Page 26 of Phoenix Fated (The Phoenix Guardians #4)

AIROS

T he tribe breaks camp with startling efficiency.

Within hours, the entire encampment is packed and moving north across the transformed desert.

Jackson and I ride alongside Azin and Onar at the front of the procession, with Niah leading us through terrain that's barely recognizable from the wasteland we'd crossed just days before.

Ankle-high water pools everywhere, covering the sand where the corrupted Shimat had spread its poison.

Already I can see signs of life stirring beneath the surface.

Tiny green shoots push through the wet sand, and birds wade around, plucking up insects emerging from their subterranean hiding places.

We follow the flow of newly formed streams as they carve fresh channels through the landscape.

When we reach the edge of what had been nothing but cracked earth and scattered bones just yesterday, a collective gasp rises from the tribe behind us.

The oasis stretches before us like something out of a dream—crystal-clear pools connected by babbling streams, surrounded by patches of green grass that seem to grow more vibrant with each passing hour.

Palm trees that had stood as dry skeletons now rustle with fresh fronds, and the air itself feels different.

Alive. I can feel the elemental's power thrumming through every part of this land, and though Jackson and I can no longer control it, I know the connection will always remain within us.

Someone behind us starts to weep tears of joy.

Then another voice joins in, and another, until the entire tribe is laughing and crying.

Niah dismounts her gryph and kneels at the water's edge, cupping the clear liquid in her weathered hands.

When she drinks, her eyes close in what looks like pure bliss.

"The Shalkek have fulfilled their destiny," she says, looking at us with a small smile.

It's not long before other tribes begin to arrive, and soon a grand encampment has taken root around the borders of the oasis.

People swim, play, and refill their water stores.

Old intertribal friendships are rekindled, and new ones made.

Flocks of gryphs mingle and pair off. The desert's cycle of life has started again.

It's a temporary respite from the influence of Umbrios. But it gives me hope for our task—that it isn't too late to reverse the phase of darkness back to the light.

Jackson and I, along with Azin and Onar, find ourselves swept up in a constant whirlwind of celebration.

Every time we try to catch our breath or steal a moment to process what we've been through, another group of tribespeople approaches with offerings, blessings, or simply wanting to touch the hands of the Shalkek.

Eventually, we just accept that there is no escape from the grateful crowds.

Niah and Onar act as our translators, and we greet every person who comes to meet us.

Like myself, I can tell that Jackson isn't accustomed to being the center of attention.

He's trying his hardest, but the poor man is sweating .

Cooking pits seem to materialize out of nowhere around the oasis. Two tribes present their finest goats for the feast. An elderly omega tugs at Jackson's sleeve, gesturing towards a group of young omegas.

"Come," Onar says, taking Jackson's arm. "They wish to meet your child."

Jackson catches my eye over the crowd between us and gives me a small shrug before allowing himself to be swept away toward the gathering. The last I see of him is his dark hair disappearing into a sea of colorful robes as excited voices rise around him.

Azin slings his arm around my shoulder and pulls me along to meet a group of tattooed alphas.

He immediately launches into what can only be our rescue story, complete with reenactments.

One moment he's flapping his arms like me in phoenix form, the next he's miming Jackson's spear throw with such enthusiasm that the other alphas have to duck.

Each pivotal moment is punctuated with a hearty slap to my chest that nearly knocks the wind out of me.

The men all have questions for me, but the most I can do is smile and shrug.

Then, someone thrusts a clay bowl into my hand, and a big jug is passed from hand to hand until it reaches me.

"Excellent," I say, holding out my bowl with a grin. "No words needed to understand a drink of milk wine, eh?"

Azin says something agreeable, and the alphas fill my bowl. To my disappointment, it's just plain water. Everyone looks so eager to see me drink it.

"Well... Bottoms up, then," I say, and they all cheer when I drink.

The entire time, I find myself searching the crowd for Jackson.

I spot him. Colorful cords drape his neck like garlands, and he's allowed his shurrt to be pulled up over his belly.

Two omegas crouch in front of him and use the tips of their fingers to paint intricate, swirling patterns on his exposed skin in red ochre.

He looks up and sees me, but before he can acknowledge my gaze, even more people arrive, filling in the crowd between us.

Water splashes from my bowl as Azin sweeps me along.

There are more people to greet, more sacred water to be drunk, and not a single jar of wine around to make the chaos a little easier to navigate.

Niah emerges from the crowd and presents me with a length of woven cord. She ties it around my wrist. The alphas surrounding me erupt in celebration, grinning and pounding my back and shoulders with hearty, congratulatory thumps. I'm slightly suspicious about their extra-exuberant reaction.

"And what is this?" I ask her.

An alpha comes over to fill my bowl—this time with sweet milk wine instead of water. I take an eager sip, delighted.

"For good fortune in fatherhood...and continued fertility in the seasons to come," Niah says. Then she leans closer and whispers, "Tie it around your manhood when the time is right."

A little too eager with that sip. I spray out the wine and break into a fit of coughs. The group erupts into laughter. More back slapping. I'm choking from embarrassment.

"No, no, Niah," I protest. "This is a misunderstanding. Jackson and I... That is not my child."

I try to remove the bracelet, but she clasps her hand around my wrist and stops me.

"He loves you," she says. "Though he may not see it himself. He only needs a little push."

I don't know how to reply to her. I'm completely speechless.

It feels as though she's been reading my mind, and I realize that's been the case from the moment we met.

She could see something about Jackson and me that neither of us could.

And, in fact, so much of my feelings for him could only have been unearthed because of her influence.

All I can do is chuckle. "It seems you were orchestrating more than just a ritual, Niah."

She pats me on the chest, then turns and disappears into the crowd.

Light falls, and the feast begins. The gryph milk wine is finally free-flowing. It's weak stuff, barely enough to make my stomach tingle even though I've drunk so much of it I could probably qualify for a spot in their nursery.

I haven't seen Jackson in hours. The assembled tribes have settled into circles around the cooking fires throughout the encampment.

People drift from fire to fire, drawn by different conversations and, more importantly, the chance to dine alongside the honored heroes.

They're most interested in my ability to control the sand.

And with my powers near their full potency, I'm happy to indulge their curiosity with a little spectacle.

They watch with reverent awe as I raise a twirling sand funnel over the fire pit, then reshape it into the terrible likeness of the cursed Shimat as it had advanced upon the encampment.

A collective gasp rises when I conjure a phoenix from the sand and reenact our entire battle in miniature.

And then, from the corner of my eye, I notice Jackson passing by behind the crowd.

He's alone, and with everyone's attention drawn to my performance, he's able to make a getaway without anyone noticing.

He disappears into the darkness. I quickly get up to go after him, and the sand drops out of the air and falls onto the fire, smothering it in a puff of smoke.

A few hesitant claps scatter through the group as they try to determine if this abrupt ending was intentional.

I hear Niah say something, and everyone cheers.

May the gods bless that woman; she's covered my exit.

I hurry along the path between the group circles, following the direction I'd seen Jackson go. Now I'm away from the cooking fires and walking through a forest of tents erected alongside a small stream that trickles over rocks toward the oasis.

"Looking for something?"

I turn around and see Jackson standing beside a tent. He smirks at me and pulls the hood from his head. His neck is still laden with the ceremonial cords, and I remember the one that Niah tied around my wrist. My throat tightens.

"A stronger bowl of wine," I say. "I'm surprised you were able to escape."

"Likewise. You were putting on a pretty wild show there. You could start charging for tickets. You'd be rich."

With a chuckle, I move closer to him, but Jackson steps back. I stop, conscious of my desires and his hesitations. I don't want to startle him.

"I can only tolerate a crowd for so long," I tell him.

"Come on. You love being the center of attention."

"Only with enough wine, or the right pair of eyes. So, what now? Are you off to sleep?"

"Nah. Just a breather. Me and sleep don't really get along so well. Doubt I'll be able to get any shut eye anyway. I'm still fucking charged from today."