The Midnight Land: Part Two: The Gift (The Zemnian Trilogy Book 2) Page 13

  “What dangers aren’t out in the woods, sister?” said Sister Alyona, giving her a funny look. “Wolves, snow, bears, cold…and other things, too, of course. This is the prayer wood. There is a reason why we pray here. Stay in the cabin.”

  “I will,” promised Slava. To show her good faith, she went inside and latched the door behind her.

  “What about you, sister?” she called through the door. “Will you be safe to walk back alone?”

  “Safe enough, sister,” Sister Alyona called back. “I am a sister of the sanctuary. Don’t worry about me. Just stay in the cabin.”

  “I will,” Slava promised again. This seemed to satisfy Sister Alyona, for she stepped off the porch and disappeared into the darkness.

  The cabin was only one room, with a bed against one wall and a stove against the other, and a crude table and two chairs in the middle. Slava first sat at the table, but that was both uncomfortable and boring, so when Oleg Svetoslavovich didn’t appear by the time the candles had burned down another half an inch, Slava lay down on the bed and soon fell asleep.

  ***

  She was awakened by the sound of something tapping at the single window.

  “Oleg?” Slava cried, remembering that she had latched the door, which meant he couldn’t come in unless she let him.

  There was no answer. Still half-asleep, Slava rose stiffly from the bed and went over to the window, but there was no one there.

  “Oleg Svetoslavovich?” she called again. Instead of a reply, though, all she heard was a faint cry from the door.

  “Are you hurt?” she called, running to unlatch the door. Somehow it was harder to open then she had expected, as if her hands weren’t quite working properly. When she finally fumbled the latch free and wrenched the door open, there was no one there.

  “Oleg Svetoslavovich?” she shouted into the darkness. There was no answer. The snow had stopped and the sky had cleared, and she thought she saw a flash of red hair in the trees.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked again.

  Something cried at her feet. She looked down, and saw a baby in a basket.

  “By all the gods!” She snatched up the baby without even pausing to think. “The cold! You! You out in the trees! There’s no need to be afraid! Is this your child? There’s no need to be afraid! I’ll help you! I’ll help you take care of it!”

  “You will?” said Vladislava. “What about me? You promised to take care of me.”

  “Yes, of course, but I can do both,” said Slava. “I can’t leave her!”

  “I thought I was going to be your daughter,” said Vladislava tearfully.

  “You will, you will,” Slava assured her. “And she will be your sister.”

  “Really?” said Vladislava, cheering up. “A sister? Better than Lisochka?”

  “Yes,” promised Slava. “The best sister ever. You can help raise her.”

  Vladislava gave the baby a kiss on the cheek, and then disappeared into the darkness.

  “Do you really mean to take her?” asked the leshaya with the golden eyes.

  “Yes, of course,” said Slava. “How could I not?”

  “It’s not too late,” said the leshaya. “You could refuse, and she would disappear as if she had never been—which would be true. She would have never been. Do you really want to bring her into this world?”

  This was a powerful argument, and Slava even tried to put the baby back in the basket, but her arms wouldn’t open.

  “I can’t let go of her,” said Slava eventually. “I think I have to have her.”

  “Is that a promise, little woman?” said the cold wind.

  “Yes,” said Slava.

  “You are sure, little woman?” said the cold wind.

  “Yes,” said Slava.

  “No matter what?” asked the cold wind.

  “Yes!” said Slava.

  “You will not rethink your sacrifice, as you did the last time we offered it to you?”

  “I offered my own blood then,” said Slava. “It was you who refused to take it. I will always be able to sacrifice my own blood. It is the blood of others I will not spill.”

  “Then so be it,” said the cold wind. “Let it be your own blood. Those are the terms.”

  “Let me take you inside,” Slava said to the baby. She carried her back into the cabin. When she started to fuss, Slava put her to her breast, which was overflowing with milk. The baby gazed up at her adoringly, and her eyes glowed gold.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hey! Who’s in there!”

  Slava jerked awake. She was in the cabin, lying on the bed on top of the bedclothes. A cold wind was wafting in through a crack in the wall, and someone was pounding on the door.

  “Oleg Svetoslavovich?” she called, rising stiffly.

  “Tsarinovna? Is that you?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry—I wanted to come speak with you, and Sister Alyona told me to keep the door latched…”

  “And she was right. But are you going to let me in?”

  “Oh! Of course!” Slava hurried over to the door and opened it. The sky had cleared, she noted as she looked outside, and a cold wind was whistling through the firs. She told herself that it didn’t sound like the voices who had spoken in her dream at all.

  “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, and that I locked you out,” she apologized again, once she had let Oleg Svetoslavovich in and latched the door firmly behind him. “But I was reading today…”

  “Reading what, Tsarinovna?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich. “Tea?”

  “No, scrolls,” Slava answered, and then realized that he was asking her if she wanted tea. They both laughed at the same time. “Yes, please,” she said.

  “Tell me about the scrolls, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “What was so important that you had to come out to my cabin in the dark to speak to me about?”

  So Slava told him about everything she had read in the scrolls that day, and also about what she had read in the book in Lesnograd, and several surmises she had made about her foremothers and their gifts. The pleasure of sharing her thoughts with another person, instead of merely listening to what others had to say, was so great that she talked and talked and talked, until she was embarrassed at taking up so much of Oleg’s time, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself, and he didn’t seem bored at all. In fact, he listened to her with flattering interest, nodding appreciatively and making sensible comments whenever she said something particularly exciting, as if he were actually listening to her and hearing what she was saying. In the back of her mind, Slava was aware that this was one of the most pleasant evenings she had ever spent, and she didn’t know whether to laugh at herself or feel sorry for herself for being so easily pleased.

  “It’s very strange to think of being so closely connected to Miroslava Praskovyevna,” she finished. “I always thought that she and I were completely different. But it seems that she, Lyubov the Kind, and I all shared the same gift, but it is not a gift of the gods. They say that over and over again…And of course, the leshiye couldn’t take my gift, they couldn’t use it, I had to do it for them…And my strange dream just now…”

  “What strange dream, Tsarinovna?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “I dreamed…I dreamed that someone was tapping at the window, and when I opened the door, there was…”

  “Yes?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich, when Slava trailed off.

  “There was a baby in a basket, and when I picked her up, her eyes glowed gold.”

  “So what did you do then?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich intently.

  “I took her in, of course,” said Slava.

  “Of course you did,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, and Slava couldn’t tell what he meant by that. “You didn’t think of refusing her?”

  “Of course not! It was cold! Vladislava—Vladislava started speaking to me in the dream—Vladislava complained about it at first, but I explained to her that she would have a sister.”

  “And then what?”


  “And then she was happy, of course. She said she would help take care of her. And the gods asked me if I were sure, and I said I was.”

  “And are you sure, Slava?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “Sure about what?” asked Slava.

  “That you would take her in?”

  “Of course I am! If I found a baby by the door, of course I would take her in! I wouldn’t even stop to think about it!”

  “Even if her eyes glowed gold?”

  “That’s not her fault!”

  “No, but she could be troublesome. She could be dangerous.”

  “Lots of people are troublesome and dangerous! You’re troublesome and dangerous!”

  That made Oleg Svetoslavovich laugh for a moment. “So my father always told me,” he said. “He kept trying to beat it out of me, but I guess he failed.” He became serious again. “Are you sure, Slava?” he asked again. “Sure that you want to take her in?”

  “Why?” asked Slava, and then, struck by a sudden thought, jumped up and cried out, “By all the gods! Is she really out there somewhere? Is that why you were out there so long? Because of her? Is she yours? Where is she?”

  “She’s not out there, Slava,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “She doesn’t need immediate rescue, don’t worry. But she could be out there, if you wanted her to be. And yes, that was why I was out there so long.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Slava, sitting back down. The back of her mind was telling her that she knew exactly what he meant, but she ignored it. It seemed so unlikely, and the back of her mind had been wrong before. “I thought you came out here to learn the will of the gods,” she said instead.

  “So I did. I have spent the day in the most serious prayer, and the gods called on me to come out to them, and when I did, they told me of their will. Not that I hadn’t known it for some already, but they repeated their command yet again, in case I was wavering in my purpose. Slava…Do you not think that your dream might…might have some special significance? That it wasn’t just a dream?”

  “Like a vision of some kind? A message?”

  “Exactly like that. A message. From the gods.”

  “A message about what?”

  “Slava! What do you think?!”

  “A baby?” said Slava. Even though she was growing more and more certain that the back of her mind had been right, her disbelief in what the dream and Oleg’s words meant made her blurt out, “Where would I get one of those?”

  This made Oleg Svetoslavovich laugh a good deal more.

  “Oh,” said Slava. “Really? But why…I mean, a message from the gods…that’s a bit extreme…I don’t think that’s the normal way…”

  “Do you remember what you have been asked, Slava, over and over again? First by the leshiye, and then by the gods themselves?”

  “If I would give them what they needed,” said Slava. “And I said I would, of course.”

  “And what if this is what they need?” said Oleg Svetoslavovich.

  “A baby? Surely there are lots of those around already.”

  “Not whose eyes glow gold,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “Those are much rarer. And that, Slava is what they need. They need a way into the world of women, Slava! At first they thought you were that way, but it turns out your gifts are…not accessible to them. Gifts often come in unwelcome packages, even for the gods themselves. But your daughter, Slava, your daughter! Given to you by the gods themselves! She would be a force to be reckoned with, both in the world of women and the world of spirits! And she would be the sacrifice that would seal the deal—the sacrifice of your own blood, just as you offered.”

  “They wouldn’t kill her!”

  “No. Of course not. She would be precious to them. But like any child, she would be a blood sacrifice. Your own blood. So you have to be sure, Slava.”

  “In that case,” said Slava. She raised her eyes up to meet his. “I’m sure.”

  ***

  “I never noticed the color of your eyes before,” said Oleg sometime much later, possibly the next morning. “They’re golden.”

  “No they’re not,” said Slava. “They’re gray. Zerkalitsa gray.”

  “In this light they’re golden,” said Oleg. “At least when the lantern flame catches them. Who knows what color they are in the darkness.”

  “Probably black,” said Slava. After a moment she added, “What color do you think her eyes will be? Blue like yours, or gray like mine?”

  “Oh, probably green, then,” said Oleg, laughing. But then he suddenly turned serious and asked, “Can I come see her sometime?”

  “Of course, said Slava. “Anytime. As often as you want. And she might be a boy, you know—half of babies born are.”

  “Not mine,” said Oleg. “I seem to be able only to father daughters. A valuable gift.”

  “Well, if for some reason she is your first son, you can still come visit her,” said Slava.

  “My word isn’t good enough for you?” asked Oleg with a laugh. “You don’t believe me when I say all my children are daughters? I see you are more hard-headed than meets the eye.”

  “Perhaps all your children thus far have been daughters, but I must consider all eventualities,” said Slava, running her fingers through his hair.

  “Of course you must,” said Oleg, and she could feel him laughing into her breasts. “Well, if it is a son, I’ll come visit him too. But no doubt she’ll be a daughter.”

  “Let us hope,” said Slava, although privately she thought that a little son might be very sweet, too, and might cause fewer problems with her sister. Which probably meant she was destined to have a daughter, then.

  “I’ve never been to Krasnograd before,” said Oleg. “Do you think it will be a good place for her to grow up?”

  “Not at all,” said Slava with a smile. “But better than many other places, I’m sure.”

  “I’m afraid she’ll have a hard life,” said Oleg. “The gods’ chosen normally do.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” said Slava. “And when she’s grown, she’ll be able to take care of herself. And Olga and Vladislava will watch over her too, I’m sure of it. And…would you think it strange if I find her sister, the one who ran away to Krasnograd? She could watch over her as well. I want to watch over Milochka myself, and make sure she wants for nothing.”

  “Of course you do,” said Oleg. He moved so that his head was resting on Slava’s stomach. After months of traveling, it was hollow when she lay on her back, and her breasts almost disappeared into her ribs. It was strange to think that in a few months, her body could be firm and swollen with new life.

  “Do you think she’s in there already?” asked Slava.

  “We certainly tried our best,” said Oleg.

  “Lots of times, too,” said Slava.

  “Yes, I can feel it,” said Oleg. “I think I might be bleeding.”

  “Oh!” Even in the flickering lantern light, Slava could see that he right. “I scratched you,” she said, mortified. “Your shoulders…” There were other scratches there too, she could see, old scars that looked more like the marks of a lash, like what criminals who had been flogged had, or children who had been beaten by their parents…she bent down to kiss the marks, both the ones she had left, that would heal, and the older ones, that wouldn’t. There was large scar below his shoulder blades that looked as if someone had pressed a hot pan against his back and held it there until the skin burned away…

  “And not just my shoulders,” said Oleg, laughing. “Who knew you would be so fierce? A real wolf! Until now I wasn’t sure you had it in you. You warned me not to challenge your bloodlust, but I admit, I didn’t think you were serious. More fool me, eh? Well, no matter. After all, you seem to be getting on just fine.” He patted her scarred arm affectionately. “Now we’ll have matching scars from our encounters with the gods.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Slava. She reached out to touch the burn scar, but Oleg shifted out from under her hand, as if by a
ccident, and turned to examine his shoulders, and she knew that that was the only injury he cared to speak of. “I didn’t mean to,” she said, pretending that she had only seen the fresh scratches, not the old scars. “Not that that’s any excuse…”

  “Oh, I wasn’t complaining,” said Oleg. “The spoils of war, ah? Or possibly battle scars. I’ll wear these with pride for a long time to come.”

  “It seems I can’t stop hurting people,” said Slava. “Even when I don’t mean to…This is terrible. I shouldn’t…Even with a lover…This is terrible…I can’t seem to stop myself.” The thought that Oleg had suffered in the past, and she had only added to it, even if by accident, made her feel almost ill.

  “So I take it this isn’t the first time,” said Oleg, laughing even more.

  “Oh…” said Slava. “I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Well I’m not,” said Oleg. “Some of us like that kind of thing, you know.”

  Slava stared at him in shock, and then saw that he only meant what had happened that night, that he had deliberately forgotten all about the other scars, the ones that she could see and he couldn’t. She tried to smile at him, and he grinned brightly in response.

  “You’re just saying that to…you’re just trying to make me feel better,” said Slava. “It’s inexcusable, and I know it.”

  “Oh no,” said Oleg. “I think you should do it more. More, and more often. Preferably with me.”

  “You’re just…” said Slava again, and then stopped. “You mean it,” she said. “You really mean it.”

  “Oh yes,” said Oleg. “I really mean it.”

  “You don’t mind? You really don’t?”

  “Oh no. Quite, quite the contrary, don’t you worry about that. They say babies born of pleasure are blessed: well, our little girl is going to be blessed twice over.”

  “Lucky Darya, then,” said Slava, starting to smile. She bent over and kissed one of the worst scratches on his arm.

  “Darya?” said Oleg, moving his shoulders in a way that suggested he did not, in fact, mind at all.

  “Because she’s a gift, and because she will be gifted,” explained Slava. “Do you like it?”