He pulled a stick from their unlit pyre. In the dirt around it, he began to draw. One circle, then another. “Simple, in theory. In modern times, it’s sometimes referred to as palingenesis. The concept stems from ancient medicine; the most ancient. It means the transmigration of the soul. More specifically, the idea that a person’s soul can enter another vessel after death. Whether another human body, or an animal, or even a plant. The phoenix creates its own vessel. It’s self-sustaining.”
“After death,” Sy repeated dryly. “Regicide is generally frowned upon.”
“That’s where I keep getting stuck.” He tapped the stick thoughtfully against the first circle. “The ancients believed the soul was located in the heart. Their experiments in that realm proved fruitless, but their understanding of magic was elementary compared to ours. And we can’t very well cut the king’s heart out and replace it with a bird’s.”
The fingers on Sy’s left hand twitched. Perhaps he had not imagined the glyph forhearton his palm. He kept his eyes trained carefully on Bertrand.
“You’ve explained all this to David?”
“Of course.”
That presented a problem, for David knew more about Sy’s mark than the others. Had he ever studied it, late at night, by the glow of a candle? Surely not. Not well enough to jump to the same conclusions Sy had.
“And what of your hand?”
Sy involuntarily curled his fingers closed. Bertrand meant his figurative hand of cards, of course.
He weighed the others’ advantages. They had no weapons that he could see, but were well supplied with food and water. They were as unfamiliar with the Lichtenwald as he was, and sure to get as lost as he had. Unless, of course, they found a willing guide – say, a hunter in need of a spellscribe’s protection and a buyer for the bird once she caught it.
But he had to offer something. Giving them the vague location would seem generous, but offered them no true advantage over him. “There’s a meadow,” he said. “Augur Meadow. The hunters think the phoenix resides there.”
“And any ideas what we should do with it?” His question was half in jest; but only half.
“None,” Sy lied. And his was only half a lie; he had no ideas he was certain of, anyway. “And as an apprentice physician, what do you make of the viability of King Edgard’s request?”
“Only that after what we saw today, I am hard pressed to find anything completely beyond reason.”
“But…it doesn’t make sense, does it?” Sy said, unable to help himself. Bertrand had knowledge he did not; knowledge that may fill in some of the gaps in his own reasoning. “What happened today was magic – there’s nothing else to call it. And yet, glyphs are the highest, most advanced form of magic, but they can’t manage anything of the sort. Has such a thing even been attempted?”
“Such a thing would be highly unethical.Against our oath,” he added, mockingly. Sy was sure Bertrand found it at least as hypocritical as he did.
“Not if one performed such experiments on oneself.”
“And are you willing to be Edgard’s laboratory rat in addition to his pet?”
Sy bristled and leaned back.
At his withdrawal, Bertrand huffed a humorless laugh. “They look down on me far worse than they do on you, you know.”
“I wasn’t aware we were competing for the honor.”
“Of course we are.” He threw the stick he had been toying with into the brush. “You weren’t supposed to succeed and did. I was supposed to and didn’t. You’re a wonder; I’m a fool.”
“You weren’t talented enough,” Sy said bluntly, not interested in pitying Bertrand, competition or no. “There are hundreds more who would rise higher than either of us, but they’ll never have even the chance.”
“That’s the way of the world.”
“So it is,” he snapped. “And long ago, the way of the world was mud roads and illiteracy. The best men like us could hope for was an early, painless death, or endlessly raiding castles for the will of stronger men, for the fleeting reward of gold and glory.It isdoes not meanit must be.”
Bertrand’s lips twitched. “And how much has changed, really? Think of the bear your huntress killed. Her livelihood itself. Competition is the way of nature, and the way of man. We are always in competition. It’s only that it’s easier to overlook surrounded by wallpaper and liquor cabinets.” His demeanor shifted, his voice louder and brighter. “But you’re right – we don’t have to be, not us. Work with us, David and I, and split the – what did you call it? The gold and the glory.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I was afraid of that,” he said quietly. Then, louder, “I will say nothing further without David around to hear it.”
Sy hadn’t forgotten that David was the reason the Lichtenwald was full of scribes.
Nor had he forgotten David’s motivation to win the prize. His father’s factory; his sister’s education. His family. His future, the one he had been promised, vivid as a golden sun. Splitting the prize in half would be hard enough, let alone splitting it three ways.
