Forgery of the Phoenix

by Michael Angel

  “This ‘summons’ concerns and worries me,” Fitzwilliam said. “I am less than keen on letting a member of my Royal Court go on short notice.”

  Korr’s deep voice echoed in my head again. “Know we not the concerns of your court, King Fitzwilliam. We only know of our Quondam’s fears for our future. It is for those descended from the loins of Julian the Conqueror to show if the line of heroes has bred true.”

  Fitzwilliam actually straightened up at that, a look of defiance etched on his face. I couldn’t believe it, but the phoenix had actually managed to get the King to react. And Korr had done it by hitting on one of the few areas where Fitzwilliam was a bit sensitive: his past lineage. In fact, the King had spoken to me in private of how much he felt like an outsider in a land which had looked up to his father, Benedict the Good. Looked up to, that is, right until an evil wizard had murdered him.

  It seemed the phoenix was purposely trying to goad Fitzwilliam into sending me. It could have been a sign of desperation on the part of the Seraphine. However, I reminded myself of the basic principle that guided a lot of my past investigations: the simplest explanation tended to be the more likely one.

  “Sire,” I said, speaking for the first time since the phoenix had appeared. “Korr here admitted that he didn’t even know who rules in Andeluvia. Therefore, I doubt he knows anything of your forefather’s deeds. Or the lengths you have gone to in order to repair the rifts in your kingdom.”

  “You strike in the gold, Dame Chrissie.” The King nodded his head slowly. “And it is also true that no act can be judged for its heroism unless one knows what is expected. Does that not seem correct to you, ambassador of the Seraphine?”

  The big, fiery raptor actually looked a trifle uncomfortable. Maybe I had underestimated its knowledge, but that was working in my favor right now. “One such as I does not presume to know how heroism is judged outside the Seraphine.”

  “Then you should also not presume that you shall receive help from us,” Fitzwilliam stated tartly. “I know of no treaty that binds us, no trade that enriches us, nor any aid sent between our kingdoms in times of need. And yet, our first contact with your kind is a summons from a Quondam which I do not recognize.”

  To this, Korr remained silent.

  “I deem it prudent, given these fraught times, to seek counsel among my court,” Fitzwilliam continued. “While it is my right to release Dame Chrissie to become your ‘Quester’, I value her counsel on the matter. Return hence in a few days and we shall have an answer for you.”

  The phoenix raised its head in astonishment. “Shall the Quondam’s request be kept waiting in judgement when the survival of my people is at stake?”

  Fitzwilliam looked over to me, so I answered the question in my typical stompy-boot style. “Neither I nor the King judge anything lightly. As for the wait, allow me to ask something. Are your people in danger of perishing in the next few days? Or ‘next few suns’, as you might say?”

  Again, the big bird looked discomfited. This time his plumes actually drooped a bit.

  “They shall not,” he said, after a pause.

  “Good.” I hastily calculated my work schedule. After tonight, I had to be in Los Angeles for the next three days. I figured that would give me plenty of time to consider Pirr’s summons. “Return in four days from now. We shall talk to you then. Safe travels, Korr.”

  It took a second for the phoenix to realize it had just been dismissed, and not by the realm’s monarch. Fitzwilliam had a tight smile upon his face, but spoke no further as the avian looked to him. Then the Seraphine spread its wings and, with the whoosh of a growing blaze, brightened back to its full light and heat.

  The andirons in the hearth flashed blue lightning, the bolts wrapping around the fiery bird as it leapt backwards and into the flames. The sizzle of bacon hitting hot grease, and the creature vanished in a puff of sulfur.

  Fitzwilliam looked over to me. “I have misgivings about the summons from these so-called ‘Seraphine’. However, given the state of war that some seek to impose upon us, we need all the information that can be gathered. And perhaps these beings could become allies.”

  “Those thoughts had crossed my mind as well,” I agreed.

  “Still, I shall leave the decision of whether to accept the designation as ‘Quester’ up to you. I simply do not know how much, or even if, it relates to our troubles as of late. It does seem like you’re the most popular person on my court again.”

  I looked around at the seated lords and knights. Based on the expressions I read there, I’d just lost a good number of the points I’d gained during the battle with the Noctua. Most looked like they’d had their noses put out of joint. The extra time Fitzwilliam had granted before declaring me bankrupt and taking back my Dame-hood didn’t sit well with them.

  A pleasant thought ran through my head after that observation.

  Am I the most popular person here, or the least? I’m not sure which is the truth.

  * * *

  I paced the floor back at the Dame’s Tower. Liam and Shaw, now that their betting was concluded, had returned to their comfy spots by my hearth. Galen stood by our meeting table, reading and re-reading the message that Korr had left. My thoughts were as unsettled as my mood, so I carefully listened to my friends’ opinions on the matter at hand.

  “I trust thy phoenix friend as far as I could heave him aloft,” Shaw grumbled. He unconsciously flexed his fore claws as he spoke. “What are they playing at?”

  “You may be overly suspicious because your species is not familiar with them,” Liam cautioned. He watched the flex of Shaw’s talons with one eye. “I’d think that any being made of fire would stay well away from the coast, or at least the ocean. Flying to the Reykajar aerie, a piece of land surrounded on three sides by certain death, would probably be viewed as a foolhardy act.”

  “Liam, do you know any more about these ‘Seraphine’?” I asked. “It sounds like the fayleene are at least familiar with them.”

  “The last fayleene to see the phoenix have all passed on into the Sunlit Glade. So I know only what I heard as a fawn. The stories all said that the Seraphine slumbered high in the mountains to the west of the Fayleene Woods. As best as I can tell, my people thought of the phoenix as creatures that were dangerous. But necessary.”

  That perked Galen’s interest. He looked up and asked, “How might have the fayleene come to that conclusion?”

  Liam made one of his adorable deer-shrugs. “On rare occasions, the Seraphine had a nasty habit of incinerating portions of the forest. No one knows why they would do this. However, the Protector of the Forest was always aware of the damage caused. He would take steps to limit it by summoning Thunderbirds to rain the phoenix out.”

  I snapped my fingers. “So that’s where you got the idea to call in Thunderbirds, back when we fought Sirrahon. You knew they could put out the fires he caused.”

  He bobbed his antlers in acknowledgement. “Even so. The phoenix never did irreparable harm. The fires they lit helped rejuvenate the Fayleene Woods by burning off the excess underbrush and needle debris.”

  I thought of the fight we’d had with Wyeth in that same forest. It must have been decades or even centuries since a phoenix had last been through. The deep piles of needles and debris had made it almost impossible for Galen to use his powers. Casting lightning or energy spells in those woods was like tossing lit matches into a pool of spilled gasoline.

  “It would be fascinating indeed to know the role that the Seraphine play in the health of the Fayleene Woods,” Galen added. “Especially if they are as ancient a people as the tales say.”

  “If they are ancient, they may play less of a role than you think,” Liam pointed out. “Once I became Protector, I not only can sense the moods and thoughts of the animals of the forest. I also sensed the health and knowledge of the trees.”

  Shaw snorted. “And what knowledge might a tree possess that could be of any use to thee?”

  “Trees sp
eak to the fertility of the soil, the depth and purity of the water in the ground, and the severity of the winters,” Liam turned to stare into the hearth’s tiny fire. “Those that burned after Sirrahon’s attack but slumber. They shall return and regrow. But it was a surprise to know their age.”

  “What dost thou mean?”

  “Even the eldest of the grand trees that made up the Sacred Grove were only a few centuries old, five hundred at the most. They grew fast and wild when they were saplings...as if there was little or no competition. As if there was little or no forest there at all.”

  “So, the phoenix may exist independent of forest growth,” Galen said impatiently. “Dayna, this ‘summons’ is a tremendous opportunity to increase our knowledge of this species! Only a few of my guild’s texts even speak of the Seraphine. They supposedly came from a land where the rocks burned, and there were rivers of coal-black water that also caught fire.”

  “Water that catches fire?” Shaw scoffed. “As if such a thing were possible!”

  “Possible or not, perhaps they can provide a lead on where Wyeth went,” Liam noted. “Or maybe even a fellow fire-loving creature like Sirrahon.”

  I stopped my pacing as I spoke. “And I want to find out what the phoenix know about the ‘Old War’ that’s returned and brought enemies right into the heart of this very palace.”

  “So you’ll take up the challenge?” Galen asked excitedly. “Then allow me to rummage through my equipment. I’ll have to ask you to take samples, keep records–”

  A rapping sound came from my window. Frowning, Galen reached up and opened the set of shutters. A young owl I didn’t recognize sat high up on the ledge, her breath steaming in the cold.

  “Greetings, Dame Chrissie,” she said, in an anxious, high-pitched voice. “This one brings an urgent summons for you.”

  “Take a number and get in line,” I groused.

  The little Hoohan blinked owlishly at me, obviously confused by my turn of phrase.

  “This one does not...”

  “Never mind,” I sighed, with a wave of my hand. “Go on. Who is this summons from?”

  “This one brings a summons from Albess Thea, of course. The Albess has heard of your potential expedition to the Vale of the Seraphine.”

  “News travels as fast as ever ‘round the Royal court,” Shaw murmured.

  The little owl continued without pause. “The Albess wishes to speak to the new-raised Dame immediately. For she fears that disaster may come from fulfilling the wishes of the fiery ones!”

  Chapter Nine

  “It seems that the Albess shares some of Shaw’s concerns,” I remarked. To the little messenger owl, I added, “Please let the Albess know that I’m on my way.”

  The bird did an awkward half-bow, then took off into the nickel-colored morning sky. Galen quickly closed up the shutters again to block the sudden inflow of cold air.

  I located my cloak and began to slip it on, but a thought occurred to me. I went over to Galen and held my hand out.

  “I’d like to borrow the message Korr left,” I said. The wizard hesitated, so I went on. “I know that you wish to study it, Galen. But I want to find out what Thea might make of it, and I also want to take it to my world, see if I can pry any more secrets out of it.”

  Galen handed the document over, and then rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Of course, Dayna. Sometimes my intellectual curiosity gets the better of me.”

  “I promise, I’ll bring it back when I return from Los Angeles,” I reassured him, carefully rolling the summons back into a cylinder as I left the room.

  The scent of fresh beeswax stayed with me as I worked my way down to the ground floor. It was a faint, spicy fragrance mingled with plant resins, and it buoyed my spirits. The reason for the smell became obvious once I reached the exit; the pages were busy replacing the candles that lit the hallways all through the palace.

  The fragrance faded away as I pushed my way to the courtyard. I avoided looking at the bloodstains left by the three knights’ combat as I passed. It was an all too vivid reminder of my current problems.

  The Parliament handled business inside a building designed specifically to owl specifications. Their workplace was three stories of sheer-sided gray stone, windowless, and sporting an A-frame wood roof that appeared to ‘float’ over the tops of the walls, the roof lifted ten feet above the walls on stout timber posts. To my eyes, it looked like a recipe for serious drafts, but it allowed comfortable entry and exit points for the Hoohan.

  While the exterior of the Parliament had remained the same, the interior was sadly diminished. The insides still resembled an amphitheater made up of oval rows of drafting tables. Each table was specially modified, with horizontally mounted iron bars for comfortable perching, but sadly, half were covered in depressing brown tents of canvas cloth.

  The battle with the Noctua, a warrior band of owls intent on taking over Andeluvia, had reduced the numbers of the Hoohan by half of what I’d seen before. Those that remained looked stressed as they gripped their styluses in their talons, trying to keep up with the paperwork while retaining some standard of penmanship.

  Personally, I thought they were holding up well on the latter front. I could still read every loop and swirl of their letters, as each owl wrote like a calligrapher. My own illegible scrawls were mute testimony to my impatience, brought out by my love affair with the computer keyboard.

  The staffing issue really was a serious problem. In times past, Xandra or some other owl had always greeted me courteously before conducting me into the Albess’ presence. Now, it was self-service only. I got a few complacent nods of recognition, but no one stopped me as I made my way down the rows of desks to the Parliament’s lower floor.

  Said floor was still jam-packed with tables. The tables held bare platters dotted by the occasional crumb of pastry. The ghostly aromas of butter and fruit still hung in the air. Earlier in the morning, these were doubtlessly piled high with the latest mouse-centric delicacies from Fitzwilliam’s kitchens.

  Which made me stop and wonder for a moment. Did the same chefs cook the human and the owl foods? Did they use the same flatware and cooking implements? If so, did they wash the ones they used before repurposing them between meat and mouse?

  I made a mental note to find out someday. Preferably someday soon.

  Albess Thea perched on her usual bar, dictating notes to a younger Parliamentarian. Her posture was stooped, and her light yellow eyes were filmed over with a cloud of early cataracts. But her creamy Dreamsicle orange plumage looked properly groomed, and her voice remained strong. Thea may be elderly, but she’d recovered like a champion from her recent harsh treatment at the hands of Raisah’s followers among the Noctua.

  The Albess spotted me as I approached, and her voice was as warm and welcoming as ever.

  “My dear child, you came!” she said, with a pleased ‘hoo!’ and a flap of her wings. “I did so hope you would see me before you left.”

  “I’d put any plans I had on hold if I knew you had counsel for me,” I said honestly.

  “One must need alone time when speaking to She-from-another-world,” the Albess said to her companion, in the unique way that the Hoohan spoke amongst themselves. The younger owl bobbed her head, then took flight.

  “Where is Xandra?” I asked, once we were alone.

  Thea let out a series of ‘hoos’ which I recognized as an owlish chuckle. “That is right, you do not know the good news yet. She is gravid!”

  “Pregnant?” I exclaimed, surprised. That had to be good news for her, especially after the long illness and death of her son, Perrin.

  “She is showing her egg bump and everything,” Thea confirmed. “And in your world...how is Shelly, the one who drew me back from death?”

  “She’s good, I hope.”

  Thea cocked her head at that. “You sound unsure.”

  “She’s been placed in the First Samaritan psychiatric ward,” I explained. “That’s a place wh
ere they keep you for observation.”

  Thea clacked her beak. “I don’t like the sound of that, dear one. What are they ‘observing’ her for?”

  “Mostly to make sure that she’s not a danger to herself or others. Remember, before you cured her, she’d disappeared in much the same way as you had. People assumed that she had, er, lost her wits.”

  Thea sighed and fluffed out her feathers. “I am probably just being an old hen. But I only hope she has caretakers, not jailers in all but name.”

  “I’ll be following up with her, I promise,” I said. “I know you’re concerned.”

  “That is not the full extent of my worries.” Thea fixed me with a stern look, which admittedly wasn’t a hard thing for an owl to do. “May I see the message that the courier of the Seraphine left with you?”

  I brought out the cylinder, unrolled it, and held it before the Albess. She looked at it briefly, then reached out and rubbed it with a downy wingtip.

  “As I suspected,” she said, half to herself. “Based on the description of your meeting with this ‘Korr’, it sounded like something related to the age of the war from so long ago.”

  “It does? Is it something hidden in the message?”

  “Not quite. It is the medium of the message.” She nodded at the parchment. “This is something I’ve only seen and touched a few times since I was hatched. It is sartuul, what others call ‘dragon paper’. I have heard that it is made of a gossamer-thin slice of dragon scale, but no one has proven it. No one has made sartuul since before the founding of the Kingdom of Andeluvia.”

  Shocked, I held the message out and felt it again. The greenish tinge of the page did look a little reptilian, and more than a little familiar. But again, I couldn’t quite put my finger on where I’d seen it before.