Cry of the Firebird (The Firebird Fairytales Book 1)

by Amy Kuivalainen

  “A man?” Yvan tensed up again.

  “It must have been a trick of the light,” Anya shrugged. “I didn’t get much sleep last night and when I don’t sleep I see things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Things that I know shouldn’t be there. Like wolf men.”

  “Perhaps you did inherit some talents from your grandfather and they have been suppressed,” reasoned Yvan. “In any case you saw Tuoni and recognised his true form; mortals can’t do that.”

  “Liisi the café owner saw him,” Anya pointed out.

  “Only because he wanted this Liisi woman to see him. You would have seen him regardless,” argued Yvan.

  Anya sighed. There was no point fighting with him; she was still unsure if she could even trust him. She drank her coffee quickly, scalding her tongue.

  “I am going to try to get back to Skazki tonight,” Yvan announced unexpectedly. “I have put you at risk because you have housed me.”

  “Right, because there is a ‘man who should have been killed at birth’ who is after you?”

  “You don’t believe me even though you saw me change into a firebird with your own eyes,” Yvan said bluntly. “I need to leave because your naivety will get us both killed.”

  “I am sorry I am no Shaman; believe me if I was then half the ridiculous things in my life would have been explained. So believe me I am sorry.”

  Yvan looked scolded momentarily but regained his placidity. “I will leave anyway. Then your life will go back to normal with you drinking yourself to death every night and when the end of the world arrives you will not notice or care.”

  “Don’t pretend you know anything about my life.”

  “I don’t need to. There are empty bottles all over this house. The only stores in the cellar is vodka which tells me that if you don’t die soon from alcohol poisoning you will kill yourself so there is no point in stocking food for the future. What you don’t understand is that you have power and if it decides to rise when you are drunk you could hurt yourself and anything around you.”

  “I have been drunk for nearly six months straight and you know what? My ‘power’ hasn’t risen once so don’t you dare tell me how to live!” She didn’t even wait for a reply before storming out.

  Yvan picked up her coffee cup and tipped it over. The coffee came out in frozen, slushy lumps. Yvan smiled; perhaps she wasn’t completely without talent even if she had to be angry in order for it to be released. He felt slightly guilty for upsetting her though. The firebird shifted irritably under his skin. He didn’t know how he was going to be able to share his body with it.

  I could just burn my way out through your skin, prince.

  What would that achieve? If you kill me it could very well kill you too.

  This girl could help us. She has power. I can feel it radiating through her even if she cannot.

  She is too untrained and afraid. Vasilli and the Powers would destroy her in a heart beat. Or worse try to steal her magic. If we try and take her with us she could get us killed. Yvan felt power move through the house like a wave, knocking the air from his lungs.

  Magic is being used. Strong magic. Yvan rushed to the window to see Anya. He saw the back of a man he knew far too well. Panic seized him and he exploded into the firebird.

  Chapter Three - The Traveller

  Outside Anya picked up an axe and started to hack into the woodpile. When she used to get angry as a child Eikki would give her a shovel, an axe or a mop and tell her to go get it out of her system. The woodpile worked the best. Her shoulders began to burn as she swung the axe over and over. Thuck! Burn. Thuck! Burn.

  “Dobryj vecer,” a voice said behind her. She caught the axe mid swing and spun around. A huge man sat on a horse watching her. Ice pricked down her back.

  “Can I help you?” she asked back in Russian, her cold hands gripped the axe handle harder. Her skin was tingling like it had when she had touched the firebird egg. She fought the urge to scratch her arms.

  “I am a traveller,” the dark man said. “I am looking for my brother.”

  “There is a village about a kilometre that way,” Anya pointed to the road in the distance. “They would be able to tell you if there is anyone new in the area. Where are you from?”

  “Oh worlds away,” the man smiled. His smile wasn’t warm or friendly. His hand twitched oddly and Anya almost dropped the axe as she felt something squeeze her brain.

  “I see,” she said shakily, “I am just about to cook myself something to eat and my home is always open for travellers. Otherwise there is only the tavern and the food there is not great.” Anya shook her head to clear it. She couldn’t believe she’d said that. She discouraged strangers. She wouldn’t invite one into her home. The man laughed and slid from the saddle.

  “I could never turn down such a spontaneous act of hospitality,” he said as he approached her. He was even more imposing up close. He had a mane of jet black hair and a well-shaped but outgrown beard. He wore a coat lined with thick black bear fur.

  “Please let me help you chop that wood,” he said and as he went to take the axe his hand brushed hers. Anya jumped as an electric shock leapt between them.

  “Static, I am terrible for it,” Anya said lamely as she moved away and propped the axe next to the door of the wood shed. When she turned around he had his arms full of the freshly cut wood.

  “Oh, thank you. I’m Anya.” Her hand was still stinging from the shock so she didn’t offer to shake his.

  “Vasilli,” the man said and smiled again. Anya showed him where to put the wood and wisely didn’t comment on Yvan’s absence.

  “There’s a free stable in the barn if you wish to put your horse away for the night,” she suggested. “There is a storm coming.”

  “There certainly is,” Vasilli agreed. “I will not be long.”

  “There’s a bag of feed there too if he’s hungry,” said Anya as she filled a pot with water. He smiled again and headed out the door. She took a dry kitchen towel and wiped her trembling hands. Once he was gone she crept around the house.

  “Yvan?” she whispered. “Are you still here?” She went into the sitting room where the fire was burning brightly. There was a soft coo and the fire tumbled out of the fireplace and transformed.

  “What the…?”

  “You must be careful!” Yvan whispered harshly. “He is the danger. He must not know I am here. Try to get rid of him.”

  “I can’t, I offered him food,” Anya stumbled.

  “It may give us some time.”

  “Time for what?” Anya was beginning to feel more frightened by the second.

  “Time before he tries to kill you,” said Yvan and he began to transform again. He leapt into the fire just as Vasilli opened the door.

  “I was wondering where you went,” he said. Anya put a small log in the fire and gave it a vicious poke.

  “I thought I would tend to the fire, it’s getting so cold,” she said brightly. He did not look entirely convinced.

  Soon they were sitting in the low comfortable chairs but Anya was anything but comfortable. She picked at her food and wished she hadn’t got a bottle of vodka from the cellar. She had offered Vasilli a drink but he had declined.

  “Do you live here by yourself?” Vasilli questioned.

  “Yes, ever since my grandfather died,” she answered and sipped her drink.

  “What about your husband?”

  “No husband. Never was, never will be.”

  “How can it be that a beautiful woman like yourself has no desire for marriage?”

  Anya blushed deeply and felt foolish because of it. It had been a long time since someone had called her beautiful. “It must be the farmer’s clothes,” she joked.

  “No, it is the clash of seasons.” Before she could move he reached across and touched her hair. “Your hair is almost white, like winter,” he said very gently, the tips of his callused fingers brushed under her eyes. There was no electric shoc
k. “But your eyes are green like spring.” He slowly leaned back in his chair.

  “Well, that was a very nice explanation.” Anya fidgeted uncomfortably. “Why are you looking for your brother?”

  Something dark flashed across Vasilli’s face. “He disappeared a long time ago. I have been searching ever since.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  “A misunderstanding,” Vasilli answered vaguely. “You know how brothers fight. We all used to get along so well when we were young.”

  “Can I ask what happened?”

  “A woman is the only thing that can drive apart the bonds of blood.”

  “I see,” Anya said quietly. “Where is she now?”

  “She died long ago.”

  “I’m sorry.You said ‘we all’ before, how many brothers do you have? I always wanted a brother.” Anya took another drink of her vodka and watched the fire flicker.

  “I was the middle boy,” said Vasilli. “Dimitri was the eldest. He died a few years ago. The youngest and most favoured was Yvan. He is the one I look for.”

  “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” said Anya quietly.

  “You were not to know. I only wish I could find Yvan. He is important to me.”

  “You should ask in the village. We get drifters from time to time. It is a good place to hide and to forget.” Anya stood and took the empty plates to the kitchen.

  “Yes, I must ask in the village,” Vasilli said vaguely as he followed her.

  “There is a spare room in the barn if you wish to stay the night,” Anya offered before she realised she had done so. “As for me I’d better turn in before it gets too late.”

  “Once again I am in your debt,” Vasilli kissed her hand before he slipped out of the back door and into the wind. Anya closed the door as quickly as she dared and hurried into the sitting room. Yvan was still in the fire.

  “I am going for a shower and as far as I am concerned you can stay there,” Anya said her fear turning to annoyance.

  Anya’s shower was a tiny square slab of concrete with a thin curtain around it. It had taken ten years to convince Eikki to put it in with a flushing toilet and a hot water system that ran off a small generator. He had still insisted on keeping the outhouse in case the plumbing failed. She stripped off her grubby clothes and sighed aloud as the steaming water cascaded over her. She scrubbed at the tingling skin where Vasilli had zapped her and hoped the sensation would fade. She noticed bruises on her hips and couldn’t remember where they had come from. Undoubtedly she would have knocked into the corners of something when she had been drunk a few days ago. After fifteen minutes and a good soaping she dried off and wrapped a heavy bathrobe around herself. Yvan was sitting on her bed waiting for her.

  “If you are quite finished you need to get dressed and we both need to get out of here,” he said, holding the heavy stick that Anya kept hidden under her bed.

  “I can’t get dressed while you’re in here, can I?” Anya folded her arms.

  “I will be outside the door. Dress warm,” Yvan said as he got to his feet. “Pack a bag.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Anya snapped. “Your paranoia is completely unfounded. He hardly seems the murdering maniac to me.”

  “You keep thinking that and I will be putting you in a grave earlier than I anticipated,” said Yvan before shutting the door.

  Anya pulled on a pair of jeans, a grey long-sleeved shirt and tied her boots tight. She tossed toiletries and clothes into a bag and took her grandfather’s heavy coat from the cupboard. It was burgundy, waterproofed suede, with stitched Sámi patterns around the hems and lined with soft fur. On the top shelf was a pistol and bullets. After a moment’s hesitation she pocketed it as well. Yvan was pacing outside the door and looked edgy.

  “Is there any way out of here besides through the doors?” he asked slinging Eikki’s old fishing bag that always hung on the back of the kitchen door over his shoulder. Anya hadn’t had the heart to move it after Eikki had died. She hadn’t moved anything she realised.

  “Why can’t we use the doors?” Anya asked as she grabbed her rifle.

  “He’ll be watching them. If I were you I would take anything from this house that you cherish because if I know my brother he will destroy everything.”

  “Why don’t you just try to work out your problems instead of running away?” Anya suggested as she took her grandfather’s journals off the shelf and put them in her bag. Yvan stopped and gave her a look like he was dealing with someone who was insane.

  “You could say it is a little too late for us to talk,” he said bluntly.

  “Yvan!” Vasilli’s voice echoed through the walls and Anya’s bones vibrated. “I know you are in there you coward! I can smell you! Come out or I shall burn the house down to get to you.”

  “Do you still think we can talk out our problems?” Yvan said sarcastically.

  Anya peered through the curtains. Vasilli stood in the yard with a burning torch in one hand. The barn was a fireball behind him. “The animals!” Anya went for the door.

  Yvan grabbed her roughly. “They are already dead. You cannot save them,” he said and pulled her back.

  “Come out Yvan! Come out and I might be persuaded to spare that lying whore who is hiding you,” Vasilli called. “Hurry or I will kill her slowly in front of you.”

  Anya loaded her rifle. “Like hell you will.”

  “That won’t do much good,” Yvan said as he lowered the barrel. “Is there a way out?”

  Anya glared through the window at the burning barn. She was getting really angry now and being drunk wasn’t helping. “The cellar.”

  Yvan grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the kitchen and down the steps into the dark. “Now what?”

  Anya took two bottles of vodka. One went into her bag and from the other she took a long swig. “Now we pull this shelf back and get the hell out of here.”

  Yvan took the bottle from her and they pushed the shelf out of the way to reveal a well-used tunnel. Anya grabbed an old, dusty torch from where it hung on an iron nail and was relieved when the battery still worked.

  “No more vodka. You are no use to me drunk,” Yvan said as they used a handle on the back of the shelf to pull the secret door shut behind them.

  ***

  Above the surface Vasilli felt power and anger twisting together in his veins. “Yvan!!” he shouted again to no reply. “You bring this upon yourself, brother,” he growled.

  Focussing his mind Vasilli raised his huge arms and released his rage. The earth shook as a wave of power surged forward and buckled the house in half before it burst into flames. Vasilli was still watching the house burn when a wolf trotted up and sat down at his heels. There was the sickening sound of bones snapping and a piercing yowl of pain before a bony man was sitting on his haunches.

  “Where is your brother?” Vasilli asked disapprovingly. His minions always ran together.

  “Vischtan is wounded and back in Skazki,” Vischto growled. “That bitch shot him with iron. It won’t slow him down for long.”

  “Good, I need you to find them and I am sure Vischtan wouldn’t mind a little revenge.”

  “Are you sure they survived that?” Vischto asked nodding toward the pile of glowing coals.

  “Undoubtedly.” The woman was a surprise. He knew a great deal about this particular family and the magic that they had in their blood. She seemed to be no threat though. He had only touched a little magic coming from her and she obviously had no training to use what she had. She hadn’t even suspected when he bespelled her to invite him inside of her house. They would not get far.

  He would go back to Skazki for the night and regain the power he had used. The magic flowed in the very air of Skazki; in the real world it was barely discernible. Yvan had the firebird inside of him but he had no idea the power that could give him. He would never have the chance to find out. Yvan and the girl would be his by the following night. Ladislav had commanded him to return to Moscow
with the firebird. Those were commands Vasilli would ignore, he would take the firebirds magic for himself and finally eradicate the threat of it once and for all.

  Chapter Four- Myths and Truths

  The tunnel spun in front of Anya; she used both hands on earth walls for support. She had found the entrance one day when she was ten and it was the first time Eikki had ever been very angry with her.

  “They were built in the war. They are dangerous from disuse. Never go in there.” Apparently that was another thing he lied about, Anya thought bitterly. Even in the scanty light she could see there had been no cave-ins nor were there any broken beams.

  The earth shook and Yvan turned to look at her. His firebird eyes glowed softly through the darkness. “That would have been your house,” he said softly. “I am sorry Anya.”

  “I don’t need your damn pity.” She pushed past him and kept following the tunnel.

  After nearly two hours of walking Anya hit her head on something and the blackness enveloped her. When she came to she realised Yvan was carrying her up a flight of wooden stairs.

  “I think I bumped my head,” she said groggily.

  “You ran straight into the sliding bolt of a trap door,” Yvan said, his twitching mouth betraying his amusement. Even in her slightly concussed state and the swaying torch light she noticed how nice his lips were when he smiled. He lowered her onto a dusty old couch and stepped back. Yvan shone the light around and Anya realised they were in a small hunting cabin. Yvan found some matches and lit a lamp. The furnishings were sparse. A small camp bed with a wooden chest at the end of it occupied the far corner of the room; a table, a chair, a small cupboard and the couch she sat on took up the rest of the space.

  “We should be able to hide here for the night. Vasilli will be weak after destroying your house,” Yvan muttered.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you tell me what’s going on?” she asked firmly. “I have nowhere to go now Yvan. In a way that is your fault so really you should tell me what I am caught in the middle of.”