So I tried to be strong. But still those divine smells wafted under my nose and I felt weak with longing until at last I decided that if I stayed there one second longer, I’d throw myself at the food and become trapped. I had to get out of that room before my weakness got too strong! I had to find my hosts, whoever they might be, and find out more about where I was, why I had been allowed in. And I must keep my wits about me at all times.
So I made myself get up and leave that room. I wandered down the corridor, trying very hard to stop my feet from staging a rebellion and racing me back to the laden table. As I went, I kept passing empty picture-frames hanging on the walls, framing nothing but that white blankness. And after a while, they started getting under my skin. It didn’t seem just odd now, but more and more sinister, less of an absence and more of a presence: as if behind that white space there were alien eyes watching me, observing my every move.
A tingle ran up my spine. Quickening my steps, I passed a splendid sitting-room, all white and gold, but it also contained those picture-frames glaring at me, so I didn’t enter. I passed another room which I didn’t even look into, I was so spooked by now. Finally I came to a set of glass doors which opened out onto a large, formal courtyard garden. The storm seemed to have ended and there was a peaceful wintry loveliness about the garden, with its stone fountain, little paths, and bare bushes and small trees waiting for spring. Even the snow blanketing the garden in graceful drifts and the icicles hanging from the trees seemed like another touch of beauty, and my heart began to lift.
Then, as I gazed out at the garden through the glass, the sun came out from behind a cloud, making the snow gleam as softly and richly as a mink coat and the ice glitter like diamonds. And there too, picked out by the sun, was something else: something that burned like a bright flame at the edge of my vision. I peered through the glass, trying to see. Was that – no, it couldn’t be! Not in this season, not in the dead of winter, surely.
As if in a dream, I opened the glass doors and stepped out into the garden. My boots crunched over the snow, marking the pristine white with the weight of my passing, though when I glanced back, the snow was re-forming as though I’d never touched it. I should have been fearful, but I was past feeling scared. My hunger forgotten, all I wanted now was to see the thing I had glimpsed from the house, the beautiful thing that shouldn’t be there but, miraculously, was. I went down one little path and then onto another. And, at the end of the third path, there it was. I stopped, transfixed with wonder.
It was the most beautiful flower I’d ever seen, anywhere – a red rose of an amazingly deep scarlet shade, with a fragrance whose heady sweetness filled me with delight. It bloomed all on its own on a spindly bare bush, the splendour of its scarlet petals richer than the imperial ruby of the crown of Ruvenya, and by far more lovely, for this was a living thing. Yet this was not summer; this was the dead of winter, snow lay everywhere. The sight of a rose growing outdoors in this season, when a blizzard had just stopped blowing and the rosebushes did not have a single leaf, was not only astounding, it was thrilling. And it made me feel suddenly that whatever this place was, it did not mean me any harm. A place where such a rose could grow in winter could not be bad. There must be a good light within it, a spirit that loved beauty and sweetness for its own sake.
I came closer to the rose, thinking with delight that those empty frames on the walls didn’t matter to me any more, because here was a picture more beautiful than any they might have contained. The snowy garden, the scarlet flower, the bright air: it was a painting that no mortal hand could have made.
As I drew nearer, the fragrance enveloped me in a warm glow, and the satiny sheen of the scarlet was even more beautiful than I’d thought. I was close enough to touch now – and so I reached out a hand towards it. But the instant my fingertip touched the rose, its petals began to fall, fast, faster, while I stared in horror and dismay, until in less time than it takes to say it, there was nothing left of that beautiful bloom, only the scarlet in the snow like splashes of blood on a white carpet.
And then came a sound that turned my limbs to ice: a roar so loud that it shook the whole garden and made the glass doors rattle. A moment later, a terrifying creature burst upon the path before me.
It was a beast, and yet not a beast. A man, yet not a man. It stood tall on two legs and was clothed in a long coat and boots. Its intelligent eyes were of a tigerish, glowing amber, set in a hairy face like a bear’s; it had a tawny mane like a lion’s, while its open mouth displayed teeth as white and sharp as a wolf’s. I knew at once what it was though I’d never before heard of one that could take such a mingled form. Abartyen. Shapeshifter. Man-beast. The most common were werewolves, though even they weren’t common. And not all abartyen were dangerous to humans; some were even friendly. But this one most certainly wasn’t. The light in its eyes was of a murderous rage; its cruelly clawed hands were like sharp knives ready to rip my throat open. Falling to my knees in the snow, amongst the fallen scarlet petals, I closed my eyes and prayed that death would be swift.
I could smell it now as it loomed over me. It stank not of a wild beast, as I’d been expecting, but of something else, something sharp and metallic. The smell of blood, I thought dazedly. It is a creature of blood, and it will gorge itself on mine.
I winced as something heavy tapped my shoulder. The creature’s paw. Its claws were grabbing at the stuff of my dress, forcing me up till I stood trembling in front of it, its hot breath on my face. And then it spoke. Its voice was that of a man, though there was a strange intonation to it.
‘You have killed the only thing that brought me joy,’ the abartyen growled. As it lifted its terrible claws to strike me down, I knew my last hour had come.
I don’t know where I found the desperate strength to cry out, ‘Oh, sir, I did not mean to. I only wanted to touch it because it was so beautiful, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I did not know what would happen. I swear I did not know. And I am so very sorry. Please, if there is anything – anything I can do to repay you. If I can perhaps bring you another rose –’
‘There is no other,’ said the abartyen, and there was bleak desolation in its voice. ‘It was the only one of its kind, and for that you must pay. With your life.’
‘Wait!’ It was someone else’s voice, a sharp female voice, and at that moment a little old lady, dressed all in black, appeared on the path. With her brisk trot, frail shape, widow’s weeds, grey chignon and silver-rimmed glasses, she was a most incongruous sight in that place. Yet she also seemed completely at home there. A small slender hope raised its tendril within me and I whispered, ‘Please, Grandmother, help me.’
She didn’t reply but cast me a cool glance. Instead, she looked up at the abartyen, who towered above her, and said, ‘Yes, my lord, you are right, and she must pay, with her life. But not,’ she added, as the last hope left me and my shoulders slumped, ‘with her death.’
At first I didn’t take it in. Then it struck me: I was not to be killed, but I must still pay with my life. So I was to be, what – enslaved? Kept prisoner? I burst out, ‘If you have any mercy in you, you will let me go. I may have done wrong but I did not intend to. It is unjust to –’
‘Be silent,’ said the abartyen, and his voice this time was very quiet, but with such an undertone of menace that it chilled me to the bone. ‘Be silent and let Luel speak.’
Luel. Not a Ruvenyan name, I thought. And the intonation in the abartyen’s voice – it’s simply a foreign accent. They both spoke good Ruvenyan, but their accents betrayed them. They were strangers to my country, and oddly, that made me feel a little stronger.
The old woman – Luel – looked at me and, in a voice that betrayed no emotion at all, she said, ‘You have no idea what justice or injustice is, child. You came here of your own will and you destroyed my lord’s rose of your own will, and so payment must be made.’ She picked up one of the scarlet petals from the snow. ‘You killed his only joy. So joy for joy must you rep
ay.’
‘I – I don’t understand,’ I stammered.
‘You will.’
‘Am I to be a slave? A prisoner?’
‘You are a debtor,’ she said. ‘No more, no less. You will stay here until you pay that debt. But you will be comfortable and safe. That I promise you.’
‘But he . . .’ I murmured, casting a fearful glance at the abartyen, who stood silent and glowering, not looking at me but into the distance.
‘My lord will not harm you,’ she said, and her voice was scornful, as though it was quite incredible that I would even imagine it could be otherwise. ‘He will not touch you. You do not need to trouble yourself on that account.’
My heart sank. I had hoped that she would be my ally but it did not seem that was to be. She was connected to the abartyen in a way I could not understand. She called him ‘my lord’ yet she acted nothing like a servant. ‘Is there nothing I can do to change your minds?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Luel replied, while the abartyen said not a word. ‘Unless, of course, one of your sisters will agree to take your place.’
There was a humming in my ears and my throat felt thick. ‘Never! I would not allow them to. I am responsible, not them.’ How did she know I had sisters? Who was she? Questions I dared not ask.
‘Very well,’ said Luel. ‘Then the matter is resolved.’
Panic fluttered in my belly. ‘No, wait. Please, let me at least go home and inform my family that I am to stay here till –’
‘No. You can write a letter,’ snapped Luel. ‘We will make sure it gets to them.’
Tears sprang into my eyes. ‘Please. A letter – it is not the same. My mother will be worried. She will not understand. I was expected back. If I do not return, if there is only – only a letter, she will think I am in terrible danger.’ I gulped. ‘But if I can stand before her and tell her it is of my own free will that I stay here, it will be easier for her. And for my sisters.’
There was a little silence. ‘You will not go,’ Luel finally said. ‘But if you must see them, then see them you will. Come with me.’
She led me out of the fateful garden and back into the house. The abartyen did not follow us. I was glad of that, though my mind seethed with questions and fears and desperate attempts to make sense of this nightmare I found myself in. Perhaps it was a nightmare, I thought, and I’d wake to find myself safely back – but wait, safely back where? In the blizzard, with the wolves circling me, or dying of cold in the shattered remains of my sleigh? It was hardly desirable. Besides, this was no dream but my reality now and somehow, somehow I had to find my way home. I wasn’t completely helpless: I had read, and written too, many stories in which someone was trapped in seemingly impossible dilemmas and yet, by keeping their wits about them, managed to escape. I must do that. I must not show fear. I must not be truculent either. I must listen and watch and learn – and wait for the right moment when I might make my escape.
We came to a door that Luel unlocked with a little brass key she took from her skirt pocket, revealing stairs that led down to some sort of basement or cellar. She waved at me to go down. My heart hammered. After all her promises, was I still going to be locked up? But what could I do other than meekly do as she asked? I had no power; she had it all. So I started down the stairs; and she followed after me, closing the door behind us so we were in almost complete darkness and I could only find my way by keeping close to the wall and groping my way down the stairs.
Down they went, down, down, and even further down, till I thought we must be in the very bowels of the earth. Then suddenly the stairs ended, at another door, and beyond it there was a small, gently lit room. When we entered the room I saw there was no window; the light came from a tall lamp that stood by a chair against a dark-curtained wall. Facing this wall was an alcove, also curtained; there was no other furniture in the room.
‘Sit there.’ Luel pointed to the chair. I did as I was told, and she walked over to the alcove and pulled back the curtain to reveal an oval mirror. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary about it until Luel stepped up to it and I saw that she had no reflection. I watched on as she passed her hand three times over the glass and murmured something I couldn’t catch. Instantly, the mirror fogged over, a fog which grew thicker, thicker, and then suddenly reversed, growing thinner and thinner till the mist cleared.
‘Oh,’ I whispered, overcome, for I was looking into our cosy sitting-room at home. The perspective I was looking from seemed to be just above the mantelpiece, where our own mirror hung. Mama was in the room, alone, in her favourite armchair with a rug over her knees, still looking a bit weak from her illness but better than when I’d left. She was holding an open book but clearly wasn’t doing much reading, for she kept glancing at the grandfather clock, an anxious expression in her eyes. I felt such a pang of homesickness at the sight that my whole body yearned towards it and I got up, reaching out for my mother as though to . . .
‘Sit!’ said Luel sharply. ‘Or you will not be allowed to speak to her.’
I looked at Luel’s face, her nice, grandmotherly face, with its crumpled-petal skin and the clear dark eyes behind the silver-rimmed glasses, and could see no human feeling there. ‘Very well. I will do as you say,’ I said heavily, and sat down.
‘Good. Now, close your eyes.’
I did as I was told.
‘Open them again. Look at your mother and call her name. Tell her what you have to say. But beware! You have a few seconds in which to speak, no more. And if you say the wrong thing, you will be cut off immediately. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ I said, knowing instinctively what she meant. I wasn’t to complain. I wasn’t to tell Mama I was in danger. I had to pretend everything was all right. But I could not resist saying, ‘You did not need to tell me that. I do not want to frighten my mother or worry her in any way.’
Luel shot me a look. I had the impression my answer surprised her, but she did not comment on it, merely saying, ‘I will count to five, and your time will start as soon as I finish counting. Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ I said shakily.
She began to count and as she did, I saw my mother’s head lift. There was a puzzled expression in her eyes, as if she’d heard something she couldn’t place. Then Luel reached five and, looking directly at my mother, I instantly started to speak, my words tumbling over each other. ‘Mama, it’s me. I’m fine, I’m safe; I got lost in a bad storm and the horses ran away but luckily I was given shelter in the household of a local gentleman.’
‘Natasha?’ came my mother’s astonished voice, so clearly it was as if I were in the same room as her. Her eyes, wide with shock, fastened on the mirror above our mantelpiece. ‘Oh, my little Natashka, what is this? Where are you? How is it that I can see and hear you in our mirror?’
‘The gentleman is something of a kaldir, like our neighbour Dr ter Zhaber in Byeloka,’ I improvised desperately, reminding her of the old Faustinian refugee, part magician, part inventor, who’d lived a couple of doors away from us in the city, ‘and this – er – this vision-machine, which links between mirrors, is his new invention. It’s amazing magic.’ I saw Luel look at me with a strange expression on her face and thought she was going to interrupt me, so I hurried on. ‘He is so very clever, Mama, but very busy, and he needs someone to write up notes for him. He has offered me a job as his secretary. It is just temporary, but it will pay well, and it will help us, so I’ve accepted. His household will look after me, and I’ll be home as soon as I can. I just didn’t want you to worry.’
‘But, Natasha,’ said my mother in a bewildered tone, ‘I’m very grateful he gave you shelter, and I’m sure he’s very clever – he must be to make this machine. But what is this gentleman’s name? And why this sudden decision?’
Luel shook her head, and I knew my time was almost up, so I called out desperately, ‘Mama, I will write to you and tell you all you want to know but I must go now because the machine will cut out soon; it doesn’t yet work
quite as well as it should. Goodbye, dear Mama, goodbye.’ The last goodbye was cut off abruptly and I was left staring at my mother on the other side of the mirror. But only for an instant, for that image, too, flickered out and disappeared, and I was left with my own reflection.
My stomach churned. There were tears pricking at the corners of my eyelids. This was so cruel. Did I really deserve this, just for destroying that rose? And destroying it accidentally, too. I hadn’t intended any harm. I’d been drawn by its beauty, that was all. Then I remembered the delight it had given me, just to look at it, and remembered, too, the bleak desolation in the abartyen’s voice as he spoke of it being the only one of its kind, and the strangest feeling came over me, of pity and understanding mixed. I said impulsively, ‘I am truly sorry about the scarlet flower. Truly sorry.’
‘I know,’ said Luel quietly. ‘But it is done, and that is that.’ She looked at me. ‘Why did you say my lord was a kaldir?’ She gave a foreign intonation to the word.
‘What was I supposed to say?’ I cried. ‘That he’s a . . .’ I cut the words off abruptly. ‘I mean, I said it because, well, because of the magic mirror. It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment to explain it without saying too much. I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing.’
‘On the contrary,’ she said. ‘You’ve done well. I am glad for all our sakes.’
I took advantage of her apparent softening. ‘Please, will you let me send a letter to Mama then, answering her questions? I know that if I do not, her worries will only grow.’
Scarlet in the Snow Page 3
