by Bret Allen
~
Ekaterina woke up on the witch’s cot, wrapped up in her ragged bedclothes. Startled, she clambered to her feet, quickly and gladly finding that she could still see. She carefully touched her eyes and sighed with relief to find them still in her skull.
Her spear was resting beside the bed. Ekaterina snatched it up and went outside, looking for the old woman. More than an hour had passed; the sun was low in the sky, hidden by trees, making the forest all the more cold and dark.
She found the witch bending over a patch of plants, running her hands over them.
“Witch, what happened?” asked Ekaterina.
“Why, we made a trade, did we not?” asked the witch in return.
She had a great smile on her face and her eyes were open; instead of empty sockets, she had healthy eyes with bright green irises. Ekaterina recognised them.
“You took them…” she said with a knot in her stomach.
“Of course, as agreed. I suspect that you never appreciated these eyes, girl. The young are surrounded by such wonderful beauty, every moment of every day, but never really see it. Take this bluebell for example; so many shades, so fine and elegant.”
The witch plucked up one of the plants and Ekaterina realised that the patch was in fact a bed of flowers. They were nothing special. They looked like any other flowers.
“I’ve no interest in flower picking. I’ve lost time and soon night will fall. The forest is dangerous at night.”
“Then why not go home and resume your hunt tomorrow?” asked the witch with a wry smile.
Ekaterina did not even consider it; she knew that she could never go back empty handed. The shame would be too great.
“No… I’ll go on. The firebird will be easier to see in darkness.”
“Ah, very smart. My eyes are helping you already. You will make a fine hunter, girl.”
Ekaterina had no reply. Her new eyes felt strange to her. Seeing her old eyes in the witch’s head gave her a feeling of regret, but she pushed it away, determined to make the most of her sacrifices.
She looked around herself, but she still had no clues to tell her where to go; or rather, not the clues she needed. She saw boar tracks, the trail of a deer and the droppings of a hare. She saw patches of herbs, markings on the trees and the way that the wind blew through the leaves. She saw everything, far more than she ever had before. She studied the forest around her, but still saw nothing that marked the firebird’s passage.
Then, when she was about to curse, she spotted a flash of light on the side of a craggy hill that rose up from the forest some distance away. Hoping that it was not just someone’s campfire, she decided to head for it.
“Over there… how do I reach that hill?” she asked the witch.
“Hm. The quickest way would be by boat, for this swamp passes by the foot of the hill. You have made me very happy, by giving me your eyes, so you may take my boat… in exchange for your voice!”
“You would take that too?” asked Ekaterina wearily.
The witch rolled her new eyes.
“A joke, girl, just a joke. It would do you good to laugh once in a while. Take the boat, if you insist on chasing dreams.”
Ekaterina said nothing, unable to understand the joke. Nodding to the woman, she went back into the cottage and out through the rear door, onto the balcony which doubled as a jetty. A small boat was moored there, little more than a raft, with a pole to push it through the reedy mire.
Ekaterina stepped onto the boat, steadied herself and began her journey across the water. She lay her spear down in the boat so that she could use two hands to push down with the pole, steering the boat slowly, avoiding patches of reeds and floating plants. The water was far from clean but teemed with life- insects, frogs and birds added their voices to the fading twilight. Despite that, there was little to see, only murky colours and clouds of flies.
With the cold air biting at her knuckles and face, she pushed onwards, sometimes needing a considerable effort to get through the swamp. The exertion at least helped to keep her warm. The boat creaked gently while her new eyes pierced the gathering gloom. She had to admit that they were better than her own. She saw much further into the shadows, spied every ripple on the water and always kept her bearing true towards the hillside where she had seen the firebird’s light.
The sun was low and red in the sky when she reached the wider waterways. The water became clearer and easier to navigate, picking up a slight current as it came closer to the river. Ekaterina tried to keep the hill in her sight as the boat went faster, aware that it would be all too easy to lose her way. At one point she thought that she heard a man calling out, but there was nobody near the water. The witch’s eyes kept her true despite the fading light, spotting another flash of fire on the hillside and an inlet that would take her closer to it. She poled away from the current and led the little boat into the inlet, until it came up against a muddy bank. There was now only a small stretch of forest between her and the rocky hill. Taking care not to fall, she stepped from the boat to the bank and used the spear to steady herself.
Ekaterina strode up to the treeline, shivering and impatient. The setting sun barely penetrated into the forest, but fortunately her new eyes saw better in darkness than her old. They were truly a boon to a hunter, old and wary eyes that could not be tricked. She did not spare a thought for her blindness to beauty, for the forest held few pleasant sights anyway.
Her progress into the shadowed forest was swift. As she picked her way between the trees and over thick roots, she heard a man’s voice again, much clearer this time. She looked around and saw him coming through the trees with a burning torch in his hand. She feared that the light she had been following might have been his torchlight all along. Then, she recognised his face. The landlord’s son had found her.
Ekaterina did not want to hear his admonishments or face the embarrassment of running away earlier. She considered trying to avoid him, but between his torch and his shouting he could scare away her prey. She approached him instead, amazed that this loud, clumsy churl was considered the village’s best hunter, though he was certainly strong and powerfully built.
“Ekaterina!” he called as he spotted her, looking astonished. “Where have you been?!”
“Hunting, I told you earlier. What are you doing all the way out here?” she asked.
“The elders sent me to bring you back, afraid that you would hurt yourself. You stupid girl, running around here at night. You were told to return to the village!”
“I don’t care what I was told. Take your torch and stomp around somewhere else, you idiot, before you spoil my hunt!”
Rather than waiting for a response she turned and marched away from him. He caught up to her and put his hand tightly around her arm. She wrenched herself free and slapped his face. He gazed in shock for a moment before a rage began to build in him.
“How dare you!” he shouted. “You are coming back home now and there will be no more of this foolishness. You will learn to behave like a woman!”
“I’ll do as I judge fit! I’m sick of you telling me how I ought to live,” replied Ekaterina, turning to leave again.
“Stop ignoring me!” he protested, taking her by the arm again.
His grip was painful and frightening. Ekaterina felt her own anger rise; she struggled and stamped on his foot. He released her in surprise. She took the opportunity to level her spear at his groin.
“Touch me again and I won’t be the only woman here,” she threatened in a low voice.
Unfortunately, the landlord’s son only got angrier. She had rarely seen his japes turn into violence, but she could sense that his pride had been wounded.
“You insolent whore. I will show you what a man is made of!” he growled.
He pushed the spear tip aside and struck her chest with his torch. She cried out, feeling wood and embers crash against her and seeing fire bloom before her eyes.
Fortunately the flame did not catch and she wa
s not burned, but she dropped her spear. The landlord’s son did not stop there; he barged into her and pushed her onto her back. She fell hard, the breath snatched from her lungs. Her attacker dropped his torch and kicked her in the gut, then again in the head. The forest shifted and span around her; the torch continued to burn where it fell, casting red light and wild shadows.
She struggled as he climbed on top of her, his weight trapping her legs. He whispered something about his own spear as he put one heavy hand around her throat and the other went to his belt.
Ekaterina bit his face as hard as she could, tasting blood and hearing the most wonderful scream. He reeled back, but not enough for her to get free. She was still struggling to compose herself, her head pounding, the light dancing around her. The landlord’s son took out a knife and before she could act it was in her side, just under her ribs. The sudden, sharp pain seemed to drain all of her courage and strength.
Clutching at her side, she felt warm blood seep between her fingers. Her other hand scrabbled in the dirt. She stared at her attacker’s looming face, his eyes furious and unclean, as her questing hand found the magic spear. She grabbed it by the tip and thrust it at his throat. Just as the fisherman promised, it did not miss its target. She held the landlord’s son in a macabre embrace until his own blood choked him to death.
Ekaterina rolled his corpse away. She tried to get to her feet, only to find that the wound in her side made each movement a painful trial. She was eventually able to stand with the help of the spear. The pain began to subside, but so did her strength; she became cold, feeling no heat from the flickering torch.
She leant against a tree, watching the shadows shift and trying to catch her breath. The sharp smell of blood, from both the landlord’s son and herself, pervaded the air. Her eyes became heavy and her mind weary. The torch finally went out, leaving her in darkness with the corpse. Even the sun had finally abandoned her.