Ashes of the Firebird (The Firebird Fairytales Book 2)

by Kuivalainen, Amy

  “I may risk the flight and join you. The tribe doesn’t want me anymore so I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.”

  “You’re going to read the future and keep your sister and Anya out of trouble,” Chayton said firmly, “They seem to attract it.”

  “I don’t attract trouble,” Anya said as she walked in the room. She bent over to kiss Aleksandra’s head. Aleksandra smiled up at her.

  “I see magic suits you, Anya. You’re looking much more confident compared to when I last saw you.”

  “I have had some good teachers,” Anya replied as touched the Twins shoulders. With apologies and lessons, they seemed to be back to normal.

  “You’ll have another good teacher if Aleksandra stays around,” said Honaw as he kissed the bandaged hand he was holding lightly.

  “Stop hitting on her when she can’t fight back,” Katya told him.

  “If you would teach me I would be better for it. I actually had something I was going to ask you.” Anya pulled her notebook from her pocket. The Twins groaned when they saw it.

  “How many times do we have to tell you that you won’t learn magic from a book so there is no point writing everything down?” Chayton and Honaw synched unevenly.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that I have to write it down so I will remember it?” Anya mocked as she flicked through the pages. “I used my drum yesterday and it landed on the Shamanitsa, Thurisaz merkstave, crosses and Ansuz.” She saw all three of their faces looking at her as if she was simple. “What?”

  “Aleksandra, do you want to do the honours?” Chayton asked, “It’s about you after all.”

  “I am the Shamanitsa,” Aleksandra said softly, “The crosses are Mychal, Ansuz can mean visions or premonitions which I have been having of Mychal, Thurisaz when it is merkstave means danger or evil or in this case demons.”

  “I feel like such a moron.” Anya looked down at her notes and back at them. “It is so obvious now that you explained it.”

  “Magic usually is obvious when you open your eyes.” Honaw tapped Anya in the temple. She battered his hand away half-heartedly.

  “Will you teach me more about it?” Anya asked hopefully.

  “Of course I will,” Aleksandra smiled at her, “And don’t start to think if you could have figured out the message earlier you could have warned me and stopped it all because you couldn’t have.”

  “How did you…”

  “It is another thing I will have to teach you.”

  ***

  Across the city at Matthias Church, Vadim was growing concerned for Mychal. He had been off in his own world for two days, the gym had been destroyed and only Mychal could have been strong enough to do it. He found Mychal sitting on a window ledge looking blankly at the city.

  “What is wrong?” Vadim asked patiently.

  “Nothing, I’m fine.”

  “It’s a sin to lie to a priest, especially one who knows you so well.”

  Mychal was silent for a few moments before he admitted, “I was rescued the other night.”

  “Rescued? When?”

  “Two nights ago in the training room.”

  “That would explain all the damaged equipment.”

  “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

  “Well, I did, go on.”

  “I was training and I heard this voice scream my name. When I turned, a demon attacked me. I didn’t even sense it was there. It had shielded itself from me completely.” Mychal ran his hands through his curly hair in frustration.

  “Can you describe the voice?”

  “It was a woman. The scream was in my head though. The equipment got damaged in the fight.”

  “Did you recognize the voice?”

  “If I did I wouldn’t be sitting in the church. I would be out hunting it down.” Mychal began to shut down, his eyes growing blank and Vadim knew he would get no more from him.

  “Let me know if you hear it again,” Vadim said with a sigh. Mychal was already looking out the window, lost in his own thoughts.

  ***

  Isabelle headed out to Matthias Church late that evening. She had seen what state Aleksandra was in. Isabelle had known Aleksandra for her whole life and she was angry. Isabelle didn’t care that Mychal probably had no clue what was going on. She cared that Aleksandra had lost weight, was practically an insomniac, thrown out of the tribe and was now demon marked on top of it all because of him.

  The church was empty when she barged through the doors. Her stiletto boots clicked along the floor purposefully.

  “How on earth did you become such a successful hunter? You make so much damned noise,” Mychal appeared out of thin air.

  Isabelle strode up to him and slapped him across the face. It wasn’t very hard but enough to drive the point across. Mychal’s head didn’t even move.

  “You had best have a very good reason for doing that,” he said steadily. Isabelle half expected him to hit her back.

  “That is for hurting my friend!”

  “What friend? I have completely stayed away from you meddlesome people.”

  “Aleksandra is a psychic, you fool, and for some reason her vision has zeroed in on you. God, I could murder you for what you have done to her.”

  “You need to rein that crazy in for a moment and tell what is going on instead of shouting at me like I know something about it,” Mychal said sarcastically, “Besides we should take this somewhere we can both swear.” When they reached the chambers she had been in with Vadim, she pulled out the books roughly to find the bottle of scotch.

  “It’s not there,” Mychal said as he sat down. “We finished them all a few nights ago.”

  “Great,” muttered Isabelle. She felt bad about hitting him. He didn’t know what was going on.

  “Tell me about this woman.”

  “Her name is Aleksandra. She was a seer for a gypsy tribe. She got thrown out because she was marked by demons. They marked her because she interfered and warned you the other night.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Aleksandra told me. She had to come to the city because Katya is here. She is her sister and had nowhere else to go. The demons have burnt her hands badly. The bastards were aiming for her face. Now she is disfigured because she was curious about you.”

  “Why would she be curious about me? I don’t even know her,” Mychal was getting exasperated.

  “Were you not listening? Her power has been focused on you. She has had dreams and visions of you for weeks now. She linked with another seer to spy you out for herself. She has a very caring nature and when she saw you were about to be attacked she tried to warn you. She is paying for it now.”

  “Isabelle, I had no idea. I heard the voice, she saved me.” Isabelle eased up a little when she saw the confused look on his face. It was the first time she had seen him off guard. It softened the hard angles and fierceness of his face.

  “She would like to meet you,” Isabelle said finally. Pure panic flashed in his eyes.

  “No. I mean…I’m appreciative of her help but I am not good with…that kind of thing.”

  “I cannot believe that you can face demons all your life but the thought of a soft hearted, young woman frightens you. You do realise that she is going to be facing the same demons now. They expelled her from the tribe because they were scared they would all be killed when the demons came looking for her. Everything she has ever known is gone!”

  “Stop yelling at me! I didn’t say I would never meet her. I said not now.”

  “The visions won’t stop. She will keep seeing you every night.”

  “I don’t know what to say or how to stop that.”

  “Fine! Take your time to build your courage. She needs to rest anyway. Don’t let her leave the city without you going to see her.”

  ***

  Mychal sat for a long time after Isabelle had left. He had no idea who the gypsy was. He felt guilty that she had been thrown out of the tribe for helping him.
He had been part of a tribe many years ago and knew how tightly knit they were. He didn’t like that he had been forced to remember his childhood. He liked being slapped in the face even less.

  An hour later, he was on the roof of Silvian’s mansion. He knew who was staying in each room from the surveillance he did regularly. Scaling the wall, he moved from windowsill to balcony until he heard high female voices talking. They had left the balcony door open a little so he decided to listen in.

  “I can’t believe how many clothes you bought in one day,” said a voice. Mychal recognised it as Katya, the other hunter.

  “What did you expect? I have a new doll to play with.” Cerise, the red haired keres.

  “A fragile, broken doll who probably is due to get out of that bathtub by now,” Katya said, “Give me a hand, would you?” Seeing his only opportunity, Mychal slipped soundlessly through the door and slid under the massive bed.

  “Damn, I mustn’t have closed that balcony door properly,” said Katya, “No wonder it’s freezing in here.”

  “Thank you for all these clothes, Cerise. I was getting a little tired of my bathrobe.” Mychal stilled. There it was. The voice who had called out to him. He saw a pair of bare feet and the occasional flick of a cream satin robe.

  “Honey, you need to stop thanking me,” Cerise said. “Like I told Katya, I have a new doll to play with.”

  “A doll with melted hands.” She said it without any bitterness in her voice, which surprised Mychal. Perhaps she wasn’t a very pretty woman and burnt hands were the least of her worries.

  “They are healing and that is the main thing,” said Katya, “Besides look at all the beautiful gloves that Cerise brought you to wear.”

  “That is true, they are very beautiful. You have good taste, Cerise.”

  “Oh, I know it, now nursey is putting her foot down. Time for you to sleep. I can give you some sleeping drugs if you like.”

  “I’m fine now that you have dosed me with painkillers.”

  “I was thinking maybe sleeping tablets would stop the visions,” Katya said gently. There was a rustle of sheeting and Aleksandra was helped into the bed.

  “I think they will stop now anyway. He knows who I am, I know who he is and now that the connection has been made hopefully they will go away. Maybe I was having them to begin with so I could save him from that demon. In any case, he doesn’t wish to know me so there is nothing I can do about it.” Mychal’s previous guilt was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. He had hurt her by his rejection. She had saved his life and he had hurt her. God damn it.

  “He is probably freaked out by the whole thing. I know if I was told that a psychic watched my every move I would be reluctant to meet them,” Katya argued. “Give him time, he will come and see you.”

  “He’s probably embarrassed that he was saved by a woman,” Aleksandra said. “I have seen enough of him to know that he is a strong, proud man and perhaps it’s the pride that has been wounded.”

  “We can speculate all night, but I think he is a nutcase in pretty packaging. All the sexy ones are,” said Cerise. “And I don’t like all this talking when there should be sleeping.”

  “Oh, look out, evil nursey has spoken. We will see you in the morning. Scream if anything attacks you.”

  “Funny, Katya.” They flicked the light switch on the way out and the room was flooded with blackness. All Mychal would have to do now was wait until she was asleep. He hoped that she had taken the sleeping pills. A murmuring brought him out of his thoughts. She was praying softly to the night. It was the Latin prayer to Saint Michael the Archangel.

  Sancte Michael Archangele,

  defende nos in proelio,

  contra nequitiam

  et insidias diaboli esto praesidium.

  Imperet illi Deus,

  supplices deprecamur:

  tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis,

  Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos,

  qui ad perditionem animarum

  pervagantur in mundo,

  divina virtute,

  in infernum detrude. Amen.

  Thirty minutes later, Mychal dared to slide out from under the bed. Staying out of where the moonlight poured through the window he crept to the other side of the room. There was no cry of alarm only soft breathing.

  Very slowly, he got to his feet. From this far away Mychal made out the white of her bandaged hands against the dark red covers. Like a ghost, he moved to the foot of her bed. With a deep breath, he looked at the woman who had saved him.

  A mane of dark curling hair spilled over her pillows and around her pale shoulders and face. She would have big eyes when they were open. There was a small patch on her head that covered another burn. Overall, she was a beautiful woman who now had completely ruined hands because of him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered awkwardly to her. She jerked in her sleep and he jumped in shock. She wasn’t awake but she started murmuring. She was starting to dream. Panic built in him. What if she saw him looking over like some pervert?

  He started to move toward the door and heard the softest whisper, “Mychal…” He stopped dead in his tracks. She rolled over in her sleep as he slipped out of the balcony door.

  Chapter Eleven- Bears and Broken Birds

  Anya’s days had begun to work in a steady routine. Her mornings were filled with lessons from the Twins. Her afternoons were with Isabelle, Katya, Hamish and Izrayl in the gym for weapons training, and trying to get her back into condition after six weeks of no activity. Yvan and Aramis would come and sit in on her magic lessons, offering suggestions and knowledge where it was needed.

  Her nights were spent curled up with Trajan or watching old movies with Cerise. Aleksandra was healing and when she was well again, she would take over the Twin’s place in Anya’s instructions. Anya would miss Chayton and Honaw when they left their close circle.

  “Anya, what are you staring at? Are you even listening?” Honaw asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  “I was telling you about illusions.”

  “Like the ones you showed me when you told the story in Paris?”

  “Yes exactly,” said Chayton. “They are a good way to release your magic. They can also be useful in distracting your enemies or recounting and re-enacting incidences.”

  “So if I see someone that is suspicious I can recall a perfect image of them?”

  “In a manner-” started Chayton.

  “Of speaking,” continued Honaw, “Also it’s good for stories. Stories have power and because you were born from a culture that has such strong oral traditions, it has even stronger power.”

  “What good would telling stories be?” Anya asked trying to be calm and not churning with nerves. She remembered how good Eikki had been at storytelling. He hadn’t used illusions but his words would spin webs of dreams in your mind. He didn’t need the illusions.

  “You use words when performing strong magic, Anya. You know better than anyone that words have power. Telling stories is another way to harness that.”

  “Try it shalosť,” Yvan said from behind her. He had come in silently when they had been talking. Chayton and Honaw didn’t mind if he sat in on her lessons. Apparently, the presence of the firebird helped ease the magical tension in the room. Anya took their word for it. She had never felt any magical change except having Yvan being near calmed her nerves. Whether that was magic or Yvan himself Anya didn’t know.

  “You two should have warned me. I don’t know any stories off the top of my head,” said Anya.

  “What about one that Eikki used to tell you?” Yvan suggested with an encouraging smile. Anya closed her eyes, a frown of concentration creasing her face.

  “There is one I used to love, but it was a child’s fable…”

  “They are often the best ones,” Chayton said. “You recall them with innocence. Tell it. It doesn’t matter if the illusions work or not. It’s better to know a story
inside out before you even try to work magic with it.” Anya shut her eyes again and tried to recall the way Eikki used to tell it. She remembered sitting in front of the fireplace with a crocheted wool blanket that her dead grandmother had made. “Come, little Anya,” Eikki would say, “Come listen to a story, a yarn I have to spin for you.” Anya cleared her throat and began slowly, the slightest tremble in her voice.

  “Come and listen to my story. A yarn I have to spin for you. A yarn, a story, a rune song of a woman named Hilja.” Anya took a deep breath and continued, “Hilja was a woman of a kind disposition who lived up to her name that meant Silence. She worked in silence, she bathed in silence, and she baked bread in silence. She lived on the edge of a forest with her husband that was loud and brash. He scorned Hilja’s silence so he would often play cruel tricks on her. He would hide objects within the house and ask her to fetch them. When she couldn’t produce them, he would take a switch and beat her for being a forgetful wife. On the night of one such beating, when her husband had drunk his fill from the ale vat, Hilja ran from the house bruised and bleeding. Her husband followed her, shouting and cursing, his thick hands folded into meaty fists. Into the forest Hilja ran, tripping over fallen birch twigs, her face getting scratched from low hanging branches.”

  “After her, the husband ran, bellowing his rage. He grabbed Hilja’s long hair and to the ground, she fell. As he was about to rain a hail of blows on her when the roar of a bear stayed his hand. Hilja watched as her husband was battered by long claws, was stomped by heavy paws, and was consumed by strong jaws.”

  “Hilja thought that she must be the bear’s next meal but instead the bear watched her with calm brown eyes.

  ‘I thank you, Great One, for saving me,’ she whispered as fear gripped her tightly.

  ‘I did not do it out of kindness’, the bear said in guttural tones that made his words a growl.

  ‘How may I repay you? Surely, you have had your fill of flesh.’

  ‘A wife I need and as a payment for saving your life you will become mine.’ Hilja followed the bear to a stream where it sat on its large hindquarters and cut the thick pad of his paw until hot bright blood pooled in it. ‘Taste of my blood,’ the bear demanded. Sick with fear Hilja bent her face over the cut and licked the steamy, metallic blood from the paw. When she lifted her head the bear lowered his jaws and its long tongue lapped at the cuts and grazes on her face.”