Rise of the Firebird (19 page)

“Stupid Aramis. He is impossible to kill.”

“Try not to sound so jealous that he doesn’t have your back anymore. It took him long enough to realise what a bitch you are.”

“Name calling already, Baba? I haven’t even finished my first glass of wine,” Yanka said as she shifted one of her pieces. “Such a shame it has only ever been us at this table.”

“I don’t think anyone else is stupid enough to try to contend.”

“Ynys Yr Afalon has always made me so melancholy. Morgan would have been a truly fantastic enemy.”

“It’s her fault this place has lost its power,” Baba Yaga grunted.

“It is Merlin’s fault for attacking her here.” Yanka sipped her wine and sat back comfortably to watch Baba Yaga’s move. “I don’t suppose any one has sighted him since I have slept.”

“By the Gods no. I believe he is dead.”

“Or hiding.”

“He is dead. If he were alive, we would know. As a great Power, he would be sitting at the table next to us. It is a good thing he is not.”

“I suppose so, but I can’t help but wonder what his magic would have tasted like,” Yanka licked her lips thoughtfully.

“Your appetite will be your undoing.”

“You can hardly criticise my appetite.” Yanka bit deeply in a grape, as Baba Yaga fought the urge to attack her with the cheese knife. Instead, she took out one of Yanka’s pieces.

“What is it that you want, Yanka? Do you even know anymore?” she asked. She was asking that question to herself more and more.

“Of course I know.”

“Anya is going to try to stop you.”

“Really? She can
try
all she likes.”

“The Álfr are helping her.”

“Aramis is hardly the Álfr. They won’t lift a finger to interfere. They never have.”

“Søren is very fond of her too.”

“Søren is an instrument and a blunt one at that.” Yanka dismissed him and one of Baba Yaga’s pieces with the flick of her hand.

“You’re an excellent liar, Yanka, but you should be careful how much you lie to yourself.”

“You are the one that’s wondering what you want. Not I.”

“The times have changed; one has to change with them.”

“Oh yes,
Vasya
is a sign of that, isn’t she? I bet all those times that are changing don’t stop you from gobbling the occasional child whenever you can,” Yanka paused for a moment, looking pensively at the board. “We are what we are, Baba Yaga, and nothing can change that. Not time. Not stories. Not kings and princes and firebirds.”

“And what about our children? You were the one that was stupid enough to have them. Vasilli and Anya both carry your blood. One is your dog and the other is your enemy. Best be careful that the dog doesn’t turn on you.”

“Dogs are loyal, people are not.”

“Even the loyalist dog will stray if he’s left too long by his master. You were asleep for a very
long
time and it wasn’t your dog that released you from it.” Something dark shifted under Yanka’s skin like a caged beast waking up.

“Vasilli is mine and no time will separate that.”

“And Anya?” Baba Yaga couldn’t help pushing, delighting that she had rattled Yanka.

“Anya will fall in line or be crushed under my feet. What makes her my kin is so watered down it can barely be called blood.”

“She reminds me of Ilya. Fierce and…”

“Mad. It happens sometimes when the magic presents itself. I should’ve put him down like a failed experiment. Anya doesn’t seem to be much more stable than he was.”

“Anya has calming influences that Ilya did not. She has people to teach her to control her power.”

“And we are back to the Prince again! Do you want me to have him killed? Is that why you are painting him as such a threat to me?”

Baba Yaga picked up a piece and studied it carefully, “What makes you think you could kill him? You saw what happened to Veruschka and she was more than capable.”

“I know you think so highly of Anya and all, but what makes you think she won’t see you as the enemy once I am gone?” Yanka commented once servants had brought them a simple dinner of roast meats, vegetables, baked brown bread and cheeses.

“I’ve thought about it, but unlike you, I haven’t killed one of her closest friends and tried to kill the person she loves most in all the worlds. I haven’t been as
stupid
as you.”

“I killed the
thanatos
because she loved him.”

“Not like she loves the Prince. She doesn’t even realise it either. They are both idiots and yet it was the touch of her power that woke him.”

“You talk too much about them. They aren’t important.”

“Maybe not, but I find it interesting and you should know better than any of us that when you have lived as long as we have, it takes a great deal to interest us.”

“Sleep a few centuries,” suggested Yanka as she frowned at her pieces remaining on the board. “You wake up and everything is new and different again. The world you left behind is long gone, and yet, I’m struggling to see if all the change is a good thing or not. Remember when they used to fear us? Remember the respect? Now my name is not even remembered. At least they still have stories about you.”

“And you think that it’s an accident none of your stories survived?” Baba Yaga cackled. “Any storytellers of note are mine. Even the Grimms were mine!” She slapped her wrinkled hand triumphantly on the table.

“Those German school boys aren’t a victory,” Yanka rolled her eyes. “We shall see what stories the world remembers when I rule the world.” Yanka took two pieces of Baba Yaga’s remaining six. Baba Yaga stopped gloating and swore filthily.

“You’d best remember to keep your rheumy eyes on the game, old woman. Otherwise, you won’t have anything left.” Baba Yaga opened her mouth to curse her again when the ground shifted under them. It wasn’t a quake but a shuddering in their reality.

“What was that?” Yanka had gone white, gripping the arms of her chair. “I swear if you even attempt to break this sacred treaty land, I will…”

“Shut up, girl, that wasn’t anything to do with me,” Baba Yaga snapped, her black eyes burning as they darted around for the threat. A warm heat moved like a spirit through the tent causing the sides to billow and flap.

“Look!” Baba Yaga jolted back from the table, knocking the heavy chair to the ground. On the usually blank side of the game board there now stood shining new pieces of pale bone.

“This cannot be,” Yanka whispered. “It has only
ever
been us. I forgot the pieces start out white…” she reached to touch one and as her slender fingers wrapped around one she began to screech in pain. She let it go quickly, white burns crossing her skin. She clutched her hand out of surprise rather than pain. “
Yebat,
“she muttered as she showed Baba Yaga.

“Idiot, you know better than to touch someone else’s pieces.”

“Who do you think they belong to?”

“You know who.”

“Anya doesn’t have the power to be given a place at the game.”

“Clearly she does!”

“Then where is she?”

“She doesn’t know she has a place,” Baba Yaga said thoughtfully.

“Don’t you dare tell her,” Yanka threatened.

“It won’t change anything. She still will have a place at the table and the game cannot be played for two when it is set for three.”

“So what now? We stalemate?” Yanka’s voice rose shrilly. “Curse that fucking girl and her fucking mother that my descendant’s seed spilled inside of her!”

“Still think she is not a threat?” Baba Yaga asked placidly and quickly stepped aside as Yanka threw a pitcher of wine at her. “Stop acting like a child. You were the one that made this happen.”

“How? You cannot blame me for the blood that is inside of her.”

“It wasn’t that…You woke something in her. You killed the
thanatos
, you
maimed
Aramis and now most stupidly of all, you almost killed the Hero. I
told
you she would kill you for hurting Yvan. She will kill anyone that stands in her way to get to you.”

“I get the idea. What do we do about this?”

“We go home. The game is done for the night.”

In the mist of the early morning, the servants carefully packed the game board into its chest, the pieces staying firmly attached in their positions. They carried it down to the borders of the Tor where the dead zone and the live one met. As the sun rose, magic crackled in the air, the bystanders kept a safe distance from the two Powers. Baba Yaga and Yanka cut their palms and held them dripping over the chest, knowing that the moves on the game were being played out in both of the worlds.

Vasilli paced and drank heavily from the bottle of vodka that hung in his hand. Yanka was going to see Baba Yaga at Ynys Yr Afalon and it annoyed him that he couldn’t be a part of that. Yanka assured him that Baba Yaga wouldn’t attempt anything but that’s not what bothered him. Vasilli wanted to
see
the game. It was rumoured to have been made by Merlin himself and Vasilli wanted nothing more than to have a taste of the power that could achieve such a marvel. He wanted to see the old magic, study how it worked, how it could be manipulated. Instead, he was left on Vasilyevsky Island to deal with Ladislav and his pathetic followers.

He stopped pacing, put the bottle down and started to laugh under his breath. He shouldn’t be feeling left behind. Yanka had handed him his revenge wrapped in a bow. For over a hundred years, he’d tolerated Ladislav. He’d never known the full extent of Vasilli’s power, so he had treated him like his underling.

Such ruses were no longer necessary now that Yanka had returned. She would put order back into the world and the ragtag group of miscreants that now filled the ranks of the Darkness would be culled. Vasilli would be the one standing at Yanka’s side when she took over the worlds, a highly honoured prince. Lately, however, he’d not been placing too much stock in Yanka’s plans. She had the power but lacked a certain amount of vision. The cat and mouse game she played with Baba Yaga had picked up right where it left off. Yanka needed Vasilli. He would suggest the vision and she would acknowledge his good judgement. He didn’t trust her, but it worked because she didn’t trust him either.

“Prince Vasilli?” a beautiful girl interrupted his thoughts. She had very pale skin and thick red hair that made men and women alike envious. Her eyes were black, the only sign of her night hag blood.

“What is it, Mia?”

“Prince Ladislav is here to see you.”

“Is Ragana with him?”

“Preening like the rotting old whore that she is.” Vasilli smiled and she blushed at the attention. She turned to leave, a sly smile tweaking her red painted lips.

“Mia?”

“Yes? Was there something else you wanted?” He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up onto the polished oak desk. His hands ran up her stockinged legs until they came to her garter straps. He gripped them and pulled her roughly against him.

She gasped as Vasilli grabbed her throat tightly, tilting her head back. He crushed his mouth against hers, bruising her tender lips. A groan purred in the back of her throat but he didn’t stop. Her power, young and fresh, flashed through his body as he pulled it from her. She wasn’t even aware that he was doing it, she was so untrained, so distracted. He needed the extra charge when he faced Ladislav and she was pliable in his roaming hands. He stopped taking her magic as he moved his mouth from hers, taking his fingers from the inside of her moist lace underwear.

“Come, we had best not keep our guests waiting.”

When Yanka arrived at dawn, there was a silence hanging in the walls of her mansion. She could smell blood and magic in the air. She opened the doors to her large meeting hall and started to laugh. Blood in every shade and colour was splashed against the polished marble. Body parts of various creatures, human shaped and otherwise littered the tables and floor. Vasilli stood alone on the dais steps, the suit he wore drenched in blood. He was humming with power, so much so that Yanka took the time to admire his huge magical aura. He’d sucked the power from them and all of that magic was trying desperately to condense itself in and around him. Vasilli looked up as she waded through the gore, clapping her long white hands, the hem of her fur coat trailing through the mire.

“
Moy syn
, I see that you had fun with the toys I left for you.” She kissed his cheek and licked the blood from her lips.

“You have always been the most generous of mothers. A gift for you,” he lifted his hand and gave her Ladislav’s head. She held up the gruesome trophy, the shocked and frighted expression frozen permanently on the old man’s face.

“Thank you, my darling, I’m very proud of you. Now, with all that power riding you, we should really find you a woman to take some of that frustration out on, give you a chance to let all that new magic settle.”

“I want Mia.”

“Lovely choice, I was thinking of having her myself soon. I will arrange it.”

“How was the game?” he asked as they turned to leave the hall.

“Painful, but I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. This morning, it is about your victory,” Yanka said as she dropped Ladislav’s head onto a chair for the
domovoi
to take care of.

In the real world, there was a heavy mist hanging over the land, too lazy to turn into rain. The sun still hadn’t risen and Eldon Blaise was sitting with his back propped against the stone wall outside of the
King Arthur
pub. He had been kicked out for the night and was letting the mist fall on him as he stared blearily at the shadow of St Benedict’s. He rolled a cigarette clumsily with calloused fingers and lit it. Not for the first time that week, he thought about killing himself. He hated the town, hated everything that it represented, hated the memories and the ghosts that haunted him wherever he went. However, God wouldn’t let him die, not even by his own hand.

Eldon had felt a compulsion hit him hard the week before as he sat by his fire in Ireland. He hadn’t been bothered in his little cottage for over fifty years. Then he’d been thrown out of bed one morning like he had been struck by lightning. As he sat up, he caught a glimpse of the Tor in the coals of the fire and he knew where he had to go. He had found a pub as soon as he got into town and had been steadily drinking ever since.