Dorothy Dreyer - Phoenix Descending

DOROTHY DREYER

PHOENIX

DESCENDING

Curse of the Phoenix

Book One

Copyright 2017 Dorothy Dreyer

Edited by Cheree Castellanos

Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design

World map and character illustrations by Sora Sanders

Takumi illustration by Kimberley Wack and Sora Sanders

Design framework created by Freepik

Published November 2017 by Snowy Wings Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Also by Dorothy Dreyer

Paragon Rising (Curse of the Phoenix Book 2)

The Empire of the Lotus Series

Crimson Mage

Copper Mage

Golden Mage

Emerald Mage

Sapphire Mage

Amethyst Mage

Diamond Mage

From Black Spot Books

Black Mariah: Hanau, Germany

From Rosewind Books

Christmas in Silverwood

Solo Medalist Winner of the

2018 New Apple Summer eBook Award for Excellence in Independent Publishing

in the

Young Adult Fantasy

category

For Humanity

For Equality

For Peace and Love

CHAPTER ONE

THE DOGS BOUND FORWARD with purpose, their snarls and angry barks sharp echoes in the winter air. Bramwell struggled to keep up with the group. He was lucky to be invited on the hunt at his young age, and it would do no good to disappoint his uncle. If he fell behind or complained, he might not be invited again.

Look alive, Bram, Logan called from yards ahead. Your legs are long but weak.

Bramwell bit back a sneer and pumped his legs harder, righting himself as his feet threatened to slip out from underneath him.

Careful, Logan said with a smirk. You dont want to fall into the Rift.

Bramwell expelled a curse on labored breath as Loganhis lifelong friendpicked up speed, his laughter pricking Bramwells ears. Of course he wouldnt be so foolish as to fall into the Rift. Childrens nightmares were made up of the creatures who dwelled therethe Undeadwho endlessly trod the dank and grimy dell that served as a border between the Queens city of Avarell, the forest lands of Drothidia, and the mining country of Khadulan. Bramwell had never seen an Undead, but hed heard the stories. There was even tell of children who had wandered into the Rift, became trapped in the gullies, and were either feasted upon by the creatures or became infected from the bite of an Undead and turned into one themselves.

With a shudder, Bramwell ran faster, his bow laced snug around one shoulder and his quiver of arrows strapped to his back. At least his uncle had trusted him to handle the weapon. How proud he would be of Bramwell should he take down a deer or a wolf. They wouldnt be laughing then. They would celebrate him. And all the praise in Bramwells name would wipe that impish smirk clear off Logans face.

There was a turn in the path where it split in two, and Bramwell hesitated. He could no longer hear the dogs, and there was no sight of the others on the hunt. Which way had they gone?

Bramwell looked to the sky, attempting to determine his direction based on the location of the sun. He studied the dirt on the paths, but both trails were equally kicked up. There was no telling which one the Queens Guard had taken. A flutter of leaves up ahead on the path leading left caught his attention, and he took it as a sign.

He dashed forward, his jaw tight. Logan would never let him live it down if he were to get lost. Thirty seconds into his run, the path narrowed. Thirty more seconds, the path dwindled into nothing but a dead end. Heat flooded his cheeks and neck. Hed chosen the wrong path. Adjusting the strap of his bow, he turned on his heel and ran back the way from which he came.

The harsh shadow of wings suddenly swooped through the air before him, causing him to skid to a stop. A shriek so loud he had to cover his ears resonated through the woodlands around him. Spotting the huge bird, Bram ducked in fear. A phoenix. It was rare to see them in Avarell, but here, on the border of the Rift, it was not uncommon. Hed only seen a few in his sixteen years of living, but never one this close. Recent word was the birds were now contaminated with some kind of disease, and phoenix fever was rumored to be spreading through Drothidia. There were no reports of the epidemic reaching Avarell. In fact, many claimed that the rumors were not true.

The phoenix swooped in an arc and landed on a nearby tree, its orange-gold feathers ruffling as it clasped onto a branch with its sharp talons. Bramwell stared at the glorious creature, and he could have sworn it was staring back. It didnt look diseased. On the contrary, it was quite stunning. The bird cocked its head to the side, and then it spread its wings and dove from the branch. Bramwell gasped as he realized the phoenix was headed straight for his head.

He moved swiftly, side-stepping as he crouched, but his foot caught some ice and he was propelled farther sideways. He landed on his arm, but the snow beneath him gave way, and Bramwell lost his breath as he toppled down into a ditch beside the path. His head caught the bark of a tree on his way down, and the snow that fell with him clouded the air, but his journey wasnt over. This wasnt simply a ditch; the ground here had eroded to a sharp drop. His body rolled farther down, his arms and legs connecting with rocks and branches on the way. His arrows spilled around him, and the string from his bow cut into his shoulder. He landed in a gully with a thud, the air knocked out of his lungs and his ankle throbbing.

At first, he couldnt move; he simply lay there attempting to catch his breath. As blood from the cut on his head slowly streamed beside his eye, he knew he had to get up. He was in the Rift. And it was only a matter of time before the Undead would smell his blood.

He winced, struggling to pull himself to a sitting position. Fog drifted over the snow in the gully, obstructing his view. He looked upward, trying to see where he had fallen from, and more importantly, if there was a way to climb back up. Latching his hand onto a nearby branch, he pulled himself to his knees. But the movement sent firebolts of pain into his ankle. He dropped back onto his bottom, sucking in a breath to keep from screaming. Noise would only attract the creatures in the Rift.

He scooted forward on his backside, using the nearby foliage to get him closer to the embankment. But everything he grabbed on to came loose from the earth and snow, until he sat there with handfuls of twigs and roots but had made no progress.

A branch snapping behind him made his head swivel around. He held his breath, searching the foggy surroundings for movement. The sound of heavy, ragged breathing and dragging of feet caused his heart to thrash in his chest. Every muscle and nerve in his body went rigid as the form of an Undead appeared through the mist. At the sight of its gray pallor, empty eyes, and the way its decaying mouth hung open, Bramwell wanted to gag. The monster drew nearer, and Bramwell fought to untangle the bow from his body. His hands pounded against the ground, fingers searching for one of his lost arrows. There had to be one nearby. His mouth went dry as the Undead dragged itself closer still.