A/N: Brogan's a real word?? Since when?? apparently its a type of shoe 0.0 so, just for clarity ... I did not name my character after a shoe ... it's coincidence, I tell you!

Ok, so, anyway ... Chapter three is here - though I'm really not sure what to think of it ... these scenes didn't even appear in my original draft.

RR and I'll love you forever. Blessed Be xxxx

Chapter Three – The Elvin Council

Mike was silent as Joe tried to regain his composure after the stress the enforced memories had had on his body and mind. His head was throbbing horribly - it felt as though it might burst at any moment - and his brain had been besieged so much by the magical probing that Joe was even having trouble controlling his limbs. Little wonder that some people were driven to madness!

"What exactly did you remember?" Mike asked at length, helping Joe up off the floor and back into his chair.

Joe shook his head reluctantly; he didn't want to discuss it. The memory was now so vivid in his mind that it was making him feel sick. He could smell the reek of blood, taste it in his mouth, feel it seeping - along with his life force - out of the ugly wound in his chest. He could hear the battle cries, the screams; wails of pain, terror and grief as bodies fell as abundantly of autumn leaves, littering a barren landscape.

"Joe," Mike pressed, "if you keep it to yourself the memory will drive you mad."

"I saw … that night," Joe responded, his voice a strange monotone that surprised even himself. His eyesight flickered and a ghostly image of the battle scene became superimposed with the steadily lightening library, as if summoned by his words. His thoughts, body and voice seemed oddly detached from one another - like separate entities. He heard himself speak as if from a great distance, felt his heart pounding without registering the fact that it belonged to him. Was he loosing his mind? Was the spell going to destroy him as Mike had warned him it would?

"What night?" Mike's voice was familiar, but Joe could no longer see him. He was reliving that moment when Retor's spell had hit him, over and over again, feeling the pain anew each time.

"The night at the volcano," Joe said, wincing as an agonising, burning pain ripped across his chest in exactly the same place where Retor's dark magic had struck him all those months ago, "the night I died."

At those words pain exploded throughout Joe's entire body, throwing him to the ground once more as the memory engulfed him, dragging him back to the battleground.

"Enough!" Mike roared, "Satis! Terminus!"

The pain stopped abruptly. The memory dissolved. Joe was back in the library, feeling nothing but the early morning sunlight on his face; smelling nothing but the fresh, warm air; hearing nothing but the birds serenading the morning through the windows. His mind was clear again, his eyesight focused, his thoughts and memories very much within his control once more. He was back.

"That's not the end of it," Mike warned, helping Joe to his feet again, "the spell won't wear off for quite a while - I've only given you a brief respite, I'm afraid."

Joe nodded - he'd expected as much.

"I wish I'd remembered something of more use," he said wearily.

"How did you know?" Mike asked, "How did you know that the bird is more dangerous than Retor?"

"Because I could feel it," Joe shuddered at the memory, "in its power, when it attacked me - it felt even darker, even deadlier, than the spell Retor used to…"

His voice trailed away and Mike lapsed into silence, too, trying to take in what Joe had said.

"How can anything be worse than Retor?" The Seer pondered after a while, "how can anything be more deadly - more evil?"

"Retor was shrewd, calculating and malevolent - but he had a human mind. He had a plan, a reason, no matter how evil it was. That's the difference; plans can be discovered, tactics can be devised against them. This bird doesn't have a human mind. It knows nothing except how to kill. It will attack randomly, without reason, without compunction. There will be no second-guessing it, there will be no way-laying it, there will be no chance of tricking it into a trap like we did with Retor … and it's so hard to wound. Give it time and I doubt all the armies in the world will be able to bring it down. Give it time and it could become near invincible and we can't find a single thing …" here he swept all the books off the table in a sudden burst of fury, "…that's remotely helpful! Not a single thing to help us fight against it!"

"Joe, calm down!" Mike yelled over the crash of falling books, "there's still time! We can…"

"I'd rather," Joe interrupted, anger ablaze in his eyes, "be back beneath that volcano. I'd rather come face to face with Retor again. I'd rather be killed by his dark magic, I'd rather be back inside the Soul Crystal … anything but face that bird!"

"You can't mean that!" Mike looked horrified, "Retor's Soul Crystal almost destroyed the world!"

"Give that bird time," Joe said darkly, "and it will entomb Merranda in an ice age!"

He didn't know how he knew that, or why he'd said it … but something deep inside him, something instinctive, told him that the words were true. That bird could cause more trouble with one flick of its chilly wing than Retor could have managed in years. It could cause the kind of damage Retor could only achieve with the help of his armies. It had powers that could make the very foundations of the planet tremble, bring the whole world crashing into the dust of destruction. Joe had never come across anything like this in his life and he was terrified. He was no coward; he had fought dragons, demons, hydras, had come close to being killed many times and had actually made the ultimate sacrifice, once, to save Tara’s life – and he’d faced it all willingly, if not without fear, then at least without hesitation or regret. But now he knew, knew deep in the very core of his soul, the deepest part of the human spirit that transcends time, the echo of lives gone before that exists as a hidden instinct in all living things, that he would rather do anything else but come face to face with that bird. It was so dangerous … so evil that even thinking about it brought him out in a cold sweat. He had not felt his heart beat so rapidly since the time when he thought that Tara might die … he was terrified, terrified of a thing he had never heard of before in his life and only encountered once, that morning. At first appearance, it hadn’t really seemed any more dangerous than the various other creatures he had faced in the past, but there was something about it … something about the aura around it … that seemed so dangerously familiar to him…

Joe shook his head; the effort of trying to remember was making his head spin and, afraid that his memories would rise up and besiege him again, he quickly stood up and headed for the door.

“No sense waiting around here when there’s obviously nothing to find,” he told Mike, “though in all honesty, I can’t think how we’re going to find that creature now.”

“Maybe if we can find its trail we can track it.” Mike suggested, following him out into the corridor. Joe, however, shook his head.

“It won’t leave much of a trail through the air, and Limbius told me he saw it heading off over the ocean. The sea’s so wide that it’d be foolish to try to follow it over water … besides, it’ll be long gone by now.”

“Then what…?” Mike started to ask, but at that moment Iustus suddenly appeared. The sword hovered in front of Joe, its reflected face grave.

“Any news?” Joe asked hopefully, though judging by Iustus’s expression it was fairly obvious that the elves had had something to say on the issue.

“Jack is still discussing what has happened with the Council, but he sends the message that they know what the creature is, and it hasn’t been seen for centuries. It is supposed to be entombed in an enchanted rock prison somewhere in Canthonia and they have no idea how it could have got out.”

“Did they say what the bird is?” Joe felt a fresh wave of dread, as if something inside him sensed that what he was about to hear wasn’t good.

“It is known as ‘The Phoenix of the Frozen Fire’, and the last time it was free it wreaked havoc upon the world,” Iustus replied gravely, “it was created with the sole purpose to kill – the ultimate weapon in a war that had been raging for many years.”

“A weapon!” Mike exclaimed, “that bird was created? As a weapon?”

“All it knows,” Joe said quietly, feeling the elusive memory that Mike’s spell had been trying to locate flashing tantalisingly close to the fore of his mind … he should know about this … he did know about this – yet he was sure that no one had ever told him about this Phoenix of the Frozen Fire. “Is how to kill, destroy!”

“It happened so long ago that the story has long since passed into legend and been forgotten,” Iustus continued, “but I must admit that I know very little about this topic myself … if you wish to learn more, you should go to the Elvin Council … your brother-in-law requested that I bring you there myself.”

“Then I’ll come too,” said a voice from the end of the corridor. Joe and Mike turned in unison to see Tara striding towards them, Maya close on her heels. The young queen’s eyes were troubled and looked red, as if she had been weeping, but she looked composed. Determined. Much more like the warrior she had been when they had all been facing Retor.

“Tara, honey,” Joe began, “there’s no need, Mike and I can…”

“That bird has my brother,” Tara interrupted, her voice full of determination, “If I can’t fight, then I will at least learn what that thing is and find some way – however small – in which I can help. I can’t sit back and do nothing, Joe!”

Joe sighed. He knew Tara better than anyone and knew there would be no changing her mind now that she had made it up. Besides, she did have a right to know what was going on … it was her brother – and her kingdom – that were at stake now that that creature was on the loose. Plus he understood what she was going through … it was awful to loose someone that you loved, and even worse when there was nothing you could do about it.

“Ok, then,” he relented, holding out his hand for Tara to grab hold of, “but no fighting, Maid. No doing anything foolish, promise me that.”

Tara nodded, but that wasn’t confirmation enough for Joe … Tara had gone off once before after Retor, leaving him and the others behind in an attempt to save them from the fates she had foreseen.

“Promise me!” he insisted. Tara hesitated.

“Alright,” she said at last, “I promise, I won’t do anything foolish.” Then she reached out and grabbed Iustus by the hilt, saying; “let’s go!”

The castle dissolved around them as Joe and the others were thrown into a dark portal between space and time, hurtling for what seemed like an age through shapeless shadows, their hair and clothing billowing in a mysterious wind.

Eventually Joe felt his feet touch solid ground and the roar of the magical energy that had given shape to the vortex that had transported them gave way to the sound of birds singing. Joe, who had closed his eyes against the buffeting wind in that place between places, opened them, looked around and felt his jaw drop open in surprise.

There was grass at his feet and trees all around him, a crystal clear stream burbled nearby, its water lapping at dark banks where multi-hued flowers attracted clouds of butterflies. Birds were flitting above his head, warbling from every direction and animals – including rabbits and a herd of deer – were grazing serenely. Yet he was very obviously inside a very large and impressive building.

Tree trunks formed pillars that held up a vaulted blue ceiling, arched roots formed windows through which the sunlight shone more brightly than it ever did in the world that Joe knew. A large circle of tree stumps wrapped in ivy and large red and white spotted toadstools stood in the centre of the room, forming an area of seating where several figures were talking earnestly. They were all slender folk, with delicate features that far surpassed the beauty of any human. Their eyes were bright, their skin flawless, their pointed ears and tranquil manner immediately marking them as elves. Yet there was a definite undercurrent of anxiety in their usually calm voices, a thread of unrest that threatened to break their composure.

One of the figures looked up, spotted Joe and the others and, excusing himself to his companions, stood up and limped over, leaning rather heavily on a stick. There was something in his features – some subtle difference – that set him apart from his friends in the circle, but Jack, with his fair complexion and bright blue, green-tinged eyes, had inherited more of their father’s elfin characteristics than either Tara or Jason. Even the ugly wound in his side – a testament from a past battle that refused to heal – couldn’t take away the mystical, ethereal aura that hung around him, marking him as one of the Elfin race despite his half-mortal heritage.

“Good,” he said, clasping Joe’s hand in greeting, “I had hoped you would arrive quickly.” His eyes were bright with tears; perhaps he had been weeping for the brother he had, in all likelihood, lost forever. Struggling to keep himself composed, he turned and pulled Tara into a consoling hug.

“It must be worse for you, who have known him all your life, little sister. Had I the strength, I would be out searching myself.”

Joe felt a surge of pity; Jack’s wound meant that he couldn’t leave the boundaries of either the White Castle or the Elfin Lands – a few hours away from their magical protection and his injuries would prove fatal. That was why it was Tara, not he, who had inherited the crown; Bolindia needed a monarch who was able to fight, if the need arose, to keep it safe.

“I know,” Tara let out a bitter laugh and rested her hands on her stomach, “you and I are in the same boat; I’ve been banned from fighting, too.”

“Any more news?” Mike asked quickly; perhaps he was hoping to distract Tara’s attention away from her frustration over not being able to search for her brother. Joe was grateful for his tact; Tara’s emotions were volatile enough with her advanced pregnancy, but now…

“The Council is trying to track the Phoenix down,” Jack replied, “but they are having trouble; it has been a long time since it was last free – it is hard to find records detailing how to find the creature…”

“…Let alone stop it,” Joe sighed.

Jack nodded, “I have never seen the Council Elders so concerned, I fear this Phoenix may be a force beyond our control.”

“It has been trapped before,” Tara argued, “Surely it can be trapped again?”

“Alas,” Jack sighed, “I fear entombment may not be an adequate solution this time; the Phoenix has escaped once…”

“Escaped,” said a grave voice, “or released?”

Joe and the others turned and saw an elderly elf hobbling towards them, his wrinkled face ashen and solemn. His long hair was as white as winter snow and held in place by two braids at his temples, which were fastened together at the back of his head. On his brow rested a diadem crown of gold set with glistening jewels and his robes were fine white linen traced with gilt borders at cuffs, hem and neck. Evidently he was someone of great importance, for Jack bowed deeply to him.

“Greetings, Wise One,” he said respectfully, “may I introduce…?”

“Your sister and her husband, yes, yes, I know,” the Elder said impatiently, “and Mike and Maya Mentos of Mentonia.”

“Brogan is the oldest and wisest of the elves,” Jack continued, unfazed. Perhaps he was too accustomed to Brogan’s brusqueness to be overly concerned about it; indeed, Joe suspected that his mood was just a front to mask his fear over the situation with which they were all faced.

“I don’t understand,” Tara said, addressing Brogan, “released? Who would release that beast?”

“Who indeed?” said Brogan darkly, “why, somebody desperate for power, or revenge, or some such evil purpose, daughter of Carenos.”

“Then why attack Jason? Why my brother?”

“That is something we would all like to know,” Brogan sighed, “Perhaps a fluke. Perhaps it was an attack upon you that went wrong; you upset a lot of Retor’s close followers when you succeeded in defeating him. However, we…” he spread his arms out wide, indicating the assembly of elves,

“…have no way of knowing for sure why the Phoenix is loose, what it is doing in Bolindia, or why there have been no reported sightings before the attack on the White Castle. It is very strange. And very frightening.” His face became considerably more ashen, “There are many dangerous things in this world, daughter of Carenos, the Phoenix of the Frozen Fire is one of the worst. Ah, there was a time when the mention of it would strike fear in the heart of the boldest of warriors. But now it is forgotten. I wonder … was it wise to let that knowledge fade away?” Brogan seemed to fade and whither like an autumn leaf right before Joe’s eyes, aged by the terrible burden of the knowledge of what the Phoenix was and what it could do. The elusive memory was throbbing at the back of Joe’s mind again. He tried to push it aside; now wasn’t the best time to collapse and get trapped within a memory he couldn’t control, especially if it was one where he wasn’t sure what was going to happen. He couldn’t hold it completely back, however; he saw a flash of light, felt that odd sensation of simultaneously freezing and burning that only the Phoenix could bring, heard the echo of a piercing, blood-curdling shriek and a terrible pain in his midsection that nearly knocked him over with its force – a pain, he knew, that stemmed from a fatal wound. A grey mist formed in front of his eyes, blinding him as he felt himself falling. The grey swelled into an inky blackness, threatening to consume him. Something warm and wet was flowing down his side – blood … blood carrying away his strength … blood from a mortal wound.

“Joe!” Tara shrieked. Joe groaned and sat up, retching on the grass; evidently he had collapsed as the memory sought to take control of his mind. He was vaguely surprised to find that the wound in his side was gone, but his head was swimming so much that he didn’t pay too much attention to that fact … he couldn’t, it hurt his mind too much.

Tara was kneeling beside him, one arm behind his back, supporting him while his strength returned.

“What happened?” she demanded, mopping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of her gown, “you … you haven’t got the Sight, have you?”

“No,” Joe said weakly, “it was … a memory.”

“A memory? How can a memory make you collapse like that? I thought something had happened … I thought you were ill!”

Mike stepped in and explained exactly what had happened with the spell, for which Joe was grateful – his head was buzzing so much that he doubted that he would have been able to string enough words together to tell Tara what he was experiencing. Tara listened in silence, her expression getting steadily darker, then, when Mike had finished speaking, she rounded on Joe.

“Of all the stupid, irresponsible things to do…” she hissed, “what were you thinking! Have you any idea what it’s like to have that kind of vision? Don’t you remember what I went through when I first developed the Sight?”

“Tara, honey, this isn’t like your visions…” Joe tried.

“NO!” Tara shrieked, drawing the attention of the elves who immediately stopped talking and turned to watch, looking stunned at her sudden outburst, “IT’S WORSE! YOU KNEW FULL WELL WHAT THAT SPELL ENTAILED! YOU KNEW FULL WELL HOW DANGEROUS IT WAS….”

“I had to try….”

“ANYTHING COULD HAVE HAPPENED! YOU COULD HAVE LOST YOUR MIND! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! AND THEN WHAT WOULD I DO? I CAN’T FIND JASON ON MY OWN IN THIS CONDITION, CAN I? I CAN’T RAISE THREE CHILDREN ON MY OWN!”

“Tara, honey…”

“AS IF WE DON’T HAVE ENOUGH TO CONTEND WITH, WITH THE PHOENIX AND THE BABY BEING SO CLOSE TO BEING BORN, YOU HAVE TO GO AND DO THIS? HOW DARE YOU?”

“What did you see?” Mike interrupted quickly, breaking through Tara’s angry tirade. Tara lapsed into silence, but her eyes continued to glitter menacingly and her nostrils flared. Maya looked stunned and Joe knew why; Tara had never screamed at him like that before, at least not over something he had done. Not that he could blame her. Looking back, waking unknown memories like that, especially when he knew the risks, was an extremely foolish thing to do … and he could hardly have picked a worse time to try it with everything that was going on.

“Not much I could understand,” he answered Mike, “I think … I think I’ve faced that bird before – but I couldn’t have, could I?”

“Not in this lifetime,” said Brogan quietly. Everyone turned to look at him. “The Phoenix has been imprisoned for many centuries,” the old elf continued, “It’s name has not been mentioned for a long time, and no creature exists that even comes close to being as powerful or as dangerous as it. If your memory is to be believed – and there is no reason not to believe that it is genuine – then you have lived before, and you fought against the Phoenix the last time it was free.”

“Lived … before?” Joe coughed, still feeling queasy; the memory had been so real that the shock of the injury had made him sick. Was it possible? He wasn’t sure he wanted to believe it, but after everything that had happened to him in recent years the possibility of reincarnation was hard to discount; hardly anything seemed impossible to him anymore.

“Who were you?” Brogan asked, “You remember facing the Phoenix? Did you triumph?”

“No,” Joe said slowly, closing his eyes against the memory as it welled up anew, but quickly opened them again; the absence of visual proof of the present time only made the memory worse, “I died. It killed me.”

Tara whimpered. Maya pressed a hand to her mouth, looking scared. Mike and Jack said nothing, but both looked grave.

“How?” Brogan, in contrast to the others, seemed oddly calm.

“It slashed me with its talons…” Joe responded dully, feeling very strange to be discussing the manner of his own death with someone he had only just met, “here,” he gestured with his hand across his midriff. Brogan and Jack exchanged darkly significant looks.

“Away to the library, Jack,” Brogan ordered, “Perhaps you should take Mrs. Mentos with you … two sets of eyes will search more quickly than one.”

“I’ll go too,” Mike said, seeing Maya open her mouth as if to argue against not being allowed to attend the meeting that everyone sensed was about to be held, “I’ll be more use helping with research at this stage; Joe can fill us in on what was said later.” He looped an arm around Maya’s shoulders – she only looked slightly mollified – and steered her away after Jack, who was limping off in the direction of the Elfin Council’s library as fast as his injury would permit.

“We’d better get in place, if we want to hear what the Council has to say.” Tara said, trying to help Joe to his feet.

“No, I’m fine … don’t try to lift me!” Joe rose shakily to his feet, resisting the urge to cling on to Tara for support.

“Just because I’m pregnant, doesn’t mean I can’t help you!” Tara snapped; evidently her anger had not yet dissipated, “Here!” she grabbed his arm, pulled it around her shoulder and helped him stumble over to the circle.

Joe sank gratefully onto a tree stump and Tara seated herself on the one next to him, tight lipped and steely-eyed, obviously still incensed.

“I’m sorry, Maid,” Joe said, “but I could sense that there was something in my memories about that bird and I thought, if I could only recall what it was, I could find a way to help Jason. Given that Mike and I couldn’t find anything of use in the library, I thought the risk was worth it.”

Tara opened her mouth and, for a moment, he thought she was going to start shouting again, but a moment later all the anger seemed to leech out of her.

“I just … don’t want to loose you again,” she said softly, “not after everything we’ve been through. I’m afraid that if something happens to you … this time … this time I won’t be able to bring you back!” Her eyes were wide with fear, bright with threatening tears. Joe felt a surge of guilt; her terror over his safety was even worse than her anger.

“I’m sorry,” Joe repeated, grabbing hold of her hand, “I’ll be careful, I promise … I won’t leave you alone again.” He smiled and Tara returned it weakly. A single tear broke free of her eye and cascaded down her pale cheek.

“I may already have lost Jason,” she said, “I don’t want to loose you, too.”

Joe didn’t know what to say in response to this – fortunately, he was saved the trouble as Brogan entered the circle and cleared his throat, calling all attention to him. A hush fell amongst the assembled elves. They all looked up at their leader intently, anxious to learn what it was he intended to do about the great danger that was threatening to engulf them all.

“First,” said Brogan in a voice that was oddly powerful for his advanced years, “I shall explain to our human guests exactly what it is we are facing, for it is they, in the end, who must rid us of this evil.”

There was some dissent at this comment, but Brogan held up an authoritarian hand and silenced the mutterings swiftly.

“It is in the hands of man that the sword of salvation rests. We need not elfish lore, but the strength and cunning of the warrior to defeat this Phoenix. Therefore, let us put our trust in the two that sit amongst us – the two that have already proven the strength of their spirits by facing and defeating Retor.” He smiled at Joe and Tara, then, without another moment’s hesitation, he launched into his story:

“You will already know that when Retor became a god he destroyed the old land of Altania, a powerful nation, the cradle of the magical world and the home of Deronia and the rest of the Altanian gods before they became deified?”

Tara and Joe nodded; they knew all this – Retor, when he was alive, had been accused of a crime he had not committed. After his execution, his rage over this injustice was so great that he rose from the dead and rained destruction upon the people who had wrongfully killed him. The entire continent of Altania had been destroyed, scattering a handful of survivors around the globe.

“Some of the survivors,” Brogan continued, “arrived and settled in Canthonia, a land far to the east. Unfortunately, Canthonia is an arid land; the most hospitable areas exist near a sacred river, which annually floods its banks with fertile silt, creating areas where farming is possible.

The surviving Altanians needed fertile land to grow food to feed themselves, but they soon came into conflict with the native people, to whom habitable land is scarce and precious. They didn’t take easily to the idea of strangers in their midst.

At first the disputes were mild; the Canthonians tried to convince the strangers to leave. When that didn’t work, they demanded it … then when that attempt failed, they started to take the Altanians into slavery.”

“No!” Tara exclaimed incredulously; she had spent the best part of the last year undoing all the cruelty the previous king – an impostor named Bolin – had inflicted upon Bolindia. Slave trade was one of the things she had had to confront and she felt very strongly about it.

“I’m afraid so,” a hint of anger appeared in Brogan’s eyes – he obviously felt the same way as Tara on the subject of slavery – but he composed himself quickly and continued with the story:

“Of course, the Altanians were a hardy race and would not let themselves be bullied easily. They fought back, using their magic to drive the Canthonians away. Eventually things got out of hand and a full-scale war broke out. The war raged for many years. Crops failed to grow because there were none left to tend them; every able-bodied man, woman – even children beyond a certain age – were forced to go to battle. People starved, fell ill … died. The country, once prosperous, fell into ruin…”

He broke off and closed his eyes, as if reluctant to tell what happened next. The other elves were sitting up, straight-backed and tense, their attention riveted on Brogan. This was common knowledge to them; they knew what was coming. Joe felt his stomach clench with anxious anticipation and he leaned forward, straining to catch every word as Brogan’s voice grew quieter and quieter, trailing away with the intense emotional effort the recounting of this tale was causing him.

“It is … unclear…” Brogan continued hesitantly, “which side created the Phoenix – both races were adept at magic – but they lost control. The Phoenix broke free. It attacked both sides indiscriminately, killing anything – or anyone – unfortunate enough to stray across its path. In no time at all the war was over … there were none left who could fight.”

Joe drew a sharp breath – an entire nation obliterated by one bird? It seemed inconceivable. It was horrific … to imagine that that creature had been created by human hands! To imagine that it could halt a war that had been raging unchecked for years so abruptly! That kind of power was insane – what had its creator been thinking?

“The Phoenix was an unstoppable force for many, many years after that,” Brogan continued, “many tried, of course, to destroy it … they were invariably killed. The creature didn’t care who or what it destroyed – its blood-thirst was insatiable. Eventually, however, a young man did succeed in stopping the Phoenix – he had seen little more than sixteen summers, yet he managed what armies of grown men could not. He faced the bird deep in the cold tundra of the South Pole, where its cold magic could do no harm, and used unimaginable power to open a rift in the ice and seal the creature for all eternity beneath it.

“Or, at least, he thought it would be for an eternity,” Brogan sighed, looking dejected. “The young man was seriously wounded during that fight … mortally wounded, in fact. He was missing for a long time before anyone thought to look for him at the South Pole …” he hesitated, “…I was the one who found his body. He was frozen, the snow forming a perfect white shroud over him … he looked as though he was merely sleeping…” a single tear trembled on his eyelashes, then fell and splattered on the grass, “…he was … my son…!”

“I’m sorry, Brogan,” Joe said sympathetically. Tara echoed his condolences, but Brogan hardly seemed to hear them … he was looking at Joe with an odd expression on his aged face – an expression that, for some reason, made Joe feel uneasy.

“Did you know, Joe Baker,” Brogan said slowly, his voice wavering with emotion, “That my son died from a wound across his chest, here,” he gestured over his midsection – exactly where Joe had indicated, earlier, that he had felt the mortal wound awakened by his memories. “He was the last to face the Phoenix, the last to die … now, it seems, he is fated to meet with it again.”

“W…what?” Tara stuttered, “Joe … what’s he talking about?”

Joe didn’t answer, though he had a good idea what Brogan meant. His mouth had gone dry, his heart was hammering … he didn’t want to believe it but somewhere, deep inside of him, he knew that what Brogan was suggesting was the truth. His memory … that memory … was awakening now for a reason – a reason he couldn’t afford to ignore. Very slowly, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Joe?” Tara pressed, “what’s going on? What is he saying? What does his son have to do…?” it suddenly seemed to dawn on her. Her eyes flew wide with surprise and fear, her mouth dropped open and she jumped back with a little cry that nearly sent her toppling from her seat.

“No!” she gasped, “it’s not … you can’t…!”

“I’m afraid so,” Joe said heavily. “Brogan’s son is the one who has to face the Phoenix – he’s the only one who has the power to stop it.”

“But … but that memory,” Tara stuttered, “…it was yours, from another lifetime … that means…?”

“Yes,” Joe confirmed, feeling as though he was signing his life away as the words left his mouth, “Brogan’s son is me!”

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A/N: Latin ... 'Satis' means 'Enough', 'Terminus' means 'End' or 'Finish'