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This is a little piece of Flash Fiction outside my normal sequence, partly to help me crack a spell of writers block and partly because the idea came to me and I needed to get it out. Expect the serial, Before The Maps Are Final, to resume this week. Thank you for your patience while I get my writing act together!
Synopsis: An old wizard and his pupil go in search of the legendary Phoenix.
The old wizard liked to tell me stories about the phoenix. Ever since he fell ill, our visits had turned from philosophy to storytelling, from him teaching to me treating. As his illness progressed, he became more and more fixated on the phoenix. Their conversations had evolved before I noticed from ‘fun storytelling’ to ‘planning and preparation’. He was going to find the phoenix, and I was going to help him.
“Is that so?” I had said.
“Yes. Please—do not refuse me this request. The phoenix holds the key to immortality. It burns away all sickness and age and leaves only youthful vigor.”
“Death is a natural part of life, why do you want immortality?”
The old wizard had smiled mirthlessly at that. He said, “I cannot see what lies on the other side of death—life, life! I know life, I want to live. Grant me this—if we fail, we fail daring boldly. I will die having tried. Grant me this!”
After all these years, my heart was moved by this last appeal. How could I refuse? “Very well, teacher. I will help you.”
That was when the plans became real.
I pulled the old wizard on a kind of cart behind me—it was what we had available. He looked back, watching behind us, telling stories all the while. It was easy road at first, but became increasingly difficult as we entered hilly and forested land. He tried to hide his groans at each divot and root the cart passed over, but it became increasingly difficult to hide. The wizard was in pain, and nearing the end.
“You’ve said the phoenix is always flying—how are we supposed to find it, constrained as we are by this cart and my strength.”
“Ah, it flies until the time of regeneration is near. It must needs build a nest, and so must needs remain in one place until the time.”
“What makes you think it is this way?”
“The legends! You haven’t studied the legends as I have. Every 500 years or so, the same tale occurs. These woods—these are the woods! Somewhere in here, it builds it’s nest.”
I shrugged, and pressed on. Even if the old wizard was mad, he wasn’t long for this world. If he was right, he would be restored. It seemed to me, at the very worst I was indulging an old man his last request, there were worse crimes than respect.
As we plunged deeper into the woods, the old wizards stories began to make less and less sense. He began chuckling to himself, stroking his beard, lost in some memory or other. They didn’t make sense to me, but I wasn’t a wizard. Who could say what great thoughts stirred in that great mind of his.
During a moment of rest, I got his attention. “Teacher, we must be getting close now, how will I know which way to go?”
“Listen for the phoenix-song. When the time of regeneration is near,” he chuckled absently, “when it is near, it will sing the sweet song of renewal! And then—then the regeneration will begin.”
I nodded, sighed. If he was wrong, we would be lost for a very long time. I picked up the cart and pressed on.
The sun was falling, and the forest was getting dark. A chill wind blew through the trees, causing them to bend and sway restlessly. The wind carried with it a beautiful, new song unlike any I had ever heard. Could this be the answer? Could this be what the old man had spoken of all these years?
I said nothing—fearing exciting him if he had not heard the song himself. I turned towards the sound, and marched forward.
The song grew steadily louder, like music from a golden flute! An impossible sounding harmony, a complex melody, an entrancing, magical song. There was no hiding it from the old wizard now. He heard, he knew. He cursed me for pulling him backwards on this cart, he asked, “Do you see it? Do you see it, boy? Tell me what you see!”
I told him, “Not yet, not yet teacher.” My muscles ached but the nearness of the goal gave me new energy. Perhaps immortality would be possible for both of us!
A dim light shone through the forest—I followed it nearer and nearer, the phoenix’s song louder and louder. At last I spied it through a clearing. The great phoenix, big as a great eagle, gold and red and fiery orange plumage, glowing with unearthly light. It’s eyes were grey with age, it’s beak hooked but scarred from many battles. It’s nest was wide around it, loose twigs and dry leaves, perfect kindling for the regenerative fire. I stopped where I stood.
“What is it? What is it boy? I don’t hear the song anymore! What do you see?”
The old wizard called impatiently, but I was too entranced to listen.
“Dash it all, boy, turn me around! I must make observations!”
I watched as the phoenix nestled into it’s nest, as though to sleep, and then from it’s beak breathed a gentle flame onto the nest.
It caught slowly at first, and quickly grew in brightness and intensity—the heat hurt took me by surprise and I stepped backwards, such that the old wizard could see the glow on my face.
“Is it happening?” he asked.
The phoenix suddenly caught fire, and it let out an unearthly, terrible, almost human scream. As the fire engulfed it, it screamed louder than it had ever sang, it flapped its wings in agony, blowing burning embers around the forest, catching the underbrush aflame—the fire was spreading.
I watched in horror as the feathers of the phoenix burned away, it’s flesh blackened and bubbled, the fire clinging to it tightly like the jaws of a predator.
The old wizard stopped asking what I saw. He could hear, he knew.
The phoenix collapsed into the nest, it’s screams suddenly silent.
It’s flesh burned away to reveal bones, bones crumbled into ash. The forest began to blaze around us.
A hot gust of wind, and the ashes revealed a surprisingly small egg, glowing ember-red. A flaming branch fell in front of me, breaking the spell.
I turned to the old man: “We have to get out of here.”
He nodded, wringing his hands together. He was quiet now, brows furrowed in fear and worry. I pushed him back the way we came, and prayed we would outrun the flames.
The End
Thank you very much for reading! This is a bit of flash fiction. If you like flash fiction, consider subscribing for Flash Fiction Friday and get prompts in your inbox every other Friday. This was an unplanned story but I figured I had to get it out, take your wins where you can get them. I hope you enjoyed.
Please consider leaving a like, telling me what you thought in the comments, or sharing this story on Notes. If you would like to read more, please check out my collection of science fiction Sandbox Earth stories, fantasy Blackpage stories, or other kinds of stories in the Exo-Canon.
God bless you!
AJPM
So, the reality did not live up to the promise . . .
I wasn’t sure what to expect from the ending, but this was pitch perfect. It reminds me a bit of the “Firebird” sequence in Fantasia 2000.