Mistress of the Solstice (27 page)

Wolf licked his muzzle. “I suppose
that’s the only way to get rid of you. I could have
eaten you, you know, but I have to respect the inscription on the
boulder. A pact is a pact. Just go east. You’ll reach a
village in two days.”

Ivan turned and walked out of sight.

I unclenched my hands that had balled into fists without me realizing
it, and stretched my fingers surreptitiously.

I was confused. It took either extreme courage, or extreme foolishness
to face the Gray Wolf the way Ivan had. His innocent blue eyes made it
hard for me to decide which. It was hard to imagine that this boy
possessed so much courage. Did his real strength lie in deception?

The scene in the Mirror changed again to show the
Tzar’s palace in the Twelfth Kingdom. I recognized
Vassily, whose eyes hadn’t lost their calculating look.
He sat at a table, dressed in a rich royal
caftan—
red and gold,
quite appropriate, and very becoming, for an heir to the throne. It
took me longer to recognize Fedor. He’d grown up fat
and sloppy, and his face wore a perpetual look of boredom. I felt
distantly sorry for Fedor. He could have been different if
he’d grown up in a better place.

Vassily spoke to a man dressed in simple peasant garb, but with the look
and posture of a warrior. I wondered if everyone could see through the
disguise as well as I did.

“He is riding east. Follow him. Soon after the border
of the Fourteenth Kingdom you will find a boulder at the crossroads
with words on it; never mind what they say.”

Of course. The man couldn’t read. Not uncommon.

“Most of the people at this boulder turn
back,” Vassily went on. “If Ivan
does, you and your men will meet him on your way. If not, he would go
right. Father didn’t give him much of a
horse.” He grinned. “Ivan would
think nothing of parting with it.”

“Parting with the horse?” the man
in the peasant outfit asked.
“Why?”

“Never mind that,” Vassily snapped.
“Turn right, but don’t go too far.
You’ll probably see the fool wandering around on foot.
Whatever you do, don’t go into the glade that opens out
from the woods.”

“But why?”

“There are beasts in the glade. They attack any horse
that enters the glade. I expect Ivan will lose his, by the time you get
there. Without his horse he cannot go far. He should be easy prey for
you and your men.”

Prey? But what possible threat could Ivan be to you?

Did Vassily suspect his youngest brother capable of becoming a hero? Was
he also a victim of Ivan’s deception?

“This bag holds one hundred gold
pieces,” Vassily said, handing the man a sizeable
leather pouch. “You will get another one like it when
you bring me his signet ring. But make sure he’s dead
before you take it. If you lie to me, I will find you anywhere you go
and make you regret the day you were born, do you
hear?”

“Yes, master. I will do as you
ask.”

I felt caught up in this string of events, just as I’d
been caught before, just as I so easily lost myself in
Ivan’s smile and the warmth of his shining blue eyes. I
was torn. I didn’t know whether to wish him dead or
alive. And I couldn’t possibly take my eyes off the
Mirror.

My father seemed no less absorbed in the story than I.

The hired killers—five of them—had no difficulty catching up with
Ivan who, first on his poor horse, and then on foot,
couldn’t travel very fast. I tried to feel nothing as I
watched them run him down on their horses and then dismount to finish
the job with their swords. The leader took something off his hand—the
ring, no doubt—and the five of them left, riding west.

Nobody could survive that.

It was the Gray Wolf who came to his aid. He jumped
out of the bushes as soon as the killers had gone. Ivan looked quite
dead to me, but the wolf apparently thought otherwise. He tore off the
bloodied strips of Ivan’s shirt, then chewed some
leaves and spat them on Ivan’s wounds. He put his hairy
snout, still covered with dried horse-blood, over
Ivan’s mouth to help him breathe. He felt for
Ivan’s heart with his paw and then his eyes sparkled
with something very similar to human joy. And then, with effort, he
dragged Ivan up onto his own back and carried him all the way to a
village, where he dropped him near somebody’s threshold
and disappeared.

Events in the Mirror flashed by much more quickly than
in real life. The man who found Ivan on his doorstep—Nikifor the Herb
Man—turned out to be the most skilled healer in the nearby kingdoms.
An old man with sad eyes, his sleek hands seemingly able to carry out
virtually any task. He did wonders for Ivan, mending his gaping wounds,
feeding him with broth and herb stews, holding endless vigils by his
bedside listening to Ivan’s strained breath and barely
perceptible heartbeat.

Bringing a man back from death.

Quite likely, Nikifor was the only person in all the kingdoms who could
have saved Ivan’s life. The Grey Wolf had gone to great
lengths to make sure the boy lived. But why?

Before long, Ivan was able to get up, and a bit later
to walk outside and sit in the sunshine with his host and savior. He
became a welcome guest in the lonely man’s
izba
, and helped with
the chores around the house. Then, one day, the Grey Wolf came back.

The cascade of images in the Mirror slowed.

The picture became so real that I could almost feel the heat of the
crackling firewood in Nikifor’s cozy room, and smell
the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling.

We were about to see the essence of our question.

I held my breath as the gray beast entered the small
izba
and settled on the
mat by the stove. As he spoke, his voice echoed through the small
wooden building and through the Mirror, into the large stone space of
my room.

“Go out, boy,” Wolf said to Ivan.
“Get some firewood.”

He and Nikifor exchanged looks. Ivan, however, didn’t
move.

“Glad to see you, too,” he said.

I shivered. Would the boy ever learn to show proper respect to the
Primals?

Wolf obviously wasn’t in the mood.
“
Now,
”
he growled.

Nikifor flinched, and even I suppressed the urge to step back. But Ivan
showed no fear.

“I am well, thank you,” he replied
calmly.

The two stared at each other. Then the beast settled back by the fire.
“I see.”

Nikifor nodded, his eyes on Ivan lighting up with quiet pride.
“You were right all along.”

Wolf turned to the old man. “Have you meddled in
something you weren’t supposed to?”

“No, I spoke of nothing to the
boy.”

“Then, why does he defy me?”

“I do not,” Ivan said.
“I just think that I have the right to be part of
your conversation. I know you came here to talk about
me.”

“How could you possibly know that?”
Wolf growled.

Ivan smiled. “I could see it, in the way you looked at
me just now. Besides, why else would you be sending me
outside?”

My skin prickled. Not daft then. And then I realized this with
terrifying clarity. Daftness was his weapon. It made people
underestimate him.

Just like I did.

Great Kupalo, what trouble did we get into?

Wolf fixed Ivan with a stare that made me suppress a gasp. The
beast’s Primal force was enormous. Was the boy immune
to it?

“It only concerns you if I say
so.” Wolf growled in Ivan’s face
“Nobody gave you permission to speak.
Meat
.”

He threw the last word through clenched teeth. It stung.
Ivan’s hands balled into fists that turned his knuckles
white. Yet, his voice was still calm.

“You ate my horse,” he said.
“Had you not, I wouldn’t have been
here at all.”

“Perhaps,” Wolf said.
“I doubt, however, that your horse would have saved
you from the killers your brother set on your trail. There were five of
them, and their horses were worlds better than yours,
boy.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t give you,
or anyone else, the right to decide my life for
me.”

Wolf studied him for a moment. “Have you ever been
part of a prophecy, boy?”

“Prophecies don’t
work,” Ivan said. “Everyone knows
that.”

There was another pause.

“They do. They work, if you make them. And, as it
happens, there is one I intend to see fulfilled. It involves a certain
Kashchey of the Thirty Ninth kingdom.”

Ivan lifted his head.

“That interests you, doesn’t it?
Kashchey’s demands on your kingdom make it your
business, like it or not.”

“You mean my brother’s
kingdom,” Ivan said.

“Your homeland. Your people. Many kingdoms pay tribute
to this monster who calls himself
‘immortal’. Do you know what he does to
those who cannot pay? Or perhaps you’d rather your
kingdom fell, like others have?”

“Why do the affairs of my kingdom concern you,
Wolf?”

Wolf and Nikifor exchanged long glances. It seemed to me as if they were
continuing a conversation from before. Obviously one held without Ivan,
otherwise we would have seen it in the Mirror.

“We all have our own interests,”
Wolf said. “Nikifor does. And, even if you think you
owe me nothing, boy, you still owe Nikifor for bringing you
back.”

Ivan turned to the old man. “That I do. A debt hard to
repay.”

The old man shook his head. “I am not asking you for
anything, boy. I am a healer. Gods know, I would have done all I could
for you, debt or not. It’s just that you are…so right
for it.”

“What is your interest in this, old
father?”

Nikifor’s face became sad. “I lived in
Kashchey’s kingdom once. A long time
ago.” His face froze, so that for a moment it seemed
to me as if some magic had turned him to stone. “I
had a daughter back then,” he said, his voice barely
audible. “Svetlana.” He paused and
clenched his hands.

I felt nausea clutch my throat as a suspicion where
this was going crept into my head.
Svetlana.
She would have been before my time.

The old man swallowed and continued in a steady voice.
“She was twelve when our small village was selected
to provide a maiden for the Solstice Sacrifice. The Chosen
Maiden—Fiokla—was the daughter of the village elder. On the morning
the Mistress came for her, Fiokla was nowhere to be found. And then,
her father finally appeared, dragging the girl by the
arm.”

The old man paused, clenching his long, pale fingers.

“Fiokla’s father was red with
embarrassment. As was the maiden herself. It turned out that, learning
of her fate, she ran off with the miller’s son and
spilled her virginal blood.”

I sighed. Such things happened. Some maidens, or even their families,
just couldn’t accept their fate. Not often, since the
man who served to defile the Sacrifice Maiden was seized and executed,
but the maiden herself was spared. On such occasions the Mistress of
the Solstice then picked another suitable maiden from those in the
chosen village.

I didn’t want to listen to the old man’s
story. Yet, I strained to catch his every word.

“My Svetlana was the oldest virgin left in our
village. The others were all children, so even though she was only
twelve, she was the only possible choice. By rules, we had to give her
up in Fiokla’s stead.”

For a while there was no sound but the creaking of the fire in the
stove.

“She was all I had,” Nikifor said.
“She did not have to die.” His
hands trembled and he clenched them into fists. “On
that day I swore an oath to do all I can to bring ruin to their evil
cult of Kupalo.”

I felt disturbed. How could this man presume to judge our God? Sad or
unfair as his fate had been, how could he put his petty family affairs
on the same scale as the greater good?

“And you?” Ivan asked Wolf.
“What is your interest in all
this?”

Wolf sighed, measuring Ivan up and down with his gaze.

“You will learn of it, if I deem you worthy, boy. And
now—show me your birthmark.”

This time the power of his voice smothered any possible argument. Ivan
reached over and pulled off his shirt.

I covered my mouth, as if the people in the Mirror could actually hear
my gasp.

A hero of legend comes marked by an arrow
through turmoil and gloom.
An arrow-shaped
birthmark. It was there, on his left shoulder, as if painted on the
skin with reddish-gold dye. It pointed diagonally down, more or less at
the heart.

Wolf nodded. “Impressive, isn’t
it?”

“Wait,” Ivan protested.
“You don’t think I’m
the chosen one or something?”

Wolf snorted, suppressing a laugh. “You should be old
enough to know, boy. There are no ‘chosen
ones’. You’ll do,
that’s all.”

“What if I don’t want
to?”

“As if you have something better to
do.”

“And you won’t even
tell me why
you
want
this to come about?”

“Some day. Perhaps.”

“Enough,” my father said beside me.
The Mirror filled with mist, hiding all from view.

I stepped away, my heart beating like a bird in a cage.
I’d always thought the affairs of our kingdom were our
own. I never knew there were people out there who wished to destroy our
worship of Kupalo.

“Why did you stop, Father?” I
asked.

“I heard enough,” he said.
“Another feeble attempt to make the prophecy come
true. We’ll crush this boy like we did the
others.”

“But what is Wolf’s part in
this?” I asked. “Why does he
care?”

My father looked at me. For the first time in my life,
I saw fear in his eyes.

“Come, Marya. You must have your herb drink and go to
sleep. You need to replenish your powers. And I have something else to
do.”

“What, Father?”

He looked me in the eye. “I think I know who else
helped this boy. But I must be sure.”