Phoenix

by S. F. Said

  Of course she matters.

  The sense of despair receded, just a little. He fought it back, clung onto Bixa as clarity and meaning and focus returned. Bixa matters, and Frollix, and Professor Byzantine, and—

  The Professor was on the wheel.

  He looked up. But there was only the skeleton of a structure: just spokes now, revealed like bare bones, crumbling in slow motion.

  There was a terrible ringing in his ears. Somewhere in the distance, shots were being fired. Sirens were wailing. Around him, people were screaming in terror. They started to run as panic spread like fire. The air smelled scorched.

  Bixa’s voice cut through it all: ‘. . . could’ve been us!’ she was saying.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked her. ‘What was that?’

  ‘A Dark Matter bomb. Nothing else could do this.’

  ‘Did you feel it, Bixa? That wave of despair? That horrible blur?’

  ‘I felt it. Like everything came apart: time, space, everything. That’s a Dark Matter bomb. They destroy the connections. They destroy everything.’ She looked up at the wheel. ‘I can’t believe it happened here. How could King Theobroma do this to his own people?’

  Lucky looked around. He could see Axxa with that terrible emptiness in their eyes, like black holes in the sky. The million-mile stare. The Living Death.

  And now he knew how it looked from the inside, because he’d been there too, for a moment.

  He’d had the Living Death.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, it had struck Scorpio Six – at exactly the same moment as the Dark Matter bomb. And yet . . . why didn’t everyone have it? Why was he OK now, like Bixa, and Frollix—

  Wait.

  Frollix was not OK. He was huddled on the ground, on the other side of Bixa. There was something very painful about the way he was sitting. He was clutching his head, rocking back and forth. ‘Frollix – what’s wrong?’ called Lucky.

  Frollix didn’t answer; he just kept rocking back and forth. He looked cut down, like a giant tree that had been felled in a forest.

  He doesn’t have the Living Death, does he? thought Lucky, his stomach lurching at the thought. Please no – please let him be OK—

  ‘Speak to me!’ Bixa yelled at her brother. ‘Frollix, what is it? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I – I don’t know!’ gasped Frollix. His starry eyes were blazing. ‘It’s like my head’s exploding – I can’t control it—’

  ‘Hold onto me!’ said Bixa, reaching over to him. ‘You’re going to be OK.’ But Frollix looked very far from OK.

  As they lay there on the ground, people all around them were stampeding in terror, trying to flee from the amphitheatre, crashing past the security guards, sweeping them aside like an avalanche.

  Yet it was no safer outside. The wreckage of the wheel was raining down from the sky. A great pillar of smoke rose up in its place. The air was full of fragments of shattered crystal, as if the atmosphere itself was wounded.

  ‘The Professor was on that wheel,’ said Lucky. ‘The Professor and Bazooka.’

  For a moment, Bixa couldn’t speak. Her needles were jet black, and she couldn’t look Lucky in the eye. ‘Then . . . they’re dead,’ she said at last, with terrible simplicity. ‘You saw it. No one could survive that explosion. We’re lucky we were shielded by the amphitheatre, so we didn’t get the full blast. All this is just shockwaves.’

  ‘But – he can’t be dead,’ said Lucky. ‘He can’t be, can he?’

  Bixa clenched her fists. ‘Come on,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘We have to see Gala, remember?’ She hauled herself up. ‘We have to get your astrolabe back, and find out what the stars told her. Maybe there’ll be something that can help us.’

  Lucky stared up at the ruin of the wheel, tears behind his eyes. ‘What – what about Frollix?’ he managed to say.

  ‘He’s coming with us,’ said Bixa. ‘He’s going to be OK.’

  Lucky looked at Frollix again. The big Axxa was whimpering, holding his head. He didn’t see how Frollix could possibly be OK – but they couldn’t leave him there. So he got to his feet, and helped Bixa haul her brother up. Frollix’s body was so heavy, they had to support it between them.

  Unsteady, ears still ringing from the blast, they stumbled forward through the crowds. The broken ground was treacherous; even with his cloven-hoof boots, Lucky lost his balance more than once.

  But Bixa steered them, picking her way through the wreckage, purposeful as ever. ‘Mystica’s counting on us,’ she said. ‘We can’t let her down.’

  Finally, they reached the stage. It was a mess of rubble, cables, girders; fallout from the blast everywhere. The taste of ash filled Lucky’s mouth.

  Gala was there, on her knees, covering her face with her hands.

  ‘Gala!’ called Bixa, reaching out a hand. ‘Startalker of the Future!’

  Gala looked up. Her face was smeared with ash. Her rainbow eyes overflowed with grief; tears streamed down her cheeks. She stared at the ruin of the wheel, and the destruction of her world.

  ‘How could they?’ she whispered. ‘How could anyone do this?’ Slowly, she turned to look at them, one by one: Lucky, Bixa, and finally Frollix. She gasped as she met Frollix’s eyes. She grabbed his hands, and held him to her chest like a drowning man.

  ‘What are you doing to my brother?’ said Bixa. ‘If you hurt him—’

  ‘Hush!’ said Gala, holding him tight. She cradled Frollix, rocking him back and forth, whispering in his ear. ‘So Byzantine is gone,’ she murmured. ‘And now his power passes to you. But you – poor fool – you never believed it, or prepared for it, until too late . . . And now here it is, overwhelming.’

  ‘I – I can’t stop it,’ groaned Frollix. ‘I keep seeing things that make no sense – hearing things I don’t understand – all at once, rushing in . . .’ He ground his palms into his eyes and ears, as if to stop the flood of visions.

  Gala held him for a long while, and then glanced up at Lucky. ‘As for your father,’ she said, ‘he is waiting for you. He is expecting you, even now. Go to Aquarius, and you will find him.’

  ‘He’s in Aquarius? Is that where Charon is – in Aquarius?’

  Gala shook her head; her hair flicked across her face. ‘Nothing is in Aquarius! But that is where you must go. For Aquarius is dying – and if Aquarius goes, everything goes. Nothing will remain.’ Her rainbow eyes filled with tears again. ‘Oh, we had such hopes, we Startalkers – but all is fallen into ruin. No, we cannot help you. Our time is over. One by one, we die.’

  Bixa’s needles buried themselves at the words, and her head drooped. But Lucky forced himself to speak. He had to keep trying, though he dreaded what Gala might say next.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘How do I find my father, if he’s not in Aquarius? I’m begging you, please – just tell me how to find him! Give me something to go on!’

  Gala looked into his eyes. Through her tears, she seemed to be struggling with terrible demons. Then she nodded, hesitant. ‘Very well. Watch . . .’

  She held the astrolabe in her hands, and tapped its surface with her long black nails. The dials began to move. They started to turn and spin, shimmering beneath her fingers as the metal disc pulsed and blazed and throbbed with light. ‘Do you see?’ she murmured. ‘Through the storm, and off the edge. Do you see it? The stars will lead you there, if you are bold enough to follow.’

  Lucky looked. All he could see was the blur of her fingernails as they flicked over the symbols and dials. But then – just for a moment – he thought he saw the astrolabe opening out beneath her touch. He thought he saw lines of silver light stretching off the astrolabe, off the edge of the disc altogether, extending out into the open space around her.

  He felt a shiver of hope –

  – and then Gala shrieked like someone possessed. She dropped the astrolabe. It fell from her hands into the rubble. Those lines of silver light flickered out, and were gone.

  ‘The Wolf!’ she howled, convu
lsed with horror. Her eyes sparked every colour at once. ‘The Wolf That Eats the Stars! That is what lies at the end of your path! For you and the Wolf – you are connected! In the end, you are one!’

  ‘What?’ gasped Lucky. ‘How can we be connected?!’

  But Gala was backing away from him, hands held up before her as she stumbled into the rubble. She was fleeing from the stage, fleeing from Lucky. She was running out into the crowds.

  He called after her, but she didn’t look back. Gala, the most powerful Startalker, seemed utterly terrified of him as she plunged into the torrents of people surging past on all sides. She was swept up, carried away among them – and was gone.

  Lucky and Bixa looked at each other: helpless, hopeless, wordless.

  ‘Can we get out of here?’ groaned Frollix.

  Lucky retrieved his astrolabe from the rubble, and they stumbled out of the amphitheatre in silence. The explosion was still ringing in their ears. Smoke and ash were still rolling across the night as they walked through the ruins of the world.

  It looked as if a great fist had come down from the sky and smashed the landscape to pieces. The forest trees had shattered into twigs. The dwelling huts had been blown away. Of the wild flowers in the fields, only stalks remained, shaking in the wind.

  There were animals stampeding through the fields, and people running, walking, stumbling out of the smoke. Their faces were covered in ash, and still the ash kept raining from the sky.

  Lucky looked for Professor Byzantine and Bazooka by the wreckage of the wheel. Bixa tried to persuade him that it was pointless, but he refused to believe it. He had to look. He had to search.

  It was long, and hard, and grim.

  Half buried in the rubble, he found a single feather of crimson gold. Just one feather: that was all he could find.

  He picked it up. It was still warm to the touch; still glowing with light.

  His heart ached for the little phoenix and her master, the Startalker of the Past.

  He couldn’t show the feather to Frollix and Bixa. He couldn’t bear to look at it himself, but he couldn’t leave it in the ashes, either. So carefully, silently, he put the feather away in the pocket of his coat.

  That was when he had to turn away from the wreckage of the wheel, and admit to himself that there were no survivors.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mystica knew what had happened. Though she’d wept, she had already dried her tears by the time they returned to the Sunfire. Yet it was even sadder for Lucky to see how bravely she composed herself, sitting up in her bed and refusing to show despair, thanking the stars instead that Frollix, Bixa and Lucky at least had survived.

  ‘What’s wrong with Frollix?’ said the Captain, as Lucky and Bixa carried him into the cabin, and laid him down on Mystica’s bed.

  ‘There’s voices in my head,’ groaned Frollix, his face shadowy in the candlelight. ‘Songs. And I don’t know what they are . . .’

  Mystica cradled Frollix in her arms. ‘It is your star, singing to you,’ she said. ‘My dear old comrade is gone; he has returned to the stars, too soon. Now you have taken his place as Startalker of the Past. You are coming into your power, as we always said you would.’

  ‘But I don’t want it,’ gasped Frollix, holding his head in his hands. ‘It’s too much!’

  ‘Many Startalkers feel that way at first,’ Mystica replied gently. ‘But you can master it. Try, Frollix. Don’t be scared of it.’

  Her words didn’t seem to comfort him. Watching her brother, Bixa looked even more troubled.

  ‘Something strange happened to us all, right after the bomb,’ she said. ‘Something like the Living Death. I’ve never felt anything like it. Suddenly, nothing mattered; everything was meaningless. All I could see was myself. And I remember thinking, maybe Dark Matter bombs cause the Living Death . . .’

  ‘I thought the same thing,’ said Lucky. ‘But then we recovered from it; I don’t know how. Lots of people didn’t.’

  ‘So what did Gala tell you?’ asked Mystica, peering at them through the flickering light.

  Lucky looked down; he couldn’t bring himself to tell her all Gala’s dire prophecies. ‘She – she said we had to go to Aquarius. She told the Professor that was where we’d find what we’re looking for. And she said I’d find my father – only she didn’t say how.’

  Mystica shivered, and pulled her furs tight around herself. ‘She always speaks in riddles, that one. You never know what her words mean until it’s too late. But that is the nature of the future. It is fluid. Nothing is certain.’

  ‘She seemed pretty sure about one thing,’ said Bixa. ‘She said that you’re right, Mystica. Aquarius is dying. And if Aquarius goes, everything goes.’

  ‘Ah.’ Mystica tried to control her shivering, but it was no good; her whole body shuddered at the news. ‘Then we can delay no longer. Captain: I know you will object, but kindly set a course for Aquarius.’

  Captain Nox did not reply. He was staring at images of space on the vidscreens. He seemed a million miles away.

  ‘Ozymandias?’ said Mystica quietly. She reached out and took his hand. ‘My dear? Will you set a course to Aquarius, please?’

  The Captain blinked. ‘Aquarius?’ He scratched the base of his horns; pondered the question in silence for a moment.

  ‘I know it is not safe,’ said Mystica. ‘The Axxa fleet will be resisting the Humans’ blockade. There is bound to be fierce fighting. But that is where we must go.’

  ‘We can’t fly without Frollix,’ the Captain said bleakly. ‘He has to operate the Dark Matter drive while I navigate. I can’t do both at the same time.’

  Frollix gritted his teeth. He made a massive effort, and slowly hauled his huge bulk up, until he was standing on his own. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘I’ll fire up the drive. We’ll get to Aquarius. Don’t worry, Mystica: you can count on me.’

  ‘Frollix,’ cautioned the Captain, ‘you are in no fit condition.’

  ‘No, sir. But if I’m really gonna do this Startalker thing – then I gotta do something normal, too!’

  The Captain looked from Frollix to Mystica and back again – and then exhaled in resignation. ‘Very well.’ He stood up. ‘If that’s how you want it, then come along. We have work to do.’

  ‘I can help with the navigating,’ Lucky pitched in. ‘I could use the astrolabe, and help you find the best route.’ He pictured the ship’s cockpit in his mind. He desperately wanted to be there, part of the action. He didn’t want to think about the dangers they were going into – or the possibility that he himself might be the biggest danger of all. He just wanted to do something useful.

  But the Captain shook his head. ‘Help? How can anyone help us now, boy? We’re beyond help.’ His horns glinted. ‘Besides, I don’t want you anywhere near my cockpit. Wherever you go, bad things happen. Sometimes I’d swear you were cursed. So you stay right here, and don’t touch a thing.’ He left the cabin, trailing Frollix in his wake.

  Lucky felt crushed. I can help, he thought. I know I can. But the Captain’s right. I am cursed. Wherever I go, bad things do seem to keep happening—

  ‘Don’t listen to him!’ said Mystica, interrupting his thoughts. ‘You stay here with me. I always feel so much warmer when you’re here.’

  Lucky sat beside her and Bixa on the bed. Together, they stared at the vidpics of the Twelve Astraeus in silence.

  ‘So what else did Gala say?’ Mystica asked, after a while. ‘Surely there was more.’

  Lucky bit his lip. He could hardly bear to think about it. But he made himself tell her Gala’s prophecy on the wheel: how he was burning his life away, and how the Professor had confirmed it. ‘Did you know, too?’ he asked the old lady.

  Mystica’s golden eyes went wide with shock. She shook her head, and took his hand. Her skin was cold, so cold, like death. ‘Are you absolutely certain that’s what she meant?’ she said. ‘After all, it was the Professor who died on Scorpio, not you. Perhaps she intended t
he prophecy for him. Think carefully, Lucky. What were Gala’s exact words?’

  The memory was crystal clear, and it made him shudder, even now. ‘You are what you are, and you will return to the sky!’

  ‘You are what you are?’ murmured Mystica. ‘What a strange thing to say. Did she at least tell you what she thought you were?’

  Lucky’s throat constricted. It felt like there was a hand around his heart, crushing it. ‘She said that me and the Wolf . . . we’re connected. Me and the Wolf are one.’ He could hardly breathe now. ‘What if that means I’m the Wolf That Eats the Stars? What if I’m the one who’s killing Aquarius – and killing you, Mystica?’

  There was silence for a long moment. Mystica’s golden eyes looked deep into him, through his secrets and fears, all the way to the centre of his being.

  ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘That cannot be true. Whatever she meant . . . I think I would know if you were the Wolf.’

  ‘There was something else,’ added Bixa, her needles glimmering. ‘Right at the beginning, when Gala first felt Lucky’s power, she looked at the Professor – and he told her that you’d had your suspicions, Mystica.’

  Mystica gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand.

  ‘What?’ said Lucky. ‘What suspicions?’

  The old lady looked up at the vidscreens. ‘There was a possibility that the Professor and I wondered about,’ she said. ‘We didn’t dare believe it, because after all, it is so unlikely . . . But perhaps the thing we’ve been searching for, out there in space – perhaps it’s been right here, under our noses, all along.’ She turned to Lucky, her eyes bright as sunrise. ‘You,’ she said. ‘What if you are one of the Astraeus?’

  ‘What?’ He shook his head; he almost laughed. ‘You’re joking, right?’

  But Mystica didn’t look like she was joking. She was gazing at the vidscreens, her eyes shining. His mouth went dry as he looked up too, and saw those amazing people, so vast and powerful. The light was streaming out of their hands, their heads, their hearts. Just as it had streamed out of him.

  ‘The Twelve Astraeus,’ she whispered. ‘The stars who came down from the sky.’ She shivered, and hugged herself. ‘We thought you were channelling the power of the stars. But what if you are not a channel; what if you are the thing itself? What if there is a star inside you, rising up as you come into your power?’