by Bret Allen
~
Ekaterina blinked as she caught herself on the brink of falling asleep. A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, but when she looked around she saw only a large fallen oak. The oak was lying flat with its roots splayed up out of the ground, leaving a shadowy wound where it had once stood. The roots were large and gnarled, like the bones of the earth, torn out of their flesh.
The dark hole left by the uprooted tree had collected a pool of black rainwater. She thought she saw movement again, on the surface of the water, but dismissed it as a trick of the flickering half-light.
She wiped her face, feeling blood smear her forehead. She looked back at the water and again it appeared to be stirred by some strange current. She wondered if she was hallucinating, knowing deep down that the knife wound was killing her. Then the water’s surface broke.
From the black water stepped a man so pale that in the near darkness he seemed to glow. He slowly and deliberately climbed from the little pool, defying its apparent shallowness. Ekaterina gasped and wanted to run, but her wound stopped her.
At first she thought that he was some kind of horned serpent, for he appeared to have a scaled, hairless head which bore two curved horns like those of a ram. Then she saw that he actually had a caul; a tough, cracked flap of skin that covered most of his head and face, including his nose and ears, leaving only his mouth. Normally an infant born with a caul would have it cut away by his mother, if it did not fall away by itself. He seemed to wear his like a mask, or a shield. The spiralling horns grew through it.
Despite the caul covering his eyes, he seemed to look directly at her. He crept from the water, which soaked the ragged robes that covered his body. His hands remained hidden in the folds of the robes. Ekaterina tried to gather her courage. She still held the magic spear; she gripped it tight for comfort.
“Katya, so young and angry,” he said in a sibilant whisper. “Apart from your eyes; they are old and angry instead. No wonder you can see me.”
“You… are Death,” she said numbly, her voice shaking. “Have you come for me?”
“For the life you owe me,” he replied. “You promised me a kill. You prayed at my shrine. You stand before me, dying. It would seem that you are ready to pay.”
“So it is true… that all of our kills are owed to you,” said Ekaterina, trying to marshal her strength, her hands slick with blood.
“Everything has a price. Even kind men take their tolls; my old enemy, the lord of thunder, protects lives instead of taking them, but makes them dutiful and joyless in return. As the patron of hunters I have given the people of your village food and abundance from the forest for hundreds of years, taking the lives of your prey in return, as is the natural order. You took my blessing and promised me a life. Stop your struggles and come with me.”
Shivering in the darkness, with her heartbeat slowing and her eyes aching to close, Ekaterina watched as Death’s frail, grasping hand reached out for her. His hand was mostly skeletal, pale bone exposed between strips of wet flesh. She recoiled from him, but she was not strong enough to defend herself with the spear.
Without thinking, she slipped her other hand into her pocket and pulled out the firebird’s tail feather, now bedraggled and wrinkled. She held it out before herself like a holy talisman and it glowed, fiercely, with a bright burst of fire; the light of defiance and life.
The flame was hot and she almost dropped the feather instinctually, but it did not harm her. In fact, it bolstered her, warming her bones and giving her new strength. The light made Death turn away, hissing. His bony hand returned to the folds of his robes.
“I’m not dead yet!” declared Ekaterina.
“Cling to life if you will, girl,” he replied. “I can wait for my debt to be paid.”
He took a step back from the feather. Curiously, the light seemed wrong to Ekaterina; it was not as colourful as the firebird itself had been. The light was bright but flat, stark, holding no wonder for her. She put the troubling thought aside as a new one occurred to her. She lowered the feather and its glow subsided.
“I owe you nothing. I killed the landlord’s son. That pays my debt to you,” said Ekaterina. “Don’t forget your side of the bargain, too. You haven’t yet given me a fair chance to hunt the firebird,” she added, feeling bold.
The lord of the underworld laughed then, a hissing chuckle full of derision.
“The firebird was not the quarry I sent you! Such pride. I sent the boar, which you failed to kill. But, I admit, that man’s life is sufficient for our pact. He was a boar, if ever I saw one.”
Death stooped and plucked a hair from the corpse of the landlord’s son. He tucked it into the folds of his robes. Ekaterina sighed in relief, glad that he had been appeased. Her wound began to feel less painful, the bleeding slowing under the pressure of her hand. Still, she was surprised that she had been wrong about the firebird.
“You only sent the boar?” she asked.
“Yes, Katya. You asked for a worthy quarry. The firebird is a great creature. Your skill is not equal to its worth.”
“Yes it is!” insisted Ekaterina, insulted by his judgement. “In fact, I’ve almost found it. I can and I will hunt the firebird.”
The lord of the underworld seemed to pause and consider her words. He kept edging closer to her, so she kept the feather half-raised, trying to keep him at bay.
“The firebird has vexed me for a long time. It is an immortal being, reborn from the ashes of its death. I could not send the irksome thing your way, because you do not have the power to kill an immortal. Only I have that power.”
“Then let me make a proposal,” said Ekaterina, realising that she needed Death’s help to complete her quest. “I ask for your blessing once more. Heal my wound and provide me with the power to kill the firebird. We will both get what we desire.”
“You ask a lot on the promise of a life that I doubt you can claim. No… I will only trade the boons you seek for something you already have to offer.”
“Such as?” asked Ekaterina.
Death held up a finger to tell her to be patient. He reached into the folds of his robes and seemed to pull shreds of it away; his fingers knotted and pulled and twisted and tore the dark, sodden fabric. When he was done, he held a ragged net.
“This is my net. Like me, it is inescapable, because it drinks the life of anything it captures. Therefore, this net can satisfy both of your demands. Catch something in the net and it will steal its strength, restoring your wound.”
“And it will work on the firebird too?”
“It will undo the firebird quite admirably, if you can catch it. The net will take its fire, making it mortal.”
“Then the net is what I want. Name your price,” said Ekaterina.
“The firebird won its immortality from me, in a deal we made when the world was young. Its existence is a wound on my pride. I would like to salve that wound with a taste of your pride, which seems to be very strong indeed. Therefore, this is my offer: your beauty for my net.”
Ekaterina frowned. She was surprised that Death would ask for something so trivial. Beauty was of little use to her. She needed to prove her worth to the village, not to be pretty. Thinking of the village reminded her that if she could not kill the firebird tonight, she would have to return home in shame. She did not relish that idea, especially with the blood of the landlord’s son on her hands.
“Very well,” said Ekaterina.
Death rushed forwards, brushing aside the feather with his robes. There was a smile on his face, below the folds of his caul. Ekaterina smelled corruption and decay as he placed his skeletal hands over her arms, pinning her to the tree, her spear dropping to the floor.
Death lowered his mouth to hers, making her retch. His lips were cold and damp. She felt a terrible fading sensation spread through her body as he kissed her. Ekaterina wilted- her skin lost its colour, her hair became dull, her face sunken. Her heart, which was slowing to the point of demise a minute
ago, started to pound. Just as she began to fear that Death was taking her life after all, he released her.
With no more words, he dropped the net at her feet. Still grinning, the lord of the underworld reached up to his face. He seemed to peel the caul from his eyes, shedding the dead skin like a serpent. He cast the flesh aside and revealed the pale face beneath, fine-featured and regal, crowned by his horns and jet-black hair. His eyes shone with pride and he was, after a strange fashion, handsome.
Death turned away from her with a slight bow of his head. He stepped down into the pool of water under the uprooted tree. He descended into it, as if there were steps hidden beneath the surface. Ekaterina held her breath until his curved horns were swallowed by the black water, then sighed deeply.
Steadying herself, Ekaterina tucked the firebird feather back into her pocket. She felt another shape in there and remembered that she still carried the arrowhead that she had forged with her father. She took it out and turned it around in her hands, wondering what he would think of all of this and whether he would have made the same decisions. Her father had sacrificed his family when he left, but she would never know whether it was for a noble reason or just to escape his responsibilities. She decided that there was no point in wasting her thoughts on it; she had a quest to complete.
Ekaterina immediately began binding her wound, using a strip torn from her tunic. The bleeding had almost stopped but was still very painful. Ideally it needed to be cleaned and stitched, back at home where she could rest, but that was the last place she wanted to go and thanks to the net it was unnecessary. She felt able to carry on, so she did.
Though it hurt to bend down, she picked up her spear and net and started to search for a new trail. She briefly considered looking at her reflection in the pool, but there was no point; with her new eyes she would not be able to tell whether she was still beautiful or not. She took a deep breath and left the cursed place as soon as she could, leaving the corpse of the landlord’s son for the wolves.