Phenoix rose chapter one.

CHAPTER ONE: 

It was a few minutes to midnight as Emre Zeladonni was carefully trudging along a narrow trail on the side of a mountain. Grumbling under his breath he cursed the Goddess Sonii, the fire, the mushy ground underneath his weary feet and the weather gods for providing him with the spitting muck that could not even have the decency to pass for proper snow.  He should have utterly refused the witch, he thought to himself. Some all-knowing all-seeing being I am to walk right into another one of these damn Sonii blasted missions. Flicking his long ponytail back over his shoulder and wrapping his coat a little closer around his rangy body, his blue eyes narrowed as he attempted unsuccessfully to divine a direction through the swirling white fog.  Each careful step was punctuated with a heavy stab of his stick in the ground. He had been wondering around the mountain for nearly a day now, and there was still no sign of the marker stone. He had placed the stone there himself, but over the years the landscape had changed. Trees had shot up, the wind had worried away the sandstone cliff face and the trail, once heavily trafficked by goat herders had become overgrown. Damn you Sonnii” He growled. “My god! woman, if I ever lay my hands on your thieving, conniving curly-topped head, I will…owweee!!.” The threat hung in mid-air, as a tree came up from no-where and wacked Emre across the leg. He stumbled sideways, the shin of his right leg catching a boulder causing him to land with palms face down on the icy ground, stomach stretched over a boulder. After his heart resumed a normal beat, he opened his eyes. At his unusual vantage point, with head dangling over the side of the boulder, he could see a marking in the stone.  A rough ensigna of a bird was scratched into the surface. Rubbing his shin and scrabbling to a more dignified upright position, he smiled, sometimes it pays to curse the gods, he thought. They might actually start listening to you.

Grasping his stick he began swinging his arms in the air. He filled his lungs with air and sung a loud B sharp. The stick came down in a decisive ‘Thwack!’ on the side of the boulder punctuating his note.  Standing back, he reviewed his work. His lips twitched and curled in displeasure. The boulder stood as before, resolute and unmoved from his efforts.  Grumbling, he circled it. Raising his stick again, he summoned his BREATH, and with a strong release he drew in the sound from his belly, releasing the B Sharp into the sky. A roiling grey cloud, moved over his arms and up his stick, with a powerful thrust like he was trying to hit a golf ball across a hundred meter field, he gave the stone another Thwack!. A cracking sound began and the stone split in two revealing a flight of stairs.
“Ahhh, finally” he breathed. He hummed a discordant arpeggio and a soft waxy ball of light appeared, illuminating the stairs in front of him. The stairs descended before him, steeper than he remembered. With no urgency, he began the long journey into the bowels of the earth. It seemed to take an age, he felt certain that some nasty person had decided to add an extra hundred kilometers to the never ending flights of stairs.

By the time he reached the cave, he had lost all sense of time. He finally reached the cave, the rich warmth of the fertile place filling his nostrils. It had been decades since he had laid eyes on the hexagonal chamber. Each wall reflected a different colour.  Once a table had sat in the middle of the room, a place for each of the six Gods.  Emre looked at the walls, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. He remembered the last time he had set foot in this chamber. They had heard the calling and come, so young and naïve. The very first to be called into service, he had made his offering, and had been granted worthy of the black rose along with six others. Then, the walls had shone, almost incandescent. It had been like walking into a furnace. The heat and the light uncomfortable that it was a test of courage just to place a foot into the cavern.  Taking off his shoes he could feel the heat emanating from the ground, warming his freezing toes which had been numbed of all feeling half way down the staircase. He spied the box. Opening the box he reached inside its cavity and felt for the indentation. With a sharp jab he pushed his thumb into the bottom of it and released the catch. To the outside eye it was just an ordinary trinket.  To a member of the Order however, it gave off a sign as noticeable as fireworks on New Years Eve.  Lifting out the false bottom, there was just enough room for his shaking fingers to pull out a small black feather. Plain and dull and appeared much like a large feather of a crow, except to the discerning eye it flickered with a multitude of colors.  He checked his watch again, it was almost time. Sliding the thin piece of wood over the pendant, he clicked the mechanism back in place. Quickly, he let his mind go blank shutting out all thoughts. His voice started humming through his chest, low at first and then growing louder with every second that passed.  A tuneful melody emerged, and split into a three-part harmony. The voices over laid each other, twisting together as soprano, alto and tenor.  Holding the box in his right hand, he raised his arm, the melody grew stronger, and a soft silver nimbus flowed from his arm covering the box. His voice swelled into a chorus which filled up his head and engulfed his body with loving warmth. The box shimered the silvery light becoming brighter, painfully incandescent and disappeared. As warmth faded, he collapsed, exhausted. There was only one last task left. Time to alert the Order that her coming was near. It was not fitting that she should return to her palace in such as state of disrepair. Shutting his eyes he pushed his left hand into the soft earth.  The cavern began to vibrate and shimmer, a soft thrumming which spread through the surrounding ground. It’s vibrations continuing through the earth, up through the roots of the trees. The ponds vibrated with the sound and the waves rhythms. 


He wished he had said an emphatic no that night. Sitting in his living room, snuggled in his brown dressing gown, his feet resting comfortably on his favorite ottoman in front of the fire. Re-reading of the story of the Cataclysm, he had just begun chuckling manically to himself at the foolishness of the youth getting involved with that sort of rubbish. Emre was often prone to manic laughter when he was left alone, especially as something  as highly amusing as history which, more often than not were very embellished tales, in which he featured prominently. Sometimes he would be a villain or a hero, but more often than not they would get the facts extremely wrong. Thankfully he thought to himself, these were days long past. The nodes of magic were shut. Of course it did not mean that magic had completely disappeared. It had merely shrunk into a small whisper. On occasion he felt its faint pulse at a live music venue, but the feeling was more like the tingle of a cold sore emerging on his top lip than a bolt of forked lightning. Sometimes a person in would pass-by and he would see a small flicker of ducky pink run over their skin, but it was rare. And never was it in any shade darker than a light hue.
 
The fire crackled warmly, its warm glow casting flickering light around his modern home. Completely round, it stood squat at the end of a culd-e-sac. If someone entered the house, they would not notice anything out of the ordinary, except perhaps make the assumption that the occupier was a collector of antiques, enjoyed hiking every so often and had a complete and utter disregard for his visitors comfort. The was only one chair, grooved with the shape of Emre’s sparsely padded bottom and looking every inch of its three-thousand years and a sturdy little wooden table who’s top was marked up as a chess board.  In the off-white kitchen, the benches and cupboards were filled with books, and the refrigerator held naught but a few pieces of bread and a saucepan which held what could only be described as a type of grey soup. The only adorning the little house held, was a complete suite of armor which was ponderously taking up a large portion of the living room floor. Another small chuckle escaped Emre’s lips as a series of rapid knocks broke his concentration. The surprisingly full lips curved into a frown.
“Bloody salesmen”, he muttered, and when back to his reading. The knocks came again, as rapidly and noisily as before.
“Oh don’t shit yourself, I’m coming.” He grumbled, easing his legs off the ottoman and into his slippers.
Stomping to the front door, and swinging it open with a scowl, he was confronted with person of diminutive height in a blood red cloak. The hood was up, its cowl nearly all but covering their face. A wisp of black hair had been caught by the wind and, escaping the hood was being twisted by its playful gusts.

“Zeladonni, your time for penance is required”

“Oh, for Sonnii’s sake, don’t be a daft hen Francesca; we settled those years ago. Give it a rest.”

“Let me in Emre, I’m cold. And while you are at it, make me some tea. ” Her diminutive frame pushed past him, stomping her feet at the door to remove the snow.

Sighing Emre followed her into the kitchen and put the jug on.

He shuffled back in, plopping the tea down on his chess board.

“Your couch needs replacing, you know” She said to him waspishly.

Francesca sniffed delicately, then removed her hood and with the sleeve of the cloak wiped the lip of her tea cup.

She hadn’t aged in the slightest, Emre thought, studying her.  Her black hair was still thick and luxurious curling over her shoulders. Her heart shaped face was deceptively sweet, with large innocent looking blue eyes and a cupid-bow mouth. She could have passed for a girl of sixteen, just learning how to use her long dark eye-lashes to her best advantage. Emre knew better.

“You told me that last time. Now, you haven’t come to comment on my furnishings, what do you want?”

Under the curl of black lashes, cunning blue eyes studied him, her lips curled with a seductive smile.

“Why, Emre, can I not drop in on an old friend?”

“Phhhfffrt” he snorted. “If this is a social visit, you can turn me into a large warty troll and call me Larry.”

“Ok, maybe later. At the moment I just want your attention, and Trolls aren’t the most attentive of listeners.” She bantered.

“So… maybe this is not entirely a social visit.” She said, knowing that the game that she played was transparent.

“It is time for you to return to service. “

Emre spluttered, “But, the magic has faded. If the queen is here, how come I have hardly seen a flicker of color in a century?  Where is the Pheonix? Why have I not seen the colours spread and why Francesca, haven’t the nodes re-awakened?” 

“She is coming. The signs have revealed themselves to us. We don’t know how or from where, but she will be coming. There has been… some changes in her.  But, the song is unmistakable. You must alert the others.” 

“But, if she is arriving, where is he?”

Francesca frowned and caught her lip in her teeth. “Yes, that is worrying me somewhat, there has been some odd harmonies and a few discordant notes. The Listeners have been fretting over the changes, but something about listening and no action makes them a little dopey. I’m sure it will reveal itself to us in due time. For now, we must prepare ourselves.”

“Just when I am getting comfortable and finally getting somewhere with my experiments” He grumbled.

“Hmmm, so I see, have progressed in figuring out the effect of dirt on junk? She replied over her cup with arched eyebrows.

Baring his teeth at her, Emre growled. “You little witch, you haven’t changed a bit.”

Francesca frowned slightly, " No, I havn't Emre, but the world has. There has been some changes whild you have been holed up here in this time capsual. The music has changed and even the protectors have grown complacent with nothing happening for over five generations. We need to regroup before the queen arrives and I need you to resume your place as Keeper. It is your penance and duty."