Embers Rising

Eilidh was tired, exhausted actually. Living through a world war was grueling. She wasn’t sure she had any energy left to process the events of the last few days or make a decision. She wanted to push it out of her mind, to forget it all together. But hard as she tried, she knew she couldn’t.

It wouldn’t allow her to forget anyways. The cold metal heart against her skin served as an ever-present reminder of what she had done.

What had she done? She didn’t know how to describe it, how to make people believe. And she wasn’t sure she wanted them to. Rhys had always told her she could save the world, but she knew all too well what happened when people feared what they didn’t understand. The last few years had been a testament to that.

Magical beings, or the Brollachan as they would later be called, had finally decided that they were done hiding in the shadows. They knew that they couldn’t expect open arms and warm hugs but had hoped for tolerance in the very least. Instead, they (we, she corrected herself) were ostracized, feared, labeled dangerous, even weaponized in the worst of situations. They were blamed for starting the war when humanity’s fear and greed were the real catalysts.

She pushed those thoughts out of her mind and continued walking, still unsure which way to go. Should she follow the directions? Every fiber of her being told her not to, told her that it was too dangerous. She had lived on her own for long enough to know that following strange directions to a strange address given to her by a stranger was certainly not a good idea. But the burning in her gut told her to go.

All she knew for sure was that she needed to keep moving. She couldn’t risk hurting anyone else.

The aching in the pit of her stomach came back as she thought of that possibility. Suddenly every breath felt labored as if she had a weight on her chest. She began to shake, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Ok, I can do this… I think.” Her voice was shaky, uneasy. “No, I need to do this. I will quite literally explode if I don’t.”

Eilidh had been having panic attacks for as long as she could remember. Part of the “Abandoned as a Child” starter pack, she supposed. When she was ten her therapist had taught her breathing techniques after Fergus, another kid in the orphanage, made fun of one of her particularly bad panic attacks. She punched him and then fainted from the stress of the incident. She still maintained that the breathing techniques were crap, and Fergus was the one that needed therapy.

“Worth a shot, I guess. Ok breathe in two, three, four, hold, two three, breathe out two three four.” She tried this a few more times. “Nope, not helping.” Instead, she resorted to her tried and true method for calming herself, letting out a scream so loud and sudden that the birds in the trees fled.

“Don’t blame you,” she said to them. “I’d run from me too.”

She wished Rhys had run long before it got that bad. But he wouldn’t, said he couldn’t leave her alone to master her “gift”. A wave of calm rushed over her as she thought of that foolish, wonderful man, of how fearless he had been, of how he always made her think she could be fearless too. Her breathing began to steady.

Rhys stood by her until the very end. That’s what caused the fight, the fire. Eilidh knew she hurt him, tore out a piece of his heart every time she told him to go. But he refused to leave her no matter how much she insisted, how hard she tried to push him away. “You’re stronger than you think, and you can control this. You will rise. I’m just here to remind you of that,” he would say.

That morning had been different though, his life was in danger. It was crucial that he left her, but he didn’t believe her nightmare was an omen.

It was, though. In the nightmare she had been running for her life; she knew that much. But from who (or what, she thought as a shiver ran down her spine) she didn’t know. There was a fire within her, getting hotter every time her foot hit the earth. Embers fell behind her, hitting the ground soft as snow but leaving a burning trail in her wake. Suddenly she was falling, unsure if she’d ever land. After what felt like a lifetime, but was surely only a few seconds, she hit the cold, damp ground. As she looked up she saw them. the captivating blue eyes as deep and dark as the sea. The man reached a hand down to her. “Let me help you save the world,” said a voice as warm and smooth as honey.

She shot out of bed, breathless and drenched in sweat. The lamp on the bedside table this time, that was new. She had been starting fires for years now, but they were never big, a piece of paper smoking or a candle suddenly burnt through. But never a lamp, nothing that big.

Until now.

Rhys was already putting out the fire when she realized what she’d done. “It’s alright babe. I never liked this lamp anyways.” His smile wavered and she knew who he was actually trying to convince.

She couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks or keep her voice steady as she tried to get him to leave, to go anywhere else. He would never live a normal life with her, would always be running, would get hurt. He wouldn’t leave, though. She knew that but kept trying anyway.

As they argued a flame sparked inside her and grew together with her pain and frustration until, finally, she couldn’t control it and she burned. She burned until everything around her caught fire too.

The next thing she knew she was on the street in front of their flat, deafening sirens and panicked neighbors all around.

“Excuse me, lass,” came a pleasant voice accompanied by a light tap on the shoulder.

She turned to see a bike messenger smiling peacefully amid the chaos. “Package for ya,” he said with a smile. He was much too cheerful.

“For me? But…” she started.

“It’s addressed to a Miss Eilidh McCoy at the burning Flat on St. Andrews Street. That’s you right?” The smile on his face slowly turned to a scowl as his impatience started to grow.

Ignoring the rather specific address, she signed for the package and ripped it open, mumbling about inappropriate timing and rude messengers.

She turned the package over to empty its contents into her hands, the bright fire reflecting off the silver of the locket as it fell into her palm. She unfolded the accompanying letter and began to read:

Dearest Eilidh,

Due to this most unfortunate of incidences, I believe it is time to invite you to the Isle. Here we can teach you about what you are (oh, a Phoenix, in case you’re still confused) and help you to control your fire. I believe that with the right training you will rise, will save the world.

Please make your way to the following location presently.

Duncansby Head Lighthouse

John O’ Groats

Wick

KW1 4YS

Scotland

I will meet you there with a boat to take you to the Isle.

I urge you to avoid delays of any kind (no, you do not need your rather… sad collection of possessions).

Warmest um Kindest Regards,

Egan Sulien

P.s. Rhys will be fine, I promise. Leave him.

P.s.s. Really, he will be fine.

Questions spun around her head and she didn’t know where to start. Who was this Egan guy? How did he know about her powers? Or the fire for that matter? Where the hell was Rhys and how did Egan know he would be ok? All she knew was that she needed to do something quickly before the soldiers came to investigate.

“Who sent this?” she turned suddenly on the little man.

“Well, who do you think? Egan Sulien obviously. I thought that was apparent.” And as quickly as he came, he was off, muttering something about “Egan was right” and “Your lot really are thick” as he pedaled away.

Still baffled, she turned to find Rhys and saw an EMT pushing him, unconscious, towards an ambulance and made her way to them as quickly as possible.

“Is he ok?” she shouted.

“Yeah, knocked out and pretty burnt up but alive. You know the lad? Want to ride along? A familiar face when he wakes up might be nice.”

“Yes, I’m his girlfriend. I would love to… um never mind.” She knew it was crazy, there was no way this Egan could know he would be ok. She needed to go with Rhys, but her gut told her not to.

Instead, she thanked the EMT, barely getting the words out before she started running to Waverly Station, or what was left of it. The military had forced a group of giants to destroy buses and trains, hoping to keep the Brollachan out of Edinburgh. Only one train still ran.

She took the train as far as Canisbay but decided to walk the remainder of the way hoping the fresh air would clear her mind, help her decide. Now here she was, a quarter mile from the strange address, still unsure what to do.

Eilidh knew she was powerful, dangerous. She could burn the world down if she wanted, and God knew she did. At least that would end the war. But no, she couldn’t stand the idea of hurting innocent people. She needed to get this under control, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to do just that.

But what if it was a trap? The military had set plenty of those, invited Brollachan to support groups or safe houses, and instead imprisoned them, weaponized them. She wasn’t sure who had been at the fire and may have seen what she did. This could very well be a trap. A phoenix would certainly be a good addition to the military’s collection of Brollachan.

They had been living with this fear for years now. This was her reality. She knew it was risky, dangerous. But that burning in her gut told her this was different, safe. She took a step, then another.

A form started to appear from the shadows as she got closer. He was tall. almost menacing in his height but rail-thin. She paused a few yards from him, still hesitant but strangely calmed by his presence.

“Hullo Eilidh. I’m Egan,” he said in a voice warm and smooth as honey. “I’m here to help you master your gift, to save the world.”

He held out a hand and she was filled with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu as she reached out for it.

As she grabbed his hand, she saw them and knew this was right. Those blue eyes, deep and dark as the sea, glistening as the tears began to flow. Her free hand went reflexively to the heart-shaped locket around her neck, the locket filled with a picture of who she now realized was Egan when he was much younger. He had a carefree smile on his face, his blue eyes looking lovingly down at a little girl. Egan hugged her and for the first time in her life, she knew she was home.

“You were taken from me so long ago, put in an orphanage and observed,” he said through his tears. “I’m so glad you finally found your way back to me, daughter.”