The Firebird and Other Extracts from Strange Matters, Page 2

  ~

  Ekaterina spent an hour scrubbing clothes and leathers with her mother, before throwing the brush aside with a growl of frustration. She marched out of the washhouse and went to the home that they shared, a single room roofed by thatch.

  Under her bed she kept a short six-foot spear that she had carved with her father. Retrieving it, Ekaterina decided that she would disobey the elders. She reasoned that she would never be allowed to do what she wanted, so it was time to stop asking for permission. She had a right to join the hunters and she intended to prove that she was better than any of them. Besides, she had already said her prayer to the god of the hunt. That was a promise best kept.

  She crept out of the house and moved around the back. There was an alley of sorts between the buildings and the palisade that she could sneak down without being seen. Treading lightly but moving swiftly, she followed the curve of the wall towards the village gate. She kept low, using the shade, unwilling to have a conversation about her actions with her mother or any of the other villagers.

  Ekaterina knew that when she reached the gate she would have to pass the guard. There was no way to get around him, so she needed a good reason to be wandering into the forest on her own. The guard would not stop her leaving, but he would tell the landlord or her mother if something seemed amiss; then someone would be sent to give her a lecture and bring her back. When she drew close to the gate, she was relieved to find that the young man on duty today was far from formidable and would pose no challenge.

  “Hello there Ekaterina,” he said, standing to his full height. “Where are you going?”

  “Good morning,” she replied. “I need to catch up with the hunters. I’m supposed to bring this spear to Old Grandfather.”

  Ekaterina showed her own spear and the young man simply nodded.

  “Well, they went east. You should be able to find them on the trails. Be careful.”

  She thanked him as he opened the tall wooden gate and smiled to herself once it was shut behind her. Using the butt end of the spear as a walking stick, she set off eastwards… at first. The moment that she was out of sight of the village, she turned to the north-west. She had no desire to encounter the other hunters until she had found some game of her own.

  The forest loomed around her, the trees tall enough to block out the light and warmth of the sun. They swallowed her as she walked, the village lost from her sight after only a few minutes. Once inside the forest, Ekaterina had only her wits and the path to keep her from getting lost. The path was clear in places, faded in others. Sometimes the footsteps of the villagers had worn muddy meandering trails, while other times the forest had grown back over the path. The trees could trick an unwary person, leaving them wandering in circles, taken by the forest to die in its depths.

  Ekaterina knew her way well enough, keeping an eye on the position of the sun and watching for the spoors of animals, always aware of shifts in the breeze and turns in the path. She kept her spear in hand, wary of the wolves and worse that lurked in the gloom. She happened across a crow, sitting calmly on a high branch, watching her with its strange black orbs, turning its head this way and that to regard her. The crow made a high, piercing screech that seemed to be directed at Ekaterina.

  “Be gone, little pest!” she called in irritation.

  Crows were bringers of bad luck and she had to catch something today, or embarrass herself before the men. The bird flapped away with an indignant caw.

  After walking for almost an hour, Ekaterina came across the trail of a boar. Hoof prints and half eaten stems betrayed the beast. A boar was no stag, but if it was a large male then it would still make a fine prize. Following the animal carefully, she soon came to a stream that cut through the forest and poured down into a rocky valley. Ekaterina walked to the edge of the stream, mindful of the wet stones, and peered down the decline. The drop was sharp, almost a waterfall, with the water rushing over and under smooth round stones to get to the bottom twenty feet below.

  The boar was at the bottom, drinking from the stream. Ekaterina lowered herself and watched. She could not tell how it had descended the slope; there had to be a trail somewhere along the valley wall, but she could not see it. The boar was a large male with huge, gnarled tusks. She considered leaving it be; a beast that big could kill her easily if she failed to kill it outright. Remembering her promise to herself, she hardened her resolve and raised her spear, judging the distance. The boar looked up at her suddenly, perhaps scenting her. Ekaterina threw her spear.

  The boar turned to run but the spear still hit, slotting neatly into its back. The beast fell onto its side with a pained cry. Its legs shook for a few moments, then it became still, aside from the laboured rising and falling of its chest.

  Congratulating herself, Ekaterina began to climb down. The clean blow would make finishing the boar relatively danger-free. She lowered herself backwards, facing the slope. She climbed slowly, watching for stones made loose or wet by the stream.

  Ekaterina was a few feet down when she heard another cry. This was no boar, but a high and beautiful bird’s call. What kind of bird she could not tell, for at first it sounded like an eagle, then a crow, then something else entirely. The sound washed through her and seized her heart; it was wild and joyful, a cry like a poem.

  Twisting to look for the source of the sound, Ekaterina was struck by a sight of such beauty and majesty that she sighed aloud. She could not believe her eyes; the bird above her was like something out of a legend, a tale of the elders brought to life. It could not be compared to any other bird, for it was like all birds at once. She glimpsed a brilliant red blur, feathers that seemed to be aflame, a flickering wash of orange and gold pouring from the bird as it flew overhead.

  She stared, held in the thrall of its fantastic beauty… then she fell.

  Ekaterina’s hand slipped on a wet stone. Being twisted around, she failed to catch another handhold and tumbled backwards down the slope. She saw a flash of fire across the blue sky as she dropped, then felt the sudden impact of the stony ground.

  A yelp of pain escaped her. She lost a few moments to shock before she was able to scramble to her feet. She turned around, her heart beating fast, before realising that she was alone.

  The firebird had vanished. She groaned, feeling a sudden sadness, an acute sense of loss at having glimpsed the rare creature so fleetingly. Rubbing her bruised back, she crossed the stream to check on her kill… only to find that the boar had gone too. Ekaterina looked around, frowning, working out where the boar had been. She found her spear resting in a pool of blood, but the beast was nowhere around.

  Ekaterina cursed, unable to find even a blood trail, which made no sense; the boar had been badly wounded. She wondered if the firebird had somehow healed the beast while she was stunned, as legend ascribed restorative powers to its tears.

  Ekaterina searched the area, dismayed, until she spotted something that made her gasp with delight. Lying beside the stream was a slender, golden tail feather. The feather was not giving off flames like the bird itself had been, but it was catching the sunlight with a thousand hues of yellow, red and gold.

  The god of the hunt had indeed sent her a worthy quarry; a beast of legend that would prove her prowess without question. She held her breath as she approached the feather, afraid that if she so much as blinked it would disappear and so would any proof that she had seen the legendary firebird.

  She felt warmth coming from the feather as her hand drew near; she touched it very carefully, expecting to be burned, but she was able to pick it up. She inspected the beautiful artefact, turning it in the sunlight, dazzled by its curious shine. With utmost care, she slid it into the pocket on her breeches. This prize was better than any boar.