Rise of the Firebird Read online

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. It’s still in there somewhere, but hiding out.”

  “Is it hurt?”

  “It hasn’t said. It hasn’t said anything since it happened.”

  “How do you know it’s still there?”

  “I feel it. It’s in a quiet place somewhere and I am not going to pressure it to leave.” Anya didn’t press any more questions on him, but she gave Yvan a look that said it wasn’t going to be dropped.

  “We should all start thinking about our next move,” said Isabelle. “We can’t hide out with the Álfr forever.”

  “I’m not going to force any of you to stay with me. This is my mess and I’ll clean it up and take my revenge on Vasilli and Yanka,” Anya said firmly.

  “Do you think any of us feel differently?” growled Izrayl. “Four of us have known Trajan for over fifty years. We won’t let you do this on your own.”

  “I wouldn’t think less of any of you if you decided to leave. I don’t want to see anymore of you hurt or killed because of me.”

  “Anya, we’re all doomed if we stay or leave,” sighed Katya. “The Illumination and the Darkness know who we are and what we’ve done. There’s no safe place for any of us now. We are better off staying with you, the danger is the same.”

  “I want to hang around to watch you kick Yanka’s ass,” Hamish laughed. “That’s gonna be one hell of a girl fight.”

  “I’ll need all the help I can get,” Anya took another drink. “I wonder if I could convince the Álfr to help me.”

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath, Elenya,” Søren appeared through the shadows. “After all, the Álfr were the ones that helped lock Yanka up in the first place.”

  Chapter Two - Soul

  It was dark inside Aramis’s bedroom. The few candles that had been lit burned low enough to make shadows dance along the walls. Aramis looked only a few shades greyer than the silky sheets on top of him. He was sweating and whispering in his sleep, his wounded arm bandaged tightly. Anya hadn’t been told that they had amputated his hand. She swallowed the large lump of tears in her throat. Her magic pulsed painfully inside of her at the sight of him. She went into the adjoining bathroom and wet a cloth.

  Pulling up a chair, she lightly dabbed his face with the cloth and his eyes slowly opened. He snatched her wrist and gripped it so tight that she felt the small bones groan. His anger made his eyes glow sapphire.

  “Aramis, I’m Anya,” she said as calmly as she could. “Aramis, look.” Ribbons of magic flowed out of her imprisoned hand and into his. He slowly released her wrist and she took his hand.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said slowly. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

  “About Yanka?”

  Aramis nodded and angry tears filled his eyes. “I never would’ve pushed to release her if I knew…”

  “Don’t say it, Aramis. It is done.” Anya felt the briefest touch of his magic through hers and she felt his pain, grief, and overwhelming shame.

  “I should have known. I have always thought her better…”

  “We can talk about it later,” she said as she patted his face with the cloth. He had no energy to hold any kind of glamour and Anya saw the black tattoos that traced down his pale body. He was hurting and she had to help him. She wasn’t the most stable person at the moment, but she needed Aramis. Like Yvan, he was a rock that held her in place and without him, she had no hope of defeating Vasilli and Yanka. She put the cloth on the bedside table and shifted to sit on the edge of his bed.

  “I feel better with you around,” he admitted. “I suppose that’s an effect of the elvianth.”

  “I’m sure it would have something to do with it. That’s why I hope this works.”

  “What works?”

  Anya rested her head against his bare chest and placed her hands on either side of his ribs. She thought about the skin under hers as power rushed through her and into him. He cried out in alarm as she poured more in, forcing it to fill the dark corners of him like his power had once done to her.

  Søren burst into the room with a crash but Anya ignored his shouts. In her mind, she saw Aramis as he always appeared to her, strong, stern, but always with a hint of mischief in his eyes. She saw the kindness in him and his steadfastness.

  Finally, she and her magic had nothing left to give. Søren helped her sit up but she had no energy to hold herself up and fell back next to Aramis. She started to laugh as she looked at Aramis’s face. It was glowing and perplexed. He started to laugh too until they were close to hysterical. Søren glowered at them.

  “You two are as idiotic as each other!” he cursed. “It is no wonder that Yanka managed to get the upper hand with you.”

  Anya tried to control her giggles. “She’s angry because I have her runes and ritual knife.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I dreamt about it.”

  “I wouldn’t argue with her,” Aramis said.

  “What the hell did you do to him?” Søren asked.

  “I have no idea. Aramis did something similar to me once. My magic goes mental around him, but as soon as I physically touch him, it goes into overdrive. It used to happen even before the elvianth.”

  “I need to tell Ruthann about this,” he said. “Did it hurt you, Aramis?”

  “No, it felt amazing, like heat and light. My skin is tingling.”

  “How’s your arm?”

  “The pain is less.” Anya felt the heavy presence in the room lift. He was beginning to feel more like Aramis should.

  “That’s something positive at least. Ruthann will be back tonight. He is the greatest healer of all of us. He said he has something that will help.”

  “Is he going to tell me about how the Álfr helped the Illumination capture Yanka?” Aramis asked, his tone cold again.

  “I’d like to sit in on that conversation too,” Anya added. She wanted Aramis to tell his side of what happened but he wasn’t physically or mentally up to the task.

  “I’m sure he will tell all of us, including your motley gang of freaks.”

  “Tell us what you really think,” she said sarcastically, which made him even more annoyed.

  “Tell you what I think? How about you and my brother are going to get us all killed? You’re playing with an obscene amount of power that you have little knowledge of. Your friends out there are following you and you are going to end up getting them killed. If you keep throwing it around, the Álfr will begin to think you are another Yanka. Get it under control.”

  “How exactly? Come on, you seem to have all the answers.”

  “For starters, no more frođleikr on Aramis before Ruthann arrives. I don’t want you making his injuries worse in an attempt to help.” That’s when Anya saw it. Through his blunt, sarcastic demeanour, Søren was worried for his brother.

  “I don’t think I’ve anything left to give. No more magic, I promise. I’ll wait for Ruthann and listen to what I hope is going to be a spectacular explanation.”

  The funeral for the Twins and Trajan was held the following day. Storm clouds loomed overhead, heavy with snow and sleet. The Álfr had allowed them to build the funeral pyres from the wood from their forest, and Katya and Aleksandra had helped Anya wrap the bodies in linen. Eikki had died with a look of fear and pain on his face. Trajan appeared to be sleeping, making the painful task easier.

  Anya watched the bodies burn, one hand being held tightly by Yvan, the other held by Aramis, their magic linked and alive between them. Aramis’s wounded arm had been tied up in a sling of grey silk and if it pained him, he gave no indication.

  Anya hadn’t held a proper funeral for Eikki and as she watched everyone speak good things about the deceased, she regretted the oversight. They all spoke their peace, Cerise singing a Glen Miller song that was Trajan’s favourite, and Mychal said a prayer before the fires were lit. Anya watched the flames for a long time until only she and Yvan remained.

  “I wonder how many more
of us will burn before this is done,” Anya said softly.

  “There are always casualties in war, Anya. That can’t be helped. I’m sorry that I have no words to comfort you, but I won’t lie to you either.”

  “I value your honesty, Yvan.” She looked up at his sombre face, flakes of snow falling in his black hair. “Don’t make me stand through your funeral. I could not bear it.” He put an arm around her shoulders and looked back at the dying flames.

  “I’ll try my hardest for you shalosť, and you make sure you extend me the same courtesy. I’ve seen too much death in both of my lives. I wouldn’t wish to suffer yours also.”

  ***

  Ruthann arrived before midnight. He travelled the conventional way, if being escorted by an armed guard was conventional. Anya hadn’t quite figured out if Ruthann was a king or some sort of leader, but she knew he definitely commanded a much higher position than the other Álfr she had met. She watched numbly through one of the high glass windows in her room as his convoy drove into the courtyard. She was drunk and had abandoned the others to their mourning. She needed to be left alone to cry, curse, and drink.

  A woman getting out of the long limousine caught her attention. She was tall in a black suit. Her hair was black except for wide streaks of white at her temples and was done up in a neat French roll. Anya knew that she’d never seen the woman before but there was something about her that seemed oddly familiar.

  Yanka’s runes sat on a small table next to her. She hadn’t touched them since she saw the vision of Yanka searching for them. Clearly, they had more power or significance than first imagined. A vague memory of Baba Yaga wanting them passed through her mind. Anya had been getting used to using them and now she was too nervous even to touch them. The drum was another matter. She hadn’t used it in weeks and when she took it out that night, she had noticed a new symbol. It was shaped like a stag antler, a mirror to the brand that the Groenn Skær had placed under her left breast. The drum had come from Baba Yaga, so she didn’t want to use it either in case it was spelled so she could be tracked. She was back to square one.

  ***

  “The truth of the matter is that her idiocy should be punished,” said Vasya Melenko. She was sitting in a chair in Ruthann’s temporary office smoking one cigarette after the other. The smoke was annoying Søren but he didn’t let it show. Søren had met her a few times and still didn’t like her. She’d power but she tried to shield it as much as possible. Søren hadn’t seen her for many years and she hadn’t aged a day past thirty. Ruthann had told him that she was the shadow head of the Illumination, but Søren still didn’t trust her.

  “What would punishing her achieve?” Ruthann countered.

  “I didn’t say you must punish her, only that she should be.”

  “It is hardly her fault. It is not like Aramis or Anya was aware of Yanka’s true involvement with Vasilli or the Darkness,” Søren found himself saying before he could check himself.

  “Aramis should’ve come to us when he found out that she was still alive,” Ruthann said.

  “Of course, he wouldn’t have come to us! He knows what the Álfr and we thought of Yanka. Only Aramis held some kind of emotional attachment to her after she started to turn dark. He probably thought he was saving her like he was always trying to save her.” Vasya Melenko was watching him coolly, but he didn’t care that he was interrupting and continued, “It’d be in everyone’s best interest if you told Anya everything. Yanka’s betrayal and Vasilli murdering Trajan devastated her. She wants to kill them. Let her.” Vasya Melenko and Ruthann shared a long look.

  “Do you think she could succeed in such an impossible task?” Ruthann asked finally.

  “With the truth and a bit more control over her magic, there’s no guessing what she could do. She will find a way with or without our help.”

  “What about Ilya’s prophecy?” asked Vasya Melenko.

  “Which one? He had hundreds,” Ruthann answered vaguely.

  “You know the one, Ruthann. The one that Aramis has no clue about even though he has collected every single prophecy concerning Yanka and her family.”

  Søren knew of Aramis’ obsession. If there was a prophecy that he hadn’t found, it must’ve been extremely well hidden. It would be one more thing that his brother would be angry about.

  “I will consider showing them,” said Ruthann coolly.

  “Do that, she has potential. As for me, I am going to turn in. I’m not as young as I used to be.” She got up and smoothed her skirt before lighting another cigarette and leaving the study.

  “How is Aramis?” Ruthann asked once the door had closed.

  “He’s much better because of Anya. When we brought him back here, he was half mad. We had to amputate his hand. There was no way we could save it.”

  “What did Anya do to him?”

  “I was actually hoping you could tell me. I walked into his chamber, and she was lying against his chest and magic was pouring out of her and into him. It was as if it melded with his and became something different. I’ve never seen anything like it. She was glowing where they touched. Afterwards, Aramis said his pain was almost gone and was actually laughing with her. It was like they were both high.” Søren started to pace. “It wasn’t the first time it happened either. Anya said Aramis had done it to her once before. They have this strange bond and their magic wants to touch all the time. Anya described it as her magic being infatuated with Aramis.” Ruthann got up and poured himself and Søren some wine.

  “If what you said is true, then it sounds to me like she cleansed his soul.”

  “Excuse me?” Søren choked on his drink.

  “I cannot be certain but it has been known to happen. It shouldn’t be possible between those two though. In the only documented cases, the participants had years and years of training to develop the talent.”

  “What do you mean by cleansing his soul?”

  “She takes his soul into her body and fills its place with her magic to heal him while she pulls the darkness out of his soul and then puts it back into his body,” Ruthann explained and refilled their glasses.

  “And she had no idea what she was doing,” Søren said feeling a little dazed. “She only wanted to make him feel better.”

  “She has a very soft heart but a vast amount of power. She could’ve killed him.”

  “If we tell her that, she’ll panic. She would never harm him, not even after all of this. She doesn’t even blame him for Vasilli killing Trajan, her ástir.”

  “It’s a lot of trouble that has landed on us,” Ruthann sighed.

  “We knew it was bound to happen one day. Yanka was still alive even though she was incapacitated. It’ll never stop until she is dead.”

  “We have tried to kill her. We tried every way possible. The closest we have achieved was to hold her in a coma. Even in that state, her power protected her from harm.”

  “Anya will kill her,” Søren said with absolute certainty.

  “Will she? Yanka is blóđ.”

  “Yanka is not her family. They are her family. Vasilli and Yanka killed her Thanatos and destroyed the bodies of the Thunder Twins. Yanka wanted to kill her and the rest of them. She didn’t anticipate that Anya could block a magical attack.”

  “Only for herself though. If the others live, it is because Yanka wanted them to.”

  “You’re wrong. Anya shielded all of them. Her power mingled with Aramis’s and she blocked Yanka’s attack. It wasn’t perfectly done but it worked for the most part.”

  “If she has that kind of ability, then she may very well be the only thing that could match Yanka. I fear, if she isn’t stopped soon, this world is going to burn.”

  ***

  Aleksandra sat next to the carved wooden bed watching Mychal toss and turn in his sleep. Mychal had been extremely firm with her on the matter of touching him when he was dreaming. Now she was forced to wait out the nightmares and try to comfort him when they were over.

  Mychal was
still uneasy in a crowd, but he was slowly becoming accustomed to the other people around him. Helping the Álfr get all of the wounded through the gates had been a turning point. He actually made an effort to appear comfortable around them now, even though he wasn’t. He still carried his “I could kill you before you draw your next breath” aura, but she doubted that would ever change.

  Mychal inhaled deeply and then stilled. His black eyes opened slowly and fixed on her. She smiled gently and offered him a damp cloth. He sat up slowly and ran his hands through his thick black curls before taking it.

  “How long have you been awake?” he asked huskily.

  “About an hour,” she said as she got up, kissed his forehead, and walked to the kitchen. The Álfr had given them all fully self-contained rooms, which Aleksandra was thankful for. She filled a glass with cold water for him and when she turned, he was sitting at the bench. She passed him the water and brushed his hair back from his eyes.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Nothing to talk about,” he replied as he drank his water. The hurt must’ve shown on her face because he took her hand. “It’s not because I wouldn’t like to tell you. It’s because I can’t remember it.”

  “This better not be you trying to lie to me like you did to Vadim all those years,” she said firmly.

  “Why would I do that?” he asked innocently, a very small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

  “Don’t you dare try to distract me! It’s not going to work about this,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. Mychal distracted her so easily that it was embarrassing. It would take a cold woman not to respond to him when he was being cheeky and playful. She was slowly getting to know him, but sometimes he made it hard work.

  “Fine, keep your secrets,” she said when he didn’t reply. She turned to go back to bed but he pulled her back, hugging her close to his chest.