Page 18 of Phoenix Fated (The Phoenix Guardians #4)

JACKSON

N iah leads us into the desert away from the encampment, and we stop when we can no longer see the flickering glow of the oil lanterns.

The sky is the deep blue of early night and already filled with stars, and little swirls of sand blow across our feet.

It's beautiful and peaceful, which just makes that feeling of impending doom even more strange.

It's not much different from being in a combat zone before the shooting starts.

You know that danger is lurking out there waiting for you, but the birds are still chirping, the forest still smells sweet, and the air is as crisp as ever.

"The shaman's dance is a simple one," she tells us. "Learning it is easy. But discovering the united magic beneath the movements is not. That is what charms the Shimat. Mates become shaman because they are most suited to this union. You tell me you are not mates."

"We're not," Airos and I both say.

"You are Shalkek. This is what matters most, and what you must believe in."

Fated. I've always known I was meant for a greater calling—to help people.

That's why I'm here. Believing in that idea won't be a problem.

And learning a dance? How hard can it be?

Compared to some of the knuckle draggers I knew in basic who could barely find their step in a march, I actually have pretty good rhythm and a knack for memorization.

"I hope you can dance, Airos," I tell him.

"Of course I can," he says.

"And I mean not theoretically. Studying it in a book doesn't count."

Niah walks us through each move by demonstrating them at a slower speed.

It's like learning a martial art. There's precise footwork matched with body movements.

It's intricate, but at the same time, the actual number of moves is pretty small: a certain hand pose, an arm movement, a pivot, a leg position, a type of step, but they combine in a multitude of different ways.

Thankfully, I don't have any trouble memorizing the individual moves. And as we step through them, I see that Airos is keeping up the pace too.

Niah is pleased. "And those are the movements," she says. "Very good. Now, I show you the dances. Watch carefully."

What she shows us looks a lot like what Azin and Onar did. Fast and powerful footwork with a lot of circular movements. It's like tap dancing or Irish dancing, but much more aggressive. There are twenty-seven of these form combinations. Now my head is starting to spin a little bit.

Niah pauses and gives us each a mouthful of water.

She points to a cluster of stars at the horizon.

"The Great Moth rises. By the time it is overhead, you need to have these kept in your mind.

That is when the real trial begins. There is no quick path.

You will dance until your legs stop working, and then you will dance some more. Follow!"

We beat the sand with our feet, twisting, twirling and fighting through every moment just to keep up with Niah.

There's zero room for synchronization right now, and I have barely any idea how Airos is doing.

All I'm focused on is making sure I'm following the movements and hitting them in the right order.

We go on and on. The constellation keeps rising.

"You know what?" I huff, "I think I'm getting this."

"Good for you," Airos grunts.

"I thought you said you could dance."

"Don't speak."

I glance over at him. "Hey, you're way behind."

"I said , don't speak."

Now, Niah watches us dance on our own. She hasn't given us a word of critique or feedback.

I have no idea if that's a good or a bad thing.

I know what I'm doing isn't perfect, and neither is Airos.

But I'm at least starting to memorize things.

Once you get used to the order, all you have to do is tune your brain out and repeat it. It's like patty-cake, or something.

I find myself looking up at the sky like it's the seconds on a clock ticking down to the end of an excruciating sprint. My legs and lungs are on fire. I'm cramping up. I'm doing cardio with a goddamn brick in my stomach.

And then, Niah signals for us to stop. I drop onto my knees. Airos falls onto his ass. We're both panting like we've run a marathon.

"I think we're...a little out of sync..." I say between breaths. "But we've got the dance down."

"No," Niah says. "This was not the dance the Shimat will expect from you."

"Then what was that?" Airos asks.

"That was the fake dance."

"The fake dance?!" I exclaim. "Why are we learning a fake dance?!"

Niah then unknots three lengths of cord from around her waist and motions for us to get to our feet.

"Because I cannot teach you the true dance. The true dance must be found. It is what the Shimat want to see."

She takes two of the cords and ties them around our waists, and joins us together with the third. It's knotted to us in a way where it can slide freely around our waists, but there's only a couple feet of slack. I don't like where this is going.

"They will whisper it into your ears. You will need to learn how to listen."

"What's this for?" Airos asks, tugging the cord. It jerks me toward him, and I give it an irritated yank in the other direction.

She intertwines all her fingers and clasps her hands tightly together. "For most, this is what takes months. Moving together. You will have to go beyond yourselves tonight. Break through."

Then, as if she hasn't just given us the most nonsensical set of instructions of all time, she turns around and starts to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going?" Airos says.

"I have nothing else I can offer you," she says. "This is your trial."

"But how will we even know if we've figured it out?" I shout.

"You will know. Or the Shimat will come, and it will not matter."

We're alone now.

"This is the worst dance competition ever," I mutter. "What a fucking mess we've gotten ourselves into."

I try to sit down, completely forgetting about the damn rope tied around our waists, and nearly drag Airos down on top of me. Then, when I get back up, he sits down. “What are you—Dammit!" I stumble and fall right into his lap, but quickly fling myself off and onto my back on the sand.

Airos frowns off into space. A length of his sweat-darkened hair hangs over his eye like a curtain.

"We can't just leave these people to their fate, nor can we abandon ours," he says. "But what's before us is an impossible task."

"Well, maybe my fate is to help these people," I say. "What would we be if we just walked away? If we left Azin and Onar out there?"

He shakes his head. "And the others waiting for us? The whole realm? You're a Chosen omega, Jackson."

I sit up. "If we run away from this, it's gonna chase us. We'll never be able to forget what happened here. I think you know that."

I can feel that Airos already has ghosts chasing him. I've seen them in my dreams and memories that somehow have trespassed into my brain. The island. A village. A frightened child.

Al'Phaer.

I feel that these fragments come from him, but I'm afraid to ask him. I'm afraid of being right, and I'm afraid of what it would mean. What has he seen?

"You're right," he says. "We have to try. So, what do we do, then?"

I can't help but smirk. The answer sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth. "I guess we have to fucking dance."