But the old man never was inclined to answer a civil question and certainly breaking in now hardly invited a civil answer. Himself, he recalled the last such episode, involving the salt pot and the vodyanoi and Uulamets blasting himself unconscious on the riverbank, and quietly slipped his sword around where it was convenient, swearing to himself that if there was another such incident and if the old man’s magicking harmed Sasha he was going to answer for it.
He hated that singing, that recalled his wits coming and going with fever, Uulamets doing things with knives—god! the smoke was giving him a headache, and he was starting to remember things-He rubbed his eyes to clear them of the stinging, thought that it was stupid to be sitting in the smoke with his eyes hurting and his nose running, and wondered if he dared move, but—
He was going to sneeze.
He stifled it desperately. But something happened of a sudden, the fire at his back suddenly blasted outward in a whirlwind of stinging cinders and ash, and he saw the pages of Uulamets’ book fly wild, the wind and the cinders blast back on Uulamets and Sasha, scattering burning bits of moss into their laps—he saw that while he was turning, getting to his feet, hand on his sword, to see what had happened—
To see a ghostly intruder confronting Eveshka—a thing that was at one instant a woman and at another a mouldering skeleton of a woman, with the reek of the earth about her.
“Well,” it said—one thought it said, although from moment to moment it was only bone, and looked at them though from one blink to another there were no eyes—”well, well, my loving husband… I thought that was your voice.”
CHAPTER 26
SASHA STARED at the Thing they had raised, with no idea what had gone wrong, but something had, something had gone most dreadfully, dangerously amiss, and wishes shivered in the air, cold as knife blades.
It called Uulamets husband. And with the same dreadful jaws, said, “This must be my daughter.”
Eveshka looked at it in horror, and Pyetr—
“That’s it,” Pyetr said. “That’s it, that’s enough of this blundering about in the dark, let’s for the god’s sake do something with the little pots, put it back where it came from—”
“It’s late for that,” the creature said, frowning, what time it was not grinning bone, and looked at Pyetr with such attention that Sasha flung everything he had into Pyetr’s safety—
Which only brought that attention in his direction, the slow, deliberate gaze of a snake. He felt that gaze, felt it crawl over his skin with sensations that disorganized his thinking.
“Draga!” Uulamets said sharply, and the raven flapped aloft and shrieked in startlement, then fluttered down like something wounded, while Eveshka stood there losing threads and streamers in a wind that reeked of something unearthed.
“Afraid?” the ghost said. “Guilty?—What did he tell you, daughter? That I’d simply deserted you? I had no choice.”
“Nor sense of balance! Nor scruples!” Uulamets said, and raised his staff, waving her away. “Eveshka, trust nothing with this thief, this snake—”
“Your mother,” the ghost said. “Come to me, Eveshka. I know everything that happened—the dead do know. And there’s no more pain, no more hurt. No one can do anything to you again—”
“Stay here!” Uulamets snapped, and the air went all to fire and ice, everywhere push and pull, go and come. Sasha lost his vision for a moment, his head spinning and himself without an anchor of any kind except Pyetr, except the realization that Uulamets was distracted, Pyetr was depending on him and that if he ever let go his hold on the world they would never see the sun again.
“—Your mother’s a common thief,” Uulamets said coldly. “When you were born she had no more interest in you than to hold you for ransom—”
“Liar!” the ghost said. “He never planned for offspring, saw nothing in a daughter but a threat to him—that’s why he stole you from me, that’s why I had to run for my life, that’s why he guarded you all those years—”
There was too much hatred, too much pain, altogether, when of a sudden Eveshka fled to Pyetr and held to him, saying, “Everyone’s lying. No one wanted me…”
“So you took in Kavi Chernevog,” the ghost said, on a cold wind. “And let him at my daughter. Damn your lies and your treachery… He murdered my daughter, and you were fool enough to take that boy in, teach him what you refused to teach my daughter, oh, I do know, I know you never would trust any of my blood, Ilya Uulamets, least of all one that shared yours. Most especially you never wanted any other wizard’s attentions to her. What did you have in mind for her?”
“Liar!” Uulamets cried. “Begone! Go back to your grave! Go back to the worms with your carping and your spite, she’s nothing to do with your poison, Draga!”
“Licentious pig. I’ll see you dead.”
“Look to yourself on that day! God, what did I ever see in you?”
“I had the worst of that bargain. I had you. God, look at you, you withered stick. I don’t know what I saw in you.”
“There’s your mother,” Uulamets said, flinging up a hand, turning his shoulder to the ghost. “There’s your mother, girl, god, what a baggage—”
He wished suddenly with such cold violence that Sasha threw up everything, everything he had, and stood, afterward, with his heart thumping and the clearing holding only one ghost, one tattered, frightened ghost, who turned and fled.
“Eveshka!” Uulamets said, again sending out that force, and she paused at the forest edge, shedding little filaments of herself.
“Eveshka,” Pyetr called out to her, and more pieces came away, flying out into the dark.
“What happened to my mother?” she asked, and Uulamets said,
“I’ve no idea.”
“How did she die?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. It certainly wasn’t my doing.”
Eveshka stared at him with eyes dark and deep and angry.
“You do know.”
“As happens, I don’t. She left after trying to steal my book, she left you behind, which was evidently the limit of her maternal affection. She was a wizard. Of course she was. Do you think she had a heart?” He reached out his hand and the raven flapped its wings and landed heavily on his wrist before he flung it for a sturdier perch overhead. “Hers would lodge in a snake. In a toad. In a cesspool. Don’t listen to her. You’re not her creature, you never were and you never will be.” He made a motion of his hand toward Sasha. “Put out the fire. Pack up.”
“Now?” Pyetr cried. “It’s dark out there! There’s the god knows what crawling around in the bushes, we’ve walked all last night, we’ve slept precious little of this one—”
“You wanted something done,” Uulamets snapped, and stamped his staff on the ground. “Move!”
Pyetr felt the shove the old man gave him, past his own pricklish shakiness of too little sleep, too many bad surprises, and too much effort yet to go. “Dammit—”
“Mind your language!” Uulamets said. “Don’t curse things and don’t name names and above all don’t mistake your dullness to magic for immunity. I’ll tell you once: yes, you’re hard to attack with magic, you’re slow to see, slow to feel, too dull to know what’s going on around you, but once something gets its material hands on you, or once you stand this close to a wizard, you’re in dire trouble, son. Distance does matter.”
“Don’t—” But he had just admonished Eveshka not to fight the old man. He swallowed his own bitter medicine and said, calmly, respectfully, “Can you make a sail rip, two and three days away?”
“You!” Uulamets said with a jut of his chin. “You damnable, arrogant, ignorant wretch, you with your insisting to be in the middle of things, you with your pig-headed interference, you’re the open door to any malign thing that wants a distraction—sit in the smoke till you sneeze, you damned fool: go help our enemy, why don’t you? It’s our only hope!”
Pyetr’s face burned: it was only the truth, he thought, the old man was
justified in that; the old man could have spared calling him to task in front of Sasha and Eveshka both—though even that he could not complain of, since he had put them both in danger.
But it did not change the question he was asking.
“I’m still asking,” he said, “is this the best thing to do? If distance makes a difference, is it smart of us to do anything but go back to the boat—”
“Why don’t you teach your grandmother to suck eggs?”
“I’m saying I may be the only one in this party with his wits about him, I may be the only one with doubts about this—I’m asking can you beat this fellow? Is this the best thing to do?”
Uulamets leaned on his staff and glared at him, no less sourly, but with his brow furrowed. “Pack,” he said, and his jaw looked most like a turtle’s. “You think I’m hard, don’t you? My daughter thinks I’m hard. But I’m telling you in words—in words what I want you to do. That’s very polite of me, do you understand? That’s very patient. Do you understand?”
Pyetr had a breath held for a sharp answer; but reckoning the odds, he decided that pride had occasionally to take second place to good sense, so he said, with a little bow, “Clearly,” and walked back toward his blankets to start throwing their belongings together. Eveshka was in his path. He stopped, looked at her, said, “We’ll get this straightened out—”
But Uulamets shouted, “Stay away from my daughter!”
So he went, remembering Eveshka’s stricken face, afraid for himself and Sasha and knowing nothing was going to make sense in a place where a ball of leaves tried to make away with your belongings and the girl you were halfway in love with was standing knitting and unknitting her edges in distress over a father whose only claim to virtue was that he had not murdered her mother.
Sasha came to help him, kneeling to pick up the scattered pans.
“Where’s Babi?” Pyetr said under his breath. “Can you wish him back?”
“It’s—”
“—a stupid wish.” A man in this company got very used to being wrong.
“Dangerous,” Sasha whispered, standing up. “Pyetr, don’t get near her, please don’t get near her! I don’t know, I’m not sure, I don’t like what I’ve heard—”
“There’s a lad.” He caught hold of Sasha’s shoulder, feeling solid bone and muscle, something real in this woods. “Sasha, listen to me, she’s all right, you are, there’s three of us if we work together—the god knows what her mother is.”
Sasha looked at him as if he had said something very distressing, and gripped his hand hard. “Pyetr, Uulamets is right—don’t believe her, don’t trust her—”
“More than her father, friend, I hope you’ve noticed how he gets along with his last student.” Pyetr snatched up their blankets, and added, since he had a stationary target: “Where in the god’s name are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know what I think? I think we’re not so far from the river. I think we’ve come a long loop upcoast. The River-thing is no land-goer. I think upriver’s where we were going, and that’s the direction we’ve taken in this thicket, if either of us had kept track.”
“It makes sense,” Sasha admitted.
That was some vindication. Pyetr knelt down and tied up the blankets while Sasha packed the little items.
“Hurry up!” Uulamets shouted at them.
Pyetr muttered, “Can you kill a dvorovoi?”
“I don’t know,” Sasha said, and with the firelight catching his jaw, did not at the moment look at all like the stablelad from Vojvoda. “It’s you and Eveshka I’m worried about. Remember what we promised each other? No ducking off without saying?”
Pyetr felt uneasy. In his heart there was already a contrary notion he had not realized until Sasha said that. “Promise me—” Pyetr almost said, Promise to stop wishing me. But he thought that might be a stupid thing to do, so he said nothing.
“Pyetr,” Sasha said, “for the god’s sake tell me before you do anything. At least trust me. All right?”
Pyetr nodded, and tried to explain what he felt about Eveshka, how he felt when she looked at him, how he had thought love was what people talked about when they wanted to get power over someone else, or when somebody else had power over them—and he had always sworn he would never be that crooked or that stupid. So here he was. It felt different than he had thought. There were moments when he was positively giddy—which might be a rusalka’s power; and everything he had always believed might be true—
He tried to say that.
But all that came out was, “I’ll try. I swear I’ll at least try…”
Before Uulamets shouted at them to move and Sasha scrambled to kill the fire.
CHAPTER 27
NO FIRE. No breakfast. Once at hours like this, Pyetr told himself, he had been lazing about in a soft, warm bed no magician was going to chase him out of. Now he could not remember when he had last been thoroughly warm, his hand was hurting again, and he had soaked his left boot, the one with the split seam, in a boggy spot some distance back.
Uulamets, once he had decided to move, did it with disconcerting energy, pushing branches out of the way with his staff and often as not carelessly letting them spring back—while Eveshka drifted through the brush faster than flesh and blood could move, finding the path at her father’s bidding, beckoning them to a way through and vanishing for long moments in this headlong pace they kept.
It felt wrong. Eveshka’s flitting haste, her increasingly lengthy disappearances, worried him. Faster and faster. Up hills and down and no notion in the world where they were going, except that it had to do with Chernevog and the old man knowing where he was.
So what do we do with him when we catch him? Pyetr asked himself. What do you do with a man who can make your heart burst in your chest or wish a tree to fall on you—
“Slow down!” Pyetr said, out of breath, seeing Uulamets get further ahead of them. Uulamets cared nothing whether the man behind him caught a released branch in the face, Uulamets went charging through with complete disregard for him behind, and Pyetr found himself lagging further and further back, dodging the branches that snapped at him, trying not to do the same thing to Sasha, who, struggling with a considerable pack for a lad, was having trouble enough keeping up with him, “Slow down!” he asked Uulamets a second time, but if Uulamets paid him any attention at all, it was short-lived.
He swore, trying both to take care of himself and Sasha, with the gap widening in front of them, vexed that an old man with a pack of his own could get away from him—but woodcraft was making that much difference in the dark. “Eveshka!” he called out, increasingly anxious as the gap widened, hoping she might realize their plight.
But she was out of view now, and Sasha had stopped, suddenly having snagged his pack on a branch.
“Wait!” Pyetr called out to Uulamets, “Sasha’s hung up!” He cast a glance over his shoulder to keep track of Uulamets while he jerked and broke the thorn branch off Sasha’s pack, tearing his hand again, but Uulamets was only a fading grayness in the dark, paying him no heed.
“Come on,” he said to Sasha, and tried to follow, but he could not find the way Uulamets had taken through, and the gap was getting wider: he could see the old man ahead but he could not see precisely where he stepped, and it only grew worse.
“He wants to lose us,” Pyetr muttered, shoving his way through brambles. It was bad enough being behind, but with his hand hurting and no idea where the shore was, or when the River-thing might put out some slithery coil about them, he had no wish to be out of Uulamets’ vicinity for a moment.
But something cold brushed against his arm, chilling right through his coat. Eveshka, he thought, had realized they had fallen behind, Eveshka had come back for them, and he looked around to speak to her—
And saw a man’s pale face, a bearded, rotting face with staring eyes.
He yelled as it reached for him and the cold went right through his arm and numbed it.
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“Let go of him!” Sasha cried.
It whipped away, wailing faintly through the woods: three more joined it in its flight.
“What was that?” Pyetr breathed, only then thinking of his sword—but it did not seem one of those things a sword might help.
Then he thought about those ghosts—three of them. “Eveshka,” he cried, and started fighting his way through the brush, desperately afraid they might threaten her more than him. “Eveshka!”
Sasha was close behind—Pyetr hoped that was who bumped into him, as all around them other ghosts came skulking in, reeking of the grave, rough and shaggy men armed with swords and knives, flitting through the brush without a care for the thorns, occupying the way ahead of them and cutting them off with a hedge of drawn and ghostly swords.
“Bandits!” Sasha said.
“Dead ones,” Pyetr murmured, halted with his hand on his own sword, for what small good it might be. The ghosts moved closer on all sides, swords drawn. “Uulamets!” Pyetr yelled, as one of them popped up right in his face, grinning at him. “Sasha!”
Suddenly Eveshka was there, a bright white shape of streaming edges in the midst of the others, which dimmed and shied away like so many curs.
“Away!” Eveshka cried, flinging out her arms, and they shredded and vanished on the winds.
Like that.
Pyetr stared at her, impressed—dismayed at being rescued by a slip of a girl; and likewise to see the rage on her face—as if he and Sasha might well stand next in her intentions.
But it was to the woods and the dark that she turned that grim expression, where the breaking of brush heralded something solid coming toward them. In a moment more, Uulamets’ gray shape came striding through the thicket, the black bird fluttering somewhere in the trees—one could hear the wings, beneath Uulamets’ panting and cursing.
“Lag back and halloo through the woods, why don’t you? Something might still be asleep!—And you, girl, don’t you turn your face from me. Don’t you pretend you don’t hear me!”