The Girl at Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page B

the Ala had read to her at night, translating as she went. They were mostly historical texts, detailing the development of Avicen culture over the years; some covered the Avicen’s migration to the eastern part of North America and the reasons why they’d stayed even when human metropolises began to boom along the coastline, forcing them below ground. When Echo had asked why the Avicen stuck around, the Ala had merely tutted and said, “We were here first.” A few books detailed the Avicen’s political structure—an oligarchy headed by a Council of Elders comprising six of the community’s oldest members, of which the Ala was one—while others, like the one the Ala took off the shelf, dealt with esoteric mythology. About three inches thick, the leather-bound tome was written in a form of Avicet so old that few could read it.
    “Wait a minute. If an Avicen left this map behind, then why is the rhyme written in English?” Echo asked.
    “As with so many of the young ones, English was her first language,” the Ala replied. “Avicet is so rarely spoken these days.”
    “Young?” Echo took another look at the date. “This is a hundred years old.”
    “Youth is a relative concept.” The Ala returned to her seat, flipping through the book’s weathered pages. “Here.” Her fingers landed on an illustration near the center of the book. She angled it toward Echo. Without knowledge of old Avicet, Echo couldn’t make sense of the words, but the image caught her attention. A bird, outlined in bloodred ink, hovered on the page, as if frozen in flight, its golden wingsupraised, feathers transitioning to flames at their tips. Tendrils of black smoke clung to its clawed feet as it rose above a pile of ash, beak open in a silent screech.
    “This,” the Ala said, “is the firebird.” She pointed to the words scribbled beneath the illustration. “ ‘When the price is paid,’ ” she translated, “ ‘the worthy will know my name. When the clock strikes midnight, the end will come.’ ”
    “The end?” Echo frowned, looking between the Ala and the book. “This is starting to sound ominous. I don’t know if I can handle ominous on an empty stomach.”
    The Ala leaned toward Echo, serious and somber. “According to our prophecies, the firebird will bring about the end of this war with the Drakharin, but the nature of that end is up to whoever controls it.” With a swat at Echo’s boots, the Ala added, “And get your feet off my table.”
    “Pause,” Echo said, putting her feet on the ground. “Rewind. Explain to me how a bird is supposed to end a war.”
    “The firebird isn’t exactly a bird.”
    “No, of course not, that would be too obvious,” Echo mumbled, biting into the whoopie pie. “So what is it?”
    The feathers on the Ala’s arms ruffled in frustration. “We don’t know. Not exactly. Some say it’s really just a single golden feather capable of granting wishes. Others claim it’s the name for a creature that became extinct long ago. There’s even a small subset of scholars who believe it’s a bird that can breathe fire.”
    Echo quirked an eyebrow. “Kind of like a dragon?”
    Pride gleamed in the Ala’s eyes. “Clever girl. Avicen and Drakharin mythologies have been known to overlap on occasion. What we do know is that, whatever its form, it isneither good nor evil. It can be used to accomplish great things. But greatness is not always good.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” Echo picked at the bits of cream filling drooping over the sides of the whoopie pie. “One ring to rule them all, I get it. But I’m still not clear on why the Avicen and the Drakharin have been at war for so long. I mean, they hate each other, but like … why?”
    The Ala leaned back in her chair, running a hand through the long, soft feathers on her head. “The Drakharin blame the Avicen for their slow fade in power over the years—a spurious charge. As if such a thing were even possible, but desperation makes