Rise of the Firebird (12 page)

Moonlight poured through branches, illuminating a small stream. They travelled down it, the air growing warmer with every step they took. The black wolf disappeared through a high crack in a rock face, the scent of musk and heat and animal all around her. Water from the stream trickled against the rocks and the cave opened to a large subterranean lake. Smooth black rocks encircled the shoreline and pale luminescent trees, glowing plants and streaks of moonlight eased the darkness, striking silver on the black water.

The wolf beside her began to shiver and morph. His power rolled out and Anya’s body stretched and transformed back to her own. Breathless and euphoric, Anya started to laugh loudly, sending echoes off the stone walls and trees around her.

Now in human form, he held out his arms and lifted her, swinging her gently in circles as she giggled like a child. Then she was kissing him, her hands tangled in his thick black mane of hair. “Thank you, thank you,” she whispered against his smiling lips. He tasted of power, joy, and the cold crispness of the forest. She was overwhelmed by the night and by the hidden world. She was weeping softly, but unlike the past few weeks, these tears were the healing kind.

“There is a purpose for me sharing this with you,” he said, Anya’s head now resting on his shoulder. “You have great
frođleikr
in you for a human. You don’t understand the depth of it, but in time, you will. I see in you much mercy and much light, little one, but beware of the darkness too. It will eat your heart away until there is nothing left of whom you are. This Yanka, she will bring pain, fire, and evil. All things in nature come in opposites. They help hold the balance. You must be life to her death.”

“You know more about the world than I expected.”

“The wind carries news and the trees speak the truths. If one knows how to listen, the world tells you its secrets.”

He lowered her slowly back to her feet. Anya looked up at him: a creature so old and enigmatic that there would be no way to protect him or his kind. Anya thought of the Shishiga and the Ovinnik in Paris and the way Völundr had tried to steal their magic. What would the Darkness do if they caught something like the
Groenn Skaer
?

“This war does not concern you,” Anya said protectively as she squeezed his hand.

“War concerns everyone. War will ravage the lands of the human world and the magical realms. What affects one will always affect the other. It’s a part of the balance. I wanted you to see this nature through the wild’s eyes. These trees are not dead wood. Everything in this forest is connected. It speaks to each other and it grows with each other. It is another world that needs people to protect it. It is my hope that in the times to come, you will look upon the other worlds around you because the decisions you make will cause ripples through their very nature.”

Anya sat on the grass as the
Groenn Skaer
spoke. An uneasy feeling was rolling through her stomach. He lay down on his long side next to her, the fierceness that had illuminated him had calmed once more. He placed a warm hand over her ankle. It was a touch of reassurance, of closeness. Her magic rose to meet him and she didn’t stop it.

“Your gift is a strange thing. It wants to touch and take from everything magical around it. It grows and changes from every caress. Your guardian spoke to me of it, how you both find it confusing. It’s your power calling out to be touched. It wants to touch Aramis’s magic because you want to touch him. It wants comfort as you want comfort.”

“I don’t-” Anya began but stopped herself. The
Groenn Skaer
looked amused. He hadn’t been trying to accuse her of anything but merely stated the obvious. Now that he had given her explanation about her magic, it seemed so frightfully obvious. “So my power grows every time it touches another person’s magic?” she asked.

“It connects and it learns.”

“Could I hurt someone if I touched them too long? Could I drain their power?”

“It’s possible but it would be a terrible thing to do to another. It is evil. It is blackness that will swallow you if you try.”

“I have seen it done to others. They tried to steal mine but it didn’t work.”

“It protected itself.” Anya clutched her head. She had known that her magic was different but the thought of it learning on its own…taking on its own.

“Do not be afraid, little one. Its touch does not harm or feed off another unless you wish it. It is a greeting. The old ones used to know each other by touch. Our forms might change but out power will always feel the same.”

As he spoke, his power flowed along her skin, moving like warm fingers over her body. The
Groenn Skaer
moved his hand up her leg in a languid stroke. Magic was pulsing through the ground, seeping into Anya. The drums were in her head again, mixing its rhythms with the beating of her heart, the water rushing in the streams and the life growing all around her. She felt the connections he’d spoken of and she was now a part of it, a dot of light like a dew drop in a spider web. The
Groenn Skaer
moved his long body slowly up hers like the brush of a big cat.

“You feel it,” his deep voice reverberated through him. “Feel the life, Ilya’s blood. Let go of your control.”

His eyes hovered above her; warm and endless, silently assuring that everything would be well. Very slowly, Anya let down every wall that she had ever built, dismantled every protection and shield that kept her magic in check.

The
Groenn Skaer
gathered her close and sat up, pulling her onto his lap. Her hands gripped his shoulders as power and emotion flooded out of her, into him and the forest and back again until they were one perfect symbiotic entity. He kissed her tears as she clung to him. The power flowing through her was so strong that when he entered her she could barely gasp. The words he murmured did not register as their magic and bodies came together in a ritual as primeval as time. Anya was liquid light and heat that filled the cavern in a burning, blinding inferno before moving out to awaken the forest for spring.

The sun was rising and Yvan’s back was aching in pain. His right side was bruised from neck to hip from being tossed into the stone statue hours beforehand. Izrayl and Hamish had joined him and Aramis to wait for the forest to let them in.

She will be well. We would feel it if she was in any harm,
the firebird whispered into Yvan’s mind. It wasn’t like him to assure Yvan of anything, so he didn’t reply.

An hour ago, they felt a pulse of power shake the ground, but when Yvan had tried to force his way into the forest once more, he couldn’t get a toe in. Aramis had tried but even as one of the Álfr, it had ignored his efforts. They had tried to contact the Twins but it was futile.

Yvan stood leaning against a post, the cool stone easing the throbbing in his back. Hamish trotted past sniffing curiously in his dingo form. Izrayl was due to come back to report and Aramis had withdrawn into a sullen silence.

Snapping branches and a rustling of leaves pulled Yvan from his daydreams. A head of fair hair caught the morning’s first rays and Anya appeared on the edge of the forest. The Elemental was with her, immensely tall and imposing. Yvan watched him unravel one of his braids and give Anya the piece of rolled up leather that had been woven into it. He picked her up and kissed her long and passionately.

Yvan took a step forward but Aramis gripped his arm and stopped him. “Wait!”

The forest lord lowered Anya once more and she stepped through the trees. She wore a short kilt of grey fur, a band of it covering her breasts. Her hair was wild and snarled with twigs, leaves and small blossoms. Izrayl’s hunches rose and he morphed back into his human form, shaking himself. “Something is wrong with her, Yvan…,” he muttered. Hamish moved in front of them, dead alert. They were watching Anya carefully. She walked toward them, her body swaying with a natural confidence she normally lacked. There was blood on her hands, drops smeared on her legs and the edges of her mouth.

A whimpering sound emanated from Izrayl and he morphed again, taking tentative steps towards her. Hamish joined him, walking circles around her, small submissive sounds coming from them.

“The power of the forest is still riding her,” Aramis whispered, his eyes glued to Anya and the magic that was spilling from her. “Anya, can you hear me?” She ignored him completely, not a flicker of recognition on her face. “Anya, it’s Aramis. You must let the forest go.”

Anger washed over her face, making her feral. “No. Peace here.”

“Yvan, say something. She’s always listened to you. If she doesn’t let the magic go soon, she will lose herself all together.” Aramis’s tone was calm but Yvan could see the panic in his eyes. Yvan felt the firebird’s heat roll over his skin and he knew that he had no choice. Fire licked up his arms and down his body. Anya’s eyes that were not really Anya’s flickered with uncertainty.

“Fire is an unpredictable force,” Yvan said calmly, his voice taking on strains of the firebird. “Nothing exists that fire cannot destroy. Let the girl go or I promise you will feel the heat of my flames. I will burn you to the ground until all that remains is the ash of your children. I will burn you until the seeds in the earth are destroyed with no hope of rejuvenation. I will sow salt in all that remains of you.”

“You make idle threats,” Anya replied blankly.

“I’m not making a threat.” Balls of flame built in Yvan’s hands and he walked to the forest edge. “I have no quarrel with you, but if you don’t release her, I will destroy you.”

“Very well,” Anya sighed. The coldness melted from her eyes until only confusion remained. Anya sank to her knees beside Izrayl. He licked her arm curiously, the whine in his throat growing as he transformed.

“What is it, Izrayl?” Aramis demanded.

“She smells of wolf,” he replied dazedly. “She
was
a wolf. There is wildness and old magic and blood and sex.”

“Sounds like a busy night,” Hamish looked down at Anya’s astonished face. She studied her hands as if she’d never seen them before, the rolled piece of leather clutched too tightly in her left palm.

“Yvan?” her voice small and confused but her own again. She looked lost and disorientated, suffering massive magical drain. Magic was not something he could help her with. She’d done exactly what Aramis had feared and had performed a ritual with the
Groenn Skaer
. Yvan’s hands clenched at his side, trying to keep his anger and disappointment in check. He turned to the pale, concerned Álfr next to him.

“You can handle this one. You are her guardian, after all.”

“I don’t think she wants me.” Yvan tried to look at her and found he couldn’t.

“That’s your problem.” No one moved to stop him as he hobbled from the garden, flames falling from his fingertips.

Mychal was in the library, tucked into a secluded and dusty alcove. A pile of books was placed next to him but he wasn’t reading. He was sitting on the window seat, overlooking the garden below him, his knees pressed tightly to his chest.

For Aleksandra’s sake, Mychal had been trying to mingle with the others. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them because he did. It was that everyone was constantly so
loud
. Even when they weren’t talking, their emotional energy would press tightly around him until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. While among monks and priests with their contemplative and reflective minds, Mychal had always been the most troubled. He’d been the one that was the constant bound up mass of angry energy. Now he was getting firsthand knowledge of what Vadim must have been going through. The thought of Vadim sent a sharp stab of grief in his heart. Mychal knew he couldn’t attend any of the funerals, the police as well as Vasilli had been looking for him, but the guilt he carried for not saying goodbye troubled him. He pressed a hand to his chest to try to relieve the pain and pressure building there.

“Gabriel,” he whispered to the quietness around him, “steady my resolutions, renew my courage, comfort and console me in the problems, trials and sufferings of daily living, as you consoled our Saviour in his agony.” The tension in him eased and when he looked up, a man was watching him. He wore his golden hair long, like most of the Álfr, and had large golden eyes.

“Who is it that you pray to?” he asked softly.

“Gabriel, one of the Archangels,” Mychal said. He forced his knees from his chest slowly. He didn’t like to look vulnerable and the tall man had caught him unawares. Usually, he felt when someone was near but the stranger hadn’t even registered.

“And this Gabriel, he helps?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“You aren’t entirely human.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I didn’t know the Hvítrvirđar still came to this world to mate with the human women.”

“I’m not nephilim,” Mychal defended. “Nephilim are abominations.”

“Then what are you?”

“I don’t know. Something…else.”

“I believe you. Your light is so unusual.” He waved a hand in the air.

“In what way?” Mychal asked cautiously. He knew that Ruthann could see auras, but he didn’t like that the other Álfr could spot it too. The golden man walked closer to him, studying him carefully.

“It’s unusual in its intensity and its duality. There is strong gold, streaked in violet. There is red there too. You are a warrior. There is darkness, deep anger. You exist in a constant state of war within yourself. Death is drawn to you. It seeks you out. Tries to kill your light.” He shuddered and his golden eyes refocussed. “I- I am sorry.”

“Don’t let it worry you. There is nothing you have said that I didn’t already know about myself.”

“I’m pleased that I didn’t offend you. I’m Ásgeirr.” Mychal took the long hand that was offered to him. It was soft but it held hidden strength. Clearly, reading people’s auras and studying in libraries wasn’t his only talent.

“Mychal, what weapon do you specialise in?”

“I’m surprised you ask,” Ásgeirr laughed, “but since you did, it is the spear.”

“Is that how you were named?”