

The Firebird

...and Other Extracts from Strange Matters

By Bret Allen

www.bretallen.info

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Cover art by Ryan Salazar Acosta

R.S.A. Artworks Studio

Belligerent Madness font by P.D. Magnus

www.fontmonkey.com

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Bret Allen

Table of Contents

Introduction

The Firebird

British Gods

Thornback

Saturday's Child

More

My special thanks to:

Mum, for all your support and everything else.

Becki, for helping and listening and being patient.

My other family and friends and those somewhere in between, for encouraging me and making life interesting.

Basil Reginald Jones, for all the things that I never thanked you for enough. Rest in peace.

"These things are sent to try us."

Introduction

The Firebird, British Gods, Thornback and Saturday's Child are free samples from the short story collection 'Strange Matters', by myself, Bret Allen. I hope you enjoy them!

The Firebird

Ekaterina wants to be taken seriously by the men of her village, so she sets out to hunt the greatest prey of all... the legendary Firebird.

My attempt at a faery-tale. This draws heavily on characters from Russian/Slavic mythology (which I adore). I immensely enjoyed writing this in a traditional storybook tone of voice, with the help of my partner Becki.

British Gods

Two strange figures watch the violence of the London riots unfold and do what they can to help, as only forgotten gods can.

A humble nod to my favourite author, Neil Gaiman. These ageing culture figures deserve a moment in the spotlight, even if it is in their modern-day, half-forgotten forms. The story was inspired by the 2011 London riots and by a strong love of history and mythology (which is as close as I get to patriotism). I used some poetic license with the identities and histories of these figures, but I feel that they remain true.

Thornback

A poem about the humble hedgehog, seen through my eyes.

Saturday's Child

Henri discovers that his afterlife is going to be even more dangerous than his first life, when he meets a predatory and beautiful stranger.

This story is set in the world of 'Sleepwalkers', a setting of my own creation that I love to tell stories in. In this case, I give a glimpse of the plight of a newly deceased spirit, in a city that to me seems as strange and fantastic as any fictional place. There are two other 'Sleepwalkers' stories in the full version of this book.

The Firebird

In a small village, which lay in the middle of a great forest, there lived a young woman of nineteen years called Ekaterina.

Ekaterina was strong and hardy, like all of the villagers, for the cold forest made cold people. Despite this likeness, she was considered to be unusual. She often argued with the other villagers because she did not want to behave like the other women did.

"I'm tired of washing clothes," she said, throwing down a pile of linen. "Make them do their own!"

Her mother sighed and shook her head, picking up the undershirts and bedding from the floor of the washhouse.

"Katya," replied her mother, "do not be so stubborn, child!"

Ekaterina frowned at her. She hated washing, she hated sweeping, she hated sewing and she hated cooking.

"I'm not going to clean up after men all my life, Mother. I'll be a great hunter."

"What is wrong with cleaning for men?" asked her mother. "I did so for your father. I raised you. Do you think yourself better than me?"

"No, Mother, of course not. I just..."

"You are too proud. After all I have done for you, you only ever speak of hunting, or fighting, or riding. You want to be a man? Very good, step out on your own, like your father did, leaving me here to struggle alone!"

"Mother, don't become upset," replied Ekaterina, but it was too late.

Her mother turned her back, furiously scrubbing the linens in a wooden tub.

Ekaterina opened the door, escaping the washhouse and the other women of the village. She would apologise to her mother later. The old woman simply failed to understand how desperately she wanted to prove herself; to do great things, to be bold and free, not just another village wife.

Ekaterina decided that she wanted some ale, despite the early hour. She strode across the muddy ground, almost knocking over a young boy struggling with a bundle of firewood. The village was circular in shape, protected by a wooden palisade wall. Along the southern curve of the wall stood the humble straw houses of the villagers, while along the northern curve stood the washhouse, the granary, the smithy and the alehouse. The village saw few visitors, huddled in the midst of the forest that it was built from, like a giant bird's nest.

Standing at the centre of the village was a shrine. The shrine was very old, a jutting black rock topped with a figure made of bones. The men would visit the shrine to pray to the god of the hunt before entering the forest. The forest was dark and dangerous but it was also the source of their food and their wood; they lived and died by its ancient will.

Ekaterina arrived at the alehouse in a black mood. She entered into the gloom, feeling the eyes of the men upon her. The landlord gave her a frown.

"Ekaterina, have you no chores to be doing?" he asked.

He had a big gut and a deep voice. He was the richest man in the village, making his wealth by trading with other settlements. He was also one of the three ruling elders.

"I'm not a child who must do chores on command," she replied, laying down a bronze coin. "A drink, if you please."

"No, you are a grown woman with duties," he chided, though he took the coin and poured a cup of ale anyway. "You should have a husband and a child by now."

"The last thing I want is a whining creature clinging to my breasts."

"I'm sure an infant is not so bothersome-"

"I was talking about a husband," she replied, taking the ale and turning her back to the landlord.

Ekaterina took a seat in the corner and drank deep. She ignored the stares of the men- who had plenty of chores of their own- and took out an arrowhead to idly scratch at her table. The arrowhead was bronze and she had forged it herself, with the help of her father. He had taught her how to shoot an arrow and throw a spear, along with other skills needed to hunt game. She liked to think that he had intended for her to provide for her mother, knowing that he would have to leave one day... but also suspected that he had just been amusing himself. It did not matter. She considered herself the equal of any hunter in the village.

"Good morning, my sweet Ekaterina," said a man coming uninvited to her table.

He was the landlord's son, a broad-shouldered man of similar age to her. He was well-liked in the village and was considered to be the best hunter.

"I am not your sweet," replied Ekaterina.

She was weary of declining his advances, which were made nearly every day. Ekaterina had fine features, bright eyes and long brown hair; she was an attractive woman, made more so by the fact that she did not wish to be courted.

"Ah, you are a beauty with a sharp tongue," he said, taking a seat to drink his ale.

"A sharp spear, too. Leave me in peace, or you'll come to know it well."

"Such a mouth for a woman!" exclaimed the landlord's son. "If you are so keen to use a spear... then you may join us for today's hunt."

"Truly? I'd very much like to," she replied carefully.

"Then it is settled. You shall marry me this very day, then you can carry my spear for me on every hunt I lead!" he said, laughing.

The other men in the alehouse chuckled at his gibe. Embarrassed and angry, Ekaterina tipped her cup over and marched out of the door.

With the sound of laughter echoing in her ears, Ekaterina went to the shrine. The two other village elders were there- the headman and Old Grandfather. The headman was first among the elders, a capable fighter but also a charismatic leader and mediator. He was the most respected man in the village. Old Grandfather was a storyteller and healer. His epithet came from being the oldest man in the village, but he was still straight-backed and lively. He had a long beard and a wealth of wisdom to go with it.

"Ekaterina!" called the headman as he saw her approach. "Your mother asked me to remind you that there is still work to be done."

"I will help her later," she replied curtly.

"Katya, my dear, what is wrong?" asked Old Grandfather.

"Nothing. I'm fine," she lied.

He smiled and patted her shoulder, then knelt before the shrine. She copied him, bowing her head before the natural pillar of rock that the village was built around. Among the bones that lay on top of the rock was a wolf skull, which had the mark of death carved upon it.

Ekaterina swore to herself that this would be the day that things changed. She would prove her skills in the forest, or she would return to the washhouse and accept the role given to her. She summoned up her courage and said the most solemn prayer of the hunters, asking the god of the hunt for a worthy quarry and promising a kill in return.

Rising from her prayer, Ekaterina cleared her throat and addressed the elders.

"Please, can I accompany you today? I know that I can be useful to the village as a hunter. Let me prove it."

"Nobody denies that you have skill, but we have enough hunters," replied the headman. "Without horses to mask us, we must keep our presence quiet."

"I could take someone else's place. Old Grandfather..."

"Alas," said the old man, "my knowledge is needed today. The witch of the forest has been seen wandering nearby. Please, let it be."

While he spoke, the landlord's son joined them. He brought bows and arrows for the hunters, in addition to hand weapons that might be needed if a boar or stag were to turn and fight... or if they met one of the forest's stranger denizens.

"Ekaterina," said the landlord's son, "are you coming with us today? Are you going to kill stags and monsters with your sharp tongue?"

"I would come if I was allowed. I can hunt and you know it," she retorted.

This was true. Ekaterina had proven herself to be a capable hunter in the past, on the few occasions that she had been out ranging. Nonetheless, the men never seemed to consider her their equal. They tried to consign her to clubbing small game, an activity sometimes given to their wives.

"Katya," said Old Grandfather, "the forest is dark and dangerous. Please, it is out of love that we ask you to stay here."

Ekaterina growled in frustration but had no retort. Old Grandfather was a kind man and she did not want to lash out at him. She sighed and turned away. Without any more discussion, the three men set off towards the village gate without her.

~

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.

~

Ekaterina followed the stream for a while, watching the trees on either side as she walked. She saw no sign of the firebird, but did see another crow that watched her passage intently. She glared at it but went by quietly; the firebird might still be nearby and could be frightened away if she shooed the crow.

The boar was forgotten. The astonishing image of the firebird filled her mind, despite the fact that she had only caught a glimpse of it. Now that the god of the hunt had provided her with a great prey, she had an equally great quest ahead of her.

Soon enough, the stream joined a river, which plunged further into the forest. The trees were thick on each side and Ekaterina was now some distance from the village, but as long as she had the river, she could find her way back.

The hunters from the village must have thought the same, because she met them coming the other way. They had been very successful, already laden down with prizes. The landlord's son and the headman carried a branch between their shoulders, from which a stag hung upside-down by its ankles. Old Grandfather had a pheasant slung over his shoulder. He was ahead of the others and was first to see Ekaterina. A frown creased his wrinkled face.

"Katya, what is this? Why have you disobeyed us?" he asked.

"I came to prove myself, elder." she replied.

"Child, you know it is dangerous. Look, you have cut yourself."

Ekaterina looked down and found that her tunic and breeches were dirty from her fall and she had cut her hands. She had not even cleaned her spear. The landlord's son took the opportunity to mock her.

"It would appear that our muddy maiden has speared something," he said, gesturing to her bloody weapon. "Yet, I see no spoils. Do not be ashamed, Ekaterina, a woman is not expected to make the killing blow..."

"I'm not ashamed!" she said. "I caught a boar... but it... got away."

"This is why I told you to leave it to us," grumbled the headman, while the landlord's son laughed.

"Actually, I have a much finer prize," declared Ekaterina.

She thrust her spear into the ground and took out the firebird feather with a flourish, holding it proudly before their eyes. The landlord's son tipped his head curiously and the headman squinted at it.

"What in the world is that?" asked the younger hunter.

"This is a tail feather from the firebird! I saw it with my own two eyes. The most magnificent creature you can imagine!" she boasted.

"That is just a story..." said the headman.

Old Grandfather inspected the feather and nodded sagely.

"Yes, this belonged to the firebird," he said. "I have seen it myself, in my youth. A most rare and magical creature. The firebird is immortal, but it does not mate; when it dies, it bursts into flame, to be reborn as an egg. Who can guess what power it holds?"

"The power to bore me to death," replied the landlord's son. "She has a peacock feather, faded by the sun perhaps. Firebird! Come back with a stag and I will make you my wife that day."

"It's the real thing!" she protested. "And I don't want to be your wife! I swear-"

"Ekaterina, stop these childish games," ordered the headman. "Go back to the village and do not defy me this time, or you will be punished!"

"Curse you both, I saw the firebird! You won't be laughing when I bring you the beast itself. I'll show you the real thing and you'll declare me the greatest hunter of the village!"

"Kill the firebird and bring it to me, and on that day I will be your wife, and you my husband," joked the landlord's son. "Come now, let us go back."

"I'm not going back! I'm going to hunt the firebird, the greatest prize in this forest. Never again will anyone look down on me!" shouted Ekaterina, before running away from them.

She heard the men call after her, but she ran nonetheless. Burdened by their prizes and their paunches, they lost her within minutes as she wove through the trees, fighting back angry tears.

Ekaterina ran left, then right, leaping over tree roots and scrambling down banks. Soon, her feet began to ache along with the bruises on her back, so she slowed down. The men could follow her trail with ease, but that would take time and she doubted that they would even bother.

She decided that she would not return to the village without the firebird's carcass; otherwise she would look extremely foolish, more so than she could bear. To prove that she was better than any man, she would have to kill the legendary bird. Thinking about how she might do so, Ekaterina suddenly realised that she had left her spear behind with the men.

Shouting in anger and kicking a stone, she marched on, furious at herself for making such a childish mistake. She spied a mockingbird above her in the branches, its black eyes following her. Feeling embarrassed about her tantrum, she tried to ignore it. Ekaterina resolved to keep looking for the firebird and fashion a new weapon along the way. She could throw a stone if it came to it; a true hunter needed no spear and a woman was meant to be resourceful.

Ekaterina found her way back to the only landmark she knew; the river. Following its banks, she watched the sun reach its zenith, bringing with it a rumbling in her stomach. She wished that she had caught the boar. Trying to ignore her misgivings and pangs of hunger, Ekaterina marched along the riverbank in pursuit of glory.

~

The river was a pleasant companion, glittering as it caught the sunlight. The warmth of the sun went some way towards improving Ekaterina's mood. However, each time she heard a trill of birdsong she looked for a glimpse of the firebird and saw nothing.

After walking for some time, she spotted a man standing in the river, up to his waist in the cold water. For a moment she thought he was Old Grandfather, for the man had long white hair and a beard, but he was younger and powerfully muscled. His upper body was bare and he carried a slender spear that he jabbed into the water to catch fish.

The fisherman looked up and spotted Ekaterina, then waved to her. She hesitated, thinking that he might be dangerous, or as thick-headed as the men of her village. On the other hand, he might have seen the firebird. She decided to speak to him and he waved at her again as she approached. He wore a great smile.

"Hello there, young woman!" called the fisherman. "Are you lost?"

"Not lost, but hunting," she replied.

The fisherman laughed at her, deep and heartily, with a voice like thunder.

"Forgive me, but you have no weapon," he said. "I think you may be too small to wrestle a beast to death with your bare hands."

"I lost my spear, old man. Tell me, have you seen a firebird overhead?"

"No, but I have seen a few faeries and goblins, or maybe you would prefer a unicorn?!" joked the fisherman, laughing again.

She felt like wading in and dunking his head in the water... but he was very big. She decided that a woman must choose her fights carefully.

The fisherman abruptly looked down at the water and then held up his hand for silence. He patiently watched a fish swim by, glinting under the surface, then plunged his spear in. The slender weapon flashed down like a bolt of lightning. He pulled it back with a writhing trout neatly skewered on the end. However, he did not seem pleased.

"This is quite boring," he said. "You see, I am a hunter myself, not to mention the best fisherman in the forest, so this holds no challenge for me."

He removed the dead fish and brought it to the bank. He threw it down on a rock to dry. Ekaterina's stomach was rumbling and it gave her an idea.

"Well, if you're such a great fisherman, why not catch one for me to eat?" she asked.

"Ha! I have to make a living, pretty one. I cannot just give my catch away. Have you got anything to trade?"

"No," admitted Ekaterina, but she did not need anything; she intended to play on his boredom instead. "But I thought you'd have fish to spare. Perhaps you aren't as skilled as you claim..."

"How dare you!" he thundered, though it was only mock anger. "I could catch a fish with my eyes shut, for a beautiful woman like you. Nonetheless, I still do not give my food away for free..."

"Then I propose a wager," said Ekaterina, adopting a coy, flirtatious tone. "Try to catch one with your eyes shut. If you catch a fish for me, I'll give you a kiss. If you cannot, I win this fish that you've already caught and I'll tell everyone I see that your boasts are empty."

"I accept your challenge!" said the fisherman, grinning at her.

Ekaterina felt slightly guilty about tricking the fisherman, especially by using her beauty, but it was hardly her fault if he underestimated her. Besides, he might be lucky and get his kiss; either way, she would get fed.

The fisherman turned his attention towards the river, holding his spear high. He watched the water for a while, standing still and calm. Just as Ekaterina was about to mock him, he winked and shut his eyes. With them firmly closed, he jabbed the spear down. He pulled out of the water a large, struggling trout.

"Ha! Is he big enough for you?" asked the fisherman, laughing.

Ekaterina was impressed and laughed with him, despite herself. He waded back to the shore, holding up his prize.

"I must admit, I tricked you," he added.

"You tricked me?" she asked, confused.

"This is a magic spear. No matter how quick or shy my prey is, the spear cannot miss. The smith of the gods crafted it from a lightning bolt."

"No... is that true?"

"You saw for yourself. Now you owe me a kiss. Maybe you should have thought twice about trying to trick me," he said with a sly smile.

"Very clever, old man," she admitted.

He came close to her, dripping with water, but then surprised her by tapping his cheek with his finger. She kissed him on the cheek like a daughter would her father, glad that he had not demanded a true kiss. He gestured to Ekaterina to take a seat on a rock. He sat opposite her and stuck his spear into the mud. The weapon was seven feet long and wrapped with strips of cloth, but was not outwardly ornate or special. He stoked the fire and lay the fish down to cook.

"You tried to manipulate a poor old man," he said with a grin. "However, I will still honour our wager and share my fish with you... if you trade me a story for it. When I am not hunting, I am fighting, and when I am not fighting, I am building. I work so hard, all day and all night, that I have little time to enjoy the simple pleasures of life."

Ekaterina could see large muscles on his shoulders and arms, despite his age. He also bore many scars. She had no doubt that he was more than just a fisherman. She decided to humour him, since he had been courteous enough to only ask for a chaste kiss.

"That's fair, but I don't know any stories," she said.

"Everyone knows a story! Like the story of how storms are made, when the god of the heavens battles the god of the underworld. Zap! The father of men throws down lightning to destroy the lord of death! The lightning crushes trees and houses, but the snake always slithers away...oh, but he gets him in the end," he said, laughing in his booming way and gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Ekaterina was inspired by his jollity.

"I know a joke, if that would be acceptable?" she asked.

"Why, that is even better. Please, go on."

"Okay. There was once a brave peasant man who desired nothing more than to marry a beautiful princess. One day her father, the Tsar, declared that he would give away his daughter's heart and hand to any man who brought him the head of the dragon that lived in the forest. Well, the peasant saw his chance and swore to kill the dragon. He went forth and fought long and hard and finally killed the great beast. He cut off its head and returned to the Tsar to claim his bride. 'Here', he said as he spilled the dragon's head onto the palace floor, 'I did as you asked and killed the dragon'. The Tsar replied: 'Very good. As promised, here is the heart and the hand of the princess.' Then he threw her bloody heart and severed hand onto the floor as well!"

The fisherman roared with laughter, making birds fly from the trees. Ekaterina laughed too. He pointed at her with a shrewd look on his face.

"You knew I would like a gruesome joke, little one. Very clever. Please, share my fish."

The fisherman had a small pack with his possessions in; he took out two simple clay plates and put the fish on them. He passed one to Ekaterina and she set about eating it, her stomach aching to be filled. She eyed his magical spear as she ate, wondering how she would ever catch the firebird and fulfil her promise.

Soon the fish was gone. Ekaterina became wary of losing too much daylight. She stood and stretched her legs.

"I must return to my hunt," she said.

"Very well," said the fisherman. "You hail from the nearby village, do you not?"

"I do, yes."

"Tell me, do your people still worship at the shrine of stone and bone?"

Ekaterina was surprised by the question.

"Yes, we do. We often pray to the god of the hunt before we enter the forest."

"I thought as much. Do you know that your god is also the lord of the underworld? He is Death. Everything goes to him in time, but he is greedy where promises are concerned. In return for his blessing, you owe your kill to him, as tribute."

"Death is the companion of the hunter. We have no fear of him," she replied.

"Then I wish you luck. You will need it without a weapon. I bet you wish you could have one like mine."

"Don't tease me. Any hunter would covet an enchanted spear," said Ekaterina; with such a weapon, the firebird would be hers without a doubt. "Maybe you would let me borrow it? I'll return it to this very spot tomorrow."

"Oh, no, I could never do that. A hunter does not use another hunter's tools. Besides, the magic would not work for you if you did not win it, earn it or pay for it. Perhaps we could make a trade instead?"

"What price for a magical spear?" she asked warily.

"I would have your laughter," he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I want your laughter. I am an old man, with little left to enjoy in life. If you will let me have your joy, I will give you this spear, which will make you the most successful hunter of them all."

"You mock me. How can you take my laughter?" she asked.

He laughed in response.

"When you are as old as me, you will know many tricks. There is nothing that you cannot take from a person, if you know how. A weary old warrior like me needs joy in his life. A young hunter like you has no need of it at all. You seek glory, not amusement."

Ekaterina pondered his words and knew that he was right. Laughter was for children and it was time to prove that she was no child. Once she had chosen a prey, there was no price that she would not pay to catch it. That was why she was a great hunter and not a laughing fool like the landlord's son.

"So be it, fisherman. Take my laughter and I will take your spear."

The fisherman smiled and approached Ekaterina, looming, making her realise just how large and mighty he was. He laid his hand over her mouth; it was rough and calloused and frightened her a little. She tried to speak and he took his hand away, closing it as he did, as if he had caught her breath in his fist.

"Thank you, young woman," he said with a smile splitting his face. "May the spear always strike true for you."

Ekaterina was lost for words. The fisherman strode back into the water, laughing as he went, his eyes full of joy. Worried that he would change his mind, she took the magic spear and left him swimming and splashing. She made her way back into the cold forest.

~

Ekaterina's spirits were lifted. She had a full stomach and renewed vigour. Furthermore she had replaced her lost spear with a magical weapon, worthy of a legendary quarry like the firebird. However, she was also worried. Earlier, she had seen the firebird only by chance. Though she had found the tail feather, there had been no other trail to follow.

She walked deeper into the forest, knowing that unless she found a trail of some kind, she could only hope that she would be lucky enough to encounter the creature again. Perhaps the god of the hunt would give her another opportunity.

The forest pressed close around her, the undergrowth becoming wilder as she got further from the village. The sun was further past midday than she would have liked and the forest was growing colder as the sun penetrated it less. Ekaterina was picking her way through a tangle of briars when a caw from the treetops startled her. Looking up, she saw a raven sitting on a high branch, watching her intently.

The insolent bird reminded her of those she had seen earlier. Thinking that the raven was just a little smaller than the firebird, Ekaterina decided that this was a good time to test her new spear. She slowed to a halt and drew the spear up to her chin, looking down its tip at the staring, squawking raven. The bird was high in the trees and several feet away; she judged that she would normally make such a throw one time out of three, with a spear of familiar weight and length. She expected to miss with a spear that she was not used to.

She measured one more time then threw. The spear soared, piercing the bird with a satisfying thud, truly like a bolt of lightning. The raven fell to the earth, the spear with it. She coolly noted some satisfaction at the clean kill, but discovered that she felt no enjoyment. The thought was odd and she considered it as she approached the bird, knowing that it had been a great throw and a kill that anyone would normally be proud of. She slowly realised why she felt nothing; it was because she could not know whether her own prowess or the magic of the spear was responsible.

The realisation was troubling. She would never truly know her own skill if the spear always helped her. The price of the weapon had indeed been joy; the enjoyment of hunting. Ekaterina retrieved the spear and put the doubt out of her mind. The kill was perfect and the fact of the matter was that a good hunter used the best weapons available. The spear would certainly help her slay the firebird. She separated the tip from the raven, cleaned it with a fistful of leaves and laid the bird's carcass by a tree for the forest creatures to take.

Ekaterina was all too aware that she had still not found a trail, discounting the spoors of other beasts like rabbits and deer. The only thing of use that she had found was a dirt track, perhaps used by another hunter. She followed it, reasoning that if she was going to keep heading deeper into the forest, she might as well follow a track, to reduce the likelihood of getting lost. With the sun edging ever further towards the horizon, she began to hurry.

The track became a path. Ekaterina continued to follow it, watching for signs of the firebird. She occasionally caught herself glancing up at what seemed to be a flash of fiery feathers, but was actually the sun peeking through the canopy. The cold was beginning to claw at her as the path arrived at a cottage.

The cottage was small and looked to be very old. The roof was thatch, the walls wattle and daub and the whole thing seemed to grow from the forest. The trees huddled in close around it, their branches scraping the roof, while the ground became mud and then murky water underneath it. The cottage stood on several thick wooden legs that raised it above the mire, making the building appear to squat like a chicken.

An old wooden block sat on the ground in front of the doorway, overgrown with moss, a makeshift step to bridge the gap. Ekaterina could see that she was on the edge of a swamp that probably met with the river somewhere, beyond the thick rushes and trees. That made her wonder if this hut belonged to the fisherman, but her curiosity was diverted to a large owl that stood on the edge of the roof, its huge round eyes fixed on her.

Ekaterina stared back at the owl for a few moments before the cottage door opened with an echoing creak. Standing in the doorway was an old, stooped woman. She looked to be even older than Old Grandfather, her thinning hair wrapped in a scarf and her shoulders draped with a shawl. She was shorter than Ekaterina by far, but cast an impressive figure. She gripped the door frame with gnarled hands. When the owl fluttered down to perch heavily on her stooped shoulder, Ekaterina realised that she must be the witch of the forest.

The witch pulled back her scarf and Ekaterina saw that her eyes were closed. She spoke in a croaky but stern voice.

"Why do you disturb this forest, whelp?" she asked.

"I disturb nothing," protested Ekaterina.

"Do not lie, or you will get warts. I have been watching you stomp your way around like a child. You stabbed a boar, you stole a firebird feather and you killed one of my poor children."

"How did you know that?" asked Ekaterina, stepping towards the cottage. "Wait, I've killed no children!"

"You stuck him straight through with that spear. I saw it all. I felt his heart stop. Cruel girl."

Ekaterina realised that the witch was talking about the raven she had just killed. As she approached the cottage, the old woman's eyes remained closed... but the owl followed her every move.

"You're the witch of the forest. You see through the birds," she said accusingly. "You've been spying on me all day!"

"Ah, maybe you are not entirely stupid. Yes, my sweet children are my eyes. Come in, girl. You killed one of my birds, so now you owe me a debt. If you are so intent on catching the firebird, you would do well to listen to me."

The witch turned and entered the cottage, leaving the door open. Ekaterina was wary of following her, but also felt a stab of pity for her; no doubt she was yet another woman driven into solitude by men. Besides, she seemed to know about the firebird, and Ekaterina had not seen any sign of the creature since the morning. Hoping that the witch would help her, she climbed up the wooden step and went into the cottage.

~

Inside the cottage there was only one room. A low doorway on the far wall opened onto a small balcony and the swamp beyond. The room had a stove and chimney at one end and a large cot at the other, draped with blankets. There was a heavy, cloying aroma of herbs and stew.

The walls were hung with every kind of plant that Ekaterina could think of, while the floor was piled with furs, tools and candles. On one such pile sat a jar filled with tiny bird bones, while the skull of a dog was hung over the cot. Two bloody knives lay beside a black cooking pot that stood over a small fire, built on a hearth of clay bricks.

The witch stirred the stew and despite the unclean condition of the cottage, Ekaterina found herself tempted by the smell. She tentatively sat down on a simple wooden stool. The witch spoke as she tended the cooking pot.

"Girl, you have wronged me by killing my raven. By the old ways, it is my right to demand recompense in property or blood. So which will it be?" she asked, tasting the stew with a wooden spoon.

"Well, I'm a hunter. I could kill a boar for you. That would feed a lone woman like you for a week or more," said Ekaterina.

"Fool!" spat the witch.

Though her eyes were still closed, she seemed to know exactly where Ekaterina was stood; she smacked her with the wooden spoon. The blow stung more than Ekaterina would have liked to admit. As she began to protest, she noticed that there were more birds inside the cottage. A pair of starlings pecked seeds from a shelf and the owl had settled on the woman's cot. They each took turns in watching her, acting as the witch's eyes.

"What's wrong with my offer, crone?" asked Ekaterina.

"You owe me something of your own, but you presume to pay me with something you kill? I am the witch of the forest. To kill a boar for me is like paying me with my own coin. Besides, you took a living bird from me, one of my beautiful children, yet you offer dead flesh, which is of no use to me. Why do young people always think to kill first, never to capture, or simply to study?"

"I... well, I have no birds to offer you. I just have my skill," said Ekaterina.

"Even that is not worth so much, I think," said the witch.

Ekaterina held tightly to her magical spear.

"Okay, so I could catch you a live bird, is that what you want?"

"No, but I wanted you to start thinking that way. I know what your quest is, girl. You have the feather still, do you not?"

"Yes... I have it," she said warily.

"Then you have already taken from the firebird, and not satisfied with that, you seek to kill it. Pride and folly! The firebird is an ancient and great creature. To kill it is a vile sin. How do you even intend to do so? You should know that the firebird is reborn after death."

"I know that!" said Ekaterina, suddenly remembering what Old Grandfather had said and realising her stupidity. "I will find a way. I will drown its fire and crush its egg."

"How delightful you are. Can you not be content to catch it instead? Not forever- to keep it caged would be just as sinful- but long enough to fulfil your needs? You could learn a thing or two from a creature like that. Promise me that you will catch the firebird alive instead of killing it and that you will always think twice before harming a beast of the forest. Then I will forgive your debt to me."

"I swear it," said Ekaterina.

She did not mean it, of course. For a hunter to take such an oath would be ridiculous. She decided not to harm any more creatures if she could help it, but the firebird was her own business. Should she get the opportunity to catch it alive, she would do so- it would be just as fine a prize- but she would not stay her arm if it meant losing her quarry. No hunter would.

"Good girl. Please, enjoy some rabbit stew," said the witch, pouring a niggardly portion into a wooden bowl.

Ekaterina sniffed it suspiciously then tasted it, knowing that she would need her strength for the hunt. The stew was quite fine and the rest did not last long.

"Tell me, how did you learn to see through the eyes of the birds?" asked Ekaterina.

"By living a long time," replied the witch curtly. "By studying life, instead of trying to destroy it."

"If you want me to spare the firebird, then you would be wise to teach me your art. I could catch it much more easily."

"Or, I could let you walk in circles and die in this forest when night falls. That would spare the firebird's life, too."

"By the old ways, you cannot do that. You have given me food and shelter. You may not owe me anything, but you cannot send me to my death, either."

"Hm. You are correct, but I still cannot teach you what I know. However... my eyes could be of use to you. I removed them long ago, when I grew weary of looking upon the world, but they are sharp and they know this forest well. There is nothing alive that they cannot find. They can track the firebird for you."

Ekaterina felt the stew turn in her stomach as the witch opened her eyelids to reveal dark, empty sockets.

"What... by the gods, you have no eyes!"

"Have you not been listening? I took my own eyes out many years ago. I became a bitter old woman, for I lost everything I loved in this world. My eyes were shrewd and wise, but they were also jaded and tired. I do not regret it; since then, I have surrounded myself with my feathered children and I do just fine on my own, thank you very much."

"And... you still keep the eyes?" asked Ekaterina.

"Yes. Why let them go to waste?" replied the witch.

She slowly stood and walked over to her cot. From under a pile of strange artefacts she retrieved a jar, muttering about pain in her back as she did. She showed Ekaterina the jar; it was full of murky water and had two eyeballs floating within. She cackled when Ekaterina recoiled from the sight.

"This is madness!" exclaimed Ekaterina, causing the owl to flutter.

"Now, you listen well, child. These old eyes of mine can track any creature- a man, a beast, anything that lives. They have seen everything and more besides and know every inch of this forest. They have studied animals and trees and witnessed the cycle of years. With these eyes you will find any trail, no matter how well hidden."

"That is exactly what I need, but... you said that they were jaded."

"Yes, they are not perfect. After I lost my family, in my despair and bitterness, I plucked these eyes out. I had seen too much. I could no longer bear to look upon the world, for I was no longer able to see beauty."

"I think I understand," said Ekaterina, watching the pale orbs with their dark irises. "But how can I use them?"

"I propose a trade. I will give you my eyes, if you give me yours. You have a young person's eyes; full of wonder, seeing beauty and opportunities and adventure. How I would love to see the world like that once again! Your eyes are not dull or bitter. You still feel awe."

"My eyes?!" she replied, her hand reaching up to her face defensively.

"Yes, yes! It is a good trade. My eyes may be bitter old things, but they are shrewd. They will help you find the firebird, for they never miss a thing. The only thing they cannot see, as I said, is beauty. I would take your eyes in exchange, so that I might remember how it feels to appreciate beautiful things. I want your awe."

Ekaterina stayed silent, thinking. She had already traded away her joy. She hardly felt any different, but she knew that it was a heavy price. Still, she considered the loss of her laughter to be worth it for the magical spear. She rarely laughed anyway.

Looking at the eyes, she realised that the spear was useless if she could not find the firebird. There was no trail; only one solitary feather to show that it had ever existed. The laughter of the villagers rang in her ears. The hunters and the elders all thought that a woman's head should be filled with beauty; flowers and sunsets and rainbows. Ekaterina had no use for beauty; she was a hunter, not a little girl. A hunter had to be able to find her prey.

"I will accept, witch. But how do we trade our eyes? Is there a magic spell?" she asked.

The witch's hand shot forwards with fingernails outstretched, lunging at her eye just like a crow pecking at the eyes of a corpse. Ekaterina felt her eye tear free, the shock and pain so sudden that her heart skipped a beat. She began to faint as she saw blood and the witch's blurred face looming over her. Then the hand shot out again and she saw only darkness.

~

Ekaterina woke up on the witch's cot, wrapped up in her ragged bedclothes. Startled, she clambered to her feet, quickly and gladly finding that she could still see. She carefully touched her eyes and sighed with relief to find them still in her skull.

Her spear was resting beside the bed. Ekaterina snatched it up and went outside, looking for the old woman. More than an hour had passed; the sun was low in the sky, hidden by trees, making the forest all the more cold and dark.

She found the witch bending over a patch of plants, running her hands over them.

"Witch, what happened?" asked Ekaterina.

"Why, we made a trade, did we not?" asked the witch in return.

She had a great smile on her face and her eyes were open; instead of empty sockets, she had healthy eyes with bright green irises. Ekaterina recognised them.

"You took them..." she said with a knot in her stomach.

"Of course, as agreed. I suspect that you never appreciated these eyes, girl. The young are surrounded by such wonderful beauty, every moment of every day, but never really see it. Take this bluebell for example; so many shades, so fine and elegant."

The witch plucked up one of the plants and Ekaterina realised that the patch was in fact a bed of flowers. They were nothing special. They looked like any other flowers.

"I've no interest in flower picking. I've lost time and soon night will fall. The forest is dangerous at night."

"Then why not go home and resume your hunt tomorrow?" asked the witch with a wry smile.

Ekaterina did not even consider it; she knew that she could never go back empty handed. The shame would be too great.

"No... I'll go on. The firebird will be easier to see in darkness."

"Ah, very smart. My eyes are helping you already. You will make a fine hunter, girl."

Ekaterina had no reply. Her new eyes felt strange to her. Seeing her old eyes in the witch's head gave her a feeling of regret, but she pushed it away, determined to make the most of her sacrifices.

She looked around herself, but she still had no clues to tell her where to go; or rather, not the clues she needed. She saw boar tracks, the trail of a deer and the droppings of a hare. She saw patches of herbs, markings on the trees and the way that the wind blew through the leaves. She saw everything, far more than she ever had before. She studied the forest around her, but still saw nothing that marked the firebird's passage.

Then, when she was about to curse, she spotted a flash of light on the side of a craggy hill that rose up from the forest some distance away. Hoping that it was not just someone's campfire, she decided to head for it.

"Over there... how do I reach that hill?" she asked the witch.

"Hm. The quickest way would be by boat, for this swamp passes by the foot of the hill. You have made me very happy, by giving me your eyes, so you may take my boat... in exchange for your voice!"

"You would take that too?" asked Ekaterina wearily.

The witch rolled her new eyes.

"A joke, girl, just a joke. It would do you good to laugh once in a while. Take the boat, if you insist on chasing dreams."

Ekaterina said nothing, unable to understand the joke. Nodding to the woman, she went back into the cottage and out through the rear door, onto the balcony which doubled as a jetty. A small boat was moored there, little more than a raft, with a pole to push it through the reedy mire.

Ekaterina stepped onto the boat, steadied herself and began her journey across the water. She lay her spear down in the boat so that she could use two hands to push down with the pole, steering the boat slowly, avoiding patches of reeds and floating plants. The water was far from clean but teemed with life- insects, frogs and birds added their voices to the fading twilight. Despite that, there was little to see, only murky colours and clouds of flies.

With the cold air biting at her knuckles and face, she pushed onwards, sometimes needing a considerable effort to get through the swamp. The exertion at least helped to keep her warm. The boat creaked gently while her new eyes pierced the gathering gloom. She had to admit that they were better than her own. She saw much further into the shadows, spied every ripple on the water and always kept her bearing true towards the hillside where she had seen the firebird's light.

The sun was low and red in the sky when she reached the wider waterways. The water became clearer and easier to navigate, picking up a slight current as it came closer to the river. Ekaterina tried to keep the hill in her sight as the boat went faster, aware that it would be all too easy to lose her way. At one point she thought that she heard a man calling out, but there was nobody near the water. The witch's eyes kept her true despite the fading light, spotting another flash of fire on the hillside and an inlet that would take her closer to it. She poled away from the current and led the little boat into the inlet, until it came up against a muddy bank. There was now only a small stretch of forest between her and the rocky hill. Taking care not to fall, she stepped from the boat to the bank and used the spear to steady herself.

Ekaterina strode up to the treeline, shivering and impatient. The setting sun barely penetrated into the forest, but fortunately her new eyes saw better in darkness than her old. They were truly a boon to a hunter, old and wary eyes that could not be tricked. She did not spare a thought for her blindness to beauty, for the forest held few pleasant sights anyway.

Her progress into the shadowed forest was swift. As she picked her way between the trees and over thick roots, she heard a man's voice again, much clearer this time. She looked around and saw him coming through the trees with a burning torch in his hand. She feared that the light she had been following might have been his torchlight all along. Then, she recognised his face. The landlord's son had found her.

Ekaterina did not want to hear his admonishments or face the embarrassment of running away earlier. She considered trying to avoid him, but between his torch and his shouting he could scare away her prey. She approached him instead, amazed that this loud, clumsy churl was considered the village's best hunter, though he was certainly strong and powerfully built.

"Ekaterina!" he called as he spotted her, looking astonished. "Where have you been?!"

"Hunting, I told you earlier. What are you doing all the way out here?" she asked.

"The elders sent me to bring you back, afraid that you would hurt yourself. You stupid girl, running around here at night. You were told to return to the village!"

"I don't care what I was told. Take your torch and stomp around somewhere else, you idiot, before you spoil my hunt!"

Rather than waiting for a response she turned and marched away from him. He caught up to her and put his hand tightly around her arm. She wrenched herself free and slapped his face. He gazed in shock for a moment before a rage began to build in him.

"How dare you!" he shouted. "You are coming back home now and there will be no more of this foolishness. You will learn to behave like a woman!"

"I'll do as I judge fit! I'm sick of you telling me how I ought to live," replied Ekaterina, turning to leave again.

"Stop ignoring me!" he protested, taking her by the arm again.

His grip was painful and frightening. Ekaterina felt her own anger rise; she struggled and stamped on his foot. He released her in surprise. She took the opportunity to level her spear at his groin.

"Touch me again and I won't be the only woman here," she threatened in a low voice.

Unfortunately, the landlord's son only got angrier. She had rarely seen his japes turn into violence, but she could sense that his pride had been wounded.

"You insolent whore. I will show you what a man is made of!" he growled.

He pushed the spear tip aside and struck her chest with his torch. She cried out, feeling wood and embers crash against her and seeing fire bloom before her eyes.

Fortunately the flame did not catch and she was not burned, but she dropped her spear. The landlord's son did not stop there; he barged into her and pushed her onto her back. She fell hard, the breath snatched from her lungs. Her attacker dropped his torch and kicked her in the gut, then again in the head. The forest shifted and span around her; the torch continued to burn where it fell, casting red light and wild shadows.

She struggled as he climbed on top of her, his weight trapping her legs. He whispered something about his own spear as he put one heavy hand around her throat and the other went to his belt.

Ekaterina bit his face as hard as she could, tasting blood and hearing the most wonderful scream. He reeled back, but not enough for her to get free. She was still struggling to compose herself, her head pounding, the light dancing around her. The landlord's son took out a knife and before she could act it was in her side, just under her ribs. The sudden, sharp pain seemed to drain all of her courage and strength.

Clutching at her side, she felt warm blood seep between her fingers. Her other hand scrabbled in the dirt. She stared at her attacker's looming face, his eyes furious and unclean, as her questing hand found the magic spear. She grabbed it by the tip and thrust it at his throat. Just as the fisherman promised, it did not miss its target. She held the landlord's son in a macabre embrace until his own blood choked him to death.

Ekaterina rolled his corpse away. She tried to get to her feet, only to find that the wound in her side made each movement a painful trial. She was eventually able to stand with the help of the spear. The pain began to subside, but so did her strength; she became cold, feeling no heat from the flickering torch.

She leant against a tree, watching the shadows shift and trying to catch her breath. The sharp smell of blood, from both the landlord's son and herself, pervaded the air. Her eyes became heavy and her mind weary. The torch finally went out, leaving her in darkness with the corpse. Even the sun had finally abandoned her.

~

Ekaterina blinked as she caught herself on the brink of falling asleep. A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, but when she looked around she saw only a large fallen oak. The oak was lying flat with its roots splayed up out of the ground, leaving a shadowy wound where it had once stood. The roots were large and gnarled, like the bones of the earth, torn out of their flesh.

The dark hole left by the uprooted tree had collected a pool of black rainwater. She thought she saw movement again, on the surface of the water, but dismissed it as a trick of the flickering half-light.

She wiped her face, feeling blood smear her forehead. She looked back at the water and again it appeared to be stirred by some strange current. She wondered if she was hallucinating, knowing deep down that the knife wound was killing her. Then the water's surface broke.

From the black water stepped a man so pale that in the near darkness he seemed to glow. He slowly and deliberately climbed from the little pool, defying its apparent shallowness. Ekaterina gasped and wanted to run, but her wound stopped her.

At first she thought that he was some kind of horned serpent, for he appeared to have a scaled, hairless head which bore two curved horns like those of a ram. Then she saw that he actually had a caul; a tough, cracked flap of skin that covered most of his head and face, including his nose and ears, leaving only his mouth. Normally an infant born with a caul would have it cut away by his mother, if it did not fall away by itself. He seemed to wear his like a mask, or a shield. The spiralling horns grew through it.

Despite the caul covering his eyes, he seemed to look directly at her. He crept from the water, which soaked the ragged robes that covered his body. His hands remained hidden in the folds of the robes. Ekaterina tried to gather her courage. She still held the magic spear; she gripped it tight for comfort.

"Katya, so young and angry," he said in a sibilant whisper. "Apart from your eyes; they are old and angry instead. No wonder you can see me."

"You... are Death," she said numbly, her voice shaking. "Have you come for me?"

"For the life you owe me," he replied. "You promised me a kill. You prayed at my shrine. You stand before me, dying. It would seem that you are ready to pay."

"So it is true... that all of our kills are owed to you," said Ekaterina, trying to marshal her strength, her hands slick with blood.

"Everything has a price. Even kind men take their tolls; my old enemy, the lord of thunder, protects lives instead of taking them, but makes them dutiful and joyless in return. As the patron of hunters I have given the people of your village food and abundance from the forest for hundreds of years, taking the lives of your prey in return, as is the natural order. You took my blessing and promised me a life. Stop your struggles and come with me."

Shivering in the darkness, with her heartbeat slowing and her eyes aching to close, Ekaterina watched as Death's frail, grasping hand reached out for her. His hand was mostly skeletal, pale bone exposed between strips of wet flesh. She recoiled from him, but she was not strong enough to defend herself with the spear.

Without thinking, she slipped her other hand into her pocket and pulled out the firebird's tail feather, now bedraggled and wrinkled. She held it out before herself like a holy talisman and it glowed, fiercely, with a bright burst of fire; the light of defiance and life.

The flame was hot and she almost dropped the feather instinctually, but it did not harm her. In fact, it bolstered her, warming her bones and giving her new strength. The light made Death turn away, hissing. His bony hand returned to the folds of his robes.

"I'm not dead yet!" declared Ekaterina.

"Cling to life if you will, girl," he replied. "I can wait for my debt to be paid."

He took a step back from the feather. Curiously, the light seemed wrong to Ekaterina; it was not as colourful as the firebird itself had been. The light was bright but flat, stark, holding no wonder for her. She put the troubling thought aside as a new one occurred to her. She lowered the feather and its glow subsided.

"I owe you nothing. I killed the landlord's son. That pays my debt to you," said Ekaterina. "Don't forget your side of the bargain, too. You haven't yet given me a fair chance to hunt the firebird," she added, feeling bold.

The lord of the underworld laughed then, a hissing chuckle full of derision.

"The firebird was not the quarry I sent you! Such pride. I sent the boar, which you failed to kill. But, I admit, that man's life is sufficient for our pact. He was a boar, if ever I saw one."

Death stooped and plucked a hair from the corpse of the landlord's son. He tucked it into the folds of his robes. Ekaterina sighed in relief, glad that he had been appeased. Her wound began to feel less painful, the bleeding slowing under the pressure of her hand. Still, she was surprised that she had been wrong about the firebird.

"You only sent the boar?" she asked.

"Yes, Katya. You asked for a worthy quarry. The firebird is a great creature. Your skill is not equal to its worth."

"Yes it is!" insisted Ekaterina, insulted by his judgement. "In fact, I've almost found it. I can and I will hunt the firebird."

The lord of the underworld seemed to pause and consider her words. He kept edging closer to her, so she kept the feather half-raised, trying to keep him at bay.

"The firebird has vexed me for a long time. It is an immortal being, reborn from the ashes of its death. I could not send the irksome thing your way, because you do not have the power to kill an immortal. Only I have that power."

"Then let me make a proposal," said Ekaterina, realising that she needed Death's help to complete her quest. "I ask for your blessing once more. Heal my wound and provide me with the power to kill the firebird. We will both get what we desire."

"You ask a lot on the promise of a life that I doubt you can claim. No... I will only trade the boons you seek for something you already have to offer."

"Such as?" asked Ekaterina.

Death held up a finger to tell her to be patient. He reached into the folds of his robes and seemed to pull shreds of it away; his fingers knotted and pulled and twisted and tore the dark, sodden fabric. When he was done, he held a ragged net.

"This is my net. Like me, it is inescapable, because it drinks the life of anything it captures. Therefore, this net can satisfy both of your demands. Catch something in the net and it will steal its strength, restoring your wound."

"And it will work on the firebird too?"

"It will undo the firebird quite admirably, if you can catch it. The net will take its fire, making it mortal."

"Then the net is what I want. Name your price," said Ekaterina.

"The firebird won its immortality from me, in a deal we made when the world was young. Its existence is a wound on my pride. I would like to salve that wound with a taste of your pride, which seems to be very strong indeed. Therefore, this is my offer: your beauty for my net."

Ekaterina frowned. She was surprised that Death would ask for something so trivial. Beauty was of little use to her. She needed to prove her worth to the village, not to be pretty. Thinking of the village reminded her that if she could not kill the firebird tonight, she would have to return home in shame. She did not relish that idea, especially with the blood of the landlord's son on her hands.

"Very well," said Ekaterina.

Death rushed forwards, brushing aside the feather with his robes. There was a smile on his face, below the folds of his caul. Ekaterina smelled corruption and decay as he placed his skeletal hands over her arms, pinning her to the tree, her spear dropping to the floor.

Death lowered his mouth to hers, making her retch. His lips were cold and damp. She felt a terrible fading sensation spread through her body as he kissed her. Ekaterina wilted- her skin lost its colour, her hair became dull, her face sunken. Her heart, which was slowing to the point of demise a minute ago, started to pound. Just as she began to fear that Death was taking her life after all, he released her.

With no more words, he dropped the net at her feet. Still grinning, the lord of the underworld reached up to his face. He seemed to peel the caul from his eyes, shedding the dead skin like a serpent. He cast the flesh aside and revealed the pale face beneath, fine-featured and regal, crowned by his horns and jet-black hair. His eyes shone with pride and he was, after a strange fashion, handsome.

Death turned away from her with a slight bow of his head. He stepped down into the pool of water under the uprooted tree. He descended into it, as if there were steps hidden beneath the surface. Ekaterina held her breath until his curved horns were swallowed by the black water, then sighed deeply.

Steadying herself, Ekaterina tucked the firebird feather back into her pocket. She felt another shape in there and remembered that she still carried the arrowhead that she had forged with her father. She took it out and turned it around in her hands, wondering what he would think of all of this and whether he would have made the same decisions. Her father had sacrificed his family when he left, but she would never know whether it was for a noble reason or just to escape his responsibilities. She decided that there was no point in wasting her thoughts on it; she had a quest to complete.

Ekaterina immediately began binding her wound, using a strip torn from her tunic. The bleeding had almost stopped but was still very painful. Ideally it needed to be cleaned and stitched, back at home where she could rest, but that was the last place she wanted to go and thanks to the net it was unnecessary. She felt able to carry on, so she did.

Though it hurt to bend down, she picked up her spear and net and started to search for a new trail. She briefly considered looking at her reflection in the pool, but there was no point; with her new eyes she would not be able to tell whether she was still beautiful or not. She took a deep breath and left the cursed place as soon as she could, leaving the corpse of the landlord's son for the wolves.

~

Making her way from the forest to the hill, Ekaterina felt weak but her determination was stronger than ever. She had bargained with Death and though she could not help but feel that he had bested her somehow, she was still alive to tell the tale. There was no joy in her survival, just a grim satisfaction that made her keep walking. She trekked onwards through the trees and up a gradual slope that marked the start of the rocky, jagged hill.

A brief flicker of light at the peak told her that she was still going the right way. She carefully moved in that direction until she was able to spy more evidence; the tracks of a large bird in a patch of mud. She felt sure that she was on the trail of the firebird. Even with the witch's eyes it was hard to track and navigate at night; fortunately, now that she was out in the open, she had some light from the moon.

Ekaterina picked her way up the slope, over rocks and loose stones. The trees had given way to grass, which in turn became scrub. She found herself becoming breathless sooner than she expected, while her wound protested at each step. She ignored the strain of the climb, bolstered by the thought that now she could not fail. She had eyes that could see any trail, a spear that could not miss and a net that drank the life of its captives. There was no longer any doubt that she would be the finest hunter of the village; her beauty was a small price to pay, for she had put aside girlish things long ago.

There were plenty of other trails to follow on the way, thanks to her sharp eyes. She saw several that might be the firebird, or indeed any bird, but the one that caught her eye was that of a hare. Spoors and chewed stems told her that a large hare was very close, so she crouched and slowed down. Her wound stung and kept trying to reopen. Soon she found a shallow depression in a patch of grass that must have been the hare's form, where it slept.

After waiting for a little while, she spied the hare darting between rocks and shrubs, sniffing the air. She waited until it came very close, forcing herself to remain patient. Part of her wanted to curl up and sleep but in her current state she was not certain that she would ever awake. The hare failed to scent her and darted towards the form. Ekaterina cast the net, grunting at the pain of the sudden movement.

The net landed neatly over the hare. Ekaterina darted forwards to tie it, but she did not need to. The more that the hare struggled, the more it became tangled. The net almost appeared to constrict and knot around its captive by itself. The hare squeaked in alarm as the ragged thing tightened. Ekaterina gripped the net to be certain and watched the hare become still. Her wound changed immediately- it stopped bleeding, stopped hurting and stopped sapping her strength. The hare, meanwhile, lay quiet and struggled to breathe. Its wide and terrified eye met hers.

Ekaterina suddenly felt ashamed. She sighed and began to unwind the net, but it was tightly knotted, woven in a pattern that made no sense to her. She began to race as the hare piteously kicked out, tangling itself more. She fumbled at the net, shaking it and almost tearing it. The hare was weakening rapidly, quite defenceless. She doubled her efforts but the net was knotted.

When it finally came open, the hare was already dead. Ekaterina grimaced and chided herself for using such a powerful tool on such a small creature; she felt more like a farmer with a mousetrap than a great hunter. She lay the hare down in its form, wishing she had time to properly skin it. The carcass would at least be fodder for the forest instead.

The net seemed heavy in her hands, but she carefully folded it and slung it over her back. Something about using it bothered her, but she told herself that the stab of shame she felt was just because she had a kind heart where small creatures were concerned. Against the firebird, the net would be necessary. She was encouraged by the fact that her strength was returning and was very pleased to discover a scar on her side, where earlier there had been a vicious wound.

The climb was long, taking her past the midnight hour, but her eyes led her true. She saw a glimpse of light once more and found a definite trail, belonging to a bird she could not identify, which had to be the legendary and unique firebird. Congratulating herself on her boldness, she hauled herself over a cold outcrop of rock and onto a shelf in the hillside, a small ledge where a tree grew, bathed in yellow light.

The ledge was recessed and the tree's lower branches were hidden from view; a perfect spot for a nest. Ekaterina's sharp new eyes searched the branches for signs of the firebird but found nothing. Despite the yellow glow, the bird itself was not apparent. Confused, she finally spotted the firebird's nest on the hard earth at the base of the tree. She had been looking for a nest of twigs up in the branches, but it looked more like a knot of stones and mud. The nest had been baked into clay.

~

Ekaterina approached the nest slowly, with growing confusion. There was certainly a trail; she could see the tracks of bird's feet and there were leaves stripped from the tree's branches. She could plainly see the light from the firebird, the same glow that she had followed to the hill, but the bird itself remained hidden.

The rock shelf was bathed in a flickering light, as if a campfire was burning right in front of Ekaterina, but she could see nothing that might be the source. She held her net and spear up, creeping forwards, trying to spy the origin of the light. The shadows moved, first one way and then the other. A stone beside the clay nest was disturbed and she heard a flutter. She thrust into empty air with the spear, suddenly afraid, as she could feel the heat of the firebird but still could not see it.

A burst of heat across her back made Ekaterina cry out in pain. She turned around, casting the net, but saw and caught nothing. Another wave of heat passed painfully over her leg and this time she felt the brush of the firebird's wing. She was defenceless, being burned repeatedly, unable to see anything other than shifting light.

Ekaterina tried to cover her face as she heard the beating of wings above her. The firebird's talons scored deep gashes across her forearms as it dove down at her like a hawk. To her terror, her hair caught fire. She dropped to the ground and beat fistfuls of dust against her hair before the flames could engulf her.

Fear started to control Ekaterina's actions, making her thrust her spear out wildly, with no success. The weapon might have been enchanted, but it still had to be thrust in the right direction. With hot air stinging her lungs and eyes, she began to retreat. Then she heard the firebird's call. Like before, it sounded like a blend of several bird calls, but most of all like a bird of prey.

"Where are you?" she asked aloud, searching for the bird.

"Why are you trying to kill me?" asked a voice that made her gasp with shock.

"I'm the greatest hunter of the village! Reveal yourself, coward, and face me fairly!" she challenged. She turned about frantically but could see no speaker.

"I am not hiding, greatest hunter. It would seem that you cannot see me."

The voice was high and fine, like the voice of a goddess, full of strange cadences. Ekaterina listened carefully for the source and spotted a tree branch sagging under an invisible weight. Cursing the witch's treacherous eyes, she threw the spear, trusting to its enchantment.

Though she could not see what, the spear definitely hit something. The light dimmed and Ekaterina heard a pained caw. A bright orange feather floated to the ground and a thump at the base of the tree made her move closer. The spear lay there, blooded, beside a disturbed patch of earth. She still could not see the firebird, but she heard it. With a melancholy trill, it burst into flames.

The sudden light and heat made Ekaterina cry out and fall onto her back. She scrabbled backwards, stopping at the lip of the rock shelf, staring at the sudden and wild conflagration beside the tree. The tree itself caught fire in places. The flames slowly receded, leaving only embers and ashes. In the midst of the glowing ashes sat a large egg.

Amazed, Ekaterina approached again and snatched up her spear and net. The egg, perfectly white, cracked before her eyes. From within emerged an adult firebird, whole and unharmed. She just had time to see some orange plumage in the darkness before it spread its wings, then came a fresh burst of light as the firebird reignited.

Suddenly, just as before, it disappeared. Ekaterina could see the light and feel the heat, but the bird itself was invisible again. She growled in frustration. The firebird could not be killed, just as the legends said. The spear, for all its magic, could do no more than inconvenience her quarry.

"I recognise that spear," said the firebird. "You claim to be the greatest hunter, but you use a spear that cannot miss, like a child cheating at a game."

Ekaterina spun towards the sound and threw the net. The twisted, ragged thing unfurled and draped over the bird's invisible form before it could flap away. There was an angry burst of heat and light but it was in vain, for the net quickly constricted and bit at its captive. She took a firm grip on the net and braved the heat. The invisible firebird struggled briefly before the net snarled around it and stifled its fire. Ekaterina's burns and cuts began to heal as the net drank from its prey.

Ekaterina raised the spear and prepared to strike. Then, she saw what she had caught.

The firebird had become visible at last. She saw orange feathers, a crest, a long tail and a long yellow beak; but all were dull. The firebird looked pathetic and small, not radiant or beautiful, but like a broken thing. A minor but profound detail had changed; earlier that day it had looked to her like all birds at once, but now it could be any old bird. Perhaps it was a little unusual, but also quite unimpressive, like fool's gold when compared to the true thing.

"I also recognise this net," said the firebird. "A thing of Death. You know, a spear that cannot miss does not become more impressive when your prey is bound and crippled by a net that weakens its captive. Some hunters would consider your weapons quite embarrassing."

"Silence!" retorted Ekaterina.

She hefted the spear, judging the quickest and cleanest way to kill the firebird. It seemed smaller than it had before. Its chest rose and fell slowly, weakened. Its feathers were muted and lifeless without their aura of fire and light. Just like the hare, there was something piteous and wrong about its diminished state. She felt an acute sense of sadness, but tried to ignore it, focusing on the fact that soon she would succeed in her quest. The firebird continued to speak.

"I should not be surprised that Death found someone willing to help him undo our deal. I hope that he paid you well."

"What?" asked Ekaterina, watching the bird carefully. "I hunted you for myself, not at Death's behest. I'm not a... mercenary. The net was part of a trade."

"Then I hope that you did not trade too much for it," said the firebird. "I can see that someone took your beauty. Forgive me, but you seem... lacklustre. Not ugly, but faded and plain, without the spark of pride that makes one's beauty shine. It is a sad thing to see. I dread to think how I look at this exact moment..."

While it was clearly getting weaker, the firebird did not seem as perturbed by the net as the hare had been. Its eyes were defiant and proud. Despite herself, Ekaterina lowered the spear. The firebird was utterly helpless and she felt the need to explain her actions to it.

"Yes... if you must know, you're right. I gave my beauty for the net, but that only proves how strong my will is. No price is too high to catch a worthy quarry."

"I would argue that a quarry is no longer 'worthy' after you have crippled it, but who am I to judge the greatest hunter?"

"You mock me," muttered Ekaterina.

She quietly knelt beside the dulled creature as she realised that it was right. She had not just given her beauty for the net, but also her pride, because there was no dignity or esteem in defeating the firebird by reducing it to the potency of a common sparrow. She suspected that the creature was trying to talk her out of killing it, but she could not seem to hurry herself. She let it continue to talk.

"Not at all. I cannot deny your dedication. Are you the one I saw earlier today, hunting the boar? Is that what led you to pursue me?"

"Yes. You spoiled my hunt, so you became my target."

"Then saving that boar will cost me my life. Death comes in the most unlikely guises!" laughed the firebird.

"That is true," said Ekaterina.

"It was a jest," said the firebird. "You are such a serious young thing. Where is your joy?"

"I gave my laughter to a fisherman, to get this magical spear," she said, gesturing to it; the trade seemed absurd and embarrassing now.

"A high price, even for the spear of the thunder god. So you gave away your joy and your beauty. And, if you saw Death before your time, I suspect that you gave more besides..."

"I traded my eyes for the cunning eyes of a witch. They helped me to track you, but then you were invisible to me. I lied to her about catching you alive, so she must have put a curse on them."

"There is no curse," said the firebird. "Those eyes are sharp indeed, but jaded and blind where it matters."

"I..." stuttered Ekaterina.

Tears began to well in her borrowed eyes. She understood now why the firebird looked so pathetic and mundane compared to the wonderful sight she had seen that morning.

"Can I tell you what I see?" asked the firebird. "I see a woman with no joy, awe or pride. Even I am not worth that price."

Ekaterina wept then, at the discovery of what she had made herself into. She sank to the ground and buried her face in her hands. She had become a diminished, bitter person with nothing to show for her sacrifices. She had found the firebird at last, but could not admire it. She had bested it, but could feel no satisfaction. She had caught it, but could claim no honour.

In order to catch it, she had taken away the magic that made it the firebird. If she killed it now, she would be killing an ordinary bird. In fact, the very thought of killing it- no, murdering it- made her feel ill. She was not a great hunter, but a cruel and selfish one. Even taking the firebird alive, as the witch had suggested, seemed wrong. Then again, going home empty-handed and so dreadfully changed was also an unpleasant thought. She curled her fingers in the net, trying to decide what to do.

"I just wanted to be as good as any man," she murmured.

"What is your name, young woman?" asked the firebird.

"Ekaterina."

"Ekaterina, I understand only little of men and women, for I am unique in the world and have no mate. Are you not already as good as any man?"

"Not in their eyes. Men look down on women in my village. My mother has to clean and cook and look after infants, while they can hunt and drink and build..."

"There is no shame in what your mother does."

"I know," said Ekaterina. "But they do not see it that way."

"Then I take it that you came all this way and sacrificed so much so that you could prove yourself to the men. I admire your determination, but I think you let it turn into obstinacy. You were impatient and you tried to take shortcuts."

"What should I have done? I couldn't just ignore the way they treat me, or let them control me! I had to prove that I was a better hunter than any of them!"

"I saw you hit the boar. A perfect throw. You were already as good as any man, Ekaterina, or any woman for that matter. You knew this, but in your haste to shame them and raise yourself up, you set out to kill me; even at the cost of the qualities that make victory worthwhile. Even if I was a terrible monster and you had slain me gladly, the cheers of the men would ring hollow."

"But it was necessary! Otherwise, nothing would change..."

"Ekaterina, you should defy those who try to control you, but should never let them change you."

"Damn you for being right!" shouted Ekaterina, angry and distraught, her tears flowing. "I... I'm sorry. Forgive me, firebird, for attacking you. I'm a fool and I've given away everything precious to me for a fool's quest."

"Poor Ekaterina, I forgive you," said the firebird. "You should have been happy with your own judgement of your worth; to seek the approval of ignorant people is to give worth to ignorance."

Ekaterina nodded as she fought back her sobs. She could feel the bitter cold of the night now that the bird's fire was out. She was saddened to realise that the firebird's beauty and colour was lost to her forever; she could barely remember what she had glimpsed of it by the stream. She had seen a truly wonderful thing and her selfish reaction had been to kill it.

Disgusted with herself, she began to untie the net. She knew now that she could not kill the firebird. She had to return to the village, shamed, mirthless and blind to goodness. She carefully unwound the net from the firebird, half expecting it to attack her, but it did not. Nor did it regain its fire and become invisible; she had drained a great deal of its strength.

"I'm so sorry. Will you recover your light?" she asked.

"Soon enough, yes. You do not need to apologise; I should thank you for staying your hand. If I can reward you somehow, I will. Dry your eyes, young one."

Ekaterina wiped away her tears as the firebird shakily stood and preened itself. She then looked down at the wet tears on her hand and paused for a moment.

"Firebird... did you really save the life of the boar I wounded?" she asked.

"I did. I saw a fellow creature of the forest in need, so I healed it."

"Then is it true that your tears can heal any wound?"

"Oh, all tears have the power to heal. Regarding this, however, let me correct you: it is my fire that heals magically. My fire is the fire of life. Why do you ask?"

"Can you heal the kind of losses that I have suffered?" asked Ekaterina.

"You have not lost anything; you traded it all away willingly. Nevertheless, it is within my power. Very well, Ekaterina, I offer you a choice: I can restore just one of the things that you are lacking, or, if you were to make one more trade with me... then I could restore all three as if they never happened."

"I see. What do you want from me in return?"

"You may choose. One last trade to undo all of your mistakes, quickly and easily..."

Ekaterina thought carefully. She stood and regarded the feather in the nest and the little pile of ashes. She touched her face, the skin so dry and drawn. She looked out at the forest, lit by the moon, with the river snaking through it and the wooden palisade of her village in the distance. She thought of how the firebird had appeared to her before and how she had spoken to the elders. She remembered the landlord's son and his violence and thought of how stupid she had been to ever want to be equal to someone like that. She looked at the net and the spear and thought of how all things had their price.

"I would like to offer you a trade," she said to the firebird.

"What will you give me?" it asked.

Ekaterina took out the tail feather that she kept in her pocket and laid it before the firebird.

"A promise. I swear that I no longer wish to hunt you, for it was wrong and I've learned far more from sparing you than I could ever have gained from slaying you. In return... please heal one of my impairments. Just one; to restore them all would be taking another shortcut and learning nothing."

"A very good choice indeed," said the firebird. "Well done, Ekaterina. Forgive me for testing you. But what should I heal?"

"My eyes. I don't deserve laughter and pride has caused me enough trouble as it is. I'd like to be able to see beauty again, so that I can look upon you in wonder once more. That'll be enough to make my journey worthwhile."

"How can I say no to that? I do so love to be admired!" laughed the firebird.

The firebird reignited, immediately becoming invisible again. Ekaterina heard a flapping of wings and felt the heat from the creature bloom in front of her. There was a burst of light and fire, then a terrible pain on her face, sudden and hot, making her shout out in panic. She closed her eyes tightly and clutched at them.

When the fire passed, Ekaterina's eyes hurt badly and she could not open them. She gingerly tried touching her face and the flesh felt tender. Her fingers then found a burn scar, teardrop-shaped, below one eye. She knew that it was a reminder, another price paid, but a price paid wisely. Ekaterina gradually managed to open her eyes and at last she saw the firebird.

The firebird was radiant, a thing of grace and beauty so pure that she could hardly believe it existed in the dark, cold forest. Her memory of the bird had been poor in comparison to the real thing. She saw flames of gold and crimson washing over feathers of orange, yellow, green and blue. The firebird's tail and wings shone like the sun. She could see into its shining black eyes, which were filled with wisdom and majesty. She saw the spirit of birds made flesh, a creature alight with life.

New tears came into her eyes as she was awestruck in the most humbling way. They were tears of joy, childlike and wonderful. She laughed as she beheld the firebird. Ekaterina was able to see beauty again and that alone was a balm for her soul.

"Thank you, firebird!" she cried.

"A simple feat," replied the bird, trilling with satisfaction. "They are still the witch's eyes, but I have restored awe to them. They might not be quite so sharp for a while, as beauty can be terribly distracting, but with time and patience you will learn to use them again."

"I will treat them well. But I laughed, did you not hear? I felt joy again!"

"Nothing is gone forever, Ekaterina. If you forsake that spear for a weapon more earthly and train with it until you never miss, then your joy will return completely. All it takes is time. Do good things and look upon beauty; it will help."

"I will! Does that meant that my own beauty will return too?" asked Ekaterina, for deep inside she felt the first spark of it, knowing that she had done the honourable thing.

"In time, in time! Do not use that net; work on your skills diligently instead. Make yourself proud. Earn it. Your beauty will shine through again, when you learn to separate esteem and ego."

"I will. I'll become the great hunter I've been claiming to be, through my own merit."

The firebird took to the sky and soared, its plumage streaking like a falling star, its cry a pure note of magic. It circled Ekaterina and landed again on a branch.

"That is good to hear. I do hope that no others from your village will come hunting for me."

"I... I suppose I'll tell them that I was wrong. That you do not exist."

"You would face their derision for my sake? Then you have changed for the better. I am humbled."

"I won't let them get to me anymore, but I still want to enlighten them. I wish I could open their eyes, the way that you've opened mine. They'll have even less respect for me when I return empty-handed."

"You are not empty-handed. Take back what you have learned, Ekaterina. Maybe they will listen. If not... well, keep hunting. You were never wrong to pursue your talents or to seek change. Keep providing for the village. The women will appreciate it and maybe in time, some will be encouraged to join you. The men will follow."

"Yes... you're right. I'll try, but it'll be difficult... on my way here, I had to kill the landlord's son. I had no choice; he attacked me. If the elders don't run me out of the village, then perhaps I'll take his place on the hunts."

"Tell them the truth. Should they try to harm you, call for me and I will protect you. I will forsake my secrecy if you need me. Understand, Ekaterina: a friend is more valuable than a trophy!"

The firebird spread its wings triumphantly. Ekaterina laughed as it preened itself and took to the air again, hovering above her, washing her with waves of fiery light.

"I'll try hunting wisdom from now on!" she called to it.

"Then you truly are a great hunter, young Katya!" it called back.

Ekaterina waved to the firebird as it circled around and then cast out towards the horizon, where the sky was turning red. The sun was starting to rise. The firebird seemed to fly into the sun, blending into its red glow, until she could no longer see it.

Ekaterina sat down to appreciate the beauty of the sunrise. She did not cherish the thought of heading to the village and telling them about the landlord's son. The elders would probably accept her innocence eventually, but she was under no delusion; there would be rumours, no matter what she said. Strangeness was bound to follow her now, with the unusual burn below her eye. The scar still hurt, especially when she moved her face. She would be less beautiful and slow to laugh for a while, but not forever.

Ekaterina realised that she owed her mother an apology, but she was still determined to hone her hunting skills and live independently. She decided to take the long route back to the village and see what she could catch along the way, using only her honest skill. She reached into her pocket and felt the arrowhead there, wondering how long it would take to fashion a bow and knowing that it would be time well spent.

The thought made a smile creep onto her face; it stung, but she smiled all the same.

British Gods

No less than seven young men, hoods pulled up and scarves wrapped around their faces, shouted and jeered as they thrust a wooden sign (Cut and blow dry from £19.95, no appointment needed) into the window of a Currys. The glass cracked but held, keeping a delicious assortment of electronic goods just out of reach. The shop's alarm was triggered, but it was just one of many going off that night. The police were nowhere in sight, dealing with similar scenes in the surrounding streets.

London had become a playground for rioters; for a few nights only, the rules had been broken. The streets were not safe, or rather, they were less safe. Fires illuminated the gloomy August night, occasionally joined by the blue flicker of emergency vehicles. Few people were out on the streets, only those looting shops or those trying to stop them. In keeping with tradition, there were exceptions; two of them sat on a bench outside an untouched book shop, watching the riots unfold.

One observer was an old man, the other a middle-aged woman. Both had the appearance of homeless people. He wore a ragged coat and had long, messy hair to match a long, messy beard. He had a spiral tattoo on his neck, in blue ink. He held a fishing rod, which he hovered over an open manhole. He also appeared to be in pain.

She looked quite different, wearing a flowing, once-white summer dress despite the cold. She had long hair and fine but stern features. A large handbag sat beside her on the bench, sporting a somewhat garish union jack pattern. She held a fork, which she used to ruthlessly stab at a battered fish wrapped in newspaper.

"They're even attacking the fire engines," grumbled the old man.

His companion chewed some of her fish before replying.

"In fairness, so would I. If you really want to start a fire, it makes sense to stop the fire engines too," she pondered aloud.

"That's just you thinking like a soldier, Brit," he replied. "They aren't thinking at all. Just fighting. Fighting..." he added before tapering off, unwilling to pursue the train of thought.

"I know that, Noddy. Oh... they've got into Currys."

They had, indeed, got into Currys. The window finally gave way to the onslaught of the makeshift battering ram, crashing inwards. The youths (though not all as young as they appeared or acted) cheered and climbed through the window, reaching for plasma televisions and tablet computers and the like. Two of them stayed outside to watch out for the police, or another gang.

"Two young males of the pack stand watch," said Noddy, putting on a mock-documentary voice. "A fresh kill will soon attract opportunists..."

Brit laughed, but it died away fast. The mood was not quite right for jokes.

"Fine jest, but comparing them to animals is an insult to animals," she replied. "Look at them... mindless. They don't care for culture and have no comprehension of dignity. Only a few of them even know why this started. This has nothing to do with that awful business."

"No argument from me. I know that sometimes people need to stand up to their kings. I know that the rulers of this land deserve a bloody nose and the people deserve some justice. But most of these kids... they're here to steal and burn, for fun. They don't care why and they don't want to see change. You can't fight oppression by nicking a flatscreen."

"I know, it's disgraceful. Earlier, I saw some talking head on the television say they're rioting in protest. Protest! They aren't all that hard done by. Not like people once were," she said.

"You don't have to tell me," grunted Noddy. "When I was young... before your time... people had to carve a life from the earth. The world is too small now, too fast. Too easy. It makes them weak."

"It's not the whole world, or all of the people," she replied quickly.

"It's still wrong!" he shouted in irritation.

When he raised his voice, the gang of youths seemed to notice the pair for the first time. A few moments passed and they forgot them again, their attention somehow slipping away from the bench and its vulnerable occupants.

"You're hurt," she said, sliding the comment in somewhere between question and statement.

"The land is hurt. You know it works both ways," he muttered.

"You caught anything yet?" she asked, gesturing with her fork.

Noddy shook his head and flexed his right hand. His fingernails were the only part of his hand not caked in dirt; in fact they caught the streetlight with a glimmer like silver.

"Not as yet. My hand isn't what it once was. Arthritis," he explained in a quiet, sad voice.

The gang of rioters took their loot and ran, scattering down the nearest alleyways. Other groups ran through the street but did not linger, roaming in packs, faces obscured. They stopped only to kick over bins and smash anything that would break.

"I thought you and your hand could catch anything," teased Brit. Noddy shrugged and adjusted his fishing rod.

"Once, maybe. I'm so old, Brit. I've had too many names. I'm older than you and you're a bloody relic," he moaned.

She poked at him with her fork.

"We're not that old. Not forgotten," she replied.

"Not yet, you mean. These days it's all 'Allah' this and 'Vishnu' that. As if the bloody Christians weren't bad enough. They don't belong here, not in my bloody city," he retorted, his beady eyes watching a gang of Asian men that had appeared at the other end of the street.

"You don't mean that," said Brit, calmly eating her fish.

"Surely it bothers you? Foreign invaders..."

"No, it don't. They're all British to me. Besides, we did our fair share of invading too. The waves took the empire to the four corners of the world and back, and they were red with blood by the time we were done. I was there, every step of the way."

"You were magnificent. You were a queen."

"Yeah, yeah, I ruled the waves. Maybe so, but once upon a time I was a newcomer to this land, you'd do well to remember. Before I became... me. You know the history of this 'blest isle' better than anyone. We all came here from elsewhere," she replied sternly.

"Alright, I'm sorry," he said quite solemnly, turning to her and lowering his gaze. "I didn't mean all that. I spoke out of... frustration."

"You're a daft old bugger who forgets his own wisdom."

The Asian youths were joined by friends, two black men and three white men. All wore a kind of rough uniform of cheap street clothing, caps pulled down and hoods pulled up. They were failing to get into a Jessops when, at the other end of the street, a rival gang of sorts suddenly arrived.

Five policemen with bright jackets and shields came around the corner, moving in a loose line, marching to the tune of their beeping and chattering radios. One of them led a snarling police dog. The groups eyed each other, gauging the situation, or perhaps awaiting orders. Someone shouted an obscenity, but there was no telling who. The two on the bench sat in the middle and watched. Noddy sighed:

"This is my city, Brit. Caer Lud. Named after me, on account of how I founded it. When I was a king for a bit."

"Hang about. Are you sure that's accurate?" she asked dubiously.

"Are you sure it isn't? Don't spoil the story," said Noddy.

"Sorry. You were saying..."

"Well... they bound me to this land, but now they've turned their backs. They're burning my London, for no good reason. It is, in my professional opinion, sacrilege."

"Come on, it's hardly the sack of Rome," said Brit, rolling her eyes.

"That's not the point, Brit. This is just a... sign of the times. A symptom."

"Yeah," she sighed. "I know. It hurts me too. Their frustration is warranted, but they're wasting it on a childish tantrum. Where's their pride? They're like empty shells, hollowed out by television and greed."

"You're right. Empty. They aren't fighting for a cause, not like what the Morrigan's doing over in Ireland. I don't condone what's happening over there for a moment, but at least it's got a reason and a rhyme. For most of these kids, this is just... entertainment."

"It'll only last a few days, then they'll get bored."

"That's even worse! It's the attitude, not the violence; not compared to the things we've seen, or the real riots where people get shot in the streets. It's the way they don't care, like it's a computer game. They're smashing up their own city! They're fighting their own country! They're fighting... us. Don't you see? They don't know it, but they're killing us."

"The world's moving on, Noddy. Look at all the forms we take over the centuries, from one place to the next. Some of us last, some of us fade, some merge together. We're just ideas. Ideas have to change."

"But... but like this? You said yourself that they're all British to you; so that includes the ones who hate in your name and the ones who piss on their own land. Your own people are doing this."

"I didn't say I like it. I just... I have to love them, warts and all. I have no choice on that front, so instead I'm choosing to see that these are just the actions of a few," she said quietly.

"Look: I know," sighed Noddy. "It just hurts..."

"I blame lack of discipline," said Brit wryly as a looter set fire to a bin, regardless of the eyes of the police on him.

"Well, you would say that. I suppose these bloody coppers are more your cup of tea."

"Don't you start on them," said Brit. "They're my boys. They might not always get it right, but they're wearing my colours."

"What, fluorescent yellow?"

"Oh, sod off. You watch, they'll soon sort out these kids. Formation, boys!" she called out.

One or two officers looked over, but seemed to lose interest immediately. One of the youths threw a half-brick at the police, but it fell short of their line by several yards.

"What's that thing they used to do, with all their shields locked up over their heads?" asked Noddy.

"The tortoise?"

"That's it. I liked that. Even if it did kill hundreds of mine..."

"Leave it out, that's ancient history," said Brit. "Here we go. Would you just look at that? Such disrespect..."

A bottle sailed through the night and this time it did not land short of the mark; it exploded against a policeman's shield, scattering glass across the street. The two groups moved inexorably closer to each other. One of the policemen tried to read the riot act to the gang, only to receive a much blunter warning in return. The curious tension of intention filled the air as battle lines were drawn in their minds.

"Now," whispered Brit, under her breath.

The two groups collided. The police were better armed but the youths fought with tenacity and anger, fuelled by a hundred factors, justified and otherwise. They used bricks and bars against batons and shields. Two officers pushed one young man to the ground, using their size and padding to contain his struggles. One of his friends lunged at them with a knife. The blade was stopped at the last moment when the police dog suddenly latched onto the man's arm and dragged him ferociously to the ground.

"Was that you?" asked Brit, watching the dog closely.

"Nothing to do with me. He's just being a good boy and protecting his master," replied Noddy with a shrug.

"At first I wasn't sure which side you'd take, if I'm honest."

"What? As much as I like to see people standing up for themselves, I can't abide this nonsense. It's a plague on the land. They're thieves, nothing more."

"I realised that when I saw how much it's hurting you," she said, briefly squeezing his hand.

A hooded man in his early twenties was pushed to the edge of the brawl, where a police officer lay on the floor with a broken wrist. The man looked down at the injured officer, then reached into his belt and brought out a gun. He hovered over his helpless victim, unseen by the others. He aimed the gun slowly, weighing risk against kudos.

"That's not very British," said Brit.

"It's very bloody British," said Noddy. "But it's not the part I like. Sort him out," he added, cradling his aching hand but resolutely holding onto his fishing rod.

Brit rose from the bench and the hooded man noticed her for the first time. He still had his gun pointed at the fallen policeman, who was scrabbling backwards to get away. He hesitated.

"You little shit," said Brit.

"Fuck you, bitch!" replied the gunman, raising the weapon to point at her.

Brit charged forwards so fast that he barely had time to blink. In the blur of motion, just for a moment, she looked like something else. She was a warrior woman of the Amazon, or maybe a helmeted Valkyrie, or... perhaps a majestic Roman goddess brought to a new land.

Most important and true of all, she looked like a proud and fearless woman. Her huge handbag swatted the gun aside and her fork flashed as she buried it in the man's shoulder. He shouted with pain, eyes wide with astonishment. She kicked his knee, dislocating the joint and causing him to drop to the floor, where she kicked him again. She took his gun.

The police officer stared at her. She handed him the gun and helped him to his feet.

"Thanks for saving me, sonny," she said. "I am but a helpless citizen. Thank God, hah, that you're here. Go away."

He returned to the brawl, somewhat disorientated, his mind latching onto the fact that his comrades needed his help. He forgot all about the hooded gunman. Brit did not. She knelt down beside him and inspected his knee.

"Before you ask, no," said Noddy.

"You're a healer, aren't you?" said Brit.

"He's fine. He deserves worse."

Brit helped the stunned man up and half-dragged him onto the bench. She took hold of the fork (still embedded in her new friend's shoulder) and used it to keep him there.

"Perhaps, but that's not the point, is it?" she asked.

Noddy looked at her for a moment and sighed. He took one hand off his fishing rod to roughly inspect the patient. The man tried to struggle away, so Brit held his upper arms with the steel grip that only older women can muster.

"Sit still!" she commanded. "His eyesight isn't what it once was and you know what healers are like. If you squirm around he might do the wrong bit and you'll end up needing a sodding silver hand like he did."

"I got a flesh and bone one after all that palaver. People forget that. Skin-hand doesn't make for a good epithet," grunted Noddy. He plucked the fork out, then took the man's hand and placed it over the wound. "Apply pressure here, to stop the bleeding".

The man numbly complied. As soon as he was distracted with that, Noddy brought his fist down hard on the man's knee. There was a wet crunch and a subsequent yelp of pain. The dislocation relocated.

"Will he play the piano again?" asked Brit as the man slid to the pavement and desperately scrambled away.

"Give over. It was only the kneecap, it'll mend. You're going soft..." he replied. Before his patient could get too far, Noddy leant forwards and grabbed him by the collar. "Fine, don't thank me then! Just you remember this..."

Noddy whispered something in the man's ear and let him go. He crawled back into the street, confused, disarmed and unlegged. The police quickly spotted him. The dishevelled pair on the bench slipped away from everyone's attention once more.

"Will he remember, deep down?" asked Brit.

Noddy shrugged.

"He won't forget, and that's the best we can do. It's all we could ever do," he replied.

They watched the police leave with their haul of looters, the street growing quiet as the action moved on. Some moments passed. They sat in silence for a while, staying apart from the chaos, brooding, feeling the bitter cold and watching climbing pillars of smoke in the distance. Suddenly, Noddy went tense.

"That was fast..." he muttered.

"Caught something?" asked Brit.

"I reckon so. You know, we're more than just ideas," he said as he stood and pulled the fishing rod upwards. "We're lessons."

Noddy strained against some unseen resistance in the sewer. Then, with care, he wound in the line until he stood triumphant with an old boot.

"It's not exactly the catch of the day," said Brit as she waved away the stench.

"This is the holy grail! Can't you see it?" he asked excitedly, staring at the boot as if it were made of gold.

"Is that what passes for a grail these days? Are you so old and beaten? Is this land so ill?"

"Grails are what we make of them," murmured Noddy, inspecting the boot. "It's wretched, but it's mine. It came to me."

"You're going to drink from it, aren't you?" asked Brit with disgust.

"It's traditional. Harm the land, harm the king. Heal the king..."

He tipped sewer water from the boot into his mouth, spilling some on his beard. Brit scrunched up her face and turned away.

"Nodens, you old romantic," she muttered.

He swallowed and threw the boot back down the manhole.

"That... was vile. Ugh."

"Do you feel any younger?" she asked.

"Nope, not one bloody bit," said Noddy with a smile. "But, maybe tomorrow I will."

He offered her his hand and she took it, laughing. She rose from the bench and he wrapped his other hand around her waist. They began to dance a haphazard, arthritic waltz to the tune of sirens.

Into the night they went, two ragged figures turning slowly through the burning streets, with all of the time in the world.

Thornback

Thornback, nocturnal sentinel, territorial and never defenceless.

Prickpig, snorting derision, snuffling sergeant of the garden.

Urchin, solitary warrior, armoured in spears to defy all foes.

Bristlebeast, feasting on beetles, bugvore bastard of the hedgerow.

Hedgehog, summer ranger, softness hidden and sharpness shown.

Saturday's Child

Henri walked around it once more, pacing like a nervous parent over a child's crib. He looked at it, frowned, sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head in frustration.

The 'it' was his corpse, lying broken on the floor of his apartment in a ramshackle part of Rio de Janeiro. The building was part of a 'favela', a slum town comprised of twisting alleyways and tiny apartments built on top of each other, separating a myriad of lives with corrugated iron and sun-baked white brick. The favela was normally bright with colourful clothes hung out to dry between whitewashed buildings, but the apartment and his body were now a monochrome grey. He wondered if his eyes were at fault.

Henri stopped pacing, tears running down his face, to kneel beside his own body. He found it hard to see the body clearly, as if he and his remains no longer belonged in the same world. He concentrated and managed to make out the lines of his absent face and the gun-shot wound that had destroyed his right lung.

What confused him was that he still had a body of his own, separate to the dead shell on the floor. He looked down at his new form; it was colourless, like everything else, except for one thing. His right lung was shot through with glowing red veins, emanating from a bright red hole in his chest. The hole was in exactly the same place as the fatal wound on his corpse. He looked around the bleak grey room and knew that he was dead.

"You look lost," said a gentle female voice with an edge.

He twisted around in surprise; sitting perched on the window ledge, knees tucked up to her breasts, was a young woman. That was a second floor window!

The woman had darker skin than Henri, though it still looked greyish, as if the whole world and everyone in it were under a monochrome veil of depression. He felt like he was in a black-and-white movie. However, just as Henri had a glowing bullet wound on his chest, she had a glowing mark of her own. It looked like a set of three claw marks across her stomach and they were visible through her clothes. He sensed that it was not a death wound like his, but a symbol with some kind of meaning, like a tattoo.

"Who are you?!" he gasped, stepping backwards in alarm.

"My name is Sábado," she crowed, unfazed by the abnormality of the situation. "And this is Gatinho," she continued, motioning towards the entrance of his apartment.

He turned and saw a cat sitting in the doorway, still and regal, looking just like a statue of Bastet. It bore the same three-claw symbol as the woman, a much smaller version that glowed from its shoulder. Gatinho meant 'kitten', but the black animal was fully grown. He guessed that the cat was female, though she was decidedly large. She had a musculature that spoke of quiet menace.

"What... where am I?" he stammered.

Something was strange about this place. He seemed to be in his apartment, but most of the furnishings were gone. The ceiling was crooked and the walls leaned in too closely. This grey place was some kind of poor copy, as if this world followed the shape of the world he knew but elaborated on the details by its own whim.

"The Fringe, of course. This is... the borderland. How did you die?" she asked with mild curiosity.

When he remembered those moments of panic and the gunshot that had killed him, his glowing bullet wound ached distantly like an old scar. He could only guess that the body he now inhabited was very different to the corporeal one he had left behind. The wound he had now was not dangerous; it was like a vivid memory.

"I... I was shot by another dealer. They wanted my cocaine," he said. "Are you dead, too?"

"Not anymore," said Sábado with a laugh. "What's your name, friend?"

"I'm Henri. Henri Laurent. I live here... or I did."

She flexed herself at that moment, a grin playing at the corner of her mouth.

"You said your name is Sábado, but what is it really?" he asked, aware that 'Sábado' was Portuguese for Saturday.

"Oh, my dear Henri, I cannot possibly tell you that. You must never give your true name to anyone in the Fringe," she informed him with a laugh.

Henri tensed up, wary of the playful glee shining in her eyes. She was enjoying his confusion and fear. Gatinho mewed gently and Sábado smiled, seeming to hear something that Henri could not.

<Hungry, sister.>

"Patience, Gatinho. We're making a friend," she said.

<Bored. Make him run.>

"Forgive me, Henri, you know how impatient and rude cats are. You see, we have a certain way of understanding each other. So much can be said without words! A movement, a scent, a look..." she explained as her eyes danced over him.

Henri just nodded, trying to deny that the woman had spoken to her cat as if she could understand her. Gatinho remained stoic, insofar as he could tell.

"This is all wrong. I can't be dead." said Henri. "I'm dreaming! I must be."

"In a manner of speaking, yes, you are; but this dream will go on for the rest of your... existence. You're a spirit, Henri, a ghost. I wonder what terrible worries weigh your pretty head down so much that you ended up here instead of passing away."

"No, this is insane! Você é um demónio!" cursed Henri, his mind racing.

Flashes of his drinking friends, his women, his clients, his stashes and his money flickered through his mind. So much was lost to him now. Curiously, the image of his estranged daughter in São Paulo also entered his mind. He had not thought about or seen the girl for many years. He shook the strange thought away.

"I'm not a demon, silly man," said Sábado. "I'm a sleepwalker. I can visit the Fringe, but I still live in the real world. I wonder if this apartment will be available now that you're dead. I could use a new place to crash."

"This is my home!" he shouted, starting to get angry.

He touched the wall, but instead of the dry plaster he expected, he felt a surface like cold marble.

"No, it isn't. You're dead and gone. You're just a knot of emotions and energy, walking around naked and dumb. You're nothing but a headless chicken. You won't survive your afterlife unless you start being nice to helpful strangers like Gatinho and I."

"You're wrong, you have to be," he protested weakly. "Please, just leave."

Henri moved towards the door, but Gatinho hissed at him; in the same moment, the whole world seemed to shake and blur, as if a great wave of bass sound had vibrated through his being. The sensation made him dizzy at first, then caused his joints to ache and his heart to constrict. He stepped back, feeling suddenly tired and ill, as if he had lost blood.

"Now, now," purred Sábado. "That is no way to treat a new friend, sister."

<He stinks of prey.>

"True," she agreed, enjoying Henri's ignorance, laughing gently with a terribly feminine joy.

"Leave me alone!" he shouted, losing his patience. "Get out, you bitch!"

Henri stormed over to her, meaning to force her outside by closing the wooden shutters on the window. She casually kicked out at him, bracing herself on the frame with her hands. The light climbing shoe she wore connected neatly with his chin and sent him backwards. Pain flared through his skull, pain as real as it had ever been back in the world of the living.

Sábado dropped into the room and kicked again, this time at his stomach, making a dull thump. Henri doubled up and dropped to the floor, gasping in pain, clutching at his abdomen. He realised only then that she was beautiful.

"You have no manners, Henri Laurent."

Sábado drew on her chest with her index finger as she intoned his name. She traced a small circle that radiated jagged lines.

He stared dumbly; as she drew, her finger left behind thin, red lines. The lines glowed faintly just like the other marks they both wore. He realised that she was making a rough copy of his death wound. When the symbol was done, a new pain flashed through his being, sapping his energy and leaving him exposed. He felt like she had torn out his heart, like she held it in her hand.

"What are you doing to me?!" he whimpered, but there was no weight in his voice.

"I have caught your name and so I have caught you," purred Sábado. "You're now bound to me. I can find you anywhere. You belong to me."

"Why are you doing this? Leave me alone! Please... oh, I just want to wake up. I want to live..."

"You're living right now, aren't you? An echo of life, but better than nothing. You need to embrace your afterlife, Henri. I'm trying to help you."

Henri was fairly sure that she actually meant that. She was genuinely trying to act as his guide in this nightmare. The problem was that she seemed to share the fickle and cruel sensibilities of her cat. He was exhausted and confused, his belly and chin hurt and his thoughts were a jumble. He rolled onto his side, crawling away. Henri looked for his corpse but it was gone. He was growing more distant from the waking world.

"Are there others?" he asked with a hollow voice.

"Others? You have me, my love," she said with a smirk.

"No... are there other dead people here?"

"Oh yes, many of them. Don't expect any kindness from other spirits; the older they get, the stranger they get. Purgatory wears them down."

"Madre Mia..." he breathed.

Purgatory. He had not considered this place in that light until now. His eyes went to a cross on the wall, one of the things that the Fringe had copied from his real-world apartment. He was not a religious man, but most people had a cross or a picture of Jesus somewhere in the house. Rio was religious by nature and it rubbed off on all of her inhabitants in one way or another. It hung in the air with the heat and the music.

"Gatinho and I will look after you; in return you'll keep us well fed," said Sábado. "We need your vitality... your life. Does it surprise you to learn that spirits still have life? In a way, you have more than you did before. You're no longer limited by your body. So, you'll allow us to feed from you just a little each day and we'll keep you safe from harm. This is fair, don't you think?"

"Feed from me? What are you? Why are you doing this?!" asked Henri, pleading.

The thought of her (or her cursed cat) drinking his life away was abhorrent. It spurred him into action, scrambling across the floor until he met the wall. He looked to one side and found that here in the Fringe, in the echo of his old home, his old desk still stood. There was his salvation, taped under the desk; he could see it from his position on the floor but she could not. He silently thanked the Fringe for duplicating this particular detail from his old life. When he was killed, barely an hour ago, he had failed to reach it in time to save himself. Perhaps this time he could.

He threw himself towards the table. Sábado stepped forwards to catch him but in her overconfidence she had let him slither too far away. He reached under the desk, groping at the tape desperately with a prayer on his lips.

Gatinho leapt onto the table, inches from his face, hissing like a wild cat. Henri shouted in alarm but his fingers wrapped around his prize. Sábado barrelled into his back and pulled him around, but his hand came up with a black handgun. The weapon came to bear directly at her face. Faster than anything he had ever seen before, she was already starting to dodge when he pulled the trigger. The barrel flamed with red light, the mechanics of the gun jarring with the rules of the Fringe, but it worked nonetheless. The bullet tore through her shoulder and she faltered, shock written on her face. The next bullet grazed her upper arm. She fell backwards with a shout of pain.

Gatinho growled and the air shook with a strange vibration again, but Henri was now powered by desperation and horror. He swung the handgun like a club and slammed the beast to the floor before she could sap his strength.

Henri ran, faster than he had ever done when he was alive, fighting through his pain and exhaustion. He sped through his apartment door, onto the thin ledge outside that was actually the roof of the dwelling below.

He soon saw that like his apartment, the rest of purgatory was shaped more or less like the real world, but certain things were wrong. Some buildings were taller or shorter than they should be and there were no people or cars. There was a tree in the courtyard of his block that had certainly not been there before. He looked for the statue of Christ the Redeemer in the distance, only to see that here it was broken, the entire top half missing. He heard a growl of anger behind him and turned to glance back.

Sábado rose from the floor against all explanation, a wicked glint in her eyes. She steadied herself on the desk and he noticed that her fingernails looked longer than before, curved and wicked. Gatinho fussed around her.

Henri could take no more. He fled, hopping onto the corrugated iron roof of the next building. He leapt from there to the next building, no stranger to running through the maze of rooftops that made up the canopy of the favela.

Sábado gritted her teeth, which were rapidly growing into needle points. She tensed herself, bracing against her pain. Her bullet wounds were already healing as Gatinho purred beside her, sharing her strength with her sister. Sábado sighed and walked to the doorway as her flesh knitted back together. The cat skulked beside her feet.

<Hungry.>

"I know. Time to hunt now," she said, glancing at her with a smile. "You did say you wanted him to run."

###

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If you enjoyed The Firebird, British Gods, Thornback or Saturday's Child, you may also enjoy the full version:

Strange Matters

A compilation of short tales of fantasy, myth and magic.

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