Flight of the Phoenix

by Alicia Michaels

  Desdemona gritted her teeth and nodded, sucking in a sharp breath. Eli braced his opposite hand against her shoulder, took a pause, then yanked on the spear with all of his might. A scream fell from her lips as the spear was torn free of her flesh, followed by a font of blood. Mindirra stepped forward to unbuckle the pauldrons, removing it and the rest of the armor covering the arm.

  With a grimace, Eli quickly removed his shirt. He approached her as if to use them to bind the wound.

  Holding one hand up, she halted him with a shake of her head. “I must sear the wound first ... to stop the bleeding.”

  Nodding in understanding, Eli produced a dagger from his boot and held it up to her. “I’ll do it. Just give me a flame.”

  Extending her palm, Desdemona produced a small flame and held it out toward him. Thrusting his knife into the fire, Eli watched and waited while the metal began to heat. Once it glowed like an ember, he withdrew it, and she extinguished the flame. Mindirra tore her sleeve off to expose the wound, and placed a comforting hand on her good shoulder.

  “Are you ready?” Eli asked, his gaze offering her sympathy.

  Nodding, she looked away, unable to watch. “Do it.”

  She bit her lower lip and held back a scream as the hot metal touched her, searing her skin. She fought down the bile rising in her throat and breathed through the pain, sighing with relief when he pulled the metal way. Glancing down at her shoulder, she found the wound now closed, the burn lingering in its place. It was going to leave a scar, but Desdemona couldn’t think about that now.

  Eli removed his shirt and quickly tore it into strips, which he used to bind the shoulder. The pressure of the tight bindings offered some relief from the pain, and she allowed Eli to help her to her feet.

  “I’m all right,” she said in response to her brother-in-law’s questioning stare.

  Suddenly, the sound of groaning metal from below struck fear into her gut. Her eyes grew wide as, right before her eyes, Eli and Mindirra shifted into animal form in response. She did not have to ask them why, as they quickly bounded off down the stairs leading into the courtyard below.

  The gates had just been breached.

  Malachi sprouted fur and four legs in an eye’s blink, rushing down the castle wall steps behind Eli and Mindirra. Another man took his place with the crossbow, and he was grateful for it. He did not have the patience to remain on the wall, when he’d rather get up close with his enemy and tear it to shreds. His gaze met Desdemona’s as he passed her on his way to the stairs, but he forced himself to keep moving. He was doing this for her, and stopping to comfort her when she was injured could be of no use right now.

  Watching that spear fly up and impale her had sent his heart plummeting down into his stomach for a moment; until he realized that the injury was not life threatening. Noticing that Eli and Mindirra seemed to have things under control, he’d continued in his task of manning the crossbow.

  Now that the gates had been breached, the mission had changed. Keep as many of them from entering the keep as possible. As long as the enemy could be held back from the wall, they could continue to hold out until the reinforcements arrived from Damu.

  Reaching the courtyard, he found Desdemona’s forces pouring out through the now open gates, rushing out to meet Eranna’s approaching army. The Minotaurs who’d wielded the battering ram lay dead, their instrument of destruction lying on the ground. But, their goal had been reached, their mission complete. The gates lay mangled on the courtyard, trampled beneath the feet of those running out to do battle. Formations formed up along the wall, with the bulk of their numbers concentrated just in front of the now opened gate.

  Eranna’s chariot rolled across the snow swiftly, leading the charge. The Shifters pulled away from the rest, their speed propelling them forward.

  Eli roared, and even though it was not a call he understood, the animal instincts he possessed responded. He was calling on the other Shifters to fall in line.

  Malachi’s paws pounded the snow as he ran to join the others—a mingling of Foxes and Werewolves flanking him and Eli on either side. As one, they ran out to meet the others. Snow and clumps of dirt kicked up beneath their swift feet as they ran, with Eli breaking ahead of the pack, the speed of a cat propelling him faster than the rest of them.

  Eli made impact first, colliding with a Werewolf at the center of the battlefield. Seconds later, the rest caught up. Malachi roared, swiping his big paw at a Werewolf, as another leapt onto his back. Rearing up onto two legs, he growled, striking out with his claws at the attacking Werewolf while trying to dislodge the one clinging to his back. He had almost died once from the bite of a Werewolf, and did not wish to repeat the experience.

  The first one went down, and the other fell from his back. Malachi turned and quickly snapped at the Werewolf’s throat with his teeth, rendering it motionless, too. All around him the Shifters fought, while the other, slower creatures finally met them in the fray.

  The shower of silver dust swirled to mingle with the snow, as Dark Fae battled Eendi. Explosions shook the ground here and there as the Witches threw their explosives. Growls and snarls from the Shifters mingled with the sounds of snapping jaws and ripping claws.

  Malachi fought without thinking, striking out at anything that attacked him with his teeth and claws. Overhead, more of the Warrior Fae flew, their birds dropping large stones onto the enemy forces and crushing them.

  An Eendi swooped down at him on the back of a large crow, the bird extending its talons to pluck Malachi from the ground. He could not avoid it, as the bird began to fly off with him, pulling him farther and farther away from the ground.

  Malachi felt dizzy as the bird flew him away from the others, seeming ready to drop him to his death. He gritted his teeth and braced for impact. He shifted as he fell, his two-legged form, making it easier for him to survive the fall.

  But, he never touched the ground.

  Something else plucked him out of the air, and he found himself flying again. Glancing up, he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the vibrant feathers flapping in the wind and carrying him to safety. Flames shot from her beak, incinerating the Eendi who had attempted to kill him.

  Then, she gingerly set him on his feet, landing on the ground in front of him. All around them the battle raged on, but for the moment, he became entranced by the Phoenix standing in front of him. Her dark eyes met his and held, and for a moment, he wondered if she remembered.

  But then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed, and she was flying again, spewing flames down at the enemy. He shifted forms once more, rejoining the fight.

  “I want her brought down now!” a shrill voice called out from somewhere within the battle. “I want the Phoenix grounded!”

  Malachi searched for the familiar voice and found Eranna still in her chariot, her polar bears pulling her around the fighting bodies. From her place in the chariot, she held the reins with one hand, and her spear with the other—which she wielded against anything that came too close to her precious vehicle. Her mouth twisted into a cruel smile as she stabbed a Fox Shifter through the eye, before pulling her spear free and using it against a Werewolf.

  From deep within Eranna’s ranks, a large wooden device appeared, similar to a catapult. Fighting off one of Eranna’s Fox Shifters, Malachi attempted to make his way closer to determine would it could be.

  He barreled toward it, swatting a Witch out of his way with his paw and lumbering forward. The device deployed, sending what appeared to be a large net flying toward Desdemona. The net enfolded her, forcing her to the ground due to the heavy weights attacked to each end.

  No!

  He spotted Eli in the throng, fighting his way toward her, along with Mindirra. As they proceeded to where Desdemona had fallen, they found their path impeded by a horde of Werewolves. While Malachi fought to tear his way through them, he could see that several witches had taken hold of the edge of the net, and were working to keep Desdemona from break
ing free.

  Her cries sounded panicked as she fought against the bindings, her fire harmless to the undoubtedly enchanted ropes making up the net.

  Eranna’s chariot rolled into view, and she brought it to a halt in front of her trapped daughter, dismounting and leaving it in the snow. She gave her silver spear a twirl as she approached the trapped Phoenix.

  “Well, what do we have here,” she taunted, a cackling laugh falling from her lips. “It would seem that even a Phoenix can be caged like any ordinary bird.”

  Desdemona’s response came out on an angry cry, but this only seemed to amuse Eranna. Lifting her spear, the dark queen glared at her daughter.

  “I gave you a chance to back down ... to give me my kingdom back,” she snarled. “Now your precious followers will pay the price by watching their so-called queen die.”

  Malachi crushed the neck of an attacking Fox Shifter with his jaws, his desperation to get to Eranna before she could kill Desdemona clutching at his chest. He bounded over the snow; his breath caught and held in his throat as he watched Desdemona thrash, fighting against the net and the Witches holding her down.

  Eranna took a few long, running steps, the spear held up as she prepared to hurl it through the air. Malachi followed, jaws open and ready to strike. Her feet left the ground as she leapt, thrusting her arm forward with the spear. His teeth sank into her ankle, producing a scream of pain and rage. Falling toward the snow, he dragged her down, but not before she released the spear, which continued on its course toward Desdemona.

  He and the dark queen fell to the snow in a tumble of limbs, the taste of the queen’s blood sour on his tongue. The spear zipped through the air, but did not hit its intended target.

  Seemingly out of thin air, a large, black shape leapt through the air, putting itself between Desdemona and the spear.

  The point of the spear struck it, knocking it to the ground and rescuing Desdemona from certain death.

  “You foul beast!” Eranna shrieked at him from where she lay on the ground, blood from her ankle soaking the snow beneath her. “You cretin! I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

  Malachi stood over her and roared, the need to kill her himself welling up within him. Raising one paw, he prepared to strike, his claws sharp enough to remove her head from her shoulders. Just as he brought it downward, she screamed, disappearing with a blast of snow, ice, and cold air.

  He pounded the snow with his paw in frustration, but then shifted onto two legs as he remembered Desdemona.

  Mindirra and a few of the royal bodyguards fought against the Witches to free her, while Desdemona laid still and ceased fighting the ropes, waiting for her moment to be set free.

  As Malachi ran across the snow toward her, he spotted the black shape that had leapt in front of her to take the point of the spear.

  The black shape had morphed, appearing much smaller now that he lay in the snow, blood pouring from the wound in his center of his chest. Malachi’s stomach lurched as he skidded to a stop beside him. He knelt, eyes wide and hands trembling as his eyes met a pair of wide, yellow-gold ones.

  Jocylene ducked to avoid the swing of an Eendi’s sword, then reached for one of the chunks of iron ore nearby with her power and threw it right in her opponent’s face. He shattered, his head disintegrating first, followed by his body. A Minotaur roared at her, the points of his horns lowered at her as he charged. She pulled on the ground and caused it to roll like a tidal wave beneath the beast. It stumbled, and Rothatin was on it before it could move. Leaping onto the beast’s back, he drove the point of his spear between its shoulder blades. With a roar, the beast jerked, then fell still and silent. Wrenching his spear loose, Rothatin hopped down from on top of the beast.

  Spotting an Eendi behind him, Jocylene pulled on a hunk of iron and hurled it over his shoulder. His eyes widened as it just missed him, flying to tear through the Dark Fae attempting to attack him from behind. Rothatin turned just in time to see his attacker disappear in a swirl of silver dust.

  He scowled at her. “Are you attempting to kill me, Princess?”

  She scoffed. “I could if I wanted to. And, you’re welcome, by the way.”

  He smirked, raising his spear to fight off another Eendi, which had dropped out of the sky between them.

  “Thank you for almost killing me,” he snapped between blows. Within seconds he’d killed the Dark Fae.

  She opened her mouth to issue a sharp retort, but was stopped short, when an unseen force slammed against her chest. The breath knocked from her lungs, she fell back onto the ground. As she scrambled to gain her footing again, Rothatin appeared over her.

  “Princess, are you all—”

  A sharp cry tore from her throat, cutting him off, as a searing pain blossomed in her chest. She felt as if something had lodged itself there, and was now ripping her apart from the inside. Dropping to her knees, she clutched her chest and screamed again, finding no other outlet for the pain. Her throat seized and she felt as if her lungs had filled with water, even though she sat on dry land.

  Smoke and fire continued to ravage the forest around them, while the battle raged on. They were winning—beating back the Eendi who had lost the element of surprise. Yet, Jocylene could not seem to get a handle on whatever it was tearing her up inside, and felt as if she stared death in the face.

  Rothatin’s face swam in her blurred vision, his brow knit with concern. “Jocylene? What is it ... what’s wrong?”

  “My chest ...” she choked out. “The pain ... I can’t ... agh!”

  She lurched forward into his arms, and he caught her, keeping her from pitching face-first into the dirt. A flash of bright light filled her vision, and when it cleared, she saw clearly what had caused this pain. Tears filled her eyes as the throbbing pain echoed throughout her entire being.

  “Eli,” she croaked. “It’s Eli ... he’s hurt.”

  Rothatin lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, his mouth a grim line. “I can take you to him.”

  She nodded quickly, reaching out to latch on to the front of his shirt. “Please.”

  Before the word had even finished coming from her mouth, he began to teleport, taking her with him in a haze of glowing light.

  They arrived in Mollac, and for a moment Jocylene registered nothing except the crippling pain and the swirl of snow around her. Then, the sounds of battle broke through, and she found herself in front of Semran Hall, where the battle against Eranna raged on.

  Carrying her forward, Rothatin set her down in the snow next to the prone form of her mate. Lying on the ground, shirtless, he writhed and groaned in pain as blood welled up in his mouth and spilled over his chin A long, silver weapon protruded from his chest. At his side, Malachi sat, holding one of his hands, his large, brown eyes filled with sadness as they came up to lock with hers

  “No!” she cried, crawling toward him, clutching at her own chest as his pain became hers. “Eli!”

  His disoriented eyes stilled, finding her. He released Malachi’s hand and reached out, his fingers trembling as she crawled across the snow toward him. Tears blinded her vision, but she blinked, releasing them down her cheeks. Her hand met his. She took hold of it and collapsed at his side, the agony nearly unbearable now.

  He turned his head and spat dark blood into the snow, gazing up into her eyes. His lips moved, but no words came—only more blood. Jocylene could taste it in the back of her throat, feel the sensation of him drowning in his own blood within her own chest.

  “Rothatin,” she whimpered, her pained voice coming out more like a whisper.

  But he was close, his voice reaching out to her from somewhere over her shoulder. “Princess, I’m sorry ... this is beyond my power to heal.”

  Shaking her head, she felt more hot tears tracking down her cheeks. “No ... please. You can heal anything. You have to try!”

  A hand clasped her shoulder, and she knew it was his. “Not a heart that has been destroyed. Eranna’s spear is poisoned ... h
is heart is disintegrating in his chest, and even I cannot repair something that isn’t there. He’s dying, Jocylene.”

  She’d known this, but hearing it said out loud filled her with despair. Tightening her hold on Eli’s hand, she threw her head back and screamed, pouring out all her sadness, grief, and rage. A surge of power tore through her, and behind her Rothatin gasped. She could feel his power intertwining with hers and surging outward in waves. She took advantage of his nearness and pulled harder on it, fusing it with her power over the earth.

  The ground beneath them shook and those fighting around them fell to the ground. Desdemona broke free of the net holding her down and shot up into the air in a burst of flames. All around them, the thundering of the earth shaking resounded, responding to her grief. Fissures opened in the ground, swallowing up several bodies. Whether friend or foe, Jocylene did not know ... nor did she care.

  Joss, my love ... stop this. You’ll kill everyone here, and yourself with your rage.

  Eli’s voice filled her mind, clear as a bell. Glancing down at him, she calmed, finding that he now lay limp and motionless, his drooping eyes still attempting to hold her gaze.

  Eli, please ... you can’t die. I cannot live without you.

  Reaching up with a weak hand, he touched her face, leaving a smear of his blood behind. I am sorry, my love ... so sorry ... I wouldn’t leave you if I could help it. But you will survive. You are strong. You have to survive for Michael, Vincent, and Gracie. And for Fallada ... our world needs you. Be strong, my love.

  “I love you,” she sobbed out loud, reaching down to clutch his face in her hands. “I love you so much.”

  I know, he replied into her mind. And I love you.

  His eyes fluttered closed, and the pain within her chest ceased. With another sob, she collapsed onto him, her head falling against his shoulder. The cries spilling from her shook her body from head to toe, the overwhelming grief sweeping over her making it impossible for her to lift her head. She became faintly aware of someone removing the spear from his chest, and the thundering of the ground beneath her picking up once more.