Konè, Shadow of the Tiger
Chapter 1
The Gardens of ashes
“… in the
eastern green meadows… isolated and peaceful……… wizard……… helped the spirits
……… ritual ……… child”.
«Mother, what are you reading?»
Sitting composedly on a bench of dark wood,
a woman looked up at the handsome, well dressed young man who had approached
her.
«A piece of paper lost in the wind.»
«Let's see it.»
Orwell grabbed the crumpled and dirty piece
of paper, marked by the long journey he had faced before arriving where it was
at that time. Three corners were torn, scorched the fourth. Many words were
faded, covered by mud, replaced by damp patches or erased by time itself. The
few still readable didn't assume great meaning without their sisters.
At a wave of the hand, Orwell returned the
crumpled paper to the thin embroidered gloves that were holding it a few
moments before.
«Are you enjoying the afternoon, mother?»
«Definitely. I wouldn’t have thought coming
back here after so many years would’ve helped me.»
«I'm really pleased. For having relieved
you, these gardens must be much more magical than people say.»
He was referring to the old legend that lingered
the park, located in the center of the city.
An enormous phoenix, which as everyone knows
possessed the uncanny ability to reborn from her own ashes, was said to pass
the days to rest in vast open spaces. That idle creature was sleeping, as
usual, even when it came time for her death.
She did not realize that her own body was
being devoured by the flames, and perhaps it was the laziness that
distinguished her to prevent the reborn. The brilliantly colored plumage turned
into a vast, desolate grayish expanse.
Nevertheless, the trees began to grow tall
and strong, colorful flowers bloomed, the grass green and luxuriant covered the
whole ashen area. So people built camps around there, and then a village, which
grew to become the magnificent and prosperous city called Rhuddem.
This was also the name of the phoenix of the
legend, and her legacy became a destination for pilgrims and curious, all
fascinated and eager to admire the lush Gardens
of ashes.
«Miracle!»
Stood up, Astell tidied up the wide and
elegant skirt she had worn at the birthday lunch of her son, then gracefully
walked to a flower bed in front of her. The only thing that gave credence to
the legend of the phoenix was a striking property of the Gardens of ashes: from
the base of each tree and flower often flowed out light and thin flames, like
warm puffs visible to the naked eye, so ardent to heat but not enough to burn
what they touched.
That phenomenon, which occurred much more
frequently in plants in the center of the park, was called phoenix breath. Not even the most erudite wizards could figure out
what magic originated it.
«Miracle! Come back here!» ordered the
woman.
A cat, completely immersed in his
wanderings, was away because he had found an isolated flower to have fun with:
he gave blows to the corolla, so the long and sturdy stem swung over and over
again, and then returned to the primal position.
«What's the matter, mom? There are no dangers
in the Gardens of ashes.»
«There are none for us» replied Astell in
dismay, while running to catch the kitty in her arms.
«That’s a narcissus. It is very dangerous
for cats» explained, caressing the head of Miracle. Then brushed the left side
of his body, marked by violent burns that the silvery hair, now grown back, hid
almost completely. Gently put her hand to feel the breath of the animal, to
whom asked: «By the way, where is Whip?».
Yawning, Miracle wrapped the body with his tail
and laid down in the relaxing embrace of his mistress, who continued to
question him insistently.
«I remember seeing him near the entrance of Darkvalley. Do you want me to go and
look for him, mother?»
«No need, dear Orwell. Prepare the carriage
for taking me home, I'll be back in a few minutes.»
«As you wish» said the young man before walking
away.
Astell strode in the opposite direction,
through hedges cut with great skill and gushing fountains. She admired the
small rainbows born from the cheerful rain of splashes and the bright green of
the grass, enjoying the contrast between those colors and the pale dust of the
ground, until reaching Darkvalley.
It was the area of the gardens where the
trees were lower, dense and less spaced. The webs formed by the branches grew
mingling with one another were very suggestive, but made the small thicket very
inhospitable compared to the rest of the park, and so not very crowded. For
this reason, hidden in those trunks there was a multitude of small huts with
shovels, spades and fertilizers of all kinds.
«Well? Is Whip this way?»
«Meow!»
It
seemed a call of assent. Moreover, watching the ground carefully, feline
footprints could be seen imprinted on the ash.
Follow the trail easily led to the animal
that had left the footprints: a slender and elongated cat, whose short hair was
orange on the back and cream color on the chest; scanty chestnut stripes on the
forehead resembled tribal graffiti.
After a prolonged “meow” by Whip, Miracle struggled and jumped to the ground. He ran
behind his partner and both disappeared into the vegetation.
«It's not really the time to play» muttered
Astell, annoyed: «What’s wrong with the two of you today? I said we must go
home».
Follow the two cats became difficult. The
footprints left on the ash were evident, but were entering bushes more and more
intricate.
Astell’s skirt got entangled among the
lowest branches and protruding roots, so she lost her balance and fell to the
ground after an awkward twirl. The blond hair, carefully tied with a purple
ribbon, became a mess and fell on her shoulders. She was about to shout angrily
when heard a quiet meowing. The cats were right behind the wide trunk of a huge
tree, so hardened by the time that it became as hard as a rock.
She walked cautiously on the serpentine
roots, until reaching the front of a small door in poor condition. It was made
from a much weaker wood, and precluded the entrance to a room dug right in the
big trunk.
Miracle and Whip were there, rasping on the
rotten wood and pushing with all their strength trying to enter.
Astell observed them in amazement. She had
never seen them behave that way. They were meowing incessantly as if they were
asking for help to make their way to the other side of the threshold. She tried
to give a slight push, expecting that the door was closed, but it was not.
The hinges creaked loudly, biting the rust that
was slowing down them; Miracle and Whip slipped inside as soon as they had
enough space.
«Oh, that's all we needed!» snorted Astell.
She entered reluctantly, driven only by the
desire to recover her kittens and then return home. The room measured three
meters per side, or slightly more.
It took a few steps for the woman to be
surrounded by darkness and a pungent ferrous smell. She thought it was an
abandoned tool shed. Heard the kittens were licking something she could not
see, she raised the hand and concentrated to create a small, levitating orange
flame.
The first thing to be illuminated was the Astell’s
shocked expression, while it rested on the body of a young girl, covered with a
long mane of dirty hair which had taken the color of the copper. She was lying
on the ground, between a broken rake and a shovel, and the smell that hung in
the environment did not come from rusty tools: it was the smell of blood.
Something made her worry.
She moved slowly. Barely lifting her body on
the elbows, crawled to a corner of the hut.
«By the gods!...»
She wore only worn-out and rumpled rags, and
was covered with wounds. Especially arms and legs were full of cuts,
concentrated on the palms of the hands and feet.
When Astell tried to approach her, Miracle
and Whip stood before, blowing toward her and showing claws. The child uttered
a similar sound that grew in intensity as the small magic flame approached her.
Luckily for her, when the cats were able to scratch their mistress the fire
faded in the air.
The woman, surprised, tried to think calmly.
«You… does fire scare you? It is that so?»
she asked.
The girl's voice shook as she emitted almost
imperceptible and meaningless grumbling.
«… but… who are you? ...»
It seemed to be facing a wild animal: the
little girl tried to retreat, watching with fear the black roses embroidered on
the glove of the woman. She was wary, but blocked against the massive wooden
wall.
Gently
brushing aside a lock of her hair and stroking her cheek, Astell whispered: «Don’t
be afraid…»
... to be continued
