Fiction: "The Last Flight of the Phynix"

“She’s done it,” Cassiria whispered, even though there was no one else around to hear. “Praise the gods. She’s done it.” 

Cassiria had had her doubts as to whether her mother Ekhabe would succeed in her efforts to burn the king’s body at the sacred necropolis, but the evidence was right there before her eyes, in the way the queen rode upright in her chariot, standing straight as a spear, her eyes tightly focused front of her, heedless of the barbarians gathered on the side of the road on either side. There was no denying the anger and the barely-contained violence in their faces, but to Ekhabe they might as well be invisible. 

The most compelling evidence, however, circled in the air above Cassiria. The phynix, reborn from the ashes of her father’s pyre, had come to bond with the heir to the throne of Ylium. Now that all of her brothers were dead Cassiria filled that role, and though she didn’t want to accept such a heavy burden, she knew she had no choice. 

She also knew without asking what the bird’s name was, just as she knew it was a she and not a he, as had been the case in its previous incarnation as her father’s boon companion. Its name echoed in the corridors of her mind and seemed to meld with her own sense of self: Yalantha. Cassiria raised her eyes up to where the bird-that-was-not-a-bird circled, and slowly she wound down, her feathers flashing in a myriad of hues: bright vermilion; glossy orange; sharp scarlet; buttery yellow. Gazing at her was like looking into the heart of the sun. 

The phynix landed delicately on the edge of the wall, razor-sharp claws clicking gently. She bowed her head, and Cassiria returned the gesture.

“Welcome, sister,” she said. “It’s good of you to join us here, just when we are all about to die.”

Yalantha tilted her head to the side, and there was no mistaking the intelligence flashing from her golden eyes, or the sense of judgment. 

Cassiria shrugged. “What? Would you have me lie to you?” She gestured out at the killing fields before the city of Ylium. “See for yourself. You know the Danyans will break their word. My mother is doomed, and so are the rest of us.”

Yalantha said nothing but instead continued to stare at her. 

“Damn it, I know,” Cassiria said, gritting her teeth. “I don’t like it, either. Even if we are doomed to die, we still have to fight, to show these barbarians our people won’t be taken lying down.” Her words were confident but she couldn’t quite summon as much courage as she needed. Even if they did charge out of the great gates of the city, it would be a doomed effort. They might earn a song or two, but that would be all.

And shouldn’t that be enough? She asked herself. What more can we ask for, than to be enshrined in the halls of the kings and queens to come? 

A loud cry from the fields called her out of her reverie, and she turned once again to look at the tableau unfolding below. 

As she’d feared, the barbarians were now pressing in on the queen from every side. They may have given her the right to go to the necropolis to see to her duties, but they’d said nothing about letting her return. Now the craven dogs were going to take out their anger and resentment for two decades of conflict by killing the queen in cold blood. 

Cassiria pounded her fist on the wall. She knew it would be worse than useless to charge out there now. Although it might make her feel better about doing something, anything, to save her mother, she also knew it would be a waste of effort. Better by far to save such an attack for when it would do the most good and for when they would be able to take out more of the accursed Danyans. 

You know what must be done. 

Yalantha’s words appeared in her mind as if written in flame, and she clenched her jaw. Yes, she knew exactly what needed to be done, but she didn’t have to like it.

“You can count on me,” she said aloud. “I’ll see it done.”

Yalantha nodded, and then returned her gaze to her mother’s last battle. 

If the barbarians thought the queen would be easy prey, they were soon disabused of that notion. Ekhabe swung her sword around her like a farmer scything wheat, and the Danyans fell before her, their blood pouring out into the thirsty earth. Cassiria’s blood sang to see her mother doing what she yearned to be doing herself. 

A shadow fell on the land, and with it a roar filled the air. All hope fled- there was no mistaking the presence of a dragon. The beast came winging out of the clouds like a mighty behemoth, its great wings spreading so wide they seemed to blot out the very sun. Cassiria wanted to look away, to shield herself in case the terrible creature’s blazing eyes should fix upon her, but she did not. She owed it to her mother to see this through, to bear witness to her final agony.  

Curse the barbarians! She thought. May all of their souls be cast screaming into the outer darkness for bringing such an evil to our lands. 

As the dragon circled, Yalantha’s voice lifted into the air–sweet, bitter, and melancholy all at once–and Cassiria felt the same sense of unease and comfort she always felt when she heard it. The phynix song was the only thing keeping the city of Ylium safe from dragonfire, but even so there was something deeply unsettling about it. It settled into her bones and the base of her skull. She reached up a hand to scratch idly at it, but it persisted. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she said to Yalantha, but the phynix kept singing, determined to fulfill her duties to the city and the heir. 

If Ekhabe knew her death was near–and how could she not?--she gave no sign of it, but simply continued to lay about her with her sword, slaying every Danyan who came within reach. The barbarians, to their credit, didn’t flee at the sight of the dragon, either. They were either maddened with bloodlust or had been threatened to stay to their posts until the job was done. 

And then death came for them all.

The dragon opened its horrific maw, and its dreadful fire came blazing out in a rain of death. As the flames consumed her, Ekhabe looked up at the walls of her city at last, and there was no mistaking the look on her face: triumph. Then she was gone, and when the blast was over there was nothing left but ash floating on the wind. 

Cassiria wanted to scream, to cry, to rend the very wall with her bare hands, but she did none of those things. It was as if her voice was frozen in her throat, unable to break free; turned to stone, unable to move. Everything she wanted to do she could not. The enormity of her loss hit her from a dozen–a hundred–different directions, and the full weight of her responsibilities was like a mountain on her shoulders.

It was Yalantha who stirred her out of this emotional well into which she’d fallen. The phynix nuzzled her gently, and she slowly came back to herself. She reached out and stroked her head, savoring the comforting feel of the feathers. As her fingers trailed over the sleek plumage the last link in the bond between them solidified, and she felt more connected to this creature than she had to anyone else in her life. 

“Thank you, sister,” she said. “You saved me from myself.” 

Yalantha simply cooed softly, the sound finding its echo in her own flesh. 

“Cassiria? Oh, Cassiria, thank the gods I’ve found you! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

With a sigh, Cassiria turned to face the speaker. She’d known who it was from the first words out of her mouth, but even so she couldn’t help but feel a bit of resentment at this sudden disruption of her reverie.

Of course, some of that had to do with the person in question. There was no denying Aleisa was a beautiful woman, with her river of black hair, her eyes like chips of emerald, and her smooth skin. After all, it would have taken an extraordinary woman indeed to seduce Cassiria’s ascetic, monkish brother Hektander away from his books and his studies. Cassiria, like many other residents of the city, had never entirely forgiven her for bringing the barbarians to their gate, desperately angry and eager to regain their plundered queen.

She narrowed her eyes at this, the cause of all of the death and destruction, and when she spoke her voice was undeniably cold. “And why were you looking for me?”

Aleisa looked at her as if she was more than a little mad. “Why, because the people are calling out for their heir. Word is already spreading of what’s happened out there,” she gestured to the killing fields without even looking at them, “and they want to know what you will do.” She paused. “What will you do, now you are queen?”

“I will do what I must for Ylium,” she said, finally deciding to give a brutally honest answer to the question. “Come.”

She brushed past the other woman and descended the steps leading away from the wall. As she walked toward the palace, she was conscious of the press of people around her, mostly women, children, and those who were too old to have been sent to the field of battle. Though they didn’t shout or scream, she could see the desperation in their eyes, the hope she couldn’t give them. 

She flicked a glance upward, and she let herself smile just a little at seeing Yalantha circling above her. Whatever was to happen in the next few hours, she could at least take some comfort in knowing she had the blessings of the phynix. 

When she reached the palace, she went to the throne room and paused at the threshold, not yet willing to step inside this sacred realm. In its glory days, before the war, it had been the most magnificent place in all of Ylium, filled with gaiety and color and laughter, all overseen by her parents who dispensed their justice with fairness and impartiality. Now it was a shadow of its former self: its colors muted, abandoned by all but a few, silence and despair and gloom now reigning where once joy had triumphed.

Cassiria stiffened her shoulders and strode across the room, gathering the power of her station around her like a cloak. Her city might be about to fall, but she would be damned if the barbarians found them on their knees. When she reached the dais with its twin thrones she ascended and, with a stern glance around the room, sat down. 

The few remaining guards snapped to attention, and she thought for a moment about all of the decisions which had been rendered here. She was the last heir to this throne, and she would be the one who would bring about its demise.

“I sit now on the throne of Ylium,” she said, her voice echoing around the largely-empty chamber. “My father, as you know, has gone to meet the gods and now, thanks to the treachery of the barbarians, my mother has as well.” She paused for a moment as a spear of grief stabbed her, then went on. “It has fallen to me to lead the last defense of our city against the Danyans.”

There was a stir around the room, and she was conscious that her sisters–all two dozen of them–had now come to join the crowd. Though some of them shared a mother with her, others were the products of her father’s various unions with other wives and concubines. All, she was pleased to see, had armed themselves with whatever armor they could find. Whatever else they might be, the royal daughters of Ylium were not delicate flowers, waiting for the scythe. 

“There will be no salvation for our city,” she said, the words heavy on her tongue. “That much is clear by now. Our allies have abandoned us, frightened or bought off by the barbarians. They have left us to be the victims of the hordes, and so it falls to us to make our end one such as the bards will sing of.”

A sigh went through the room as she finished. Few, it appeared, were truly surprised at this news–how could they be, when the signs of their imminent defeat were everywhere?--but even so, it was one thing to think about the end of a city and quite another to fully accept it, to hear its defeat spoken of by the one who ruled over it. Cassiria went on before the sense of defeatism could sink its claws any further.

“Make no mistake,” she said. “We will sell our lives dearly, and these barbarians will see there is strength yet in the veins of Ylium. You will gather in the Great Plaza in three hours’ time, and we shall march out to fight them on the killing fields.” 

As she spoke, she could sense the change in the atmosphere in the throne room. The defeat and gloom she’d felt when she first arrived was gone, replaced by something else: a grim determination to see this through, to join her in the last charge, doomed as it might be. Her heart flooded with love and admiration for the women gathered here, those who would join her in this quest. Even Aleisa, the doomed foreign queen, seemed to feel it. 

“Go now,” Cassiria said, “and I will see you on the Plaza.” Her sisters, used to taking orders from her, filed out to prepare themselves, and the others, clearly inspired by what she’d said, accompanied them. Now, there was only Aleisa and herself left.

“You know I can’t let you march out with us,” she said. 

Aleisa nodded her head mutely. “Of course I know…sister.” At another time, Cassiria would have bridled at this familiarity, but at this moment it felt right. 

“I need my soldiers to be in the best shape they can be, and your presence would disrupt unity on the field of battle.”

“I promise there’s no need to explain yourself to me,” Aleisa said. “I’ve known for some time this would be how it ended. I’m not a fool, and I’m not blind. The Danyans have grown in power and might with every passing year of the war, and we have dwindled.” She shrugged. “I’ve accepted that my death was the inevitable result. I knew as soon as I left my husband and children and came here.”

The mention of her children seemed to break something inside of her, and a spasm of pain crossed her face. However, she mastered it, her beautiful features returning to some semblance of peace. However, there was still a strain to her stance which showed all too clearly the pain she felt at thinking of her children. How not, when they’d been brought here to Ylium with their father, and had grown into men who now fought to destroy the city their mother called home?

Having said what she needed to say, Aleisa turned to leave. 

“I don’t hate you, you know,” Cassiria said. “I need you to know , before…before the end.”

A sad, wistful smile flitted across the other woman’s features. “I know, Cassiria,” she said. “But I appreciate you taking the time to say it aloud. Whatever happens, you’re a true queen.” And then she was gone.

Though she wanted to stay in the throne room and further ponder Aleisa’s words, Cassiria had her duties to see to. Giving a last, wistful look at this chamber she knew she would never see again, she went to her own chambers. As she walked through the halls of her home, she couldn’t shake the sadness sweeping over her in wave after wave. 

How strange, to think I am now living my last hours on this earth, she thought to herself, as her fingers trailed along the stone. Is this how my mother felt, when she took Father’s body to be burned? 

Thinking of her mother brought a stone into her throat, but she pushed away such softness. She had no time for such things, not when she had an all-important mission to fulfill. 

She moved swiftly through the halls, her footsteps echoing as if she moved through a temple. It broke her heart, to think of just how lively and beautiful this place had once been, how full of joy and light and celebration, before the war, and the dragons, and the bloodshed…

No, Cassiria thought, I won’t allow myself to indulge in such thoughts. There is one thing which can be done today, and it is the final thrust into the heart of the enemy. With any luck, we’ll take enough of their own soldiers with them that they’ll sing forever after of our valor. 

In her heart, though, she knew it wouldn’t happen. The Danyans would be furious at the thought that a group of women had dared to challenge their mighty army, and they’d do everything in their power to ensure their efforts were consigned to the ash heap.

Once she was back in the safety of her own chambers, she allowed herself a moment–a brief one–to allow her grief and sadness to wash over her. Then she went to where her armor stood in the corner and began to put it on.

When she was done, she gazed at herself in the polished bronze mirror sitting in one corner of the room. She looked exactly as she knew she would: like a warrior. 

Mother and Father, she thought, sending her words winging into the dark shadows of the underworld. I hope I make you proud this day, that wherever you are, you know you are loved and missed, and your daughters will not go quietly into the darkness. 

Though she might have imagined it–all of the tales, after all, said the shades of the dead felt and heard nothing in their shadowy abode–she thought she could hear the faintest whisper of their voices, trailing like thin tendrils of mist…

Then they were gone, and there was no doubt she was alone in her chambers again. 

The time had come, and as she stood before her sisters, Cassiria’s heart swelled with pride. They stood in front of her in several rows, and they had all garbed themselves in the gleaming bronze armor of their people. Not for the first time, she was glad her father had trained all of his daughters in the ways of war. 

“Sisters!” she cried, holding her hands up so the sun caught her vambraces and flashed like a spark of fire. “Today is the last day we shall draw breath. We all know the truth of this. When we charge the Danyans who have besieged our city for the last twenty years, we will fall, either to their blades or to their accursed dragonflame. Each of us, however, shall sell our lives dearly, and they’ll be in doubt as to the proud blood which flows through the veins of Ylium!”

They raised their voices as one in salute to her. The reactions from the others gathered to witness the events, however, was more subdued. They knew the deaths of the last members of the royal family could only spell doom for them as well. 

If only they knew how quickly death will seek them out, she thought, they wouldn’t sorrow. They’ll hardly have time to know we’re gone before it comes for them. 

At last, as the cries of her sisters quieted down, Yalantha came winging down to her, settling gently on her shoulder. The phynix’s sharp claws dug slightly into her shoulder; she reached up with a hand to gently stroke her feathered head. With a cry, Yalantah took flight again. 

It has begun, Yalantha said in the corridors of her mind. Now it is up to you.

She nodded, and then she turned back to those gathered before her. 

“It is time to march!” she yelled, and the last princesses of Ylium went to their doom.

Cassiria raised a hand to her brow to shadow it from the sun blazing overhead. She stood with her sisters just outside the mighty walls and topless towers of her city. Across the killing fields, she could clearly make out the gathered forms of the Danyans. She scowled. She had expected their kings to at least show themselves, but clearly they thought she and her sisters weren’t worthy of such a display.

They’ll soon see how wrong they are, she thought.

“Sisters! Spear movement!” 

Moving with a precision born of years of drilling practice, her sisters gathered together until they were formed up in the shape of a spear, their shields facing outward. She had no idea of whether it would work–and if so, just how many they would be able to take with them–but it was the best she could do. 

She screamed the traditional war-cry of Ylium, and they began to march forward, their sandaled feet sending up a plume of dust behind them. Cassiria was conscious of those gathered on the walls watching what was taking place, and there was no mistaking the ugly guffaws of the Danyans growing in front of them. She gritted her teeth and pressed forward. 

Let them taste the edge of our blades and see how much they laugh then. 

As they drew inexorably closer, the Danyans still didn’t move, and Cassiria began to have doubts as to the wisdom of this action. A moment later, however, the barbarians let out a cheer, racing forward to meet them. She could feel the blood pulsing in her temples, her heart singing. 

The two armies met one another with a titanic clash, the sound of bronze meeting iron lifting into the heavy skies. Dust coated Cassiria’s throat, and she could taste the bitter tang of the blood spraying into the air. Her arm lifted and fell, lifted and fell. All around her, she could see the bodies of the barbarians cut down by the spears of her sisters, and her lips curved in a smile. Let this show those arrogant bastards there was still some fight left in the daughters of Ekhabe and Feranos, that they won’t go easily into the arms of the underworld. 

However, there was only so much they could do against such relentless hate and slowly the Danyans’ superior numbers began to tell. One by one, her sisters fell beneath their blades, each death like an arrow-wound to her heart. She fought on, knowing dying was better than to be taken alive by the barbarians. 

In the end, they were too clever for her and a group of them managed to disarm her and she was dragged before their gathered kings and thrown down at their feet. She gazed up at them, determined to cling to what little pride she had left, briefly wondering if that was grudging respect she saw. However, given that they were barbarians–with their faces painted in savage whorls and designs–it was truly hard to say.

One thing, however, wasn’t in doubt: the hulking brute with the polished breastplate was their leader. Cassiria had seen him directing the soldiers from behind the lines, just like the coward he was. There was also no denying the look of vicious triumph in his eyes, which glittered like gems. 

“So,” he said, his voice a harsh grate, “you’re the bitch queen’s daughter, eh?”

She reared back, fighting back against the arms which held her, but they were like bands of iron. 

“Keep a civil tongue in your mouth when you talk about my mother, Barbarian dog,” she snarled. “Or so help me…”

“So help you what? There’s nothing you can do now, is there? Unless I’m much mistaken, you’re the prisoner here, and prisoners don’t get to set conditions. If I want to speak about your mother, I’ll do it.”

It took every ounce of willpower she had not to call upon Yalantha, but she forcibly reminded herself the phynix had a greater purpose- and one that was not yet fulfilled. Until it was, she had to delay. 

“I won’t beg for your mercy,” she said instead. “No daughter of Ylium will grovel in the dust for your pleasure, King Iledas.” 

“Let’s just kill her now and have done with it,” another of the gathered kings growled. “Seems like nothing else is going to get through to her.” 

“No,” Iledas said. “She’s going to be mine. I’m going to take her back to grace my palace in Makalos, and I’ll have no argument about it. Don’t worry. There are bound to be plenty of women left for the rest of you.”

“But not princesses,” the other king responded. 

“Well, it can’t be helped. Don’t blame me. Blame them for sending out their royal women to fight against us.”

There was some murmuring at this, but the other men weren’t brave, or stupid, enough to challenge him.

A silence descended then. It stretched on and on, and as it did so the tension among the gathered kings grew, until the very air thrummed with it. It almost seemed as if the hairs would rise off of Cassiria’s head.

Please, Yalantha, she thought, hurry. 

And then she heard it, the phynix’s voice, echoing in her mind with a crystal clear sound. 

It is done, little sister, the phynix said. You have done well, and now we can both be at peace. 

Cassiria couldn’t resist the smile flitting across her face.

“What are you smiling about?” Iledas demanded.

“Your victory will turn to ashes in your mouth. Look at the city you would conquer, and watch it burn before your eyes.”

Iledas looked toward the city, and as one the kings did likewise. Cassiria didn’t have to look, for she knew what they saw: the mighty metropolis engulfed in incandescent flame. It was the final, terrible gift Yalantha could give their people, a cruel mercy to save them from the depredations of the Danyans. She’d known this would be the end result from the moment the phynix appeared. Now that it was done, she could go to her death with peace in her heart.

Such death was not long in coming. The kings, driven into madness by rage, fell upon her, iron swords coming down in a deadly rain. As she met her death, Cassiria gazed skyward. A blaze of crimson greeted her eyes, and she smiled as a final name drifted down to her: Mevestia. 

The phynix flew again.