***
Anya stuffed her hands deep into the pockets of her faded red jacket as she walked. It had started to drizzle and the water was seeping its way through her scarf to trickle icy drops on her neck. Her fingertips lightly brushed the smooth stone Tuoni had given her. If it weren’t for the warmish stone in her pocket she would have convinced herself she had imagined their meeting altogether. She was already too good at imagining things that were actually there.
The earthy scent of pine and cold rot rose from the forest looming in front of her. The back of her head burned and she felt eyes watching her. The sensation had been growing since Eikki had died. She looked behind her but there was nothing as always.
Anya shook herself and focussed her attention on the muddy road and the fields flanking her. Autumn was already beginning and the days were getting colder, the time when the real wolves would come out of the forest to try and pick off sheep one at a time.
She remembered Eikki taking one sheep at the beginning of winter and tying it to the edge of the forest for the night. In the morning all that was left was a bloody smear on the ground.
When Anya had questioned him he had looked at her and said, “I would rather sacrifice one sheep than lose the six they would come looking for.” It had never ceased to surprise her that the wolves never harassed their flocks but the neighbouring farms had no end of trouble.
Anya planned to sacrifice a sheep this winter in the hope that it would work as effectively. But then she wasn’t a shaman was she? Anya thought with equal amounts of sarcasm and anger. Eikki could have told her, but when she looked back there had been signs. He would whisper rhymes, plant during special phases of the moon, writing and drawing strange things in journals and whistle songs to birds. He would sing to her all the old tales of heroes and magic. When she grew older she had tried to tell him that they had not been tales for children. He had smiled at her and said, “They are tales for you though. They will teach you about life. About magic.” Perhaps he was going to tell her about her heritage after all. But if all of his tales were to help her believe in magic why hadn’t he taught her?
If Tuoni was right and she only had a few months left before the worlds opened she would have to find someone to buy the farm or care take it. Running it by herself in the past months had taken its toll; she was run down, frustrated and had no time to grieve for Eikki. How could she learn to close these gates in only a few months even if they did exist? At least she knew she wasn’t going crazy and the creatures she had seen over the years had been real. Her fingers brushed the stone in her pocket and something thrummed through her hand and ran up her arm. She let go of it quickly but the sensation didn’t stop.
Dismissing it from her mind, Anya climbed the fence and walked across the sludgy fields to the grey wooden farmhouse that was home. It was a simple house with a porch in front and small square glass windows. Her grandfather’s grandfather had built it and it had been added to by every generation. The barn was about a hundred metres from the house and was made of the same weathered wood. It housed their one horse, twelve chickens and two goats during the colder months.
She kicked off her boots, took out a large iron key and opened the front door. The coals in the hearth had gone white with ash so she banked the fire until it was burning hot again. There were bright rag rugs on the floors, ornaments sat on the shelves and battered books stacked in uneven piles. Dried herbs had always hung in the little kitchen and jetsam from the people who had lived there filled every nook and cranny. Despite the clutter she never had the heart to throw any of it out. She took the stone out of her pocket, placed it on the small shelf above the fireplace and went to find something to drink.
Anya went down to the cellar, found a bottle of vodka she had made in the still in the barn and went back upstairs. She took one of her grandfather’s books from the shelf and collapsed on a chair in front of the fire. She turned the first few pages. Drawings and symbols filled the spaces, words were written in English, Finnish and Russian and were usually a scrambled line or two. Anya sipped her vodka straight from the bottle and she soon felt it begin to burn in her stomach. She spent an hour trying to make heads or tails of the first journal before the writing on the pages swam and her eyes couldn’t stay open any longer.
Tap…tap.
Anya woke at dawn with a familiar, blazing headache. It had been early afternoon when she started on the vodka. She had fallen asleep in her clothes so she pulled on her gumboots and headed for the barn.
Strange dreams had plagued her all night. None made any sense in the light of day. She dreamt of a man with odd eyes and cool hands arguing with her grandfather. He had smelt good and made her feel safe. She dreamt of fire and blood again. Hazy images of a lake and stained boulders. As she stepped outside the cold air hit her full in the face, blowing away all memory of her troubled sleep.
Wolves had attacked the sheep the night before so she spent most of the morning on her horse, Konstantin, trying to get them safely back into pens. There was an old motorbike in the barn which had broken down before Anya was born. Not that it would have been any use in the thick mud of that time of year. Konstantin was warmer than a motorbike could ever be and she liked exercising him. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her if she hadn’t been so drunk she would have heard the sheep’s distress and would have been able to save a few more. The sun was going down when Anya finally made her way back to the house.
As she opened the door she smelt something burning. Anya dropped the vegetables she was carrying and raced around the rooms. In the sitting room she found broken black fragments in front of the fire place. Her stone had rolled off the shelf and smashed on the floor. The tassels on the woven rug had been singed. A choking noise came from her bedroom.
Anya picked up the iron poker and gripped it tight. No one in the village who knew anything about her would be stupid enough to break into her house; probably kids from the city out here visiting relatives. Something was definitely moving about in there. Taking a deep breath she kicked the door open, ready for a fight.
A small bird with bright gold feathers sat in the middle of her bed. “Stupid bird, how did you get in here?” Anya put the poker down. Taking an old shirt she wrapped it around her hand and reached for it. It didn’t cry or struggle as she gently picked up its shivering body. She took it out and placed it next to the fireplace. She put on some more wood and coaxed the coals to life.
The wind outside had blown up into an icy gale. She threw on a baggy woollen cardigan and went to the kitchen. What would a bird eat? She was frying herself fish for dinner so it could eat that or die. Another animal to take care of was the last thing she needed. If she wasn’t so soft she would have taken it outside and hit it over the head with a brick.
It didn’t take long for her to fillet the trout and fry it in butter and salt while her vegetables boiled. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she had cooked a complete meal. She placed her dinner on the small coffee table near the fire.
“I need a drink,” she muttered as the bird looked expectantly at her. Anya went back to the kitchen, placed a hand on the cellar door and hesitated. Stay sober, Tuoni had advised. Anya made herself a cup of coffee instead. When the Lord of the Underworld told you to do something it was probably wise to listen.
Anya walked back and sat on the mat in front of the fire and put her plate of food in her lap. The chick made a chirpy sound at her. The fire was finally catching and growing hotter. Taking a piece of fish from her plate she offered it to the little bird which pecked at it straight away and looked to her for more.
“First you’re sleeping in my bed, now you’re trying to steal my dinner. You are not a very polite bird are you?” The bird chirped more forcefully and she relented. One whole fillet later the bird climbed out of the shirt and hopped on unsteady feet. It looked so ridiculous that Anya laughed.
“Careful, don’t get too close to the fire,” she warned. “You’ll get burnt.” It gave
her an incredulous look before it jumped straight into the flames. Anya cursed and tried get it out. Its little head turned and looked at her before crowing with delight. The fire grew higher and hotter making Anya fall back. The bird shrieked before launching itself straight up the chimney.
Anya scrambled to her feet and ran outside. She watched as the bird shot out of the top of the chimney in a streak of orange light. It ascended higher and higher before it exploded like a firework and plummeted back to earth a fully grown bird.
“Shit,” she muttered as she studied it. It looked something like a peacock with its long curling tail except made of living flame. It cooed softly and walked towards her.
“You better be able to turn yourself off if you think you’re coming back into my house,” she said. The bird gave her another dubious look before stamping one foot and the flames disappeared leaving long gold and red feathers.
“Oh,” Anya said embarrassed. “I suppose you can.”
***
See the man in the forest and the bowl of blood he holds. He is calmly and steadily breathing in the steam rising from it. He opens his eyes as the bowl explodes in flames searing his face and hands. The bowl shatters and the man is thrown backwards. Vasilli opens his eyes and starts laughing loudly. “Finally!” he shouts into the dark forest, “Finally I will get to kill you!”
Chapter Two - Bird Man
Anya woke the next morning and for the first time in many months she wasn’t sick. She pulled on one of Eikki’s old shirts and picked up a handy piece of wood she always kept under her bed. Anya really didn’t like birds in general let alone ones that could light themselves on fire. Slowly she crept out of her room and over to the sitting room where she had left the bird by the fire.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house!” she screeched. The naked man sleeping in front of the fire jumped up with a shout and looked around him in fear. The tips of his fingers sprung alight with fire, which spread all over his body. He cried out in pain before exploding into the firebird.
“Stop! Stop, you are going to burn my house down,” Anya panicked. The bird screeched awkwardly before the flames died away leaving normal golden feathers.
“Oh Jesus, oh Zeus, oh Odin,” Anya dropped the stick and started shaking. “Oh shit.” The bird spread out its wings, which slowly transformed back into arms and the rest followed until it was a man once more.
“I don’t suppose I could have that blanket,” he wheezed breathlessly in Russian. Anya reached for the throw rug on the couch and tossed it to him. He quickly wrapped it around his naked body.
“What the hell are you?”
“I am…Yvan,” he replied. “At least, I think I am. I was.”
“Excuse me,” Anya exhaled. She stumbled into the kitchen and took ten deep breaths before she made coffee. She hesitated a moment and then poured a second cup.
“I am sorry if I frightened you,” Yvan said as she walked back in and handed him his mug. He took it in his brown, shaking hands and placed it on the floor.
“It’s okay,” Anya mumbled. “Are you going to explode again anytime soon?”
“I hope not,” Yvan said nervously, “I don’t know how I do it.”
Anya sat on a chair and looked down at the oddity before her. He was trembling as he sipped. He would be very tall when he stood and was strongly built. He had scruffy thick black hair and dark skin but his eyes were the golden red of the firebird.
“Where am I?” he asked finally. Anya told him.
“I am in Mir?” Yvan almost dropped his coffee.
“Yes, on my farm,” Anya said remembering the old tales her grandfather told her. Mir was a name for the real world and Skazki for the Otherworld.
“How did I get here?”
“I was given your egg. I thought it was a stone,” Anya explained.
“Where is Ilya? If I am in Mir then he must be close,” Yvan demanded.
“He is dead. I am his family though. Did you know him?”
“I met Ilya once,” said Yvan. “Long ago.”
“Ilya was my grandfather Eikki’s grandfather,” she said. Yvan proceeded to exclaim passionately and Anya knew she wasn’t the only one with a swearing problem.
“But you…” he said finally. “You are his heir, a Shamanitsa surely.”
Anya burst out laughing, “I am neither. I never even knew my grandfather was one until Tuoni showed up to tell me!”
“Tuoni was here? It doesn’t matter. If you are not a Shamanitsa then who is guarding the gates?”
“Apparently my grandfather was dying and his magic was weak. Shape changers killed him.”
Yvan dropped his cup, spraying porcelain and coffee all over the wooden floor. “No one is watching the gates?” His whole body shook.
“Tuoni said I have months to stop the worlds opening to each other. I thought he was joking.”
“No he wasn’t,” Yvan said ominously. “Even Koschey wouldn’t joke about this and he has a terrible sense of humour.” He began to pick up the pieces of his broken cup.
“I’ll get it,” Anya said and knelt down to help. “I think you need to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep. There is too much to do. Just being here is dangerous to me and you. The fact I am reborn; he will find me and kill you. I need to leave,” he said disjointedly.
Anya took his shaking hands, holding them together tightly. “Settle down,” she said gently. “Who is he?”
“He is a man who should have been killed at birth,” Yvan whispered.
Anya held his frightened gaze for a second longer before letting his hands go. His fear was pouring over her, setting her teeth on edge as it threatened to drown her.
“I need to feed the animals,” she said blankly. “Are you going to be okay by yourself or do I need to lock you outside?”
“I think you will find I am quite capable of not burning your house down,” Yvan replied.
“I hope so,” Anya said as she tossed the porcelain shards in the bin and went to pull on jeans and boots.
She stomped down the icy path to the barn, wondering what on earth she was going to do with the naked stranger in her house. There had been a frost overnight and the grass crunched underfoot. Not knowing how the wounded sheep had fared during the night she saddled Konstantin, taking her rifle and hunting knife from the barn. As Anya neared the sheep pen she saw the unmistakeable shape of a wolf prowling across the field.
“You bastard,” she cursed and kicked Konstantin into action. The wolf spotted her and headed for the forest. Anya skirted the borders not knowing where to follow it in. Wolves almost always ran in packs and others could be close. She loaded her rifle and charged in. Anya scanned the shadows and focussed on the glowing eyes watching her. Taking a deep breath she brought the gun to her shoulder and took aim. The wolf’s mouth hung open in a surreal smile. The wind blew, creating different shadows and Anya momentarily lost her concentration. She focussed back on the wolf and for a second an odd, stick thin man crouched in the dirt. She held the gun tighter and fired. The gun crack echoed through the pine trees and the wolf disappeared.
Anya reloaded and slid down from the saddle, her gun high. She cautiously approached where the wolf had been. There was a smattering of blood but no carcass and no tracks. Konstantin whinnied and started stamping nervously. She scanned the trees and backed up until Konstantin was at her side again. Anya quickly pulled herself back into the saddle.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she said as her body broke out in goose bumps. She could feel the presence in the forest watching her again and she didn’t want to stay there a minute longer.
Anya spent the rest of her morning moving the sheep to a closer paddock and scanning the tree line. She felt like she was being watched still and Konstantin was jittery and nervous. Once she had sorted the sheep out she took him straight back to the barn. As the afternoon closed in, vodka called to her powerfully but she held herself together and focussed on the hundred menia
l tasks demanding her attention. She still didn’t know what to do about Yvan so she was avoiding him.
As she pushed hay down from the loft that afternoon she caught a strong whiff of smoke. Panic seized her as she slid down the ladder and ran to the house. She charged through the door and slammed into Yvan. He had such a fright he half turned into the firebird and back again in seconds. Anya realised he had been cooking.
“I smelt smoke and I thought…”
Yvan stood up. He had put on a pair of Eikki’s trousers that only just brushed his shins.
“Would you like something to eat?” he asked awkwardly. He had cut and buttered some pieces of black bread and arranged them on a plate.
“I wouldn’t mind a coffee,” she mumbled.
“You should eat a little. You have been working all day with nothing in your stomach.”
“Chasing wolves all morning has scared away my appetite,” Anya said as she sat down at the small kitchen table. He poured her some coffee and sat down.
“Wolves?”
“Strange ones,” Anya said and took a long sip.
“How so?” he asked with a strange look in his eyes. It would be hard to get used to how his eyes changed colour in the light from amber to orange to red and back again.
“The wolves attacked the sheep yesterday so I moved them to a closer paddock. Then today when I went to check on them there was another wolf. I followed it to the forest. I swear it smiled at me before I shot it.”
“Did you kill it?”
“I found blood so it’s wounded but there was no trail to follow,” she laughed nervously. “And for a moment there it looked like a man.”
Cry of the Firebird (The Firebird Fairytales Book 1) Page 2
