The Phoenix Rising focuses on the journey of six very different people as they search for a magical city which they believe is their only hope of survival. In order to survive, they need to learn to trust one another and to trust in themselves. Their characters are put to the test as each individual battles the demons of their past while battling the obstacles they face in the present. It is a story of love, courage, forgiveness and friendship set in a magical and mysterious world. When Drake learns of Lothos' evil plot to overthrow the King of Gammogo, he becomes the Kingdom's only hope of survival. Having been exiled for many years, Drake must win their trust in order to lead them to the safety of Serumola. Being a mythical city, no one is assured of its existence, but if they are to survive Serumola might be their only hope. Drake takes them on a journey through dark forests, vast deserts, a raging river and emotional turmoil. Throughout this journey Drake falls in love with the beautiful, yet mysterious Genevieve. Shrouded in secrecy, Drake must learn to trust her in order to save the lives of hundreds.

The Phoenix Rising

By Zerelda Daniels

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Zerelda Daniels
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4634-2032-1

Chapter One

The tavern was over-crowded so late at night, the bar counter covered in stains and half empty mugs of beer. Behind the counter two men in dirty white sleeveless shirts, as unattractive and rude as the rest of the large crowd of men gathered there, were pouring drinks.

Three animal heads hung high on the wall; a deer with dominant antlers, a dark brown bear with child-like frightened eyes and lips slightly pulled up, bearing its huge teeth in an attempt to show ferociousness, and a moose with broken antlers. The moose had obviously been one of the biggest males in the herd.

The tables crammed along the walls and in the centre of the tavern were filled with loud, rowdy patrons, and even the spaces between tables were jammed with sweaty bodies. It was increasingly difficult for the serving girls to dance around these.

A short waitress with curly red hair shouldered her way through the masses. She wore a stained apron over her dull brown dress, but her ivory white skin and red curly locks draped neatly around her pale, round face. She struggled through the room with a tray of pints, and was off-balance when a hand suddenly grabbed her tiny waist. She fell into a man's lap. Much like the rest of the patrons here, he was dirty, his face stained with food and beer. His brown shirt was maybe once white, a long time ago. His greasy hair stuck to his sweaty brow and his teeth were crooked and almost black as he leered at her. The pint of beer toppled over and now her already filthy apron dripped, wet with the scent of the strongest aphrodisiac known to man. She tried to get up, but he effortlessly pulled her down and clutched her, like an eagle would a mouse.

"Why you so eager to get away, my angel?" he asked in a hoarse rough voice.

She squirmed, helpless against his strong hands.

"I smell of beer, my lord. I need to go wash myself off."

"Don't worry about that, my angel, I'll help you." With the hand that wasn't clutching her waist and holding her hostage, he swiped ineffectually at her dress. She struggled, but his grip was too tight. He grabbed her bosom in his hand and without thinking, she slapped him.

"What the ...?"

In a rage he catapulted her to the ground, and as her head hit the cold, hard floor she momentarily lost consciousness.

Silence stepped into the bar.

It was a known fact in this world: women were inferior and to obey men at all times, never to disagree with or enrage a man. Those were the rules people lived by in the Kingdom. Now they watched in anticipation to see what happened when a woman broke the rules. The last woman who had stood up for herself was beheaded.

As the waitress opened her eyes, the drunken monster was standing over her, his fist balled to crash against her skull. He glared into her beautiful brown eyes, and then plunged his clenched fist down. But before it could impact with her face, another hand grabbed his and with force pulled him back, almost dislocating his shoulder. He turned around to face his attacker with a murderous glare in his eyes. His jaw dropped in amazement ...

Genevieve had been watching the scene from the corner. She did not want to interfere, she did not want to draw any attention to herself. But then he lifted his giant hammer-hand and she knew she had to do something. She couldn't just sit there as a helpless young girl was beaten to death. So she stood up, her big green eyes flashing intimidating fire.

The crowd gaped at the extraordinary sight. Her long golden hair was tied back in a braid, an unladylike hairstyle to start with. Then she wasn't wearing the usual female attire of a dress and pretty shoes; this petite girl was wearing masculine brown trousers and a brown button-down shirt that was not tucked in. But despite that, her beauty left them gasping for breath.

Until the drunk remembered how she had humiliated him when she grabbed his arm in mid stride and the anger rushed back.

"You stupid woman! Do you know what the punishment is for what you have done?"

"Oh shut up, you overgrown boar!" she murmured back with intriguing arrogance.

"You can't talk to me like that!" He took a swing at her but she ducked, grabbed his shoulder and used the motion of his stride to send him to the ground. He shook himself in embarrassment and jumped up quickly.

"I was only teaching the dumb slut to mind her manners!" he blustered.

"She might not have gotten so upset if you had minded yours, sir."

"She had no right to pull away from me. I am a man and I can take what I want!"

"You insolent fool! You don't own her, nor do you own the right to punish her for something you so ignorantly brought onto yourself."

"What do you know?" he stared at her in astonishment. She stepped back and stared at him with contempt.

"I know that women can do anything men can. I know that the idea of men owning women and being their master is as absurd as the idea of the Kingdom being ruled by an ape. And I know that we women do not need answer to any man."

The crowd was getting restless, cat-calling, insulting this woman dressed like a man. She defended herself with her sharp tongue, but she knew the fight had been lost long ago. But that didn't dampen her spirits. She believed women were men's equals: she had never backed off in any fight before and she sure as hell wouldn't back off now!

The drunk's stare turned evil as he unexpectedly punched her in the face. Her jaw felt like a shattered bowl. She took a second to recover from the blow and catch her breath, and then she attacked. Her speed was her biggest advantage. He didn't get a chance to lift his hand again before she returned the punch, and before he knew it, he was lying flat on his back again.

The crowd surrounding exploded; some of the men were booing her, but most of the women were secretly cheering her on.

Chaos ensued.

There was a sudden loud whistle from the door. The room fell silent.

"Is that ...?" a soft whisper came from among the crowd as everyone stared at the man standing in the doorway.

"I think it is," a trembling voice answered the question. The answer was so soft that in a normal conversation it would not have been heard, but in the sudden dead silence in the bar it was clearly audible.

The outlaw standing in the doorway had been hunted from every corner of the Kingdom, but never caught. He was the most dangerous man this small medieval town had ever seen and the crowd cowered back in fear. He gazed around the room, his green eyes sad and intense as his lips turned up slightly into an almost smile. He made his way to the center of the room, where the girl, who had not yet registered the silence was still punching the man on the ground. He put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her back, gently but firmly.

"Enough!" His voice was strong and authoritative. She turned and defensively threw a punch at him, but he caught her arm easily and swung her around, grabbing her other arm as well. With both her hands held behind her back, Genevieve was helpless. She glared up at the newcomer, aware suddenly of golden brown skin and strong well-built arms holding her.

"Calm down, milady," he said, his tone strict.

"Who are you?"

"Drake Belvedere." His face was grizzly with stubble, his hair black and very short.

The crowd was motionless.

"Lord Drake Belvedere? Never heard of you," she replied...