The First Dawn (Daughter of the Phoenix Book Three) Read online

  “Watching the smoke will only trouble you further, Alexander. Come, let’s eat.” Maab had stepped up beside him with a preternatural silence that Alexander wondered if all Nords possessed, or just those that could shift into a predator. Despite Maab’s size, he always maintained a feline quality about him, a hint of that great white tiger lurking beneath his skin.

  Somewhere in the forest below them, a bird cried out, and Alexander thought of all the creatures who would have been displaced by the dying sun, along with Ohinyan’s people. Erebus had used it all to his gain. And he’d had years to plan from within the confines of his prison. Years to know that this time of chaos would be to his advantage.

  Alexander watched Maab as he walked away. So much had happened, he’d been taking the opportunity of a quiet moment to piece together all the information he’d obtained since returning from Earth. There had been no update from his general but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Everyone was doing their part, doing whatever they could. Stretching themselves to offer help in as many parts of Ohinyan as possible.

  He followed Maab towards their tents, the Nord’s silver hair reflecting the last of the day’s light. Not that there was much of it left now, anyway. Each new day was becoming shorter as the sun died, and Alexander still wasn’t used to the dull half-light it cast across the world, even at midday. It was a constant reminder that they were running out of time—that if they couldn’t find Fia before the sun died, Ohinyan and all of its inhabitants would die too. Weeks, he’d been told, they had a matter of weeks, at best. At worst, only one.

  They entered the largest tent, white canvas stretched high over wooden poles, big enough to hold fifteen or more comfortably. It was furnished as if it were here to stay for a while; dark green rugs layered across the floor, old wooden chests filled with provisions, but Alexander knew better; it was a Navarii tent, and they could disassemble and pack up quickly if needed to.

  Around a wooden table sat his friends, Malachai, his right hand, and Runa, Malachai’s wife. The two angels were rarely apart. Their matching golden cuffs drew Alexander’s attention—just like the one he had given Fia, left discarded on the wall in Djira. His breath caught in his throat at the thought of it. At the thought of her, so far away, locked up in a prison cell. He’d kept the cuff safe, along with her wingsuit. He would keep them for as long as it took to return them to her.

  Malachai placed a hand on Runa’s knee. He adored his wife, and from the way Runa smiled back at her husband, Alexander knew the feeling was mutual. But he’d known it for a long time. He’d known Malachai since they were boys, and the moment Malachai had met Runa he’d flown into Alexander’s study and announced he’d met the one.

  Noor sat in a chair opposite them, Osara whispering something into her ear. The witch caught Osara’s hand in her own and whispered back, candlelight illuminating a mischievous glint in her sapphire eyes.

  Maab took a seat beside Altair, leader of the Navarii, and an old friend of Alexander’s. He had been a presence in Alexander’s life for as long as he could remember, someone to turn to when his father died, and for that, he would always be grateful. The old man still wore his great cloak; Alexander had often wondered as a boy if Altair slept in it too.

  Altair had pulled out the empty chair beside him for Alexander and began pouring Asharian wine into wooden cups. “We might not all be together again for a while, my friend.”

  Alexander felt the truth of those words in his bones.

  “Thank you for coming, all of you.” Alexander took the cup Altair handed him and looked at each of his friends. The only near stranger to him was Osara, but Maab trusted her, and Noor had shown an interest in her almost immediately. A witch and a shapeshifter. He’d seen more unusual pairings. Like an angel and a human. He tried his best not to picture Fia alone in a dark cell.

  He thumbed the copper device the scientist, Okwata, had given him as he considered his words, wondering if Fia would send another message soon. The receiving part of her device was broken, that much he knew. But he could hear every message she sent out. Every frightened word she whispered in the darkness, each one settling like lead in his stomach.

  “Erebus has gone. My scouts report that his attacks have ended.” He brushed aside the thoughts that whispered to him that it was his fault. That he and Fia were apart because of him.

  “For now,” Noor added. Osara had moved to sit beside her, all hint of seduction gone, her stoic expression matching Maab’s. The Nords were seasoned warriors, after all.

  Runa and Malachai dished out a meal for them all—steaming hot stew—more rabbit, no doubt. Alexander took his bowl gratefully. “Indeed, for now,” he said, blowing at the scorching liquid. “But we cannot sit around and wait for his next move. We have to seize the opportunity to find Fia. We can try to manage communication across the world without her. I’ve asked Okwata and Ahrek to lead on that. Runa, Mal, I’d like you to assist. The Navarii too, Altair, if you would consider it. The rest of us will search for Fia, along with any Nords you can spare, Maab.”

  Being a leader hadn’t come naturally to Alexander since his father’s death. But so much had changed over the last few months, all choice in the matter was gone. The new alliances were going well, and at least things on Earth could improve too. Bringing down the Eternal Dusk had ensured that. After the Earth witches began rounding up spirits for their own agenda, stopping them in their tracks had been the only course of action. But knowing that the angels had a renewed purpose on Earth now, setting the spirits free, as well as their responsibilities to the dying, putting an end to the Eternal Dusk was the right decision.

  Necessity urged Alexander forwards now, and the overwhelming need to protect Ohinyan and everyone in it, as all angels had been raised to do.

  Altair rubbed at his chin. “You believe splitting up is the best option?”

  “We’ll cover more ground this way,” Alexander said. “The alliance with the Makya is tenuous at best. Runa and Malachai are best placed to deal with that.” He scooped a piece of potato onto his spoon. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Makya. Par was a fair leader. It was that Lorn had broken any trust the people and creatures of Ohinyan might have had in them. To present them now as saviours in their own right—which they would be, in truth—it was a difficult fact for many to stomach after their turbulent history.

  Ohinyan needed the Makya, they were vital for maintaining temperatures in built-up areas, to provide artificial light as the sun died. They’d even worked with Okwata to devise a series of mirrors to light entire cities, and a rotating schedule of Makya to always keep them alight. But it wouldn’t be enough. Many more would die if they couldn’t find Fia in time.

  If she truly was the fire mother, she was the key to Ohinyan’s salvation. And he’d dragged her into all of it. He swallowed down the guilt with another mouthful of stew. He would make this right. He would find her, help her to carry out the prophecy. And if it was what she wanted, he would ask her to stay this time.

  “And how do you intend to find Fia?” Osara asked, tearing Alexander from his thoughts. Her ash-blonde hair was studded throughout, with heavy metal adornments pinned through sections of hair. With the sweep of kohl across her eyes and the leather bracers on her wrists, she looked ready for a fight. Alexander glanced at Maab; even he sat in his full armour, though it was useless to him when he shifted.

  “Okwata and I have shared all the information we have about the other worlds out there,” Alexander said, motioning his head to outside the tent. “He’s finalising a map.” Worlds that Alexander had every intention of setting up alliances with if they survived what lay ahead—what had happened on Earth with the Eternal Dusk had shown him that it was necessary.

  “So what are we waiting for?” Noor pushed aside her empty bowl. Alexander had rarely seen her sit still, and for a brief moment, he wondered if it was only Osara’s presence that had made Noor travel with them. No, he knew her better than that. She stayed because Ohinyan was her h
ome, and she wanted to fight for it. They all did.

  He rolled the copper device in his palm and felt the thrum of his magic against it. It had been a few days since he’d used his powers, and he still hadn’t mastered releasing them efficiently. Only weeks had passed since the Iders had returned the angels’ magic to him. It was too early to teach it to the other angels, he still needed time to grasp it fully; the risks of teaching it to others when he didn’t fully understand it were too great.

  “Erebus was working with our eldest scholar for many years. Gnossaan destroyed our ancient texts, twisted and manipulated the stories the other scholars learnt. Much of what we thought we knew was a lie. And the witches’ information has not been entirely reliable either,” Alexander replied.

  Noor raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Her relationship with her coven was fragile, and she was the last person to sing the praises of the witches. But it was another important alliance, nonetheless.

  “I’ve shared what I could with Okwata about the locations of the other worlds I saw in Yggdrasil. I suspect that Erebus has taken Fia to wherever he was imprisoned.” He clasped his hand tightly around the copper sphere at the thought.

  “That’s impossible,” Altair said, draining his cup and filling it with more wine.

  “Is it? What do we know of Erebus’s imprisonment? The story the angels pass down among themselves is that he was trapped inside the dust from a star and that Ohinyan was formed around him. Given what we now know about how many other worlds exist, I’ve no doubt that was a story spun to prevent anyone searching for him, or to help him escape.” Alexander had had enough time to dwell on it these past few weeks—it was the only logical answer.

  “You think his prison was in a world alongside this one?” Maab asked. His green eyes were so pale there was barely any hint of colour in them, but they were as bright and alert as any wild animal’s.

  Alexander summoned just a small amount of his power to push the copper ball into the air above his open palm. It spun like a miniature world, and he felt the eyes of the others on it. “I do. But. It took him many years to escape. And that tells me the way in… and out, is not a window, like the ones we use to travel to Earth. But something else. When he left Djira with Fia, he simply disappeared right in front of our eyes.” He thought of the way Erebus had brushed a strand of hair from Fia’s eyes, how they’d been standing so close Alexander didn’t know if they’d kissed. It turned his stomach over thinking of it.

  The ball spun faster as he spoke, but he felt no release at the build-up of his power. Perhaps a short flight whilst the others slept might help, with the winds to carry him. “The windows are too unstable, anyway. I won’t risk anyone passing through without knowing their safety is guaranteed. Only a few angels have remained on Earth and they will stay there until this is all over.”

  “But we do not have Erebus’s power. We cannot become a shadow as he does. What are you suggesting?” Osara’s accent rested heavily on her Ts and Ds, as all Nords’ did, and her expression was fierce as she held his gaze.

  “The Tahjiik have access to gates that can be opened and closed at their command,” Alexander replied.

  “Gates to other worlds?” Osara held her chin high, and Alexander found himself wondering if she’d chosen her animal form or whether it had chosen her.

  He simply nodded in reply and let the copper sphere fall back into his palm.

  “And let me guess, Okwata applied some of that same technology to the window from his house in Ohinyan to his lab on Ornax?” Runa asked. She’d moved to clear the table, but Malachai had beaten her to it.

  Alexander focused on keeping his expression neutral, his attention fixed on the conversation and not on coming up with scenarios of what Fia’s cell looked like. What kind of conditions was she enduring in the dark? “Correct,” he finally said, pulling himself from his thoughts. “His window is stable and safe.”

  Noor had moved away from the table to attend to her glider. She laid it on a wooden bench and began inspecting the canvas. “So why not just apply that technology to more windows?”

  “Because it requires a great deal of energy.” Alexander pushed away from his chair. He had too much energy buzzing through his bones to sit. Magic, he reminded himself. He leaned against one of the tent’s supporting beams and folded his arms across his bare chest, his wings folded back as he watched his friends.

  Altair pushed aside a swathe of fabric and reached into his cloak, turning something over between finger and thumb. “I thought Okwata was the last remaining Tahjiik?”

  “The last here, yes. But the Tahjiik are still alive and well.” Alexander watched the old man. He knew what it was in his hand: a small nut with a carving of Altair’s wife, Maia. She’d died giving birth to their son, and although Alexander was no stranger to death, he knew only too well that Maia’s absence hung over Altair like a shadow.

  “Tomorrow we pack up and head for Okwata’s place then. I assume you’ve told us this because he has access to one of these gates?” Maab asked, unclipping the straps on his breastplate. Readying himself for another run before he settled in for the night, no doubt. Alexander had often seen the white tiger below him when he couldn’t sleep and took to the skies.

  He rubbed at his chin, his wings flexing a little at the thought of a brief flight—just enough to burn the edge off his power. “That’s where we face our first problem. Okwata is exiled on Ornax. He has access to a gate but is forbidden to open it.”

  “Forbidden even if another world might be destroyed if he doesn’t?” Noor paused her inspection to hold Alexander’s gaze, and he knew she’d go straight to Okwata’s place, regardless of whatever information he imparted. “And where will we find a power source great enough to open it?” the witch asked.

  Alexander’s magic thrummed in his veins, seeking a way out, a release. But he’d been holding onto it for good reason. He held out his hands. “Here.”

  Chapter Three

  Lorn

  L orn dragged herself to her feet and stifled a groan. She pressed a hand to her side, not needing to see her injuries to know the warm stickiness on her fingers was yet more blood. She was too weak to heal, too depleted. If her wounds were not attended to soon, she would miss a second opportunity to launch a fireball at Erebus’s smug face.

  “Evina, leave us,” Erebus commanded from the adjacent cell. Fia’s plan hadn’t worked. It might’ve, had he not chosen to return at that precise moment. Lorn’s hands tightened into fists as she shakily braced herself against the wall of her cell. Blue light poured through the gap in the rock, and Lorn knew from the bright flash that the woman who brought their food had gone, leaving Fia alone with Erebus. As long as she returns with my food, that’s all that matters. Lorn had no time for Fia’s foolish ideas.

  Evina. An unusual name. But then the woman never spoke, barely even made eye contact. Lorn considered her options. She could use the distraction to capture the woman herself as Fia had attempted, or incinerate her the moment she appeared in the cell. The latter seemed more appealing, but Lorn didn’t think she had it in her. The desire, certainly. But the energy—her power was depleted almost entirely.

  She pressed a hand to the rough wall, angling her head up to hear better.

  “You lied to me.” Fia’s voice carried through the tiny gap between their cells. Lorn could picture Erebus’s arrogant expression, the tilt of his head as his eyes no doubt roved over Fia’s body. Lorn bit her lip. To think she’d considered letting him into her bed.

  “It wasn’t all a lie,” Erebus finally said.

  A rustle of feet against the floor.

  “Don’t come any closer.” Fia was going to need some schooling in how to keep her voice calm and emotionless.

  “You do look like her, you know. Like Terah. The story I told you, it was all true. Only it was Terah that gave me this tattoo. Not long before she was taken from me. You’re so alike.” Erebus’s voice was silk, soothing and calm. It made the hairs on Lorn’
s arms stand up. She knew the story of Terah—it was ingrained into the Makya as children—she was the original fire mother, daughter of the phoenix, the first Makya. And Erebus’s lover.

  “I said don’t come any closer.” Fia’s voice wavered once more.

  Silence fell over the prison for a moment and all Lorn could hear was quiet breathing.

  Finally, Fia said, “You look a bit… worse for wear since the last time I saw you. What happened?”

  Lorn stifled a laugh. Fia knew full well what had happened. She doesn’t trust you, Erebus. And with good reason.

  “An accident. But I didn’t stop by to check on you just to talk about myself, as much as I enjoy it.” Erebus sounded bored. If Fia didn’t think of something fast, he was going to leave, Lorn had heard that tone from him many times before.

  But then the pathetic little Earth girl surprised her. “Heal Lorn. Then I’ll talk,” Fia snapped.

  Lorn heard Erebus’s intake of breath. No one spoke to him that way, but she shared his response. What was the girl playing at?

  “You’re making demands? As my prisoner?” he asked.

  “You healed me before. Heal Lorn, and then I might be more receptive to whatever you have to say.” Lorn pictured Fia with her arms folded across her chest, her chin tilted indignantly.

  Erebus laughed. “Can’t you see I’m in no position to carry out healing?”

  “What? The great ancient darkness can’t handle the tiny, insignificant challenge of healing someone whilst wounded? Not so great, after all.” Lorn’s head whipped to the wall at Fia’s words, as if she could look right through to the neighbouring cell, but instead, Lorn stared at the rock between them, a broad grin spreading across her face.

  “You think you can rile me?” All the honey had gone from Erebus’s voice, but it lacked the vitriol Lorn had so often heard it laced with.