Fire: Demons, Dragons & Djinns

by Rhonda Parrish

  The Phoenix came then, Randal’s sacrifice shaming and spurring her to action. We locked eyes through the glass, the burnished obsidian of hers glimmering with apology. Then came the Release. She curled her blazing wings to her chest and threw them wide in one fluid, powerful motion. With a deafening shriek, she ignited earth and sky. The eruption of flames and energy filled the air, as my land and all it held was reduced to ashes. Including the Dragon and the remains of my husband.

  Memories are an insomniac’s dreams.

  “THEY’RE FOLLOWING US, Mom.”

  “I know, Ashton. Why on earth do you think I’m carrying this bag of steaks?”

  She wrinkled her pointed little nose in confusion. “I thought it was for us. You know, provisions.”

  “You thought I crammed fifteen pounds of raw, bleeding meat into a burlap sack for us? On a day trip up the mountain? I must not be feeding you enough, child. Are you hungry?”

  “No, of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought maybe you needed the protein, or the Phoenix would.” She looked genuinely baffled, and I realized that I had omitted an important part of her education. She was just so sensitive about dragons, I didn’t really want to bring this part up before.

  “In a way, you’re right.” I smiled at her. I hoped it was a smile anyway, it felt awkward and wolfish on this end. “The Phoenix will need protein. She’ll be starving when she resurrects.”

  “And she’ll eat the steaks?”

  “She’ll eat the dragonlings. The steaks are to draw them in.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip and glared at the shadows in the trees. “Good.”

  We hiked in silence. Human silence, anyway. The air was filled with the startled cries of birds and horrified chitters of squirrels, punctuated by the scraping thump of dragonling steps behind us. They were still young enough to keep their distance from us, young enough to be lured by the mere scent of blood, but still menacing enough to terrify the entire forest.

  Ashton broke our silence. “What if there weren’t any dragonlings here?”

  “We got lucky on that score—the Dragoness laid her eggs before she died. Which would explain her fierceness.”

  “What would we have done?”

  “We would have gone across the sea to capture one. Tried to get it home in time.” She looked alarmed at the prospect, and rightly so. I’m not sure that I would have been able to carry that out.

  “Rebirther’s a terrible job. When I was little, I thought it was the best. Because everyone has to be nice to you and give you things, and you didn’t actually have to do anything. But really, it’s the worst,”

  “It won’t be for you. All you have to do is watch, learn, and teach. And let things unfold as they must.”

  “You really believe that? That things unfold as they must?”

  “Well, we’re not trekking across the sea to capture dragonlings are we? Mother Dragonesses are the only ones strong enough to warrant the Release of the Phoenix. They are the only ones that can bring about her death—but they are also ones that can provide what is needed to nourish her Rebirth. It’s about balance.”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her dark head doubtfully.

  “That’s all right, because I do.” She didn’t look convinced. I’m not surprised. This was the toddler that never accepted “because I said so” as a reason.

  WE REACHED THE summit just as the sun slunk away. Smoke emanated from the cinders at our feet, mingling with the orange fire in the sky. It smelled of pine and juniper, and although it burned our lungs, there was something clean about it. The peak itself was a wasteland. Fallen, burnt trees smouldered on the fallow ground. Blades of grass had long since given way to grains of ash and curls of smoke.

  Under the cold, reptilian gaze of Dragon offspring, we built a great pile of fallen boughs and kindling. We pulled the moss from the broken trees and wrapped it around the twisted limbs of our unlit pyre. The Phoenix’s ancestral nest would be ablaze with dragonflame soon enough.

  I was proud of Ashton. She worked steadily, burying her fear and attending to the task at hand. “Thank you.” I hugged her tightly, combing my fingers though her wild mane. “You have been so strong, and I am so proud.”

  Liquid half-moons from her eyes wet my shoulder as she nodded against me. She hid her face in my blouse, making it easier to hand out reminders. “It will get worse before it gets better. Don’t forget your job. To witness and remember. To keep your eyes open and stay alive. There are things I have yet to teach you, and they will come as a surprise. But these are things you need to see, things that you will need to share, for the good of our people in generations beyond your own.”

  “We’ll teach—” Ashton began.

  “In a way. But remember, no misguided sacrifices, no noble foolishness. You do as I have taught you.” I hugged her fiercely. “I love you, Ashton. Now sit here, and do not move.” I shoved her to the ground, bookended by jagged boulders. With a rare bit of sentimentality, I pulled the knife from the sheath at her waist. I ran my hand over the iron hilt, my thumb resting in the groove where Randal’s had been. It was a bit like holding his hand. Ashton sad-smiled and nodded at me. She always understands, even before I do.

  The dragonlings, hungry from their long hike and wait, approached. I poured the meat onto the ground and stepped forward to greet them. They were still young, barely a year old and only waist-high. There were three, identical in their scales and markings, a deep black that hid them in the night and made them more demonic in the day. Their eyes held the difference—green, blue, and gold.

  I shouted. Nothing intelligible—just a pained, barbaric roar as I brandished Randal’s knife. Green and Blue recoiled slightly, Gold simply narrowed her eyes. She was the most like her mother. She reared back her head and spewed forth a wretched inferno. I flung myself to the side, rolling across the soft, warm ashes of the mountain.

  The bonfire was lit. Ablaze with the glow and magic of dragonflame, the incubator was ready. The mountain rumbled beneath me, heaving as its contractions grew. It was time. The Phoenix was ready.

  The green and blue-eyed dragonlings circled me warily as the golden-eyed stared on. Still a child, she was exhausted from the exertion of her first flames. She shrieked an order to her sisters, spurring them to attack. I reached the blue-eyed one first, jamming Randal’s knife up beneath her ribs into her heart. Her scales had not yet hardened, and the delicate, overlapping flecks tickled my hand. Blood flowed like lava down my arm, singeing my flesh with a sticky heat. Ignoring the pain, I whirled on the green-eyed dragon.

  Ashton had her pinned. My brave, silly girl had left the safety of her rocks and subdued the dragonling. She straddled the creature’s back, pinioning her throat against the smoky ground. I ran up behind them and Ashton grabbed the bloody, steaming knife from my hand and jammed it though the dragonling’s skull.

  The remaining sister screamed, flapping her dark wings in grief and fury. She turned towards the sea and made a running start. Ashton chased her, cursing and wielding her father’s knife.

  “Let her go!” I shouted.

  “What?”

  “Let her go. We can’t take them all. That’s not balance.” I turned to the last dragonling. “Go home. Go home across the sea and find your father. Do not come back here or the Phoenix will kill you, I promise you that. Tell all your kind.”

  The dragonling, with eyes that recalled the scales of her mother, nodded slightly. Or at least dropped her jaw enough for me to take it as a nod, then caught the next wind current and soared from the mountain across the sea.

  Once she had disappeared in the horizon, Ashton and I pulled the carcasses of her sisters towards the fire. The Phoenix would feed on them soon.

  The mountain quaked beneath us, labouring with an intensity that brought us to our knees. “Go back by the rocks, Ashton. And do not come out again until it is over. Stay back from the flames, no matter what. I appreciate what you did with the dragonling. You were brave and strong. Bu
t now I need you to be smart and forward-thinking.” I smoothed that crazy hair back behind her ears. “I love you, and I’ll always watch over you. You watch over our girls to come.”

  “I love you.” She bit her lip, steadying the quiver in her voice. Her eyes narrowed in determination. “I can do it.”

  I believed her. Sixteen can do anything.

  The heat intensified behind me as the fire roared and licked the awakening stars. The mountain groaned and trembled beneath us as Ashton staggered away, struggling to keep her balance.

  In the flames rose the image of the Phoenix. Her apparition, born of the labouring Mother Earth, sought anchor in this mortal land. We locked eyes—hers were still filled with apology, but this time mingled with hope and longing. And connection. I was so thankful for those eyes, the intensity which pulled me in and kept me from looking back towards the rocks.

  I stepped towards the flames, my toes brushing the wooden outskirts. Ashton screamed. Before she could even think of running for me, I threw myself into the conflagration of Rebirth. I expected it to hurt, to blister and torture like an amplified kitchen burn scouring my body. But it didn’t. It felt like home. Like a warmth I’d been missing. Like the sanctity of the womb.

  Flesh melted from bone in one fluid motion and was replaced by feathers and flame. I gave Ashton, my shocked yet stoic Witness, a final forced smile of goodbye before my lips distorted and elongated into a fiery beak. The mountain gave one last push, a quake that rocked the kingdom, and the Phoenix consumed me.

  In that instant, my world became a raging inferno of watchfulness, defence, and love. It was not so unfamiliar. I had felt it once for that beautiful dark-haired girl watching from behind the rocks. Now I felt it for the nation, and I could protect them all.

  Biographies

  Rhonda Parrish

  Editor

  Rhonda Parrish is driven by a desire to do All The Things. She founded and ran Niteblade Magazine, is an Assistant Editor at World Weaver Press and is the editor of several anthologies including, most recently, Equus, Tesseracts Twenty-one and Fire: Demons, Dragons and Djinns.

  In addition, Rhonda is a writer whose work has been in publications such as Tesseracts 17: Speculating Canada from Coast to Coast and Imaginarium: The Best Canadian Speculative Writing (2012 & 2015). She also co-wrote a paranormal non-fiction title, Haunted Hospitals, with Mark Leslie.

  Her website, updated weekly, is at http://www.rhondaparrish.com

  Blake Jessop

  She Alone

  Blake Jessop is a Canadian author of science fiction, fantasy and horror stories with a masters degree in creative writing from the University of Adelaide. You can read more of his speculative fiction in Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Summers from World Weaver Press, or follow him on Twitter @everydayjisei.

  Kevin Cockle

  Strange Attractor

  Kevin Cockle is an author and screenwriter with over thirty short stories appearing in a variety of anthologies and magazines. His novel Spawning Ground is narrowly believed to have invented the sub-genre of “dark game-theory”, and was published by Tyche Books in 2016. Knuckleball, a feature film co-written with Michael Peterson, had its Canadian premiere at the 2018 Calgary Underground Film Festival, and has been accepted into the Cannes film festival among other international markets. Kevin’s literary bucket list is now almost complete, with only the boxes for “sell a poem” and “sell a country-and-western song” left unchecked.

  Lizbeth Ashton

  Magnesium Bright

  Lizbeth Ashton works in a museum in southern England. In Magnesium Bright, her first published story, she combines her passion for history and fantasy.

  Dusty Thorne

  Permanence

  Dusty Thorne has a penchant for urban fantasy and character-driven stories, particularly ones leaning towards the liminal side of life. When not writing, Dusty can often be found with her head in a beehive, or treasure-hunting her way through a second-hand store.

  V.F. LeSann

  Old Flames

  V.F. LeSann is a dynamic co-writing duo comprised of Leslie Van Zwol and Megan Fennell, who enjoy adding a touch of grit to their fantastical worlds. Since travelling to Iceland, they’ve just been waiting for the chance to set a story there, especially as all of their efforts to observe local cryptids at the time were sadly in vain.

  K.T. Ivanrest

  The Hatchling

  K.T. Ivanrest wanted to be a cat or horse when she grew up, but after failing to metamorphose into either, she began writing stories about them instead. Soon the horses became unicorns and the cats sprouted wings, and once the dragons and their riders arrived, there was no turning back. When not writing, she can be found sewing, editing, and drinking decaf coffee. She has a PhD in Classical Studies, which will come in handy when aliens finally make contact and it turns out they speak Latin.

  Hal J. Friesen

  The Djinni and the Accountant

  Hal J. Friesen writes science fiction and fantasy in an attempt to see the stars a few kilometres closer. He’s also tried putting a “Have Space Suit: Will Travel” ad on Kijiji, wearing a space suit for over 100 days, and shooting things with giant lasers. He graduated from the Odyssey Writing Workshop in 2016 and makes a mean campfire. Find him at www.halfriesen.com.

  Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  The Second Great Fire

  Laura VanArendonk Baugh writes speculative fiction and less speculative non-fiction. She lives in an unfashionable sector of Indianapolis, drives a fast electric car, eats a lot of dark chocolate, and is always in the middle of too many projects. Find her at www.LauraVAB.com.

  Krista D. Ball

  Bait

  Krista D. Ball is a Canadian science fiction and fantasy author. She was born and raised in Newfoundland, Canada where she learned how to use a chainsaw, chop wood, and make raspberry jam. After obtaining a B.A. in British History from Mount Allison University, Krista moved to Alberta, Canada where she currently lives.

  Like any good writer, Krista has had an eclectic array of jobs throughout her life, including strawberry picker, pub bathroom cleaner, oil spill cleaner upper, and soup kitchen coordinator. These days, Krista writes full time in her messy office surrounded by corgis, spaniels, and a lot of cats.

  Mara Malins

  Double or Nothing

  An avid gamer, Mara Malins battles spreadsheets by day and romantic fiction by night. She lives in Manchester, England with her menagerie of three cats, two turtles, a social media loving partner, and a disobedient garden. If you want to know when her next fiction is released, or see thousands of pictures of her cats sleeping in a variety of different poses, find her on Twitter at @maramalins or Goodreads on Mara_Malins

  Claude Lalumière

  A Girl, Ablaze with Life

  Claude Lalumière (claudepages.info) is the author of five books and more than a hundred stories. His work has been translated into multiple languages and adapted for stage, screen, audio, and comics. Originally from Montreal, he now lives in Ottawa.

  Susan Macgregor

  Light My Fire

  Susan MacGregor is the author of The Tattooed Witch trilogy published through Five Rivers Publishing, the first book of which was short-listed for a Canadian Science Fiction and Fantasy Association Aurora Award. As historical fantasy is one of her favourite sub-genres, she is currently co-editing the next anthology in the Tesseracts series: Tesseracts 22: Alchemy and Artifacts (forthcoming in 2019) through Edge Books. Her short fiction has been featured in On Spec Magazine (she was also an editor with On Spec for 20+years), as well as other anthologies, the most recent being in Equus through World Weaver Press. Her story “Light My Fire”, is a near-historical fantasy based on the music, life, and death of Jim Morrison. The late ’60s and early ’70s were times of darkness and hope, loss and love. Who better to epitomize those than Jim and The Doors?

  JB Riley

  Ring of Fire

  JB Riley writes and edits technical healthcare proposals fo
r a major US-based corporation, but has loved reading and writing speculative fiction ever since discovering The Chronicles of Narnia at Age 8. When not trawling the shelves at the local bookstore, she enjoys travel, hockey, beer and cooking. JB lives in Chicago with her family; which currently includes a 90-pound dog, a 15-pound cat, and a 5-pound cat that scares the hell out of everyone. Available on Twitter at @JBRiley8.

  Damascus Mincemeyer

  Aladdin’s Laugh

  Having been exposed to the weird worlds of science fiction, fantasy and horror as a young boy, Damascus Mincemeyer was pretty much ruined for ever having a real job and now spends his time creating comics that have seen print in Heavy Metal magazine while wandering the countryside around his home near St. Louis, Missouri, daydreaming of strange, far off realms filled with dragons, demons and even a Djinn or two.

  Heather M. O’Connor

  Phoenix Rising

  Heather M. O’Connor is a freelance writer and author, which means she sees stories everywhere. While happiest plotting in fantasy, wild horses have dragged stories from her. So has the guest book in an Oshawa auto baron’s mansion. And an unlikely news item about match-fixing in Ontario soccer. And several deep, dark forests. As you can see, she’s easily distracted.

  Heather’s short fiction has appeared in Geist and the Prix Aurora Prize-nominated Urban Green Man Anthology. Her young adult novel Betting Game was published by Orca in 2015. She lives in Whitby, Ontario.

  Gabrielle Harbowy

  Cold Comfort

  Gabrielle Harbowy got her start in the publishing industry as a Pricing Analyst at Scholastic. Since leaving the corporate side of publishing in 2006, she has edited for publishers including Pyr, Lambda Literary, and Circlet Press, and spent a decade as the managing editor at Dragon Moon Press. She copyedits professionally and is a submissions editor at the Hugo-nominated Apex Magazine. With Ed Greenwood, she co-edited the award-nominated When The Hero Comes Home anthology series; their latest anthology endeavour is Women in Practical Armour, from Evil Girlfriend Media. Her short fiction can be found in several anthologies, including Carbide Tipped Pens from Tor. She’s also the author of two novels: Hellmaw: Of the Essence (TEGG), and Gears of Faith (Paizo). For more information, visit her online at @gabrielle_h or gabrielleharbowy.com.