The Firebird and Other Extracts from Strange Matters by Bret Allen
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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.