Rise of the Firebird (2 page)

“How did you live with it?”

“I breathed in and I breathed out, and waited for it to become easier.”

“And did it?” His arms tightened around her.

“Yes, sometimes it is easier. Not today though.”

“I thought I’d have family with Yanka. A small twisted part of me wanted her to wake up and look at me as if I was a hero. That she would…I don’t know. I didn’t expect to have another enemy.”

“It’s not a crime to want to have family or have expectations. It’s what makes you human.” Anya didn’t reply. She was listening to the deep beat of his heart, trying to get lost in the steady rhythm.

“I’m so grateful for you, Yvan. Whatever gods exist, I thank them all for you. If you had died…”

“Don’t say it. I’m not going to leave you. Even death wouldn’t stop me from watching over you. I’m the Hero, remember?”

“I’ll never forget it.” She was dozing when he started to move carefully out of her embrace. “Don’t go…”

“I’m going to run a bath for you.” Yvan loosened her fingers and eased off the bed. She followed him slowly, her legs weak from disuse. Numbly, she watched him turn on the taps, holding his brown wrist under the water to test the temperature.

“You cut your hair,” she said with surprise. His black hair that had always hung to his shoulders was shorn to a mop of inch long curls.

“I had to. It was singed in the explosion,” he said, running a hand through it self-consciously. He straightened, letting the water fill the tub.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me,” Anya whispered. He moved to kiss her forehead.

“You’re welcome,
shalosť
. I’ll be here when you are done.”

Alone once more, Anya took off her clothes and climbed into the hot water. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest and let the heat seep into her. As the water went cold, she heard voices rising in the next room. She got out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel robe, leaving wet footprints wherever she went.

There was a crowd sitting in her lounge room when she walked in. Katya passed her a bottle of vodka with a brief hug. Anya sat on the carpet and rested her back against the couch. If she started to drink vodka, she would end up on the floor anyway. Anya scanned their faces and realised how right Søren had been. They all looked damaged and exhausted.

“How are you, Harley?” she asked. Harley lifted up her Def Leppard t-shirt to reveal a large white bandage patch on her stomach.

“Considering I knew it was a fatal wound, I’m pretty fucking fantastic,” she grinned. “These Álfr sure know a thing or two about healing. They let me call Mama Lya and Blue Jay who were both crazy mad but relieved to know Fox and I are okay.” Fox sat down on the floor next to Anya and took a swig from a tequila bottle.

“I thought you were done for when that bitch exploded,” she muttered.

“I tried to make my magic shield all of us but I wasn’t good enough.”

Izrayl said, “You were amazing. That blast levelled the hospital and if you hadn’t shielded us, we would have all been vaporised.”

“How about you, Aleksandra?” Anya asked the beautiful gypsy sitting on an armchair opposite her. Mychal stood behind her like an extremely intimidating bodyguard. The fingers of his right hand rested gently on Aleksandra’s neck, but if it was to comfort her or himself was anyone’s guess.

“I couldn’t touch my magic for a few days but I’m back to normal now,” Aleksandra said with a smile.

“And you, Mychal? Were you hurt at all?”

“No,” he answered in his usual blunt manner.

“Really? Nothing? You must have an excellent guardian angel.” A small ironic smile appeared on his lips but he said nothing. “Hamish?”

The cowboy gave her an amazing white smile. It was all bravado but it made her feel better. “Right as rain, love. My ears were ringing like a bastard for a couple of days.”

“Belle?”

“I’ve lived through worse.” Anya nodded and took another long swig. She noticed a face missing.

“Where’s Aramis?”

“He’s hurt really bad,” said Katya.

“His hand?”

“His head too.”

“I’ll visit him later then.” The vodka was finally making her feel warm and relatively calm.

“Have you shown her, Yvan?” Cerise said as she paced and chain-smoked.

“Shown me what? You said you weren’t hurt.” Anya looked at Yvan and he sighed. Yvan lifted up his black t-shirt to reveal a well-muscled, bare, brown chest. It took a moment for Anya to register what she was seeing. His chest was bare. The firebird was gone.

“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.”

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.