Chapter 39
Ivan and the Gray Wolf
Papa stepped closer.
“My youngest son captured the Firebird! We’re saved!” His voice was low, thick with admiration.
The magical bird was sitting quietly in the gilded cage. It hadn’t been screeching or cawing and wasn’t moving violently as it had earlier, in Baba Yaga’s hut. It was almost as if the Firebird liked being in our izba.
Having carried its feather with me for two months while on the quest in Virginia, I’d gotten somewhat habituated to its magic, but the Firebird’s effect on Papa was shocking. He clasped his hands in awe and dropped to his knees.
“Look how many feathers it has. And every single one is a wish. Every single one! But we can feed the whole village. We can build a new house.” Papa shifted to rise from his knees, groaning loudly, and I ran up to help him.
As he leaned on me, he gave me a frown, then, straightening up, mumbled, “But it couldn’t be, could it?
Is this a dream? Are you real?” Without warning, Papa pinched me hard on my forearm.
“Ouch! Papa!” I jerked my arm back. Right away, a red mark appeared, and I knew I would have a large bruise in no time.
Papa was an old man, but still very strong.
He had powerful fists, and in his youth, Papa had saved a family that had been trapped under an overturned cart by flipping it upright with just one arm.
“Real,” Papa concluded. He was about to say something else but was interrupted by Peter’s loud snore. My older brother must have fallen back asleep, unperturbed by my arrival with the magical creature.
“Peter, wake up,” Papa barked, “and Ilya, you as well! You get down here right now.”
“Why, Papa?” Ilya climbed down from behind the pechka first, yawning.
“Because your brother brought us the Firebird,” Papa said proudly, looking at me with approval.
“The Firebird? But that’s impossible!” Ilya yelped. At that very moment the Firebird squawked and my brother turned to the table where the gilded cage sat. “What?” His mouth hung open. “But that can’t be.”
“What is it? What’s happening?” Peter appeared from his spot behind the other side of the pechka.
“The Dimwit got the bird.” Ilya rubbed his eyes, and so did Peter. Both of them stood in front of the cage, staring at the magical creature.
“The Firebird?” Peter snarled. “But if this is the actual Firebird, we should start making wishes.”
Before I could stop him, Peter extended his hand through the golden bars of the cage, reaching straight for the Firebird.
He tried to grab one of its feathers, but the Firebird opened its beak in warning and cawed so loudly, Peter jerked his hand back and covered his ears in horror.
“What is this beast? It’s making such a terrible noise! ”
“Let me try.” Ilya pushed Peter aside and stuffed his hand into the cage.
This time, the Firebird didn’t give a warning, but instead pecked Ilya’s hand with its powerful beak.
A burn appeared in the middle of Ilya’s palm, smaller than the one I’d seen on Baba Yaga’s hand earlier that morning, but still visible.
Ilya yelped in pain. “Get this thing out of here! Ivan is trying to murder us, Papa!”
“Stop it, you two. You’re acting like little maidens.” Papa stomped his foot. “You listen to Ivan. Show him some respect. Your brother will tell us how to treat the Firebird.”
Peter and Ilya stood back, dumbfounded. I, too, was at a loss for words. Never before had Papa chastised my brothers on my account.
“Respect?” Peter opened his eyes wide.
“Yes, respect. Ivan here brought us unimaginable treasure.”
“A treasure,” Peter mumbled.
“Unimaginable,” Ilya said, scratching his head.
“Now, why don’t you tell us exactly how you came to capture this creature.” Papa gave me a pointed stare. “Sit down, Ivan, and you, Peter, pour us the tea, why don’t you?”
I blinked fast, wondering whether Peter knew what to do. Neither Peter nor Ilya had ever heated the samovar. Preparing tea for the family was my responsibility.
I would gladly have been the one to prepare and serve the tea, but disobeying Papa was out of the question.
I hung my head and sat down at the table in my usual spot, which was next to the door leading to the outer porch, the seni.
It was convenient, and if anything needed to be done, I could easily get up and take care of business.
But Papa pointed to Peter’s spot, which was on Papa’s right.
“You take Peter’s spot now. You brought us the Firebird, which will save the whole village,” Papa explained solemnly. Hesitantly, I sat down on the very edge of the chair that Peter normally occupied.
Ilya took his regular seat on Papa’s left, his face turning very pale. Peter’s, in stark contrast, turned bright red as he picked up a cup that had been sitting on the table and padded to the samovar.
Hands trembling, Peter awkwardly poured the tea. The cup clanked loudly, and he almost dropped it as he set it on the table in front of Papa. Peter then took another cup, filling it, and was about to hand it to Ilya, but Papa stopped him by raising his hand up.
“Serve Ivan first,” Papa ordered. Peter’s face turned an even deeper shade of crimson. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and he wiped them off with the sleeve of his shirt. Without saying a word, he handed me the second cup.
Bringing it to my lips, I took a sip of the tea.
It was the perfect temperature, very warm, but no longer scaldingly hot.
It tasted just how I normally made it. It was as if I’d prepared it myself.
The thought flashed in my mind, and I almost spat out the beverage, the realization hitting me at once.
This was the tea I’d brewed myself earlier that morning.
If I needed any more proof that time had stood still in Zorya while I was in Virginia, this was it.
I wanted to scream.
I needed to call Lisa right away. Lisa, my beautiful bride, who had stayed behind in Virginia, waiting for me to come back.
I patted my pocket, where I’d kept the magical silver mirror that the Mistress of the Copper Mountain had given me.
It was still there, and I fidgeted in my seat, trying to come up with an excuse to leave the table.
But before I could do so, I noticed my father’s gaze fixed firmly on my person.
“Let’s hear your story now, Ivan,” Papa ordered. “How did you manage to capture the Firebird?”
If I started explaining how I’d come across the Firebird, I would lose valuable time. And every minute counted. For all I knew, in Virginia, three months could have passed already, or maybe even a year.
“Papa,” I started to say when the Firebird screeched, producing a sound so loud and so unpleasant it grated on my ears. How could a creature so beautiful make such an undignified noise?
“Caw! Caw!” the Firebird repeated.
“What is it doing? What does it want?” Peter turned to me, and so did Ilya.
Papa, too, raised his eyebrows. “Make it stop! The neighbors will hear.”
“Caw! Caw!” the bird shrieked again.
I leaped up and walked over to the cage, remembering how the Firebird had made its wishes known to me in Baba Yaga’s hut. Would the same thing happen again? Standing right in front of the cage, I watched it closely.
“Go find me something to eat,” the bird sang out. “And while you’re at it, you can use your mirror.”
I gaped at it in awe. The Firebird knew about the mirror and was actively trying to help me.
“Hurry up. I want you back quickly—I don’t want to stay here alone with them,” the Firebird ordered.
My father and brothers stared at our interaction in confusion, and I was sure they couldn’t understand what it was saying.
“The Firebird is hungry. I’ll go find it something to eat,” I mumbled under my breath. “I’m just going to cover the cage.” With a swift motion, I threw the canvas sheet over the cage and the bird grew quiet.
“Can we pluck its feathers while you’re out?” Ilya inquired, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
“You’d better not do anything till I come back. I’ll be back in a jiffy,” I said, stepping onto the inner porch and fastening the bast shoes on my feet, only then realizing I’d somehow lost the sneakers Lisa had bought for me in Virginia.
Pushing open the front door, I nearly bumped into Dasha. The ruddy-cheeked neighbor jumped back, smoothing her skirt.
“Ivan! Oh, I was just here—umm, I was just passing by.” Dasha averted her eyes. The excuse was implausible, for our izba stood at the very edge of the village and no one ever passed by unless it was for a particular reason. “I heard something,” Dasha said, her voice smarmy.
“You did?” I tried to step through the door, but Dasha was blocking my exit.
“Ivan, who is it? Who’s at the door?” It was Papa, his low baritone reverberating through the house.
“It’s me, Dasha, Potap Mikhailovich,” the neighbor shouted right over my shoulder.
“Hi, Ms. Dasha, how’s it going?” Papa shouted from the room, which Dasha took as an invitation.
Before I could stop her, she maneuvered past me and, in mere seconds, was standing in our room, hands on her hips. I couldn’t risk leaving the Firebird now. With a sigh, I followed our neighbor inside, hoping Dasha would leave quickly so I could call Lisa.
“What’s in that cage?” Dasha pointed at the table, turning to me first. “I thought it might be a falcon—I even told Ivan when I saw him at the well, but I heard a strange noise coming from your izba, and I don’t think it could be a falcon.”
Papa shook his head.
“I’m just going to take a peek,” Dasha said, and without waiting for permission, she reached and pulled the sheet off the cage. The Firebird, exposed, shrieked, and so did Dasha, shocked by the vision.
“This is no falcon!” Dasha pointed at the cage. “That is a Firebird!” She said it with such certainty, as if she’d known it all along.
The Firebird, as if it had been waiting for exactly this moment, chose to announce itself again. Not the warning shriek moments ago. This was something different, something lower and more resonant, a sound moving outward through the wooden walls of the izba and into the morning air like a bell.
Dasha’s eyes went round.
“The Firebird!” she repeated.
“Dasha,” I said quickly, “please don’t…”
But Dasha was already turning on her heels. Her footsteps went down our front path at a speed I would not have thought possible for a woman her age.
“Ivan got the Firebird!” I heard her voice. “Ivan the Dimwit got the Firebird! He brought it home! Come and see! The Firebird!”
I stood in the doorway of my izba and watched Dasha disappear around the corner toward the miller’s house, and then I heard the miller’s wife’s voice join hers, and then another voice, and another. The village was stirring up, embracing the news.
And I was at the center of it. I swallowed hard.
Papa appeared at my shoulder.
“She’s telling everyone,” Papa said unnecessarily. “I was hoping we would have more time before telling everyone.”
The villagers ran out of their izbas and walked up the path to our house. There was the blacksmith, followed by Rosa the matchmaker, her carrying contralto coming closer. Children joined them, laughing and giggling with excitement.
The first of the villagers appeared at the gate.
“Show us the Firebird!” they demanded. “We want to see the Firebird.”
If you enjoyed reading ‘Ivan and the Firebird’ and would like to know what happens next, Ivan and the Gray Wolf is the second book in the ‘Tales of the Thrice-Nine Lands’ series.