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