The Phoenix Key
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Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
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3,971
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
3,971
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Side Story
Note: This side story is a prequel to \"The Phoenix Key\"
**
The Phoenix Key
“Black Rose”
By: Delilah deSora
pagan_nyght@yahoo.com
**
Take me to the edge of darkness
Follow the moon to its hiding place
There is magic in the silence
As I start my fall from grace
**
The younger boy’s sobs sent shivers through Ivan as he watched his elder brother Vasiliy frowned in distaste and struggled to hold the nearly frantic boy immobile underneath him. The muscles that rippled under pale skin promised to paint an impressively shape in years to come, assuming the boy survived the actions of his captors, but youth still held sway over his developing body and his strength was no match for that of the older man holding him down.
More sobs broke free from the boy as Vasiliy’s movements turned from determined to frantic and the older man’s boenseensed. Ivan waited quietly, observing the tear stained face as his brother finished satisfying his body’s lust and pulled out from the younger boy.
The foreigner’s cries caught in his throat as Vasiliy dropped him to the ground and moved away, wiping his hands against his pants as though he had touched something foul. A whip cut across the boy’s shoulders, spilling more blood across the broken flesh. The boy cried out in pain as the leather whip came down again and again.
The eldest Tsaravich son, Dmitriy, kicked at ribs already broken and laughed at the look of disgust that crossed Vasiliy’s face. The second son scowled and escaped, slipping through the door and back to “civilized reality”.
Their father didn’t stop him.
Ivan glanced up and met Tsar Vislav’s dark stare without flinching. His father glowered at him and Ivan could clearly make out the disgust in the nearly black eyes. At nineteen Ivan showed no sign of ever growing out of the thin tall form he had possessed since childhood. There was no indication that his arms would become muscular or that his face would lose its angles. There was no hint that he would ever grow into the brutish form that marked the males of the Tsaravilan lan and every hint that he would remain tall, willowy, and as beautiful as the ladies that often ended up in the Tsar\'s bed.
This was a fact that his father could not tolerate.
“Well? Are you really that much of a girl, Ivan, that you can’t stomach this?” Dmitriy growled, an oversized hand swinging towards him.
Ivan ducked the blow enough that it wouldn’t hurt him but not enough that it wouldn’t make him stumble. A predatory smirk made its way across his brother’s war scarred face and Ivan brought up a small hand to pretend to soothe an ache on his face.
“It is not for you to order this.” Ivan stated, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his long black hair. It was something he did often when he was nervous and an action his ever-watchful father had tried on numerous occasions to beat out of him.
Dmitriy scowled at him but dared not contradict the statement before the Tsar. Their father loved Dmitriy more than any of his three sons but their father was also their Tsar and a Tsar allowed none of his people to take his power. Even in such a trivial thing as this.
Vislav ignored his sons as he knelt next to the sobbing boy and roughly grabbed a handful of the strange red curls. Ivan watched how the red changed shades as the Tsar tilted the boy’s head back at painful angle. Like fire, he mused, longing to reach out and touch it. Instead he closed his hands into fists and kept his mouth shut.
Vislav flipped the red haired boy over and beckoned his eldest son over as the boy struggled weakly. With Dmitriy holding the man’s arms Vislav produced a knife and even Ivan had to look away when the sharp blade descended towards the boy’s face. The boy cried out in fear and Ivan bit his tongue to keep from whimpering in response to that fear. When that fear turned to pain Ivan fled the room like coward.
Outside he found Vasiliy studiously washing his hands in a basin of water and he shied away from his older brother. Their father would be angry with him for running but he couldn’t bring himself to watch his father mark the boy who had done nothing wrong except for coming to the palace and begging for a room for the night. He had offered stories he had collected from other lands, citing his credentials as a traveler and naming places that most people assumed existed in only stories. He claimed he had truly seen them and offered to share his retellings in return for food and rest.
Tsar Vislav had chosen to take a different form of payment from the stranger.
A hoarse scream came from behind him and Ivan shivered. He wondered what else his father would think of to do to the boy before he was set free. And he would be set free. Ivan’s father never marked someone if he didn’t intend to send him back into the world where all could see someone with enough power to subjugate the boy had marred a formally handsome face. Proof forever that a Tsar was stronger than anyone, even a traveler from other lands.
“Ivan!”
A large hand latched onto his arm and Ivan couldn’t stop the yelp that escaped him as he was dragged back so suddenly he felt his shoulder jar painfully. Dmitriy cuffed the back of his head and he had to blink to chase away the double vision that the blow had caused.
“We’re not done with you yet!” Dmitriy hissed, shoving him back into the room.
Inside the boy was on his side, hands covering his face. Blood ran from between his fingers and Ivan wondered if his father had blinded the boy. It didn’t really matter, Ivan suspected, he doubted that the boy would live long without treatment for the lash wounds that had laid his back and chest open. He knew the wounded boy would receive no treatment from anyone within the palace.
His father grabbed him by the back of his neck and shoved him towards the kneeling man, making Ivan have to skip to keep from tripping over his own feet. A second blow fell to the back of his head, this one stronger than the first and it drove him to his knees next to the stranger. Tsar Vislav scowled down at him.
“I didn’t tell you to leave!” He snapped.
Ivan ducked his head and kept silent.
“Well? Get on with it!” Vislav growled, shoving him nearly on top of the younger boy’s back and making the red haired boy gasp in pain and reach out to steady himself. Ivan found himself staring down into wide golden eyes. Blood flowed from a cut his father had made that started up at the boy’s hairline and cut down towards the left eye. It stopped just short of the eyelid and started up again under the eye. The wound curled along a pale cheek to disappear under the earlobe.
Ivan had to look away, unable to meet the frightened gaze. Getting up onto his knees, Ivan was painfully away of his father and brother’s watchful eyes. Forcing himself to ignore them he shoved the boy down, digging fingers into the worse of the slashes across his back to render the already weakened boy helpless. The boy cried out and nearly passed out, his body prostrating itself on the stone floor.
He was only a year younger than Ivan’s nineteen years but his body was already far more masculine than the prince\'s was. The black haired boy cursed fate and his own mother as he loosened his clothes. He felt his sympathy for the boy turn to hate as he watched muscles he would never posses ripple under torn skin and when he took the boy underneath him he reveled in the quiet sobs he tore from the stranger.
Ivan Tsaravich had never asked to be made delicate like some child’s doll. He’d never asked to be born to a father who prized brute force over intelligence and he’d certainly never wished to be born the brother to an eldest son who worshipped their father and sought to emulate him in every way. He’d never asked for a mother who’d rather take a knife to him then hug him and he’d never asked to be reminded in his dreams every night that he was the reason his mother had flung herself from the highest window she could find.
Ivan had never asked to be beaten whenever Dmitriy caught him alone, never asked to be ordered by his father to prove that he was truly a man time and time again. He had never asked to lie awake at night in the dark, fearful that every sound was that of his father’s drunken footsteps just outside his door. He had never asked to be the black sheep of his family. He had never asked to be powerless to direct his own fate.
So Ivan closed his eyes, pushing away the knowledge that his father and brother were just a few feet away watching him, and concentrated solely on the body underneath, on the knowledge that, if only for this short time, he was the one with all the power. He rose up higher on his knees, twisting cruelly and getting a sharp cry of surprise from the form underneath him. A smirk crossed his lips as repeated the motion and forced another cry from the boy.
Too soon Ivan became aware of his father’s darkening façade and knew that he had dragged his little fantasy out long enough. Pushing the already broad shoulders to the floor he drove the pace to a frantic pitch and allowed himself to tumble over the edge. The only indication that the boy beneath him had even noticed that he had been forced to satisfy someone else’s pleasure was the quiet sobs he breathed against the stone of the floor.
Ivan refastened his pants and walked out of the room, turning his back on what he had just done with nothing more than the silent prayer that the boy wouldn’t survive to remember what had just happened to him as penitence.
**
Pain tore through the aching numbness that had encapsulated his body, making the boy hiss and struggle to find a more comfortable position. It was futile, however, for with every twitch red-hot pain would flow through his body in place of blood. Cracked lips opened to release a sob but no sound escaped. The boy gasped and sat up, ignoring the rending of welt upon his back as he reached up to touch his throat.
He blinked in relief to find that there were no marks there but the tightening of flesh along the side of his face reminded him of where else he was wounded. A breeze danced over his bare skin and he sobbed in silence.
He had to leave, to escape. He had to get away before they found him again. He closed his eyes tightly against the half remembered memories. Getting to his feet was a struggle. Broken ribs shifted and his arm was nearly useless but fear drove him past the pain.
He only made it a few steps, however, before his body gave out and he tumbled to the ground. He may have blacked out again, he wasn’t sure, but when he became aware of the world once more he found he couldn’t get up. He closed his eyes tightly and breathed out the only name that might save him from his fate.
“Libertine . . .”
The air around him seemed to take a deep breath as the wind carried the name away. He lay for what seemed like an eternity before something gently brushed his torn cheek. He forced open his amber eyes and stared up at the pale woman before him. She blinked slanted emeral eyes at him, waiting.
“Help me.” He whispered.
The rusalki nodded and disappeared in a whisper of skirts. When she returned he stared at the fruit in her hands. She smiled at him patiently and broke it into pieces, holding them to his lips. Powerless to do otherwise he allowed her to feed him. Warm coursed through his body and he shuddered. He struggled to sit up but could not.
\"I will help you but then our pact is over, agreed?\"
He nodded, too tired to even speak.
Libertine bent over him, her long silver hair sliding over his ruined back and making him whimper in pain. “Sleep now, human. I will fulfill my debt to you.” Cool breath blew over his ear and he felt himself falling into the darkness of the fae’s making.
**
“Who has done this?”
The hall shook with the bellows of the kingdom’s Tsar. Ivan peered up from under a curtain of his hair curiously as his father stormed into the dinning hall, throwing guards and servants alike out of his path as he moved to take his seat at the high table. Ivan was suddenly grateful that his feminine appearance kept his regulated to a lower table and thus far away from his father’s rage. Less fortunate were Vasiliy and Dmitriy who were trapped on either side of their red-faced father.
“What has happened, my lord?” Dmitriy dared when it became apparent that Vasiliy wasn’t going to chance confronting their father’s anger.
Black eyes swept over the assemblage. “Someone has stolen my apples.”
Ivan’s green eyes widened as gasps rattled through the crowd. There was no need to ask which apples the Tsar was talking about. There was only one orchard in the entire kingdom Vislav would be so furious over. His magical orchard.
Tsar Vislav ’t h’t have hobbies like other men. While some collected horses or estates or war stories, Vislav collected magic. If it was magic and fell within his grasp, Vislav took it. Whether it wanted to come to him or not.
Ivan had seen the stuffed remains of magical creatures his father displayed in his collection halls. He’d even seen some of the remains that Vislav kept in private. His father didn’t collect just magical creatures, though. He collected anything with any hint of magic. Books, scrolls, objects, creatures, and magic seeds. It was the last category that had given Tsar Vislav the orchard of apple trees that he kept cordoned off in one of the palace’s courtyards.
Thirty foot walls made of vertical stone smoothed so that no foothold could be used kept any would be thieves from entering the orchard and making off with the magical apples that people whispered granted anything from magical healing to eternal youth. In reality nobody really knew what the apples granted. Vislav was too intelligent to ingest anything that hadn’t already been tested by someone else and he was too jealous to let anyone take of of his apples. Therefore the orchard stood unmolested. When an apple fell Vislav went out and gathered it up. He knew every apple on every tree.
And apparently some ingenious being had found a way to get over the wall. Or perhaps, Ivan mused, through the steel door that lead to the orchard. Could someone have picked the lock? He knew two guards were posted on either side of the door. Could a thief have gotten past them?
“But how?” Vasiliy asked, frowning as he tried to work through the mystery.
Vislav growled low in his chest. “I do not know how they got in, nor how they escaped.”
Which, to Ivan’s mind, meant the thief hadn’t gone through the door.
“Perhaps a bird, my lord?” Dmitriy asked.
The Tsar’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. “With every apple?”
The eldest Tsaravich son fell silent and looked away. Dmitriy might not have been the most brilliant man alive but even he knew what an impossibility that was. The hall was so quiet Ivan could hear his neighbor’s breathing. Up on the dais he could see Vasiliy and Dmitriy looking around for any avenue of escape.
Suddenly Dmitriy stood, puffing out his chest slightly and making Ivan resist the urge to laugh at his brother’s self-importance. “I will catch this thief for you father!”
Vislav frowned slightly before nodding. “Be sure that you do, my son.”
/> />
The gathered court gave polite shouts of encouragement and Ivan quickly finished off his meal. When he saw Vislav lean in to speak with Dmitriy he slipped up to wedge himself between the servers that hovered near the high table and the wall where he wouldn’t be seen. He learned that the guards at the doors had heard nor seen anything and the door itself hadn’t been touched. Therefore the thief must have come in from some other way.
It was possible, Ivan considered, for someone to come in from the roof but he wasn’t sure how they would get back up with nearly thirty trees worth of apples, and if they had come from the roof they would have had to escape through routes where they would be highly visible to the other guards of the household.
That only left the walls.
Slipping away from the dinning hall Ivan went to go investigate. As the cool spring air touched his face and fluttered the shoulder length black hair away from his neck he picked his way through brush to get to the back of the palace where the smooth stone walls rose from the ground.
Reaching out his hand he traced long thin fingers over the stone, marveling at the smoothness. They had been recently sanded after the threat of another winter frost had passed. Every autumn and spring brought rains that would freeze and expand, making the smooth stone rough and cracked and every year Tsar Vislav had workers come out and sand away the imperfections.
Shaking his head after he had paced back and forth alone the wall Ivan stepped back and stared at it as a whole. There were no trees near the walls nor were there any branches from which another could leap from. The tops of the walls had been sanded as well so that no hooked instrument could find a purchase. They couldn’t be jumped, climbed, or scaled.
So how had the thief gotten in?
Ivan sat down upon a rock set back among the trees and rested his pointed chin in the palm of his hand to ponder the problem. It wasn’t that he particularly cared that his father had been stolen from. The gods knew there was no love lost between he and his father. He also did not care if Dmitriy caught the thief either. No, he was only interested in finding the thief for his own reasons.
After all, would the Tsar not have to reward him for his services?
And wouldn’t it make Tsar Vislav growl if his slight son outshone his two strong ones?
As he sat considering his eyes followed the approach of a few guardsman and his brothers. Dmitriy didn’t seem to be interested in anything and seemed to think the trek a waste of his time but Ivan was glad to see Vasiliy at least making some attempt at looking for a clue on the wall. After a few moments Dmitriy bellowed in impatience and stormed off, no doubt to harass some unlikely villagers. Vasiliy followed a few moments later, having given up on his search.
Sighing, Ivan leaned back against a tree. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way? Perhaps the thief really was an animal, though how any animal had gotten every apple out of Vislav’s orchid Ivan had no idea. As far as Ivan could tell the whole affair had to be magic.
Magic!
The youngest of the Tsaravich’s sat up straight and stared at the wall. If a man used magic he might be able to fly over the walls, or even walk through the walls. He wasn’t very clear on how magic worked, it involved more of the mind than Vislav was willing to waste and so his sons had been shoved into more physical pursuits but Ivan had read what books he could get his hands on and knew enough to know that magic could be a possibility.
But who in the kingdom had such powers?
**
The bellows of the Tsar woke the household the next morning. Ivan huddled in a doorway; prepared to flee at the slightest indication that his father’s rage was over him but to his relief the red faced Tsar was directing his fury at his eldest son. Dmitriy was nursing a broken nose and swearing up and down that he had done all he could.
“What has happened?” Ivan dared to ask the servant next to him.
The girl glanced at him and went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Last night someone stole all the new apples from the orchard. Dmitriy was there guarding it at the time!”
The black haired boy blinked. “They were stolen while he was there?”
She nodded. “He fell asleep while he was guarding it, that’s why the Tsar is so angry.”
Ivan frowned and slipped away. Dmitriy took his soldiering very seriously and he would never have fallen asleep while guarding something. Perhaps he had been drunk? He shook his head, that didn’t seem likely either. Dmitriy simply didn’t allow himself such vices when he had a duty to see to.
A light drizzle of rain dampened his hair as he slipped outside to make a new study of the wall. As with the day before there were no signs of anything’s passage. Whatever had stolen the apples had left no mark of its passing. Upon returning to the palace he discovered that Vasiliy had been charged with guarding the apples for the night. Vasiliy had begged permission to bring soldiers into the orchard to help him and Vislav had agreed.
The next morning brought more bellowing and another son clutching a bloodied face as well as a dozen soldiers being reassigned to undesirable jobs out in the wilds of the kingdom for having fallen asleep while guarding the Tsar’s orchard. That afternoon Ivan received a summons from his father and was astonished to find his father ordering him to find the thief.
“You will discover the thief and you will bring him to me.” Vislav stated as he tried to tower over his son.
Ivan stood stiffly, his hands clasped behind his back. His father might be able to physically overpower him but the man hadn’t been able to tower over him on an even floor in three years. They were of equal height and Ivan was able to stare his father in his nearly coal black eyes.
“As you wish, my lord.” He murmured.
Vislav glowered at him for a moment before waving him off. Ivan refused the offer of guards and begged to be left alone for the rest of the afternoon. In his room he locked his door and sat in the chair that had once belonged to his mother next to a warm fire. Staring into the flames he let his mind run circles as he tried to figure out his next step.
When night fell he was escorted to the orchard and shoved through the steel door. He heard it lock firmly behind him and he stepped down onto the soft spring grass. Tall thin trees rose before him. Their boughs were heavy with leaves and blossoms. Their magical nature allowed them to bear apples all year long and Ivan could see the sparkle of full fruit amongst some of the branches. It took him a moment to orient himself and another few minutes to find a tree with a low branch. Dragging himself up into its boughs and positioning his body so he could have a clear view of the entire wall, Ivan settled back and waited.
He didn’t know how many hours had passed before he felt the sensation of falling. He jerked awake as soon as his body struck the ground and he winced, glad he hadn’t broken anything. His eyes widened as he realized what had happened.
He had fallen asleep.
Ivan crouched close to the trunk of the tree, resisting the urge to wipe off the dew that soaked through his clothes and peered about the orchard. He had suspected that he would be lulled to sleep like his brothers and had purposely found a branch that required constant attention to balance on. If one didn’t concentrate they would lose their balance and fall, as he had just done. It solidified what he has suspected. The thief was using magic.
Years of slipping past guards, brothers, and his father had taught Ivan to walk on cat’s feet and he put nineteen years of learning to use as he crept through trees. Halfway back to the door he saw the first sign of an intruder.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of color but when he turned to stare at what had caught his attention he didn’t see anything. Moving silently from tree to tree Ivan searched for the thief.
It didn’t miss his attention that all the trees he passed had been devoid of apples.
Coming around a tree to get a better view of the middle of the orchard Ivan came face to face with another man. Both of them jumped back in surprise, golden apples tumbling from a dropped bag that seemed far too small to hold all the missing apples. Staring out across the darkness Ivan gasped.
“You!”
Wide golden eyes stared at him for a moment before the red haired stranger turned and fled. Ivan cursed and chased after him, grabbing a handful of cloth and tumbling them both to the ground. The younger boy’s shirt ripped and Ivan stared in disbelief.
The pale skin underneath the shirt was crisscrossed with scars, testimony that the boy had been beaten with a whip, but that was all they were. Just scars, not the open wounds they should have been with only a week’s worth of healing. Long fingers traced the widest of the scars as Ivan’s mind tried to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.
The boy beneath him shoved himself back up and Ivan had to clutch a thick arm to keep from being sprawled onto the dew soaked grass. The boy stared at him with frightened eyes and Ivan made out a small metal flute on a chain about his neck. Looking up into the wide gold eyes Ivan could just make out the long scar the came down the boy’s forehead to cross over his left eye and suddenly the black haired boy knew.
“You ate the fruit.” He whispered.
The other boy jerked his arm away from Ivan’s grasp and fled, leaving Ivan with bits of torn shirt. Pulling himself up to his feet Ivan followed but was unsurprised to see that the boy had disappeared, as though into thin air. Holding the torn shirt in his hands Ivan’s fingers encountered a lock of curly red hair. Picking it free of the button it had been caught on, Ivan stared at it as it fluttered in the light breeze.
**
He gasped for breath, leaning against the newly crafted door of the cottage. His torn shirt fluttered against his skin and he could feel a set of angry scratches the tsar’s son had left on his chest. Shaking his head he knocked softly on the door. It opened and he slipped inside, ignoring the worried glance of the woman who held the door for him.
“I must leave, lady. I know I have not repaid you for your kindness yet but . . .”
She shook her head and shoved a bag into his hand. He stared at it blankly and she gave him a sour look. “I know. Just go, and hurry. The Tsar is furious over the thefts and if he catches you . . . no, best not to think of it.”
He smiled and kissed her wrinkled forehead. “Thank you.” He whispered.
She nodded and shooed him out the door
**
Tsar Vislav made an impressive figure sitting upon the heavy wooden throne. It was rare that he used it but today was a special day. Leaning forward a bit he caught the attention of the assembled court and held it in an iron fist as he spoke to proclamation to his three sons. To the one who brought him the thief that had stolen his apples he would give half of his kingdom.
Ivan bowed in acknowledgement in time with his brothers but allowed them to leave first. He had no illusions that they would play fair, nor did he believe they would give him the chance to be the one to bring back the “firebird” as Vislav’s people were calling the thief. Servants had caught sight of the red lock of hair Ivan had shown his father and they had mistaken it for a feather. They had also mistaken the way the firelight had reflected off the strands for the flicker of real fire.
Vislav had done nothing to suppress the rumor. It was easier on his pride to declare the thief a magical bird then to admit that another human being had cheated him, let alone a human being he had placed his mark upon.
While Dmitriy and Vasiliy had ridden straight out Ivan had elected to stay for another day within the palace. Vislav had snipped and snarled at him but he had explained that he did not wish to get in his brothers’ way. That had somewhat satisfied his father’s anger. What Ivan had really wished to stay for, however, was to ask around the palace about the red haired stranger who had visited nearly a month before.
He had explained to the servants that the stranger might be able to give him some information on the firebird and where it might find it. From their talk he was able to discover that the red haired stranger had been a traveler named Trey. No one had seen him before but he did find one sheepherd who had seen him since his father had released him. The sheepherd had sent him to an old woman who lived within the forest saying that he had collected a few planks of wood at her behest.
So it was that the tsar’s youngest son found himself cursing his father’s slowness and trudging through a path more mud then dirt. He had lost a month’s travel already and he feared that the trail had grown cold. Ivan resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose as he stepped over the mud-encrusted porch to knock on a door that looked new. It creaked open and he found himself staring at a woman who looked older than the earth itself. She scowled at him and made no move to allow him to enter.
Sighing to himself he forced a pleasant expression and bowed deeply. “Fair morning, lady.”
She continued to glare silently.
“My name is Ilya.”
He paused, waiting to see if she called his bluff but the suspicious look never deepened and he smiled to himself. “I fear I am in need of some help,” he said, peering about himself, “I am not from these parts and I have lost my companion. Nobody seems to have seen him, which is odd since he is rather hard to miss. Fortunately we have made allowances for such a thing and planned on a few meeting places. I was told there was a city around here which was where we were to meet but I can’t seem to find it since my missing companion has all the maps!” He sighed dramatically, waving his hand limply in the air. “Anyway, I was hoping you could perhaps point me in the direction of the nearest city so I could get a decent night’s sleep and hope my dear cousin Trey s his his way there.”
He saw the crone’s brown eyes narrow at the mention of the missing man’s name and fought the urge to laugh. So she had seen him . . . and probably harbored the boy as well. He wondered if she had any of the missing apples but brushed the thought off. He cared not where the apples had gone to, just where the object of his reward was.
“Take the right path, by the river. It will lead you to the city.”
Ivan bowed again and thanked her profusely. As he walked away with slow s hes he turned to wave over his shoulder. “Thank you again, lady. I am sure I will find someone in the town that has seen my companion. If I know him he’s probably living it up at some noble’s palace. I think I’ll ask around all the pretty ladies first.”
He heard the soft gasp but kept walking until he heard the door slam and the woman’s step on the porch.
“Wait!”
Ivan wiped the smirk off his face and turned, looking pleasantly curious. “Yes, lady?”
She stood there, staring at him for a long moment. “Did your brother tell you which inn to meet at?”
Oh clever woman, Ivan congratulated. She was trying to prove his truth by weaving him a lie to trap him with his own words. He smiled. “My cousin and I have never been to these parts before. We knew of no inn to meet at.”
She glanced around before waving him closer. “Your cousin is not here, nor will he be in the city,” she whispered to him.
“Why ever not?” He asked.
“He ran afoul of some powerful men who now hunt him.”
Ivan gasped, playing up his naturally unthreatening appearance. “No!”
She nodded gravely. “He has fled, to the kingdom in the south ruled by Tsar Dedumil.”
He bowed. “Thank you for your honesty, lady. And for whatever help you may have given my cousin. It is greatly appreciated.”
He received another hesitant look, as though she still wasn’t sure she had done the right thing but he ignored it. Turning he moved down the path until he reached his horse. He swung himself up into the saddle and mulled over the quickest path for the fleeing firebird to have taken.
His mind finally settled on the only logical path and he nudged his horse foreward. He didn\'t know what the road ahead would hold but he did not care. There was nothing that a desperate prince could not overcome. For the first time in his life he had been given the chance to better his lot. He feared no failure for he trusted his quick mind. He knew this would be the only chance he would ever be given to prove himself. It would be the only chance to get him out from his father\'s dark household.
Let fate do its worse. Let it fling danger after danger at him. Let his brothers ride forth laughing at him, the youngest prince playing at being a hero. Let theebirebird fly to the very face of the sun itself. In the end the prize would be his.
Even if he had to cheat death itself.
**
They said that good things come to those who wait
And I\'ve waited for so long
It\'s now or never and the hour\'s late
I want this moment right or wrong
-Lyrics by Lori Yates
\"Black Rose\"
**
-End-
**
Note: I don’t own the song “Black Rose”, though I do own the cd it is on :)
**
The Phoenix Key
“Black Rose”
By: Delilah deSora
pagan_nyght@yahoo.com
**
Take me to the edge of darkness
Follow the moon to its hiding place
There is magic in the silence
As I start my fall from grace
**
The younger boy’s sobs sent shivers through Ivan as he watched his elder brother Vasiliy frowned in distaste and struggled to hold the nearly frantic boy immobile underneath him. The muscles that rippled under pale skin promised to paint an impressively shape in years to come, assuming the boy survived the actions of his captors, but youth still held sway over his developing body and his strength was no match for that of the older man holding him down.
More sobs broke free from the boy as Vasiliy’s movements turned from determined to frantic and the older man’s boenseensed. Ivan waited quietly, observing the tear stained face as his brother finished satisfying his body’s lust and pulled out from the younger boy.
The foreigner’s cries caught in his throat as Vasiliy dropped him to the ground and moved away, wiping his hands against his pants as though he had touched something foul. A whip cut across the boy’s shoulders, spilling more blood across the broken flesh. The boy cried out in pain as the leather whip came down again and again.
The eldest Tsaravich son, Dmitriy, kicked at ribs already broken and laughed at the look of disgust that crossed Vasiliy’s face. The second son scowled and escaped, slipping through the door and back to “civilized reality”.
Their father didn’t stop him.
Ivan glanced up and met Tsar Vislav’s dark stare without flinching. His father glowered at him and Ivan could clearly make out the disgust in the nearly black eyes. At nineteen Ivan showed no sign of ever growing out of the thin tall form he had possessed since childhood. There was no indication that his arms would become muscular or that his face would lose its angles. There was no hint that he would ever grow into the brutish form that marked the males of the Tsaravilan lan and every hint that he would remain tall, willowy, and as beautiful as the ladies that often ended up in the Tsar\'s bed.
This was a fact that his father could not tolerate.
“Well? Are you really that much of a girl, Ivan, that you can’t stomach this?” Dmitriy growled, an oversized hand swinging towards him.
Ivan ducked the blow enough that it wouldn’t hurt him but not enough that it wouldn’t make him stumble. A predatory smirk made its way across his brother’s war scarred face and Ivan brought up a small hand to pretend to soothe an ache on his face.
“It is not for you to order this.” Ivan stated, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his long black hair. It was something he did often when he was nervous and an action his ever-watchful father had tried on numerous occasions to beat out of him.
Dmitriy scowled at him but dared not contradict the statement before the Tsar. Their father loved Dmitriy more than any of his three sons but their father was also their Tsar and a Tsar allowed none of his people to take his power. Even in such a trivial thing as this.
Vislav ignored his sons as he knelt next to the sobbing boy and roughly grabbed a handful of the strange red curls. Ivan watched how the red changed shades as the Tsar tilted the boy’s head back at painful angle. Like fire, he mused, longing to reach out and touch it. Instead he closed his hands into fists and kept his mouth shut.
Vislav flipped the red haired boy over and beckoned his eldest son over as the boy struggled weakly. With Dmitriy holding the man’s arms Vislav produced a knife and even Ivan had to look away when the sharp blade descended towards the boy’s face. The boy cried out in fear and Ivan bit his tongue to keep from whimpering in response to that fear. When that fear turned to pain Ivan fled the room like coward.
Outside he found Vasiliy studiously washing his hands in a basin of water and he shied away from his older brother. Their father would be angry with him for running but he couldn’t bring himself to watch his father mark the boy who had done nothing wrong except for coming to the palace and begging for a room for the night. He had offered stories he had collected from other lands, citing his credentials as a traveler and naming places that most people assumed existed in only stories. He claimed he had truly seen them and offered to share his retellings in return for food and rest.
Tsar Vislav had chosen to take a different form of payment from the stranger.
A hoarse scream came from behind him and Ivan shivered. He wondered what else his father would think of to do to the boy before he was set free. And he would be set free. Ivan’s father never marked someone if he didn’t intend to send him back into the world where all could see someone with enough power to subjugate the boy had marred a formally handsome face. Proof forever that a Tsar was stronger than anyone, even a traveler from other lands.
“Ivan!”
A large hand latched onto his arm and Ivan couldn’t stop the yelp that escaped him as he was dragged back so suddenly he felt his shoulder jar painfully. Dmitriy cuffed the back of his head and he had to blink to chase away the double vision that the blow had caused.
“We’re not done with you yet!” Dmitriy hissed, shoving him back into the room.
Inside the boy was on his side, hands covering his face. Blood ran from between his fingers and Ivan wondered if his father had blinded the boy. It didn’t really matter, Ivan suspected, he doubted that the boy would live long without treatment for the lash wounds that had laid his back and chest open. He knew the wounded boy would receive no treatment from anyone within the palace.
His father grabbed him by the back of his neck and shoved him towards the kneeling man, making Ivan have to skip to keep from tripping over his own feet. A second blow fell to the back of his head, this one stronger than the first and it drove him to his knees next to the stranger. Tsar Vislav scowled down at him.
“I didn’t tell you to leave!” He snapped.
Ivan ducked his head and kept silent.
“Well? Get on with it!” Vislav growled, shoving him nearly on top of the younger boy’s back and making the red haired boy gasp in pain and reach out to steady himself. Ivan found himself staring down into wide golden eyes. Blood flowed from a cut his father had made that started up at the boy’s hairline and cut down towards the left eye. It stopped just short of the eyelid and started up again under the eye. The wound curled along a pale cheek to disappear under the earlobe.
Ivan had to look away, unable to meet the frightened gaze. Getting up onto his knees, Ivan was painfully away of his father and brother’s watchful eyes. Forcing himself to ignore them he shoved the boy down, digging fingers into the worse of the slashes across his back to render the already weakened boy helpless. The boy cried out and nearly passed out, his body prostrating itself on the stone floor.
He was only a year younger than Ivan’s nineteen years but his body was already far more masculine than the prince\'s was. The black haired boy cursed fate and his own mother as he loosened his clothes. He felt his sympathy for the boy turn to hate as he watched muscles he would never posses ripple under torn skin and when he took the boy underneath him he reveled in the quiet sobs he tore from the stranger.
Ivan Tsaravich had never asked to be made delicate like some child’s doll. He’d never asked to be born to a father who prized brute force over intelligence and he’d certainly never wished to be born the brother to an eldest son who worshipped their father and sought to emulate him in every way. He’d never asked for a mother who’d rather take a knife to him then hug him and he’d never asked to be reminded in his dreams every night that he was the reason his mother had flung herself from the highest window she could find.
Ivan had never asked to be beaten whenever Dmitriy caught him alone, never asked to be ordered by his father to prove that he was truly a man time and time again. He had never asked to lie awake at night in the dark, fearful that every sound was that of his father’s drunken footsteps just outside his door. He had never asked to be the black sheep of his family. He had never asked to be powerless to direct his own fate.
So Ivan closed his eyes, pushing away the knowledge that his father and brother were just a few feet away watching him, and concentrated solely on the body underneath, on the knowledge that, if only for this short time, he was the one with all the power. He rose up higher on his knees, twisting cruelly and getting a sharp cry of surprise from the form underneath him. A smirk crossed his lips as repeated the motion and forced another cry from the boy.
Too soon Ivan became aware of his father’s darkening façade and knew that he had dragged his little fantasy out long enough. Pushing the already broad shoulders to the floor he drove the pace to a frantic pitch and allowed himself to tumble over the edge. The only indication that the boy beneath him had even noticed that he had been forced to satisfy someone else’s pleasure was the quiet sobs he breathed against the stone of the floor.
Ivan refastened his pants and walked out of the room, turning his back on what he had just done with nothing more than the silent prayer that the boy wouldn’t survive to remember what had just happened to him as penitence.
**
Pain tore through the aching numbness that had encapsulated his body, making the boy hiss and struggle to find a more comfortable position. It was futile, however, for with every twitch red-hot pain would flow through his body in place of blood. Cracked lips opened to release a sob but no sound escaped. The boy gasped and sat up, ignoring the rending of welt upon his back as he reached up to touch his throat.
He blinked in relief to find that there were no marks there but the tightening of flesh along the side of his face reminded him of where else he was wounded. A breeze danced over his bare skin and he sobbed in silence.
He had to leave, to escape. He had to get away before they found him again. He closed his eyes tightly against the half remembered memories. Getting to his feet was a struggle. Broken ribs shifted and his arm was nearly useless but fear drove him past the pain.
He only made it a few steps, however, before his body gave out and he tumbled to the ground. He may have blacked out again, he wasn’t sure, but when he became aware of the world once more he found he couldn’t get up. He closed his eyes tightly and breathed out the only name that might save him from his fate.
“Libertine . . .”
The air around him seemed to take a deep breath as the wind carried the name away. He lay for what seemed like an eternity before something gently brushed his torn cheek. He forced open his amber eyes and stared up at the pale woman before him. She blinked slanted emeral eyes at him, waiting.
“Help me.” He whispered.
The rusalki nodded and disappeared in a whisper of skirts. When she returned he stared at the fruit in her hands. She smiled at him patiently and broke it into pieces, holding them to his lips. Powerless to do otherwise he allowed her to feed him. Warm coursed through his body and he shuddered. He struggled to sit up but could not.
\"I will help you but then our pact is over, agreed?\"
He nodded, too tired to even speak.
Libertine bent over him, her long silver hair sliding over his ruined back and making him whimper in pain. “Sleep now, human. I will fulfill my debt to you.” Cool breath blew over his ear and he felt himself falling into the darkness of the fae’s making.
**
“Who has done this?”
The hall shook with the bellows of the kingdom’s Tsar. Ivan peered up from under a curtain of his hair curiously as his father stormed into the dinning hall, throwing guards and servants alike out of his path as he moved to take his seat at the high table. Ivan was suddenly grateful that his feminine appearance kept his regulated to a lower table and thus far away from his father’s rage. Less fortunate were Vasiliy and Dmitriy who were trapped on either side of their red-faced father.
“What has happened, my lord?” Dmitriy dared when it became apparent that Vasiliy wasn’t going to chance confronting their father’s anger.
Black eyes swept over the assemblage. “Someone has stolen my apples.”
Ivan’s green eyes widened as gasps rattled through the crowd. There was no need to ask which apples the Tsar was talking about. There was only one orchard in the entire kingdom Vislav would be so furious over. His magical orchard.
Tsar Vislav ’t h’t have hobbies like other men. While some collected horses or estates or war stories, Vislav collected magic. If it was magic and fell within his grasp, Vislav took it. Whether it wanted to come to him or not.
Ivan had seen the stuffed remains of magical creatures his father displayed in his collection halls. He’d even seen some of the remains that Vislav kept in private. His father didn’t collect just magical creatures, though. He collected anything with any hint of magic. Books, scrolls, objects, creatures, and magic seeds. It was the last category that had given Tsar Vislav the orchard of apple trees that he kept cordoned off in one of the palace’s courtyards.
Thirty foot walls made of vertical stone smoothed so that no foothold could be used kept any would be thieves from entering the orchard and making off with the magical apples that people whispered granted anything from magical healing to eternal youth. In reality nobody really knew what the apples granted. Vislav was too intelligent to ingest anything that hadn’t already been tested by someone else and he was too jealous to let anyone take of of his apples. Therefore the orchard stood unmolested. When an apple fell Vislav went out and gathered it up. He knew every apple on every tree.
And apparently some ingenious being had found a way to get over the wall. Or perhaps, Ivan mused, through the steel door that lead to the orchard. Could someone have picked the lock? He knew two guards were posted on either side of the door. Could a thief have gotten past them?
“But how?” Vasiliy asked, frowning as he tried to work through the mystery.
Vislav growled low in his chest. “I do not know how they got in, nor how they escaped.”
Which, to Ivan’s mind, meant the thief hadn’t gone through the door.
“Perhaps a bird, my lord?” Dmitriy asked.
The Tsar’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. “With every apple?”
The eldest Tsaravich son fell silent and looked away. Dmitriy might not have been the most brilliant man alive but even he knew what an impossibility that was. The hall was so quiet Ivan could hear his neighbor’s breathing. Up on the dais he could see Vasiliy and Dmitriy looking around for any avenue of escape.
Suddenly Dmitriy stood, puffing out his chest slightly and making Ivan resist the urge to laugh at his brother’s self-importance. “I will catch this thief for you father!”
Vislav frowned slightly before nodding. “Be sure that you do, my son.”
/> />
The gathered court gave polite shouts of encouragement and Ivan quickly finished off his meal. When he saw Vislav lean in to speak with Dmitriy he slipped up to wedge himself between the servers that hovered near the high table and the wall where he wouldn’t be seen. He learned that the guards at the doors had heard nor seen anything and the door itself hadn’t been touched. Therefore the thief must have come in from some other way.
It was possible, Ivan considered, for someone to come in from the roof but he wasn’t sure how they would get back up with nearly thirty trees worth of apples, and if they had come from the roof they would have had to escape through routes where they would be highly visible to the other guards of the household.
That only left the walls.
Slipping away from the dinning hall Ivan went to go investigate. As the cool spring air touched his face and fluttered the shoulder length black hair away from his neck he picked his way through brush to get to the back of the palace where the smooth stone walls rose from the ground.
Reaching out his hand he traced long thin fingers over the stone, marveling at the smoothness. They had been recently sanded after the threat of another winter frost had passed. Every autumn and spring brought rains that would freeze and expand, making the smooth stone rough and cracked and every year Tsar Vislav had workers come out and sand away the imperfections.
Shaking his head after he had paced back and forth alone the wall Ivan stepped back and stared at it as a whole. There were no trees near the walls nor were there any branches from which another could leap from. The tops of the walls had been sanded as well so that no hooked instrument could find a purchase. They couldn’t be jumped, climbed, or scaled.
So how had the thief gotten in?
Ivan sat down upon a rock set back among the trees and rested his pointed chin in the palm of his hand to ponder the problem. It wasn’t that he particularly cared that his father had been stolen from. The gods knew there was no love lost between he and his father. He also did not care if Dmitriy caught the thief either. No, he was only interested in finding the thief for his own reasons.
After all, would the Tsar not have to reward him for his services?
And wouldn’t it make Tsar Vislav growl if his slight son outshone his two strong ones?
As he sat considering his eyes followed the approach of a few guardsman and his brothers. Dmitriy didn’t seem to be interested in anything and seemed to think the trek a waste of his time but Ivan was glad to see Vasiliy at least making some attempt at looking for a clue on the wall. After a few moments Dmitriy bellowed in impatience and stormed off, no doubt to harass some unlikely villagers. Vasiliy followed a few moments later, having given up on his search.
Sighing, Ivan leaned back against a tree. Perhaps he was going about this the wrong way? Perhaps the thief really was an animal, though how any animal had gotten every apple out of Vislav’s orchid Ivan had no idea. As far as Ivan could tell the whole affair had to be magic.
Magic!
The youngest of the Tsaravich’s sat up straight and stared at the wall. If a man used magic he might be able to fly over the walls, or even walk through the walls. He wasn’t very clear on how magic worked, it involved more of the mind than Vislav was willing to waste and so his sons had been shoved into more physical pursuits but Ivan had read what books he could get his hands on and knew enough to know that magic could be a possibility.
But who in the kingdom had such powers?
**
The bellows of the Tsar woke the household the next morning. Ivan huddled in a doorway; prepared to flee at the slightest indication that his father’s rage was over him but to his relief the red faced Tsar was directing his fury at his eldest son. Dmitriy was nursing a broken nose and swearing up and down that he had done all he could.
“What has happened?” Ivan dared to ask the servant next to him.
The girl glanced at him and went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Last night someone stole all the new apples from the orchard. Dmitriy was there guarding it at the time!”
The black haired boy blinked. “They were stolen while he was there?”
She nodded. “He fell asleep while he was guarding it, that’s why the Tsar is so angry.”
Ivan frowned and slipped away. Dmitriy took his soldiering very seriously and he would never have fallen asleep while guarding something. Perhaps he had been drunk? He shook his head, that didn’t seem likely either. Dmitriy simply didn’t allow himself such vices when he had a duty to see to.
A light drizzle of rain dampened his hair as he slipped outside to make a new study of the wall. As with the day before there were no signs of anything’s passage. Whatever had stolen the apples had left no mark of its passing. Upon returning to the palace he discovered that Vasiliy had been charged with guarding the apples for the night. Vasiliy had begged permission to bring soldiers into the orchard to help him and Vislav had agreed.
The next morning brought more bellowing and another son clutching a bloodied face as well as a dozen soldiers being reassigned to undesirable jobs out in the wilds of the kingdom for having fallen asleep while guarding the Tsar’s orchard. That afternoon Ivan received a summons from his father and was astonished to find his father ordering him to find the thief.
“You will discover the thief and you will bring him to me.” Vislav stated as he tried to tower over his son.
Ivan stood stiffly, his hands clasped behind his back. His father might be able to physically overpower him but the man hadn’t been able to tower over him on an even floor in three years. They were of equal height and Ivan was able to stare his father in his nearly coal black eyes.
“As you wish, my lord.” He murmured.
Vislav glowered at him for a moment before waving him off. Ivan refused the offer of guards and begged to be left alone for the rest of the afternoon. In his room he locked his door and sat in the chair that had once belonged to his mother next to a warm fire. Staring into the flames he let his mind run circles as he tried to figure out his next step.
When night fell he was escorted to the orchard and shoved through the steel door. He heard it lock firmly behind him and he stepped down onto the soft spring grass. Tall thin trees rose before him. Their boughs were heavy with leaves and blossoms. Their magical nature allowed them to bear apples all year long and Ivan could see the sparkle of full fruit amongst some of the branches. It took him a moment to orient himself and another few minutes to find a tree with a low branch. Dragging himself up into its boughs and positioning his body so he could have a clear view of the entire wall, Ivan settled back and waited.
He didn’t know how many hours had passed before he felt the sensation of falling. He jerked awake as soon as his body struck the ground and he winced, glad he hadn’t broken anything. His eyes widened as he realized what had happened.
He had fallen asleep.
Ivan crouched close to the trunk of the tree, resisting the urge to wipe off the dew that soaked through his clothes and peered about the orchard. He had suspected that he would be lulled to sleep like his brothers and had purposely found a branch that required constant attention to balance on. If one didn’t concentrate they would lose their balance and fall, as he had just done. It solidified what he has suspected. The thief was using magic.
Years of slipping past guards, brothers, and his father had taught Ivan to walk on cat’s feet and he put nineteen years of learning to use as he crept through trees. Halfway back to the door he saw the first sign of an intruder.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of color but when he turned to stare at what had caught his attention he didn’t see anything. Moving silently from tree to tree Ivan searched for the thief.
It didn’t miss his attention that all the trees he passed had been devoid of apples.
Coming around a tree to get a better view of the middle of the orchard Ivan came face to face with another man. Both of them jumped back in surprise, golden apples tumbling from a dropped bag that seemed far too small to hold all the missing apples. Staring out across the darkness Ivan gasped.
“You!”
Wide golden eyes stared at him for a moment before the red haired stranger turned and fled. Ivan cursed and chased after him, grabbing a handful of cloth and tumbling them both to the ground. The younger boy’s shirt ripped and Ivan stared in disbelief.
The pale skin underneath the shirt was crisscrossed with scars, testimony that the boy had been beaten with a whip, but that was all they were. Just scars, not the open wounds they should have been with only a week’s worth of healing. Long fingers traced the widest of the scars as Ivan’s mind tried to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.
The boy beneath him shoved himself back up and Ivan had to clutch a thick arm to keep from being sprawled onto the dew soaked grass. The boy stared at him with frightened eyes and Ivan made out a small metal flute on a chain about his neck. Looking up into the wide gold eyes Ivan could just make out the long scar the came down the boy’s forehead to cross over his left eye and suddenly the black haired boy knew.
“You ate the fruit.” He whispered.
The other boy jerked his arm away from Ivan’s grasp and fled, leaving Ivan with bits of torn shirt. Pulling himself up to his feet Ivan followed but was unsurprised to see that the boy had disappeared, as though into thin air. Holding the torn shirt in his hands Ivan’s fingers encountered a lock of curly red hair. Picking it free of the button it had been caught on, Ivan stared at it as it fluttered in the light breeze.
**
He gasped for breath, leaning against the newly crafted door of the cottage. His torn shirt fluttered against his skin and he could feel a set of angry scratches the tsar’s son had left on his chest. Shaking his head he knocked softly on the door. It opened and he slipped inside, ignoring the worried glance of the woman who held the door for him.
“I must leave, lady. I know I have not repaid you for your kindness yet but . . .”
She shook her head and shoved a bag into his hand. He stared at it blankly and she gave him a sour look. “I know. Just go, and hurry. The Tsar is furious over the thefts and if he catches you . . . no, best not to think of it.”
He smiled and kissed her wrinkled forehead. “Thank you.” He whispered.
She nodded and shooed him out the door
**
Tsar Vislav made an impressive figure sitting upon the heavy wooden throne. It was rare that he used it but today was a special day. Leaning forward a bit he caught the attention of the assembled court and held it in an iron fist as he spoke to proclamation to his three sons. To the one who brought him the thief that had stolen his apples he would give half of his kingdom.
Ivan bowed in acknowledgement in time with his brothers but allowed them to leave first. He had no illusions that they would play fair, nor did he believe they would give him the chance to be the one to bring back the “firebird” as Vislav’s people were calling the thief. Servants had caught sight of the red lock of hair Ivan had shown his father and they had mistaken it for a feather. They had also mistaken the way the firelight had reflected off the strands for the flicker of real fire.
Vislav had done nothing to suppress the rumor. It was easier on his pride to declare the thief a magical bird then to admit that another human being had cheated him, let alone a human being he had placed his mark upon.
While Dmitriy and Vasiliy had ridden straight out Ivan had elected to stay for another day within the palace. Vislav had snipped and snarled at him but he had explained that he did not wish to get in his brothers’ way. That had somewhat satisfied his father’s anger. What Ivan had really wished to stay for, however, was to ask around the palace about the red haired stranger who had visited nearly a month before.
He had explained to the servants that the stranger might be able to give him some information on the firebird and where it might find it. From their talk he was able to discover that the red haired stranger had been a traveler named Trey. No one had seen him before but he did find one sheepherd who had seen him since his father had released him. The sheepherd had sent him to an old woman who lived within the forest saying that he had collected a few planks of wood at her behest.
So it was that the tsar’s youngest son found himself cursing his father’s slowness and trudging through a path more mud then dirt. He had lost a month’s travel already and he feared that the trail had grown cold. Ivan resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose as he stepped over the mud-encrusted porch to knock on a door that looked new. It creaked open and he found himself staring at a woman who looked older than the earth itself. She scowled at him and made no move to allow him to enter.
Sighing to himself he forced a pleasant expression and bowed deeply. “Fair morning, lady.”
She continued to glare silently.
“My name is Ilya.”
He paused, waiting to see if she called his bluff but the suspicious look never deepened and he smiled to himself. “I fear I am in need of some help,” he said, peering about himself, “I am not from these parts and I have lost my companion. Nobody seems to have seen him, which is odd since he is rather hard to miss. Fortunately we have made allowances for such a thing and planned on a few meeting places. I was told there was a city around here which was where we were to meet but I can’t seem to find it since my missing companion has all the maps!” He sighed dramatically, waving his hand limply in the air. “Anyway, I was hoping you could perhaps point me in the direction of the nearest city so I could get a decent night’s sleep and hope my dear cousin Trey s his his way there.”
He saw the crone’s brown eyes narrow at the mention of the missing man’s name and fought the urge to laugh. So she had seen him . . . and probably harbored the boy as well. He wondered if she had any of the missing apples but brushed the thought off. He cared not where the apples had gone to, just where the object of his reward was.
“Take the right path, by the river. It will lead you to the city.”
Ivan bowed again and thanked her profusely. As he walked away with slow s hes he turned to wave over his shoulder. “Thank you again, lady. I am sure I will find someone in the town that has seen my companion. If I know him he’s probably living it up at some noble’s palace. I think I’ll ask around all the pretty ladies first.”
He heard the soft gasp but kept walking until he heard the door slam and the woman’s step on the porch.
“Wait!”
Ivan wiped the smirk off his face and turned, looking pleasantly curious. “Yes, lady?”
She stood there, staring at him for a long moment. “Did your brother tell you which inn to meet at?”
Oh clever woman, Ivan congratulated. She was trying to prove his truth by weaving him a lie to trap him with his own words. He smiled. “My cousin and I have never been to these parts before. We knew of no inn to meet at.”
She glanced around before waving him closer. “Your cousin is not here, nor will he be in the city,” she whispered to him.
“Why ever not?” He asked.
“He ran afoul of some powerful men who now hunt him.”
Ivan gasped, playing up his naturally unthreatening appearance. “No!”
She nodded gravely. “He has fled, to the kingdom in the south ruled by Tsar Dedumil.”
He bowed. “Thank you for your honesty, lady. And for whatever help you may have given my cousin. It is greatly appreciated.”
He received another hesitant look, as though she still wasn’t sure she had done the right thing but he ignored it. Turning he moved down the path until he reached his horse. He swung himself up into the saddle and mulled over the quickest path for the fleeing firebird to have taken.
His mind finally settled on the only logical path and he nudged his horse foreward. He didn\'t know what the road ahead would hold but he did not care. There was nothing that a desperate prince could not overcome. For the first time in his life he had been given the chance to better his lot. He feared no failure for he trusted his quick mind. He knew this would be the only chance he would ever be given to prove himself. It would be the only chance to get him out from his father\'s dark household.
Let fate do its worse. Let it fling danger after danger at him. Let his brothers ride forth laughing at him, the youngest prince playing at being a hero. Let theebirebird fly to the very face of the sun itself. In the end the prize would be his.
Even if he had to cheat death itself.
**
They said that good things come to those who wait
And I\'ve waited for so long
It\'s now or never and the hour\'s late
I want this moment right or wrong
-Lyrics by Lori Yates
\"Black Rose\"
**
-End-
**
Note: I don’t own the song “Black Rose”, though I do own the cd it is on :)