Chapter 8 The Phoenix Takes Flight #2
"I have a proposition," I replied, straightening to my full height and letting a hint of otherworldly power color my tone.
The flame-script beneath my skin pulsed once, sending a subtle wave of heat through the room.
The confidence in my voice grew with each word, ancient instincts rising to the surface like a queen reclaiming her throne.
"I carry tales that would make your finest bards weep with envy.
Stories of legendary rulers who begged for my counsel, of magic that molded civilizations while you were still learning to kindle fire, of creatures your patrons have only glimpsed in their most fevered dreams." I paused, allowing my eyes to momentarily shift to molten gold as my power responded to my growing certainty, the air around me shimmering with barely contained heat.
The innkeeper's expression shifted from wariness to intrigue. "We do enjoy a good story here," he admitted, studying me more carefully now. "But tales don't fill bellies or keep the doors open."
"No?" I smiled, knowing and ancient. "Then perhaps you've never heard how the right story can fill a tavern and keep guests refilling their ale. How travelers will go leagues out of their way to visit an establishment known for its... unique entertainment."
Around us, I could sense patrons already leaning in, drawn by the promise in my words and the subtle heat that always accompanied my presence. The innkeeper wasn't immune either. I saw the moment he recognized the potential profit in having an exotic storyteller grace his establishment.
"A test then," he proposed, sliding a tankard of ale my way. "One tale. If it lives up to your claims..." He gestured to the kitchen, where the smell of roasting meat and fresh bread had grown more enticing.
I lifted the tankard in acknowledgment, my lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Then let me tell you of the floating citadel of Sol Invictus, where the sun god Ra'hor himself taught me the price of power..."
As the day wore on and the shadows lengthened, I found myself surrounded by an eclectic group of tavern regulars, all clamoring for more stories. The ale flowed freely, and with each tale I told, I felt a little more of the weight of my destiny slip away.
"And there I was," I said, gesturing dramatically with my mug, the amber liquid catching the light like captured sunset, "face to face with Ra'hor himself, his golden mask gleaming in the light of the moon like a second sun in the darkness.
" The memory was crystal clear, as were so many from my first life.
"He thought he could outsmart me, but let me tell you, honey," I leaned forward, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper that nonetheless carried to every eager ear in the room, "you don't live in a city of gods without picking up a few tricks.
The look on his divine face when a 'mere elemental' outwitted him? Worth dying for. Literally."
The crowd roared with laughter, and I basked in their attention, the warmth of their appreciation filling a void I hadn't realized had formed since leaving the guardians behind.
I was sure none of them believed my tales as fact, but all were more than willing to suspend their disbelief for a few moments of fun.
A burly farmer slapped his knee, wiping tears from his eyes. "By the gods, lass, you've got a silver tongue on you! Another round for the storyteller!"
I raised my mug in salute, my grin widening. "Why, thank you, good sir! I do pride myself on my ability to spin a yarn. Though between you and me," I leaned in conspiratorially, "half the fun is in the telling, not the truth of it."
A young barmaid giggled as she set down fresh mugs of ale. "Oh, come now, surely some of it must be true? No one could make up tales that wild!"
I winked at her, my amber eyes twinkling with mischief. "My dear, in my experience, truth is often stranger than fiction. But where's the fun in telling which is which?"
As the laughter died down, I noticed a group of men in the corner, their faces etched with worry. Curiosity piqued, I made my way over, sliding into an empty chair at their table.
"Why the long faces, gentlemen?" I asked, my voice laced with concern. "Surely the ale here isn't that bad?"
The oldest of the group, a weathered man with silver streaking his beard, shook his head. "It's not the ale, miss. And your tall tales are a welcome respite, that's for sure. It's... well, it's everything else."
"Everything else?" I prompted, leaning in.
He sighed heavily. "You're a traveler, so you wouldn't know. Strange things have been happening 'round these parts. Crops failing for no reason, livestock taking ill with sicknesses no one's ever seen before. And that's not the worst of it."
Another man, younger but with eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights, picked up the thread. "There's something in the river, miss. Something... wrong. It's taken three of our own in the past month."
Taken? I felt a chill run down my spine, one that had nothing to do with the ale. Now was the time for the villagers to share some tales with me. "What do you mean, 'wrong'?"
"The Blight's everywhere now," the old man whispered, his hands shaking. "Poisons our wells, withers our crops. But the worst? The beasts change. Get twisted and wrong."
The corruption he described resonated with what I'd sensed in the forest. What humans called the Blight, the supernatural realms named the curse of the Great Sundering.
Different words for the same insidious cancer eating at the world's heart, spreading its malevolent tendrils through land, water, and living flesh alike.
I thought of Desmond's connection to the earth, how he'd sensed the wrongness in the temple stones.
His insight might have proved valuable here, but I pushed that thought aside. I'd chosen to walk this path alone.
"Beasts come in the night, all twisted and wrong," the younger man added.
"The beast that took my brother... it used to be a simple river pike, but when the Blight touched it.
.." He shuddered. “It grew larger than a horse, with too many teeth and eyes that glowed like toxic moonlight. Nothing natural about it."
As the conversation continued, a picture began to form in my mind.
"It's not all bad," the younger man said, his voice low.
"We don't get harassed by dragons or the fae nearly as much these days.
Seems even they're scared of whatever's out there.
First time I've been grateful for something trying to kill us.
At least it doesn't demand tribute or riddles while doing it. "
I nearly choked on my drink, imagining Ryu's indignant expression if he'd heard humans speaking so casually about "being harassed by dragons.” The dragon shifter would have puffed up like an offended rooster, while Aeolus would have made some cutting remark about dragons lacking the sophistication for proper harassment.
The thought of them bickering while humans casually discussed their kind brought an unexpected smile to my lips.
Responsibility tugged at me—these people needed a hero. But I'd fled the guardians to forge my own path. So I did what I do best. I told more stories. I regaled the crowd with tales of triumph over darkness, of light pushing back the shadows. And as I spoke, I saw hope rekindling in their eyes.
As the tavern finally began to empty, the old bartender approached me. His eyes, sharp despite their age, held a knowing gleam that made my newly awakened powers stir uneasily beneath my skin.
"You're not just a storyteller, are you?"
I met his gaze, feeling the strange disconnect between my ancient knowledge and this fresh, untested form.
Power pulsed beneath my skin, my flame-script responding to his perception with golden ripples that I couldn't fully suppress.
His eyes tracked the movement, but he showed no fear, only quiet recognition.
"What makes you say that?" I asked, voice carefully neutral.
"The way you speak of magic and monsters," he said, wiping down the bar with practiced motions. "Most bards tell tales to entertain. You tell them like you're testing waters, searching for something." His hand stilled. "Or perhaps running from it."
The observation struck closer to truth than I liked. "And if I am?"
"Then you might be interested to know that those river beasts the men spoke of?
They appeared right after the ancient spring in the hills ran dry.
First time in living memory." He nodded toward the distant slopes visible through the window, where jagged peaks rose against the night sky.
"The spring was sacred once. Folks used to make pilgrimages there for healing.
Waters were said to glow golden in the moonlight.
Now it's just a pit of black mud that nothing will grow near. Strange coincidence, that."
Something deep within me resonated at his words.
Sacred springs running dry, corrupted beasts, a curse threading through both mortal and immortal realms. The pattern felt familiar, though, like so many memories after rebirth, it remained frustratingly out of reach.
My flame-script flared in response, illuminating the dim tavern with a brief golden glow that I couldn't suppress.
"Well, isn't that fascinating," I drawled, masking my intense interest with casual indifference.
"A girl can't resist a good mystery, especially one with monsters.
Makes for better stories. I don't suppose you'd happen to have a map of those hills?
" I asked, leaning forward with sudden intensity, my fingers drumming against the counter with barely contained energy, trying to ignore how my newly awakened powers flickered beneath my skin.
The innkeeper's weathered face creased in a knowing smile. "Aye, and better. Got a room with a view of them. You've told enough tales to earn your keep."
"For a room, I'll even promise a fresh story for your patrons tomorrow."
"Sold." He reached beneath the bar and produced an iron key, worn smooth with age. "Second floor, last door on the left. Has a balcony that faces the hills." He paused, then added, "I'll have my boy draw you a proper map in the morning."
"Thank you," I said, the words carrying more weight than simple gratitude for lodging. Here was someone offering help with no demands, no expectations of prophecy or power.
His eyes met mine again, gentle but knowing. "Sometimes," he said carefully, "running from one destiny just leads you straight into another."
I wrapped my fingers around the key, caught between the weight of ancient knowledge and the unfamiliar weight of flesh and bone I was still claiming as my own. "Perhaps. But this time, I choose which path to take."
Through the window of my simple-yet-serviceable room, the distant hills beckoned against the star-filled sky.
Something waited up there in the silence of a dead spring.
Something that carried the same malevolent wrongness these humans feared, its corruption pulsing like a diseased heartbeat across the landscape.
Tomorrow I would seek it out, not as anyone's prophesied savior, but as myself.
Adara Ashwing, who had faced down gods and monsters across countless lifetimes.
If this corruption thought it could hide from me, it was about to learn how thoroughly a phoenix could burn away darkness.
Even if part of me wished for a certain dragon's fire at my back or a wolf's keen senses beside me.
The guardians would be following my trail by now, each bringing their own skills to the hunt.
Part of me hoped they'd find me, but I wasn't about to make it easy on them.
Tomorrow I would seek out this mystery on my own terms, not as anyone's weapon or tool.
Even if every step forward echoed with memories of those I'd left behind.