In Which the Firebird Takes a Different Journey
Once upon a time, there was a firebird, and it soared through the skies. Most of the residents of Maidenkeep were fast asleep, and it would not be missed that night.
It flew on tirelessly, at a speed greater than the fastest horse could run, or the fastest fish could swim, or even the fastest a firebird could fly. It flew past mountains and trees and villages, all of which zipped by underneath it in a blur. It flew on even when the cities below began to thin out and disappear entirely, when the mountains slowly gave way to large glaciers of ice and frost, even when the air grew cold and chilly.
It came across the strange barrier that marked the boundaries of what some people call the Northern Country, or the Whitelands, or the closed kingdom of Beira. The barrier would have stopped any other being, but the firebird slipped through the wards quite easily and continued.
It flew on until it reached a large castle, one made completely and absolutely of ice, as opposed to merely being entombed in it. It soared up towers and turrets until it found a crack in the walls large enough for it to squeeze through, giving no thought to the freezing temperature that should have killed any other living thing. It flew into the throne room.
The room itself was vast and seemed to be larger than what the castle walls outside conveyed. It was bare, save for a large, mirror-like pond. At the center of this frozen lake was a throne made of a myriad of crystals and ice, and in it sat a very beautiful woman. She had soft silver hair, long enough that it pooled around her ankles, brushing against the floor. She wore a white robe that was unlike any other robe ever made, of a material more gossamer than fiber. A lovely crystal circlet encircled her smooth, unlined forehead. She had flawlessly white skin, a delicate oval face like a doll’s, and eyes like two large unfathomable pools of pale blue.
The firebird sat on the edge of the throne and looked up at her.
A boy stepped forward; dark hair, blue eyes, a sad mouth. “I almost didn’t believe you when you said it would show up,” Ryker said. “You know it tried to burn me, right?”
“The pretense was necessary. I nursed it back to health, my dear boy. It will not harm me.” The woman smiled and stroked the firebird’s head gently with the other hand. It purred, pleased.
“Well done, my dear,” the Snow Queen whispered.