Mother Nature seems less intense today. So either Lilandra was wrong, or the afterlife is even more complicated than I had previously imagined. Evidence so far seems to be that the apocalypse hasn’t happened, or, at least, has been postponed. The storm is gone, and the Queen came by the tavern yesterday with the apparently unharmed infant in her arms. Aoibheann was largely occupied with cleaning up a mess in the kitchen, something that appeared to be a result of some argument with Melinda. So, pretty much as normal. Of course, I could be mistaken. Maybe the aftermath of the apocalypse is an afterlife much like the previous ones. I know that some religions believe in re-incarnation, but I am fairly sure that the idea is you start again from the beginning. Of course, I am no expert, so this could possibly be it. Someday I must study the subject more. I wonder if there is a library up at the castle.
Talking of rebirth, we had a most wondrous visitor in the tavern today. Would you believe, dear journal, an actual Phoenix? And to think that I had believed I had seen all there was to see in the matter of mythological creatures. Wondrous though it was; it did not show any sign of harmful intent. Certainly the neither the queen, nor Melinda and Aoibheann seemed worried by it. They left soon after, Melinda to the bath-house; Aoibheann to clean the kitchen; the Queen to do whatever it is that Queen’s do with their time. I offered the phoenix a drink but it demurred, saying that human firewater makes it explode. It seemed to speak inside my head, in a similar way to my old friend Razor, back in London. It is fortunate I have experienced this before, or I would have been somewhat perturbed. It did, however, enquire as to the possibility of incenses and spices, which, if I recall correctly, are things that the phoenix values highly. I told him what spices we had in the kitchen store, having only taken stock of them a short while ago. Several of these appealed to my new friend. Lacking any money, he asked if I would accept a feather. I could scarce refuse such an offer, as who else could claim to own a phoenix feather? He said that some people, such as mages, would value such a thing highly, but I assured him that I had no intention of trading it, not trusting what use a mage might make of said feather. He did seem amused by the idea that I could use it as a quill, should I ever feel like writing a masterpiece of some sort.
On the subject of written masterpieces, I paused in my description of Edmund’s adventures, thinking that perhaps I needed to work out some more details of his background. Soon, he will come to the island, and it would be best to know more of his history, so I can determine how he reacts when he gets there.