[Chapter 6]

A Dance of Fire

Corrin could remember the story of the last feather plucked from the Phoenix.

She heard it every so often while sitting beside the community beach bonfires with her people.

‘Mahrot, the Exiled King, plucked the feather from the Red Bird while it slept,’ Corrin thought as she recalled the old campfire tale.

‘His wife, Ama the Spirit Tamer, had become ill. She was once the most beautiful woman in the nation, and all neighbouring realms journeyed to bask in her beauty. A woman so beautiful nations fought wars over.’

Corrin looked back down to the soft sand of the ceremonial dance floor and continued to dance in fear that she would catch the attention of her Winged God and become the beast’s next victim.

Her feet ached from dancing until the sun rised the next morning. Her bare legs felt tender and cooked from the blazing fire in the middle of the dance floor, but she continued to dance, moving to the beat of the drums.

‘Ama, the lover of Mahrot, was a Spirit Tamer. She often ventured deep into the spirit realm seeking answers from the sacred ancestral guardians,’ Corrin called to mind as she danced, ‘Over time, doing so caused her beautiful skin to turn to coal. Her skin slowly crumbled, day by day, flaking off into the wind. Mahrot the Exiled King knew of the feathers magic. He knew he could restore his wife, and break her curse by plunging the feather's quill into her heart.’

The Phoenix let out a muffled caw in its slumber, startling Corrin.

‘Mahrot tricked the Phoenix with the Dance of Fire, lulling the beast to sleep. He was only able to pluck the feather then. Using this magical feather he cure his fading wife, but this divine act awoke the Phoenix.'

'Enraged, the Phoenix erupted in scorching flames. The sacred ancient city of the Asla’ati disappeared- forever gone in an instant. The Phoenix’s limitless power destroyed the entirety of their lands within a single moment that night. Nothing but soot and sand remained. The flames of the enraged Phoenix turned those sands to glass, sealing the ashes of Mahrot, Ama, and the sacred city of Asla’Vahalis for eternity.’

Corrin fell to her knees exhausted as the crowd roared on and the drumming ceased to a halt.

“Tonight you have witnessed the Dance of Fire!” announced the Chief of Ceremony, an elder of the Asla'ati, “It is our greatest ceremony. Blessing the Red Bird with all we have to offer in the hopes of great return.”

“Following our tradition of the festival of fire and flames, one of our brightest embers and newest dancers, Corrin Nagalia, will pray to the Red Bird for prosperity in our lands, for fertility in our people, and for the safety of our hunters! She will then ask the Red Bird for its feathers in the hopes that we can revitalize our nation, so we can continue our campaign against our neighbouring rivals, the Oro'ati and the Vana'atos.”

The Chief of Ceremony gestured for his servants to come forth, the Speakers of the Fire. Four women carrying a vase of black oil by its four handles emerged from behind the bleachers of the ceremony grounds. Their eyes were covered in cloth, blinded by the rituals of initiation. The white cloths covered most of their faces, and was decorated to resemble the four eyes of the Red Bird.

These Speakers wore no clothes during the Dance of Fire, only thick black oils painted over their bodies, covered from the neck down to their feet.

“Corrin, my Princess. Come forth and kneel before us.”

Corrin approached the four women and the chief. The surrounding crowd watched, still and observant.

“Remove the ceremonial wings, my girl. Remove the feathers and ferns," he added, "then sit before me."

Corrin undressed, removing the decorative wings around her slender arms and her skirt made of dyed feathers. Corrin nervously untied the bands of cedar straps, causing the red fern leaves and feathers to fall to the sandy floor. Corrin glanced up at the watching crowd that surrounded her as she stood wearing only her underlayers.

"Kneel and face up, look to the slumbering Red Bird,” commanded the Chief, “Do not get distracted. It is all part of the festival.”

The Red Bird sat on its pedestal above the center bonfire, roasting on its perch. It comfortably slumbered basking in the heat of the mighty fire below.

“What am I supposed to do next?” Corrin questioned, kneeling in the sand in front of the Priest and his servants.

“Just sit and close your eyes until you hear my caw. Remember to demand our returns. The Asla'ati require the blessing of the Red Bird. For prosperity, for fertility, for protection of his people. Demand us these returns.'

Corrin nodded that she understood.

“She will now enter the realm of dreams!” announced the Chief to the crowd.

The Chief of Ceremony signaled the women to lift the vase of oil as he began to caw loudly. Corrin opened her eyes as she watched the warm oil pour from the vase above her. She continued to stare up at the Red Bird as she was told. The black oils poured from the large vase onto the kneeling girl. She could feel the thick black tar flowing over every inch of her dry body. The fumes of the liquid tickled her nostrils, and her head began to pound like a beating drum, intoxicating and disorienting her.

Graine and Nawa rushed from out of their seats in the crowded bleachers to Corrin's side.

Corrin collapsed, succumbing to the heavy pour of black tar, as her thin body pressed against the pool of black liquid and wet sand on the ground, falling into a deep slumber.

"What did you do?!" shouted Graine to the Chief of Ceremony.

"It is all part of the ritual. Please remain calm, outsider."

"Wake her up right now!" panicked Graine as he shook Corrin's unconscious body.

"She must not be disturbed while in the dream realm."

"Corrin? Corrin? Can you hear me?"