Victory's Price

Callen - Phoenix - Wolf (Part Six)

Chapter 6

Cal could hardly feel Phoenix as she receded respectfully to the back of her mind. Though it was early morning, the sun was hot on her shoulder blades. And as she leant wearily against the gate post of the goat pen, scratching the matriarch behind the ear, she prepared to say her goodbyes. There remained a worry in her, that they would not survive alone, but she knew they were more than self-sufficient, knew that she needed something to twist her thoughts from the inevitability of her demise.

"I guess I must give you my thanks." She whispered, giving the old female one last pat before she reached down and undid the latch.

As the trusting creatures crowded around her legs, Cal strode toward her hut. Picking her mug up from the table, she turned to the window one last time and prepared herself for her final sunrise.

Over a hundred years, maybe more than two, and she had never known this day would come. She had fought the Phoenix relentlessly, tirelessly. And though she had always known she would lose, always known that one day it would be her that released evil upon the world once more, she had never believed the failure would cost her her life.

She did not think she wanted to die, but what would she have without the Phoenix? What meaning in a jailer with nothing to guard?

The hut was empty. Phoenix had looked thoroughly over the whole space the night before, searching for belongings to pack, but she had been disappointed to discover just how little Cal owned.

"Were you happy?" Phoenix had asked, handling the mug with more care than Cal would have thought before gently returning it to the table.

She had not replied.

Now, as Cal carried that same mug outside for the last time, she could not help but wonder if a life of fleeting consciousness was enough to claim happiness.

Phoenix continued to separate herself as Cal walked to the spring, filled her cup and looked across her land for the final time. She knew now that it was all she had ever known, all she would ever know. Cal dropped herself slowly into a sitting position and together the sat out the steady progress of time, Phoenix waiting calmly for the stranger's return.

Cal waited only to die.

xXXx

It could still have been termed early morning when a figure darkened the Eastern horizon but Phoenix had been waiting patiently for over an hour. She stood. Already unwanted life was flowing through her blood again. Though a renewed vigour felt natural, it was not welcome. With strength came the guilt.

Out of respect, Phoenix returned Cal's mug to its rightful place before she descended to the flats. And with the movement, she caught sight of her fingers on the ceramic; slender and forever young. They had bathed in blood to remain that way.

Wolf's face broke out into a grin as he noticed Phoenix striding toward him. It did not strike her with confidence over the ensuing task. Generations of war and a tradition of fierce competition within the Stars had bred Phoenix's people into a hard race. But the man before her was too soft a replica. Perhaps, she thought with derision, his opinions on the closure of the Stars had been accurate ones.

"Come." Phoenix growled as she drew near.

"You changed your mind." He smirked knowingly, no exclamation of surprise.

There was hope for him yet, she noted.

"So tell me," Wolf seemed to muse as he turned, matching his step with hers. "There's no doubt there's a little truth to the legends." He gestured to the surrounding desert and assessed her youthful appearance. "This is magic." He said, "How do you live forever? How do you build a world?"

"If it is magic, it is dark." No-one had ever gained anything Phoenix hadn't wanted to give. She was a minimalist. A woman of as few words as possible, she responded to force and little else.

xXXx

It had been a long morning. The sun had yet to reach its zenith as the two of them reached the silvery glow of the Eastern Star. Wolf had long since lapsed into silence, leaving Phoenix to her thoughts whilst he struggled with his own.

He wanted to speak, to ask her a hundred questions and more, but she held herself so closed, so hostile. He could hardly make out her mood and even the very air around her shoulders screamed of danger.

Everything about her was tense, coiled tight like a spring. She barely walked. It was more a march, her head locked in place. She refused even to relax when she spoke, never sparing him so much as a glance as she shot down his efforts, one by one.

Yet, with a blade in her hand she had been so fluid, so natural. Wolf had heard the phrase 'Born to the Sword' used many times in relation to a fallen comrade but already he suspected this girl would teach him the true meaning of the phrase.

Why, then, was she here?

Again, as he had done a hundred times already since the disappearance of his scout had led him here, just over a week ago, he looked around her desert in disbelief.

Red's Phoenix. The name carried so much weight. So many stories were told, still, of Red but none were remembered so clearly as those that centred around the ancient king's champion. They were brutal tales, tales of magic and murder. They were tales to be told at night or on the eve of battle. Many were tales of inspiration but far more to strike the heart with fear.

When Starlight fell across his boots, still bright despite the desert sun, Wolf couldn't hold back his relief.

Red's Phoenix, Queen of Twelve Stars. He had achieved where so many had failed. She was his and he could already feel the subtle whispers of destiny.

Legend stated that for every level she had completed, for every Star she had vanquished, Red had branded Phoenix. A reminder that his girl warrior was still his to command. A reminder that every victory came with its price.

And now she was his, the victory his.

"Are you ready?" He asked as they paused before the way home.

She looked to him and what he saw sent the first shivers of discontent down his spine. She was like no woman he had ever met. And, as her gaze cut through to his very soul, he began to wonder if she was from not just another time, but another place.

"I have long since been ready for many things." She replied cryptically.

Her eyes were hollow, her face slack. Wolf had too often seen its like before. It was the sinner's love's reward: the expression worn by those that visited the gallows when the crowds were gone; the expression that ghosted a battlefield when the fighting was finished.

And for the first time, Wolf began to wonder if she had ended up alone in this wasteland for good reason.