To combat Nox’s devouring ways, Axura’s own children, the phoenixes, joined the fray. Only light can defeat darkness, and so they did, beating back the strixes again and again.
The war lasted centuries, and the world suffered under such a regime. But Axura was wise, and in humankind she saw not beings to rule over, but allies to fight alongside.
Atop Pyrmont’s highest peak, Axura took her phoenix form and made contact with the Pyraean tribes who lived there.
“Who among you is brave and fearless?” she asked.
“There is no bravery without fear,” said Nefyra, leader of her tribe.
Axura was pleased with this answer and offered a trial for Nefyra to prove her worth. As a test of faith, Axura lit a fire as tall as the trees and asked Nefyra to enter the flames.
Nefyra did so, and burned alive. But her death was not the end.
She went into the fire a tribal leader and emerged as an animage, a shadowmage, and the First Rider Queen.
—“Nefyra and the First Riders,” from The Pyraean Epics, Volume 1, circa 460 BE
I am a daughter of death. I killed my mother when I was pulled from her womb; from the ashes I rose, like a phoenix from the pyre.
- CHAPTER 2 -
VERONYKA
ON THEIR KNEES IN front of the fire, Veronyka and Val watched as a tiny crack appeared on the egg, growing and spreading, as complex as a spider’s web, until the bits of shell were held together by only a thin membrane. The egg expanded and contracted, pulsing like a heartbeat, glimpses of scarlet plumage visible in the jagged openings. There was a shudder, and then a small golden beak poked through.
A thrill surged into Veronyka’s limbs—she wanted to clap, to cheer—but she fought the sensation, remaining rigidly, unnaturally still. She was afraid to breathe, to blink, determined not to miss a single glorious moment. There was a roaring in her ears, a rushing sound that turned everything in the world except her and this egg into empty, white nothingness.
Veronyka didn’t know how long they watched, but hours—or maybe minutes—later, the egg finally cracked open, and a phoenix fell sideways onto the burning embers. It was a brilliant, vivid red—a color Veronyka had never seen in all her life, brighter than a jewel, more exquisite than dyed silk.
She stared at the creature, the jubilation brimming inside her tinged with complete and utter astonishment—they’d actually done it. After all this time, they’d actually hatched a phoenix.
As the bird struggled to its feet, its damp down hissed and smoked, making contact with the charcoal beneath it.
Forgetting that this was a firebird, that heat couldn’t harm a creature born from ash and flame, Veronyka gasped and reached forward. Val blocked her outstretched hand, giving Veronyka a moment for her brain to catch up with her body.
The phoenix stumbled over the bits of broken shell, impervious to the heat, until at last it steadied itself and shuffled around to face them. It looked like any ordinary newly hatched chick—wobbly and unstable—with barely there wings and a narrow, spindly neck that could hardly hold up its head. But its eyes . . . They were wide and large and alert.
And they latched on to Veronyka.
She exhaled, a last breath of air that marked the end of an old life—one that was small in scope and purpose. When Veronyka drew air again, it was the start of something new—a life that promised wind-tossed hair and endless blue skies and fire that burned hotter than the sun. Her fingers tingled, her senses sharpened, and the world was alive in a way that it had never been before. Her magic buzzed inside her, drumming like a second heartbeat—or maybe that was this creature’s pulse beating in time with her own.
In that instant Veronyka knew Val had been right about the bond between animage and phoenix. It wasn’t love—such a small word couldn’t begin to encompass the feelings of respect and devotion, of trust and codependence that existed between human and beast. The bond was a unity that was written in the stars, older than the empire and the valley and the mountains, older than the gods, a connection that not even death could shake. Endless, limitless, and somehow timeless, Veronyka’s fate was tied to this creature, and they would always be together.
They were bondmates.
A cool breeze slipped across her skin, and Veronyka broke eye contact. The cabin was glowing with pale dawn light, the front door wide open.
Val was nowhere in sight.
She returned some time later. Wearing a mask of indifference, she carried a new sack of rice, some cornmeal, salt fish and dried deer meat, a small ceramic jar of honey, and a bag of dates. The dates were a rare treat—expensive and grown only in the province of Stel. Even corn was hard to come by in the mountains, though some farmers worked the crop on the lower rim.
Veronyka got to her feet, leaving her phoenix on the ground and wiping sweaty palms against her trousers. Val often stormed off when she was upset, disappearing for hours—or days—with little by way of explanation. If Veronyka was lucky, the time would allow Val to cool off and forget her anger. If Veronyka was unlucky, Val’s rage would ripen and rot, becoming all the more potent in their time apart.
Sometimes Veronyka would have no idea what had set Val off—but this time she thought she knew. The first phoenix should have been Val’s—she was the eldest, and she’d been the one to find the eggs. Guilt nagged at Veronyka, but she fought hard not to let it spoil this sweet, shining moment. Val would be fine. They simply had to wait for the second egg to hatch.
The phoenix chirruped softly as it pecked around the edge of the fire. The warmth had turned its fiery red down into a soft puff, and its beak and feet were as golden as the phoenix statues Veronyka had seen as a child in the gods’ plaza in Aura Nova—before they’d been taken down. Once guardians and defenders of the empire, the Phoenix Riders had abandoned their posts and sworn their loyalty to Avalkyra Ashfire instead. This made them traitors, and phoenixes along with them. While Avalkyra was the true heir to the throne, she’d committed treason and been labeled a criminal before she was old enough to be crowned, and had been chased from the empire. The governors threw their support behind the nonmagical sister, Pheronia, instead, while Avalkyra set herself up in Pyra. She and her supporters had soon been deemed “rebels,” refusing to abide by empire law or answer for their supposed crimes. In the years following her death, the empire had destroyed anything that could be construed as supportive of her and her legacy—phoenix imagery most of all.
It was no easy task, as phoenixes had been a part of empire history from the very beginning. They were symbols of the royal line and sacred to the empire’s highest god, Axura—translated to “Azurec” in the Trader’s Tongue, the common language of the empire. One by one temple statues were removed and sacred prayers altered. Axura—who had always been depicted as a phoenix—was anthropomorphized, and even songs, poems, and plays that featured phoenixes were forbidden.
Though they had begun this process during the Blood War, it had taken the Council of Governors years to finish the job. Veronyka had caught small glimpses of the phoenixes’ continued presence up until her last days in the empire several months ago: faded frescoes peeking out from under a peeling coat of paint or crumbling concrete revealing glass mosaics underneath.