The Phoenix’s Peace

War is inevitable,” intoned the High Priestess Aduna. Her voice, though still resonant, musical and deep, cracked with age. She dropped to her knees in front of the golden altar.

Melana cringed, knowing how arthritic those bony old knees were. Melana bowed her head and joined in the prayer. “Our country is at risk. If this is the time, come to us, come to us now! As your mother arose to succor Dembia, and your grandmother, and your great-grandmother before her, as since the hatching of the World Egg, come to us, holy Phoenix—Phoenixes.” Her tongue stumbled on the word. “Come to us, come to us now!”

“Come to us, come to us now,” Melana chanted, along with thirty other priestesses and postulants in the Nest Chamber of the Temple of Peace. She spread her hands out before her palms up, and swayed from side to side, feeling her gold, red, and white skirts brush against her legs. Her long, thick black hair was crowned with a golden diadem that resembled feathers. More gold feathers swung around her neck and waist, smoothly brushing her deep brown skin. She was prepared, should a hatching begin, to offer her hands, her body, and her heart to the country’s protectors. “Come to us, come to us now!” The pulse of the drums and the lilting music of flutes rose around them, echoing off the red marble walls of the inner chamber. The music made Melana’s soul soar to the lofty Temple ceiling decorated with polished golden images of flying Phoenixes.

Nothing happened. Nothing ever did, not in the five years that Melana had been chosen as one of the sacred band of Protectors of the Egg, nor in the twenty-two before that. The singular title still held, though history had changed at the fiery blaze that claimed Ucutumwa, the last Phoenix of Dembia. Upon that great golden altar, engraved and enameled with stories of every incarnation of the Phoenix, lay a nest woven of jewels and wire as fine as strands of her hair in which reposed not one, but two eggs. Two bright, shining ovals of gold, gleaming more brightly than the mined metal. Two, as brilliant as the sun on the water. One slightly larger than the other. But, two. Not one. Why?

Historians and magicians had argued the reasons for that unique and bizarre change. Melana and half of the priestesses were too young to remember Ucutumwa. The girl and her five siblings had listened breathlessly at their grandmother’s knee how the Phoenix’s egg had cracked the day Colodino enemies swarmed over the mountainous northern border of Dembia, sacking its second largest city, Megros. Together with her priestess, Thonia, Ucutumwa had used her magical powers to drive out the invaders, giving Queen Zini’s generals and diplomats time to fortify defenses on the borders and to find out what had made Colodi break the decades-long peace. The accounts of those negotiations were recorded in annals stored in the Temple library, open to anyone who wanted to read. Deals were struck. Trade resumed, and travelers came and went, all under the auspices of the Phoenix of Dembia, as it had been in every incarnation of the great magical bird. On Thonia’s shoulder or nestled in her arms, Ucutumwa had been always present at the right hand of the queen, spreading her magic over the negotiation. Zini had been succeeded by her grandson, Alimbi, and still Dembia lived in peace.

Then, the day had come when Ucutumwa had grown old. She left her grieving companion and had taken to the nest. With a cry that the older priestesses said they would never forget, the Phoenix had vanished in a blaze of red and gold fire.

When the flames died down, they rushed to behold the newest egg that contained the soul of the immortal and ever-rising bird, only to discover that Ucutumwa had left them two eggs. One—and a puzzle.

When Melana was small, listening to the gripping tale along with her brothers and sisters, her mind had pushed aside the boring parts about trade and war and deal-making. She envied Thonia. She wanted to be the one whom the Phoenix loved for a lifetime. With two eggs, the possibility of becoming that guardian doubled. Why shouldn’t one of them be her?

“Do you want us to go to war?” her mother had demanded, unbelieving.

“No!” the child Melana had protested. But if that was the only way to become the Phoenix’s companion, then she supposed she must. Her mother looked so horrified that Melana made a joke of it. “Do you think the Phoenix will rise if I start a fight with my brothers?”

Her mother had shaken her head and shooed them all out to the open-air kitchen to help make supper. Under the warm tropical sun, Melana’s strange words had been forgotten.

Even when her siblings found other interests, the obsession with the Phoenix never left her. When Melana turned twelve, she joined other would-be postulants in Rigulos City Temple to be interviewed by the seekers from the Temple of Peace in Dembia’s capital, Luros. If chosen, she would join the priestesses caring for the Phoenix’s eggs.

She would have done or said anything to sway the seekers. Three firm but kindly women dressed in flowing scarlet and gold, their warm, walnut skins youthful, though their long black tresses were shot with silver. Their hands moved with the grace of birds in flight, putting the nervous children at ease. They had the girls sit in a circle.

The senior seeker, whom Melana came to know as Olinke, produced from a slim enameled case one single feather of such brilliant gold that it nearly blinded the girls. She touched it to the forehead of each girl. Warmth spread from that brushing kiss, flowing into Melana’s body. If a mere feather could do such magic, imagine what the Phoenix herself was capable of!

“What do you dream of?” Olinke asked them.

Melana listened with envy as each girl related the fascinating, complex, ever-changing visions that visited them at night, like the great stories her aunties told on feast days. When the seeker came to her, Melana wanted to lie and relate the biggest, most impressive sounding fantasy she could think of, but the feather magic chided her gently. Ashamed, she blurted out the truth.

“Nothing.”

The girls snickered. Olinke regarded her with kind, golden-brown eyes.

“Nothing at all?”

Melana felt her cheeks catch fire with shame.

“No. I fall asleep and I wake up.”

Olinke smiled and shook her head. She turned to her sisters and made a gesture of dismissal. Melana didn’t need to have her failure spelled out for her. She clambered to her bare feet, feeling as though she had been whipped, and shuffled toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Olinke asked. “You are the one we have been looking for. When the time comes, the Phoenix will fill your mind with dreams.”

Melana couldn’t wait for those dreams, and more. Everything the teaching sisters told her about the Phoenix who was to come was more fantastic and amazing than the tales she had heard. The magic that would come to all of them when the sacred bird hatched was stronger than anything performed by court wizards. Like any power, it could be used for good or ill, but the Phoenix herself exuded an air of calm and control. You couldn’t help but want to please her. The aegis that would fall upon the chosen companion was the strongest of all.

Beside the altar was a throne in which the priestess would sit. An image of the Phoenix with wings outspread made the high back of the chair. All along the posts and legs, feathers had been carved that looked so real Melana expected them to be soft and downy. A round cushion of gold and red silk lay upon the seat. Rumor had it among the younger priestesses that it was stuffed with feathers from previous Phoenixes, but Aduna wouldn’t even dignify that speculation with a reply.

Behind the throne, a mannequin held the regalia a priestess would don when the Phoenix chose her. A crown larger and more ornate than their diadems stood on the head, delicate gold and ruby bracelets and anklets adorned the wound-wire limbs, and a jingling belt of carved feathers was wrapped around the hips. The most magnificent part was the huge golden wings, taller than a man’s height and almost two wide, and held on by a pectoral of feathers made of gold that would be worn over the priestess’s bare breasts. No one had worn them since Thonia had passed away six years before. Melana would have died to try them on, just for a moment, but a spell of repulsion kept dust off the throne and regalia, along with an ambitious and curious young woman. They were only to be used when war threatened and the sacred bird required her companion.

Still, as long as Dembia’s neighbors offered no threat, the Phoenix eggs remained unhatched. Every day the priestesses made the same prayer, bidding the Phoenixes emerge and bless them with its visions of peace, then resignedly went about their business. Melana couldn’t help feeling impatient that the egg continued to sleep. She didn’t care which of the two it was as long as the great bird loved her. She already knew she would love it.

Her daily duties were not onerous, since she could accomplish all but the most vital with small spells and cantrips. No dust settled on the great bookshelves in the library or on the precious vessels in the room where the priestesses formulated potions for healing, ease in childbirth, and calming of the mind. The inlaid marble floors cleaned themselves, a nice change from Melana’s early days, when sweeping and scrubbing began again at the near end of the house as soon as she finished washing the far end. She and the other young priestesses took instruction in the tasks expected of them as well as in mystical means of defending themselves from attack.

“Many of these tasks will not be possible until the Phoenix—Phoenixes—come,” Aduna said, pounding the end of an ironwood cane on the marble floor to keep the young women’s attention. “For others, you will draw upon the power of the earth and sky, as need arises. The Phoenix expects you to behave responsibly.”

Melana and her friends exchanged amused glances. How could they resist experimenting with their new abilities? Tirinia, the youngest and newest priestess, discovered she could cling to a wall and climb like a spider. Others found talents in sweetening sour wine, bringing the rain, or hearing the thoughts of animals. Melana spent hours seeking her own talent, but her mind scattered to too many places. Aduna demanded that she concentrate, but she didn’t want to focus on only one thing. Magic was too exciting!

They also learned how to deal with those who rose up as enemies of Dembia.

“Always show mercy,” Stihila said. She taught the history of warfare to the entire group, since no one could predict whom the Phoenix would choose as her companion. “Drive them out, don’t wipe them out. Leave the enemy a means to escape, and they will respect you. The goal is peace. Knowing you will hold back the death blow is the most powerful weapon you wield. Retreat is honorable. Control your anger. Give them room to depart, no matter how much you want to break them.”

“But some of our soldiers will die if we let them move freely!” wailed Elori, a small, plump girl from the hill country. “Honorable men and women who protect our land may suffer because we held back.”

Stihila gave her a sad, kindly smile. “They will rise again, like the Phoenix, into a land filled with peace. If you show mercy to your enemies, you stand a greater chance of gaining their trust and friendship later. Have faith. You cannot make allies of the dead.”

Elori didn’t look convinced. Neither was Melana, but each of these lectures gave her much to consider as she went about her daily tasks.

Apart from wishing the Phoenix would hatch, her favorite role was that of guide to her new home. The Temple of Peace always had visitors, from shy worshippers who lived in the far corners of the tropical forest to diplomats and nobility from foreign countries. The tall, golden stone structure lay in the heart of hectares of garden tended by Melana and the other priestesses, alongside acolytes and volunteers devoted to the Phoenix. Curved walls circled the grounds. At a distance, the Temple looked like a great nest, a tribute to the bird herself. It held rooms within rooms, cellars upon cellars, and tiny niches no one had discovered for years, if not centuries. When she was not guiding visitors to the Nest Chamber or helping scholars in the library, Melana explored. A few of the older priestesses found her curiosity dismaying, but Aduna and Olinke encouraged her.

Outside, wagon and animal traffic in the city near the Temple made for a disturbing cacophony, but inside, the reservoir of peace had become a haven of silence, birdsong, and music. The priestesses gathered in small groups to discuss tidings brought by visitors. At prayer time, everyone assembled in the Nest Chamber to ask for the Phoenix’s benediction. Meals were shared in the garden or in the open-air refectory, though the local birds, lizards, and monkeys often joined the humans in their repast, cheekily stealing crumbs or crusts right out of diners’ bowls.

“Melana!”

She looked up. Shala hurried toward her, waving. A couple of men in court dress strode in her wake, one very tall and slim, the other the same height as the priestess. Shala, slender as a passing thought, with cheekbones sharp as razors and big, bright black eyes, always had male company. Forming a love relationship wasn’t forbidden, as decades, even centuries, could pass between incarnations of the Phoenix of Peace, though few priestesses bore children. Both of her companions were handsome young men, clad in the black and yellow livery of Jumheuri: yellow trousers gathered at the ankle, black silk slippers that turned up at the toe, and a leopard-spotted shawl with a golden cat’s-eye brooch worn over one shoulder. They must be visiting from their embassy. Melana smiled at them and rose to her feet.

Shala drew the taller man forward with her arm crooked through his. She tossed her head, making her hair, and the beads braided into it, dance.

“Melana, meet Lord Suleyman Das. He is the son of the ambassador of Jumheuri.”

Melana offered her hand to the tall gentleman. “Honored One, I am pleased to greet worshipers of the great Leopard.”

He took her fingers gently. “I am honored to meet one of the Phoenix’s servants. May I present Ingalo Res? He serves as my secretary, though he is also of noble blood.”

Melana almost gasped when she met the other man’s eyes. Long, thick dark lashes that any girl would envy surrounded eyes of deep brown, a mix between blood red and black. The corners of his full lips rose in a tiny smile. His curly black hair shone with blue and green lights. Under the cloth tossed over his left shoulder, his bare bronze chest was broad and muscular.

“Lord Ingalo,” she said, releasing Suleyman’s hand and offering hers to Ingalo, hoping he had not noticed her hesitation. He squeezed her fingers once and let go.

“He saw you at prayers this morning,” Shala said artlessly. She typically said whatever came into her head. “He said he was interested in meeting you. He likes a girl with curves like yours.”

Melana felt her cheeks burn.

“Well, you may admire them,” Melana said, eyeing him sideways through her lashes. The sight pleased her.

“I hope to do that,” Ingalo said, his smile broadening. “In the meanwhile, Shala says you are the most knowledgeable about the Temple and its buildings. Would you be so kind as to show them to us? We want to see everything!”

“In the name of the Phoenix who sleeps, be welcome,” Melana said, putting her hands together. They copied her gesture, then followed as she turned to lead them inside.

Most visitors wearied of endless chapels and meditation gardens, preferring to view the treasures of the Temple briefly, then go straight to the Nest Chamber to see the eggs in their nest on the altar. Suleyman and Ingalo never showed impatience. They kept asking her questions about the buildings, their origin and history, and all the small details she had discovered during her tenure.

Suleyman let out an audible gasp at the vast, blue-painted library in the north end of the main keep. Scrolls, palimpsests, bound volumes, even treatises engraved on sheets of horn or carved into wood were preserved there on endless shelves and in beautifully made chests and boxes. They kept their voices hushed despite there being only eight readers at tables in the whole room.

“You see, artists dedicate their best work to the Phoenix,” Melana said, halting by an enchanted crystal cube that held the oldest and most fragile of their treasures, a miniature book believed to be over ten thousand years old. It was one of her favorite pieces. Every day, the archivist turned to the next page in the book to display the perfection of each tiny illumination, limned with powdered jewels.

“The Phoenix whose history is recorded in it was named Bocoretwa,” Melana explained.

“Why does she have different names? Aren’t they all the same bird, born again and again?” Suleyman asked, brow furrowed.

“You know our history well.” She smiled. “It’s true. The Phoenix of Peace retains her memories throughout incarnations, but lets her new companion know the name by which she wants to be called in each life. Sometimes her color pattern differs. Sometimes she is larger or smaller than the time before.”

“What about these next ones, the two unhatched eggs?” Suleyman’s eyes bored into hers as though trying to read her mind. “Our Sultan believes it is a sign that two eggs came forth from the fire. Does this mean the power of the Phoenix is meant to be shared? Perhaps one bird to be here, and one somewhere else?”

Shala gasped. Melana looked at the men in horror. “The Phoenix will never leave Dembia,” she said. “She is our guardian and our light.”

Ingalo shook his head. “Your intensity shocks our hosts, Sul,” he said. “Wishing is not having. Please, may we go on with our tour? We have not yet seen the Nest Chamber, and it is almost time for evening prayer. Then you must show me your favorite parts of this beautiful complex.”

Melana appreciated his tact, but inwardly she was shaken at the notion that other nations had been discussing the second egg as if it was a commodity to be given or traded instead of the most important thing in the world. She didn’t know why she had never considered anyone would think that way, but it shouldn’t have surprised her. Jumheuri was Dembia’s closest neighbor and ally. Most nations surrounding Dembia lay on the other side of mountain ranges or deep oceans. Jumhueri began at the eastern banks of the great river Solenke. Eight bridges spanned the enormous flood, though the spring thaw coming down from the highlands sometimes washed one of them away. Travelers and traders made the journey from one nation to the other constantly. Once she considered, she realized Jumheuri might believe the two lands were halves of the same country, only needing to be cemented by some … gesture? But thinking they were entitled to the Phoenix’s egg was too much!

“Can we touch them?” Ingalo asked, gazing at the eggs like any spectator. His hands moved of their own volition toward the nest, then stopped. “What is in the way?” He waved a palm, and hot bronze energy shot from his fingers. The magic flame burst against the invisible barrier and rebounded at his hand. He yelped.

“It’s the aegis of protection,” Melana said, amused. “No spell can penetrate it. Only when the Phoenix is about to rise will it open. Until then, no one can touch them. No one needs to.”

“It’s selfish.” Suleyman seemed to carry a little resentment at having been shot down over the notion of sharing the Phoenix’s eggs.

Melana did her best to amuse him. “We all have to get used to it. We are creatures of habit, here.” She pointed to a chair before the altar. “This is where our oldest priestess sits during services,” she said, with a wicked twinkle. “She gets very upset if anyone else tries to sit there. If they succeed, she stands over them and prays very loudly.”

The noble’s bad mood broke, and he let out a playful cackle. “I must do that. It will be a great story to tell back home.”

At that moment the music of flutes began, imitating birdsong and she felt Ingalo’s hand envelop hers. The tingle of magic flooded through her.

“Prayers are about to begin, aren’t they?” Ingalo said, raising her hand and kissing her knuckles, “I will see you later.” Melana blushed as she watched him go.

Ingalo’s attention devastated her ability to concentrate. Throughout the devotions, she couldn’t help but think of him and his touch. Shala kept shooting her glances and nods toward the rear of the room. Aduna didn’t seem to notice their inattention, but Olinke cleared her throat audibly. Melana turned away and concentrated on her prayers.

When services ended, most of the visitors went outside to join the communal evening meal. Shala caught her arm as they followed into the twilight.

“Did I do right, introducing you to Lord Ingalo?” she asked, wide eyes anxious.

Melana laughed. “We will see whether you have done him any favors by introducing him to me!”

“Oh, you always joke at your own expense,” Shala said, pushing her playfully. “I can tell you like one another.”

Glowing lights along the wall of the Temple shed soft golden light on the many benches and tables where the crowd of diners already had bowls of meat and vegetables in fragrant, spicy sauce, wedges of fresh bread with flavored oil, and wooden cups of fruit juice or wine.

“Melana!” Ingalo hailed her from where he and Suleyman sat alone at the end of one long table. They must have fought to defend the seats beside them from other guests. The priestesses took food for themselves and joined them.

Shala leaned against Suleyman, sharing bites of food with him and conversing in tones so low Melana could hear only the occasional whisper and giggle.

“She is not serious about him,” Ingalo murmured. “Neither is he. You are a more serious person, I think. If you were to say sweet things to me, I would believe you.”

“Oh, you don’t know me very well,” Melana said lightly. “I’m not a serious person.”

He kissed her hand. “You are one who should be valued above rubies. Should you ever leave the Temple with me, I would bring you to my mansion in the cloud forest. You would be lady of the heights!”

“I will never leave,” Melana assured him. “The Phoenix will be mine when she hatches. I must be here when that time comes.”

He laughed. “Are you so sure? Have you dreamed of it?”

“We don’t dream,” Shala said. Melana nodded agreement.

Ingalo looked from one to the other with a curious expression.

“Never?” Suleyman asked with a disbelieving chuckle. “What strange priests you are. Our Leopard Priests always dream of the future. They tell our fortunes weekly, or daily, if you have the gold.”

“And what did they tell you about your future?” Shala asked, with a provocative glint in her eyes.

“Shall I tell you? Or show you?” Suleyman asked, wrapping one arm tightly around her.

Ingalo pursed his lips in amusement. His eyes twinkled at Melana.

“I think we should leave them alone, don’t you?” He rose and offered her a hand. She jumped up, feeling awkward. “Show me the places you like best here.”

She brought him through the herb garden, crouching beds of dense leaves between grassy paths now lit with the bluish glow of the full moon. Once they were out of sight of others, he drew her close and kissed her. His kiss was soft and filled her with a warmth she had never felt before.

“It is beautiful here,” he said.

“You’re not even looking at the flowers,” she said, breathlessly. His touch left her weak in the knees.

“I see the most perfect of blossoms,” he replied. “Take me further, dreamless beauty.”

Voices grew louder as threshing footsteps approached. Impulsively, Melana took Ingalo by the hand and drew him down one of the side paths leading back toward the main keep.

“I will show you my favorite place,” she said. They passed under a curved archway just past the entry to the Nest Chamber. Three doors were cut into the high wall beyond, but only the rooms through the center door were much used. She opened the left-hand door and guided him in.

Lamps glowed at long intervals in the narrow corridors through which she led. The light threw their shadows in black against the golden walls, and their footsteps hissed on the floor.

“Where are we going?” he asked, his whisper echoing off the stone.

“To a place no one else seems to care about.”

Three turns took them to a staircase that led down into darkness. Melana paused. In her upturned palm, she gathered magic from the unseen sky and caused it to warm until light shone between her fingers. Ingalo drew a surprised breath.

She smiled. “It isn’t very bright, but enough to keep us from stumbling down the flight.”

At the bottom, a heavy door of rough stone opened far more easily than its bulk would have suggested. Inside, her small possessions were undisturbed: an ancient book borrowed from the Temple library, a jug of water and a clay cup, a cutwork image of the Phoenix from eight incarnations back, and a worn but thick cotton quilt that served as padding, blanket, or both, on the stone floor. With her outstretched arms she could touch all four walls, but the room had no ceiling. Instead, it was a shaft three stories high that opened to the sky. The full moon was just beginning to creep into the square aperture. She let her light spell fade.

“I come here often during the middle of the day when everyone else takes their rest,” Melana said. “The sun comes blazing down the chimney, so I have plenty of light to read. Sometimes I meditate.”

“It’s cozy,” Ingalo said, throwing himself down beside her. “Just big enough for two.”

Melana let him draw her mouth to his lips. His hands stroked her body, up and under the gold pectoral that covered the upper surface of her breasts and down below the leaf girdle on her hips. “I will make you dream of me,” he said, covering her face and neck with kisses.

She let herself enjoy the sensations he evoked from her body. She began to learn what pleased her and sought out what pleased him as well. She experienced some pain, which surprised her, but also bliss. Moonlight poured down upon them like a blessing. When it began to retreat at the other edge of the shaft, they lay together, her fingers playing over the hair on his chest as if she was ruffling the breast feathers of a bird. In the dark hours she helped him find his way out of the Temple and back to the now quiet main street.

In the morning, she approached the high priestess privately after devotions, and confessed what had happened. Instead of being angry, Aduna shook her head and smiled. She took Melana to a room beside the infirmary and handed her a bottle and a book.

“That’s to prevent pregnancy, should you choose,” Aduna said. Melana glanced into the book and blushed at the drawings on the pages. “Use them both, my dear, and may the Phoenix grant you fire.”

Fire she found, in plenty. She felt doubly blessed, being a priestess in the Temple of Peace and spending the evenings after prayers in Ingalo’s arms. They shared the experiences of their lives in the quiet times. He told her about life in Jumheuri, and she told him about her experiments with magic.

“Another night and the moon won’t be looking in on us,” he said one night, stroking her hair as she lay upon his chest. “I wonder when they will call us home.”

“What?” Melana asked, lifting her head to look at him. “Why would you go?”

He let out a rueful chuckle. “My mission here is not forever. We seek favors of King Alimbi. When they are granted, or not granted, I must go back.”

Her throat tightened so much she couldn’t speak, and she hugged him hard.

Never mind, a practical part of her said. His leaving won’t be soon. It couldn’t be.

“What of it if they have to leave?” Shala asked, when Melana told her what Ingalo had said. “We will enter our next incarnation, like the Phoenix. Be happy now.”

Both men were in and out of the Temple day after day, joining the priestesses at meals and after their duties were done. Melana pressed for details on how the embassy was doing, but Ingalo put her off. “You are my respite from the big matters. Let us talk about the small things.”

Instead, she gleaned from courtiers and palace workers that the Sultan of Jumheuri wanted King Alimbi to marry his eldest daughter and heir, thereby drawing the two countries together as one in the name of the Great Leopard. The ambassador and his aides had presented the offer, a handsome one, with gifts for the king from the sultan and the princess.

The next day, the courtiers arrived to join in prayers, not looking as optimistic as they had before. The king had considered the offer and turned it down. He had another noblewoman in mind for his bride.

Melana and Shala finally managed to draw out Suleyman about the situation. He looked glum. “It is true,” he admitted. “My father made a stronger appeal, hoping to persuade Alimbi that this alliance was in his best interests. He promised to consider it, but I fear the Sultan will be displeased.”

Ingalo found it hard to meet Melana’s eyes, and his caresses were more distracted than before. Her sleep that night was more disturbed than it had been in the weeks before.

“Trouble is coming,” Aduna declared before the next morning’s prayers. She leaned over her ironwood cane as though the news weighed heavily on her. “Give your whole heart into your prayers that the sacred Phoenix will guard us.”

Though Melana sought for him, Ingalo didn’t come to meals or meet her afterward. She missed the comfort she found in his arms. The word from King Alimbi’s court became even unhappier. Scarcely anyone wanted to gossip or pass cheerful words in the garden.

That afternoon the worst news possible arrived, brought by a high noblewoman. Jumheuri’s leader had demanded both the marriage and one of the Phoenix’s eggs, or Dembia would face attack. The nation across the river was far larger and had a bigger army than theirs. Unless the Phoenix or Phoenixes hatched, they would be overrun in a matter of days. Jumheuri’s embassy was barred to outsiders. Heavily armed guards patrolled the walls and perimeter of the sturdy building. Passersby spotted war vehicles through the gates and troops drilling in the courtyard. Melana tried not to think about Ingalo.

She prayed harder than she ever had, devoting her free time to crouch before the altar and stare at the unmoving eggs.

“Save us,” she begged, feeling sweat running down her body from her effort. “Come to us. Come to me.”

It took all her willpower and experience at meditation to fall asleep in the dormitory room she shared with Shala. By the rustling from the nearby cells, none of her fellow priestesses could relax, either. The moon through the thick greenery had waned to its gibbous form, looking like a mocking face as it descended toward the west.

Melana must have dropped off at some point, because she woke gasping. She had dreamed.

“Did you … Did you …?” On the pallet beside her, Shala could hardly finish the sentence. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Jumheuri has attacked, hasn’t it?”

Melana nodded. She still saw every detail of the visions. Soldiers in brown and yellow uniforms carrying weapons swarming over the bridges, some riding war leopards and others in vehicles bristling with cannon barrels. Men and women in the uniform of Dembia’s army met them on the other side. The two armies met with a clash that sent blood spurting high into the air. Soldiers on both sides fell like wheat before a scythe. Leopards bounded, tearing into throats with their sharp fangs.

“If this is what it is like to dream, I don’t like it,” Shala whimpered.

“Come,” Melana said, grabbing her hand. “The Phoenixes are about to rise! They will save us. We must be there.”

They stumbled barefoot across the sun-washed courtyard into the Temple. The rest of the priestesses, still in their nightclothes, disheveled and frightened, assembled before the altar. The larger of the two eggs rocked and twitched, dancing to a frantic rhythm. The second lay still.

“Come to us! Come to us now!” Aduna chanted, falling to her knees. Melana felt the floor hit her knees, not even aware she had dropped. Visions swam in her sight, almost swamping the one thing she wanted to see: the egg.

Oh, come, blessed chick! she thought. Be mine!

The egg rocked back and forth. It pinged as the first crack appeared. A triangular section of shell shot out of the nest and tumbled across the floor with a noise like glass. Tirinia stooped for the fragment and clutched it. Tears poured from her eyes. Melana wiped her face with the back of her hand and discovered that she wept, too, whether for joy or terror, she didn’t know.

Ping! Ping! Ping! More bits of the shell burst away. Melana stood on tiptoe, trying to see into the nest, but it was surrounded by a halo of fire. The visions nearly blinding her were of flames engulfing the royal palace, burning the jungles and driving the wild animals into the city. The beasts tore innocent people in their terror.

“Come to us! Come to us now!” the priestesses chanted.

With a report like a massive tree falling on the marble floor, the larger egg split in two. A chick no larger than Melana’s palm hopped up onto the edge of the gold nest. It was naked as a frog with bright red skin, amber eyes huge and bulging in its tiny head.

As they stared, minute tufts of orange down appeared on its body. More feathers followed, row upon row. The outstretched wings, no longer than a finger, fledged in moments with pinions of glorious gold. Tail feathers sprang from its tiny, pointed bottom, extending into swirling, long, curling plumes. The bird herself increased in size, doubling, tripling, quadrupling. The fires rose around her with a roar. Melana gulped. Was the Phoenix to be born only to die again? But the flames receded, leaving the fully grown bird staring at them with cocked head. Waves of calm and joy rolled out from her, driving away the feelings of dread. She was the bird of Peace. Melana sobbed, overwhelmed by the wonder.

“The Phoenix is here!” Aduna shouted, beaming. “We serve you, sacred bird! Bring peace to this troubled nation! Our hearts, our souls, our magic, all are yours to command!”

I am Coletwa, a voice said in Melana’s mind. You are under my protection.

“I am Melana,” she said aloud. “I serve you.” Around her, all the priestesses announced their names. The visions still pushed at her, but she ignored them, unable to think of anything but the glory of Coletwa. The bird preened her new tail feathers, incandescent with their own holy light. Aduna approached her with her head bowed humbly.

“Will you, beautiful Coletwa, select one of us as your companion?”

“Me!”

“Me, blessed one!”

“Oh, let me be yours,” pleaded another.

The Phoenix threw back her head and let out a trill of song. The sound was so delightful that Melana laughed. Coletwa turned to regard her with a tilt of her head. Automatically, Melana held out her bare arm. The priestesses hastily followed her example, providing a perch for the Phoenix to alight upon. The great gold wings spread wide, and Coletwa hopped into the air. She circled the room again and again, calling in that sweet, wild voice. In her mind, Melana heard prayers of peace that dated from ages past, to the time before the Temple, to the time when only animals heard that song.

Melana’s arm ached as she waited, hoping, as Coletwa decided. All the others had devoted their lives to the Temple of Peace, too. Surely any of them were more worthy than she, but she wanted so much to have that lovely bird on her arm, to stroke that silken breast and head. Then, sharp claws penetrated the skin of her forearm, and the featherlight form settled into place as though she had always been there. The Phoenix had chosen her.

Will you stroke me? Coletwa asked, fixing those amber eyes on hers.

“Gladly!” Melana brought her against her chest and smoothed the tiny feathers of the Phoenix’s head. Delight fountained in her heart. She had achieved the desire of a decade, and it was better by far than she had ever imagined. “Mine! You are mine! And I am yours.”

That is good. Like a cat, the great bird moved her body so Melana’s caressing fingers found just the right places. She felt Coletwa’s pleasure. The sacred bird cooed and nestled into her hands. No one in the wide world existed but the two of them. She had never been so happy.

She was so immersed in her task that when a much heavier weight descended upon her shoulders, she looked up in surprise.

Aduna and Olinke were placing the regalia wings on her. Olinke fastened the elaborate gold pectoral around Melana’s neck. They guided her to the golden throne beside the nest and helped her sit. She cradled the bird and continued her ministrations while the high priestess and the seeker fastened bracelets and anklets on her and replaced her diadem with the feathered crown. Peace and love enveloped her. All was well, but for one tiny feeling of uncertainty. She put that down to the newness of it. There was so much to absorb! So many new responsibilities!

“Congratulations,” Aduna said, her wrinkled face pleated into a smile. “The new incarnation of the Great Phoenix begins, and you are her priestess. Now, use the magic wisely, as Stihila has taught you. Bring peace to Dembia and her neighbors.”

The borders are breached, Coletwa said, sitting up high on Melana’s arm. We must put them to rights.

Illustration by Echo Chernik

“We shall,” Melana said, soothingly. “We will aid the king in driving the enemy back.”

No, now! The invaders come!

As one, the priestesses glanced past Coletwa to the second, smaller golden egg. It still had not moved.

“Perhaps it is dead,” Shala said in a timorous voice.

A dark figure leaped forward out of thin air. Melana stared in shock as it shot toward her, heading toward the altar and that precious second egg. Coletwa shrilled and took to the air.

The borders are breached!

“I thought you meant the country!” Melana said, springing up. “Who are you? What do you want?”

One dark figure after another seemed to appear out of nowhere, multiplying impossibly before her eyes. She couldn’t tell how many they were or where they came from.

“How did they get in here?” Shala cried. “Who are they? What are they?”

“Jumheuri!” Stihila was on her feet, too, gathering sky power in her hands as if she were making a bread roll. She threw the ball of energy. It landed in front of the lead figure and exploded in a burst of light. Stihila ran after it, making another. “Stop them!”

Even before the tactician said it, Melana knew it was true. The darting dark figures wore black leopard masks and enveloping silk robes. The only spot of color on each was the glowing green jewel of protection amulets. Even under the disguise, she realized one of them was Ingalo. The tall one coming up the aisle from the right had to be Suleyman. They knew the protection spell on the altar had been broken with the rise of the Phoenix. They wanted the second egg, or the chick that hatched from it. The betrayal made her heart constrict in pain, but she had to push the pain aside for the sake of her Phoenix.

“Coletwa, help me!” she cried, hurrying to get between that first intruder and the nest.

The Phoenix circled around on one wingtip. Her tail brushed Melana’s face. The priestess felt power fill her. She tried to remember Aduna’s lessons, and swept both hands together.

A barrier of wavering golden light appeared between an intruder and the altar. He snarled deep in his throat and bounded upward in an impossibly high leap, almost clearing it. Melana clapped her hands again and a second wall appeared atop the first. The Jumheuri hit it and fell back to the floor. He gathered himself and threw himself at the wall, seizing handholds of the power as if climbing a rope.

Melana thought desperately through the skills she had learned, but they were all defensive spells. She had nothing that would attack the Jumheuri and send them away. The others flung barricades at the intruders. The leopard men jumped or climbed over them as if they were hurdles in a race.

Bang!

The report from a gun made Melana jump. They were armed!

“Surrender the egg!” Suleyman’s voice boomed. “Surrender it or you will all die!”

“We will not!” Melana shouted back.

Another explosion from a gun, this time much closer to her.

Melana saw an illusion swim in her vision, a waking dream so powerful it almost put her on her knees.

She saw her own death. Her body lay on the altar steps, blood running from her mouth. From the expressions on the faces of the nearest priestesses, they had seen it, too.

Yet another bullet sang, this one passing so close to Coletwa, Melana felt its passage.

Melana lost her temper. “I don’t care if I die, but you will not harm the Phoenix of Peace!”

“Overwhelm them, sisters,” Aduna ordered, throwing out her hands. “Suffuse them with the goodness of their own natures. They must have virtue in them somewhere.”

Melana felt ashamed for letting Ingalo worm his way into her affection, but her duty was clear. She called on her meditation skills to dismiss the negative emotions. Coletwa landed on her shoulder, and she felt the deep and benevolent sense of calm. She sent it radiating outward. The wall of peace was so powerful the Jumheuri dropped to their knees with heads bowed.

“That’s better,” Aduna said, turning her palms upward. “Now, come, brothers, we welcome you with love.”

But Melana felt the spell breaking. Their leopard charms glowed angry green, and the power flung itself back toward the casters. The priestesses staggered with the force of their own spell. Aduna moaned and fell over. Her ironwood staff clattered to the floor. Shala had blood running from her nose and ears.

“The Leopard is as strong as you,” Melana told the Phoenix desperately.

It is not, but my sister-self is in danger.

“The egg is alive?” Melana asked, astonished.

Yes!

The Jumheuri were scrambling to their feet. Melana had only moments to prevent them from achieving their goal.

She leaped toward the altar and scooped the egg from the nest. Cradling it to her, she dashed toward the nearest doorway. Coletwa clung to her regalia’s wing joint.

“Run, Melana! We will delay them if we can!” Stihila cried.

Melana burst into the sunlight, surprising the few visitors in the garden. Some of them stared at the elaborate garb she wore. It was much heavier than she’d ever thought it would be. The wings banged against her back with every step.

She sought around. So much of the Temple environs were open air. Anyone could spot her, wherever she went. Who knew if any of the leopards were already following her?

“We must get to the palace and tell the king!” she said.

We must not leave the Temple. The others will die. My power protects them while I am here. How did they overcome my power? Peace should have stopped their advance and given them perspective.

Melana frowned and thought hard as she ran. “Ingalo told me they had dreaming priests who predicted the future. They know about your abilities, so they designed spells to combat the patience and kindness we sent at them. They want to be at war!”

Coletwa sounded dismayed. Is my time at an end so soon? she asked, her voice in Melana’s mind plaintive.

“No, never!” Melana insisted. “We will figure out how to stop them and the Jumheuri army. But we need time!”

There was only one place she knew she could be safe and stay within the Temple environs: her small haven.

Her bare feet torn by stones and body hammered by heavy gold regalia, she ran to the left door beyond the arch and threw it open. She was only a short distance ahead of her pursuers. Ingalo would figure out where she would go, but they wouldn’t be able to breach that heavy door. By then, someone would have warned the king, or she and Coletwa would figure out how to undo the Leopard’s power.

She bounded down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Footsteps hammered down the hallway in her wake. They were close, so close!

The heavy door swung open at her touch. She tumbled in onto the cotton quilt where she and Ingalo had shared so much pleasure. Coletwa flew in a spiral up the open shaft, calling desperately.

Close the door, close the door!

Melana tucked the egg safely into the box she’d reserved for her special treasures and flung herself at the stone portal. She had it almost closed when a hand gloved in black silk interposed itself between the door and the lintel. Melana shrieked and bit the fingers. A bellow came from the hallway outside, but the hand didn’t move. She swung the door open a few inches, then slammed it on the hand. Its owner bellowed again in fury.

By now, many more hands had joined the first. Melana threw her slight weight against the portal, desperate to keep it closed. Coletwa landed on her shoulder, lending her power to defend her priestess.

It wasn’t enough against the new spells of the Leopard. She felt the Phoenix’s magic drain away, leaving them a helpless seventeen-year-old girl in fancy dress, and a young bird with long, yellow feathers. Melana was flung backward. Men in black silk streamed into the tiny room. Two of them grabbed Melana and held her with her arms pinioned behind her. Another bounded up the wall in pursuit of Coletwa, who flew straight up the shaft toward the sky. To Melana’s horror, another servant of the Leopard appeared at the top of the chimney and seized Coletwa in his arms. The Phoenix struggled but could not move. Melana cried out to her.

“You should have surrendered,” Suleyman said, pulling the cat mask from his face. Ingalo bared his, too. He at least had the grace to look sheepish. Suleyman demanded, “Where is the egg?”

“You can’t have it!” Melana said, furious. “It belongs to Dembia.”

“We will have it! My Sultan demands it!”

A deafening explosion rocked the room. Pieces of Melana’s treasure box and shards of eggshell embedded themselves in the men’s legs.

You want me, evil cats? Then have me!

The new voice in Melana’s mind must also have been audible to the Jumheuri, because their eyes widened.

A tiny naked bird, smaller than the newborn Coletwa, bounded up Melana’s body to her left shoulder and glared in Suleyman’s face. The new Phoenix looked almost absurd. It was as white as chalk, with tufts of black and silver down sprinkled on its minute frame. In mere heartbeats its feathers filled in and its tail grew. It enlarged rapidly, until it was still only half of Coletwa’s size, but its aura felt far larger than the room, or perhaps even the Temple itself. It glared at Suleyman with mad, silver eyes.

I am Solingwa. Fear me.

Suleyman laughed at the little bird.

“You are the Phoenix of Peace,” he said. “We have defeated your sister’s magic. Come, I’ll take you to the Sultan as a prize.”

He reached for the small creature. Solingwa didn’t move, but when Suleyman’s hand closed, black needles shot through the flesh. They struck the other men and embedded themselves in the wall.

The Jumheuri wailed in pain, wadding up their silk robes to staunch their bleeding. Not one needle had hit Melana, but Suleyman’s hand bled from a hundred small wounds.

My sister is the Phoenix of Peace. I am the Phoenix of War. That was a small taste of my power. Let my sister-self and my priestess go.

Ingalo gestured hastily to the men holding her. Melana jerked her arms loose and glared at them. Coletwa, her glory restored, sailed down in a spiral and landed on Melana beside Solingwa. The two Phoenixes cooed and rubbed beaks.

“You see, Dembia is well protected,” Melana said. After her fright, she couldn’t help but enjoy the look on the Jumheuri’s faces. “No army can withstand our power. Either you are at peace with us, or you will be defeated. Do you surrender?”

With blood dripping down his arm, Suleyman ripped the amulet from his neck and offered it to her. Ingalo did the same. Melana collected the charms, feeling the furious power within them, then called up the new force she felt coming from Solingwa. She crushed the amulets between her hands, smashing them into a harmless mass of gold and green shards, then dropped them to her feet. She had found her own magic. She channeled the Phoenixes—all of them.

“You are bleeding on my quilt,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the leader and her former love. “Get out.”

One month later, King Alimbi attended a massive service of thanksgiving, offering gifts to the new Phoenixes and their priestess. With the help of Coletwa and Solingwa, Melana had sent out waves of peace to the borders. When the Leopard’s troops would not stop fighting as they departed, there were consequences. New tactics had been met by new tactics. Dembia was no longer under threat. The Sultan of Jumheuri had sued for peace within days.

Melana rose from her throne at his approach and bowed low. The Phoenixes, gold and silver, clung to her forearms. When she straightened, they walked up her arms to her shoulders, where they perched on the angles of her ceremonial wings. She no longer felt their weight.

“Will they bite me?” the king asked. He was a handsome man of thirty, with full lips and a snub nose between shrewd brown eyes.

“They serve Dembia, as do I, Highness,” Melana assured him.

“You three have stopped a war,” the king said. “I and all the realm are grateful. But I hear the victory was not without cost to you. A broken heart, perhaps?”

Melana shook her head.

“I am sad about Ingalo, Highness, but I know he could never have been my first, most important love.” She caressed Coletwa, then scratched between Solingwa’s black and silver wings. “Or even my second. I promise you, like Dembia, I am at peace.”