thanks.”

  Her other fist nailed him in the stomach. “You took too long.”

  Jaime fell again.

  “The fae will not watch you flap on the ground for minutes.”

  Jamie groaned, trying to shift the pressure. He both saw and felt his body react. He grunted as something shifted, and pain shot through from his pelvis to his shoulder.

  Scratch that, I’m not a failure yet.

  31

  “It has been months.”

  The time was nothing compared to the centuries Moralynn had lived. However, each site, each failed start, haunted her. They hinted to memories she lost long ago. Training the new Druid was a diversion, but that did not lead them to her ultimate goal. Though his skill in Life Shaping grew with each sparing session, she could do nothing for his smithing talents. Perhaps Adhomai could entice a Smith to them, except Raebyn knew he supported her.

  She trailed a hand along the wood of the Morgan dining room table, hunting for a pattern within the grain. The dining table was covered with papers, books, and sketches. “We are not going about this properly.”

  “What else are we supposed to do?” Alexandrea said, plopping down next to her and flinging a hand towards Adhomai. “Our only hint is that he will find it with you. No matter how many times he recalls, that’s the one consistent point. That is not a lot to go on.”

  Adhomai’s eyes rolled up in his head, as if he were peering into his diadem. “I do believe it was dark.”

  Moralynn noted the eyebrow Alexandrea raised at the remark.

  Adhomai stood. They were two mis-matched beings in a modern part of the home.

  He dropped his hands to the table and leaned on it. “I am attempting to help.” He picked up a picture and flicked it her way. Charcoal dust depicted outlines of different bowled concepts. “My Lady Phoenix Sparked, you are the only one with direct knowledge of this. Why can you not remember?”

  Moralynn fingered the paper. In the middle was a larger flattened Grail, more a plate or a disk, as she recalled. But this fragment of a memory meant nothing. The Grail was not limited to a single form.

  “Do you think I have held back? How could I? If I knew, I would have the Grail now.” Her fingers tensed and she pushed the paper way, not wanting to smudge it. “Merlin hid it well.”

  He hid it, which meant he did not have it during his famous final confrontation with Oberon before he… passed. The powers of the Phoenix were awesome, but the Grail was a shield and ally. The Grail had not come to Oberon, and now she could not find it. However, given Merlin’s final words, how long did he suspect it would be until it needed to be found?

  Alexandrea closed a book. “Rather than looking at history, perhaps we should look at the present.”

  She strolled to the other side of the room and shuffled through crisper pages. She held up a printout. “This was in the news back in March. A pair of Spanish historians claimed to have found the Holy Grail. Margarita Torres and Jose Ortega Del Rio believe it is in this church in Spain, the Basilica of San Isidore.”

  Moralynn studied the picture. Onyx and agate gems studded its gold gilt rim. It was garish, but then, how better to hide its nature? No diamonds or fire gems, but the construction could easily be an alloy. She was not sure if the volcanic nature of the stones might imply metamorphic properties. There was much she did not understand about the construction of foci, the Smith’s art, which w
as becoming another growing frustration of late.

  Something she did know was that while a property of the stone could convey itself to the foci, it often did not with finer foci. The Phoenix Grail was made by the GodKing himself, so who knew what remained in its makeup? She recalled the impression of clear-cut gems, possibly diamonds, but was that its original form or a morph? Which would it be now, while hidden?

  She murmured, “It may look more like the Christian Grail.”

  Adhomai tapped the sheet. “Is it different?”

  “Whose history became another's legend? It is hard to say.”

  Alexandrea smiled. “You know, it could be a good lead. While they believe it is their cup there are some early centuries when they still cannot account for its whereabouts. It could have been here. Should we figure out how to get to León, Spain?"

  Travel was simple, for her. “We can get there faster alone.”

  Alexandrea jumped out of her seat, stretching to her full height. “You’re leaving me behind?”

  Moralynn reached out to soothe Alexandrea’s hair. “I doubt this is it. There is no reason for you to come out.”

  Alexandrea shook her head, jerking away from Moralynn’s hand. “Then why bother checking?”

  “Because I cannot ignore it.”

  “Then—”

  “No.” Moralynn stilled her movement, becoming firm. “We will not make a trip of this. Adhomai and I will return in a few hours.” She jerked her head, and he exited the room.

  Alexandra’s eyes became hard. “Moralynn—”

  “Stay.” She could not believe this. Why had she become willful about a simple jaunt? Best to eliminate it quickly and move on to more likely targets.

  She turned her back on her apprentice and left.

  “I am not sure what to do with her.”

  Moralynn stood at the threshold of the courtyard of the Basilica of San Isidore. Despite the setting sun throwing shadows within, people still crisscrossed the space. Their steps mimicked the pattern in the cobbled stones, a series of Xs within squares. Besides her normal need to dash and thread through blind crowds of people, she had to resist the urge to follow the stones in the implied straight path. “She has been questioning me of late.”

  “Is that not human?” Adhomai stood in the crowd. He was thoroughly fae, comfortable in his veil, and did not mind walking where he would. He strode on as every potential collision removed themselves from his path. “Today’s humans are more outspoken.”

  Perhaps he was right.

  She observed the façade of the church. It was considered old, but had originated long after the days of her youth. Large and layered but with compass roses, arches, and teeth-like edges to give the wall character. The many grooves, lines, and varied planes took it further.

  “Mayhap. However, this is Alexandrea. She has been my apprentice for many years. I have come to know her moods. This, I do not understand.” She may know her moods, but was some of that because of the help of their alloy, now lost? She should still know Alexandrea.

  Adhomai pointed towards the right at a door, offset from the courtyard. When she passed, he spoke in her ear. “Her alloy is broken.”

  Adhomai remained too observant. She sighed. She had started this conversation, so why was she trying to hide things? “That is Raebyn’s fault.”

  She turned back to the church. The area still had its tall structure, but the ground was only stone, and not patterned. A single blue door led the way inside.

  “Alexandrea overextended herself when he appeared and attacked her store,” Moralynn continued. She held an arm out, blocking Adhomai from progressing until the door opened.

  “So what is your concern?”

  “I think…”

  Someone exited, so she grabbed the door before it closed, and both her and Adhomai ducked in. She blinked her eyes to adjust to the internal light. Something in the ceiling’s slope brought to mind Viviane’s Waterways. That, or she craved the gentle peace of the watery caverns.

  “I think her attitude is setting the wrong tone for Jamie. You have seen how casual he behaves.”

  The inside was anything but plain. She stepped to the side of the door and Adhomai followed suit. Indoors with the reduced space, they would have to be more careful. The structures were not standard walls, and people filled the museum.

  “He is a different person.” Adhomai glanced at the ceilings outside the vestibule. “Fascinating, these actually are beautiful. Follow that curve, Moralynn.” He inscribed an outline, not touching, but still approximating the lines. “There is as much variety in human personality as there is in fae.” He walked underneath the midpoint of an arch. “It is not just along a single wall. This room bubbles with arches supporting arches. Look at the sinuous stone, it flows almost as if Shaped rather than chipped, as this must have been. It could nearly be fae.”

  Before he continued his adoration, a group circled him. He took gradual steps back until he leaned against a fluted column.

  He nodded to her. “I think you have been taking the right tack.”

  “The speed healing. It reminds me of the human warriors of old.”

  He chuckled, straightened out of his slouch, and came away from the wall.

  Moralynn looked away, not responding to Adhomai’s laugh. It had been that power that worried the fae in the first place. Turning she saw more of the cavernous room, with combinations of columns anchored not to a singular point, but arches following both horizontal and vertical lines. The way the spaces grew into each other was reminiscent of the passages that led to entrances and exits from Oberon’s Tower.

  “This way.” She found the path towards the cases, which were in a plainer space. This room was not meant to impress—it left that to the relics.

  They were forced closer together. Too many people filled the tiny room. Their goal was in the back, and it continued to stay crowded. “This does not feel right.”

  “In many senses.” Adhomai drew a line in the air above a glass case. “Crisp, even lines. The same, clones. No personality. These were all manufactured rather than created.”

  Moralynn smiled. It had been some time since she had someone who understood her perspective so well. Boderien had been an ally, maybe a friend, but they were still different. Adhomai could never remember his previous life, but she saw some of the same nobility from when she knew him before. It was more a general sense, since her own memory was deteriorating. More a sense of familiarity, a confirmation, after he took a particular action that resonated with her.

  Though she had not died and was not reborn as the fae were, she had had to become someone else to survive and pursue that which she must. But sometimes, for brief moments around Adhomai, she was the Moralynn of her youth again. She missed her terribly.

  Moralynn caught a glimpse of onyx out of the corner of her eye.

  While people milled round the room, pausing a moment in front of their chosen case, this one maintained a crowd. She tilted her head, and they hugged the wall as they approached.

  Adhomai squinted. “I am not sure about that combination of gems. What was the Smith trying to accomplish?”

  “Likely it was an artist, not a Smith.” She extended her hand and traced a finger along the glass. Glass did not flow as well as other materials, being a complex admixture. A hole melted where her finger traced, and an oblong piece of glass clattered inside.

  “Do not worry, they do not see yet,” Adhomai spoke in her ear.

  She pushed her finger forward and touched it.

  Nothing.

  She had no sense.

  This was not hunting in an open field. If she touched it, she should recognize it.

  “Moralynn.”

  “Yes?” She glanced back.

  “Is it?”

  She shook her head.

  “We should leave.”

  “Of course,” she murmured and withdrew her hand. A part of her railed against being rushed. She wanted to remain still, silent, and revel in th
is confident failure. But he was right, and if she did not act quickly the humans would recognize her impact on the world, and they would question.

  She tried pulling the glass back, but something else already had. Adhomai took her by the shoulders and pushed her towards the exit.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “I am here to help.”

  She shuffled along, letting Adhomai guide her body as her mind went elsewhere. This place triggered no memories, and it left her melancholy.

  “Would you take a seat?”

  Moralynn blinked her eyes and found a bench to sit on, slouching down. “We will never find it.”

  Adhomai wagged a finger. “Never is a long time. I know we have it, but best not to invoke such durations.”

  “It does not feel like we have time. I have already had enough of it, and it has slipped away.” She slapped her knees. “It has been too long.”

  She caught the lines of the paint along the walls, distracting her. They twined and grew into a stylized form of a lady.

  Moralynn stood. “I cannot search the entire Earth. This was a terrible idea.”

  “Then why did we come here?”

  She put a hand to the stone wall, feeling the grooves of the old mortar. “I had to try.”

  Adhomai tapped his foot. “And why did you not bring Alexandrea?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she mumbled, “Why did she disagree to not coming?”

  “You know, you should bring them both along.”

  “Both? Jamie, too?”

  Adhomai lifted a shoulder and smiled. “A little practical application would not hurt his studies.”

  “We are not getting hurt on these jaunts. We would more be visible. We would be slower. It would not be worth it.”

  “I meant Shaping,” Adhomai said.

  “You think I should teach him? He is a Smith. If I knew how to train one—” She stopped her words there. Some things should not be said. She might have told Alexandrea she trusted Adhomai, and she did, but neither of them needed to know of her recent discussion with Viviane.