Legend of the Phoenix, Part 2 (book)

"I see the woman fails to appear... I was certain she would," Lord Tenowith crowed. "Perhaps for the inconvenience you have caused me I shall just sharpen my sword upon your bones and you will not again raise an old woman as a champion against me." His voice boomed in the crisp stillness and I felt terror creep into those around me. "I think not, Tenowith..." a firm steady voice rose in reply, "for I am here as I promised." Rosamynde had walked upon the field so silently I had not heard her.

Tenowith and his men had to turn their mounts to face her. She stood bare headed, her body covered in worn silvered mail. Upon her brow she wore a circlet of silver set in the center with a large cabochon of polished horn. Her hair was shorn close to her scalp leaving little else but a cap of fine white strands. Someone in the crowd hissed, "Gods be praised!" Voices rose in a sudden, excited buzz against my ears even as I gasped in horror at the sight of my beloved's beauty marred by some sharp-edged blade.

Lord Tenowith growled as his retainers whispered among themselves. One bent and twisted man pushed his way through the crowd and knelt stiffly at Rosamynde's feet. "I knew you would come! I prayed and prayed," his worn and cracked voice whispered. "Aye, old man." Rosamynde helped him to his feet, handing him her gauntlets and balaclava as she kissed him on the forehead. Tears spilled down the old man's cheeks as he fell in step behind her. I seemed to be held fast to the earth by some unseen hand, unable to speak or act as Rosamynde approached.

"Lord Tenowith," Rosamynde called up to the still- mounted man. "You are uncharacteristically silent." She smiled sadly. "Your grandfather, as I recall, was also quiet. But unlike him, your heart is blacker than Katamba's shadow. Call off your wizards who cower the people with sickness..." she paused as if choosing her words carefully. Her frame stood straight and proud as she whispered in a tone to chill the blood, "and I will not be forced to kill you."

The wind rose in sudden agitation, filled with stinging grit, ash and rain, causing cloaks to billow and eyes to sting. Someone, I do not know who, whispered against my ear. "Have faith healer, The Firebird will defeat him." Tenowith dismounted, his plate gleaming as the sun rose behind us. If I had not known what a vile man he was he would have appeared a god, wreathed in golden sunlight.

"It is you who will lie dead today, woman," he said disdainfully. "Urrem'tier will feast on your soul." Rosamynde reached for her gauntlets that the old man held out for her, and slowly slipped them onto her hands. It was as if she were weighing his words before replying. Then she turned, searching the crowd until her eyes found mine. She walked slowly to where I stood. Leaning against me, she laid her cheek to my chest -- holding me so tightly I feared I could not take a breath. As I inhaled slowly, my senses filled with her familiar scent and I raised my hands to her hair. Tears spilled down my cheeks uncontrolled as I fought with myself to not beg her to leave the field. "So beautiful . . .." was all I managed to choke out before she kissed me. It was not a farewell kiss, nor the kiss of lovers long parted. It was as if in that one moment she sought to remind me of all we had shared. Tenderness, warmth and passion mingled with the salt of her tears.

The old man tugged gently at her elbow and held out the balaclava. "Firebird, the sun is risen. The time is now upon us." Rosamynde nodded, and I felt the cool metal of her gauntlets as she tried to brush the tears from my cheeks. "Have faith, Cadfaul, and know that you are my heart and soul." She turned then to face Tenowith who had remained strangely silent throughout this tender moment. "Are you ready to take the field?" she asked him, placing her helm upon her head. "Aye, I am ready," he snarled, "to put my blade through your heart!" He moved away from the crowd to a more open area before the crowd. Then the oddest thing happened -- Rosamynde began to chant. Magic prickled along my arms and up my back as her words began to weave and blend into an endless droning sound. She walked without the weight of her years, as if youth infused her soul. Balance and ease carried her frame as she crossed the distance to meet him.

The wind died as suddenly as it had come, and only the odd droning chant hung onto the air, continuing on and on. They faced off, and one of Tenowith's retainers dropped his lance as a signal for them to begin. Rosamynde, as I expected, took the defensive, allowing him the first strike. But, I had not expected her to parry it with such force or such finesse. I watched in wonder, as my once silent, gentle wife became a warrior. Sound wove and curled around her like a shield. The old man stood at my elbow, tears competing with joyous grins for control of his countenance. Tenowith stumbled and everyone cheered, and surprisingly his retainers made no move to silence them. My heart beat in my throat; all I could do was pray.

The ringing of blade against blade lasted for endless moments until Tenowith's sword found its mark and blood appeared over my wife's ribs. As Rosamynde faltered, the odd droning chant ceased as she struggled to regroup. Tenowith crowed with laughter, "Old women should not challenge men to battle!" I could not see her face, but the line of her shoulders told me all I needed to know. She was hurt and very, very angry. With renewed energy she leapt at him, driving him back again and again as her sword found its mark more than once. Obviously in trouble, Tenowith called for his men to fall upon the crowd.

Suddenly, Rosamynde drove her sword upwards, burying it in Tenowith's chest as a long, high-pitched cry erupted from her throat. Horses and people alike cringed in near-pain at the sound of it. In the aftermath, Tenowith lay dead. Rosamynde sagged against her sword and then fell in a lifeless, wilted heap at his feet. "Daughter!" screamed the old man, pulling on my arm with a terrified urgency.

We rushed across the field, he with the odd gait of a very old man, me with limbs stiff with dread. Retainers and townspeople milled about as if lost, moaning and holding hands over their ears. My own head ached from the sound my wife had created. "Help her! Help her!" the old man screamed at me. I laid my hands upon her, and tried to pull my healing gifts to my mind. Then I remembered the staff as nausea rose in my gullet and I felt the full weight of the mark upon my soul. Oh, Sweet Hodierna! What had I done? Rosamynde moaned as I tried to remove the armor from her chest. Blood shown red at the corner of her mouth and her breath came in rasping, ragged gasps. She looked up at me and smiled. Warm grey eyes filled with love as she whispered, "Have faith beloved -- all will be well with faith."

Wailing, I cradled her as the life slipped out of her. I do not know how long I knelt there, lost in grief. People with torches pulled at my clothes in the dark, tugging at my arm, forcing my hands to release her still, cold form. Someone carried her back to town, as I wandered behind babbling over and over a prayer to Hodierna. But instead of the temple, we went once more to the old guildhall, and there they laid her upon the worn and broken altar. The old man waited, dressed in scarlet and gold. Torches burned, but where once there had been cobwebs and dust now hung rich tapestries vibrant with life. Fresh rushes covered the floor filling the air with the rich scent of new grass.

Women sang softly as they prepared her body, bathing and dressing her in silken robes. I sat silent as stone, numb with grief. At dusk the old man rose from his place beside the altar and with great tenderness blessed her body to meet the gods. I gazed about and noticed for the first time that the room was crowded corner to corner with kneeling, praying souls. They all seemed refreshed and renewed as if some great weight had been lifted from their shoulders. For the first time in my life I did not know what to do. I had seen death many times and felt its chill, yet never in such a personal way.

As the sun slipped through the broken roof to touch the altar all the praying stopped. One by one, each person rose and placed a branch or log in a growing pile around the base of the altar. The old man lifted a torch and threw it upon the growing mound of wood; Rosamynde was ringed in fire almost instantly. I screamed as I tried to get to her through the crowd, but the old man held me back. "Have faith, my daughter's husband. Have faith." The fire leapt higher forcing us back outside the broken wall; rushes and tapestries licked with flame and were consumed along with my beloved in one great glowing ball of fire.

The wind rose, swirling around us to a howling gale. Tearing at our clothes it forced us back even farther as it lifted the flame upwards, pulling and straining against the dark sky. The old man began to sing and the others joined him -- not in grief but elation -- a joyous ode of praise and thanksgiving. "Sing for her! Sing for the Firebird! Sing for your beloved!" he yelled to me against the howling mix of music and wind. So I sang, and sang and sang. We all sang pouring our hearts into our words as the pillar rose higher and magic crawled along my skin. Tingling my body from head to toe, the air was alive with it -- pulsed with it like the constant thud of a beating heart.

All at once, the air was sucked from our lungs. With a loud *whoosh* a phoenix rose from the pyre, brilliant red-gold flames boiling upwards with a raucous and defiant scream. Heat and air rushed out, throwing us all to the ground as the shimmering manifestation of faith hung suspended before us. A woman's voice, clear and jubilant, called out, "Come, Cadfaul. Display your faith and receive its reward." Dumbstruck I stared, filled with awe and wonder and unable to move.

The old man dragged me to my feet. "Go! Go NOW!" he screamed, shoving me towards the rolling wall of flame. I stumbled forward terrified. Rosamynde's voice echoed, "Have faith, Beloved..." and suddenly calm, I walked into the flames. They curled and jumped around me yet did not touch me. I walked deeper, seeing the burned out shell of the walls as I passed them. Ash was thick against my feet but did not burn. Upon the altar rested a loaf of fresh bread and a jug of tart cool mead. A warm voice surrounded me.

"For twenty years you have shown your faith, steadfast and true as the rising of the sun. Your mead and bread have strengthened me, even as your heart has held fast to my praise. She who is your wife I chose at birth, and marked as my own true Bard. Her father, my cleric, dedicated her to my path with his teaching and wisdom. She grew to become my greatest warrior, my finest Skald. Bards once flourished here, but they became haughty, vain and proud, forgetting from whence their gifts and inspiration came. All save one, My Firebird. I lost patience with this place, its people turned their face from my voice. I would have forsaken them all but Rosamynde begged for their preservation. She gave up her Voice, her Music, and her Song in exchange for their protection. Today she gave her life to prove their worth, that which I, in my anger, had forgotten."

Rosamynde walked through the fire -- at first I thought she was an illusion. She smiled at me, wrapping her arms, strong and firm, about my chest. "Take me home, Beloved." I fell to my knees in the fire and ash and wept. Rosamynde pulled me to my feet and we walked through the flames as they died around us. Out through the ash and cooling coals that did not harm us, into the cool, crisp spring air.