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    The Firebird
    The Firebird
    The Firebird
    Ebook96 pages1 hour

    The Firebird

    By Nerine Dorman

    ()

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    About this ebook

    What is true evil? How do you fight it?
    Since she was little, Lada wanted to be part of the Order of Fennarin, one of the warrior-monks who are the last bastion in a war against the demons and insurgents that threaten her island home. Yet to achieve her dream, Lada turned blood traitor, her decision leading to the death and exile of her family.

    Her betrayal comes to haunt her now, ten years later, when her elders demand that she oversees her brother Ailas’s trial. Lada feared him lost forever, thanks to his covenant with demons, which makes him anathema to her and her order.

    Will she deny her blood and uphold the order that’s become her family? Or will she listen to the whispers of the demons? After all, they might just be telling the truth – though a truth that may make her question everything, even the organisation to which she’s entrusted her very soul.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNerine Dorman
    Release dateFeb 27, 2018
    ISBN9781370730049
    The Firebird
    Author

    Nerine Dorman

    An editor and multi-published author, Nerine Dorman currently resides in Cape Town, South Africa, with her visual artist husband. Some of the publishers with whom she has worked include Lyrical Press, Dark Continents Publishing and eKhaya (an imprint of Random House Struik). She has been involved in the media industry for more than a decade, with a background in magazine and newspaper publishing, commercial fiction, and print production management within a below-the-line marketing environment. Her book reviews, as well as travel, entertainment and lifestyle editorial regularly appear in national newspapers. A few of her interests include music, travel, history, Egypt, art, photography, psychology, philosophy, magic and the natural world. Her published works include Khepera Rising, Khepera Redeemed, The Namaqualand Book of the Dead, Tainted Love (writing as Therése von Willegen), Hell’s Music (writing as Therése von Willegen), What Sweet Music They Make, and Inkarna. Her short fiction regularly features in anthologies. Titles co-written with Carrie Clevenger include Just My Blood Type, and Blood and Fire. She is the editor of the Bloody Parchment anthologies, Volume One; Hidden Things, Lost Things and Other Stories; and The Root Cellar and Other Stories. In addition, she also organises the annual Bloody Parchment event in conjunction with the South African HorrorFest. She is also a founding member and co-ordinator for the Adamastor Writers’ Guild; edits The Egyptian Society of South Africa’s quarterly newsletter, SHEMU; and from time to time assists on set with the award-winning BlackMilk Productions.

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      Book preview

      The Firebird - Nerine Dorman

      The Firebird

      By Nerine Dorman

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2018 Nerine Dorman

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Cover illustration: Cat Hellisen

      Cover design and layout: Nerine Dorman

      The Firebird

      By Nerine Dorman

      Table of Contents

      About this Story

      Dedication

      Acknowledgements

      Foreword

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Epilogue

      About this Author

      About this Story

      What is true evil? How do you fight it?

      Since she was little, Lada wanted to be part of the Order of Fennarin, one of the warrior-monks who are the last bastion in a war against the demons and insurgents that threaten her island home. Yet to achieve her dream, Lada turned blood traitor, her decision leading to the death and exile of her family.

      Her betrayal comes to haunt her now, ten years later, when her elders demand that she oversees her brother Ailas’s trial. Lada feared him lost forever, thanks to his covenant with demons, which makes him anathema to her and her order.

      Will she deny her blood and uphold the order that’s become her family? Or will she listen to the whispers of the demons? After all, they might just be telling the truth – though a truth that may make her question everything, even the organisation to which she’s entrusted her very soul.

      Dedication

      To my friends who journey through strange lands: Ir shti shta-tu!

      Acknowledgements

      You’d think that after a few years of writing acknowledgements that this would become easier. Well, nope. I’m going to kick off with a disclaimer and say if there is anyone I’ve forgotten to mention here, I’m sincerely sorry. And THANK YOU.

      And now for the people who were involved. My undying gratitude goes to: Laurie Jane who beta-read this for me and offered valuable feedback, and then to my other reader who didn’t want to be named (if you’re reading this, thank you. You know who you are and your comments not only made my day but also provided a nice angle for me to look at developmental edits).

      Then, dear Cat, you were awesome. Not only did you help with the line edits, but you also illustrated the beautiful nightjar that graces the front cover.

      Also, Aleks, your blurb-sharpening skills are mean, sir. Thank you for lending me your eyeballs.

      Then, to my friends in Skolion, dear Tallulah, Masha, and the others, a huge-ass thank you. Publishing is a tricksy business, and to know that I’ve got my team at my back makes this walk a little less mad and lonely.

      Foreword

      Oh gosh, I’m even writing one of these.

      But a note, because I know people ask this question: Where does The Firebird draw its inspiration from?

      This novella began life when I heard a call for submissions for non-Eurocentric fantasy settings, and started wondering about which settings would work for the kind of story I wanted to tell. A few years ago, I visited the island of Mauritius, and since then I’ve been itching to use a tropical island setting in one of my stories. So, no snow, okay? No castles. No mad kings. No knights astride galloping destriers. And no damsels either, for that matter.

      The rest? Mmm, I’ll not lie. Wade Davis’s The Serpent and the Rainbow is partially responsible for some of my themes.

      And that’s all I have to say on the matter.

      CHAPTER ONE

      The Firebird

      The afternoon thundershowers have left the ground steaming, and the last great droplets caught in the canopy above spatter down into muddy puddles. The ground is slick, sucking at my boots where I crouch beneath a spreading meria tree. I’ve crushed fallen blooms underfoot like white dead moths, and the scent rises sickly sweet. My nose itches, but I suppress the need to sneeze. Not now.

      Too much rides on our mission; I cannot afford to be the cause of failure. My ebon-wood stave is heavy with shored-up power humming along its length. I fear I won’t get to use it. Yet again. It rankles that Ally Melnas has set me to keep watch all the way back, near the gates of the estate, while the rest of our unit slips into the property on silent feet.

      My view is of the red-mud wagon track winding down beneath its meria-tree canopy, a tunnel whose roof is spangled with star-like blooms. The estate is situated in a dell, high up in the foothills of Mount Ferion’s range where the tree ferns unfurl their fronds and, if an idle wanderer is fortunate, they might hear, or even glimpse, ghost lemurs.

      It’s the lemurs’ eerie, hooting calls that make me shiver despite the mugginess of the day. The bell-like tones echo in this narrow valley—perhaps a maiden in distress, but then the cry rises and ends on an ascending staccato exclamation. A threnody of nightmares, and a tremor passes through me when I recall the nights I lay abed as a child, the shutters pulled closed and locked despite the heat. What if it isn’t a lemur, I’d ask Mama, and she’d hush me, tell me not to fear, that it’s not the spirits of the dead come to fetch me.

      It was my brother Ailas who relished the unearthly tales, of the lemurs infested with demons when other, more suitable hosts were yet to be found. If you slept with your mouth open, he would tell me with great relish, the beast would come during the night and stick his hand down your throat and place a demon there, with the night-whistlers sitting on his shoulders, shrieking further lamentations.

      Too much here on the estate grounds reminds me of my past. I shift so that I am not so hunched. The blood flow eases to my left leg and the muscle cramps so I have to massage out the prickles. Not a sound, but for the lemurs’ crying and the never-ending frogs—blue-lipped poison frogs and river toads. Little plinking sounds like drumsticks beaten together from the frogs, complemented by the squelching belches of toads. The chorus would be pretty, if we were here purely for the view and the fresh air.

      But we’re not.

      The orchid farmer and his family have departed for the market, according to our agent. They’ve been gone since this morning and will only begin their return now that the afternoon showers are over. A convenient alibi, I suppose. They can claim ignorance while we close in on our targets.

      The insurgents were using Three Bells Farm for

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