Tales of the Phoenix: A Medieval Mars Book

By Kristin Stieffel

A future Mars, one thousand years from now, which has collapsed back into a Medieval age was the backdrop for the 2015 short story anthology Medieval Mars. This story world idea imagined that Mars will be gifted with an even thicker atmosphere than Earth. That, coupled with Mars’ lower gravity, would make airships with relatively

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bear Publications
• Release date: Jul 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781643706672

Book preview

Table of Contents

Publisher’s Foreword

Maps:

The Kingdom of Marineris

The Govment of Noctis

The Govment of Melas

Tale One: Flight

Tale Two: Storm

Tale Three: Battle

About the Author

Publisher Information

Publisher’s Foreword

A future Mars, one thousand years from now, which has collapsed back into a Medieval age, was the backdrop for the 2015 short story anthology Medieval Mars. This story world idea imagined that Mars will be gifted with an even thicker atmosphere than Earth. That, coupled with Mars’ lower gravity, would make airships with relatively small gondolas possible, of the sort common in steampunk artwork. It also would make it possible for human beings to ride giant birds, especially in the places on Mars where the atmosphere is thickest. (And genetically engineered Komodo dragons also take flight within the pages of Medieval Mars.)

Human beings living on Mars as portrayed in Medieval Mars looked back at the past as time where technology became indistinguishable from magic. So the characters in these stories called the past The Age of Magic and revered swords made of titanium and other advanced metals from that time and the few bits of technology (like book readers) still remaining. Lithium smiths became the common term for those able to build batteries and electrical circuits, a term eventually applied to all experts in the technological past.

The story world also imagined that Spanish-language Baptists would spark a religious revival at some point prior to the main action of the stories, making a form of Protestant religion become steeped in nearly Medieval tradition. Making Spanish the language of prayer for most inhabitants of Mars.

Kristen has crafted three novellas set within the backdrop of the world described above. Tales of the Phoenix contains all three novellas. The first of these, Flight, was itself featured within the pages of Medieval Mars. Its two sequel stories, Storm and Battle, haven’t been previously published anywhere.

Kristen’s Kingdom of Marineris is among the most technologically advanced societies on future Mars. Though even they really are only beginning to rebuild the world of scientific studies, the Age of Science.

These stories are rich in worldbuilding details, though even more focused on the memorable characters the stories portray. I hope you enjoy the ride as much as I did.

Travis Perry

Monterrey, Mexico, 2018

Flight

Astrid stored the grooming tools and rubbed her hands, massaging away the cold. Outside, the cloudless dome of the sky sat empty, awaiting the competitors. Good day for a race, Ragnar. Astrid caressed the bird’s neck, and he made a low, rumbling squawk. If only she could fly with him. You show those dragons what you’re made of.

He stared at her with a beady black eye and cocked his head.

Let’s see your pinions. She stood in front of him and stretched her arms to either side. Spread.

With an abrupt caw, he stood, talons digging into his straw nest, and stretched his wings to their full nine-meter span.

Hold. He remained still while she walked along each wing, inspecting the ebony flight feathers for irregularities. She fetched the saddle from the rack in the corner and slid it in place. She was a tall woman, unfortunately, and Ragnar’s body was even longer than hers. Leather saddle straps ran around his wings, front and back, joining into a V at the girth. She carefully snugged the belt around his breastbone. Good boy. She ran her hand over the feathers of his head and neck, which she had groomed to a glossy sheen. The bridle slipped around the hooked beak as long as her arm. Let’s go find your jockey. She took the reins and led him outside.

The sun had not yet risen in the east, where the land sloped down toward Puerto Santa Lucia on the coast of the Melas Sea. In the west, light glinted off something metallic in the sky. Impossible. Huh. Unless one of the dragon riders had fitted his beast with armor. No, armor would only slow a creature down. Even dragon riders weren’t that stupid.

Master Breiner, the pot-bellied head trainer, finished barking at the groom in the next stall and arrived to drill Astrid. Is the old boy fit to fly?

Fit as ever, Astrid replied. Those dragons will see nothing but his tail feathers.

As if he knew he was being spoken of, Ragnar squawked and ruffled the feathers around his bridle.

Astrid reached up and smoothed them with one hand. Who’s riding him today?

The trainer looked across the field, where other birds and grooms were lined up. Chaya. Haven’t seen her yet this morning. He turned back to Astrid. Wait here while I find her.

Yes, sir. On the opposite side of the field, the dragon riders and their beasts lined up, much like the birds and their jockeys. For days, nobles had been arriving with their jockeys and mounts. Every cycle, they gathered from all over the Kingdom of Marineris for this competition.

To Astrid’s right rose empty bleachers, ten ranks high, from which the nobility would watch the races. A few nobles strolled on the field. She spotted Lord Samuel Dubois, govnor of Melas, Ragnar’s owner and, for all practical purposes, hers. She dusted the hay from Ragnar’s nest off her tan twill trousers and ran hands over her braid to ensure she was presentable. Not that he ever noticed her anymore.

Again she glanced westward. The metallic thing had drawn closer. Squinting, she tried to make it out. A big fat bag, with some kind of cargo slung underneath. How could it possibly fly?

Breiner, huffing and stony-faced, returned with Chaya. Give her a good briefing. He walked on without receiving her answer.

Not that she could have said anything other than, Yes, Master Breiner.

Chaya kneaded her hands.

Don’t be nervous, Astrid said. Ragnar’s done this eight times, and won five, so he knows what he’s doing…don’t you, fellow?

The low rumble in his throat was akin to a cat’s purr. If a cat were thrice the size of a horse.

Chaya was a slim, short girl, only about seven cycles old. Prepubescent. Shorter and even more sticklike than Astrid had been at that age. A braid of blonde hair darker than Astrid’s snaked over her shoulder.

Have you your map? Astrid asked.

Uh, yes, ma’am.

Not ma’am. I’m just the groom.

But you… Chaya fumbled with the buckles of her leather flight jacket. You’re a champion.

Astrid flushed hotly. Ragnar is the champion, as Master Breiner would soon tell you. I only had the privilege of riding him for a few cycles. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.

No offense, ma—miss?

Astrid. She smiled.

Chaya smiled in return and pulled the map from her inside pocket.

Now, the course is marked out for the long-distance race. The checkpoints were marked in red ink on the otherwise blue, green, and tan hand-drawn map. What this doesn’t show is the easiest way to reach the first checkpoint. Astrid tapped the spot on the mesa atop the mountains to the northwest that marked the border between Melas and Candor, the great chasms at the heart of the largest valley ever known. As you approach the mountains, go up the eastern slopes and see if you can catch a thermal. That will allow Ragnar to soar to altitude, instead of flapping as the dragons do. Don’t worry if the dragons get ahead of you there. The thing is, they wear themselves out getting to altitude. Once you’ve passed the checkpoint, turn south and head for the second checkpoint at cruising speed. She tracked the southeasterly path back to the lowlands. Then turn and head home at top speed. The last leg is the key. Ragnar can put on a sprint after flying so far at those altitudes. Few others can.

At the sound of his name, he gave a grunt that might have been a chirp had it come from a songbird instead of a giant carrier bird.

Astrid folded the map. Where is the first checkpoint?

Chaya turned and pointed. Eighty kims north northwest.

And the second?

Ninety kims south southwest of the first.

And then?

Then sixty kims eastward to get home.

Very good. She handed the map back. Study that as much as you can on the ground, but in a race, leave it behind. There’s no time for it.

Kay, Astrid.

Give him his head. You’re just there to navigate. Trust Ragnar, Chaya. He knows what to do.

Kay.

For another half hour, while nobles filled the bleachers, Astrid continued giving Chaya advice on form and answering her questions.

They reached a lull, and Astrid groped for anything she might have forgotten.

Um…Astrid?

Yes?

Why don’t you fly anymore?

The girl might as well have jabbed a dagger into her heart. Are you joking? Astrid spread her long arms and pulled her shoulders back. Look at me! I’m too enormous to fly. I was grounded as soon as I topped a meter and a half and these showed up. She gestured to her breasts, which stretched out the fabric of her blue and white snowflake-patterned sweater.

Chaya, blushing, ducked her head. I—I’m sorry.

Astrid patted her shoulder. No, I shouldn’t have shouted. It’s just…I still sort of resent having grown up.

Chaya nodded. I suppose that’ll happen to me, someday.

Happens to everyone. You, me, Master Breiner…

Chaya giggled.

Astrid frowned. Oh. She had rather implied that Master Breiner was hampered by breasts. No, his weight is around the middle, not up top.

Chaya’s childlike laugh was refreshing, and Astrid joined in for a moment.

Ragnar let out a great crow, and soon the other birds and half the dragons did the same. A couple of birds tried to bolt back into the aerie.

What in the name of Lowell… Astrid muttered.

A vast shadow, like that of a dragon flying low overhead, spread across the field. She turned to see what had cast it.

What is that? Chaya squealed.

No idea. Pleated half-circle wings extended from the sides of a sailing ship, which carried a puffy bag atop it in a silver bowl. This was the metallic craft she’d seen flying out of the west.

But how could it fly? Its wings didn’t flap. Miracle? Magic?

Focus, jockeys, focus! Master Breiner marched down the line. Calm down! Just some mechanical…thing. Nathan, get that bird under control. He passed Ragnar. Steady as a rock. Good. Then on to the next. She can’t race like that, Antonio, get her settled down! And on he went.

Astrid could not take her eyes off that great, gleaming, flying…miracle.

•••

Ian Kahoon rather enjoyed the squawking and growling his airship’s arrival provoked from the birds and dragons on the field.

A crisp female voice snapped behind him. We aren’t late, I trust?

Ian turned. No, Your Ladyship. Right on schedule.

Very good. Lady Eleanor Stuart, govnor of Noctis, a lean, middle-aged woman whose head only came to the middle of Ian’s chest, walked to the gunnel and looked over the side. We can’t stop midfield. We must go to the other side of the aerie. She wore a dark green brocade gown trimmed with white lace, a backdrop for the glittering gold chain and amulet that served as her badge of office.

So much for giving her the grand entrance he’d planned. Yes, Your Ladyship. He returned to the bridge at the aft of the ship, and nudged the tiller a few degrees starboard. In another fifty meters they had passed over the low wooden building where the birds were kept and reached a broad lawn next to the large brick manor house.

Here, Your Ladyship? He called through the open door of the bridge.

Yes, Captain.

Wings to braking position, he hollered. The stoker, Gaspar, relayed this to the hands on the mid-deck. Ian straightened the tiller. Then he returned to the deck. Moor the ship!

The hands could be heard below, descending the ladder to the lower deck. Meanwhile, he and Gaspar tossed down the mooring lines. Within minutes he heard the hands opening the aft hatch. From the deck he could see little until they emerged and ran out with stakes to fix the lines to the ground.

Down another six meters, Olivera shouted from below.

Ian nodded to Gaspar, who pulled a lever forward, then quickly shoved it back again. High above, a sound like the chuffing of a dozen dragons indicated the release of hot air from the airship’s envelope. The furnace fire had been damped almost an hour ago, and they’d been gradually losing altitude ever since. Now the ship dropped suddenly.

Olivera called for the lowering of the gangway.

Ian turned to the govnor. May I see you down, ma’am?

Not necessary, Captain. I know the way.

Mr. Plasket, her aide, followed her below.

So…also no opportunity for him to escort her and possibly get a seat in the stands. He walked over to Gaspar, his voice low in case she should return. How long to get the ship aloft again? Not cruising altitude, just— He glanced at the roof of the aerie, which stood almost level with the deck of the ship. Just high enough to watch the races.

The stoker grinned. Give me a few minutes, Captain.

•••

Astrid ached to get a better view of the flying ship. The lower part of it—what she had earlier mistaken for cargo—looked like the carracks she’d seen at Puerto Santa Lucia—the ones that carried the mail and other goods from Melas to Capri, at the eastern end of the Valles Marineris.

Master Breiner made his way back up the line, glaring in the direction it had gone, his face red. Riders, take the field. Grooms, you’re dismissed.

Astrid clasped Chaya’s frail shoulder. God be with you.

And also with you, she responded.

Chaya couldn’t understand how keenly her rote response struck. Race days were harder for Astrid than any other. Thank you. She patted Ragnar once more. Fly well, old friend.

He burred and cocked an eye at her.

While the others climbed the exterior stairs to the roof, Astrid walked through the aerie and out to the front lawn. As she stepped outside, she saw a noblewoman in a green gown with a billowing skirt. Govnor Stuart of Noctis. Cycles ago, they had met face to face. Would she remember? Astrid would never forget her.

A thin male attendant followed Lady Eleanor toward the stands.

Great iron stakes, like oversized tent pegs driven into the ground, held taut ropes that anchored the flying craft in place. As she approached, the canvas wings retracted with a great clatter from within. They folded alongside, not like a bird’s wing or a dragon’s, but like a lady’s fan.

Her boots crushed His Lordship’s fine lawn as she circled the craft, curiosity overcoming any fear of Master Breiner’s wrath. He wouldn’t look for her until after Ragnar’s race.

Long, thin gray rods on the gunnels supported a bowl-shaped thing rather like the keel of a second ship, but it gleamed like silver. Above that stretched an oval balloon of scaly hide. Dragon skin. Couldn’t be anything else.

Rounding the prow, she admired the figurehead, carved in the shape of a great bird with plumage like fire. On the side of the bow, just below the gunnel, was painted the name Phoenix.

On the off side—what sailors would call starboard—a hatch lay open, forming a ramp down to the ground. She peered inside, but could see only an empty, low-ceilinged room. Boarding without invitation would be ill advised, if the fellows manning this craft were anything like those who sailed the Melas Sea.

Aft, a rope ladder hung from a small hatch.

On the aft section, above the rudder, hung a four-pronged appendage like a windmill. She drew around to the port side. The carrack wasn’t large—she guessed six meters, stem to stern, and four meters across the widest part of the middle. But the hull-and-balloon-hybrid above it was at least ten times bigger.

How did it stay aloft in still air?

A handsome man in a dark blue jacket leaned over the gunnel. What do you think, miss?

It’s beautiful.

The man smirked. So are you.

Huh. She wasn’t in it for that. She turned and walked away to see whether he’d apologize or turn nasty.

Wait, wait, miss…

She paused.

I am sorry, he said. Wait there, I’ll come down. He withdrew from view.

She could hold her own against him just as she did the sailors. And that ship…Could one call it a ship if it wasn’t on the sea?

If only to get the answer, she waited, ogling the craft a bit longer. Strolling back to the starboard hatch, she studied every beam and bracing.

Inside, boots pounded wood. Shortly the man walked down the gangway. He made a little bow. Ian Kahoon, miss. I’m the captain of this airship.

What a lovely word. Airship. She bobbed her head. Astrid Laakkonen.

You work here in the aerie?

Yes, sir. And you?

Lady Eleanor Stuart, govnor of Noctis, employs me to pilot this ship for her.

Ah. I should have guessed she was behind it.

How could you have?

I saw her walking to the stands. The airship came from the west, so it must have come from either Noctis or Ius. But Govnor Albani of Ius arrived two days ago.

You’re very clever.

Don’t you forget it. Astrid moved around to the bow again. The figurehead bird’s wings swept back along the prow. Her eyes roamed up to the second hull and the great balloon. It’s enormous.

Hah. That’s what a man likes to hear from a woman.

Oh! Honestly… She turned and stalked toward the aerie.

He followed. Admit it. That was an opening I could not ignore.

She turned on him. Yes, you could have.

Astrid was almost two meters tall, but he stood a handspan taller than she. His wavy hair was chestnut brown, and dark green eyes shone from a face weathered by sun and wind and crinkled by his smile.

Would you like a tour?

Oh, yes. Please. Perhaps it was improper to accept such an invitation from a man, but how could she pass up the chance?

He waved his arm toward the gangway, and she climbed inside just as the trumpets signaled the first sprint.

•••

Ian followed Astrid up the gangway. A rope of braided pale blonde hair ran down her spine across the backdrop of a threadbare sweater darned at the elbows. Shapely hips filled out her tan trousers, which were tucked into weathered black boots with low heels. She paused in the empty hold and looked back at him.

We can’t carry much cargo. He hauled on the rope that pulled the gangway into place. It closed with a bang and the clank of a latch. Hard enough to get aloft with passengers and crew.

Passengers. Govnor Stuart and her aide?

He walked past her to the corridor. Exactly. He gestured to narrow pine doors. These are the cabins. Crew is two deck hands, stoker, cook, and myself. The corridor opened up into a room that spanned the width of the ship. Mess. Galley’s back there. He pointed aft.

Cook, a short, plump matron twice his age, with graying brown hair, filled the galley doorway. What are you on about, Captain?

Just giving Miss Laakkonen a tour.

Is she my new scullery girl? Cook walked forward, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s a bit old and big for the job.

Astrid snorted and muttered under her breath, I’ve heard that before.

Ian shook his head. Astrid was tall, curvaceous, and fit. This is no scullery maid. She works in the aerie.

"Well, you need