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| First Meeting Drawing by Me |
Legend says there can be only one, and it is born of fire.
And so it began. We searched libraries and talked to everybody we could think of who might be a source. And over months and years we wove together the tiny fragments of truth about where a legend might actually be found, and wondered whether we might be deemed worthy of finding it.
We found hers first. The fire phoenix of legend – master of life and change, death and rebirth. He tested her; oh how he tested her. And, I suppose, she tested him. But something clicked and there grew an acceptance and then a bond between them. That of a salty teacher and the only student he cared to tolerate. Majestic, intelligent, and done. Almost 500 years old, some of his spark had dimmed, and one day he made it clear to Feena his time was coming to an end.
From his ashes would rise his successor, with all his memories – although they may be fuzzy at first. Feena helped prepare the fire, unshed tears blurring her vision. The bed of cinnamon, cassia, spikenard, and amomum made for an amazingly scented kindling nest. He had told her it would ease the transition.
They stood together when the fire burned brightly, and all was ready – a rare moment of quiet between two fiery creatures. Feena could feel heat radiating from him. Suddenly he let out an ear-piercing screech that reverberated through her soul. He launched straight up, as though reaching for the noon sun, then slowly rode the wind back down, gliding in large, slow circles, as though he were a bird of prey looking for his next meal. And when he was ready he dove, wings in, extreme speed, straight towards the heart of the fire. He didn’t burn, as Feena had feared, but rather became the flame himself. Feena felt a brief spark in the palm of her hand – the feather he had given her had also converted into flame, leaving behind a small handful of golden ash, which she gently closed her fist around.
She kept the fire burning, but nothing remained of her friend. She held vigil, hoping, but not fully believing, this part of the legend would also be true. He hadn’t been able to tell her what would happen. The magic of death and rebirth was instinctual, but otherwise unknown even to him. As far as they could know, nobody had ever seen it happen.
And so she kept the fire burning and she waited. As day turned to dusk, and dusk turned to night, and the temperature dropped, she sat watching the flames dance. In the darkest part of the night, when the only thing to be seen were the flames, the fire suddenly grew of its own volition. Sparks started flying and flames followed them.
The higher flames dancing and flickering started to take shape. Feena’s eyes burned as she refused to even blink. The phoenix wasn’t born in fire, but rather of fire. As he took form, he let out a screech not quite as piercing as that of his predecessor, but still strong enough that the world knew he’d arrived. She shifted slightly, and in doing so sharply drew his attention. He seemed to realize that he wasn’t alone and looked at her – fire and death in his sharp eyes. She didn’t see any of her old friend in his gaze, but she knew the memories would be there somewhere. Taking a deep breath, she extended her arms, opening her cupped hands to reveal the golden ashes of the one who’d gone before.
He cocked his head slightly, as though studying her, or maybe trying to retrieve a memory, and then with no further acknowledgement, took flight – straight up, just as his predecessor had done, until he surpassed the light of the fire and she could see him no more.
Feena kept her vigil on the fire the rest of the night, unsure exactly what to do next. When the first light of dawn broke behind her, she felt more than heard a gentle chuffing sound behind her. Turning she found, in full splendour, this era’s phoenix.
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