The Third Sun (Daughter of the Phoenix Book One)

by Victoria J. Price

  “Jerum sends for you both,” she said, stepping inside. The guards exchanged a glance. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you.” She stood tall and took a step away from the doorway, gesturing for them to leave.

  The guards left without a word, and Noor cast her eyes over the desk. A pile of parchment, a small lidded jar of ink and a quill sat discarded to one side. Noor clicked her tongue, it had been a long time since she’d needed to write anything down. She scrawled messages for Alexander, blowing on the ink to dry it. Before she left, she rolled up a few extra sheets of parchment and grabbed the quill and ink to take back to her pod.

  She returned to the loading bay to show the Aurelli what she’d seen, handing them the tightly rolled parchment messages. Noor could only hope the messages would reach Alexander via the Shadows. She knelt before an Aurelli, its green, oval eyes looking up at her, as she showed it an image of the Shadows, flying beneath the airship.

  When she was certain it had understood, Noor thanked the little creature and made her way to the dining rooms, hoping she would find Raiaan within.

  “As you were,” Raiaan said, walking in a moment behind her. All the guards had risen as soon as he entered, and the room filled with the scuffs of chair feet as they sat back down. It was respect that guided the guards’ movements, rather than fear, like with Lorn. Raiaan was calm and quiet when he spoke, and never wielded fire like his brother and sister did to get what he wanted. Guards were often bringing him things: maps, bits of parchment, even beverages from the mess hall.

  “Thank you, sir,” one of the guards said, as they parted ways with him. Noor couldn’t be sure, but Raiaan was up to something.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alexander

  An entire ship had been lost during the storm. Three days had passed since the funeral, and the heavy mood on the ship had begun to lift. They’d held a service, even though no bodies were retrieved from the water. Hundreds of them, sinking to the ocean bed, or more likely nourishing the creatures that lived in the depths. At least their spirits would not become like the ghosts of Earth, and for that Alexander was grateful.

  Fia had stood beside him as pyres of scrap wood and bundles of cloth were pushed out gently into the ocean and set alight with blazing arrows. “What happens to their souls? Are they stuck beneath the waves?”

  “No, quite the opposite. They’re free now. Their bodies were nothing more than a vessel,” he’d replied.

  They’d stood together in silence as the smouldering pyres disappeared into the horizon.

  But now, sounds of laughter and chatter had returned, and the paintings in the corridors were more vivid than ever. Many of the Nords had come aboard from the smaller ships, transforming themselves into animals. The ship was full of life.

  Malachai’s wing had almost completely healed, and although the days grew colder, the dim grey that had surrounded the ship before the storm did not return. The sky remained clear and blue; the crisp air was fresh against Alexander’s face as he observed the ship.

  As well as the Navarii and the Nords who had joined them, there were other races, too. The Asharians, known across Ohinyan for their elaborate finery and feline features—distant cousins of the Aurelli—strode by them in full-length coats and thick, heavy boots. There was a group of women who kept their skin covered at all times, and the Navarii children whispered stories of women who had once been lizards, covering their skin to prevent it from drying up in the light of day. They weren’t far off the truth. If they’d caught a glimpse beneath the robes, the children would see they weren’t really women at all. Alexander had crossed paths with their kind once before. He recalled the flickering tongue of Anara, the way it made its way from amongst layers of robes, tasting the air between them. Anara had been kind to him and offered him refuge after the incident in Nadar, not too long before he’d left for Earth.

  A familiar pang of guilt twisted in his stomach. You led Fia to Ohinyan. The sooner they could get answers from the witches, the better. But what if they had no intention of sending her back to Earth, what if they couldn’t? He rubbed at his neck, the memory of kissing her playing on repeat. What if she stayed?

  His gaze wandered to the Nords grouped together, whom Maab held authority over. In animal form, they were mostly well behaved, much to the relief of the crew. But they were everywhere: they were the birds, circling above the ship, they were otters swimming alongside them, and they were ferrets and mice and lizards scurrying about the deck.

  A glimpse of red told him Fia had stepped up onto the deck. She smiled as she walked over, her green eyes fresh and bright. He pushed aside all thoughts of her returning to Earth.

  One should not dwell on what could be, only what is. That’s what his father would have said.

  Fia pulled the hood up on her coat as she approached, and Alexander thought of how he’d pressed his mouth against hers, of the saltwater on her lips. Talking with her before their kiss had been effortless, but there had been little time for conversation since the night of the storm. So many responsibilities rested on him, so many fates tied together, as if nothing but a single spool of silk held them all.

  Many threads connect us all. That’s what he’d told Noor, not too long ago.

  Each action held a consequence. But he did not regret kissing Fia. He did not regret the feeling of her hands in his hair.

  “It won’t be much longer before we’re on dry land,” he said, as she joined him. Together, they watched the Nord animals running about the crates and the sail posts.

  Fia gave a weak smile, the gold flecks in her eyes glistening. “I don’t see how I can help. It doesn’t look like you need my help to unite anything.” She leaned over the edge and looked into the water below. A grey dolphin was diving and ducking in and out of the waves below them, clicking and squeaking with joy—another Nord. Alexander envied their freedom.

  He resisted the urge to pull Fia to him, to press his lips against hers again, but her words hung in the air between them. Just a few days practicing on the ship talking to the Nords, Fia had improved her skill so much already. But more than that, he needed her: her kindness, her compassion, the way she made time for everyone they met.

  He followed Fia’s gaze. “We must get you back to Earth before the windows close, and only the witches can tell us if it’s possible. Away from all of this.” He said the last part with less conviction, as the joyful dolphin below them clicked and whistled.

  “I’m losing count of how many times I’ve almost died since I got here,” Fia said. Alexander opened his mouth to protest, but she continued, “Years ago, right after my parents died and Sophie wasn’t quite old enough for custody, I was in a foster home. There was this girl there who lied about everything. Everyone knew better than to listen to her. One day I found her, hiding in one of the store cupboards, sweating and white as a sheet. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she was cursed, forever being chased by Death, and that she could see it as we spoke, watching and waiting for her. I wanted to believe she was lying, but her eyes were filled with so much fear—she really believed what she was saying. A few days later, she was gone, and none of the staff could tell me where. They just said she’d left and wouldn’t be coming back.”

  “Do you think Death got to her?” Alexander asked.

  Fia turned to look at him. “You think she was telling the truth?”

  Alexander shrugged. “There are many things we don’t understand. It could be possible. But you…” He met her gaze. A few stray strands of hair fell across her eyes, as green as the forest they’d fled from. “You are not cursed. Death isn’t coming for you. You just stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  She chewed on her lip and brushed her hair behind her ear. What was she thinking? He wanted to ask her what it was like to talk to the Nords when they were in animal form, if she realised how much she could help them all, but he didn’t know where to begin.

  “Do you think Oren told the Makya where we’re g
oing?” Fia asked after a few moments of silence.

  Alexander ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. “I think he may have told them, yes. Although I fear they will not spare his life, anyway.” He looked out to the horizon, towards the beating silhouettes of Runa and Malachai growing bigger as they approached the ship.

  “Do you think the Makya are coming for us?” Fia asked.

  Runa and Malachai had touched down on the deck, and Alexander knew at once something was wrong. Runa was already talking to Altair; he could see something in the skies had distressed her. Malachai was by her side, removing the bandage from his wing and examining the healed wound. Altair pulled a map from beneath layers of his great fur cloak and laid it out atop the nearest crate. Alexander flew over to listen to the angels’ report.

  “There’s no land here for days in either direction.” Altair waved his hand across the map.

  “That may be so according to your map, but I know what I saw. Something wasn’t right. There was no sign of life on the island—no birds, no insects, nothing. But there were the remains of an airship. It looked as if it had been there for some time. Sire,” Runa said, turning to face him. “I’d like to go back and take a closer look.”

  Alexander weighed his options. He saw no harm in additional scouting. “If there are remains of a ship, there may be people stranded there. You should go.”

  …

  When his friends did not return the next morning, Alexander felt a knot of worry pulling itself deeper in his stomach. He’d made another bad judgement, allowing them to go alone.

  Altair was going over the maps again with some of his crew across the deck. There was no good reason to ask him to risk the lives of everyone on board for the sake of two angels. No good reason other than they were his friends.

  “We can’t wait,” Alexander heard Fia say as he approached. She was pacing beside Altair, frantic. “We all know they would have been back hours ago—last night even—they should be here by now.” Fia paced, gazing out to the horizon.

  “Can you spare a ship?” Alexander asked, placing a firm hand on Altair’s shoulder.

  Altair rubbed his chin between finger and thumb. “It does not sit well with me to risk the lives of others, but I do not think separating what remains of the fleet would be prudent, either. If we go, we go together.”

  “Thank you, old friend. Let’s hope there are survivors from the airship, and that Runa and Malachai are well.”

  Fia let out a quiet whistle like he’d heard her do so many times before. He echoed the sentiment and pushed off into the air to fly on ahead of the ship.

  It wasn’t long before he saw the island, just as the last of the daylight faded and the moons made their way through the clouds above him. In the dim light that remained, the approach to the island was perilous. Cliffs of barren, jagged rocks stuck out in every direction, and the sea broke in crashing, violent waves at their base.

  “It’s cliff face as far as I can see,” Alexander called out to Altair from above the ship. “I’ll keep looking.” And up ahead, he could see it, a break in the rocks, an opening. Moments later, he emerged and returned to them swiftly, landing on silent feet on the wooden deck.

  “There’s a large cave with access to the surface. We could anchor here and take a search party,” Alexander said to Altair.

  “We will join you.” Maab added, as he and Enne stood amongst them. They’d been running around the deck as wild cats just moments before. “Any Nord that can fly will assist with navigation into the cave.”

  “Is the cave large enough to accommodate this vessel?” Altair asked.

  Alexander nodded. Where were Runa and Malachai? The island seemed odd, even from above, but Alexander couldn’t quite say why. Why hadn’t they returned?

  Altair rubbed at his chin again. “Very well, the remaining ships will anchor and we will proceed.”

  Alexander flew above the ship as it approached the island. “Steady, watch the starboard,” he called out. Two Nord birds chirped a warning. “Watch the mast.”

  Flickers of lamps illuminated the entrance to the narrow cave. Waves broke high and hard against the rocks, and the ship swayed with the heavy pull from the under current. He would not allow himself to think that something could go wrong, that the ship could be splintered against the rock like nothing more than a lump of driftwood.

  Inside, the water was calm. Protected from the crashing waves and the wind, the tide lulled as they made their way slowly into the depths of the cave. It was a vast cavern; the ceiling stretched high above them, with great stalactites pointing down at the ship. Alexander flew close to the mast as Altair threw flares into the darkness. They sent electric blue shimmers of light across the surface of the water, falling with an echo against the rocky walls whilst some splashed into the water below.

  Men and women stood on the decks of the ship with raised oil lamps in their hands, peering out into the darkness. Alexander’s heart beat steady. He felt no death nearby, no dying spirit calling out to him.

  “This way,” he said, his voice raised.

  The walls narrowed a little, and it was easier to take in details as the light reflected off the damp rocks. There were raised areas and ledges around the perimeter covered in strange crawlers with thick, gnarly roots. Alexander’s eyes adjusted, and he could make out the great roots protruding through the ceiling above them, wrapping tightly around the stalactites like twisting ivy.

  “Here.” He landed ahead of the ship on a ledge high enough for them to climb out of the cave. Fia followed Maab and Enne onto the ledge. A few more of the Nords accompanied them, along with Altair and a handful of his men. The rest stayed behind on the ship, cocooned in the safety of the cave.

  The ascent was difficult for those that could not fly. The rock was wet with slippery moss, and as they climbed closer to the surface, the air became thick and heavy. By the time the last of them surfaced, what little light remained was barely visible between the dense canopy of trees.

  Something about this place didn’t feel right. Altair wiped sweat from his brow with a square of cloth, and though his chest heaved more deeply than the others, he made no complaints about the climb. The old man hadn’t succumbed to his years just yet. There was still no sign of Runa and Malachai, no suggestion that they’d come this way at all. They’d have likely flown above the canopy, and that thought at least gave Alexander some relief.

  He’d never seen anywhere like this place. Not on Ohinyan or Earth. They stood below enormous trees stretching high above them, vast roots spread out and around each other, twisting and turning. Some of the roots arched like fallen tree trunks ten feet or so above the ground and weaved in and out of each other, creating new structures of their own amongst the forest floor.

  Alexander watched as Fia removed her coat and stifled a cough against the thick air. The trees and the roots were hollow and flaking, the canopy above them dark and waxy, like the dead leaves on the ground. Fia picked one up to examine it; it was black and disintegrated into a sludgy paste between her fingertips. The faster they left the island, the better.

  Altair took her hand, inspecting the remains of the leaf. “Something very dark has been to this place,” the old man said quietly, before walking on into the desolate forest.

  Alexander followed behind Altair. He wouldn’t fail his friends. He couldn’t.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fia

  The group walked in silence. The humidity pushed down on Fia and all around her; it was unbearable. But it wasn’t just the humidity. There were no signs of life here. The forest was silent. No birds or insects made a sound, no animals called out to them. Only the rain could be heard, as it fell in great drops on the forest floor. Not immune to Erebus’s whispers… Altair’s words echoed in her thoughts.

  They stopped to rest, and Fia rolled the little bird charm between her fingers. It seemed like so long ago when she’d found it tucked down the back of her gym locker in London. She’d lost count of d
ays that had rolled into nights. If only she could be like the Navarii, who behaved as if they’d accepted their great loss from just a few days before. But then, everything here had been about a cycle—life and death, the sun dying and being reborn. Fia wanted to believe there was some part of Sophie somewhere, back home in Hampstead Heath, cascading through the grass, or at the top of the BT tower, laughing and looking down at the tiny people below.

  It didn’t matter. Sophie was gone.

  Altair’s great cloak swung into her line of sight. “Don’t let the darkness here get to you, child,” he said, sitting beside her on one of the twisting tree roots, his cloak dripping from the rain.

  “Do you miss the people you’ve lost?” Fia asked, staring up into the canopy, raindrops falling onto her face, as she tried to wash away the stickiness of the air.

  Altair was silent for a while before rummaging around in the depths of his great cloak, and retrieved a piece of shiny wood, no bigger than a nut. He placed it in her hands.

  “Turn it over,” Altair said.

  On the other side of the little nut was a delicate carving of a woman’s smiling face, so intricate Fia could see the laughter lines beside her eyes and her long, fine eyelashes.

  “She’s beautiful,” Fia murmured.

  Altair took the nut gently from Fia’s hands and placed it in between his own, cradling it with care. “This was my wife, Maia. She was beautiful and fearless and a wonderful friend. She died giving birth to our son.” Altair’s face softened, and his gaze followed a Nord walking by them. “Do I miss her? Yes, every passing moment of every day. I miss her company, her sense of humour, her wit. Most of all, I miss her clever insight—she was a very good judge of character and understood things far beyond her years.”

  “I’m sorry,” Fia replied.

  “Why? This is Ohinyan, child, my wife is now a part of this old tree root, the forest we fled from, and the turbulent seas we have sailed in. If I did not miss her, that means I would not have loved her. And if my years had not been filled with love for her, I probably would have been gone from this life, long ago. It has kept me going, given me courage when I needed it most, and given me wisdom when I had no words at all.” Altair returned the nut back into the depths of his cloak and rested a hand on Fia’s shoulder for the briefest of moments before moving on.