Chapter One
The Fire Whisperers
Achilles was, at the best, an outcast. He was merciless and cruel, and would go to any lengths to achieve what he desired. What Achilles desired, in this case, was to gain the throne. It was in this respect that he was the most ruthless and brutal. Achilles was, as many described him, “as sly as a fox and as venomous as a snake.” His eyes were blacker than ink, endless abysses of misery. His dreams were spun of lie and deceit, and his plans more abominable than a spider’s poisonous bite.
This one of Achilles’ plans was the worst of all. It involved murder, blackmail, and arson. The murder of Queen Liana, the black mail of her grown son, Scorpio, and the burning of the city of Tyara. Tyara was were Achilles had grown up, and it was the only place in Thevan where the inhabitants did not respect the name of Achilles. For this evil man had been named after one of Thevan’s most powerful warriors of all time, Achilles the Strong. This Achilles had died in battle and saved many of his comrade’s lives. By now, you can probably tell the difference. Well, our Achilles had invented an evil, ingenious, plot. He was going by the title “Achilles VI” and pretending to be Achilles the Strong’s great-great-great-great grandson. Thus, he would be able to penetrate the most secure dwellings in all of Thevan, and the world.
And Achilles’ plan was about to begin.
**************************
Ten years later, a young girl called Jessica was walking down the streets of Emortec, the capital city of Thevan. She was tall for an eleven year old, taller than many teenagers who were in Emortec that day. She had almond colored skin and hair, she was tanned from the relentless summer sun. Her eyes were ocean blue, yet they had a permanent weary, melancholy, look. Jessica was dressed a boy would, in a tunic the color of an elm tree and dark earthy leggings. Her hair was long, but tied back in an unladylike fashion so as not to draw attention to herself. A quiver of arrows was tied to a belt crafted of rough leather. A fine bow of ash wood was clutched in her hand, strung, for Jessica disregarded the risk of damage, her risk of attack was far greater. The young girl had to remain in the shadow as much as possible. Clutched in her other hand was a small boy's hand. His name was Kay, and he was three years old. Jessica was caring for Kay, she was the only one he had.He depended on her as a baby would depend on its mother.
This was how it had been for the last 9 months, as she had lived on the streets, borderline between thief and peasant. At first, other children had taken care of her, done the work, sometimes stealing, to survive. One by one, they had been caught. Jessica had been left on her own, at the age of ten, to fend for herself in the cruel world.
Jessica had been one of the victims of Achilles’ plot. She was one of the former inhabitants of Tyara. And worst of all, the vile, beastly plot had worked. Achilles was now King. And it had been so for ten unbearably long and painful years.
Jessica could remember what it was like to have a peaceful home. But she only had one memory from Tyara that haunted her, day and night. The day of the attack. She had been the one to see the first arrow, which had flown over the city walls with surprising speed. Jessica’s parents could not escape, but put Jessica in a boat with the reset of the children of the city, save one adult, a young woman named Skye, who had died a few months earlier. And yet, Jessica could remember, clear as a bell, that fateful day. She could still hear the thud of that solitary arrow, followed by a hail of arrow that killed nearly half the population of Tyara. She could still feel the vibrating earth as the soldiers broke into the city using a battering ram. She could still see the soldiers pouring in, holding torches and weapons that glinted with an eerie light. She could still remember.
If you have been reading carefully, you know that King Achilles had spent nine long years as king, 3,285 days, without burning the city of Tyara. Why? In truth, he had forgotten all about the city of Tyara. When he finally remembered, he burned it right away, before the citizens revolted. As smart as Achilles may seem, he was not the sharpest tool in the shed (He probably had to think for years before coming up with the killing the Queen part of his plan, and he talked about murder with his fellow lawbreakers every day.) Anyway, back to the story.
****************************
Altair woke suddenly, staring at the twilight sky. He had had the strangest dream. There had been a prince, or was it a princess? and Achilles... a man with a dark goatee, fighting with the prince? And there had been houses, an entire village had been burning, arrows had been raining in from all directions.
Altair shuddered. It had been terribly realistic, as if he were there, on the sidelines, watching. An unforseen, bloody battle of the two strongest forces in Thevan, Achilles’s army, and the Avis, had resulted in destructed in that abhorrent vision.
Of course, Altair had visions such as this annoyingly often. He was the leader of the society called the Avis, a group of Thevan’s citizens who opposed the King and were devoted to returning peace to the country and the one just west of it, Lepordanda.. All members of the Avis rode birds, giant birds, large enough for you and your parents to ride. Usually these birds were hawks and falcons, but occasionally they were swallows, ravens, and hawks. In these terrible times, it meant sleepless nights and day without food and water for Altair. This was made especially hard by the fact that Altair was young, barely nineteen, and other, more senior members of the Avis resented him being their leader.
You see, a few months ago, the Avis’s previous leader had resigned. The previous leader, named Prell, had chosen Altair as the new leader at his resignation ceremony. Altair, shocked and honored, accepted. Another member of the Avis, called Malvolio, had been expecting to be elected and was fuming at Prell’s decision, had decided to resign his post as Commander of the Battle Fleet. The job of choosing a substitute had then fallen on Altair. He had chosen Emma, a smart young woman who had accepted the position meekly.
This choice had only farther angered the senior members of the Avis, as Emma was only sixteen. Altair tried to explain that he needed someone who would be there a long time, but in vain. This caused more members of the Avis to retire, and Altair needed to choose a new Flight Message director. He had chosen a young man named Mercutio, who was particularly good at writing and reading and who’s eagle, Hildur, was a particularly fast flier.
Altair was glad he did not have to choose any more people for important positions. He did have a feeling that more members of the Avis would be retiring if Mercutio did not get the message to Lepordanda that Thevan was planning to attack them or if Emma did not have a brilliant defense plan.
Altair pulled himself up with the help of a hickory sapling. At his side swung the mighty Arillis, his sword. It was a mark of his leadership. This sword was a passage to respect at some times, and a one-way ticket to the gallows at others. It was a handsome blade, cast of iron, with sapphires carved into intricate patterns along the handle. The sword’s handle and was made of pure gold, a feat only a master sword smith could achieve. The sheath was made of elegant, soft, leather with a feather imprinted on it.
The sun was setting against the everlasting Farigan Mountains. Altair scoured the ground for anything he may have dropped. And then he saw it; a piece of stained parchment. It looked like it had been everywhere; through rivers, on trees, even in an animal’s mouth. Altair picked it up, interested, and examined it. There was no sign of ink anywhere. That was irregular. Usually no one would let a blank piece of parchment out of their sight, it was so valuable. This piece would probably be worth three gold pieces, a fortune to an everyday peasant.
“That’s odd,” Altair muttered to himself and put the paper in his pocket. He started home through the trees; oaks, elms, and maples.
Minutes later, Altair emerged into a clearing. There was a small, lodge-like hut in the center. It was made of maple planks and sanded to perfection. This was the official Avis headquarters. When Altair entered the building, a giant falcon was standing there to greet him.
“Hello, Astor,” murmured Altair. Astor was the falcon that Altair rode. They had developed a strong friendship, but an unusual one. You see, the friendship between a human and their bird was not like the friendship between a human and their dog. The birds were much, much more intelligent than that. They could navigate in any weather, understand human speech, and most of them could read at least three human languages. Actually, the birds could call the humans that rode them their humans, instead of the other way around. Astor, who’s human was Altair, was probably as smart as a college professor now.
It was a legend in the Avis that the first person to ride a phoenix would be destined to lead the Avis. This legend had been around for centuries, and people had begun to call it “The Legend of the Phoenix”
Well, Altair thought dryly I wouldn’t mind for the phoenix to come along right about now. As you now know, the Avis were in chaos. Whatever he did, Aric, Altair’s second in command, could not calm down the rest of the Avis enough to get anything done.
As Altair sat stroking Astor’s smooth feathers, thinking about his situation and how to improve it, he was completely unaware that there were two other humans and birds in the building waiting for him.
“Hello, Altair,” came a loud voice across the room. This greeting was followed by a laugh when the intruder, also called Mercutio, saw Altair jump with fright.
“What is our mighty leader doing now?” came another, softer, voice, playfully. This voice was the one of Aella, another member of the Avis.
“Aella, Mercutio,” Altair’s voice was full of relief. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“We thought you could do with a surprise, on your nineteenth birthday,” Mercutio smiled. Altair pressed his hand to his brow. He had completely forgotten that today was the day that he turned nineteen.
“I knew he would forget,” Aella addressed Mercutio with a laugh.
“Thank you,” Altair said meekly. “But, I have to show you something I found in the forest just now,”
“What is it?” asked Mercutio, intrigued.
“A piece of parchment,” replied Altair and Aella rolled her eyes. “A blank piece of parchment,” Aella looked exasperated and Mercutio puzzled. “Who would leave a blank piece of parchment lying around?”
“You.” Aella and Mercutio said in unison. Now it was Altair’s turn to be exasperated.
"Other than me," Aella and Mercutio both pretended to be thinking hard. "Come on," said Altair. "It can't just be nothing, can it?"
"It could be, easily." replied Mercutio. Aella took the parchment from Altair. Her hand drifted toward the fire.
"Aella, don't move your hand," commanded Altair suddenly. He could see something...
Written on the parchment, clearly visible in the firelight, were the words THE FIRE WHISPERERS
Also, how can she be not carrying anything if she's carrying a small baby? Maybe just 'the other arm'. 
