Chapter 9. A Flash of Fire
The forest was cool and green. The children could hear birds singing in the branches above them and from one side came the gurgling of a nearby stream. As they followed the leafy track that curled around the tree roots, the light grew dimmer. Mark was glad he had his torch with him. A wind had sprung up and the trees creaked and groaned as their branches swayed from side to side. Mark’s torchlight grew feebler as the batteries wore out and Mark wished he had not had to use so much of it on the plants. The small patch of light it made gave a spooky appearance to hollow trees and old fallen stumps. Sharon had to tell herself firmly that they were only trees, not monsters lurking to claw her back.
‘We could sing a song,’ suggested Paul in a wobbly voice.
‘Good idea,’ said Mark in relief. He would have died rather than admit it to his younger brother and sister, but he was feeling distinctly uneasy. If the withered plants had hurt them, what sort of damage could fully-grown trees do, if they wanted to harm them? The light was fading faster than ever and the trees were twisted into grotesque and peculiar shapes.
The children managed to quaver out a couple of verses of ‘She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain,’ before the torch ran out and they were left standing in darkness.
‘Come on, we’ll hold hands,’ said Sharon, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt. Even Mark consented to hold Paul’s other hand and the path was fortunately wide enough for them to walk along it abreast. It was very scary. Misshapen roots seemed to stretch across their path on purpose to trip them up and several times Sharon had to stifle a scream as long branches dragged at her face and hair. Paul was terrified and his fear infected the others. They thought of all the ghost stories they had read and imagined that behind every tree trunk, a monster lurked.
Mark wasn’t even sure they were still on the right path. It was getting harder to move as they had to force their way through gaps in the trees, climbing over prickly bushes and around fallen logs. They were beginning to think the forest was going to go on forever when Paul cried out,
‘Look, a light.’
Sharon and Mark looked where he was pointing and there in the distance was a tiny patch of light.
‘It must be the way out,’ exclaimed Sharon in relief. Mark wasn’t so sure but decided they might as well head for the light anyway. The going appeared to be easier as the path became wider and smoother, although it still wound around the trees. As the children drew closer to the light they saw it was similar to the fireball they had first seen in the mirror maze. They pushed through a clump of particularly prickly bushes and found that it wasn’t a ball of fire at all, it was a bird. But what a bird! It was orange and red and yellow at the same time, like a flame. It had huge wings fanning out that shone with every colour of the rainbow in an iridescent sheen. The bird was radiating a bright light and the children found it difficult to look at closely, as the light hurt their eyes. The bird glided slowly in front of them, lighting their way. It did not seem to fly but rather shimmered through the air. It reminded Sharon of the stars she had seen in her dream, and she thought that if the bird would only sing she would burst with happiness.
The children followed behind the bird, too awed to speak. Even Paul was too overcome to complain. They did not have to run as the bird moved at exactly the right speed for them, even for Paul.
‘Look at the trees,’ Sharon whispered to Mark. ‘They look safe and sort of majestic now. Not scary at all.’
Mark grinned at her.
‘I thought they were pretty scary in the dark,’ he admitted. ‘I prefer to see them like this.’
Soon they found themselves at the edge of the forest. Daylight poured in through the branches of the trees ahead of them. The bird glided slowly to the top of a tall slender tree on the very edge of the forest, and settled down into a large nest. A spark of fire flashed from the sun and struck the nest. With a crackle and a roar the nest caught fire.
‘Run,’ called Mark urgently, ‘The whole forest could go up.’ Paul and Sharon followed him as he led the way out of the forest. They turned back and looked at the burning nest.
‘That’s peculiar,’ frowned Mark. ‘With a fire like that the whole tree should be burning but it is only the nest.’
‘Why doesn’t the bird fly away,’ said Paul frantically. ‘It is going to be burnt. I don’t want it to burn. Tell it to leave the nest.’
Tears rolled down his cheeks as the children watched the bird in the flaming nest. The bird arched its neck and raised its wings in a final salute as the flames consumed it. The nest continued to burn for a few more minutes until there was nothing left but a soft powdering of fine grey ash drifting to the ground.
‘Why did it die?’ choked Paul. ‘It could have flown away.’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Sharon sadly. ‘Wait a minute, look. There’s a spark. I think the fire may be staring again.’
As they looked at the remaining ashes they saw a spark growing brighter and brighter. The children covered their eyes against the light and when they looked again there was a new bird in the nest. This bird was twice as bright and glorious as the other bird had been. It stretched its rainbow wings and glided out of the trees and away into the sky.
‘What was it?’ breathed Sharon.
‘I think it was a phoenix,’ said Mark in an awed voice.
‘What sort of bird is a phoenix?’ asked Paul.
‘They are supposed to live forever. I didn’t know they were real.’
‘They probably aren’t real in our world,’ said Sharon thoughtfully. ‘But this is Amaranthi. I think most things are real in this world, as long as you believe in them.’
‘Where do we go next?’ demanded Paul.