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“Then keep me safe.” She raised her eyes to his. “Pull me back, when he drags me too far down. There is a balance to be struck here too, Morozko, between him and you, between men and chyerti. I was born to be in between—do you think I don’t know it?”
His eyes were sad. “Yes,” he said. “I know.” He looked up at the Bear again, and this time the two brothers were silent, measuring each other. “It is your choice and not mine, Vasilisa Petrovna.”
Vasya heard the Bear exhale and realized that he really had been afraid.
She let her head fall forward an instant to the wool and fur of Morozko’s shoulder, felt his hands slide around her back and hold her there briefly, suspended between day and night, between order and chaos. Take me somewhere quiet, she wanted to say. I cannot bear the noise and the stink of men anymore.
But the time for that was past; she had chosen her course. She lifted her head and stepped back.
Morozko reached into his sleeve and drew out something small and shining.
“I brought this for you,” he said.
It was a green jewel on a cord, rougher than the formal perfection of the sapphire necklace she’d once worn. She did not touch it, but stared, wary. “Why?”
“I went far away,” said Morozko. “That is why I did not come to you, even dreaming, even when you plucked the Bear from his prison. I went south, through the snows of my own kingdom; I took the road to the sea. There, I called Chernomor, the sea-king, out of the water, who has not been seen for many lives of men.”
“Why did you go?”
Morozko hesitated. “I told him what he never knew, that the witch of the wood had borne him children.”
She stared. “Children? To the king of the sea?”
He nodded once. “Twins. And I told him that among his grandchildren’s children was one I loved. And so, the sea-king gave this to me. For you.” He almost smiled. “There is no magic in it now, and no binding. It is a gift.”
She still didn’t reach for the jewel. “How long have you known?”
“Not as long as you think, although I wondered whence your strength. I wondered if it could be only the witch, a mortal woman with magic who’d passed her talent to her daughters. But then I saw Varvara, and I knew it was more than that. Chernomor has fathered sons, now and again, and often they have their father’s magic, and lives that are longer than the lives of men. So I asked Midnight for the truth, and she told me. You are the sea-king’s great-grandchild.”
“Will I live a long time then?”
“I do not know—who could know? For you are witch and chyert and woman too; a descendant of Russian princes and Pyotr Vladimirovich’s daughter. Chernomor might know; he said he would answer questions, but only if you came to see him.”
It was too much to take in. But she took the jewel. It was warm in her hand; she caught a faint whiff of salt. It felt as though he’d handed her a key to herself, but one she could not examine. There was too much else to do.
“Then I will go to the sea,” she said. “If I survive the dawn.”
He said heavily, “I will be at the battle. But my task is still the dead, Vasya.”
“Mine is the living,” said the Bear, and he smiled. “What a pair we are, my twin.”
34.
Lightbringer
GRIM DAY, AND ALL ABOUT them the army was stirring; beyond, far out on the great field of Kulikovo, the Tatars were awake. The Russians could hear the Tatars’ horses snorting into the chill. But nothing could be seen; the world was obscured in thick mist.
“No battle until the fog burns off,” said Sasha. He had no stomach for food, but he drank a little mead, passed the bottle to Vasya. When he woke, he’d found her already awake, sitting alone before his renewed fire, a line between her brows, pale but composed.
It was cold, the sky gray above the mist, promising more early snow. Then the sun heaved a cold rim over the edge of the earth, and the mist began to thin. He drew a deep breath. “I must go to Dmitrii. He is waiting for a messenger. Whatever happens, I will find you before the fighting begins. In the meantime, go with God, sister. You are to go unseen and run no risks.”
“No,” she said and smiled reassuringly. “My business is with chyerti this day. Not with the swords of men.”
“I love you, Vasochka,” he said, and left her.
* * *
THE MESSENGER HAD RETURNED, and the Tatars had accepted Dmitrii’s challenge. They had also brought the name of Mamai’s champion. Sasha and Dmitrii heard it with the same cold thrill of rage.
“I have dozens of men who would take your place,” said Dmitrii. “But—”
“Not with this champion,” said Sasha. “If he is not to be yours, then he is mine, brother.”
Dmitrii did not disagree. They stood together in his tent, while attendants ran in and out. All about them was the neighing and the ringing of steel and the shouts of the waking army. The Grand Prince offered his cousin bread, and Sasha forced a little of it down.
“Besides,” Sasha added, keeping the anger from his voice. “Another man would take the glory for his own city: for Tver or Vladimir or Suzdal. It must be for Rus’ and for God, brother, for on this field we are one people.”
“One people,” said Dmitrii thoughtfully. “Did your sister return? With her—followers?”
“Yes,” said Sasha, and gave his cousin a dark look. “She is tempered like steel now and so very young, and I blame you for pulling her into this.”
Dmitrii did not look repentant. “She knows the stakes as well as I.”
Sasha said, “She says let men beware of the river. And also to trust that the trees will conceal them, and to fear neither storm nor fire.”
“I can’t decide if that is welcome or ominous,” said Dmitrii.
“Perhaps both,” said Sasha. “Nothing about my sister is simple. Brother, if I—”
Dmitrii shook his head sharply. “Do not say it. But yes—she will be as a sister to me too; she need fear nothing from my hand.”
Sasha bowed his head and said not a word.
“Come then,” said Dmitrii. “I will arm you.”
Mail shirt and cuirass, a shield, a leaf-shaped spear, red at the haft. Good boots, cuisses for his thighs. A pointed helm. It was soon done. Sasha’s fingertips felt cold. “Where is your armor?” he asked Dmitrii. The Grand Prince was dressed as a minor boyar, one of hundreds.
