Alexander, Soldier's Son Read online

  A bird. Alexi’s mind raced, gibbering, a bird of flame, a fire falcon, fire falcon, bird guarded a nest got it! Alexi turned and ducked into the room even as he started to flash back to the burning Bradley and that tour in Southwest Asia that never happened. “Mreow, mow, meeeeeaaaaa!” Ivan launched, bounced off a display case, and butted a round, black thing toward Alexi. Alexi grabbed it, ignoring the pain in his hands. It looked like an onyx egg. Ivan shot past Alexi, headed for the door, and the man followed, carrying the egg like a football.

  Koschai grabbed for him and caught the backpack. Alexi twisted loose and kept running. Black fire shot over him and he kept running, ignoring the stitch in his side.

  “Here, come to me,” Babushka called, holding the garden door open. Alexi turned toward her voice, then leaned down and caught Ivan by the harness. Egg in one arm, squirming cat in the other, he barely made the corner as the rug slid a little. The woman in blue had an outside door open. Alexi stopped, tossed Ivan at Babushka, who caught him and cursed in Russian. Alexi hesitated, distracted by the pattern on one of the doors, an almost familiar design but not a Russian carving. He shook the keys Ivan hand given him, found one that looked right, jammed it into the door, twisted, and ran as a roar sounded. Was it Koschai or a different spirit? Alexi pounded to the open main door, egg in hand.

  Just as he reached the threshold, something caught his ankle! He tripped, tried to catch himself, failed, and fell on the egg, crushing it. His St. George medallion hit the egg’s center and something white and silver and red and hot and musical and everything blasted up from under Alexi. He felt Koschai grabbing him, lifting him, tried to fight, then whumph, he hit grass and dirt. Alexi gasped, rolled, heard a crunch, rolled again, and choked as swamp and death and rot filled his lungs.

  Heat washed over him. Two birds screamed, and then a thud, a deep, rolling scream that crackled like lightning. Alexi rolled again as something blue white licked down. He heard another scream, a deep, male voice howling. Ozone filled the air. Ozone? Alexi heard Vasilli’s voice in his memory, “Another bird, one from this place.” He ventured to open his eyes.

  Koschai, staggering, smoking, ducked and covered his head as two birds, a falcon made of flame and a dark eagle-like bird with eyes that flashed and talons of blue-white fire belabored him, their wings making hissing and booming sounds. Koschai howled again, and the pavilion in the garden seemed to darken, twisting inside. As Alexi watched, gape-mouthed, the enchanter ducked and dove through the blackness. The white wooden pavilion shimmered, then closed and collapsed into a pile of wood. The two birds soared off in different directions, and Alexi heard a faint rumble like thunder on the other side of the mountain. He tried to sit up and gave up as the world spun. I’ll just nap here for a moment, he decided. The grass is nice and soft . . .

  “Is soldier. Sleeps anywhere,” he heard Babushka explaining to someone.

  “No, is man. Men never around when need,” came a second woman’s voice.

  “And no more tomatoes,” Babushka snapped. “You work and buy own.”

  My grandmother is telling the firebird to get a job. I am not opening my eyes, no, I am not, I refuse. Except Alexi’s bladder, and a few other things, warned him that if he stayed on his back on the ground, nothing good would come of it. He gritted his teeth and rolled onto his flank, then to his knees. He peered with bleary eyes around the shadow-wrapped garden, found a bit of privacy, and watered the roses.

  “Good. You back. We can leave.” Babushka stood with her fists planted on her hips, her handbag dangling from her arm, Ivan at her feet. She’d rescued the backpack, now full of icons and part of the samovar. Beside her, the stunning blond in blue watched him, one hand on the shoulder of a smaller woman in red and orange, equally beautiful but with the dark Slav coloring. They each had a sack or pillowcase full of things over one shoulder. “Found gate. Is open. We leave.”

  “I’m not certain I can walk,” Alexi said, taking inventory. Everything was still attached, but it all hurt clear to the bone. He had deep cuts in one arm from Koschai’s claws, and it felt like his ribs had been bruised.

  “Allow me to assist, young man.” An ageless, grey and brown haired man in an old-style forest ranger’s uniform came up beside Alexi, offering him an arm. Ivan and Babushka seemed to take this without blinking, and Alexi felt too numb to wonder what was going on. The older man seemed very strong for his size, and supported Alexi well, helping him limp through the concealed gate and down the kilometer or so of road to the pickup. The women followed, and the two models complained about their slippers and the pavement. Ivan also complained and Babushka made soothing noises.

  They reached the vehicle, Babushka unlocked it, and they managed to get the girls into the jump-seats in the back of the cab. Alexi turned to thank the ranger and almost passed out for a second time. A brown bear stood beside the passenger door. It rose on its hind legs, saluted, dropped, and trotted into the woods.

  “The leshiy. Forest heal.” Babushka added, “We go now. I drive.”

  “Mreh.”

  Alexi wanted to argue. He didn’t have the energy. Maybe he’d sleep through the wreck Babushka was sure to have. The exhausted soldier dragged himself into the cab, fastened the seatbelt, and fell asleep before Babushka managed to get half-way down the mountain.

  The next morning, at Babushka’s house, he watched the two sisters Olga and Morena as they admired the enormous kitchen. Well, he mused, by Russian apartment standards, it was very large. He drank more coffee and really hoped Catherine Mary did not call just then. He reminded himself not to stare at the scenery (now wearing borrowed velour track suits) and watched Ivan instead. Ivan, back on the barstool, seemed quite happy to watch the three women, his tail swishing. Morena would stop and pet him when she passed, making him purr even louder. It was just as well that Ivan had been “trimmed,” Alexi grinned to himself. Otherwise they’d have real trouble, or the cat would end up getting slapped for being fresh.

  “So, Alexi, you chase Koschai Chernobogovich back where he belong,” Babushka said, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs, pickled herring, bacon, and blinis at him. Alexi ate first, then had a second cup of coffee as he decided how to phrase his question.

  “Babushka, why here?”

  She and Ivan both looked at him. Olga and Morena stopped washing the dishes to listen as well.

  “Why Russian spirits here, in New Country? Fools call Baba Yaga and Chernobog, but why here?” He pointed down.

  His grandmother twisted, wiggling a little in her seat. She looked more uncomfortable than he’d ever seen her. “Because something strange here.” Before he could probe she continued in a rush, “Not know what. Can feel it, not use it. Is old. Is why Coyotes visit. Some spirits come with, like leishiy, domovoy. Soviet as bad for them as for human people. Stories . . .” She turned and looked at the girls.

  “The enchanter? He like new tsar. New tsar like him,” Morena, the former firebird, spat. “Are friends, allies. Opens portals for tsar, tsar rewards with gems and knowledge. I say no, refuse both. Become bird.” She shook her finger at Alexi. “Shooting rump mean.”

  Alexi barely caught his very smart ass comment before he got into a whole lot of trouble. Instead he said, “Well, Colorado has Castle Doctrine. You trespass, I shoot. Is law.”

  “And now, get job, earn money, buy own tomatoes,” Babushka warned.

  Alexi’s mind finally ground out of first into second gear. He held up one finger. “You say tsar like enchanter, you refuse both. You mean ruler of Russia now?” Because if he’d just gotten involved in an international affair involving two women and the Russian prime minister, he was going straight back up that mountain and seeing if the leshey needed an apprentice. Or volunteer for a fifth tour in Southwest Asia, spousal permission be damned.

  “Tsar Nicholas, yes.”

  Ivan, Alexi, and Babushka stared at each other, blinking. “I need more coffee.” The current Prime Minister’s name was not Nicholas.

  An hou
r later, Alexi needed a hell of a lot more than just coffee. Because as he took a shower, Catherine Mary arrived. He emerged to find her in the living room, looking daggers at Ivan, who was trying to act innocent. “Um, hello, dear?”

  “I have the flight from hell, find someone has scratched my car in the lot at the airport, get home to a message on the machine from the police about looking for Babushka, come here to check on Babushka since no one is answering their phone, and find you with two Russian supermodels and my books almost ruined. Alexander Nikolai Zolnerovich, you have a lot of explaining to do!”

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. “It’s like this, dear. The firebird showed up and I chased her.”

  “Really.”

  Alexi wondered who had turned on the air conditioner. “Really.” He pulled the feathers, now battered and crushed but still glowing, out of his pants pocket. She relaxed a little. “She went to a fancy house up in that new subdivision. And the police called because they found Babushka’s car but no Babushka.”

  “Because Koschai the Deathless had grabbed. Collects Russian treasures, and wanted what I brought from Old Country. His servants needed me with Koschai to get into house here.”

  Alexi picked up from there. “So I pretended to be a fire risk assessor and scouted around his castle house mansion thing. He’s a lousy land manager, and someone needs to talk to the developer about clearing the brush. It’s a firetrap waiting for a spark. That’s how I bluffed my way into the house.”

  Catherine Mary looked from him to the two women peering into the living room. “I see. And then?”

  “And then I managed to piss Koschai off big time. Ivan didn’t help, stealing his keys. Ivan found Babushka as I was getting tossed around, and Babushka wouldn’t leave without the firebird.”

  “That was Morena,” Babushka interjected. “Olga is her cousin-sister. Is complicated.”

  “Hey, that’s my line,” Alexi protested. “There was a fight, Ivan started opening doors, and we found Koschai’s well, not his heart, but a black egg with something in it. And a really angry fire falcon. I tripped, fell on the egg, it broke, and I don’t remember much after that, but whatever it was,” he held up the melted remains of his silver St. George medallion. Catherine Mary crossed herself. “It didn’t like silver. Most of what I recall is Koschai being really pissed, and then the falcon and something else beating up on him until he left.”

  “He’d also taken the leschey of the forest prisoner, but the forest will recover. Breaking the egg with silver broke spell on Morena, turned her back to woman. We found samovar and icons and other things, brought back where belong.” Babushka seemed to think that was the end of that.

  Catherine Mary had other thoughts. When she finished, Alexi’s ears were singed, the Russian girls looked stunned, Babushka had gone to the kitchen to cook, and Ivan’s fur was smoking a little. “ . . . and on top of that I come here and find you with two women straight out of Maxim and I’m pregnant!”

  “Love, Catherine, believe me, I have no interest in those women you’re what?”

  “Pregnant. Realized it yesterday.” She sniffed. “I wanted to tell you first, but you weren’t home and when no one answered the phone and I couldn’t find your truck but there was a message from the police about looking for Babushka, ah, I—”

  Whatever else she was going to say melted into his shoulder as he held her. She sniffed and cried a little. “And I got sick on the flight back.”

  “You need tea, not black Russian tea, either.” He led her into the kitchen and found hot water and some herbal teas waiting. Babushka shooed the girls out onto the porch, telling them something in quiet, rapid-fire Russian.

  “Mroo.” Ivan rubbed against her leg and apologized. “Mrr mroo.”

  “Alexi, are we done with magic? Please tell me we’re done with magic.”

  He wanted to, oh how he wanted to. “I don’t know, my heart. I hope we are, St. George as my witness I hope we are through with it for a very long time. But it may be like the Red Horse.”

  She shivered against him. He handed her the mint tea. “I want it to go away.”

  “That makes two of us, my love and my cedar of Lebanon.”

  She sniffed and drank. “And Gatta’s mad at you.” She pointed to Ivan. “Both of you.

  “Let’s see. I left with Ivan, in a hurry, didn’t tell her were we were going, and left dry food out instead of gooshy food,” he counted on his fingers.

  “And the curtains were closed.” She drank more and smiled a little. “You had better hide your shoes and manuals for a while until she gets over her snit.”

  “Excellent point, my love.” He kissed her hand.

  After a few minutes of quiet, she set down the cup. “So, what did you bring back from the castle, besides two unemployed supermodels and an irate Babushka?”

  He shook his head. Something thumped against his leg. And thumped again. Now what? “ ‘Scuze me.” Alexi blinked and looked under the table. Ivan had dragged his harness and panniers over. Alexi reached down, remembering the bottom of the table this time, and carefully straightened up. One pocket had shards of black shell, nothing of interest, but the other one—.

  Catherine Mary’s mouth sagged open. She picked up the enameled egg, turning it in her fingers. The rich blue and silver glowed with bits of gold worked like tiny flowers. “Is this a Fabargé?” she whispered.

  “No idea and I’m not going to go looking in the internet to see if one is missing.”

  They blinked at each other. A pair of black ears appeared over the edge of the table, then all of Ivan joined them, even though he was absolutely forbidden to get on the table. He looked very pleased. Catherine Mary reached over and scratched around his ears. “Good cat.”

  “OK, this takes care of one college tuition bill,” Alexi observed.

  If looks could kill, the glares his wife and Ivan shot his way would have put him twelve feet under. “You are not hocking this, Alexi Nikolai Zolnerovich.” Her hand curled around the egg. “We are getting a nice little stand for it and keeping it in the bedroom, under the icon of the Theotokos. And I want a dress in those colors for our next anniversary.”

  “Yes dear.”

  Ivan winked and purred.

  Alexi looked at the clock. After Catherine Mary got up to go tell Babushka the good news, he helped himself to a dark beer. It was noon central time, after all. “So, smarty cat, what did you get Gatta?”

  Ivan blinked and gulped, his tail going perfectly still.

  Alexi smirked. Now, how to keep the egg away from the children, all two point one of them . . . And would Father Mikas be willing to bless it? Because Alexi did not want anything touched by Koschai Chernobogovich in his house without having been blessed by a priest.

  As he drank, he played with the bit of shell. It felt very heavy for the thickness, and he set the beer down, pulled out his pocketknife, and scratched the sooty black stuff on the inside of the onyx. It gleamed golden. Alexi got up and ran a little tap water over the shard. The soot washed off, revealing gold. He pressed it with his fingernail and it dented.

  “OK, here’s the deal. This gets sold, carefully. You do not tell anyone. I use part of the money to buy an addition to Gatta’s cat tree and tell her it was your idea. Part goes to help Babushka, and the rest is college money. Agreed?”

  Ivan nodded once, firmly. “Mrah.”

  The sound of a can opener came from under the table. Ivan dove for the floor and his harness, dragging it out of the kitchen before Alexi could do more than blink. He grinned, then started to laugh. Beer in hand, he went out on the back porch, found Catherine Mary watching the girls and Babushka in the garden, and put his arm around her waist. “Ivan’s going to be in trouble again. He’s hiding his phone.”

  She leaned against him, her arm around his middle. “Back to normal, then.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Shall we go rescue your brother?”

  “We probably should. While Cheyenne Mountain is st
ill standing.”

  Tale the Sixth: The Firebird’s Feather

  “Mom, why did you have to marry Dad?”

  Catherine Mary (Pagonis) Zolnerovich blinked, turned around and pointed the meat clever at her daughter. “Excuse me? What did you just ask?”

  Little Catherine, now eighteen and a freshman at Colorado State, looked down at the eggplant she was slicing. “Um, I said why did you have to marry Dad? Why couldn’t you just, you know, have a relationship so I could keep your last name?”

  “Because that would be a sin, as well as stupid.” Catherine Mary returned to slicing marinated flank steak. “Your women’s studies professor again?”

  “No.” Chop, chop, chop.

  “Freshman orientation advisor again?”

  “Mooooom, we’re first years, and no.” Chop chop chopchopchop, the eggplant turned into particles of near sub-atomic size.

  “Who?”

  A deep and long sigh. “Dr. Tolstoy-no-relation, the Slavic Studies prof.”

  “What did he say, exactly?” growled a bass voice from the doorway. Sergeant Major Alexander N. Zolnerovich filled the space between the kitchen and living room, still broad shouldered as he’d been a decade and a half before.

  “Mree?”

  Alexi bent down and pocked up an armful of white fluff.

  His teenaged daughter set the knife down. “He said I’m not entitled to use the name Zolnerovich because I’m not pure Slav. Only members of a true rod should use the family name, and he wanted to know mother’s name so he could call me that.”

  Alexi shifted his arm a little to allow Gatta, also called Bella and properly known as Belyah Ailuros, to climb onto his shoulder. Then he cracked his knuckles. “This is the professor who looks as if several generations of Mongols knew his female ancestors very, very well?”