The Dark Phoenices

Myra was 12 years old when the package came. It was a strange brown box, all wrapped in paper with five or six holes punched out the top. Papá had gotten ones like it from the hatchery, but they were cardboard and more put-together like. Aún, she could hear the faint peeps coming through the holes. She shrugged, scooped it under one arm, and took it to her papá.

Night before last she'd been out at the fairy circle in the nearby oakwood, leaving berries and acorns on the permanent stone ofrenda for mami. It was little and a bit off balance, like it was made for chipmunks or squirrels. The offerings always disappear by next morn, and she liked to think it was her mami being thankful for the best gifts she could give. She liked to think the box came from her, too. In papá's nightly prayers overheard through thin walls by curious ears, he always said mami was spirited away by some fairy boy, after all. It was the only time he spoke of mami.

Inside the box was a pretty pair of chicks, all golden and glistening. ¡Qué increíble! Papá checked 'em out and sexed 'em as a pullet and cockerel, said he'd keep 'em 'round the farm for some eggs and to keep the bugs out. Myra took to calling the pair Solina and Magic.

She'd just turned 13 when their fire-bright quills started to break through. It wasn't long 'til they were shinier than ever, and Magic was flapping up a dance-storm, testing his wings. Brilló, brilló.

He never started crowing, but he did have a mean shriek when he saw a fox, and a funny little rumble when he saw a hawk overhead. Didn't bother Myra none that Magic couldn't crow: he was a fine rooster just the same.

One day Magic was flapping his wings like always, when a spark came right off, straight outta nowhere! It started a fire in the hay, just as shiny as him.

¡Ay de mí! Myra dumped a bucket on it and kept it hush, but she knew papá would find out soon enough. He always knew things he oughtn't, ¡caray!

Papá didn't like fires one bit. Said he lost a horse in one once, and two good sheep. In his prayers he called the horse Carlos; talked about him a real lot. That made her wonder. Carlos was a funny name for a horse.

The weeks passed, and Soli and Magic's feathers came in plush and full. They were bright red, all fiery like, and bigger than any chickens she'd ever seen, bigger even than that buff Jersey Giant from the county fair, though not as thick. They were long birds, long and thin.

Magic got a'courting on the regular. Oh, he danced siempre, one wing spread out wide and fluid as he circled 'round his pretty hen, just like all the roosters Myra'd ever seen. 'Cept this time, when he danced, a wall of flame big as his body squiggled out like a snake across the floor. She went for the bucket like always, but she was too late. The fire was too big. The coop caught, and even though she ran for the hose, it spread and spread. Papá was shouting incoherently from the house, stuff all a'clatter as he rushed her way. Together, they got it out, but papá was furious. Supo. He knew, she knew. They'd lost four good layers to the fire. Myra didn't know they were trapped in the hen house. The whole thing'd have to be rebuilt: that takes time and work, papá always said. Blood and sweat. He wasn't about to tolerate this kind of cost for some pretty birds, she knew. Even if they were so much more.

Myra was crying: about the lost hens, about what papá was set to do, about the fire, everything. But, to her confusion, he just reached for the hose.

"I feel real bad, girl, honest: but it's what I gotta do."

She understood a lick late, and watched in horror as he took the hose to her beautiful, fiery birds. It'd be bad, she knew. They might die. She jolted forward, hands out, screaming, "¡No papá! ¡Te lo ruego, no!" But it was too late. The birds were doused in cold water, and out went their flames. They turned from a startling red-orange glow to a deep, dark, sodden black. But it wasn't real black, no, it was purple underneath and shiny-- not like before --but brighter than it ought to be.

"Papá," she whispered, tears dripping into the dust and ashes, "what have you done?"

Their eyes were no longer a brilliant gold, but black as the stone cold night. Myra was afraid. Nonetheless she tended them, day by day. She dabbed at the wetness with a towel. She hand-fed them scratch and feed. She held up water to their beaks. She petted them and whispered kind words. After a week or so, they were acting normal, or close. But their colors never returned.

Myra came in late to sup after herding the sheep to their pen; papá said they couldn't afford a proper herding dog. It had begun to rain heavy droplets; she was real thankful she was done with chores. Her bowl and glass were already set up in her spot, papá was in his seat, and the rain was pounding on the thin adobe shingles; a drum-heavy melody. They said their prayers and got to eating. It was a delicious soup, full of flavors she'd never tasted from papá's cooking before-- it reminded her of mami. The broth was thin but heady brown, and the meat was pure black, inside and out. Myra paused on a chunk of breast.

"Papá… what is this, this meat?"

He gave her a knowing-- if chastising --look. "Now, Myra, you can't keep a cock on the farm whose hen won't even lay! I might've taken that hen, but the male kept its spurs on me, so he got the axe. It had to be done. We can't afford to house and feed animals that ain't serve a purpose. When you're older, you'll understand."

"Serve a purpose? ¡Escúchate! You're a monster!" she screeched, dropping the spoon back in the bowl with a metallic ringing that stung her ears, the weight of it causing the bowl to topple to the floor. Bits of Magic spilled out.

"Now I know why mami left you!"

He froze. "She didn't leave, kiddo… she was taken--"

"Say what you must for your own dreams. I'm done with mine." She jumped from her chair and it skidded along the old wood floor, leaving marks along its tracks.

"Myra, Myra, listen to me. Sit your arse down, and we'll talk all this out together."

"Talk? I'm not talking to you! Not anymore. You killed Magic!"

A look of horror contorted his face; mouth agape, eyes wide with raised lids and brows, wrinkles prominent on his forehead and cheeks. "Wait, Myra, something's wrong-- your eyes--"

She didn't care. She couldn't. Faster than she'd ever before, Myra sprinted right out the house, to the coop, snatched up the still-growing Soli and ran for the only place she knew. The fairy circle.

Myra stood by the stones, Soli in her arms, tears in her aching eyes. "I'm so sorry, mami. I failed you. I… want to be with you. I don't care what it takes. I will. I will! Papá is a bad man, and I am going to find you instead. You were always so kind, so…"

"Do you mean what you say, child?" A soft voice sounded right in her head, though no one was nearby.

"What? Who are you?"

"You know. But what you ask, it is permanent. You cannot go back, ever, ever again."

The squirming against her chest made her think. "Solina?! Is that you in my head? Or ¿estoy loco?"

A chuckle as the bird gazed upward. "I can't prove your sanity, silly one. But I am who you say."

"Oh," Myra answered, straight overwhelmed. She accepted the claim without question. Her thumbs played with one another, back and forth. "I'm sorry about Magic. Real sorry."

"Thank you for your sympathy, little one. My heart aches. It will remain for ages to come. But I am honored that he chose to exchange his life for mine."

"Yeah, he was a good boy. I loved him," Myra could barely keep the shaking out of her voice, "like I love you."

"Know that your love was returned, child. He adored you and your attentions, as do I."

"Thank you, I mean it." She fidgeted. "But what you were saying before… can I really find mi mami?"

"Yes, you need only ask. While in the circle, presenting an offering. Let us," she said, and Myra heard a tiredness in her tone that sounded bone-dry-weary y insatisfacción, "gather some salmonberries and honeysuckle, no?"

Myra did as Solina instructed, and the two stood straight in the circle while the girl begged. "Please, bring me to mami." She could see, half-blinded by the rain, su padre, racing at her fast as lightning. "I cannot bear the burden of this life anymore," she wailed, "I want my mami, more than anything!"

A different voice sounded, this one heavy and commanding even in its prettiness. "You've kept the grounds clean, and the offerings in abundance. You have always been kind to the Summer and its children. You are welcome here with your kin, if it is your desire. So be it, yes. You may enter."

A flash blinded Myra, and suddenly, all was light. The last thing she saw was papá reaching out to her but grasping only dirt.

She woke to the sound of voices chattering, before a familiar one turned to her.

"¡Myra, mi bebé! ¡Amorcita corazón! How I've missed you, child of my body and blood! Come, we must catch up!" It was her mother, sure as sugar. Five years later, and she was standing before her like nothing had changed. But so much had. "What's wrong, mija?" she asked, her expression falling, "What of your eyes, your aura? What has become of you, my dearest?"

"I don't know. Papá, he fed me…" she choked up.

"My mate," Solina interjected.

"Heavens, no--" mami gasped --"you are half fae, my love. I'm sorry you must find out like this. But to consume the flesh of a Phoenix--" she gazed down at Soli "--drowned and darkened… it is unnatural. It is dangerous. I do not know what will become of you. We must go to the Summer King. He will know what to do. Later, you will meet your true father."

Myra blinked, angry and confused. "Y'all been lying to me?"

"Not lying, no. There are no lies here, anything but. Of that you can be sure."

She straightened her shoulders. "Alright. I'll go with you."

They walked together in silence for some time, mami on the left, Solina in the middle. She was big as a peafowl now, but much, much darker, and it seemed Myra was to join her in that darkness.

"What's happening to me?" Myra finally asked, breaking the stillness.

Mami sighed. "You're being consumed by the shadow. It is a powerful magic; difficult to control and prone to uncertainty and… danger."

"Yes," Soli agreed, her head bobbing as she walked, "already we have suffered many tribulations, my mate and I. We-- we had."

"Mis condolencias, amiguita," mami said. She was chewing at her bottom lip, and wasn't that a bad sign.

"And this Summer King," Myra asked, curious, "he'll be able to fix me?"

"¡Ay! You're not broken, my love. You're afflicted, and by the hands of my own ex-husband. There is a great difference." She frowned. "I hope one day you'll forgive me."

Myra scowled. "You didn't answer the question, mami. Will he be able to help?"

"Ojalá que sí. Truly. I hope so, Myra."