Phoenix13: Redemption (Phoenix13 Book 2)

Part #7: The Judgement of Zephyr: Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Kalligan closed his eyes as blackness surrounded him. It was unlike the swirling patterns and colors of his previous transitions, leaving him empty rather than dizzy. His fingers tingled dully, hands clenched in too-tight fists. The roar of his pulse was a waterfall around him, flooding his ears with violent sound. By the time the faintest glimmer of light had seeped blood-red through his eyelids, he was shaking with deep-set dread of what lay ahead.

The first thing he became aware of in his new surroundings was the smell. Like hibiscus flowers floating on a lake of sweet crème. Or the sugary tang of freshly cut slices of honey melon. It coated his tongue, rich and delicious.

"Open your eyes, Zephyr."

Kalligan's eyes snapped open. He gasped in a breath to replace the one he'd been holding. "Dyrim?" He spun around, taking in his surroundings as he searched for the woman who had spoken. Tall trees—silver-leafed aspens with golden trunks--rose in a circle around him. Their leaves rustled faintly, partially obscuring the misty grey sky above. It was only then that Kalligan finally realized: Amaranth had no sun. The sky was lit evenly from horizon to horizon, glowing with a light all its own. Sometimes bright, sometimes faded, but never fully dark. Like an electric skin stretched over the Eternal City, forever keeping night at bay. Like the domes of Monterra, Kalligan thought. He wondered if those domes, with their curving sides and blue hues, had been created in the image of Amaranth's skies. Of course they were, he answered himself a moment later. I helped build them. I bet anything I was trying to bring back a piece of home with me to earth.

"Zephyr." Dyrim's disembodied voice was all around him. The soft, sweet scent of her breath caressed his face. "You are almost at the end of this journey. This next part will be unlike anything you have experienced, and will affect you in ways you cannot yet begin to understand. I would warn you to turn back, but you have reached the point of no return. There is no escaping your history now."

As Dyrim spoke, Kalligan felt himself fading. Full of icy panic, he looked down in time to see his body disintegrating like lead under an artist's eraser. "Dyrim!" He tried to scream, but his voice had gone with his physical form. Helpless, he hung in midair, a blur of thought. A jumble of memories suspended in empty space.

And then he was rematerializing, blissfully cool air filling his chest and flooding his blood with oxygen. He felt dizzy, sick, weak. For a moment his vision blurred as if he'd just received a vicious blow to the head, his stomach turning violently. Dyrim? He tried again. He was terrified to find that his lips wouldn't move. But despite his panic, his heartbeat remained steady in his chest, refusing to respond to the adrenaline he knew should be racing through his blood.

Kalligan. Dyrim's voice was inside his head now, mixed into his thoughts like a streak of chocolate in thick cream. She had used his earthly name, the name the Thirteenth Phoenix had given him at the dawn of human history. Do not fight this, Dyrim continued. You and Zephyr are one and the same. It is time for you to see this. Not from afar, with room to judge objectively, but from within, where you have only room to judge yourself. This time you will feel from inside all the things that Zephyr felt many, many millennia ago. And only when it is over may return to the earth and the Thirteenth Phoenix. She paused; the silence weighed heavily on Kalligan's shock-blank mind. This is where I leave you, God of the Western Wind. May you find fulfillment in the choice you have made.

Kalligan listened as her final words faded, felt her presence slip away. Steadying himself, he let his thoughts relax into the chaotic whirlwind that was Zephyr's mind. Let go, he told himself. Just let go.

The clearing and the whispering aspens disappeared, replaced a moment later by a huge, faintly lit room. There was no paint on the metal walls, or carpeting covering the stone floor. It was a blank space, a cold hollow devoid of warmth and light. The only thing of interest was at its very center. Far below the glass-sheathed balcony where Zephyr stood: A single coffin-shaped case sitting atop what appeared to be a metal operating table.