Pyetr fed the fire and kept an eye on Chernevog while Sasha was outside the walls including the horses in the circle—bending birch seedlings, tying them with mending-cord, and wishing them well: on the whole, Pyetr approved of birch trees, and leshys, and whatever was alive, as opposed to dead; and particularly whatever opposed the sort of magic Chernevog dealt with.
Chernevog was sitting opposite him, against the fire-scorched wall, knees tucked up. His eyes were open, but he had not moved since he had sat down.
"There's the canvas," Pyetr said. "You could wrap in that, you know."
Chernevog gave no sign he had heard. His thin shirt seemed scant protection against the chill in the mist.
Pyetr chucked a stick in Chernevog's direction. If Chernevog was thinking of some mischief he had no inclination to let him do it in peace. "The canvas," he said, "beside you. Or freeze. I'm sure I don't care."
He thought about the bannik, or whatever it was, and tried to wonder about Eveshka and what else it had shown them. He listened to Sasha moving around out beyond the walls, in the dark, and thought, Get back here, boy. I really don't like this.
Chernevog said, suddenly, "I did love Owl."
It sounded like an accusation. A just complaint, what was worse, but he did not want to argue grievances with the man, not here, where memory was so vivid. He kept his mouth shut.
Chernevog said, ”I wanted Eveshka. I 'd have given her everything she could have asked.''
"Shut up, Snake. You'll make me mad if you go on."
"She wanted you. I couldn't understand that."
"I can."
Chernevog said, "I wish I'd done differently by you."
"But you didn't, Snake, you really made me mad. And you're doing it again."
"You want so very little."
"Sasha!"
He could not get his breath for a moment. Then breath came, and Sasha came running.
"Pyetr?"
"Snake, here, tried something." He was still short-winded. "I don't know what."
"I'm very sorry," Chernevog said. "You frightened me."
"I frightened you." Pyetr put another stick into the furnace, wanting nothing to have happened, nothing magical to have Insinuated itself into him that Sasha might not detect. "Don't put any damn wishes on me. —Sasha, I don't know what he was up to, but he did something."
Sasha squatted and put his hand on his shoulder, but the queasiness in his stomach did not go away. Wishes, he thought, did not necessarily lie in someone, they were not there to be bound like a splinter or a bruise. They just waited down the road and pounced when the time came.
"It's all right," Sasha said.
"I damn sure hope it is." He shrugged off Sasha's hand, not wanting to worry about it. "Did you finish out there?"
"Almost—I didn't feel him do anything, Pyetr."
So he was being foolish—if Sasha knew everything that was going on, which he hoped, but he was not sure of: nothing seemed sure, dealing with Kavi Chernevog.
"I'm all right, then," he said. "Go on, get back to it. We've got one Snake in here, we don't need another."
Sasha pressed his shoulder, stood up and did something, Pyetr had no idea what: Chernevog put up a hand as if he were about to be hit, and said, "I didn't touch him."
"He evidently didn't," Pyetr said, reluctantly.
Sasha stood there a moment. Chernevog stared up at him with a hard, defiant expression.
That was a fight going on, Pyetr decided. He got up with his sword in hand and said, "Snake, behave or I'll cut your head off. Hear me?"
Chernevog did not look at him immediately. Then his eyes shifted slowly to fix on him, and Pyetr felt a sudden light-headedness, a chill against his heart.
The stone floor came up under his knee—the sword clattered onto the stones as he saw Chernevog stand up, and Sasha facing him.
"Chernevog!" he yelled.
"Don't fight me," Chernevog said, and even thinking about it was an uphill struggle.
"Damn you," he said, and did struggle—to reach the sword and pick it up, but it was hard to believe Chernevog meant any harm, to him or to Sasha: Chernevog needed them, and what Chernevog needed was very, very safe.
"Protection enough, your circle," Chernevog said. "Thank you."
Papa had not brought up a fool, to go straight up to any strange door and knock. Eveshka sat at the edge of the woods and listened to the silence. Hwiuur had gone somewhere or Hwiuur was lying as still as he could. Of the shapeshifter there was no sign, either—whether her father had ever been with her, or whether it had been that creature all along. Their absence now meant only that they were up to no good; and if the vodyanoi had told her the truth about Pyetr and Sasha being in Chernevog’s company, she had no doubt where that trouble had gone.
She would wish not—excepting it was not a place to be flinging wishes about recklessly or loudly.
Damn, she did not like this strange house under the hill, and she did not like Hwiuur disappearing and she did not like the idea that whoever lived here was—she felt it—aware of her being here.
How not? she thought. Hwiuur would certainly have seen to that.
She locked her hands in front of her mouth, she wanted, as quietly and as carefully as she could, to know what was in that house without having it catch her at it—a small burglary, Pyetr would call it, without touching the door at all.
Ah, someone said to her, there you are.
She drew back, quickly, felt a magic more powerful than anything Kavi had ever used.
It said, Oh, don't be a fool. There's no use sitting there in the dark. Come inside. I don't bite.
She said, Who are you?
But that was a mistake. Curiosity opened a way for it. It said, softly, Your mother, dear. Of course.
20
"Sasha?" Pyetr was saying, "Sasha?" and patting his face, saying, "Damn you, let him go," —to someone else, Sasha decided. Then he realized that Pyetr was holding his head off the ground and the person Pyetr was talking to was Chernevog, who sat comfortably at their fireside.
Pyetr rested a hand on Sasha's shoulder, said, in a low voice: '' I don't know what he's up to. He's got his book, he's got yours and Uulamets', and I couldn't stop him. I'm sorry." Pyetr sounded terribly distraught, as if it were his fault—and that was in no wise just.
Sasha asked, ''Are you all right?''
"So far."
He made the effort to sit up, winced as the ache in his head became stabbing pain and found himself leaning on Pyetr's arm, everything gone dim again.
"You hit the ground hard." Pyetr said, continuing to support him, which, the way everything was spinning, was more than welcome. But the ache eased when he wished it: it should not have, Chernevog being free—and free of what... his addled wits suddenly realized. He looked into Pyetr's anxious face, saw lines of pain unlike him.
God, no! he thought, and he wished Chernevog's heart back where it belonged.
But he felt no change at all; and Chernevog said, with a stinging rebuke, I haven't hurt him, I've no wish to, without taking back what I don't want, personally, to carry. You won't do my heart any harm—not where it sits. So just do what I tell you-no different than with Uulamets, is it?
Damn you, Sasha thought, and quickly restrained his anger, seeing Chernevog smile at him—affording him a moment to think what he might do to Pyetr to teach him a lesson.
Chernevog said, I have no need to. Do I?
No, he agreed, earnestly trying to turn his thoughts to cooperation, at least for the while.
Chernevog said aloud, to Pyetr: "Let's dispense with grudges. Shall we? They do so little good. I won't blame you, you won't blame me, we won't quarrel: that's best, isn't it, Pyetr Ilyitch?"
Careful, Sasha wished Pyetr.
"Isn't it?" Chernevog asked.
"Yes," Pyetr said faintly.
"That's your friend bespelling you, not me. He's very much afraid for you, Pyetr Ilyitch. But we have an agreement, and I 'm not sorry for i
t, I'm truly not. Be agreeable, is that so much to ask?"
"No," Pyetr answered, a mere movement of the lips: Say anything he wants, Sasha wished him, never mind the truth.
Chernevog said, "I really, really have come to envy you two. I don't know I've ever seen two people trust each other.''
"You wouldn't," Pyetr said, before Sasha could stop him.
"No," Chernevog said, "I wouldn't. I really wouldn't. But it's comfortable just being with people like you—even if I am a snake." He smiled at them, and shrugged. "This snake can do very well for you, you understand, if you'll only let him."
"He's lost his damn mind,'' Pyetr muttered under his breath.
"No, no, no," Chernevog said. "I'm very serious. The leshys did teach me something—patience, for one thing. Waiting for things instead of forcing them. They do come. This one did."
"I think I'll have a nap," Pyetr said. "It's late. We're in the hands of a crazy man.''
Sasha's heart turned over. He wished Chernevog not to do anything about that; and Chernevog only said, gently, "I wouldn't change him. —We'll talk about 'Veshka tomorrow."
II was a trap, of course. Sasha bit his lip and knew Pyetr knew it, and knew Pyetr had not the constitution to ignore a challenge.
Pyetr just sat there and stared at Chernevog, that was as far as he went; and Chernevog sat there a moment before saying, with no trace of mockery, "Something's seriously wrong. I've as much magic as I need—but I feel limits I didn't have before. I don't know whether it's something the leshys did to me or whether it's something altogether different. I do know that Veshka’s north of us, I know she's left the boat, I know old Hwiuur's about..."
"Let's get to the point," Pyetr said.
"That is the point. Hwiuur's being—pardon me—a snake. Very difficult to catch. Possibly it's a little last rebellion: he's like that. But it's not the only uneasy feeling I have, and it doesn't, as you say, answer the question what's happened to the leshys, a very major question, in my position. So I do think it's just as well we go north, and find 'Veshka, and explain to her you're with me—because if we don't, she's very likely to fall Into the hands of some other crazy person, do you see, and none of us wants that."
Pyetr said nothing. Sasha thought of flowers, thought of bread baking, thought of the garden at home and wondered if it needed weeding. He wished the weeds at least not to prosper.
Chernevog said, "Prudent, but let's all admit she might try to free you, and I've no doubt there are things that will fly straight to her to help her. That's why I want to find her first. That's why I'm sure you do."
Flowers, Sasha thought. Birches and a fieldmouse by the hearth.
Pyetr, don't listen to him.
Chernevog said, "Your friend is speaking to you again. He's trying to advise you be careful. So would I. I'd give him the same advice, of course, but he's trying not to listen to me. — I'll warrant his head's not hurting now."
The pain had gone; .Sasha had no recollection when.
"See?" Chernevog said softly. "A safe camp, a safe rest. I can be very easy to get along with, if people are agreeable. — Put some wood on the fire, will you?"
* * *
The house seemed larger inside than out—the log walls were trimmed and polished and other rooms were curtained with fine needlework at which one had no wish to gaze overlong, the patterns so caught the eye. Fire blazed up in a hearth of river stone, an oak mantel held silver plates, and herbs hung in chains and bunches beside it.
This was Draga's house.
And the mother Eveshka had not seen from her birth a hundred years ago was young and beautiful, her mother's hair was long and pale, freshly brushed and tied up with ribbons, her nightgown embroidered with blue flowers very like those Eveshka had thought she had made up, to sew about her hems.
It was her nose, her mouth, her chin, except a little cleft. The resemblances both fascinated and terrified her.
Her mother said, "Do come in, Eveshka," and, "Let me take your coat, dear, do sit down, god, your hair's all over leaves ..."
Eveshka set her pack down by the hearthside bench her mother offered her, and kept her coat on, and stayed standing.
But her mother slipped on a robe, drawing her braids over one shoulder, said, looking at her, "Would you like some water to wash?" —implying, Eveshka supposed, that her face must be dirty. Her hands certainly were. Her boots were muddy from the rain. She would never have let anyone so disreputable besmirch her own well-swept floors, she would scold Pyetr or Sasha or her father right out the door to shed the boots, but she suddenly found herself defending her dirt as her right to be out that door again tonight, very soon, and sooner, if she found reason.
"No, thank you," she said.
"Well, do sit," her mother said, beginning to fuss about the kitchen. "Do."
"You needn't go to any trouble," Eveshka said. "Why did you call me here?"
"Because I wanted to see my daughter. Because you're in danger."
"From whom? From you?"
Draga drew tea from the samovar, set silver cups on a silver plate and slipped a honey-cake onto a small dish to set beside it.
Eveshka repeated, wanting a truthful answer: "From you, mother?"
Draga brought the tray to die fireside, set it on the end of the bench.”Your father told you terrible things about me. I know.''
"My father's been dead for three years," she said shortly. 'Why now, mother? What do you want?"
"To protect you. And my grandchild."
She wanted no wishes about the baby one way or the other until she was sure what she wanted, and she was surrounded by wishes, everyone's damned interference in something happening inside her.
"Does everyone in the world know?" she asked sharply.
"You didn't?"
She wanted to know things; she desperately barred her mother's thoughts, that came at her this way and that, persistent as a snake after eggs.
She said, carefully, aloud, "No, I didn't. It can't be far along."
"Mere days. Pyetr's the father?"
"What do you know about him?"
"That he's a common man. That he's very kind to you, and very wise, and very handsome."
That was not the response she had expected. Her father had never had a kind word for Pyetr, and that one of her parents finally agreed with her judgment tempted her to question all the things she had heard of Draga—but she must not be taken in that easily, dammit, no. Her mother had been spying on them, her mother had been sneaking about eavesdropping on their business.
"You're afraid," Draga said. "Here, don't let the tea cool—sit down, sit. God, you've grown so beautiful."
''I was murdered! I spent a hundred damned years as a ghost, mama, where in hell were you when I needed help?"
"Dear, I've had troubles, too."
"You were sleeping with Kavi Chernevog. You sent him to our house, you sent him to rob papa, and to sleep with me, if he could—"
"That was Kavi's idea."
"He was a boy, mama, you were years and years older than he was!"
"A very charming, very dangerous boy. I wanted you, dear. I wanted you to come and live with me, and yes, I sent Kavi; your father would hardly have let me walk up to the door. Kavi wanted me to teach him certain things—I agreed if he'd go and get you away from your father, which of course took your cooperation. Yes, I thought he might try to win you for himself, you're of an age; but Kavi had no intention of keeping his promises. He stayed to learn what he could from your father, he got caught where he had no business to be, and he still had a chance to have kept his promise to me. But he murdered you instead. Do you understand? He killed you because he'd told too many lies, and he knew how strong you were, and he knew you'd tell me too much. He knew if you ever got to me, the two of us would grow closer and closer, until he had no chance against us. So he killed you to keep you from me. And then he had to kill me before I found out what he'd done,"
"Did he?"
"He came very close to it.
I was very weak, all but helpless. I knew what he was doing—I 'd even have offered your rather my help, if I'd been able to, but I hadn't the strength. Then—I found out later it was Kavi's fall—something changed quite suddenly, and I could wish myself back, bit by bit."
It was plausible. It was entirely plausible. Draga offered the tea, stood patiently with the tray in her hands, wanting her to take it, and for courtesy's sake, and because her mother seemed disposed to stand there until she made up her mind, Eveshka took the cup from the tray, only to hold in her hands.
"No cake?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Well, well—" Her mother took the other cup, set the tray on the mantel and sat down, patting the bench. "Do sit. God, after all these years. What a lovely young woman you are!"
Eveshka stayed on her feet. "Why didn't you just tell me you wanted to see me?"
"Because I wasn't sure you'd come, I wasn't sure you'd want to see me—and because there's more going on than you know."
"Evidently everything's going on that I don't know! I'm having a baby and my dead mother's hiding in the woods—"
'' Dear, dear, sit down. And drink the tea. It's not poisoned.''
So finally her mother talked about things as they were. Eveshka sat down, coat and all, holding the teacup in her lap, and looked her mother in the eye, saying, "So what else don't I know, that you think I should?"
"A great deal."
"I've an hour or so in mind."
"Aren't you warm in that coat?"
"Let's get to the point, mama."
Draga sipped her tea. "Kavi Chernevog."
"What about him?"
"He's awake, he's looking for you, and he has your husband and his friend prisoner."
"That's a lie!"
"I’d be very careful trying to bespeak young Alexander at the moment. You're liable to get a very unpleasant answer. —Let me tell you, daughter, you're a lovely, intelligent young woman with your father's manners, my wits, and both our gifts in measure enough Kavi finds you very dangerous. I wanted you here. I would have wanted your husband and young Alexander with you, but that part of it your young friend prevented. At least Kavi doesn't know about me yet and Kavi doesn't believe you have any help now that the leshys have fallen asleep."