The Snow Phoenix

by Michael Boiteau

Brayden woke up coughing and spluttering as the sea water began lapping against his face. It was late in the afternoon, and the tide had begun to gradually work its way up to where Brayden lay. He began moving away from the water, half crawling half dragging his body through the sand until he had achieved enough distance to be able to safely rest. There he remained with sunken spirits, watching and listening to the swell of the ocean as the sun slowly set behind him. He was physically exhausted, and his face was very painful to touch. Not only was it bruised and swollen as a result of the scuffle he had experienced earlier that day, but there was an incessant stinging where his various cuts and scrapes had come into contact with the salty water. Braydens discomfort was further agitated by the fact that sand was now sticking to his bloody wounds. He slowly raised his hand to his mouth, and with his fingers began to lightly brush his lips in an attempt to remove it. While he was doing this, he thought he noticed something moving to his right. He stared hard, but all he could make out were the outskirts of the town. He watched for a little while, then concentrated once again on brushing the sand off his face, forgetting to be tender and wincing at the pain. There it was again. Brayden turned to the right, but this time he fixed his gaze on the dark silhouette of a figure in the distance, slowly making its way up the shore. It took a little while for the person to come into view, as he or she was still quite a ways off. But eventually Brayden realized that the figure was that of an old man, for even in that fading afternoon light Brayden noticed his silver beard, which fell from his chin all the way down until it rested just a few inches above the ground. With every step he took, Braydens interest in him increased until he was certain that the fellow was quite the character. As he drew near, Braydon saw that he was walking barefoot in the water, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, but seeming quite at leisure as he progressed up the shore. The second detail justifying Brayden in his assessment was the man’s strange clothes. On this summer afternoon, he was garbed in heavy black robes that began with a hood that covered his head and hid most of his face, then draped over his shoulders and extended down to his ankles. He also held a gnarled wooden staff in his right hand, which made minor splashes as he plopped it into the water. He was slightly bent over, and accompanied by his wagging beard this man walking along the Massachusetts coast was quite a spectacle to behold.

The old man continued to walk until he stood directly in the path between Brayden and the ocean. There he stopped for a few moments, hunched over, as if he were pondering something of great significance. Wary of his presence, Brayden watched, his gaze intent upon the strange man before him. The stranger then turned, pulling back his hood as he did so, and started to make his way up to where Brayden sat until he was almost standing right over him.

“Good afternoon there matey, how are you going?” the man asked rather cheerfully. Brayden was stunned, maybe even a bit perturbed. He looked up at a wrinkled old face and met the most intense eyes he had ever encountered. They were a midnight blue and had such depth that one could almost become lost in them. It was as if Brayden was standing on the edge of a precipice, and the longer he stared, the greater the risk of falling. The man never blinked. It was unsettling, causing Brayden to withdraw his gaze.

“Go away old man,” he replied rudely.

“Hey now, that’s not anyway to talk to your elders”

“Who says I have to talk to you?” Brayden made an effort to get up, but fell back to his sitting position, grunting with pain. The old man smiled.

“Geez you’ve had a bit of a run in with a bad lot haven’t you? You can’t even stand up! Why don’t you just rest until I patch you up.” He stabbed his staff into the sand, then reached out as if to touch one of the cuts on Brayden’s face.

“No! Piss off!” Brayden grabbed the mans outstretched arm and with all his remaining strength stood up and pushed him backwards. He couldn’t believe it. Who the hell was this guy? The old man stumbled backwards, his beard brushing along the sand. His face quickly changed from one of cheerfulness and compassion, to one of austerity.

‘How are you going to get over the stigma of being a traitor’s son if you don’t allow anyone to be kind to you?” he asked rather gruffly. Upon hearing this Brayden was reminded of his misery, and he directed all his bitterness towards the old man.

“Who are you and what the hell would you know about it?” he cried.

“I know that you’re never going to be accepted if you keep acting this way. You have to show people who you are Brayden. Its what your father would have wanted. Now I’m going to help you whether you like it or not, so just hold still.” At the mention of his father Brayden became afraid . This complete stranger knew his name, knew about his father. How was this possible? The old man began to advance towards him. Brayden nervously began to step backwards, but in the blink of an eye the man seemed to close the distance between them. For a moment Brayden looked into his deep penetrating eyes, then fearfully swung a fist out towards him.

He would have cried out in horror had he been able to. Brayden’s fist had come within an inch of colliding with the old mans cheek, then for some reason had stopped. He couldn’t move his arm at all. He pushed and pulled but no matter how hard he tried, his body wouldn’t budge. He was completely frozen, save for the ability to move his eyes, which darted this way and that as he sought to comprehend the situation. The old man smiled, and slowly began to walk in a circle around him, tapping him on the shoulder and prodding him in the back, showing Brayden that he had complete control over his body. Brayden was terrified.

“This is impossible” he panicked. “This can’t be happening.” The bearded stranger came around to his front once again, but his countenance was a bit more stern.

“Now Brayden I told you not to move didn’t I? Instead you tried to hit an old man. I have no qualms about destroying those who hurt the old and the weak. Hmmm, what am I going to do with you?” He circled around Brayden several more times, repeatedly muttering, “what to do, what to do…”

Brayden remained completely still. Had he been able to move, he probably wouldn’t have as he was purely petrified.

The old man with his wagging beard came around to face Brayden once again. He lifted his hand and pointed his index finger directly at Braydens face.

“You cannot resist. You will not move.” Braydens heart leapt into his mouth and he screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the end.

But the end never came. Brayden opened his eyes and watched as a mischievous grin spread across the old mans face. Then something strange began to happen. A single grain of sand that had been sticking to one of the cuts on his forehead suddenly fell. Instead of blowing to the ground, it stopped in mid-air right in front of one of his eyes, so that this miniscule grain seemed to cloud the entire left half of his vision. It then slowly receded until it remained floating between the two figures. The old man then twisted his wrist, pointing his finger in the air, and slowly began to twirl it. Brayden watched in awe as all the remaining grains of sand began to fall from his face, each flying and gathering at the center where the original floated. The man continued this action until his face was completely free of dirt, and a little ball of sand soaked blood red dropped into his outstretched palm. A serious of stings began to afflict Brayden, starting under his eyes, then moving to his lips and cheeks, and finishing across his forehead. He felt as though his skin was stretching and contorting in some places, and shrinking in others. This stinging increased and intensified until it was almost at the point of complete agony, then it slowly faded away and was followed by a slight cooling sensation. Brayden felt his body release from its locked position and he dropped to his hands and knees, panting as he felt the drops of perspiration sliding off the end of his nose and falling to the sand beneath him. He looked up, and there was the old man again, looking straight into his eyes.

“Please…, please don’t hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you Brayden”, the man said gently. “But look at yourself mate. The world hates you, and you hate the world. You have no friends. You are alone.”

“What… what am I supposed to do?”, Brayden replied. “My father is dead and I have no money. This is all that I am.” Overwhelmed with grief Brayden began to tremble, and his shaking slowly began to turn into violent convulsions. The man knelt down in the sand so that he was eye level with Brayden, and gently placed his hand on Braydens shoulder.

“Calm down Brayden. Let go of all the hate and anger that you have. If not you’re going to spend the rest of your life bleeding on your hands and knees, never able to stand straight and barely able to move. You can change. Become a strong man, a man like your father.”

“How do you know my father?”

“I knew him”, the stranger whispered, glancing away ,clearly lost in thought.

“This is not all that you are”, he said, his focus returning to Brayden. “You can become more than this, something much greater.”

“How?”, Brayden asked.

“By leaving this all behind. Come away and make a new path. Start again. How bout it?”

“I cant”, Brayden replied.

“Why?”

“I dunno. I have my house, I have to work.” The old man tossed his head up in the air, and laughed out loud.

“Oh yeah I forgot. You must really enjoy sleeping with all those smelly men in that hole you call a home. And I wouldn’t worry about your job if I were you. You didn’t return to work after your break, so I doubt you have one.” Brayden felt his temper rising again, and his fists clenched in anger. He would have turned his back on the stranger, were he not wary of the old mans powers.

“Don’t be angry Brayden. The dark will often overwhelm us. There is nothing for you here”, the man said. He stretched out his hand, and from it the ball of red sand rose, floating over to Brayden and levitating right in front of him. Brayden reached out, and the ball fell into his open palm. Braydens hand dropped a little from the weight, and he was very surprised to find how dense and heavy the ball of sand was. Brayden stood up, juggling the ball from one hand to the other.

“Who is this guy?”, he thought. “ How can he lift things without even touching them?” Brayden knew he had to be careful around this man. He could do things that weren’t normal. This wasn’t the regular foolery that he’d seen various tricksters performing in town on the weekends. This was real. He thought about the old man’s words, and Brayden realized that he was right. There was nothing for him here. He had no hopes of learning a trade, and after not returning to work he was certain that there wouldn’t be a job waiting for him. He remembered the faces of Stan and the others, the whole town; nothing at all, only heartache. Brayden looked down at the soaked ball of sand resting is his palm, then slowly tilted his hand and let if fall to the ground.

“Where are we going?” he asked, determined to make a change. The old man smiled.

“You are going to a different place, another time. There will be unusual creatures, different people, and you will see things that until now you would have thought impossible. But most importantly, you will be able to choose who you are Brayden.”

Brayden closed his eyes, smiling and enjoying the relief as it swept through him.

“Ok, I’ll go..”

“Good on ya lad!” said the old man, reverting back to his cheerful demeanor. He pulled his staff from the sand, turned and began making his way down to the water. That’s when Brayden saw it, a white bird, elegantly embroidered into his robes. It had one massive wing spreading outwards towards the corner of the mans back, and the other half folded in. Its beak was upturned and in a fierce cry it spouted flames towards the sky, ending in drops of fire that rained down on itself. This was the phoenix.

“Are you coming boy?”, the man called over his shoulder. Brayden quickly hurried to catch up with him, until he was walking along side the hobbling old man with the wagging beard.

“You know it’s a good thing you decided to come along”, the man said cheekily. “I didn’t want to have to make you. Besides, you owe me one for not smacking you over the head back there.”

“So did I ever have a choice?”, Brayden asked. They came to the edge of the ocean, and Brayden could feel the cool water rushing over his feet. Sunset was now well on it’s way, and it was getting darker by the minute. The stranger stepped into the water, coming around so that he was facing Brayden

“You always have a choice Brayden. Are you ready?”

“I guess..” Brayden replied nervously. The old man reached out to touch Brayden with his staff.

“Wait! I don’t even know who you are…” The old man smiled, and Brayden once again became lost in all the depth of his eyes. There they both remained, standing in the ocean on that Tuesday afternoon, with the light fading all around them.

“I’m just a wanderer….”, and the man put the end of his staff to Brayden’s forehead.