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A cold finger touched Vasya on the back of her neck, though she was not sure why. “Perhaps in the church, little bird,” she said. “I will go and see. In the meantime, here are some flowers for you.”
Irina seized the blossoms, pressed them to her lips. “So soon. Is it spring already, Vasochka?”
“No,” replied Vasya. “They are a promise only. Keep them hidden. I must go find your mother.”
There was no one in the church but Father Konstantin. Vasya walked soft in the stillness. The icons seemed to peer at her. “You,” said Konstantin wearily. “He kept his promise.” He did not look away from the icons.
Vasya stepped around him so that she stood between him and the icon-screen. A low fire burned in his sunken eyes. “I gave everything for you, Vasilisa Petrovna.”
“Not everything,” said Vasya. “Since clearly your pride is intact, as well as your illusions. Where is my stepmother, Batyushka?”
“No, I gave everything,” said Konstantin. His voice rose; he seemed to speak despite himself. “I thought the voice was God, but it was not. And I was left with my sin—that I wanted you. I listened to the devil to get you away from me. Now I will never be clean again.”
“Batyushka,” said Vasya. “What is this devil?”
“The voice in the dark,” said Konstantin. “The bringer of storms. The shadow on the snow. But he told me…” Konstantin covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook.
Vasya knelt and peeled the priest’s hands from his face. “Batyushka, where is Anna Ivanovna?”
“In the woods,” said Konstantin. He was staring into her face as though fascinated, much as Alyosha had. Vasya wondered what change the house in the woods had wrought in her. “With the shadow. The price of my sins.”
“Batyushka,” said Vasya, very carefully. “In these woods, did you see a great oak-tree, black and twisted?”
“Of course you would know the place,” said Konstantin. “It is the haunt of demons.”
Then he started. All the color had fled from Vasya’s face. “What, girl?” he said with something of his old imperious manner. “You cannot mourn that mad old woman. She would have seen you dead.”
But Vasya was gone already, up and running for the house. The door slammed shut behind her.
She had remembered her stepmother staring, bulging-eyed, at the domovoi.
He desires above all the lives of those who can see him.
The Bear had his witch, and it was dawn.
She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. Already smoke trickled from chimneys. Her whistle split the morning like the arrows of raiders, and people spilled out of their houses. Vasya! she heard. Vasilisa Petrovna! But then they all fell silent, for Solovey had leaped the palisade. He galloped up to Vasya, and he did not break stride when she vaulted to his back. She heard cries of astonishment.
The horse skidded to a halt in the dvor. From the stable came the neighing of horses. Alyosha came running out of the house, naked sword in hand. Irina, behind him, hovered flinching in the doorway. They stopped and stared at Solovey.
“Lyoshka, come with me,” said Vasya. “Now! There is no time.”
Alyosha looked at his sister and the bay stallion. He looked at Irina and he looked at the people.
“Will you carry him as well?” said Vasya to Solovey.
Yes, said Solovey. If you ask it of me. But where are we going, Vasya?
“To the oak-tree. To the Bear’s clearing,” said Vasya. “As fast as you can run.” Alyosha, without a word, sprang up behind her.
Solovey put his head up, a stallion scenting battle. But he said, You cannot do it alone. Morozko is far away. He has said he must wait until midwinter.
“Cannot?” said Vasya. “I will do it. Hurry.”
ANNA IVANOVNA HAD NO more voice. The cords and muscles were all wrenched and broken. Still she tried to scream, though only a ruined rasp escaped her lips. The one-eyed man sat beside her where she lay on the earth and smiled. “Oh, my beauty,” he said. “Scream again. It is beautiful. Your soul ripens as you scream.”
He bent nearer. One instant she saw a man with twisted blue scars on his face. Next instant, arcing over her, she saw a grinning, one-eyed bear whose head and shoulders seemed to shatter the sky. Then he was nothing at all: a storm, a wind, a summer wildfire. A shadow. She cringed away, retching. She tried to stumble to her feet. But the creature grinned down at her and the strength went from her limbs. She lay there, breathing the stinking air.
“You are glorious,” said the creature, bending nearer, slavering. He ran hard hands over her flesh. Crouched at his feet was another shape, white-wrapped, small. The face had shrunk to almost nothing, just close-set eyes and narrow temples and a mouth that gaped huge and ravenous. It crouched on the ground, head between its knees. Every now and then it looked at Anna, a light of hunger gleaming in the dark eyes.
“Dunya,” said Anna, sobbing. For it was she, dressed as they’d buried her. “Dunya, please.”
But Dunya said nothing. She opened her cavernous mouth.
“Die,” said Medved with rapt tenderness, letting Anna go and stepping back. “Die and live forever.”
The upyr lunged. Anna resisted only with feeble, scratching fingers.
But then from the other side of the clearing came the ringing cry of a stallion.
AS SOLOVEY GALLOPED, VASYA told Alyosha that a monster had their stepmother, and if it killed her, it would be free to burn up the countryside with terror.
“Vasya,” said Alyosha, taking a moment to digest this. “Where were you?”
“I was the guest of the winter-king,” said Vasya.
“Well, you should have brought back a prince’s ransom,” Alyosha said at once, and Vasya laughed.
Day was breaking. A strange smell, hot and rank, crept between the tree-trunks. Solovey raced along steadily, ears forward. He was a horse for a god’s child to ride, but Vasya’s hands were empty, and she did not know how to fight.
You must not be afraid, said Solovey, and she stroked the sleek neck.
Ahead loomed the great oak-tree. Behind her, Vasya felt Alyosha tense. The two riders passed the tree and found themselves in a clearing, a place that Vasya did not know. The sky was white, the air warm, so that she sweated under her clothes.
Solovey reared, bugling. Alyosha clutched Vasya around the middle. A white thing lay prone on the muddy earth, while another shape lay heaving beneath it. A great pool of blood stood out around them.
Above them, waiting, grinning, was the Bear. But he was no longer a small man with scars on his skin. Now Vasya saw a bear in truth, but larger than any bear she had ever seen. His fur was patchy and lichen-colored; his black lips glistened around a vast, snarling mouth.
A little grin appeared on those black lips when he saw them, and the tongue showed red between. “Two of them!” he said. “All the better. I thought my brother had you already, girl, but I suppose he was too great a fool to keep you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Vasya saw the white mare step into the clearing.
“Ah, no, here he is,” said the Bear. But his voice had hardened. “Hello, brother. Come to see me off?”
Morozko spared Vasya a quick, burning glance, and she felt an answering fire rising in her: power and freedom together. The great bay stallion was beneath her, the wild eyes of the frost-demon there, and between them the monster. She flung her head back and laughed, and as she did, she felt the jewel at her throat burn.
