Phoenix

Herald

It turned out the straw hut was an anomaly in the bleak landscape that surrounded it. Although it was still dark, Ash could make out the shape of a well, chicken coop and clothesline, but that was all. Beyond was lonely miles of windblown desert, peppered with tussocky shadows of dry scrub.

There were stars. Millions of them. Scattered illogically like flour on the wind. They were of a different ilk to the stars she'd seen that night at the orphanage. These were shameless in their promiscuity, like a naked bride wearing nothing but five carat diamonds.

A vivid white streak cut the inky blackness, causing Ash to falter at the doorway. She'd heard of shooting stars, but never thought she'd see one with her own eyes. She waited for something to happen. Something dramatic, apocalyptic. But, there was nothing. Not even a hitch in the breeze.

She teetered with the irrelevancy of it all and had the distinct feeling of being nothing but a small figurine in a snow globe full of stars. The blackness whorled before her eyes and she reached for the doorway of the hut to steady herself. But instead of getting a handful of scratchy mud brick, smooth leather filled her hand.

She looked up and into the face of the grotesque man, Elijah, who stood, arm tensed where she'd just grabbed him. She had to swallow so as not to cry out in surprise and instead, heard herself make a strange choking hiccup.

Elijah's marred face and molten eyes were angled towards the stars too. But instead of shying away from the vastness, he took a deep breath through his nose, chest rising, and let it out through his mouth, chest falling. His taught arm slacked. "They say it's good luck," His lips barely moved as he spoke. "To wish upon a shooting star."

She forced herself to let go of his arm so he wouldn't feel her shaking. Everything that had happened weighed pall-bearer heavy between them—his voice shooting down the alley, ordering her to let the boy go, the way he'd stooped over the dead body, trying to revive it with air from his own lungs, the Recruitment, Freia.

She wanted to say she didn't believe in luck. That the only thing she'd ever wished for was to keep Jai safe. She wanted to defend her actions, to tell him how the gangly boy had said the unforgivable and so had been punished with the unforgivable. But nothing came out.

Elijah pressed a helmet into her hands as though he'd heard her thoughts and said, "You had no control over what happened." And with that, he pushed himself off the wall to join Shorty, Gunner and Miki at their motorbikes.

Ash stared after him. In one smooth sentence, he'd said all that needed to be said and yet answered nothing. It was a slap and a caress all at the same time.

She watched him slide forward in his seat and turn expectantly towards her, waiting for her to get on. Her cheeks burned at the thought. Elijah had been her tandem rider. It had been his chest rising and falling against her cheek. His arms braced around her body. His voice that had told her to 'rest now'.

She approached the bike on leaden footsteps and swung her leg over as she'd seen him do. She felt awkward, ungainly, like a child still growing into her limbs. She didn't know where to place her hands, so placed them on her own thighs. When the engine rumbled to life and the bike sprung forward a few feet, her hands flailed around Elijah's waist. Again, his body tensed at her touch and it took him two deep breaths to relax.

Shorty let out shrieking whistle through his teeth and cocked his head to the sky. For a moment, nothing happened, and Ash squinted into the darkness, wondering what he was looking at. Then, with a whomp, whomp, whomplike air through a wonky ceiling fan, a giant bird with the wingspan of a human swooped down to land on the handlebars of Shorty's bike.

Ash felt her heart pound her ribcage—it had been doing that a lot lately—and she wondered how she hadn't had a heart attack yet. It had been an age since she'd seen a strong, graceful bird-of-prey, not the motley, balding scavenger pigeons of Ace, and she'd forgotten how they could take one's breath away.

"Herald," Gigi stepped forward to stroke the bird down the length of its torso. Ash noticed she wore a thick suede glove that extended up her arm. She held it out to the bird, who hopped on, king on a throne, mighty talons flexing. Gigi smiled and brought the bird over to Ash. "Now that you've met Eli, meet my other son, Herald," she said. "Raised him from a fledgling when he lost his mum to the drought a few years back. He'll be your guide across the Southern Sea."

Herald turned his unblinking eyes on Ash and craned his neck so his hooked beak was only a few inches from her face. Ash was sure he could see straight through her. To the sinew behind her skin, to the blimp of her pulse points.

"He likes you," Gigi said, nodding approvingly at Ash.

"Didn't even try to nip ya," Gunner added, glancing at Shorty and winking.

Shorty rubbed his chin where a small silver scar made a rivet in his reddish stubble. "Ha. Very funny. Look who's his favourite now."

At that, the bird whompedthe air, lifted off Gigi's' arm and launched himself at Shorty, pecking the old scar on his chin before taking off into the sky and letting out an ear-piercing ca-caw.

They all laughed. Even Ash's lips quirked at the corners. Shorty, however, wasn't amused. "I think Herald wants us to hurry up." He cleared his throat. "Storm's coming in fast."

Gigi nodded and took a step away from their bikes. "Send my regards to Oroton," she said over the rumble of engines clicking into gear.

"Yes, Gigi," they chorused.

"Stay safe."

"Yes, Gigi."

"And make sure you keep those stitches clean, Shorty."

"Yes, yes."

"And don't do anything stupi—"

Her words were lost in a plume of dust that made crooked whirly scarecrows as it settled again. Ash turned. Gigi's waving figure got smaller and smaller, until she turned and went back into her hut, silver hair disappearing like a puff of smoke. Ash felt a pang in her chest, as though her heart had jolted to life and started pumping for the first time. She didn't realise until later that, somehow, the scabs on her arm had healed, leaving only a faint pink blush of skin where the scars should've been.

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