Chernevog (22 page)

“
Lend me a canvas.
”

“
Why don't you ride?
”
Sasha said, though he had only just gotten up, because Volkhi's bare back afforded some warmth to a man in wet clothing. But Pyetr refused and only asked for the canvas, saying walking kept him warm, and that Volkhi had no need for another soaking.

Within the hour it thundered.

They kept traveling in rain and dusk, lightning flashing while above the trees—a miserable night, Pyetr said to himself, but they had their shelter canvases to wrap about them as they walked—soaked as he had been when it started, it still kept him warm; and at least since that ducking they had better ground underfoot—wide spaces between dead trees and new saplings, more new fern than thorn brakes, which let them keep traveling well past sundown.

But for some reason about
sunset Sasha had taken to look
ing over his shoulder as they went—and once Pyetr realized it, he began to have a prickly feeling at his nape, and began to his own anxious glances at
their
back trail
.

“
What are we looking for?
”
he asked.
“
That spook of a bannik?
”

“
I don't know,
”
Sasha said.
“
I just have this feeling.
”

Came a sudden crash over the woods, white glare lighting up the puddles, glancing off wet branches and leaves and bracken. Sasha looked white as a ghost himself: it might perhaps be the chill.

But the light was failing them fast by then; and they put up their canvas in the near-dark with ropes between two trees, got a fire going at the edge of their shelter in spite of the rain, and had a fair supper, themselves and Volkhi and Babi.

Comfort, as far as it went.

Only now that they had stopped there was time to think, and Pyetr stared into the fire wondering if Eveshka might know he was thinking of her right now, and asking himself for the thousandth time—he could not help it—whether if he had done better for Eveshka she might just once have trusted him when it counted.

“
Don't give up,
”
Sasha said, perhaps eavesdropping, he had no idea. He began to think he had no shame left, or privacy, and sighed.

“
I'm not,
”
he said, chin on forearm.
“
I only wish I knew what she thinks she's doing. Or what we keep looking for, or why in hell—
”
Sasha always chided him about swearing, never mind that master Uulamets had never stuck at it. And it helped the knot in his throat.
“
—why we can't reach her.
”

“
I don't know,
”
Sasha said,
“
I honestly don't know.
”

“
Are
you trying?
”

“
Pyetr, I swear to you—constantly.
”

He ran a hand through his hair, an excuse to look elsewhere, because his eyes stung. He had no wish to distress the boy. So he said, tight-jawed, the only hopeful thing he could think of:
“
I trust you.
”
And again, after a sigh, because he felt a little better for that, and it crossed his mind that Sasha might find some things easier to explain without words,
“
I really don't mind you wishing at me.
”
It was different from just living in the house, he told himself, there were things he needed to know in a hurry, the god help them, even if it made him crazy for the rest of his life—even if Eveshka had scared hell out of him doing II

Sasha winced visibly, looked embarrassed, and he was sure Sasha had overheard him. Finally Sasha said, faintly,
“
Wish me to mind my own business when I do that.
”

“
It upset Eveshka,
”
Pyetr said, and after recalling what he had not told Sasha, once upon a time:
“
That was one of tho
se
times she ran out of the house.
”

Sasha looked upset. Finally Sasha said,
“
She never said. Pyetr, she makes mistakes, I make mistakes—
”

“
She said she'd had a hundred years to learn bad habits. She said once—
”
He did not like to remember it. He knew 'Veshka would kill him for telling it to Sasha. But he thought too, now, if there was one person who ought to know
...
“
She said she thought sometimes she ought to be dead again, she said sometimes she almost wished she was—
”

Sasha's face grew grim and worried.

Pyetr asked, because for three years he had wanted to ask someone:
“
Can she do that? Wish herself to die?
”

“
She doesn't mean it,
”
Sasha said.
“
Or she would die. That's
not
what she wants, that's absolutely sure.
”

“
What, then?
”
His wife talked about suicide—and he had to ask an eighteen-year-old boy what she meant.
“
Dammit, what can I do for her?
”

“
Make her happy.
”

“
I'm not doing that very well.
”
The knot was back in his throat. He picked up the vodka jug, pulled the stopper.

Sasha said, ‘‘Better than anyone could.
”

He thought about a drink. He decided that was a coward's way. He looked at the fire instead, wishing Sasha would drop the whole thread of conversation, talk about something else now. He had found out all he wanted.

‘‘It's hard to grow up,
”
Sasha said.
’‘It's terribly hard. I killed my own parents.
”

“
Oh, hell—
”
He knew it: he did not want Sasha going off into those thoughts.

“
It doesn't matter whose fault it was. It's just hard to grow up if your wishes work. She hates her father. But her father had to keep her from burning the house down or wishing him dead or something, and he was strong enough to stop her. Mine wasn't. What 'Veshka wanted that made her run away—that's why wizards can't live with each other. That's why bad wizards
can somehow grow up in town. But Uulamets' father just took his son into the woods and left him on a wizard's doorstep.
”

“
Malenkova.
”
He had heard this story, too.

“
Uulamets said most really powerful wizards just go crazy— and most of the rest just wish not to be able to wish—and that's the cure, if you can really want that. But
'
Veshka
doesn't really want that either, or she would. Malenkova's dead, Draga's dead, Uulamets is dead, Chernevo
g—the god only knows about Cher
nevog; and as far as I know 'Veshka and I are the only really strong wizards alive. It's—
”

For a long few breaths there was only the sound of the fire burning, the wind whispering in the leaves.

“
—very difficult sometimes,
”
Sasha said. There might be a shimmer in Sasha's eyes. Sasha's knuckles were white, his arms locked around his knees.
“
Scary. But when you've been able to do anything you want—and you learn to use that—it's scarier to think of being helpless. So you don't do anything. When you do move, you try to be right.
”

Pyetr did not know what to say. Finally he said,
”
You're better than Uulamets.
”

“
I hope so,
”
Sasha said, and put another stick on the fire, clenching his jaw. Something happened. Pyetr felt his aches suddenly stop.

Another theft, he supposed. A man got used to these interferences.

“
You think she's scared,
”
he asked,
“
she might do what you're doing and not stop?
”

“
I think she's terribly scared of that.
”
A second stick.
“
She had terrible fights with her father. Not just shouting. Wizard fights, wishing at each other—back and forth. He stopped her. He was always strong enough to stop her—until she ran away that day. I don't think she understands yet how scared he was of her.
”

“
Why? She can't have outfought him.
”

“
Because
”
a wizard's never more powerful than when he's a child. Only thank the god no child wants very much. He can want his mother. She has to listen. Has to.
”
Another of those pauses, Sasha's eyes downcast in the firelight.
“
Which might not make her love him much. And if she doesn't love him he's going to want her to. He's going to want her to do what he wants
till, the god only knows, either the baby burns the house down or wishes something really dangerously stupid or
someday
a mama runs o
r
if or his papa picks him up and takes him to a
wizard who can deal with him. 'Veshka's mother was a wizard, her father was, she got her gift from both sides. If there was ever somebody who was born like her, I don't know, and Uulamets didn't hear of anybody like her either.
”

‘‘What are you saying?
”
He honestly had no idea, except that it seemed nothing good.

“
I'm saying I wonder now if Chernevog was even thinking about revenge on Uulamets. It's possible he killed her because he was that afraid of her.
”

He had no idea how to put that together, whether it was good or bad. Eveshka going up there alone—suddenly might have a completely different interpretation.
“
You think she
can
deal with him?
”

“
I don't know. I don't think 'Veshka herself knows.
”

‘‘What does that mean? Dammit—either she can or she can't.
”

“
She doesn't like to talk about it, but I think—I think she's learned a bit about herself since she came back. I think she's gotten a better idea why certain things happened, and maybe she knows now why she and her father came to odds—even if she does hate him. I think she's afraid he could have been right. And then this business up north—if this has been coming on, and she felt it—she
was
linked to him once
...”

“
That's wonderful. That's damned wonderful. So he's calling her up there. You think she's got any chance whatever against him? He
killed
her, for the god's sake! How much more can you lose than your life?
”

Sasha gave him a strange, troubled look. Pyetr suddenly wished he had not asked that question.

Sasha said, stirring sparks from the fire,
”
She might beat him. The one thing she has to do is know exactly what she wants.
”

“
God,
”
Pyetr said before he thought, and having said it, shook his head and added, his honest thought:
“
Then we're in trouble, aren't we?
”

The forest lay still under the stars, not a breeze stirring.

An owl swooped, talons struck; a hare squealed sharply into silence.

Sasha waked with a jerk in the huddle of blankets, caught his breath and, to shake himself free of the dream, sat up to feed another stick into the embers.

Pyetr stirred and mumbled,
“
Need help?
”

“
Go to sleep,
”
he said, wishing the dawn would come. The stick took light, a line of small bright flames in the coals.
“
It's all right.
”

Pyetr leaned on his elbow, looking at him with concern.

An owl called, somewhere near. Sasha fed a second stick in and tucked down again, not wishing to discuss it.

“
The rain's stopped,
”
Pyetr said.

It had. There were only the droplets the wind shook loose from the trees. Thunder walked far to the north.

Near him, Sasha could not help thinking tonight. Near Chernevog.