Happily Ever Afterlife

by J A Campbell

  At first he couldn't make out all the details, for the bird blazed more golden than his cherries in the faint winter sunlight. Finally, she settled on a branch of his treasured tree. Pyotr wasn't sure how he knew the bird was female, but there was no question in his mind. She was the size of a small pheasant with long tail feathers that draped behind her like a peacock's, blazing with golds, oranges, and reds, and looking exactly like a hot fire. She tilted her delicate head and the tuft of feathers on top brushed a branch. Pyotr swore he saw a spark of light where the golden feathers touched the golden bark. She hopped forward, intent on one of the cherries. Her song faltered as she darted forward, plucking the berry and holding it in her beak. It blazed for a moment before she gulped it down. Then she hopped forward, looking intently at the next golden berry.

  Pyotr held himself very still, waiting for the right moment. He didn't want to startle the bird, but no matter how beautiful she was, he couldn't let her steal all of his cherries.

  She hopped closer, taking another berry. She was almost close enough to catch. She fluttered to a lower branch, her beauty distracting him, and he almost missed his chance. Pyotr jerked himself out of the trance her fiery grace had created, and before she could react, he jumped.

  The bird squawked in alarm, a discordant jangle of silver bells, and flapped once, trying to escape. Pyotr was faster and grabbed her around the neck and body, before allowing himself to come back to the earth, landing next to his slumbering servant. The bird struggled, singing frantically. Pyotr could feel the nets of her magic trying to entrap him, but he resisted.

  "Stop that, or I'll break your neck." He doubted the bird could understand him, but she fell silent. "Boris, wake up." He infused his voice with power and his servant jerked awake.

  "Baron, I'm so sorry!" He yawned, spoiling his apology. His eyes widened as he spied the beautiful bird. "Holy Father!"

  "Yes, Boris, this is the cause of our troubles."

  The bird struggled again, and then went limp, as if she knew she had no chance at escape. Some of the fiery light dimmed from her golden eyes, and a single white tear rolled down her beak. Pyotr ignored her sorrow.

  "Baron, what will you do with it?"

  The bird tilted her head, as if she too were interested in her fate.

  "The normal punishment for theft would be death."

  The bird trilled a sad note, and Boris looked as if he might cry.

  "But, she is too beautiful to kill, and birds cannot be expected to know about property. I believe I will keep her in the castle. Go, find a sturdy cage. Quickly."

  Boris wrenched his gaze from the bird and bowed slightly before dashing into the castle.

  Pyotr followed, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot. He'd have Boris come lock the door later. He didn't dare release the bird from his grip. He couldn't have her escaping.

  * * *

  Boris found a gilded cage from some bygone era when humans had kept pretties in the castle. It was dirty, but the golden bars sparkled through the grime.

  He set the cage on the table. "I'll fetch a polishing rag."

  Pyotr held the bird, her warm feathers near to burning his hand, but life seemed to seep back into his limbs until he felt better than he had in centuries. She didn't struggle anymore, but he sensed she was far from subdued. He'd have to put a special lock on the cage lest she use her magic on Boris to escape.

  Boris returned and polished the cage until it shined. Then Pyotr placed the bird in the cage and quickly shut the door. The warm feeling stayed with him, and he sat in his chair and admired his bird. The firelight flickered off of her golden feathers and the golden cage and lit the room until it was nearly as bright as noon. Pyotr felt no discomfort and was pleased.

  "Baron, something about this bird triggers a memory."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, I must think on it. I believe it was a story my wife told the children. If I may be excused, I will ask her."

  "Please."

  Boris took one last look at the beautiful bird, and then left.

  The bird trilled sadly.

  Pyotr smiled.

  * * *

  "Baron! It's the Firebird! My wife remembered."

  "Firebird, yes, I know that story. I believe my mother told me the tale ages ago." Pyotr looked at his bird and smiled. She trilled, looking hopeful for a moment.

  "Does the story say what she eats?"

  "Ah, yes, the finest fruits."

  "That explains why she went after my cherries. Fetch something for her, and a dish of water."

  "Yes, Baron." Boris scampered from the room.

  "Well, little Firebird, perhaps you will sing?" Pyotr watched her, wondering how much she understood. The Firebird was legendary, and most legendary creatures were far more intelligent than they appeared.

  She trilled sadly.

  Boris returned before long with a plate of preserved fruit. It was the finest available in the winter season. He carefully slid the tray and a bowl of water into the cage using a door too small for the bird to squeeze out of. She tilted her head, the light from her feathers reflecting off of the silver platter. She tasted the water, and then studied the fruit again. After a moment, she fluttered her wings and seemed to sigh. Then she delicately picked up the first piece of fruit and ate it.

  Pyotr tried not to show it, but he was relieved. He'd worried she wouldn't eat normal fruit, and he didn't want to feed her all of his cherries, though she obviously liked them.

  "Shall I prepare for your audience, Baron?"

  "Yes, Boris. I believe I shall bring our little Firebird along as well." Pyotr couldn't say why he wanted to bring her along. Her beauty was enough, of course, but it was something else, almost as if he were afraid the warmth he felt in her presence would fade, leaving him hollow again. If nothing else, it would give his peasants something different to talk about.

  * * *

  Pyotr enjoyed the company of his Firebird, even if she rarely did anything but trill sadly. He could spend days watching her, which was far better than staring into the fire for hours at a time, and trying to forget how the long years weighed on him. With her there, it seemed as if he were young again, and the world was fresh and interesting. He'd overheard some of the whispers of his peasants, and they'd noticed a difference in him, a spring in his step and a cheer to his smile, and it made them glad. As his mood improved, so did his people. Their squabbles became less petty, and one couple even brought their newborn son for his blessing, which he was glad to give. However, as happiness spread through his land, his Firebird seemed to wilt. Her feathers still glowed as brightly, but she merely picked at her food, and she mostly sat on her perch with her head tucked under her wing, tail feathers draped beautifully behind her.

  As happy as Pyotr was, the Firebird's sadness made him uneasy.

  "Boris, I believe my Firebird is sad. Does she not have the finest accommodations, the best food you can get in the winter, and safety from the storms that still rage across our land?"

  "Perhaps if she had more room?"

  "Yes, that might do the trick. Search and see if you can find something. If not, have a fine cage commissioned. It should be worthy of her beauty."

  Boris bowed and left the room. He returned several hours later with two of the kitchen servants trailing behind. They all struggled with their burden, but in short order they had a much larger cage set up in his study. It reached to the ceiling and would give the bird room to flutter about. The cage was iron instead of gold, but it was finely wrought and pleasing to the eye.

  The clatter woke the Firebird and she watched, head tilted.

  "Yes, that will do nicely, and now, some sort of perch."

  "We found just the thing in the storeroom." Boris and the kitchen servants bowed out of the room and hurried away. They returned with something that looked like a golden tree, and two other servants brought a post with a flat stand on the top. They placed a pillow and blanket on the stand then left the cage.

  "Excel
lent." Pyotr smiled to show his pleasure and dismissed the kitchen servants. He picked up the Firebird's small, gilded cage and carried it into the larger one. He shut the door behind him, and then opened the door for the Firebird.

  For a time, she stayed huddled in her small cage, but then, eventually, she walked out and stretched her wings. She trilled. The sad sound of perfect silver bells made Pyotr's heart ache. He picked up the smaller cage and quickly let himself out. The Firebird explored curiously, and then flapped her wings and perched in the tree. She hopped around, looking for something, and Pyotr wondered if she sought the golden cherries. Perhaps he could spare one for his Firebird. He almost felt as if he didn't need them to appear at his audiences anymore.

  "Well done, Boris. Now, go fetch one of the cherries. We know she likes them, and perhaps a special treat will help to perk her up."

  Boris looked surprised, but he bowed and left the room.

  "Well, Firebird. How do you feel about your new home?"

  She flapped her wings and sang a few notes before falling silent.

  The pure sound almost moved him to tears.

  Boris returned in short order with a single cherry on the silver platter. He handed it to Pyotr and stepped back.

  The Firebird cocked her head and hopped to the end of the branch, her glow seeming to brighten a little with her interest.

  He let himself back into the cage and held up the platter where she could reach it. She stretched her neck forward and plucked the cherry by the stem, and then hopped backward. She hesitated, almost as if expecting a trick. Finally, she gulped the cherry down and trilled in joy. Her colors seemed richer. She launched herself into the air, flying once around the edge of her cage, before landing on the golden tree again. She trilled, a little more sadly, and then sang.

  Pyotr let himself out, marveling at the beauty of her song. He sank into his chair by the fire and studied her while she sang. The wordless tune seemed to tell of the cool air rushing through her feathers, the brilliant starry night sky, and the heat of the sun on her back.

  Pyotr brushed away a tear when she finished and was surprised to see the fire had burned down to coals. How long had she sung?

  Boris sniffed and wiped tears from his eyes as well before looking startled. "Baron, I apologize. I believe it is time for your audience."

  "Past time, likely." Pyotr stood and studied his Firebird. He wanted to take her along, but she had flown to the soft perch they'd created. She tucked her head under her wing, her tail feathers gleaming in the dim light. He didn't want to disturb her, so he turned and followed Boris to the audience chamber.

  Since he'd captured the Firebird, he'd rarely left her side, and he'd felt more alive than he had in ages. The further he got from the study, the more his long years seemed to drag at him until it was an effort to go on.

  "Baron, are you all right?"

  "Yes, Boris. Simply feeling my years again."

  "Ahh, well, you look as alive as you did when we left the study. The Firebird has been a blessing to us all. Even your people are happier." Boris smiled, as if to illustrate this point.

  "Yes, perhaps we should have a feast in her honor." The idea warmed Pyotr's thoughts and brought a spring back to his step. It had been a long time since he'd hosted a feast. Besides, it would give the kitchen staff something to do.

  "Say the word and it shall be done."

  "Two days should give our people enough notice, and I suspect the next snow will hold off at least three more days."

  "I'll make the arrangements after the audience."

  "Very well."

  * * *

  Pyotr returned to his study alone. He stoked the fire and opened the shutters. The weak afternoon light wouldn't bother him. Then he turned, intending to admire his Firebird. He stopped and stared, shocked at what he saw.

  "Who are you?" Anger flared through him and his voice rose with every word. "What have you done with the Firebird?"

  A woman huddled on the floor. Her forehead rested on her knees, and her long, reddish-golden hair obscured her features. She looked up, glancing around as if just noticing her surroundings. Her eyes flashed golden in the low light.

  "Who are you?" Though Pyotr knew he'd never seen her before, something about her was familiar. Maybe it was her striking lambent eyes. He knew he'd never seen such hair as hers.

  She sat facing him with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her hair draped around her like a cloak, and spread out over the floor like a golden blanket. She rose gracefully, crossing her arms over her bare chest.

  Pyotr swore and took his cloak from his chair. He opened the door and wrapped it around her shoulders. All the light seemed to vanish from the room when her hair was covered, except the light from her eyes. She blinked and even that was gone for a brief moment, seeming to plunge the world into darkness.

  "Who are you?" He kept his voice gentle and led her to his chair in front of the fire, though she couldn't be cold. The heat from her body seemed to radiate off of her, touching the last cold places in his soul. His heart melted and though he didn't believe in love, it was the only word that could describe the feeling spreading through him.

  "How can you not know me?" Her voice sounded like delicate bells. "You have gazed upon me for weeks and carried me around like a prized possession." The accusation in her voice stung him.

  Pyotr frowned. "Firebird?"

  She nodded.

  "How?"

  "I can take this form at will. You kept me deprived of space and sunlight for so long that I lost much of my magic. Now I wish to beg for my freedom."

  Pyotr almost granted it without condition but then he considered. Her presence had brought feeling to his life and happiness to his people. How could he force them to return to their joyless existence?

  She must have seen the hesitation in his eyes.

  "I should not be possessed, yet you captured me fairly. If you grant me the freedom of flight, I promise to remain in the castle one year for each cherry I stole. I see how you use them to help your people, and I was wrong to take them without permission. I was merely hungry after a long flight, and the snowstorm hid most of the food. I couldn't resist their pull." She hung her head.

  "How can I trust you?" Pyotr tried to keep the sympathy he felt from his voice.

  "Baron, I could have escaped the moment you unlocked the door to my cage, for your shutters stand open and I can change shape quickly.

  Pyotr looked at the window, and then back at the woman. "Perhaps, but I can move quickly as well, for I am a vampire."

  Her eyes widened in fear. "So that is how you resisted my magic." Her hand strayed to her neck.

  "Do you have a name?"

  "Zoya."

  "Zoya," he repeated, savoring the taste of her name on his lips. "Very well. You will remain for five years as my guest. We are holding a feast in your honor. I would be pleased if you would attend."

  She nodded and stood, turning her back and dropping the cloak to the ground. Her hair swayed, briefly exposing creamy skin and perfect curves before she knelt. Light flared, and she was a bird again. She flapped to the back of the chair and perched there. Her long tail hung like her hair, beautiful, fiery gold. She trilled, the soft chiming of silver bells filling the study.

  Pyotr smiled. To show that he was serious, he removed the door from the cage and put it in the hallway.

  Zoya fluttered to the perch and tucked her head under her wing.

  Pyotr stared. He had five years to win her heart, and though he had no idea how, he was determined to try.

  * * *

  Pyotr offered his arm to Zoya. He'd dressed in his finest for the feast, and she consented to perch on his arm. Heat from her feathers warmed him. Pyotr wanted to pet her but felt it would be too familiar of him, and she wasn't a pet. Instead, he walked proudly down the hallway and paused outside the door to his reception hall. It was more common to invite other nobles to these sort of events, but he found he actually preferred the company of his own
peasants, and no one else was close enough to attend anyway. The other nobility considered him very eccentric when they thought of him at all, and he preferred it that way. It kept them from asking other questions. Considering what he was, that was a good thing.

  Laughter and cheerful banter filtered through the closed door. "This, Zoya, this is what you've brought my people."

  She tilted her head and looked up at him. Though he couldn't read her expression, he got the impression she didn't completely agree. Pyotr opened the door to the hall and held out his arm. "Go ahead. Fly if you like."

  She trilled and launched herself into the air. His people fell silent as she soared around the room, just over head height. None reached up, though all stared, wonder in their eyes. She landed and perched at the head of the table, just next to his seat. Boris hurried forward with a plate full of fruit and one golden cherry. He set it before her, and she trilled her delight.

  Once she settled, Pyotr took his place at the head of the table. "My people, tonight we honor the Firebird and the joy and happiness she has brought to us even in the depths winter."

  They cheered. Pyotr raised his glass in a toast, and then sat. The servants brought out the food, and then seated themselves. Everyone would celebrate, especially since Pyotr needed little attention and the peasants could serve themselves once the food was placed. His people were much easier to please than nobles.

  Zoya trilled happily when she discovered her special treat, and Pyotr was glad.

  * * *

  Zoya seemed happier. For several weeks, Pyotr hoped letting her have the freedom of the castle would be enough, but one day, he came back into the study and found the Firebird perched in the window, singing sadly to herself. His heart broke, and he knew he had to let her go.

  "Zoya, you can leave. You're right. You should not be possessed. You should be free."

  The Firebird turned and hopped off the sill. Light flared and she stood in human form. Pyotr wrapped his cloak around her shoulders, extinguishing the light from the room, and it felt like the light from his heart.