Rise of the Firebird

by Amy K Kuivalainen

  His face twisted in disbelief, “I don’t feel that way.”

  “That’s good. I like to keep you guessing.”

  “We’d best get back before it gets much darker,” Yvan said as his eyes scanned the sky about them.

  “Not yet, there’s something I need to do first.”

  “More teacher’s orders?”

  “Not exactly.” Anya kissed his lips quickly, keeping her magic locked away. “Now we can go back.”

  “Strannaya devushka,” Yvan shook his head, “you aren’t going anywhere.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her properly. Like when she connected with the forest, her mind went completely blank when Yvan kissed her. The scent of ozone and heat rose from him and her heartbeat hammered faster until she felt the echo of it resonating through her entire body.

  He loves you so much, the firebird said softly in her mind. She smiled against his lips. Yvan’s kiss was like the rest of him, deep, strong and unshakable.

  “Now we can go,” he said finally. Anya’s mind drifted back into her body and she realised she was trembling.

  “I don’t think my legs are going to be able to move yet,” she admitted and was surprised when he looked bashful. He lifted her off the rock and placed her on her feet.

  “I’ll make sure you don’t fall,” he said and offered her his arm.

  Eldon Blaise arrived back at the camp as Anya did. Aleksandra had made food but Eldon stopped Anya from taking the offered bowl. “Food will not agree with what we are going to do tonight,” he said. “Come, we have to be going. Yvan, you come by in half an hour. You get the good pleasure of guarding us.”

  “Guarding you from what?” he asked curiously.

  “Whatever might interrupt us; Anya and I won’t be in a state to defend ourselves.”

  “Why am I suddenly concerned?” Anya asked.

  “It is a precaution, nothing more, but we need to be going.” Anya picked up her coat and followed him.

  The sun disappeared as they walked next to the stream. There was already a fire burning in the distance.

  “I need you to be away from other voices and other energies for this to work properly,” Eldon explained. “We are the only inhabitants of the cave I found so at least it will be dry.”

  “But it’s not raining.”

  “It will be in another two hours,” Eldon said matter-of-factly. He had cut pine boughs and placed them over the entrance to the cave, shielding them from the breeze. Inside was warm and close. Two beds had been made from leaves and more pine needles. Eldon had a cloak over his and Anya lay her jacket down over hers. Eldon placed another log on the fire and sat down.

  “Now, Anya, I’m going to help you into a trance like state that will allow you to see the deaths of Ilya and Eikki. You’re of their blood and so you are tied to them. Look for clues, anything that might help us. I’m going to be here to ground you if you have been gone for too long,” Eldon explained.

  “Is that likely to happen?”

  “I don’t know, Anya. You’re different to anyone else I’ve ever trained. You’re the most powerful too. I want to be ready for anything.” He took out a small leather pouch and gave her two hazelnuts from it. “Eat these and close your eyes.”

  Anya took a deep breath and put the nuts in her mouth. They tasted a little scorched as if they had been cooked in the coals of a fire. There was another flavour there too, something herbal and fragrant that she couldn’t identify.

  Anya closed her eyes and Eldon started to sing. Anya fought the urge to open her eyes again and stare at him. His voice was unlike anything she’d ever heard, it sounded alive. He was singing softly in Welsh and Anya let the unfamiliar language wash over her. Each time her mind started to pick up a pattern in the song, it would change.

  Anya didn’t know how long she listened, when she was unexpectedly standing on her farm back in Russia. The house was smaller and there were more trees, but it was definitely the right place. She started to run as she heard shouting coming from behind the small wood shed. Vasilli stood over Ilya who was on the ground and bleeding.

  “You, stupid boy, you should’ve taken her up on her offer of glory,” Vasilli spat, a bloody axe in his hand.

  “I’d rather be dead than her creature,” Ilya replied. Anya fought the urge to rush to him. Ilya looked around and his green eyes latched onto her. Anya stood still, wondering if he could really see her at all. He started to make a gurgled choking sound and Anya realised that he was laughing. He sat up and spat blood on Vasilli’s cheek with deadly accuracy.

  “With all the power I have in me, I curse you!” Ilya shouted and Anya felt magic roll over her. “You’ll die on this ground, Vasilli. You’ll be slain like the dog you are. The firebird shall rise and it will mark the end of your days. Look upon its resurrection and tremble! My kin will bear witness to this. I promise it and on that day, I will be avenged.”

  “You don’t have any kin left,” sneered Vasilli. “Your curses are as empty as your power.”

  “Ha! You will never find them and if you do, it matters not. I have something far more powerful than you protecting them.”

  Anya turned her back towards the house to stop herself from screaming as Vasilli stepped over Ilya’s body and cut his throat.

  When she looked up, the body was gone and a woman was walking towards her. She was in gumboots that were too big for her and had a smile on her face. Anya stood still as the apparition of herself walked through her.

  “Hey, Papa, did you want some more wood for the kitchen?” she called. Eikki appeared at the back door beaming at her.

  “No, I have plenty here. Did you settle the horse for the night? You know he loves to bite me still,” Eikki said.

  “You should stop teasing him and telling him you are going to eat him next winter then!” The younger Anya laughed and gathered the old man in a hug. Over her shoulder, the old man’s face turned grave. He was looking into the trees. Anya turned and spotted Baba Yaga’s Black Rider standing beside a birch tree. Fear ran through her. He was so close and neither of them had seen him.

  “I won’t eat him,” Eikki said, “but come inside, it’s getting cold.”

  The sun disappeared and when the light in Anya’s room had gone out, the kitchen door opened once more and Eikki stepped outside. Anya followed him into the forest to where he had seen the Black Rider.

  “You can tell your mistress my answer is still the same,” he said.

  “Tell me yourself,” Baba Yaga’s face was briefly illuminated as she struck a match and lit her pipe.

  “You heard me. Anya is mine. Besides, what use could she possibly be to you? The girl has no magic.”

  “If she has no magic, how come you have that creature watching over her all the time?” Baba Yaga said.

  “What creature?”

  “Ilya’s pet Thanatos.”

  “I don’t see any Thanatos around, do you?” Eikki said waving his arms about.

  “He’s off finding some unfortunate to eat. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. Give me the girl and I’ll make sure she is cared for.”

  “My answer, as it’s always been, is no. I will not pass her up as a pawn to any of you filthy vultures.”

  “Then I suggest you start running.”

  “You wouldn’t dare break the truce between Powers and Gate Keepers!”

  “I said run, old man.” The forest was echoing with yips and howls. Eikki started to run towards the house, but as soon as he hit the tree line, the wolves were on him.

  “Papa!” The kitchen door was open and a figure was silhouetted in the doorway. The younger Anya had grabbed a torch and was running towards them. She saw the body and started screaming. As she wept over the body, Baba Yaga walked from out of the shadows and disappeared into the house. Anya ran to the windows and hoped that Baba Yaga wouldn’t see her in her apparition form. The old woman reappeared, tossing a stone in the air and doing a bandy-legged dance. She’d taken the firebird’s egg from wherev
er Eikki had hidden it.

  Anya was crying now. “Okay, Eldon, I have seen enough.” But Eldon didn’t appear. Anya ran from the house and up the long driveway of the farm.

  Before she hit the road, she landed on the dirty floor of a stone chamber. A man with long black hair had his back to her and was standing at a workbench. Anya got to her feet and looked around at the various bottles and odd glass instruments, herbs and mortars.

  The man turned to reach past her for something, and with some surprise, she saw that it was a much younger Eldon. He wore a very dark green shirt that laced up at the front and was tucked into black trousers. His eyes were a bright gold and he wore torcs of twisted silver and gold around his neck and wrists. He was pulsing with power, more than Anya had ever felt before, even from Ruthann. He radiated with it.

  Whispering to himself, he sprinkled something silvery over a board. With a chill, Anya recognised it as the game she had seen Yanka and Baba Yaga playing. A huge wind tore through the chamber pulling the scene away and Anya was now high on a hill, the stars blazing overhead. Eldon had placed the game on the dirt and was crying out to the wind in a commanding voice. Anya struggled to stay standing as magic pounded the air about her. With deafening crack, Eldon sank to the ground with a groan. With trembling hands, he pulled a flask from his pocket and drank from it. Through gritted teeth, he muttered something Anya didn’t catch and he cried out as red light settled over his head.

  “You cast a spell on yourself?” Anya whispered as that scene dissolved. There was a rushing sound and she was being pulled backwards with a tremendous force.

  “Anya, are you in there?” she heard Eldon’s voice calling to her. She opened her heavy eyes and saw the concerned faces of Eldon and Yvan looking over her.

  Eldon broke into a crooked grin, “Bet that was a rush. Get ready for it, Yvan, she’s about to…cry.” Anya curled up into a ball on the pine needles and started to sob.

  “That’s my signal to leave,” said Eldon. “Rest easy, Anya, it’s natural so let it out. We will talk about what you saw tomorrow. Watch her close, Yvan, if she gets a fever come and find me.” Yvan placed a blanket over her and she gripped his hand.

  “Hold me, as tightly as you can,” she begged. He didn’t ask questions, just did as she asked.

  Chapter Twenty-Two - The Graveyard Procession

  “You look tired,” Søren commented as Aramis suddenly appeared in his dream. They were in a courtyard garden and Søren was happy to see there was wine. He sat down on a stone chair and watched his brother pace.

  “This news of Vasya Melenko has upset me greatly.”

  “I always said that you were a fool to go and sell your services to the Illumination.”

  “That isn’t what I’m concerned about. Did you talk to Ruthann? What did he say?”

  “He knew. He claims that they aren’t allies but occasionally will talk in a professional capacity.”

  “I don’t think Baba Yaga knows that they are not allies. She might be counting on the strength of the Álfr to back her if Yanka gets too out of control. As soon as Ruthann lets her know, otherwise she won’t take it well. You must make ready your defences if not against Baba Yaga then at least against Yanka.”

  “You think she’d be that stupid?” Søren asked.

  “She hates the Álfr and she feels like she has been slighted by them. Make no mistake, brother, she is coming.”

  “And Anya’s plan to stop her is developing?”

  “Yes,” Aramis sat down and smiled softly. “She sends her love and her concern. She misses you. She worries that the Álfr don’t care about you.”

  Søren snorted, “They aren’t meant to care about me. What else has happened? There is something you are not saying.”

  “Yvan kissed her.”

  “Finally! That can’t be a surprise to you,” Søren said.

  “I was surprised at the power they generated when they did. Ilya’s instructions said that we three were to stand together. If we can join our magic, we’d be more than a match for Yanka and Baba Yaga. I’m not sure how it could be accomplished without hurting anyone.”

  “Practice, brother. You and Elenya can already link your power and now you say she can do it with Yvan and the firebird allows it. I’m sure they won’t need to be kissing to do it if they put their minds to it. She’s clever that way.”

  “Yes, she is and she’s grown. She isn’t frightened anymore. Yvan balances her and will stop her from doing anything too reckless.”

  “Are you jealous she chose him?”

  “No, you’ve seen them, Søren. No one could get between that.”

  “Well, I am jealous,” Søren said as he drank some dream wine, “but not about Anya. The man Mychal claims to have taught him, this Ásgeirr, doesn’t exist.”

  “He has to. Mychal has a beautiful spear to prove it.”

  “He was Hvítrvirđar. It’s the only explanation.”

  “Did you ask Ruthann?”

  “Of course not! He would think I’m crazy and I don’t trust him enough right now. He lied to us for a long time, Aramis. I don’t like being lied to.”

  “I know, brother,” said Aramis. “I don’t trust him either, but back to Mychal. You know he is part Hvítrvirđar himself, so it isn’t exactly stretching the realms of impossibility. If the Light Ones sent one of their own to teach him, then I’m not going to question it. He’s the best warrior I’ve ever seen.”

  “He’s only the best because he’s had extra help,” Søren said loftily. “If I had lessons with a Hvítrvirđar, then I’d be still be the best warrior.”

  “Of all the things to be jealous over! You like Mychal even if he’s better with a blade than you are.”

  “He’s one of the only truly good men I’ve met. I would be honoured to fight beside him in battle.”

  “It might come to that soon. In the meantime, make the Sjau keep watch. I don’t know who or when, but they’re coming.”

  “There’s one other thing I must tell you before you go,” Søren said grimly, “I got a phone call from Silvian. Lya has been murdered.”

  ***

  The funeral for Lya Barthélémy was a solemn affair held in her favourite Baptist church in Seventh Ward. Isabelle wasn’t surprised that when the news became public knowledge, the mourners arrived to see Harley in a flood of sympathy.

  Harley accepted their tears and regrets well, though Isabelle could see the cracks. There was only one other time she had seen Harley this angry and it was when they’d finally caught the Asanbosam that had killed her father. She was holding it together but it was a matter of time.

  The church was hot inside with the crowds of people crammed in tight. Isabelle ignored the looks that she, Hamish, Silvian and Cerise were getting. They did look like bodyguards and in every sense of the word, they were. Mama Lya had been murdered and Isabelle knew that Harley was on their list. Hamish had followed the killers scent to a street a couple of blocks from Mama Lya’s where it had gone dead. Isabelle had her suspicions, as did Harley, but it wasn’t the time to talk revenge.

  Mama Lya had always been a strong member of the community and people who hadn’t been able to fit into the church waited on the front lawns. Blue Jay never left Harley’s side and their close group kept her in eyesight the entire time. Isabelle wore a well-tailored black suit so she could conceal her weapons easily, but most of the women were in dresses. It was the first time she had seen Fox in a dress, but she knew that under the flowing material, she had throwing knives. Silvian was armed with charm that oozed out onto every tear stained female he encountered. Isabelle was surprised at how patient and compassionate he was. Even Cerise was helping elderly people to hand out tissues and find seats.

  They watched Mama Lya’s coffin being loaded outside into the glass sided horse drawn hearse while people organised themselves for the two mile funeral march.

  Blue Jay appeared beside Isabelle. “Frankie is here. Try your best to keep him the hell away from Harley. I do
n’t want to disrespect Mama by starting a fight at her funeral.”

  “I’ll watch him,” she promised and he hurried back to his place at Harley’s side. She looked elegant in her black high heels and dress. Cerise had bought her a lace parasol to shade her on their walk. She’d barely talked since finding the body and no one dared to push her. Fox, Cerise or Silvian carefully took the people that did push her away.

  Isabelle watched Frankie standing beside the hearse and her temper flared. The Council was responsible for Lya’s murder. Isabelle was ready to bet money on it. By going around to Coliseum Street and challenging them, Mama Lya had signed her own death warrant. Hamish came to stand near her, his eyes scanning the crowds.

  “I want you to watch Frankie,” Isabelle said to him. “He’s looking to get to Harley, and I won’t allow the bastard to feed off her guilt and pain.”

  “No worries, Belle. I’m itching for a fight today. I can feel the pressure in the place building up between my shoulders,” Hamish replied. Isabelle nodded, but in that moment, the bands started up with ‘What A Friend We Have in Jesus’ and the procession started its shuffling march towards St Bernard Street.

  “I like that they’re playing music,” Silvian moved to her side. “I’ve never seen a funeral procession so upbeat.”

  “That’s the point. Celebrating the life,” Isabelle relied. “How are they?”

  “Harley is quietly furious and Fox is wound so tight that I swear if anyone looks at her the wrong way, she’ll put a knife in their throat,” Silvian smiled appreciatively. “Although she does look amazing in a dress, doesn’t she?”

  “Keep it in your trousers, Silvian. A funeral isn’t the place to try to pick up women.”

  “You’re so very wrong, Isabelle Blackwood. Funerals are excellent places to pick up women. Grieving women are looking for meaning, needing affection, and to be held because they’re confronted with their own mortality. Humans are so predictable in that way.”

  “All the same, please don’t try today.”

  “My lady, you’ve my word as a gentleman. I would swear on my honour if I had any left.”