Ashes to Ashes

I ruffled my feathers, and a cloud of dust billowed. I shook the soot from my head, dipped my beak to preen my underfeathers, and wondered: Who dumped me in this pile of ash? The wind blew, and an overpowering pheromone scent reoriented me. Right. Mating Day. My innate Phoenix senses told me that today, I needed to look my best to find a mate—or lose my immortality.

Okay. Way too dramatic. Every Phoenix got three ages—if they were lucky. Today was the first day of my second age. Phoenix were no longer immortal. Eons ago, sure. The world was a different place. Gods walked freely among mortals. Centaurs outnumbered wild horses. And there was only one of us—not like now.

I flapped my wings twice to disperse the rest of the ash and strode toward the mouth of the cave. A whoosh of flame and heat flashed to my left. Another on my right. Sulfur filled the air as two more Phoenix rose from their ash piles.

Yeah, being that First Phoenix—perched above humanity, watching civilizations rise and fall like the tides—must have been fire. Master of the sky, and all. But it also must have been monotonous. Hunt, eat, sleep, and then do it again and again until one day—poof. Flame out. Leave behind a pile of cinders. Then rise from the ashes and do it again.

Incinerate and repeat.

I’d often wondered how the First Phoenix became mortal. And how did that one bird eventually become two? No one really knows. Some blame Zeus; others blame fate. Personally, I think immortality just got lonely after a few millennia, and one day two birds rose from the ashes. But I don’t really know. I’m a raptor, not a historian. But if that First Phoenix had not lost its immortality and somehow become two—complete with a new-and-improved three-part lifecycle—I would not be searching for a mate to keep the proud Sunfeather name alive.

A line was forming outside the cave as more of my kind arrived. I joined the queue and stretched, spreading my wings. The noonday sun ignited the orange highlights of my tip and tail feathers. No potential partner would look at me and say: “Ugh. He is red as a brick—and twice as ugly.” Instead, she would rejoice and shout, “Look at that one. Have you ever seen such a bird, glowing like fire from the chariot of Helios? I have found the mate of my dreams, and I must make him mine.”

You’ve heard it said that you can’t judge a bird by his feathers. Ha! That’s a rumor all the dull and disagreeable birds have spread to comfort themselves the day after Mating Day, when they were wasting away in their wretched little nest. Alone.

A frigid gust blew more ash from my feathers, and I shivered. I poked my beak into the cavern, and the pheromones emanating from the mass of creatures inside nearly knocked me over. My courage flagged.

Am I really as vibrant as I—?

I tossed my head, throwing doubt and one last bit of soot to the wind. Yes! I am a blazing arrow of sunlight, notched and ready to fly from Apollo’s bow. I can do this.

I puffed up my feathers and entered the cavern. I craned my neck, hoping that my future soulmate was here. And then, I spied that cute little ladybird of my dreams in all her luminous glory. She sat in a corner of the grotto, surrounded by other hens. But despite the dim light, her feathers exuded a golden glow. She laughed, and the music of it filled and broke my heart. I caught her eye, and the fire of her gaze drew me in.

Yeah. She was the one.

I strutted over to her.

I’m a condor—powerful and tall. No, I’m a bald eagle—no, no.

Not bald. Bad metaphor. I had a head full of feathers. I lifted my wing to smooth my crown of luscious, full red feathers. When my true love noticed the impressive flourish of my feathers, she would shred the pictures of her other suitors and then line the bottom of her nest with the shavings.

“Excuse me,” I said to my dreambird. “I was just wondering—” Then I caught my reflection in one of the polished stones lining the cave walls. In this gloom, the sunlight that had painted me a fireball of redness had faded. I might even be called—ruddy.

I opened and closed my beak to work some moisture into my desert-dry mouth. I stood beside her and all the clever things I would say flew out of my birdbrain. I clicked my beak, trying to say something. “H-hi,” I stammered. “I’m Luken.”

“Hi, Luken.” She laughed. Her voice was like dry kindling catching fire. I breathed in her scent—a mix of cayenne and cinnamon.

“My name’s Ilona, but my friends call me Ily. You were about to ask me something?”

“Um, y-yes,” I said. “Uh, what’s a nice chick like you doing in a cave like this?”

And what do you know, that goofy line worked. Maybe she thought I was funny. Or she knew we were soulmates. Either way, I didn’t wait long to pop the question. And she didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes.” We both said, “I do.” And then we both did.

It wasn’t long before our spacious nest for two on the craggy points of Olympus got crowded. I came home one night with some lamb from that Greek takeout place. Okay, it was a sheep farm, but if you’re a bird of prey, anywhere can be for takeout. My mouth gaped when I perched on the edge of our nest, and I nearly lost our dinner over the cliff’s edge.

“Praise to Aphrodite.” I grinned at her. “Ily, is there something you want to say?”

“Can you tell?” she asked. “Am I showing?”

“Yeah.” I gestured with my wing to the flame-gold eggs that overfilled our modest nest. “We’re going to be parents.”

She dipped her head, blushing crimson. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You sure did,” I replied. “And I love you for it.”

“You’re not mad,” she said, “that I didn’t tell you the minute—”

“You’ve made me the happiest bird on this peak.” I leaned over to touch beaks, and I hoped she could feel the fire that was burning in my heart.

She pointed to one of the eggs that was a little bigger than the others, with a rosy hue. “This one has your coloring. I bet it’s a boy.”

We took turns warming the eggs, and as the due date approached, I looked for a spot to build a larger nest. I found one in a nice neighborhood on the West Side. Maybe it wasn’t as flashy as our current East Side crag, but it was an excellent spot for kids. There were good schools of fish close by. So what if that hole-in-the-mountain where Ily and I met was far away? It was only a short fly. But would she love this new nest as much as I did? Or miss our old way of life?

Ily did—eventually. At first, she wondered how we’d see our friends out here in the sticks and rocks. But she loved the salt and pine that filled the air. And we were surrounded by other pairs, all waiting for our eggs to hatch.

Before we knew it, ours did, and we had three new family members—two girls and a boy. Aura and Rubi took after their mother, and as Ily predicted, Blaise was a mini-me.

The first months were a mix of chaos and joy. Our hunting schedule fell apart as the chicks needed constant attention. One night, after finally getting all three nestlings to sleep, Ily and I collapsed at the edge of our nest.

“Did you ever think parenting would be this exhausting?” I whispered.

“Never,” she said, preening a spot of regurgitated fish from my feathers. “But I wouldn’t trade it for the highest perch on Olympus.”

A tiny squawk erupted from the nest hollow. Then another. Then a chorus.

“Your turn,” Ily said with a yawn.

“I thought we could wing-wrestle for it. Best two out of three?” But when I looked at her for an answer, she had already fallen asleep. She worked so hard all day while I was out hunting. I shuffled over to the hatchlings, who looked up at me with hungry eyes. “Alright, little ones. Who wants some pre-chewed rabbit?”

###

Three very similar-looking hatchlings grew into three very different juveniles. Aura had her mother’s wisdom but my temper. When she got angry, her feathers literally smoked, but she’d also always be the first to apologize. One morning, I forbade her from flying to the human village.

“Why?” she fumed, her wings sparking with frustration. “Everyone else gets to go!”

“Everyone else isn’t my daughter,” I replied.

She flew off in a huff. Hours later, she returned with a curious metal twig. A circle at one end. Spiked teeth on the other. She dropped it at my talons. “Look at this. Humans use it to enter their nest. They call it a kee.”

“Aura, I specifically—” Smoke puffed as I spoke.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I wanted to show you I was old enough. I made it back—”

“That’s not the point,” I said. “You could have, you might have—ugh. You’re grounded, young lady.”

I grounded her for a week, but after that, I let her fly with her friends to that village. I realized later she was ready for that challenge; I was not. And I still have that funny metal kee tucked away in our nest.

Rubi was quieter than her sister and a deep thinker. She spent hours studying how fish moved beneath the water, how clouds formed, drifted, and disappeared. “Why does everything have to change?” she asked me one evening as we watched the sunset fade.

I had no answer to satisfy either of us, so I wrapped her in my wings and held her tight.

And I’d never forget the day Blaise took his first flight. We’d been practicing wing stretches and tiny hops for a fortnight. The girls had already glided some, but Blaise was still a brancher.

“What if I fall?” he asked, peering over the edge of our nest.

“Flying is falling—but with style,” I told him. “You’ll do fine.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll catch you,” I promised. “Every time.”

He took a deep breath, spread his small wings, and leaped. For a heart-stopping moment, he plummeted. Then his wings caught the thermal, and he soared—wobbly but determined. Pride burst inside me like a flame. My son, flying on his own. I looked over at Ily, and her eyes shimmered with fiery tears.

Life was not perfect. Fledglings tested their parents. Ily and I disagreed on when to start hunting lessons and when they should return to the nest each night. Our children grew, and I built an addition to our nest that we could barely afford. But I wouldn’t change one iota. I adored my life partner. I cherished our brood. Nothing would ever break our fiery ring apart.

###

Blaise and I were hunting one day, and he signaled me to land. We set down in a pine-dotted clearing, and he dropped the prey he had just expertly captured on the packed dirt. A potent musk surrounded him.

Huh? When did my little fledgling develop the scent of a full-grown male?

“Dad?” he asked. “How do you think I perform? As a raptor, I mean?”

“You’re the best.” I winked at him. “You spied that fox from over 100 meters and grabbed him before he realized he was dinner.”

“And the girls, Aura and Rubi?”

“Aura has a hunting sense that borders on psychic. It’s like she knows where the rabbit will be before it does. And Rubi can catch a fish jumping out of the water without wetting her tail feathers. You’re all remarkable.” I tilted my head. “Why?”

“You know why, Dad.” He fixed me with his gaze. “It’s time.”

My beak dropped open, and my stomach sank. “Time to eat?” I chuckled. “I know. What a feast we’ll have. I’m sure your sisters have caught—”

“We will eat, but that’s not what I mean. I’ve been hunting with you for three summers now. All my friends have flown. It’s time for me to leave, too. Aura and Rubi are having this same talk with Mom.”

I should have seen this coming. Blaise had always been the adventurer. When he was barely old enough to fly beyond our territory, he’d make up stories about how he’d one day explore hidden caverns and meet strange creatures. Now, I wished I’d asked him more about his dreams, listened more carefully to his answers. It might have prepared me for this moment.

“I’ll have none of this ‘leaving’ nonsense. You still have so much to learn—”

“And I will,” he said. “On my own.”

His beak was hooked and golden, like Ilona’s, but his red feathers caught the sun. He was the young male I was years ago. A lifecycle ago. Ready to explore the world.

“B-but—” I stammered.

“But what? You explored the world during your first age, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Now we must do the same. See the world. Learn who we are. It will prepare us for our second age—mating. And raising a family. It’s our nature.”

“I suppose so, but—”

“But what, Dad?”

“I thought we’d have more time together,” I said. I bit my tongue, and the pain drove back my tears. My head spun, and I gripped the ground with my talons to avoid toppling.

“You don’t think I’m ready?” he asked. Panic and doubt darkened his orange eyes.

Orange eyes. Like mine. “No. You’re ready.” Fear still scented the air, but I knew it came from me. Not him. I’m not ready. “Let’s prepare a feast. So when will—?”

“Tomorrow,” he said. Any doubt was gone, replaced by a fierce and fiery confidence that made my heart burst with pride. “My sisters and I will depart tomorrow.”

###

“But Luken, we had to let them go,” Ily said.

“We did not.” I paced around our nest, wearing a path in the twigs.

She reached out with a gentle wing to stop me, and I turned. I blinked, and a tear at the corner of my eye smoldered and then vaporized.

“We’ve been over this again and again,” she said. “Birds gotta fly—”

“And I’ll disagree with you and your stupid platitudes. Again and again.” I sniffed it away, but another teardrop sizzled and evaporated from my beak.

“They are gone, Luken.”

“We could track them. How hard could it be?” I tried to say it with confidence, but my voice cracked. “I’d know their scent anywhere.”

“We will not see them again,” she said. “This is our second age. We were reborn to mate because it was right for us. But our kids are in their first age. They must grow. Have adventures. Aura wants to explore the Dark Continent. Rubi favors the ice caps. And that trailblazing son of yours wants to live inside an active volcano.”

“A volcano?” I shook my head. “Is that even safe? Ilona?”

“He’ll be fine,” she said, but her voice trembled.

I cocked an eyebrow. “We could visit them? Once?”

“You know that’s not possible. It’s not how our lifecycle works. We have been parents. And now that our little birds have left the nest, we must . . . you know.”

“No!” Heat rose in my belly. The scent of brimstone filled the air. “I refuse.”

Ilona jumped at my sudden outburst. “We must, dear. It is—”

“If you say ‘It is our nature’ one more time, I think I’ll scream.” My blood was boiling. I wanted to yell, rant, and pound my wings. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” said my darling wife. “But it is our . . . our way.” Rivulets of steam, with a hint of sulfur, emanated from her. “We were once fledglings who needed to explore the world—a fact our parents must have dreaded. When our first age ended, we surely didn’t want it to—but it had to. We learned about life and love. Those experiences made us the parents we are today. But we wouldn’t have had this second if that first age hadn’t ended. The one with our three lovely children. Who now have to move on.” There was a palpable heat coming off her. Her feathers glowed with a dazzling fire. “As do we.”

The inferno that was my breaking heart intensified. It was ready to explode, to consume me. “I’m afraid. I am a father. It is all I know. How will I—?”

“There is a life. After,” she said. “Come hold me, husband. We’ll live and love in the next phase of our lives.”

“But I can’t—”

“No buts,” she said.

We touched beaks, and she hushed me with a kiss. “We will live on. Into our next age. And through our children. So let the fire come,” Ily whispered. “We are Phoenix.”

We embraced, and the conflagration consumed us.

###

I ruffled my feathers, and a small cloud of dust billowed. I shook the soot from my head, and I looked around. The most beautiful golden Phoenix I had ever seen was next to me, in a pile of ash. This must be my lucky day. “Hi.” I ducked my head, a little shy. “I’m Luken.”

“I know that,” she said. She spread her wings, and a strong wind blew away the burnt pile of residue. “Although I’m not sure how. And I’m—”

“Ilona,” I said. “But I think I should call you Ily?”

“I was hoping you would.”

I looked around the mountain cliff at the smoldering remnants of what was once a large nest. Everything was familiar yet also oh-so foreign. “Ily,” I said. “What’s a nice chick like you doing in a smoking pile of cinders like this?”

“I think I’ve heard that one before,” she said. “It might’ve worked the first time, but—”

A bold confidence overcame me. “Then how about this?” I leaned in, and we tapped beaks. Her breath was hot and tasted like cinnamon and cayenne. We broke from the kiss, and I recognized the glowing ember in her eyes. It belonged to my lost love from another lifetime. She was, and must always be, my soulmate.

“Now that I’d never forget,” she said.

“How about we get out of here?” I said. “Do you like seafood?”

She nodded and then eyed me warily. “I have this vague feeling we have shared quite a lot in our past age. But something is missing now. Or at least different.”

“Me too,” I said. “This is our third age. Things are supposed to be different. But I think different will be good.”

“Well.” Ily paused and stared at me. “We are not younglings learning to fly and hunt. And we are past the time of laying eggs and raising a family. What do we do in this final lifecycle of our kind?”

“We live,” I said, ruffling my feathers at the thrill of those words. “And we get to know each other—all over again. Trust me. I know this great spot where the fish jump out of the water and into your beak. I think it will be just the thing to get to know you again—for the last time.”

Ily laughed, and the melody lit my heart on fire.

This was the beginning of my third age, and somehow, I knew the Sunfeather name would live on, even though I, at some point, would not. I flapped my wings, and the ash dispersed. As the last bit of soot floated away, a golden gleam of metal caught my eye. It was an odd, shiny twig that remained amidst the burnt debris. I bent down and pecked at it.

“What’s that?” asked Ily.

“Hmm. I think it’s called a kee,” I said. “Although I’m not sure how I know that.”

“Is it important?” she asked. “If so, we should take it with us.”

I cocked my head to one side and then the other, studying it. “It is important; I’m sure of that. But I think we should leave it behind. We’ll be okay without it.”

Ily and I touched beaks again, and then we took wing to explore this new world. It was just the two of us, but we were part of a legacy that would live on, long after both of us burned for the last time.