The Chronicles of Phoenix Bloodheart I: Turning Red

Chapter XXV: Twisted fate

Flames dance in her eyes as she watches the bloodthistle farm burn to the ground.

Phoenix had thrown the last of her explosive cocktails towards the far end of the large greenhouse, rupturing the glass and spreading flames across the plants towards the rear of the farm.

Seven had just finished splashing oil across the floor, for Phoenix to do the honours and gently release her lit torch, before watching fire consume the area.

Now they stand, together, at the entrance, watching their destruction unfold. A few Steelfeathers lie unconscious behind them.

Phoenix feels like smiling, but the fire and smoke has distracted her, so she retains her neutral gaze and enjoys watching the spectacle before her. The scent of bloodthistle had never smelt so sweet to her as it does right now.

She relishes the moment, red mask on her face, red fire in her eyes, as she watches drugs worth hundreds of gold go up in flames. She can hear the anger of the inferno burning the plants to cinders. She manages a smile.

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Phoenix stirs. She is lying on her back on a cold, damp, stony floor. She kicks her leg out and it hits a wall. Her arm scrapes across the rough, dirty ground and she instinctively places her palm to the floor and forces herself to jolt upright into a sitting position, pushing through her exhaustion to scan her surroundings.

Her head is groggy and her mouth is dry, the bitter taste of the sleeping gas lingering at the back of her throat. She can't have been asleep for longer than a few hours. She's not sure what's worse, waking up from such an enjoyable dream or finding herself in a prison. She quickly decides the whole situation is shit.

Phoenix is in a dark prison cell, large enough to comfortably fit three or four people. There are bars in front of her, blocking her exit. Through them she can see another symmetrical cell opposite hers, its door open, with an incredibly narrow walkway in between. She stands, slowly, her left knee flaring with pain from the fall, and she places her gloved hands around the bars. Her body feels lighter than usual, she is without her sword and her bag of provisions is nowhere to be seen. She looks around and notices dirty walls either side of her and behind her.

"Good morning," a faint, light, almost gentle voice rises in the dark ahead. A match is struck and a single candle is lit on the wall at the back of the open cell opposite hers. In the dim light, Phoenix spots two figures ahead of her. Who are they?

One appears to be the robed lady from earlier, who is sitting on a stool, tightly bound to it with rope. A sack is over her head. The other is harder to make out beneath a black hood, but they have high elven ears. She is sitting on a chair next to the robed woman.

"Who are you?" Phoenix blurts out, her voice echoing slightly around the small, bare prison walls. "Where am I?"

There is a pause. "Shhhh," the voice responds, gently. "You don't speak unless spoken to."

"Seven!" Phoenix shouts, rattling the bars. There is no response. She looks from the tightest angles in her own cell to see as much as she can of the room outside the bars. To her left sees a door, probably the entrance to the prison. To the right there is another cell, next to the one ahead of her. Perhaps there is one next to Phoenix too, on the other side of the wall to her right?

She hears the voice ahead of her sigh.

"I would keep your mouth shut if I were you," the faint female voice murmurs low, a commanding undertone warning Phoenix not to test her.

"And why is that?" Phoenix responds boldly.

"Because you might not like the consequences," the voice replies, louder now, more coherently. It is sharp and cold, like a deadly knife in the dark. Phoenix recognises it instantly and her heartbeat thunders in response.