Page 103 of Cry of the Firebird

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Anya had spent hours chained to a wall in a large living room that Völundr had gutted for his workspace. She had been unconscious when they had led her out of the other room, disorientating her so she didn't know what floor she was on or in what part of the house. Völundr no longer trusted her in the room with the Ovinnik, and he wasn't about to lose another hostage.

The physical pain of aching arms was hard to bear but having to see Völundr work was worse. Anya had watched him create his crow slaves with such a cruel efficiency, swapping their forms over and over as a form of entertainment. He had drawn a neat circle in chalk behind the door leading into the room and had decorated it in symbols Anya didn't know or understand. When he started to cut himself and draw runes with his blood, Anya thought she would vomit. The tickle of magic she could still feel recoiled inside of her at whatever ritual he was performing.

Anya had been keeping quiet and drowsy, so they thought she was still heavily sedated. She knew she couldn't fool them much because an alarm would sound every two hours, and Völundr would inject more of the drugs into her.

Anya had tried to mind-link with Katya again, but her power was nowhere near strong enough, and the drugs made sure she didn't have a clear head.

Falling in and out of consciousness, she dreamed of the farm, of Eikki, of the firebird blazing in the night, Trajan smiling as he read aloud to her. Images of the past month flowing over and over again. She dreamed of Baba Yagaclack clackingat her loom, Yanka walking through the forest or picking herbs from her garden, of a man with raven hair and golden eyes standing next to a ruined tower on a green hill.

Shouting and commotion in the house brought Anya out of her dream. The door on the other side of the room burst open, and there was Trajan, full of fury and flecked with blood. He instantly spotted her hanging from the wall, and his eyes turn red.

Two guards rushed him, and he grabbed one by the face and flung him hard at the wall. The other man he punched in the throat so hard that his fist came out the back of his neck.

"Trajan, no!" Anya croaked desperately. "The floor?—"

Trajan didn't hear her as he tossed the corpse aside and tried to rush to her side. As soon as he hit the first symbol on the floor, an invisible hand of power slammed him down and into Völundr's circle. Trajan hissed out an otherworldly sound and smashing against the invisible walls, screaming as power electrocuted him.

Trajan sat up with a groan and spat out something black from his mouth. "Anya, are you all right?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," she replied and gave him a weak smile. "Just hanging out and waiting for my rescue."

"I apologize for not being better at it," he wheezed.

"I'm glad you can admit that this was a ridiculous attempt." Völundr appeared, and Anya struggled at her manacles, herhands itching to wipe the grin from his face. "Now, now, Anya, you know what happened last time you caused a fuss."

"He has nothing to do with this, Völundr. It's me Ladislav and Vasilli want. Let him go."

Völundr walked slowly towards Trajan. "No."

"Your magic circle won't hold me for long," Trajan said, his voice changing, becoming deeper and distorted. The hair on Anya's arms stood on end.

"You don't frighten me, thanatos," Völundr hissed.

"I should."

Völundr's hand twisted, and Trajan clutched his head. "Now, Anya, you will see him for what he truly is."

"Stop it, please," she begged as Trajan writhed in pain.

Völundr didn't seem to listen or care. Trajan's clothes were melting under the power pouring from Völundr's hands.

Anya pulled frantically at her chains, trying desperately to touch her magic. She started screaming and Völundr hissed in frustration.

"Shut her up, will you?" he told the nearest guard.

Anya thrashed, trying to fight him off, but as soon as he hit her, her world went black.

Anya was dreamingabout sitting by the fire in her small farmhouse. Eikki was in a chair opposite her and had a kantele on his lap, plucking the strings with well-practiced ease.

"Remember this story, Anya," he said as he continued to play. "It lives in your blood with all of our ancestors, ready to help you when you need it." He started to sing in his strong husky voice, and Anya let the Kalevala's familiar stories wash over her.

Steady old Väinämöinen, rune singer of unspeakable power, had been building a boat and wounded himself with an ax. He had found a gray beard healer to help him with the wound. Väinämöinen was telling the old man about the Origin of Iron. He explained how iron was first created, and knowing it gave the magician power to control it. He had sung his rune songs, and the iron had to obey, removing itself from his leg so it could be healed.

Anya jerked awake as someone hit her in the ribs. She opened swollen eyes and wished she hadn't.

"Wake up, Yanka's blood." Völundr kissed her busted lips softly. "Wake up and see what I have done."

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