The Phoenix Sword: XX

Arcane's Mourning

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We all waited for Iursch’s following words. With deliberate slowness, he reached for his pipe and lit it, contentedly blowing out little puffs of smoke. When he achieved the dramatic effect he wanted, he began. “Several centuries ago, when Solera had not yet been united and divided, when newborn peace had not yet evolved into chaos, many of the inhabitants devoted their lives to finding salvation. Or rather, they sought the source of salvation.” Iursch puffed out another few clouds of smoke. “Some looked for salvation in life, while others sought it afterward, in death.” Already losing some of my initial interest, I watched as Iursch tapped a few ashes from his pipe, each burning red then fading to black as they fell. He shook his head. “Ah, I’m getting ahead of myself.”
Clearing his throat, Iursch started from the very beginning of the tale, gesturing with his hands while carefully watching each of us. “Long ago, when the land first took shape, there existed two streams of life. One flowed below the sea, underneath the bedrock, the other within the earth’s core. From those life streams birthed two forms: a phoenix and a wyvern. For a long time, the entities dwelled within the life streams. Like fetuses in a womb, they slept and grew, dormant.
“After centuries of lying dormant, they escaped the life streams. Some say the phoenix took to the sun, and the wyvern to the moon, and on the day of the eclipse, the two finally met for the first time. While the land was bathed in darkness, a war was struck in the sky between the two creatures. A bloody battle they fought, indeed.”
Iursch paused to take a sip from his teacup, recalling the words to form the rest of the tale. “The land was met with chaos as people fought against each other in fear. Civil wars raged on for decades afterward. No one could say why the creatures were fighting, but eventually they met their demise. The wyvern fell, plummeting to the bottom of the Nefaria Sea, its blood tainting the waters. Simultaneously, the phoenix, too, met its fate, though it can only be assumed that it reunited with the earth. Just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “they were gone forever.”
“What’s this have to do with the Red Grave?” Spite asked.
Iursch chuckled softly. “Why, boy, I’ll tell you exactly what the Red Grave is. The Red Grave is the grave of the phoenix, where it descended to the earth. Supposedly, a small spring flows where the phoenix fell, its waters purely red. Although there aren’t any records or witnesses of it, there have been rumours surrounding the spring. According to the tale, if one was to drink the water—the phoenix blood—they are given the divine gift immortality.” Iursch laughed more loudly this time, and then his face became solemn. “But at a cost. It is said to be a curse, but there are only rumours to support it. What is the curse? I don’t think anyone knows for sure, but there are some who are willing to take it. But even I have come to believe it’s all just a fairytale.” He shook his head, but said no more.    
For a long while, the only sound in the room was the clink of Iursch’s teacup as he set it down and switched to his pipe. The reek of tobacco filled the room. Spite yawned, stretching as he did so, his bones popping audibly.  
Iursch took notice and stifled a yawn himself. “It’s grown late. If you’ve nowhere else to sleep, what do you say to resting up here? I’ve a few rooms to spare.”
Outside, rain was beginning to fall, plinking off the roof. I glanced at Spite, then Autumn, meeting their approving nods. They were reluctant, but I knew just as well that we had little other choice.
I loathed the thought, but Spite quickly broke in to finalize the decision. “If you insist,” he answered, smirking slyly.
I looked at Iursch. “We have nothing to give.”
Iursch waved his hand, a jolly smile returning to his face. “No worries, we’re friends here. He motioned to Lucell to come over. “Lad, fix the guests a place to sleep.”
Iursch served us a late supper of bread and pickled fish. He apologized for the lack of fresh catch, explaining that he had yet to visit the market that week, and went on about how fishing had become difficult for him in the last few years. The whole time we ate, he told us small tales surrounding the history of Lyndis, all the while grinning ear to ear.
I soon realized that we were likely the first of company he had had in a long time. There was no evidence of recent visits from others; the house was quaint in all ways. All ways but one, I noted, watching as Lucell sat with us and began to shovel heaps of food into his mouth. For the entirety of the meal, he did not look up once. I decided to keep an eye on him. From the corner of my eye, I watched as his eyes remained downcast even after the meal was finished, staring at the floor.
Once the table was cleared, we headed upstairs and down a small corridor lined with a few doors, all shut. The hallway was dark enough that I could only see a faint shadow of my hand when I held it up, until Iursch arrived at the top of the stairwell with a candle in hand. In his other hand he held a skeleton key, which he used to unlock the door at the end of the hallway.
“You two lads can go here,” he said, opening the door to let Spite and I in.
Before we could take a single step, Autumn demanded, “And we will, too.” She held Alana close, gripping her fur nervously. No fear traced her eyes, but her jaw was clenched tight.  
Iursch looked puzzled, but it was Lucell who spoke. “You will sleep separately.” He sounded tired rather than angry.
Autumn shook her head stubbornly. Firmly, she insisted, “We stay together, or we leave.” Alana’s fur bristled slightly, picking up the tension.
Iursch and Lucell exchanged a glance; Lucell shrugged. “Very well.” Autumn remained stiff, but nodded gratuitously.
Spite put his arms behind his head and walked into the room, admiring the compact space. Reluctantly, Autumn and I followed, her hands releasing Alana’s fur as she soothed the canine. Lucell’s eyes were wide as he subtly backed away from the wolf, but he refrained from commenting. Some things are better left unsaid, I thought bitterly.
The door closed behind me, followed by a muffled, “Good night.”
Spite sighed, his crooked grin barely visible in the waning light. Within seconds, all traces of candlelight disappeared, leaving us in complete darkness. “Y’know, this isn’t half bad.”
Autumn clicked her tongue, and then started on unrolling a stitched blanket. Once it was laid out in the corner of the room, she patted it, and Alana nestled in beside her, looking oddly domesticated.
Spite and I took our time and settled in, too, removing our boots and lying down on the makeshift beds of blankets set out. Spite sprawled out on his back, eyeing the window, while I turned over onto my side, listening to the rain.
I woke to the sound of tearing fabric. Blinking in the darkness, I strained to catch the flicker of movement across the room. The sound repeated, and I pushed onto my elbows, peering around the room. In the corner sat Autumn, ripping scraps of fabric into strips. Settling back down, I watched as she wrapped the strips around her legs, then tying and securing the bandages in place. Knowing she would not want anyone seeing her, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep again a short time later, listening to the combination of rainfall and the sound of fabric being torn into bandages over and over again.