The Celestial Saga – The Phoenix Moon
It was the Night of the Winter Solstice; the darkest, longest, coldest night of the year. The sun sat low over the western horizon, casting its last golden rays upon the icy ground. The full moon was slowly rising in the east, its pale glow reflecting the waning sunlight. The stars had begun to emerge one by one, dotting the darkening sky with brilliant pinpoints that were seemingly frozen in time with the coldness of the air.
The Moonlight Sorcerer stood at the window of his tower, gathering his energies for the ritual that was to come. He held a sense of trepidation in his heart, yet he could not waver from his duty, from his responsibility to those in his keeping that he was bound to protect.
In recent months, the Essence of The Void had begun to rise up and permeate the Aearthly plane, feeding upon the souls of Human-Kind to fuel its hollow growth. It spawned waking nightmares that soon spread across the world like wildfire. Men and women went mad from the sight of their inner selves reflected back upon them. Sleep was elusive to many, while many others went to sleep and did not wake. Without a source of light to fight it, the darkness of the void would soon overtake the entire world.
But it was not just any light that could stand against that darkness. Only the light of the full moon had the ability to shine into its depths, to reflect that light into the place which no other celestial body could reach. And he was the only human born in over a hundred years that bore the celestial power of the moon. It was he alone that could make the sacrifice required. He alone that could make the attempt to break through the boundary between the Aearthly and Celestial realms, to transcend beyond his corporeal form and put right the imbalance.
He pushed aside the last of his reservations and took a deep breath to steady himself. The sun had finally set, and the time had come to make his way out into the night. He descended from the top of the tower, down its long spiralling stairway. The great arched doors that led out into the courtyard opened for him as he reached the threshold. They quickly closed behind him as he exited, forming a seal that only he, or others as strong in the power, could break. Perhaps someday someone would come and unbind that seal, making some good from the relics and writings which he had left behind.
The wind had begun to howl through the barren trees of the forest, a shrill keening that came and went like the wail of a widow’s grief. He crossed through the courtyard and started down the road which led through the forest and toward the village. He walked carefully with slow, purposeful movements, barefoot on the ice-covered cobblestones.
The masking of paint on his face glimmered silver and blue, still drying at the corners of his eyes. A few tears gathered there from the sharpness of the wind, freezing before they had a chance to fall. The fabric of his cloak billowed around him softly, layers upon layers of dark silk moving like waves in the sea. His form was subtly backlit by the glow of the rising moon, making him appear as a living shadow. The calm of his outward demeanour belied his apprehension. Whatever may come, he was now walking the path, and there was no turning back.
The din of the gathering throng began to rise above the wind. They had assembled in the village square, making the necessary preparations for his arrival, and to share in the revel of the ritual. A large pyre had been built there, and they stood in a wide ring around it, none daring to step too close. As he reached the square the crowd parted, allowing him to pass through. Some were silent. Some wept bitterly. Others tentatively reached out to him as he passed, laying their hands upon him with blessings of love intermingled with their despair.
When he reached the base of the pyre, he bent down and passed his hands over the tinder, casting a small spark that set it alight. The larger kindling quickly began to catch and spread. The warmth of his cloak had faded, but he would no longer have need of it, for the heat of the flames would soon overtake his body. He unclipped the silver brooch at his throat which held it closed, stretched his shoulders wide, and let it fall to the ground, the dark fabric cascading down his back; He stood there naked, fully revealed before them. His sapphire blue eyes reflected the light of the moon, stars and flames in one glorious glow. He raised his arms skyward and called out his final prayer;
“When darkness takes life, The night must die to bring back the light. Here, by the sign of the moon, I shall not fear. Let it rain, for I am ready to walk naked into the flame…”
He stepped up onto the pyre, settling himself against the centre of the stacks. A dark and heavy smoke began to rise from the kindling at his feet. It smudged across his eyes, occluding his view of the crowd surrounding him. The scent of sage, willow and wicker filled his nostrils. He inhaled deeply of the sacred fumes, allowing his soul to pass out from his body as he exhaled. The flames worked higher up into the pyre and began to flicker against his skin, the heat growing steadily from a gentle warmth into a raging burn. He was fully engulfed, but he could no longer feel the pain, for his body was empty. He had ascended into aethereal form, his mortal flesh now nothing but a remnant.
The devoted remained throughout the night and watched as the pyre burned down to coals, until the ashes of his human form were spread by the icy wind across the frozen earth. As the full moon rose to its zenith, it shone with an intensity which rivalled the sun. He was now held within the embrace of the celestial pantheon. His sacrifice would illuminate the darkest nights, would protect humankind from the essence of the void, guiding them back into the light whenever they might falter from it. And henceforth when they sang of him, the heavens replied in concert; stars falling, echoes of the cosmic eternity calling with every note.