Shadow of the Phoenix

by Rebecca Harwell

  “The Kingdom of Wintercress surrenders.” A clear voice split the air. Nadya’s mouth fell open to see Councillor Aster picking her way carefully through the carnage of the battlefield. “As the highest ranking official here, I am authorized to cede the city of Storm’s Quarry back to you.” She stopped in front of Kesali and Marko. Aster wore a white dress, somehow still spotless, unsullied by the death and grime that surrounded her. Her graceful silhouette and perfectly knotted golden hair provided such a contrast to the blood-spattered leather armor of Marko and Kesali. And yet, it was Aster who knelt before the rulers of Storm’s Quarry amidst the filth of the battle.

  “I was released by Drina Gabori so that I might come here and beg you for the lives of our soldiers. Call off the fighting, and let us retreat in peace.”

  “You were given a chance at peace,” Marko said, putting his rapier to Aster’s throat. “My father gave you that chance, and your Prince cut off his head. Why should we not do the same?”

  Kesali put her hand upon his, forcing her husband to lower his blade. “Because we are better than them. Your father died for peace. We must honor his sacrifice.”

  Silent tears left trails in the grime of battle that coated his face as Marko nodded. “You’re right. Lady Aster, we accept your surrender.”

  Guardsmen that Nadya recognized from years of delivering lunch to her father at the Guardhouse pulled themselves away from the resistance fighters. They rounded up the remaining Cressian soldiers with thinly concealed anger. Shay glared at any who protested, her flaming blades flickering at her sides. Those protests instantly died down. The councillor herself was escorted from the square by two guardsmen, and Nadya felt a bit of reluctant respect for the woman.

  “What happens now?” Marko asked, glancing warily at Lode, who seemed unaware of the fear she inspired in the resistance.

  “I will go,” Lode said simply.

  Nadya stepped forward. “You don’t have to.” She heard Marko swallow back a protest, and Kesali take in a sharp breath. She ignored their wariness. “You could find a place here.”

  “No.” Lode gazed out through the ruined gate, out to the edge of the Kyanite Sea and beyond. “I must go.” She looked back at Nadya. “I followed him because he was all I knew. But I have been given a choice. I feel the earth, and it calls me away. Somewhere, it holds the answers I seek.”

  “I understand,” Nadya said. She had done the same thing, after all. It took following Shay to the South Marches and then following Levka to Wintercress for her to realize that Storm’s Quarry truly was where she belonged.

  Without another word, the Cressian nivasi walked away from the remains of the battle. The rubble of the fallen gate gathered itself up and moved out of her way as she passed. Before long, she had disappeared from sight.

  Silence fell over the Nomori tier as resistance fighters and yielding Cressian soldiers alike watched the mysterious woman leave as abruptly as she had appeared two months beforehand, paving the way for the destruction of their city.

  What now, indeed? Nadya wondered, gazing at the incredulous faces around her, illuminated by the smoldering flames of the battlefield. Her eyes lingered on Kesali and Marko, their movements strained with fatigue. Then her father, who kept a wary eye on the Cressian soldiers, positioning himself between them and his new charges. Finally, Shay.

  Shay wore a smile that lit up the darkness of the battlefield. Her blades of light had extinguished, leaving her hands in shadow. War paint and blood stained her face, and her steps came slowly, lurching. Despite the fatigue of battle, she carried herself tall and nodded to all who greeted her.

  “Long live the Duke!” The cry started softly, as a few resistance fighters raised their voices and their weapons. “Long live the Stormspeaker!”

  Slowly, the chant was taken up throughout the square, and then into the tier as those who fought for the resistance added their voices to the cries. Even those who had hidden away from the battle—the elderly, the young—came out of their barricaded houses and joined in. Erevans poured in from the second tier, mingling with the Nomori, cheering and weeping together. In the higher tiers, Nadya saw people gathering all along the staircase. The entire city celebrated the victory as their shouts echoed off its marble walls.

  Kesali and Marko were soon surrounded by cheering Nomori and Erevans alike. At a sharp whistle from Shadar, a few more members of the Guard, even out of uniform, held back the masses from their leaders, but the faces of the guardsmen shone with the same unbelieving joy. There would be much mourning and rebuilding in the days ahead and many more years of distrust within the walls of Storm’s Quarry, but for now, they smiled and shouted together.

  “Long live the Duke! Long live the Stormspeaker! Long live Storm’s Quarry!”

  Nadya pulled her hood up once more, falling back through the crowds. She noticed Shay doing the same, and she turned to follow her partner, when a voice called out, “Phoenix!”

  The crowds parted like water for the Stormspeaker as she strode toward Nadya, who checked to ensure that her hood was fastened down, its mask tight across her face. She might have revealed herself to Lode earlier, but she didn’t wish to do the same to everyone in Storm’s Quarry. To the people of the city, the Iron Phoenix was a force, not a person, and she wished to remain that way, a masked guardian protecting her home.

  Gasps echoed around the crowd as Kesali embraced Nadya without hesitation. Nadya wrapped one arm around her, trying not to wince as her ribs were jostled.

  Kesali released her with a worried look. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Nadya said truthfully.

  They stared at one another for a long moment. Under the light of the stars, Kesali glowed. Despite the dirt and blood that smeared her face, and the bruises that marred her bare arms, she was gorgeous. A true Stormspeaker of Storm’s Quarry, Nadya thought, and her heart filled with pride for her oldest friend.

  “Thank you,” was all Kesali said, but it was all Nadya needed. A thousand things passed between them unvoiced. Promises of loyalty and friendship that no distance nor enemy force could hope to deter.

  Marko strode up beside them. He threaded his fingers through Kesali’s, giving Nadya a grateful nod. Then he raised their arms and shouted, “For the Iron Phoenix! For the Shadow Dragon!”

  Heat rose in her face as the people of Storm’s Quarry took up his chant. Their voices surrounded her, overwhelming any words she might have said. Where once Storm’s Quarry had called for the head of the Phoenix, now they cheered her name in celebration.

  Beyond the cacophony of the crowds and the frantic racing of her heart, Nadya heard the waves of the Kyanite Sea. Underneath their gentle sound, she felt the tug of the waters, the pull of the stars. And a single voice: Well done, child.

  The crowds of citizens parted enough so that Nadya could see Shay. She was equally surrounded by celebration, her stiff-backed posture oozing discomfort. But her eyes lit up as they met Nadya’s across the square.

  Nadya barely had time to register her movement before Shay slammed into her and wrapped her arms around her, uncaring of the crowds that surrounded them.

  “By the stars, we did it,” she whispered, breathless. “Nadya, we did it.”

  Nadya returned Shay’s embrace, holding her close in the familiar way that she had feared never doing again. But here she was, pressing her face into Shay’s shoulder, breathing in her metallic scent. Not as a monstrous nivasi of Cressian alchemy. Perhaps not as a protector of Storm’s Quarry chosen by the stars. But she was Nadya Gabori and the Iron Phoenix, and here, in the midst of celebration, she had at long last arrived at the end of her long road home.

  “We did, Natsia,” Nadya said quietly, then pulled Shay down for a kiss that tasted of sweat and blood and was altogether perfect.

  The battle for Storm’s Quarry had been won.

  Epilogue

  It began with a loaf of bread.

  Six weeks had passed since Storm’s Quarry had been set free
by the resistance, and slowly, the city had begun the slow process of healing. On the night of the full moon, the late Duke Isyanov was sent off in a great pyre that could be seen from every corner of the city. The next morning, Marko and Kesali were coronated by the Head Cleric as the new leaders of Storm’s Quarry in a ceremony that brought out every citizen of the city. Nadya and Shay stood near the elevated dais, and Nadya’s heart nearly burst with happiness for her friends.

  The next night, Mirela’s ashes were returned to the sea and sky, and a wave of peace washed over Nadya as she watched the ashes float away on the soft current of the Kyanite.

  On the morning of the sixth week, Nadya awoke to find a loaf of bread on her doorstep. It was still strange to think of the Gabori house as hers, but her father hadn’t wanted to stay there—“It pains me to stand where your mother once stood, but I know you will make something out of that old place”—and so she had begun to call her childhood dwelling home once more. Her mother’s jewelry workshop remained untouched still.

  The bread was simple, a brown loaf studded with nuts, burned at the edges. It had been wrapped in paper, which bore the creases of many failed attempts. Nadya cradled it in her hands as if she held the crown jewels of Storm’s Quarry.

  Shay wanted to marry her.

  A Nomori proposal entailed the man bringing bread to the home of his intended, a way to symbolize how he would provide for a family. Her throat grew tight with emotion. Nadya never thought she would get such a proposal, and certainly not want it.

  Nadya waited for two hours before she sought Shay out in her favorite alehouse on the second tier. Even as supplies and free time were scarce in the aftermath of the war, the tavern was full to bursting with patrons. Nadya didn’t care as she pushed her way through the crowds to where Shay sat, pale and sweating, clutching a full glass.

  Their eyes met, and Nadya said, “Yes.”

  Shay lunged forward to embrace her, and in the crowded tavern, they kissed.

  In between kisses, Nadya whispered, “I cannot believe you did this. It’s perfect, love.”

  “I can’t believe it either, to be truthful. I had to ask Drina’s permission. While your father was in the room, I might add.” Shay shuddered. “You were worth it. Barely, though.”

  “I’ll take it,” Nadya said with a smile.

  Word spread fast through the Nomori tier that the strange Gabori girl and the even stranger newcomer were to be wed. Walking the markets together or volunteering in the cleanup crews had earned the two of them plenty of disgusted looks. Nadya had expected no less.

  What she hadn’t expected, however, was a royal guest just a week after Shay’s proposal. Duke Isyanov the Younger, as he was now being called, stood outside her door. Down the street, several guardsmen tried to blend in with the early morning crowds.

  Marko gave Nadya a small smile when she answered his knock. “This feels familiar,” he remarked.

  “It was a year ago that you came down here to ask me how to propose to Kesali,” Nadya said. “I doubt that’s what you’re here for now, though.” Her words carried a note of uncertainty. He had, after all, told her the Phoenix would face the justice of Storm’s Quarry.

  When she dared to look up, Marko met her gaze squarely. “You’ve earned your pardon, Nadya. I won’t barge in and destroy the life you’ve built. Kesali trusts you, and I—I would like to call you friend once more.”

  She nodded, throat suddenly dry. “I’d like that, Marko.”

  The Duke was not the only visitor the Gabori house saw in the weeks after Shay’s proposal. Marriages like theirs were not done in the Nomori culture, and Nadya had been at a loss as to how she and Shay might be wed in the Nomori way. Until her grandmother showed up one afternoon to speak about planning the wedding. Drina had simply waved her hand. “Your mother should rightfully be doing the ceremony. As your closest female relative, it is my duty to do so.”

  The next time they met up, while Nadya visited her father in the Guardhouse, Drina pressed a small wrapped package into her hand. “This was always meant for you. She would have wanted to be there.”

  The parcel contained Mirela’s seal of the Protectress. Nadya had no words in the torrent of emotions that overwhelmed her. She embraced her grandmother, and Drina did not stiffen or flinch away.

  More caravans and journeymen of all trades poured into the city each day. Marko continued the work of his father, opening the coffers of Storm’s Quarry in an effort to rebuild what war had destroyed. Nadya had taken to wandering around the city’s front gate, holding hands with Shay as they watched the caravans arrive. Their offers to carry supplies and direct the newcomers were always met with grateful smiles from the guardsmen on duty.

  One morning, two weeks after Shay’s proposal, a caravan arriving from the South Marches brought a familiar silhouette with it. Nadya caught a glimpse of the tall, brawny woman, forge hammer hanging at her side. She nearly dropped the crate she was carrying in surprise. Beside her, Shay looked up, following her gaze.

  Before Nadya could say a word, Shay dashed forward, parting the crowds like prairie grass. She stopped a few paces in front of the forgemaster. They stared at one another as Nadya joined them.

  Jeta said, “I heard about your work with the resistance forces.” The forgemaster paused before adding softly, “You will be a great smith one day, Shay.”

  Shay opened her mouth several times, but nothing more than a hitched breath came out. Finally, she just launched herself at Jeta, wrapping her arms around the forgemaster and burying her head in her shoulder.

  Nadya stood back as they embraced, and she focused her senses on the loud chatter of the caravaneers to avoid hearing what the forgemaster whispered to her apprentice. When they broke apart, Jeta’s eyes shone in the midday sun. She looked to Nadya now, as well as Shay.

  “You’re good for each other,” she said simply, and Nadya’s throat tightened with unspoken emotion.

  Shay took Nadya’s hand and squeezed gently. “You didn’t come all this way just to say that, did you?” she asked the forgemaster.

  Jeta shook her head, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I intend to see you married, Shay.”

  “And after?”

  The forgemaster’s gaze swept across the tiers that towered above them. “The road isn’t as kind as it once was. Perhaps it’s time I settle down and build my own forge.”

  Shay’s brilliant smile warmed Nadya to the core.

  * * *

  A month seemed an eternity, and yet it passed in a blur of rebuilding the city, keeping a watch over the streets at night, and planning the ceremony. A week before she was to be wed, Nadya went looking for Shay to steady her nerves and found her partner wandering the third-tier market, accompanied by the Stormspeaker.

  Nadya’s confusion must have been written on her face, because Shay smiled and teased, “Rat got your tongue, love? We’re doing a bit of shopping. You could use a decent outfit, you know.” She gestured to a bundle that Kesali held. “No one knows your tastes like the Stormspeaker. Duchess or not, she’s a shrewd bargainer.”

  “And if that doesn’t work, you can always glare at the shopkeepers,” Kesali replied and held out the fine fabric to Nadya. “A gift for your marriage. Congratulations and much happiness to the both of you.”

  The silken gray tunic was stitched with silver embroidery that took the shape of a great bird. Tears pricked the corners of Nadya’s eyes.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  And suddenly, the eve of the wedding arrived.

  In the now barren space of the Nomori square, a small crowd gathered to witness the ceremony. The Duke and Stormspeaker wore heavy cloaks with hoods to avoid attention, though Nadya picked out their beaming smiles from across the square. Others came from the resistance, companions Shay had made. Still more had known Nadya’s parents, and despite the break in tradition, they gave her respectful nods as she approached the ceremonial dais.

  One figure broke apart from the crowd as she
made her way forward. Shadar Gabori’s eyes glistened, and he wrapped her in a tight hug, whispering, “I am so proud of you.” Her sensitive hearing revealed that Shay was receiving similar treatment from Jeta Forgemaster.

  Finally, she and Shay both reached Drina, who stood at the dais. With the fountain long destroyed, a makeshift pool of water had been placed in front of the Nomori Elder. Nadya and Shay, both barefoot, stepped into the lukewarm salt water. They turned to one another, holding hands, as Drina began to speak. Nadya looked at Shay, and the rest of the world fell away. Shay wore a tunic of deep red that fit her like her leather armor. Tiny orange flames had been embroidered along its hem. Shay’s eyes shone with excitement. She wore light face paint, and her hair had been intricately braided and put up. She radiated with a glow that took Nadya’s breath away.

  In the distance, she heard her grandmother’s voice. “Under the stars and by the current, do you, Shay Rissalo, consent to this union?”

  Shay smiled at Nadya. A tiny flame sprang into Nadya’s palm as Shay said, “I consent.”

  Drina turned to Nadya. Her voice, normally so steady during ritual, cracked with emotion as she repeated, “Under the stars and by the current, do you, Nadezhda Gabori, consent to this union?”

  Nadya looked into Shay’s dark eyes and whispered, “I do consent.”

  It began with a loaf of bread, and it ended with a kiss.

  About the Author

  Rebecca Harwell grew up in Minnesota and has since lived around the Midwest, which has given her a love of winter and the prairie. She holds a BA in creative writing from Knox College and an MS in library science from Indiana University.

  Her writing reflects the comic books, space operas, and high fantasy epics she loves to read. When not writing, Rebecca can be found watching Star Trek reruns, playing with her rabbit, and staging imaginary battles in her head. She remains unconvinced that unicorns aren’t real. Visit her website at www.rebeccaharwell.com.