Phoenix Origins

Sometimes called the School of Power, the Primal School is the second of the Schools of Energy, balanced by Spirit, and concerns the most visible and tangible forces of nature itself. This is the magic of war: Fire, ice, and lightning. Devastation. This is what the vast majority imagines when they hear the word “magic.”

—From The Four Schools: A Treatise, by First Enchanter Josephus

EVELYN, 10 years old

Dragon 9:21

“Drexford! Would you do something about this child of yours! I cannot stand to be in her presence!” Lady Trevelyan’s shrill cry echoed through the foyer of the sprawling estate. “She was supposed to be taking tea with the Teyrn’s wife! I wanted to present her as a future candidate for their youngest son.”

The tall, athletic form of Bann Trevelyan strode through the archway, his brows already turned up in speculation. “Isn’t the boy two? Why on the Maker’s green earth would the Lady be thinking of marriage for him now?!”

“She will be in the future, and when she is, Evelyn must be her first thought. I’m trying to secure a future for her. At least married to them, so long as they stay in power, she will secure our standing here in Ostwick while her sisters make greater advances elsewhere.”

The famed Horsemaster of the Free Marches turned and looked down at his favorite child, who was so unlike the others. Evelyn had taken to the family business quicker than even her eldest brother. Yet her mother had other plans for her involving the politics of the region. Plans not at all to her liking.

Standing in her soiled and horse-smelling silk dress from grooming the horses in the stable, Evelyn shifted her weight from heel to toe contentedly, knowing that her father was not about to scold her. Granted, she was explicitly told about taking tea with the Teyrn’s wife, but the girl chose to ignore the command.

Defiance was about the only choice in her life she was still able to make.

Before her father could speak, Evelyn interjected: “Father, what’s a spinster? Mother said if I continue to help with the horses that I’ll be the wretched spinster she locks in a closet for every party she throws.”

“Why, you little cretin!” Her mother seethed.

Surprised by her harsh words towards the youngest Trevelyan, Drexford’s brow drew down. “Rhiannon, calm yourself! You will not speak to any child of mine in such a way.”

“Oh, she’s your child alright! She certainly does not take after me as her sisters do. Fine, keep her out of my sight! We can hire her for stable mucking when she comes of age, for if her own mother can be repulsed by her, no man could stand for her as his wife!” Her mother spun on a heel, the fine silk of her ostentatious gown billowing about her legs after her.

When she was out of sight, Drexford sighed. His long face gave her a stern stare, but she detected the slightest hint of amusement. “Why must you provoke her so? She is just looking out for your future. And I’m sure you know what a spinster is, my Evie.”

A tight, cheeky smile spread across her face.

“You know, I do believe you’re too clever for your own good at times. It must come from being the youngest with something to prove, I suppose.”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to prove anything. Why can’t I stay and help you here?”

“You are still young and do not yet know what you want from life.”

“I know I don’t want to sit through another one of Mother’s etiquette lessons or stupid tea parties.”

“Yet, this is what you were born to do. Not all have such a privileged upbringing as you and your siblings. Your belly is always full and you have shoes on your feet. You should be grateful the Maker has been good to us and embrace this life. You only ever get one.”

They walked over to one of the garden benches and sat under the pergola’s shade. The Trumpet Vine was in full bloom, twisting and hanging heavily about the wooden frame. And in the distance, the rolling pastures were dotted with their cream colored Rangers.

“As a great lady, you could do a lot of good by having the freedom and wealth to do so. Yes, you may have to bind yourself in marriage, but you’d have plenty of time outside your marital duties to find a way of spending your time productively… and money, as your mother does.” He laughed and rolled his eyes amusingly at his own expense.

“I suppose that isn’t too bad, but why must I leave you?”

He smiled sweetly, hugging her shoulders. “That is not for a long time, Evie, and by then you may want to have your own life. But I’ll not part with you unless I absolutely have to, knowing that you’re in good hands. That I promise you.”

Yet, despite his promise, the Maker had other plans for young Evelyn…

It was a muggy Marcher day as Evelyn hid yet again from her mother and her guests in their expansive garden. Even though the sky threatened to open up above them, rain was the least of her concerns.

In particular, she had been avoiding Lady Thindrel’s daughter, Anika, who was visiting with her mother. The lesser noble was several years older than Evelyn and rotten to the core. Cruel as she was, lacking in femininity, despite being wrapped tight as a sausage in finery, the girl had it out for Evelyn.

Upon arriving, Anika stepped from their carriage with her latest new toy—a whip. Evelyn was a small child, with no small amount of courage instilled in her by her two older brothers, yet the hulking figure of Anika made her tremble—and she knew it. She knew it when she taunted Evelyn with it when their eyes met; when she tested it on one of the horses; then again on an elven attendant. That was enough to send Evelyn flying through the garden lest she be next.

When the violent storm finally blew in, she knew she’d have to return to the house. Passing by the stables on her way, she heard a cacophony of odd sounds and followed them to where the kennels for the hunting dogs were located. Breaking into a jog as lightning flashed, she jumped, though it was not at the thunder… but at the illumination of splattered blood sprinkled along the dirt floor.

Worry overcoming her petite features, she cautiously rounded the corner as an all too familiar laugh echoed through the rafters. The sight made her physically sick, stifling a scream from her mouth with her hand.

Anika stood hulking over several of the dogs she had released from their kennels. They were bloodied, whimpering pleadingly for an end to their torture. The horses nearby had not gone untouched either, kicking their sore legs about.

Upon seeing Evelyn, Anika cracked her whip in the air, making the dogs skitter and yip from one corner to the next. “Finally, something more fun to try this on than your stupid animals.”

Evelyn stood paralyzed with a flood of emotions overwhelming her little person. Terror, rage, and sorrow were all ten-year-old Evelyn could comprehend at the time, and her body didn’t know which to act on.

Locking eyes with one of the wounded dogs, something within her cracked.

The fear on her face was replaced by primal rage. It became so blistering hot, she felt as if she walked into an oven. A strength unlike anything she felt surged to her fingertips, and it bolstered every fiber of her resolve.

“Stay back! I’m warning you...” Anika’s voice sounded rattled. She raised the whip, but seeing that Evelyn wasn’t deterred, she stumbled backward, making her way for the door.

However, Evelyn came to a halt when she felt the sting of the whip hit her.

The first strike just grazed her cheek. The trickle of blood was liquid fire as it dripped down her face. The second strike she was ready for, and she caught it around her forearm. Looking down at the tanned braided leather coiled tightly around her, she fixated on how much she hated it. Hated what it did and who wielded it. She pictured it burning so clearly in her mind it was as though it was real…

Acrid smoke wafted into her face, making her blink through it. The whip was burning.

The flames shot up the whip to Anika’s hand, who screamed and dropped it. Evelyn concentrated on the destruction of the whip. She knew she should have been afraid of what was happening, but the release of the magic felt so natural, as was the rage paired with it. She didn’t hold it back; she let it flow freely until ash was all that was left of the torturous whip.

“You’re a mage! A monster!” Anika screeched at her.

“No.” Her voice was strong and calm. “You’re the monster.”

Anika tried to run. Out the door she flew, slipping in the puddles as her heavy footfalls landed clumsily. Evelyn caught her with little effort, taking her down as her brothers had taught her to do. She muddied their expensive dresses under the tumultuous sky, rolling them so she landed on top. Immediately, she began throwing punches down on Anika.

The rage was all-consuming, failing to understand such cruelty. The world went red as the memory of her wounded furry friends burned in her mind.

She deserves this and more.

The smell of burning cloth and another unfamiliar scent entered her nostrils. She looked down to see it was Anika’s dress and arms that were on fire. Evelyn jumped off her immediately in shock, but the damage was done.

Anika’s face was bloodied, the hem of her dress was on fire, and the skin on her forearms was burnt badly. If it had not been pouring rain, Anika most definitely would have still been aflame.

Yet Evelyn wished she still was.

It wasn’t enough; her rage boiled on, but she knew deep down she needed to stop. Her mana threatened to lash out again, but inexperienced in wielding it, the fire engulfed her instead. Screaming, ethereal flames shot into the sky as they enveloped her.

She tried to quiet it. Reason with it, but she burned painfully on. Her House motto repeated like a mantra in her head: Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed.