"Phoenix" by Carla K. Anderson

      I stand on the pyre, tall and proud. Thus would I stand, even if there were not strips of hide holding me to the rough wooden pole at my back. I can feel the bark and scores left from the ax blade under my hands. Poor tree, that it should die for such a purpose! The wounded wood seems to be the only reality as the faces of the crowd and the village behind them fade away before my sight. On this throne, lifted above them, I stare out over the rooftops towards the mountains, and above them, the deep blue sky. Once I dreamed of brushing the clouds at the peak of the highest mountain, the mount of the gods. But no, there cannot be gods there. We are the forsaken...

      Aillte lay beside me as we stared up at the sky. It was a clear, beautiful morning, and the dew had just begun to burn away under the sun. We were watching two eagles, circling about the crag above our heads. I sighed quietly, and he turned on his side to face me, seeming to know my mind.

      “Don’t fly away from me, Mithrael.” he said softly, almost a question. I turned also, and smiled gently.

      “I won’t. I promise. But... just watch them.” I tilted my head up once more, finding the two birds once more in the vast embrace of the sky. We watched in silence for a moment longer.

      “Eagles mate for life, did you know that?”

      For life... ah, dear one, but what is life? Only this... memories rising and falling in my mind, birds on the wing that disappear over the horizon. I am sorry, Aillte... I must fly away from you.

      Now the shouting grows louder, now they bring torches and set them to my dais of branches. Soon it will be over. I will not look down at them, at the flames that will soon rise. I will stare up at the sky, and remember.

      The wise woman looked up from the waters of the fountain, her face unreadable. “What did you see?” I asked curiously, rubbing my hand where the fragment of shell had made a shallow cut. The woman on the other side of the shallow rock basin shook her head.

      “It is not for me to say.” she said quietly. I glanced down at the dark waters, but all I could see was the reflection of my face.

      “Thank you,” I said, hiding my disappointment. On Nuila’s coming of age, the woman had foreseen a husband from across the hills, and soon after, my family had taken in an injured traveler who fell in love with my sister and taken her back to his home. I sighed, and added the ritual phrase. “As the gods will, so let it be.”

      The Elder looked at me gravely. “You have been given a hard road to walk, child.” Carefully she dipped two of her fingers in the water and reached over to run them down my forehead in blessing. “Go with the peace of the gods.” I turned silently and left, a thin line of holy water mixed with my blood marking my face.

      What power did that blessing hold? I can smell the smoke, beginning at the very base of the pyre. Someone had strewn herbs and flowers there, and their acrid scent now fills the air. The wind gathers, whipping my hair and thin white shift about wildly, as if it would bear me away as easily as it carries the scent of burning blossoms. The smell reminds me of the ceremonial herbs the elders would burn at the Samhain celebrations. I tilt my head back and lean into the wind, closing my eyes, lost in the strange perfume.

      The leaves had mostly fallen, and made a rich, multicolored blanket spread over the ground that seemed to flicker in the light of the Samhain bonfire. Nuila, who had traveled to visit our parents, was already dancing in the outer ring with her husband, their young child between them. I stood alone, watching the flames dance. They looked like a flock of birds, trying to rise from a nest of branches. Suddenly, a hand was resting on my shoulder and a soft voice said,

      “Will you join the dance?” I turned and stared into the eyes of a tall, fair man. Wordlessly, I nodded, and he took my hands and drew me into the outer circle, then to the inner circle, the one closest to the flames. I took another’s hand on the left side, and fell into the rhythm of dancing. Looking to my right, I could see him staring back at me. The only thing I was aware of was the touch of his hand and his eyes upon me. Endless we circled as the drums beat and the voices around us rose in a song to the spirits.

      When the dancing was over, he followed me to the edge of the clearing as the bonfire slowly ebbed, and in the early dawn he kissed me and whispered his name: Aillte.

      Now the flames are rising, a mockery of the flames that once rose in my heart. I can see them, beginning to climb up the dais that holds the pole upright. There is little smoke. The wind, still strong, sends it across the hills, light and free. I thank it. I do not want to die without the sky before my vision, the same sky under which I pledged my love.

      I stood under the arch of climbing vines, holding Aillte’s hands. They had forbidden us to marry. My father had pledged me to the house of the priestess, in return for their support in the time of this famine. Unable to consider such a future, I had fled from my house in the night.

      Proudly around my neck I wore the pendant Aillte had given me when we pledged our love under the eyes of the Elder. Unaware of my father’s decision, she had agreed to join us as one soul in sight of the gods. Really, she had only affirmed something I already knew in my heart to be true.

      Time seems to slow and stretch, strangely distorted. I can feel the warmth now, and the air before me shimmers with the heat the flames send up before them. I throw my head back in silent agony as the searing flames reach my feet. I will not scream.

      I did not scream when they came for us. Aillte leapt up, sword in hand, and I crouched behind him, holding my belt knife. The soldiers, seven in all, approached warily. Confused glimpses flashed before my eyes, accompanied by loud shouts, then three soldiers were lying dead, one with my dagger in his chest. Two remaining held Aillte, unconscious, by the arms, while the others held me.

      I saw his face as they pulled us apart. It was then that I knew there were no gods.

      Even with my eyes shut I can see bright light flooding before me. The pain, the heat, engulfs my body. The straps crumble into ash, and my arms are free. With a last breath I reach up to the sky. Almost, I can touch it...

      The man stood behind the stand of trees, concealed from the disorderly crowd. Through the tears that blurred his vision, he could see the pyre where Mithrael stood against the pole, her head raised proudly. When the flames began to rise he hid his face against a tree in agony. Unable to look away, he soon raised his head once more. As the smoke spiraled away and the wind whipped the flames higher, he saw her reach up, as if to touch the sky. The flames surrounding her seemed to blossom outward, and suddenly there were flames rising free, dancing on the wind. Aillte blinked, and stared up at the sight, almost blinded. The flames shimmered, and began to pull together, leaving behind a trail of sparks. Before the burning pyre, the villagers suddenly fell silent, staring up as the man among the trees was. The wind grew, whipping away bits of flaming bracken. The fire dancing in the air coalesced, and became a winged creature with brilliant feathers, trailing flames that never progressed up its plumage. The man sighed in a sudden release and watched the phoenix spiral upward.

      “Go safely, my love,” he whispered. When the flames were out of his sight, he turned without a second glance at the empty pyre and walked back into the forest.