Phoenix

by Finley Aaron

  The yagi obviously aren’t going to give us time to rest. Ram’s theory about the village was only partially correct. Why? Is it because the fishing village is so much smaller than Prague, where our parents hid out more than two decades ago? Are the yagi not intimidated by the town?

  Or is there more to it than that? Nia said the yagi were baited with her scent, whereas twenty-odd years ago, when the yagi were going after our parents, they didn’t know what my mom smelled like. I don’t even know if they knew for sure she existed, thanks to my grandfather’s insistence on keeping everything about her a secret. And who knows if they knew what my dad smelled like, or whether this scent-training thing is a new development Eudora invented in the last twenty years?

  So is that it, then? They’re swarming us so thickly, ignoring the risks of getting caught, because they can follow Nia’s scent and Eudora set them on it?

  What’s Eudora up to, anyway? From Nia’s stories, it sounded like, always before, Eudora just wanted the yagi to chase Nia back to them. Are they really out to kill her?

  And why?

  I don’t have the answer. I don’t entirely understand Eudora’s motivation. I mean, I know she wants to destroy the dragons, but I’m not even clear on what prompted her to be so hateful and vengeful in the first place.

  Here’s what I do know: we were nearly felled back there.

  I mean, if Nia had come to the roof thirty seconds, maybe even a minute later, it would have been too late for me and Ram. We were being overpowered.

  We’re not up to this. Not only did we not impress Nia with our yagi-killing prowess, but we were very nearly killed, and she had to come save us.

  So I’m really not making progress toward my goal of trying not to die.

  And then there’s the wooing Nia thing. Ugh, I am such a fool. Let’s forget, for just a moment, that she had to rescue me and Ram on the roof.

  On a purely interpersonal level, I have done more to repel the woman than attract her. I have. Seriously. Could I have looked more like a dope when I asked her if she woke up?

  This is my problem: I say things without thinking. Like when she asked me and Ram if we were from China. Ram had the presence of mind to tell her we’re from Azerbaijan, while I looked like an idiot parroting the word “China.”

  And I know this is my problem. I know I need to say thoughtful, sensitive, intelligent things. But all my life I’ve said goofy things. I was the kid who pointed out the obvious so everyone else would snicker. In my pre-teen years, the skill served me well.

  But I should have outgrown it by now. Most of the time, I do just fine. It’s just that Nia is so pretty and I want so very much for her to like me, and somehow, whether I’m basking in her prettiness and my brain shuts off, or if I’m just too nervous to even think straight, instead of being suave and sophisticated, I fall back on my old pre-teen conversation tactics.

  And I don’t even want to think about what happened last night. Ugh, last night! Besides the obvious win for Ram with the pizza, and who knows how long they were up bonding while I snored into my pillow, I was completely inane with my half-asleep jabbering during those stolen moments with Nia, when I told her about the phoenix.

  What was that about, anyway? I remember that my dreams were crazy vivid, and I had a strong impression they were important, or something deluded like that, so when I woke up, I wanted to share. I thought maybe we’d have some kind of connection, like maybe I could give Nia an insight into herself she’d never had before, and she’d appreciate that and feel something for me because of it.

  What did I even say, anyway? Flying now over the open ocean, our middle-of-the-night conversation feels like it was a world away.

  I told her she was a phoenix. But a phoenix is a bird. We dragons are mammalian reptiles—so, pretty much everything except birds.

  I. Am. An. Idiot.

  It pushes me to fly faster, even when I grow weary of the flight. It dogs me, this mixture of guilt and inadequacy fanned by the flames of my burning desire to impress Nia, in spite of all I’ve done that’s turned her off so far.

  We must outrun the yagi and find the island with the mysterious other dragon. When my strength ebbs to nothing, I fly on sheer will and determination.

  As the sun makes its circuit from east to west, we soar across the open sea. We were flying high—so high that we look like specks in the sky to anyone below. But the sky has grown foggy as we leave the chilly north for the moisture-laden south, and we sink lower, letting the mist hide us.

  For most of the afternoon and into the long evening, we fly just low enough to see the water below. Given our dragon vision, we can see so much farther than the naked human eye can see. So if we can just barely see the ocean, it’s unlikely anyone on a boat would be able to spot us in this mist.

  Finally, the endless expanse of sea is interrupted by shorelines. Far below us, a chain of islands stretches from Japan to the peninsula of Siberia. It’s an archipelago, a mostly-underwater mountain range whose tippy tops protrude from the sea.

  Isolated.

  Remote.

  Perfect for our purposes.

  We pick a particularly tiny islet and fly closer, circling high above, using our dragon vision to look for any signs of habitation.

  But this rocky dot in the sea doesn’t bear any signs of human life, and so we drop from the sky, weary from our flight.

  We’ve traveled a long way almost straight south, and the climate is much milder here, but still, Nia wraps the bearskin around herself once she’s changed into a human again.

  Ram looks at me. “Want to hunt us some dinner or start a fire?”

  “I’ll get dinner.” I change back into a dragon and take off again. I know this leaves Ram alone with Nia, but I don’t feel I’m doing a decent job of wooing her, and I don’t know what I’d say to her if I stayed. In all likelihood, given my performance record so far, I’d only repel her that much more.

  So I might as well hunt.

  Besides, Ram’s bear is still far more impressive than anything I’ve caught. I need to impress Nia with my hunting skills.

  Not that I’m likely to find much on this tiny island. It’s little more than a mile across, with a rocky old volcanic cone jutting up roughly in its middle, and beautiful sandy beaches stretching wide all around. We’re camped on the western slope of the dormant peak, where the last of the day’s dying sunshine pierces the foggy gloom.

  I circle the island in a wide arc, my scale glow at its dimmest, using my dragon vision to search the sea for a big fish. Finally I spot the outline of an animal under the surface, and I swoop lower for a closer look. I don’t want to accidentally catch a dolphin. Nia’s not likely to be impressed by me if I kill one of the friendliest creatures in the ocean.

  But it’s not a dolphin. It’s a tuna. And a big one. I dive, piercing the water’s surface with hardly a splash, and wrap my talons around the tuna.

  I haul the fish, still thrashing, back to Ram and Nia.

  Is it my imagination, or does Nia look pleased? Maybe not impressed. She doesn’t seem to smile much, or laugh, although I suppose after all she’s been through that’s only natural. But the slight lift in her brows and the tilt of her chin seem to indicate she’s eager to eat the tuna, anyway.

  Okay, so she’s hungry. It’s not the same as love, but it’s the closest I’ve come yet, and I feel a rush of hope as I gut the fish. We roast it slowly, still in its skin, above Ram’s fire. Then we cut it like a prime rib and eat the tender, flaky meat.

  It’s so much better than Siberian pizza.

  Ram finishes his meal quickly. There’s still some light out when he rises and announces, “I’m going to go take a look around.” And with that, he changes into a dark blue dragon and flies off.

  I’m left sitting next to the fire with Nia.

  Now’s my chance to woo her, to say sophisticated things that will make her want to marry me. I’m already off to my most promising start, what with bringing her an enormous tuna.
All that’s left is to ride that wave, to build on my momentum, propelling a lovely meal into love, marriage, babies. Guys all over the world do this on dinner dates every day.

  I just have to think of something that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Sorry about last night.” I start, hoping to put my mistakes behind me and maybe even clear my slate.

  “Last night?” Nia’s sitting on the opposite end of the same fallen log I’m sitting on. She’s a few feet away from me, her bare feet pointed toward the fire, the bearskin wrapped around her shoulders. She’s been using a slender tuna bone to pick her teeth, but now she points the tip of the bone at me and asks, “Do you mean the part where you left me alone, asleep, in a hotel room surrounded by mamluki? Or the part where you ate my last piece of pizza?”

  “I didn’t even realize I ate the last piece of your pizza. I’m sorry about that, too. And leaving you alone in the hotel room was probably a bad idea, although I didn’t realize I was leaving until after I’d left. But I mean, I’m sorry for telling you you’re a phoenix.”

  “You’re sorry for that? Why? I was starting to like the idea.”

  “Oh. Well then, I’m not sorry. I mean, I know you’re not a bird, and I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I just had this dream about fire and you and rising from the ashes, and I woke up and started talking before I thought it through.”

  To my surprise, Nia scoots closer to me on the fallen log. “What do you know about fire?”

  I hesitate. This is no time to say whatever stupid thought first pops into my head. For example, it’s hot. I don’t even think that would make a pre-teen laugh. It certainly wouldn’t amuse Nia. Besides, I think there’s something more she wants to know. Something far deeper than the dictionary definition of fire.

  To my relief, before I blurt any inanities, Nia elaborates on her question. “When I first arrived at the white witch’s castle, she treated me kindly. I was in human form, my eyes covered by tinted goggles so that she should not have known that I’m a dragon.”

  “But she did?” I clarify, picking up on the subtext of Nia’s words, on her tone and the nonverbal speech of her face.

  Nia nods. “I suspected as much when she invited me to dinner, a feast of roasted meats, and she began quizzing me about my background, my family, my knowledge of fire.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I was evasive at first. I told her, honestly, that I didn’t know my parents. They died before I was born. I told her the geographic region of my origin. She seemed to already know.”

  “Already know? How? By your accent? Your ethnic appearance?”

  Nia leans in closer to me, as though to tell me a secret. But her hushed tones reveal words that are not so much clandestine, as uncertain. She isn’t sure of what she knows. It’s only a suspicion.

  It makes me suspicious, too.

  “The mamluki—the yagi, as you call them. They are not simply hybrid creatures, part man, part insect. They are cyborgs.”

  “Cyborgs?” I’m scrambling to think what she means. “Like, bionic creatures? Part humanoid, part-machine?”

  For once, Nia smiles. It’s not a big smile, but a flash of gratitude, of appreciation at being understood. It makes my heart swell.

  “The yagi, as you call them, are mostly mutant creatures, yes, but the white witch is able to remotely control them. They are mostly organisms, but part machine—computer, really. She gathers data from them. They are able to communicate with her over long distances, transmitting back to her their location and other information, I’m not sure exactly what. I have no doubt she already knows about the attack at the hotel this morning. She probably knew about it as it was happening. The yagi found us. They transmitted our location to her, and then she gave the order to attack.”

  For a long moment, I’m silent, staring at the fire, absorbing what she said.

  “I don’t know it for certain,” Nia admits. “But there’s too much I can’t explain any other way. I’ve been her slave for over two years and in that time, the yagi have done things,” she gestures plaintively with her hands, “there’s no other explanation that fits. Not even the theory that they are rational creatures, which I don’t believe them to be. Their behavior is not consistent with that of rational creatures.”

  “You mean, because they continue to attack us even when it’s obvious we’re slaughtering them?” I made this connection during my silent moments.

  Nia laughs. “Yes! Precisely! That’s not rational. It’s as though they’re programmed to behave a certain way, even if it kills them, so they keep at it until they either die or receive different orders.”

  Nia laughed at me. She laughed—not mocking me, but in connection with me. Not a long, hearty laugh, but a sweet trill of understanding, like the wings of a hummingbird brushing past me on a sunny day.

  I want to kiss her.

  But she does not look like she wants to be kissed. No, instead I must say something else, something sophisticated and understanding, so that she will laugh again and we will bond immutably before Ram returns.

  Unfortunately, most of my brain is still occupied with the thought of kissing Nia, which leaves only brain-stem-level functions to try to impress her. I’m reduced to repeating what has already been said. “So, the yagi are cyborgs.” I squeeze any trace of goofy grin from my face with a somber scowl to indicate my displeasure at the yagi, and also to communicate my inherent maturity.

  “Yes.” Nia nods solemnly, her expression one of gratitude that I have not lost sight of the point of the conversation.

  Though if she really knew what I was thinking, she would not be so grateful. I don’t think.

  “The yagi collect and send data to the white witch. They are able to identify dragons by their scent. The yagi had to know I was a dragon because I flew, following them, most of the way to the witch’s castle. I believe she learned my true identity from the yagis’ data.”

  “And that’s why she quizzed you at dinner?”

  “Yes.” Nia grows solemn. “She asked me about fire—about my knowledge of fire, and what it does. It wasn’t a casual conversation, either. She grew irate and accused me of withholding information.”

  “What kind of information?” My heart is pounding from more than just my desire to kiss Nia. What is Eudora up to? Why does she want to know about fire—what could she have possibly hoped to learn from Nia that she didn’t already know?

  Nia tilts her head toward mine, and I lean in closer still, until there’s less than a foot of empty space between us.

  “She asked about fire,” Nia whispers. “About fire and heat and blowing fire, and whether I didn’t know what I was good for, and various other insulting things, but she also whispered something under her breath which I don’t think she actually wanted me to hear, but she was so upset by this time, I don’t think she could hold it back completely, and I heard.”

  “What did she whisper?”

  “Don’t you know how to make gold?”

  “Gold?”

  Nia nods. “I wasn’t sure if I heard her correctly, but then I researched it in her library. She’s got books and books on the subject—where gold comes from, its history, what it’s worth.”

  “Where does gold come from?” I ask, only to have my words echoed behind me in my brother’s voice.

  “Where does gold come from?” Ram repeats, a tone of incredulity that we’d be discussing that particular topic at this time. “Funny you’d ask, since we’re on a volcanic island in the Ring of Fire.”

  I’d noticed the cone shape of the island earlier, so I’m not surprised to hear my brother call the island volcanic—although it appears to be a long-dead volcano, worn down by time. “The Ring of Fire,” I repeat, self-consciously sitting upright so I’m no longer leaning visibly toward Nia.

  I notice she does the same, so she’s no longer inclined toward me. “The Ring of Fire,” she repeats, and clears her throat. “That’s the ci
rcle around the Pacific Ocean where most of the world’s active volcanoes are located. Fiji is part of the Ring of Fire. The white witch also had many books about volcanoes in her library.”

  “Sounds like an exhaustive collection,” I observe off-handedly, puzzling over Eudora’s words.

  “Only exhaustive on certain subjects,” Nia clarifies. “It was an eclectic collection.”

  Ram clears his throat behind us. “It’s my understanding that gold is brought to the earth’s surface by volcanic activity.”

  “That’s right.” Nia turns her attention to my brother. “Gold is a distinct element—it can’t be formed by combining other materials. I read about it in the white witch’s books. Some theories say it didn’t exist on earth at all, initially, but arrived when meteorites crashed into the earth. But based on the places where gold is found, usually in mountains pushed up from deep underground, or in regions of ancient volcanic activity, most experts seem to think there’s a certain amount of gold trapped far below the surface of the earth, in regions of extreme pressure near the earth’s core. The gold is then brought to the surface when mountains rise up, or is spewed out when volcanoes erupt.”

  Ram nods. “It’s the same story with silver, copper, and gemstones. Diamonds require enormous amounts of pressure to create them—the same kind of pressure that builds until it erupts in a volcanic explosion.”

  “Gold comes from deep in the earth.” Nia makes a face. “It’s not made.”

  Ram gives her an inscrutable look. “Made?”

  I explain, “Eudora asked Nia if she knew how gold was made.”

  “Gold isn’t made,” he protests.

  “There was a time,” Nia rises to standing and turns to face Ram, “when men put enormous effort into their attempts at making gold, into solving the riddle of how it was formed, to cracking the code and producing it. They all failed. But still, they believed it was possible, that gold could be made.”

  I stand as well. “Eudora is very, very old. Hundreds of years—our father has estimated her age at around eight hundred, but even that could be off by centuries. Whatever her age, she lived through eras when men tried to make gold. Perhaps she still believes it’s possible.”