The Firebird
A Crux Fairy Tale, based on the Russian tales of the same name.
I must apologize, from the outset, insofar as this first chapter contains no deaths, no crucifixions, only implied sex, and honestly, no CF crux girls. These crucial elements of a CF story will all show up as we go along, so do please bear with me, and I hope you will at least be entertained along the way.
Chapter 1:
Once upon a time, because that’s the way one starts this sort of story, there was a Tsar. He may have once been a good ruler, but since his wife had died, many years ago, he had grown tired of his kingdom, and left the management of his empire to his two sons, Phlebas Tsareivitch, the older son, who wasn’t anywhere near old, and Jollyrei Tsareivitch, the younger son, who wasn’t much younger. They were reasonably good at it, and the peasants did not suffer more than any other peasants of the time. They usually had enough to eat, even in the cold Russian winters. The Tsar himself grew obsessed with his gardens, and especially with a tree that grew golden apples.
“So why does, father’s tree have golden apples?” asked Phlebas. “It’s not a normal thing.”
“It’s a fairy tale,” said Jollyrei. “It’s the same as how we can have these radically non-Russian names, even though we’re the sons of a Tsar.”
“Perhaps we had an exotic foreign mother,” said Phlebas. “That might explain it.”
“The story doesn’t say,” said Jollyrei.
“Do you suppose they’re magic?” asked Phlebas.
“Our names?” asked Jollyrei, looking up in some confusion from his work table. He was piecing together a 1/100th scale model of the Martyrdom of St. Eulalia. “Why should they be magic?”
“No, you idiot,” said Phlebas. “The golden apples.”
“Father won’t let anyone into the garden to find out,” said Jollyrei.
“So you’ve tried,” said Phleba.
“Not to get apples,” said Jollyrei. “You see, there was the new chamber maid…”
“Of course,” said Phlebas. “Same with me, only because of the new servant in the wine cellars. Anyway, Father is obsessed with those golden apples.”
As if on cue, there was a great commotion out in the corridor, and in burst the Tsar and two large bearded guardsmen.
“That does it!” the Tsar shouted. “I leave things to you two lazy nitwits, and the whole empire goes to pot.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” asked Phlebas. “The Empire is fine. The peasants even have food in winter.” Jollyrei nodded in agreement.
“My gardens,” said the Tsar. “Every night for the past week, someone has stolen a golden apple from my prize tree.”
“I hardly think that counts as a national emergency,” said Jollyrei. “Surely you can simply set some sort of trap for the thief. Anyway, how could anyone get in there. You keep it locked up like a Saint’s chastity belt. He held up a small carved 1/100th scale example.
“Well, it’s about to be a national emergency for you two,” growled the Tsar. “You are going to catch the thief. You are going to find out who it is within the week or you can both be beheaded.” (Did anyone mention that the Tsar was evil, and probably insane? No? They really should have done. You’d better just go on from this point with that assumption.)
“Then you’ll have no heir,” said Jollyrei.
“You have cousins who can take your places,” said the apparently evil Tsar. “I’ll tell you a little secret. Those golden apples are magic…”
“There!” said Phlebas. “Told you!”
“What?” asked Jollyrei.
“They’re magic apples,” said Phlebas triumphantly.
“Will you both shut up?” shouted the Tsar. “I don’t give a single damn about your inane discussions. I am convinced that these magic apples are the only things standing in the way of the destruction of my empire. This is important enough that I’m going to murder both my sons in true fairy tale fashion if you do not find the thief. If you find him, I will divide the empire in half and you can each be Tsar of half of it. Take the key to my garden and get on with it.”
“The Captain of the Guard would never behead us, even on your orders,” said Jollyrei. “We’ve known him since we were small boys.”
The Captain grinned evilly through his beard.
“Oh yes he will,” said the Tsar. “I’m the Tsar.”
“He would too though,” murmured Phlebas. “Who knew there were so many evil guys around here?”
“Who knew Father was a raving loonie?" said Jollyrei. "Bit of a surprise to me too. Ironically, it is now quite easy for us to get into the garden with our respective servant girls.”
So the two princes, under threat of death, took the key to the garden, and two young servant girls, and made their way that evening after supper to the secret garden of the Tsar. They brought swords to fight the thief, rope to bind him, and the serving girls just in case he didn’t show up. They didn’t want to waste their time, you see. They also felt that the rope could serve to bind the serving girls.
Then they lay in wait (if you want to call it that) until everyone was fairly happy. Phlebas was untying his wine serving girl when Jollyrei said: “Shhh. I heard something.”
Everyone went quiet and ducked behind a nearby hedge.
There was a glow, coming from beyond the garden wall which grew brighter, and brighter, until something like a small star seemed to drift down over the wall and onto the grass of the lawn. It was a bird, but a bird unlike anything either prince (or the serving girls either, although they don’t really matter in this story, sorry girls.) had ever seen. (Don’t worry, there will be other girls who do matter. It’s just these particular ones don’t really. They’re like throw cushions – a bit of décor, but not really critical to anything.) The bird was elegant and graceful in appearance, and appeared to be on fire, it’s feathers shimmering in red, orange, blue and gold. The princes (and serving girls) stared at it, entranced.
As it landed in on the lawn of the garden it transformed into a slim, graceful dark-haired woman. Her skin was perfect, and she wore a gown that seemed to burn, shimmering in flame colours like the bird’s feathers, although it didn’t seem to harm her.
“Now that’s what I call a fire bird,” murmured Jollyrei to himself.
The Firebird woman walked quickly to the tree in the centre of the garden, looked around quickly, and then picked one of the golden apples.
“Have you seen anything like that before?” whispered Jollyrei.
“No,” said Phlebas, “It’s fantastic. I bet the girls haven’t seen anything like that either.”
“Well, no,” said Jollyrei, “but they hardly matter, do they?”
“Well, I like that!” exclaimed the chambermaid. “Come on, Lyudmila.” And the two insulted serving girls got up and started across the garden to the gate.
The Firebird woman, startled by the noise, gave a sharp (but musical) cry. Phlebas and Jollyrei jumped out from behind the hedge to try to capture her. The princes charged toward her, diving as she transformed into her bird form. Jollyrei was closest and managed to grasp the bird’s tail as she took off.
There was a moment where he thought he had her, and then she was gone, over the garden wall.
“Does this mean that we lose our heads then?” asked Jollyrei.
“Father gave us a week, but I doubt we’ll be able to capture that bird, er, girl…er bird. And he’s hardly going to believe a firebird came in, turned into a girl, and stole an apple, and then flew away, while we dallied with two servant girls.”
“No look,” said Jollyrei. “I got a feather from her tail.” He held up a shining feather, about 12 inches long and two inches in width, which seemed alive with an internal fire. Anyone who believes his apples are magic is bound to believe a firebird story, if we have this feather.”
“I think it’s the best chance we have,” said Phlebas, “but it’s not going to get us the kingdom.”
“Maybe we should consider exile,” said Jollyrei. “I hear Sweden can be nice.”
“Too close to Russia,” said Phlebas. “I think we should go to Australia.”
“I think that’s just a mythical place,” said Jollyrei, “like Atlantis.”
And so the next morning, the two princes dressed in their finest clothes and presented the firebird’s feather to their father.
“Majesty,” said Phlebas. “We wish to report that we know who the thief of your apples is.”
“Splendid,” said the Tsar, obviously pleased. “Show him to me.”
“Unfortunately,” said Jollyrei, “the thief got away.”
“What!?” roared the Tsar. “You let him escape.”
“No, Sire,” said Phlebas. “The thief is an enchanted woman, a Firebird. Jolly got one of its feathers.”
Jollyrei held up the feather, which glowed brightly, filling the room with something like firelight. The Tsar stared at it, entranced.
“So, er,” said Jollyrei, “could you see clear to letting us, you know… um…”
“…keep our heads,” finished Phlebas.
“Oh, yes,” said the Tsar, gazing raptly at the feather. “You will keep your heads. You need them, because you are both banished from my palace and must scour the world to find me this Firebird. Whichever of you brings it to me shall immediately become Tsar of all the Russias (“How many are there?” whispered Jollyrei. “No clue,” said Phlebas.). If you don’t find it, and try to return, then I’ll chop off your head. (“Australia,” said both princes.)
“You may have one week to make your preparations for your quest,” said the Tsar. “Now, leave me that feather, and go.”
And so it was, that one week hence, Phlebas and Jollyrei mounted their horses, and rode away from the palace of their birth, to find the legendary Firebird.
“Shame that our crazed father kept the Firebird's feather,” said Phlebas. “She's really very pretty.”
“Yes. She’s quite hot,” said Jollyrei.
“You did that on purpose,” accused Phlebas.
“It seemed an obvious joke,” said Jollyrei. “I thought it best we get it out of the way now.”
“Have you ever been outside the palace,” asked Phlebas.
“It seems odd,” said Jollyrei, “but now that you mention it, no. I don’t think I have, although I seem to be able to ride this horse quite well.”
“That’s the fairy tale doing its thing again, then,” said Phlebas. “Do you suppose we’re any good in a fight?”
“Just have to hope for the best,” said Jollyrei. “It does explain why we have ridden only about 5 miles, and are in a completely unfamiliar wilderness. I don’t suppose there’s a map?”
“No,” said Phlebas. “But there’s a signpost up ahead at that crossroads.”
They rode to the crossroads, where there was a branching of the road in three different directions. The signpost was so weathered that the sign pointers were unreadable.
“Well, this is cheerful,” said Jollyrei.
“There seems to be some words carved into that stone there,” said Phlebas, pointing to a large gray stone beside the signpost.
“What’s it say,” asked Jollyrei, dismounting. Phlebas likewise dismounted, and the two princes went to read the stone. It read:
“Choose thy way with care, O traveller,
For peril lies on all roads,
Upon the one hand lies hunger and cold,
Upon the second is life, although your horse perish
But upon the other hand is Death, and only your horse will return.”
“That doesn’t rhyme,” said Jollyrei. “Isn’t it supposed to rhyme?”
“I don’t know,” said Phlebas with some exasperation. “I can’t recall the last time I was in a fairy tale.”
“Which one do we take?” asked Jollyrei.
“I think, given the quest we’re on, that this is where we part ways,” said Phlebas. “We need to split up. It will give us a better chance that one of us gets back. Father was only ever going to let one of us return anyway. So, one of us gets the Firebird, and becomes Tsar, and when it’s safe, he can inform the other one and we can both get home.”
“That sounds strangely reasonable,” said Jollyrei. “So all we have to do is avoid the path where one of us dies.”
“Well, considering the sounds of screaming and the pall of smoke on the right hand fork,” said Phlebas drily, “that’s probably the path to certain death there.” As if to prove a point, a horse ran up the right-hand path, and galloped off on the road back to the Tsar's palace. A loose wagon wheel also rolled out of the smoke and fell into the ditch at the side of the road, but this always happens and is unimportant.
“Agreed,” said Jollyrei. “So we risk the other two paths. Which one will you take?”
“I want a sign,” said Phlebas. “Some portent for the road I shall take.” A large raven swooped down from out of the smoke from the right-hand path, and landed at the start of the left hand road. It looked intelligently at Phlebas.
“You’ve got to be joking,” said Jollyrei.
“It’s as good a sign as any,” said Phlebas. “Anyway, it’s one road or the other. I’ll take the left hand road.”
“Okay then,” said Jollyrei. “I’ll take the centre road. Keep your cloak and food safe, in case of the hunger and cold, and watch out for danger to your horse.”
“You too,” said Phlebas. “I hope we meet again in happier times.”
“Right,” said Jollyrei.
“I hate long good-byes,” said Phlebas.
And so Prince Phlebas took the left road, and Prince Jollyrei rode down the centre road, to take whatever adventures awaited.
The raven, after a moment, flew off after Phlebas. Meanwhile, on the centre path, Jollyrei’s passage was noted by a large gray wolf.
To be continued…
A Crux Fairy Tale, based on the Russian tales of the same name.
I must apologize, from the outset, insofar as this first chapter contains no deaths, no crucifixions, only implied sex, and honestly, no CF crux girls. These crucial elements of a CF story will all show up as we go along, so do please bear with me, and I hope you will at least be entertained along the way. Chapter 1:
Once upon a time, because that’s the way one starts this sort of story, there was a Tsar. He may have once been a good ruler, but since his wife had died, many years ago, he had grown tired of his kingdom, and left the management of his empire to his two sons, Phlebas Tsareivitch, the older son, who wasn’t anywhere near old, and Jollyrei Tsareivitch, the younger son, who wasn’t much younger. They were reasonably good at it, and the peasants did not suffer more than any other peasants of the time. They usually had enough to eat, even in the cold Russian winters. The Tsar himself grew obsessed with his gardens, and especially with a tree that grew golden apples.
“So why does, father’s tree have golden apples?” asked Phlebas. “It’s not a normal thing.”
“It’s a fairy tale,” said Jollyrei. “It’s the same as how we can have these radically non-Russian names, even though we’re the sons of a Tsar.”
“Perhaps we had an exotic foreign mother,” said Phlebas. “That might explain it.”
“The story doesn’t say,” said Jollyrei.
“Do you suppose they’re magic?” asked Phlebas.
“Our names?” asked Jollyrei, looking up in some confusion from his work table. He was piecing together a 1/100th scale model of the Martyrdom of St. Eulalia. “Why should they be magic?”
“No, you idiot,” said Phlebas. “The golden apples.”
“Father won’t let anyone into the garden to find out,” said Jollyrei.
“So you’ve tried,” said Phleba.
“Not to get apples,” said Jollyrei. “You see, there was the new chamber maid…”
“Of course,” said Phlebas. “Same with me, only because of the new servant in the wine cellars. Anyway, Father is obsessed with those golden apples.”
As if on cue, there was a great commotion out in the corridor, and in burst the Tsar and two large bearded guardsmen.
“That does it!” the Tsar shouted. “I leave things to you two lazy nitwits, and the whole empire goes to pot.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” asked Phlebas. “The Empire is fine. The peasants even have food in winter.” Jollyrei nodded in agreement.
“My gardens,” said the Tsar. “Every night for the past week, someone has stolen a golden apple from my prize tree.”
“I hardly think that counts as a national emergency,” said Jollyrei. “Surely you can simply set some sort of trap for the thief. Anyway, how could anyone get in there. You keep it locked up like a Saint’s chastity belt. He held up a small carved 1/100th scale example.
“Well, it’s about to be a national emergency for you two,” growled the Tsar. “You are going to catch the thief. You are going to find out who it is within the week or you can both be beheaded.” (Did anyone mention that the Tsar was evil, and probably insane? No? They really should have done. You’d better just go on from this point with that assumption.)
“Then you’ll have no heir,” said Jollyrei.
“You have cousins who can take your places,” said the apparently evil Tsar. “I’ll tell you a little secret. Those golden apples are magic…”
“There!” said Phlebas. “Told you!”
“What?” asked Jollyrei.
“They’re magic apples,” said Phlebas triumphantly.
“Will you both shut up?” shouted the Tsar. “I don’t give a single damn about your inane discussions. I am convinced that these magic apples are the only things standing in the way of the destruction of my empire. This is important enough that I’m going to murder both my sons in true fairy tale fashion if you do not find the thief. If you find him, I will divide the empire in half and you can each be Tsar of half of it. Take the key to my garden and get on with it.”
“The Captain of the Guard would never behead us, even on your orders,” said Jollyrei. “We’ve known him since we were small boys.”
The Captain grinned evilly through his beard.
“Oh yes he will,” said the Tsar. “I’m the Tsar.”
“He would too though,” murmured Phlebas. “Who knew there were so many evil guys around here?”
“Who knew Father was a raving loonie?" said Jollyrei. "Bit of a surprise to me too. Ironically, it is now quite easy for us to get into the garden with our respective servant girls.”
So the two princes, under threat of death, took the key to the garden, and two young servant girls, and made their way that evening after supper to the secret garden of the Tsar. They brought swords to fight the thief, rope to bind him, and the serving girls just in case he didn’t show up. They didn’t want to waste their time, you see. They also felt that the rope could serve to bind the serving girls.
Then they lay in wait (if you want to call it that) until everyone was fairly happy. Phlebas was untying his wine serving girl when Jollyrei said: “Shhh. I heard something.”
Everyone went quiet and ducked behind a nearby hedge.
There was a glow, coming from beyond the garden wall which grew brighter, and brighter, until something like a small star seemed to drift down over the wall and onto the grass of the lawn. It was a bird, but a bird unlike anything either prince (or the serving girls either, although they don’t really matter in this story, sorry girls.) had ever seen. (Don’t worry, there will be other girls who do matter. It’s just these particular ones don’t really. They’re like throw cushions – a bit of décor, but not really critical to anything.) The bird was elegant and graceful in appearance, and appeared to be on fire, it’s feathers shimmering in red, orange, blue and gold. The princes (and serving girls) stared at it, entranced.
As it landed in on the lawn of the garden it transformed into a slim, graceful dark-haired woman. Her skin was perfect, and she wore a gown that seemed to burn, shimmering in flame colours like the bird’s feathers, although it didn’t seem to harm her.
“Now that’s what I call a fire bird,” murmured Jollyrei to himself.
The Firebird woman walked quickly to the tree in the centre of the garden, looked around quickly, and then picked one of the golden apples.
“Have you seen anything like that before?” whispered Jollyrei.
“No,” said Phlebas, “It’s fantastic. I bet the girls haven’t seen anything like that either.”
“Well, no,” said Jollyrei, “but they hardly matter, do they?”
“Well, I like that!” exclaimed the chambermaid. “Come on, Lyudmila.” And the two insulted serving girls got up and started across the garden to the gate.
The Firebird woman, startled by the noise, gave a sharp (but musical) cry. Phlebas and Jollyrei jumped out from behind the hedge to try to capture her. The princes charged toward her, diving as she transformed into her bird form. Jollyrei was closest and managed to grasp the bird’s tail as she took off.
There was a moment where he thought he had her, and then she was gone, over the garden wall.
“Does this mean that we lose our heads then?” asked Jollyrei.
“Father gave us a week, but I doubt we’ll be able to capture that bird, er, girl…er bird. And he’s hardly going to believe a firebird came in, turned into a girl, and stole an apple, and then flew away, while we dallied with two servant girls.”
“No look,” said Jollyrei. “I got a feather from her tail.” He held up a shining feather, about 12 inches long and two inches in width, which seemed alive with an internal fire. Anyone who believes his apples are magic is bound to believe a firebird story, if we have this feather.”
“I think it’s the best chance we have,” said Phlebas, “but it’s not going to get us the kingdom.”
“Maybe we should consider exile,” said Jollyrei. “I hear Sweden can be nice.”
“Too close to Russia,” said Phlebas. “I think we should go to Australia.”
“I think that’s just a mythical place,” said Jollyrei, “like Atlantis.”
And so the next morning, the two princes dressed in their finest clothes and presented the firebird’s feather to their father.
“Majesty,” said Phlebas. “We wish to report that we know who the thief of your apples is.”
“Splendid,” said the Tsar, obviously pleased. “Show him to me.”
“Unfortunately,” said Jollyrei, “the thief got away.”
“What!?” roared the Tsar. “You let him escape.”
“No, Sire,” said Phlebas. “The thief is an enchanted woman, a Firebird. Jolly got one of its feathers.”
Jollyrei held up the feather, which glowed brightly, filling the room with something like firelight. The Tsar stared at it, entranced.
“So, er,” said Jollyrei, “could you see clear to letting us, you know… um…”
“…keep our heads,” finished Phlebas.
“Oh, yes,” said the Tsar, gazing raptly at the feather. “You will keep your heads. You need them, because you are both banished from my palace and must scour the world to find me this Firebird. Whichever of you brings it to me shall immediately become Tsar of all the Russias (“How many are there?” whispered Jollyrei. “No clue,” said Phlebas.). If you don’t find it, and try to return, then I’ll chop off your head. (“Australia,” said both princes.)
“You may have one week to make your preparations for your quest,” said the Tsar. “Now, leave me that feather, and go.”
And so it was, that one week hence, Phlebas and Jollyrei mounted their horses, and rode away from the palace of their birth, to find the legendary Firebird.
“Shame that our crazed father kept the Firebird's feather,” said Phlebas. “She's really very pretty.”
“Yes. She’s quite hot,” said Jollyrei.
“You did that on purpose,” accused Phlebas.
“It seemed an obvious joke,” said Jollyrei. “I thought it best we get it out of the way now.”
“Have you ever been outside the palace,” asked Phlebas.
“It seems odd,” said Jollyrei, “but now that you mention it, no. I don’t think I have, although I seem to be able to ride this horse quite well.”
“That’s the fairy tale doing its thing again, then,” said Phlebas. “Do you suppose we’re any good in a fight?”
“Just have to hope for the best,” said Jollyrei. “It does explain why we have ridden only about 5 miles, and are in a completely unfamiliar wilderness. I don’t suppose there’s a map?”
“No,” said Phlebas. “But there’s a signpost up ahead at that crossroads.”
They rode to the crossroads, where there was a branching of the road in three different directions. The signpost was so weathered that the sign pointers were unreadable.
“Well, this is cheerful,” said Jollyrei.
“There seems to be some words carved into that stone there,” said Phlebas, pointing to a large gray stone beside the signpost.
“What’s it say,” asked Jollyrei, dismounting. Phlebas likewise dismounted, and the two princes went to read the stone. It read:
“Choose thy way with care, O traveller,
For peril lies on all roads,
Upon the one hand lies hunger and cold,
Upon the second is life, although your horse perish
But upon the other hand is Death, and only your horse will return.”
“That doesn’t rhyme,” said Jollyrei. “Isn’t it supposed to rhyme?”
“I don’t know,” said Phlebas with some exasperation. “I can’t recall the last time I was in a fairy tale.”
“Which one do we take?” asked Jollyrei.
“I think, given the quest we’re on, that this is where we part ways,” said Phlebas. “We need to split up. It will give us a better chance that one of us gets back. Father was only ever going to let one of us return anyway. So, one of us gets the Firebird, and becomes Tsar, and when it’s safe, he can inform the other one and we can both get home.”
“That sounds strangely reasonable,” said Jollyrei. “So all we have to do is avoid the path where one of us dies.”
“Well, considering the sounds of screaming and the pall of smoke on the right hand fork,” said Phlebas drily, “that’s probably the path to certain death there.” As if to prove a point, a horse ran up the right-hand path, and galloped off on the road back to the Tsar's palace. A loose wagon wheel also rolled out of the smoke and fell into the ditch at the side of the road, but this always happens and is unimportant.
“Agreed,” said Jollyrei. “So we risk the other two paths. Which one will you take?”
“I want a sign,” said Phlebas. “Some portent for the road I shall take.” A large raven swooped down from out of the smoke from the right-hand path, and landed at the start of the left hand road. It looked intelligently at Phlebas.
“You’ve got to be joking,” said Jollyrei.
“It’s as good a sign as any,” said Phlebas. “Anyway, it’s one road or the other. I’ll take the left hand road.”
“Okay then,” said Jollyrei. “I’ll take the centre road. Keep your cloak and food safe, in case of the hunger and cold, and watch out for danger to your horse.”
“You too,” said Phlebas. “I hope we meet again in happier times.”
“Right,” said Jollyrei.
“I hate long good-byes,” said Phlebas.
And so Prince Phlebas took the left road, and Prince Jollyrei rode down the centre road, to take whatever adventures awaited.
The raven, after a moment, flew off after Phlebas. Meanwhile, on the centre path, Jollyrei’s passage was noted by a large gray wolf.
To be continued…
I will endeavour to keep it up. And yes, I suspect I will keep my head for a couple more chapters at least - it makes things rather short (pardon the pun) if one is decapitated before the quest starts. 
ready for the next chapter.
