Deep magic second coll.., p.35
Deep Magic - Second Collection, page 35
part #2 of Deep Magic Collection Series
She eyed Vanya with suspicion. “Consider yourself blessed,” she said. “You may be the only person who has received the kiss of a rusalka and lived.”
Suddenly, she snatched the fox up by the scruff of his neck. He yelped and thrashed as she darted back out to the center of the river.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Vanya shouted.
“I will keep this fox as your motivation, human,” she hissed. The fox scratched and bit her, but she didn’t even seem to notice. “If you do not return by the full moon, then he will die in your place.” She began to sink.
The fox struggled as the water enveloped them, his eyes wide. “Find the old gray wolf at the north end of the forest!” he shouted. “She will help!”
Then they were gone.
Vanya stared at the swirling water. His eldest brother would have fought the rusalka for the fox; his second brother would have talked her out of it. But he had simply gawked.
Slowly, he climbed to his feet and wandered away. Once he could no longer hear the river, he sat down on a log and leaned his head in his hands. He had nearly died; and worse, he’d lost his pack with the food and medicine. His father was going to die because of him, and then his older brothers would kill him for his negligence and split his inheritance between them. If he was even going to receive an inheritance.
The fox and the rusalka expected him to return in a fortnight with some mythological waters. He wasn’t even certain he was willing to try to find them, let alone whether he could. His brothers wouldn’t have wasted time chasing a myth when their father was in need.
But Vanya already knew that he would. The last glimpse he’d gotten of the fox, eyes wide and frightened, wouldn’t leave his thoughts. The fox had saved him from the rusalka—he had to try.
Sighing, Vanya stood and headed north.
* * *
After a few hours, Vanya noticed with surprise that most of his clothing had frozen. Thanks to the rusalka’s kiss, he hadn’t realized how cold the night had gotten. It was difficult to be truly grateful for that gift, however, as the absence of cold allowed him to focus on how tired, sore, and hungry he was.
As the sun rose, Vanya was rounding a small frozen lake. He didn’t realize how quiet the forest had become until he heard a twig snap behind him. The sound echoed across the lake in the morning stillness. He spun around, but couldn’t see anything in the forest shadows. Then a ray of sunlight broke through the trees, falling upon the yellow eye of an enormous gray wolf crouched beside a log. She sighed.
“How embarrassing. Years ago, I would never have made that mistake.”
Vanya could see that the wolf was old—her fur was fading from gray to white, and she moved in a slow manner that bespoke the weariness of age. She stood up straight, shaking her head, which was now almost level with Vanya’s own.
“Well, now that I’ve given myself away, you’ll want to run,” the wolf said. “I don’t suppose you’d consider giving up without the chase? I will make your death as painless as possible if you do.”
Vanya’s breath caught in his throat. Reflexively, he stepped backward.
The wolf’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t think my offer means you could escape. I am old and tired, but I can still run down a human easily.”
“The fox sent me to find you!” Vanya blurted.
She tilted her head. “As a gift?”
“No!” Vanya stepped back again. “He—he said you could help me find the water of death and the water of life.”
The wolf growled softly. “Why would he say that? Why not come himself?”
“He couldn’t. There was a rusalka who wanted the waters, and she took him . . .” He trailed off. “It has become a long story.”
The wolf studied him and then cursed softly. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve found some sort of food. Wait here.”
“You’ll help?” Vanya blurted.
She glared at him. “That wasn’t clear?”
“Well, I just . . . you won’t eat me?”
“. . . Not today, no.” She vanished into the shadows and snow.
“Oh . . . good.”
Still shaken, Vanya sat on a log by the shore. His stomach rumbled. His eldest brother would have hunted an animal for food, and his second brother would have known how to find edible plants, even in winter. Vanya just waited and tried to ignore his hunger.
“Do you still wish to go after the waters?” the wolf soon asked from behind Vanya, startling him. She seemed pleased with his surprise.
“Yes,” he replied, jumping to his feet. The wolf set out through the trees to the northeast.
Vanya hurried to catch up. They walked in silence for nearly an hour before Vanya grew bored and curious.
“Why are you helping me?” he asked. “I mean, you were going to eat me, so why . . .”
The wolf snorted. “The fox collects favors like a bear stuffing itself for hibernation, and I once made the mistake of falling into his debt. Three winters he’s waited to claim his repayment. If you are wise, you will not allow him to help you, ever. Though I suppose it’s too late,” she added, “since you seem to already be in his debt.”
“Well, technically, he was in mine,” Vanya replied. “But it seems heartless to leave him with the rusalka.”
“Truly? You may be the first creature I know of to put the fox in your debt.”
Vanya shrugged. “It was an accident, really.”
“Many great achievements are. Now, tell me the whole of the story, that I may fully delight in the fox’s misfortune.”
So Vanya told her the story. The wolf laughed and asked him to tell it again. Afterward, she was in such a good mood that she related the story of how the fox had helped her evade some hunters, placing her in his debt.
Once the stories were finished, it was nearly noon. They had left the forest and were walking through snow-covered fields. Vanya’s clothing had begun to thaw and drip in the sun.
“So . . . where are the waters of death and life?” Vanya asked.
“I don’t know,” the wolf said. “We’re on our way to someone who does.”
Vanya thought back on the tales he’d heard growing up. “You mean someone like Baba Yaga or Koschei the Deathless?”
“Are you a fool?” the wolf replied, her hackles rising. “Never go to a witch or sorcerer for aid. They’re even worse than the fox!”
“Oh . . . we’re going to someone better, then?”
“Marginally, yes. You should still never go to him for help unless you have to, though.”
“Who?”
“The firebird.”
Vanya paused, confused. “I thought the firebird was supposed to be good and noble.”
“Absolutely not.” The wolf snorted. “We’re all just fortunate that King Zalateen keeps the thing locked up. It’s dangerous. The fox might be tricksome and mischievous, but he’s only looking out for himself. The firebird likes to hurt others—that is the nature of fire. Last time he got loose he burned down two forests and a city before the bogatirii caught him again.”
“Was that when Prince Ivan let it out of its cage?” Vanya frowned. “Wait . . . you aren’t the gray wolf from that story, are you?”
The wolf snorted. “I’m old, boy, not ancient. If that story ever happened, it was some other wolf helping the prince. I generally know better than to help humans with anything.” She shook her head. “Nothing good ever comes of it.”
Soon the fields they were walking through changed—from the ridges and lines in the snow, Vanya could tell that this land was cultivated during the summer. The wolf led the way, carefully avoiding any human settlements until they reached a wide, walled city on a long hilltop. While the gate guards questioned Vanya about his business, the wolf slipped into the city behind them.
Once Vanya was allowed into the city, the wolf led him down alleys and back roads, hiding in the shadows whenever people drew near, until they reached a bright palace at the top of the hill.
“Here,” she whispered, stopping in an alley beside the palace wall. “There is a garden on the other side—the firebird is in a cage at the center. Climb on my back, and I will help you over.”
Vanya struggled awkwardly onto her back, careful not to pull her fur roughly.
“You must pluck one of the feathers from its tail,” the wolf continued. She stood on her hind legs and rested her forepaws against the wall, lifting him high enough to reach the top. “As long as you have one, the firebird cannot lie to you.”
Vanya climbed atop the wall. “I will wait for you outside the city,” the wolf said. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
Vanya nodded, looking down the far side of the wall. “How will I get out of here?” But when he turned around, the wolf was already gone. He sighed. “I guess I’ll have to ask the firebird that.”
He dropped down from the wall into a beautiful garden. The chill of winter didn’t seem to touch this place—though the garden was open to the sky, there wasn’t a speck of snow. Flowers of every kind were planted in lovely arrangements and shaded by well-trimmed bushes and trees.
Careful not to step on any flowers, Vanya worked his way to a path of coppery stone that spiraled toward the center of the garden. Huge hedges blocked his view, but he could see a towering red-leafed tree reaching up to the sky behind them.
The path led him to an arched opening in the hedges, beyond which the red tree stood at the center of a bare stone courtyard. From one of its lowest branches dangled a golden cage, big enough to hold Vanya if he crouched. In the cage slept the firebird with its head under one wing. Its red and orange feathers glowed like embers, bright and then dim and then bright again as it breathed, and its long, wide tail trailed out of the cage to the stones a few feet below.
Vanya crept forward quietly. The air of the courtyard was hot and stuffy, like a sunbaked room in the middle of summer. It seemed to somehow muffle his footsteps, for which he was grateful. The firebird hadn’t stirred.
When he was only a few feet away from the cage, the bird spoke. “Have you come to free me from this prison?”
Vanya froze. The firebird pulled its head from beneath its wing, revealing its shining jet-black eyes and beak.
“Well?” Its voice reminded Vanya of the hisses and pops of a smoldering fire.
“No.”
“I see. Then you have questions for me, questions you think I can answer.”
Vanya licked his lips and glanced at the bird’s tail, wondering if he was quick enough to grab a feather before it could move. But the firebird drew its tail up into the cage.
“Do you have any idea how tedious it is in here?” it asked. “Staring at these boring hedges and tree year after year, only visited by fools who pester me with unimportant questions?”
Vanya shook his head.
“Try to imagine it. Really try hard, and then ask yourself whether or not your question is truly worth bothering me over.”
“. . . If it’s so boring here,” Vanya said, “aren’t you grateful for new company?”
“You flatter yourself.” The firebird ruffled the feathers along its long neck. “Without the constant interruptions from your ilk, I could finally get some solid sleep. It has been so long since I’ve gotten a full month’s rest.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Good. Remain so, and leave me be.” The firebird curled up in the bottom of its cage and stuck its head beneath its wing once more.
Vanya sighed. “I would if I could. But someone else is depending on me.”
“That is unfortunate for them.”
“Can you just tell me where to find the waters of death and life?”
“Oh, please,” the bird scoffed, its voice muffled by its wing. “You think you’re the first to ask me that? Everyone wants to bring a loved one back.”
“Is there anything I can do to convince you to help me?”
“Set me free.”
“Besides that.”
For a moment, Vanya didn’t think that the firebird would answer. Then it lifted its head and nodded toward the tree.
“Do you see the fruit there? It only falls but rarely, and almost never upon my cage. I have not tasted its sweetness in many years.”
Vanya stepped forward and peered up into the branches. Sure enough, there were fist-sized fruits, orange and oval, hidden among the red leaves.
“If you bring me some fruit, then I will answer your questions.”
Vanya considered the offer. “All right. But only if you give me one of your tail feathers first.”
“Ah.” The firebird shook its feathers. “Wiser than most. Who told you of my weakness?”
“A friend.”
The firebird lowered its tail from the cage. “Very well. One feather and some questions for one fruit.”
Vanya stepped forward, keeping a nervous eye on the firebird. He quickly tugged one of the tail feathers free and stepped back. The feather was unpleasantly hot in his hand, just on the edge of burning him.
“Now . . . what use do you have for the fruit?” Vanya asked. “Will it help you escape your cage?”
“Absolutely not,” the firebird scoffed. “It is fruit, boy. It is for eating, which is what I will do with it if you bring me some. Now, no more questions until you’ve fetched it.”
Relieved, Vanya hurried to the tree. He was rather proud of himself for thinking to ask about that after he’d gotten a feather. It seemed like something his second brother would have done.
He climbed up the tree trunk, careful not to drop the tail feather. About fifteen feet up, he spotted one of the fruits on a nearby limb.
“Stop!” a deep voice bellowed. Vanya froze with his fingers an inch away from the fruit. Footsteps came running over the stone, and a wide, thickly-muscled man appeared beneath him. He was richly dressed, with gray speckled through his long brown hair and beard. His face was grave.
“Do not touch the fruit, boy,” the man ordered. “The tree has been corrupted by its long years holding the firebird—even just the touch of the fruit against your skin can be deadly.”
Vanya withdrew his hand, chagrined. He should have realized that something was wrong when the firebird went along with the plan so easily—his second brother wouldn’t have fallen for that trick. He dropped to the ground, clutching the tail feather to his chest, and found himself facing the point of a gleaming long sword.
“How did you get into this garden?” the man demanded. He was easily a foot or two taller than Vanya and at least three times as wide.
“I climbed the wall.” Vanya backed up against the tree, raising his hands to show he meant no harm.
“Did you think you could just—” The man went silent, staring at Vanya’s hands. “How did you get that?”
Vanya looked at the tail feather in his fist. “The firebird gave it to me for the fruit.”
“Give it to me.”
Vanya’s eldest brother probably would have fought the man, sword or no sword . . . but then again, maybe he wouldn’t have. The man was enormous. Vanya quickly handed over the feather.
“Years of burning away every feather I tried to take,” the man shouted, turning on the firebird, “and you give this boy one immediately?” He stuck his sword through the bars of the cage, aimed at the bird’s neck.
The firebird sighed, leaning away from the sword. “I assumed he would die before he could use it.”
“For once your cruelty served the world for the better.” The man held up the feather. “Now tell me: Is my daughter alive?”
The firebird didn’t answer. The man pushed the point of his sword closer. “Tell me, bird, or I will slice you open and pour water into the wounds.”
The bird glared at the man. “She is dead, fool. Dead. Killed by the bandits along with her mother. And good riddance.”
The man bowed his head, but kept the sword steady. “Where is her body?” His voice was thick with tears.
“I have no idea. The wind says she died, but the wind cares little for things like places. Let me go, and perhaps I can find her for you.”
“Never.” The man sheathed his sword and turned away, rubbing his eyes. After a moment, he glanced at Vanya. He looked at the feather in his hand, and then held it out. “Well, trespasser, I assume you have a question of your own? For getting the feather, I’ll allow you to ask—we won’t get another chance.”
Tentatively, Vanya took the feather. The firebird shifted its glare to him.
“Well, you know what I want,” he said. “How can I get to the waters of death and life?”
The man spun around. “Do you know this?” he demanded of the bird.
The firebird looked as though he would refuse to answer, but seemed to reconsider when the huge man’s hand drifted ominously toward his sword.
“To the west,” the bird grumbled. “Past the other kingdoms, deep in the mountains. Cross the black river, if you can, and follow the horsemen until you reach the end of their path. The waters are there.”
A painfully desperate hope arose in the man’s eyes. He looked around and then pulled a glove onto one hand. He reached up into the branches of the tree and plucked one of the orange fruits, which he placed in the firebird’s cage.
“Thank you,” the man whispered. “At long last, thank you.”
The firebird looked surprised and then suspicious, but after a few seconds it began to devour the fruit with obvious pleasure. The man gestured to Vanya.
“Come, boy.”
Vanya followed him, slightly nervous. It didn’t seem likely that the man would have allowed him to ask a question if he meant Vanya harm; but on the other hand, Vanya had been trespassing.
The man led him through the garden to the palace. A pair of guards at the door saluted the man and glanced at Vanya curiously, but said nothing. Servants and more guards filled the palace, all of whom saluted or bowed to the enormous man. With a sinking feeling, Vanya finally began to realize who had caught him.
They came to a small chamber with a carved wooden chair behind a heavy desk. The man gestured for Vanya to seat himself in an armchair at the side of the room. Vanya sat and looked down to find the feather crumbling to ash in his hand.
