Prospective for new take on novel, titled: Vahazayi
Book I: The Young Flame
The first conscious
moment was of heat: lovely, comforting, ethereal heat; the kind that wrapped
you in so may layers that you were wont to stay for eternity and never move. He
floated thus for millennia, growing stronger through the primal forces that
beat all around him, kept him safe from the rocks that rained down from above,
chunks of worlds gone by. In this heat, this lava, he came of age—and in time,
rose above the protective layers to breathe of the acrid, sulfuric atmosphere.
Lungs that had been filled with primal blood took the change easily, but the body swayed on its two legs, claws digging into the hardening crust. For the first time, the eyes opened, glowing and pulsing in time with the inner core.
King yawned and scratched at the itchy spot on his nares that had been plaguing him all morning. The young male blinked sleepily and flicked his blood-red crest in annoyance. He would rather be outside sparring with his fosterbrothers than to be inside the lair, reading up on Vahazayi history.
“Colonel Cheron ver Niguyl will be here tomorrow to inspect you,” his fostermother, Kalatitia, had told him that morning. “He’ll be expecting you to know your history.”
“Inspect me for what?” he had asked.
“To see if you are ready to return to Phoenixia.”
King sighed; he really didn’t want to go back to the planet of his birth. He was much happier on the Tarazayi plane, but Vahazayi such as himself were not allowed to remain, as decreed by Lord Larath Grawn’fay. The Phoenix Lord was purportedly a tall Vahazayan, one of the tallest of the mighty race to which King belonged. He was crimson in body color and gold in crest and tail—stately, yet pleasant. A far cry from the aura of total wisdom and benevolence of his predecessor, the Phoenix King had been reading about in his history book.
Sighing again, the bored youngster turned the page with a lazy wingclaw and hunkered down on Kalatitia’s plush body pillows, imported from the Ingretians.
An ice-green tail passed by his peripheral vision and King lifted his head to stare up into his fosterfather’s falconiform face. “Kalatitia tells me that you have been studying all day, my son,” Tahkamendrath remarked gently.
King shrugged and nodded, turning his grey diamond-shaped eyes back to his page. “Colonel ver Niguyl will be coming tomorrow to assess me,” he replied tonelessly. “To take me back to Phoenixia.”
The Tarazayi verital reached down with a slightly-stubbier wingclaw and flipped
the massive tome closed. Startled, King swung his head back up, bronzed beak
agape. Mendrath patted his fosterson’s white feathered cheek lightly and smiled,
his black beak dropping open in a
Without a word, King scrambled up and bolted his 15-foot frame out of the living room. Mendrath stood where he was for a few moments, folding his wingclaws over the other in front of his ice-green chest, ice-blue diamond-shaped eyes hooded in parental pride. He and Kalatitia knew the risks a Tarazayi couple took in raising a Vahazayi. Their taller, stronger, immortal creators were warriors first and foremost; Vahazayi, as the name translated directly, were birds of fire. Due to the ivory blood that flowed through their veins, they had the ability to live forever, immolating their ancient bodies in a fiery pyre and rising from the ashes young and vibrant. Given a task set by a mysterious Being, Vahazayi held the entire Universe as their territory, coming to the aid of any species in dire need. As such, they were a finely-honed killing machine in the shape of a giant avian raptor: long black legs that held silver talons, deep and powerful chests, massive wings, long arched necks and faces that held meat hook beaks. Three types of Vahazayi—Eagle, Hawk and Falcon—and not more than 300,000 strong, they had battled for millions of years and had never lost.
Of course, no immortal is impenetrable. There was always the risk of loosing one’s life in the few—but extremely bloody—battles the Lord sent them into. And so, Mendrath feared for the white and blood-red Vahazayan he and his mate had taken in. King was a son just like the Tarazayan commander’s other children and he loved him just as equally.
A touch on his right wing jolted Tahkamendrath; it was Kalatitia. “Where is King?” the lovely female Ice Phoenix asked, tipping her violet head to the side.
“I sent him off to play.”
Kalatitia shook her head disapprovingly. “Oh, Mendrath—he needs to study. We’ll be doing Lord Grawn’fay a dishonor by not showing Colonel ver Niguyl what a proper Vahazayan King is.”
Mendrath nuzzled her cheek reassuringly. “No dishonor, my love. King will be leaving us soon, for his tenure in the Army. Let him be a child for a little longer. He has eternity to be an adult.”
Kalatitia sighed and nodded. “Yes, you are right. I hope he remembers us.”
“I think he will. If anything, there
will always be Jera’kays.”
