When the Phoenix Sings

Sue Glasgow

---

Reach me a Gentian, give me a torch!            Let me guide myself with the blue, forked torch of a flower            Down the darker, darker stairs where blue is darkened on blueness,            Even where Persephone goes, just now, from the frosted September            To the sightless realm where darkness is awake upon the dark.            Down to the eternal portal between             That which has always been and that which is about to be.            And there my love and I will listen when the Phoenix sings            Until the dying torch I hold on high will flare with life,            Unfolding its blueness into a blossom newly born            And older than man's first dream.                                                    An expansion upon                                                   "Bavarian Gentians"                                                    by  D.H.Lawrence

          "Vincent,  look at the ice crystals in the  trees.  The  moonlight has turned the whole world into diamonds." Catherine tugged at the hand of  the  hooded man who walked beside her through the first snow of the season.  At two o'clock in the morning Vincent and Catherine were alone in the park, strolling in a frozen fantasy land, listening to the trees crackle in the cold night air.
          Nearby,  a rocky outcropping glittered beneath a frosting of  ice, drawing Catherine's attention,  reminding her of the  crystal  necklace she wore beneath her coat and sweater.
          "Vincent?"
          He  looked  down  into Catherine's pale bright face.  The snow had stopped falling,  and above the trees the clouds had  parted,  allowing moonlight  to  shine  through,  illuminating the snowflakes which still dusted her hair.  Catherine had become a part of this diamond  fantasy, and  Vincent  had  found himself almost speechless in her presence.  He watched  silently,  waiting  for  her  question  as  she  bent  to take something from the ground.
         "Is this the way it is in the Crystal Cavern?" Lifting a glistening stone, she turned it in her hand and asked,  "Does the cavern look like this?"  She indicated the icy rocks which surrounded her.
          Caught  for  a  moment  in  memories  of  that far away place,  he murmured, "It is very much the same."
          The jewel-like facets on Catherine's small stone vanished  in  the warmth  of  her  palm  and  she tossed the rock away,  laying her hands against the crystal hidden at her breast.  "But in the  Crystal  Cavern the crystals don't melt."
          "No," he whispered, "they will last forever."
          As  she  came  to him and snuggled against his chest she completed the thought which echoed through their bond, "...like our love."
          The couple moved through the woods,  passing near the hiding place of  a  rabbit,  startling  it,  sending  it bounding across their path. Laughing  in  surprise,   Catherine  followed  the  animal   until   it disappeared into a thicket of dense brush a few steps away.
          As  she  paused  beneath  an evergreen tree,  an unexpected breeze disturbed a snow-laden branch  above  her,  dumping  its  frothy  load. Within the icy shower Catherine sputtered and gasped,  blindly sweeping snow from her face and hair.
          "Catherine." Vincent was instantly at her side,  assuring  himself that  she was unhurt.  As Catherine's squeals changed to laughter,  his concern turned to quiet amusement.  Tilting his head,  he watched as  a crystalline  halo  formed  around  Catherine's  face,  and  each of the snowflakes was reflected in miniature in her uplifted eyes.
          Taking  her  in  his  arms,  Vincent  shared  her  breathlessness, realizing the cold had little to do with the tightness  in  his  chest. Catherine's  beauty was like a physical force,  clutching at his throat and warming him in spite of the frigid air.  Brushing the snow from her shoulders,  he pulled her closer until she was so near he  could  smell the  snowflakes  in  her  hair.  Beneath his breath the crystals melted into tiny droplets which instantly froze again.
          She trembled in his embrace,  and Vincent drew  back  in  concern. "Catherine,  you're cold.  Perhaps I should take you home." He pulled a woolen scarf from under his long black cloak.  Lifting the scarf  above her, he tied it loosely over her hair, knotting it under her chin.          
        "No,  I don't ever want to go home." She shook her head, making it difficult for him to tie the scarf.  Then she smiled as  her  attention was  captured  by  the  golden  gleam beneath his hood.  She raised her hands,  pushing the hood back,  revealing the brilliance of his hair in the  moonlight.  Pulling  back  far enough to gaze up at him,  she said softly, "I want to stay here forever, watching the snow make magic when it catches in your hair." Lifting her bare hands to touch his face, she found her fingers captured in his.
          Feeling  the  stiffness  in  her hands,  he tucked them inside his cloak against his chest.  "Catherine,  what were you thinking when  you came into this cold without gloves?"
          With  a  beguiling  pout  she complained,  "That is the third time you've  asked  me  that.   I  told  you...I'm  not  cold."  She   tried unsuccessfully  to  prevent her teeth from chattering as Vincent worked to secure the scarf more firmly.
          The tremor in her chin was irresistible.  He bent his  head  above hers,  bringing his hands to hold her face between them, gently sighing and warming her with his breath.  In the quiet darkness,  he  whispered her name. "Catherine?"
          He  was  requesting  permission  to  warm  her  lips  with a kiss. Smiling inside at the quaint coziness of him,  she wondered if he would ever realize that her kisses were his, freely and eagerly offered.  His face  came  nearer  until it was only inches above hers,  his blue eyes gazing at her as if she were a fragile  treasure,  freshly  discovered, still secret and possibly forbidden.
          The  eager approval in her eyes gave him the courage to claim that which was already his.  Vincent  slipped  his  fingertips  beneath  her chin,  stroking  her  cheeks  with  his thumbs,  and with tenderness he lowered his lips to hers.
          For an instant he pulled away,  finding every kiss as  astonishing as  their  first,  but  then  he came to her again,  shifting slightly, seeking to bring her full lips  against  the  uniqueness  of  his  own. Then,  when it was right, when the warmth of her mouth vibrated through both physical flesh and spiritual bond, Vincent lost himself,  claiming and enveloping her in his embrace.
          Catherine  had  learned quickly that Vincent's kisses were like no other man's.  He had developed a pattern,  a highly  sensual  habit  of caressing  first  one  side  of her mouth and then the other,  nuzzling until the cleft in his upper lip  was  slightly  parted,  exposing  the delicate inner lining.  Finally, when the fit was right, he would press into  her lips,  sending little sparks through their bond,  turning the world askew...like the feeling she used to have when she had ridden too long on a rollercoaster.
          Sometimes,   when  she  wanted  to  take  him  with  her  on  that rollercoaster, she would let her tongue dart out and trace a quick path across that sensitive cleft, and the result would be electric.  Vincent invariably would snap back, blinking his glazed eyes, shaking his head, gasping  until reality slipped back into place.  But the resulting loss of contact was a greater  price  than  she  was  willing  to  pay,  and Catherine had decided to save that delicacy for very special moments.
          Barely noticing that the snow had begun to fall  again,  she  gave herself trembling into Vincent's embrace,  rejoicing in the softness of his lips,  loving the crisp tickle of his icy whiskers as she moved her cheek  against  his.  She  was  aware  of  nothing except the warmth of Vincent's love.

          Some time later,  they  shared  one  last  kiss  at  the  basement threshold beneath Catherine's building,  and Vincent waited there until he felt her safely enter her apartment.  Sending her a final wish for a good night, he turned into the world which waited for him Below.
          Vincent had been unaware of the lateness  of  the  hour  until  he strode  through  a  passageway  near the central storage area and found Rebecca coming toward him.  The blonde candlemaker carried a thermos of hot coffee in one hand and a heavy basket of supplies in the other.
          "Good morning," she greeted him with a smile.  "Aren't you up very early, Vincent?"
          He shook his head. "No.  Actually, I am up very late."
          The  young  woman's smile widened as she noted the dampness in his hair.  "Catherine told me she wanted to walk in the snow." Putting down her basket,  she pulled a cloth from one of her pockets and  wiped  the snow from Vincent's broad shoulders. "Was it beautiful Above?"
          He  nodded,  meeting her smile,  fully aware that he was often the subject of long and sometimes giggly  conversations  between  Catherine and Rebecca.  "It was beautiful."  Lifting her basket, he looked inside and found it filled with candle dyes, waxes, and molds.  "You must have an important errand to get you up so early."
          "I  found  all those things in Mouse's chamber,  and I want to add them to the other supplies.  Then I  have  an  inventory  to  do."  She invited him to join her as she resumed her walk through the tunnel.
          "An inventory?" He followed her, bringing her basket with him.
          She  nodded.  "Father  and I have chosen three apprentices to help with the Winterfest  candles,  and  I'm  on  my  way  to  inventory  my supplies."  Ducking  into  a  smaller  passage,  she glanced up at him. "Catherine said she wants to learn, too."  Rebecca  added  with  gentle humor,  "Maybe  this  year  Catherine  will  deliver candles instead of receiving one."
          Vincent smiled.  "The children might have something to  say  about that."
          "You  know the children adore Catherine.  She is probably the only adult who could get away with it.  Besides that,  I'm going to need the help.  We'll  need  even  more  candles  this year...so many people are
coming." She paused at a bend in the tunnel. "Mr. Ching  recruited five new helpers this  year,  and  Father  heard  from  Robert  and  Sandra. They're  coming home from the Peace Corps.  And Royce wrote to say he's going to come from California."
          Vincent nodded as he ducked beneath a low-hanging rock.  "It  will be good to see them again." They entered an even narrower corridor, and Rebecca stopped at the entrance of a remote storeroom.
          She smiled up at him. "I'll take the basket now."
          "Do you need help?" he asked. "I can stay if you need me."
          "No," she shook her head.  "I'm the only one  who  knows  what  we need, and I came prepared to stay a while, but thanks for the offer."
          As  he  started  to  move  away,  she  grinned  and  stopped  him. "Vincent." There was a gleam in her eyes, "Was the snow as beautiful as Catherine?"
          He turned,  gazing at  her,  responding  to  her  gentle  teasing. "Rebecca, it didn't even come close."
          She laughed and watched him as he disappeared beyond a bend in the tunnel.
         With a sigh,  she entered the storage chamber and lit the  lantern which  hung  from  the  ceiling.  She stood appraising the room and its contents.  This room was used for seasonal items,  many  of  which  had become  so  worn and aged that they were no longer useful.  Rebecca had claimed it last year as the perfect place to store  the  fine  wax  and dyes from which she made the Winterfest  candles.  Putting  her  coffee and  basket  down  on  a  nearby crate,  she started the dusty chore of pulling old boxes from the cabinets and shelves.
          She worked in silence, mentally tallying her supplies, wiping away spider webs and ignoring the occasional sound of a mouse skittering for safety.  With  so  many more people coming to Winterfest this year,  it would be far wiser to overestimate the number of candles needed, rather than run short.
          She worked for some time opening  and  reclosing  boxes,  removing supplies  she  would  need  in  the  near  future,  and making notes to herself.   Finally,  she  stopped  for  a  coffee break,  surveying her accomplishments.
          Only  one  large cabinet had gone untallied.  Moving to its doors, she sneezed once and pulled them open.
          Immediately Rebecca was greeted by the odor  of  damp  ashes.  She wrinkled  her nose at the smell of musty sulphur and burnt paper as she searched the cabinet's contents  with  her  eyes.  Several  baskets  of broken  Christmas  ornaments sat on top of a warped wooden crate.  With effort,  she pulled the crate out into the room,  revealing three  more large  cardboard  boxes nestled in the darkness behind it.  These boxes were the source of the unpleasant odors.          
          Removing the lantern from its ceiling hook,  she brought it closer for a better look.  Each of the boxes was about three feet tall and two feet wide and was sealed shut.  They looked heavy,  but when she tugged on  the first one,  it felt surprisingly light.  In fact,  all three of them seemed to be empty.
          In  the  better  light,  she saw the black stains which discolored each box.  Apparently they had been in a fire,  for each  of  them  was heavily  scorched  and  watersoaked.  Although  dry to the touch,  they still stunk of smoke and mildew.
          Her first impulse was to dispose of them as  trash,  but  she  was stopped  by a large white label glued firmly across the seam at the top of each box.  The labels bore no  traces  of  the  scorch  and  stains; rather,  they were as clean as if they had been placed there only hours ago.  They effectively sealed the  boxes,  making  them  impossible  to open, for on each white label was printed the words:
 

TO BE OPENED ONLY BY FATHER  ON THE DAY AFTER WINTERFEST

 
          Rebecca straightened,  resting her hands  on  her  hips.  The  day after  Winterfest?  Obviously,  Father  had  been  up  to  some kind of surprise,  but it had been ruined.  Nothing worthwhile could be  hidden in the empty filthy boxes.  Still,  the labels were fresh and seemed to have been affixed after the damage had been done.
          She sneezed again.
          A small gray mouse ran from beneath the second crate,  and Rebecca frowned, speaking to both the mouse and herself, "Well, enough of this. I  have plenty to do without worrying about Father's business.  You can have this, mouse." And she pushed the boxes back into place.
          Minutes later, she left the chamber, concentrating on the possible combinations  of  dyes  available for this year's candles,  leaving the mysterious boxes to the mice and spiders.