Scarlet in the Snow

by Sophie Masson

  ‘It was you,’ he said softly. So unexpected were the words that I thought the voice was in my head. I looked up, into the steadily greening eyes that were regarding me through the mask, with an expression that made my blood quicken. ‘You gave it to me. I should have known.’

  ‘I don’t . . . I don’t understand,’ I said weakly, lying.

  He smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, his voice gentle.

  I felt a little squirm in my belly. Why was I lying to him? That, I did not understand. I’d asked him to be honest with me, and here was I, lying. And he knew it. He knew it for sure. I could tell by the tone in his voice, and that made me feel even more uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry if I –’ I began confusedly.

  ‘You asked me for my opinion of your story,’ he said, his voice now light, almost bantering.

  ‘Well, then, I’m waiting,’ I said, trying to make my voice sound as light as his.

  ‘It is made not of mere ink and paper but the blood of true feeling. And so it lives and breathes,’ he said quietly.

  I was stunned. No-one had ever said anything remotely like that to me before. I felt tears pricking at the edges of my eyelids and fiercely blinked them away. ‘Oh, Ivan, thank you,’ I choked out. ‘I’m so glad you –’

  ‘But there is just one thing,’ he said, gently interrupting me. ‘I imagine an editor might say it is not quite finished.’

  Again, his eyes met mine, and I only dragged my gaze away with an effort, murmuring, ‘You’re right. I will think about how I can do it.’ I hesitated. ‘Ivan, you speak as though you understand literature. Were you – are you – a writer?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘merely a reader.’ A pause. ‘I once told stories too, though not in words.’

  My glance fell on the music box. ‘You were a musician?’

  ‘No, not a musician.’ I saw that he was shaking like a leaf. And suddenly, in a blinding insight, I knew. ‘Oh, you are a painter.’

  ‘Once. Not any more. Not ever again,’ he cried, and there was so much desolation in his voice that it struck me to the heart. Impulsively, I moved closer to him but he shrank away. ‘What is it that separates man from the beasts?’ he whispered, ‘if it is not creation, inspiration, art? Once I delighted so in it and I thought there was nothing more important in the world, and that was my undoing. For now . . . These hands you see,’ he went on harshly, holding them up, ‘these hands are the clumsy misshapen hands of a beast who cannot paint, cannot create, can do nothing that is beautiful.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ I said, my heart aching, tears in my eyes. ‘That is not so, Ivan. What of the scarlet flower? It was you who cared for the bud, watered it, made it open. When I first saw it in the garden, against the snow, it seemed to me just like a painting, the most beautiful one I’d ever seen, because it was living. And it was I who killed it.’

  He groaned. ‘You do not understand. This face,’ he said, pointing at his own face with loathing in his voice, ‘this is not even that of a beast, which can gaze in dumb love at beauty. This is the face of a monster. The rose bloomed when you came. It died when I gazed upon it. All I can do is destroy, blank out the beauty I long for.’ And as he spoke these last words, I could not repress a gasp of horror as I realised the truth. In my mind’s eye I saw those empty frames downstairs, and filled them with beautiful painted scenes, with colour and pattern and shape that then faded and disappeared, till nothing was left but the white emptiness. It was the worst injustice, the most cruel part of the spell.

  He was an artist who couldn’t paint. But even the consolation of looking at paintings had been denied him. He couldn’t even gaze upon them without them disappearing. Were they his own lost pictures? Or ones Luel had acquired? I did not know and I would not ask. Truth was, I couldn’t. I had already pushed him far enough. I had not meant to, I had meant only to help, but this – this did not help. To probe further would only make his pain greater.

  But there was something I could do for him. Something I should have done before. I took a deep breath. ‘Ivan. I must say this. I did not tell the truth to you before.’

  He stilled but did not speak or look at me.

  I swallowed. ‘I knew what you meant about the white rose in my story.’ A pause. ‘I must also tell you I saw the shape of a crow on one of those blank canvases downstairs. And Luel said it was your nightmare.’ He gave a start, but before he could speak, I rushed on. ‘And I think even before that, I saw something in a dream, something that inspired me to write that story. I saw a lovely girl in a white dress, sitting in a sunny garden full of flowers. It was beautiful but also sad, because it felt like something bad had happened to her. That was your dream – your memory – wasn’t it?’

  He stared at me but said nothing.

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘If you care anything for me, if you are indeed my friend, you will tell me the answer.’

  He put his head in his hands. ‘God forgive me,’ he whispered. ‘Yes, you are right.’

  There was a lump in my throat. My hands shook. My stomach churned. But I managed to say, ‘Then, Ivan, listen. It proves that there is great hope, because you and I – we – are linked in no ordinary way.’

  He looked up then, directly into my eyes, the yellow-flecked green of his eyes steady, almost cold. ‘You must go. At once.’ And before I could recover from my stunned surprise, he leaped to his feet and strode out of the room, calling Luel’s name.

  Snatching up the discarded notebook, I ran after him. ‘What is it, Ivan?’ I cried. ‘What did I do wrong?’

  He did not answer but went off down the stairs, without a backward glance. Baffled and distressed, I slowly followed, reaching the top of the first-floor stairs in time to see him and Luel with their heads together, talking. No, not talking – arguing.

  Luel looked up and saw me, her face twisted. ‘I told you he wasn’t well,’ she hissed. ‘I told you to be patient!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured, close to tears.

  ‘Stop it, Luel,’ said Ivan, so explosively that the white silk billowed away from his face, and from above, I caught a wincing glimpse of his skin, peeling and patched like a lizard’s discarded coat. ‘It is not her fault. Now, will you do what I ask you freely or will you stand against me?’

  Shock flooded her face, draining it of colour. ‘My lord,’ she protested faintly, ‘what have I done to displease you so?’

  ‘Please don’t take it out on Luel,’ I said quietly, coming down the stairs towards them. ‘It is I who troubled you, and if you would only tell me what I can do to . . .’

  ‘It was wrong to keep you here,’ he said levelly. ‘You were given no choice.’

  ‘No,’ I whispered.

  ‘You can go home. Isn’t that so, Luel?’

  ‘It shall be as you wish, my lord,’ she said through tight-set lips. She did not look at me, only at him.

  ‘But, Ivan – I thought I couldn’t go because –’

  ‘Because it wasn’t safe,’ he finished. ‘That is so. Usually. But there is one way that it can be done without endangering you.’

  ‘And you? What of the danger to you?’ I cried.

  Now Luel did look at me, sharply, but with surprise rather than hostility. ‘She is right, my lord. There is a risk that . . .’

  ‘Stop. I have lived in fear for too long,’ he said tightly. ‘I refuse to do it any longer. Would you make me, Luel?’

  She flushed. ‘Of course not, my lord.’

  ‘Then you will do as I ask.’

  I looked from one to the other. ‘But things have changed since I first arrived, and I can . . . I can wait to go home,’ I stammered. ‘You are my friend now, Ivan. I cannot just leave you. I want to help you.’

  A strange expression flickered across his eyes, then he turned away. ‘And so you will help me if you do this. Go home. Go home to your family. And when you are there, if you should freely decide that you want to return here, then it will be done. And only then can I truly know that it is of your own accord
that you are here, not because you are threatened. But if you should decide to stay home and never return, you will not be troubled again.’

  ‘But . . .’ I murmured, close to tears, torn between wanting to be free – to go home – and fear for him, for what it might do to his state of mind. ‘What would happen to you?’

  ‘You have already given me so much, Natasha,’ he said quietly. ‘Stories. Laughter. Hope. Friendship.’ He paused. ‘And a white rose, blooming in my dreams. These are things that have made me stronger. You must not worry about me.’ He reached inside his robe and pulled out something small and bright. The last petal of the scarlet rose. Only it wasn’t withered any more. It was as fresh as the day it had been part of the flower, its fragrance so sweet my senses reeled.

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ I breathed.

  His eyes smiled. ‘Yes, it is. And this, too, is your doing.’ It was my turn to flush. ‘I don’t know how,’ I said lamely.

  He handed it to me. ‘I give you a rose for a rose. Keep it with you. If you should decide to return, you need only place it in front of a mirror and breathe on it. I will know you want to come back. If you do not want to, then do with it what you wish.’

  ‘I will come back,’ I said fervently, as I carefully put the petal in my pocket. ‘I promise, Ivan.’

  ‘No promises,’ he said. ‘No vows. No binding. You must be free. And nothing you have been given is to be taken from you.’ He turned to Luel. ‘You understand, don’t you, Luel?’

  ‘I do, my lord,’ she replied, no longer sounding angry or upset but resigned. ‘It shall be done.’

  ‘Then we must say our goodbyes, Natasha,’ he said. ‘May God bless you and give you happiness and joy for all the days of your life.’ And he would have gone like that, slipping away without touching me, without coming closer, only I could not bear for that to happen. Covering the distance between us in two rapid strides, I took his hand in one of mine and, with the other, gently lifted the mask from his poor ruined face. Taken by surprise, he stood as still as a statue. Reaching up, I kissed him quickly on the cheek, feeling a burning on my lips as I did so. He looked at me then with the stricken eyes of a hunted deer and, murmuring something indistinct, he freed himself from my grasp and fled.

  Left alone with Luel, I shot her a cautious glance. My heart was racing, my lips still burning, my fingertips tingling. ‘I’m sorry for upsetting him,’ I muttered. ‘I really didn’t mean for any of this to –’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you didn’t. But it is done now.’ Her words were curt, but not her voice. ‘Go. You must pack. We leave in five minutes.’

  ‘We?’ I echoed.

  ‘You and me,’ she said. ‘If you are to be truly safe, I must take you back myself. You will be shielded behind my protection.’

  ‘But then Ivan will be left alone and unprotected,’ I breathed.

  She looked steadily at me. ‘Not quite unprotected. I will strengthen the defences here before I go. And I will be back quickly. The risk is small. Besides, it is true what my lord said. He is stronger than he was. Look.’ She pointed at the picture-frames behind me. I turned around to see, with a cry of gladness, they were now starting to fill at the edges with faint silvery greys and pale greens, like the first tiny stirrings of life under a shroud of snow.

  ‘How I wish that –’ I began.

  ‘Careful,’ Luel said, with a lift of the eyebrow. ‘Remember where you are. And don’t worry too much,’ she added in a softer tone. ‘If he is stronger, it is due to you. And so I owe you that at least, and hold no hard feelings.’

  ‘Oh, Luel!’ I cried. ‘I don’t know what to think any more. What I feel, what’s right, what I should do. What I want . . .’

  ‘Then he is right, and you must go,’ she said, ‘or you will never know for sure. Go upstairs and pack. You will find a holdall at the back of the wardrobe. Take whatever you want and meet me down here. The sooner we leave, the sooner I can return.’

  I would have said more, but Luel had already bustled off. I hurried upstairs, found the holdall and started packing. I looked longingly at the row of dresses of lace and tulle and velvet, but in the end I decided to take only my own old one, plus the red cashmere dress I was already wearing, for I did not want too many awkward questions at home. From the drawers, I selected two fine lace petticoats, still wrapped in their pale blue tissue paper, which would make fine gifts for Liza and Anya. For my mother I took a white woollen shawl as soft and light as cobwebs. I would tell them that I had purchased them from a travelling hawker with my first week’s wages. Lastly, taking out the scarlet petal from my pocket, I carefully placed it for safekeeping within the leaves of the notebook, in the middle of my story, and put it in my bag.

  Everything now packed, I put on my old coat with its fur-lined hood and my thick gloves, and cast a last look around the room. My eyes fell on the bookshelf. On an impulse, I snatched up the dictionary and threw it in my bag too. As I did so, I glanced out of the window and saw not the crows circling but the lonely, restless figure of Ivan, pacing up and down beside the hedge as he had that first morning. This time, though, I wished with all my heart that he would look up and see me. But he didn’t. I removed a sheet of paper from the sheaf in the desk and wrote: Till we meet again. I signed my name and rapidly sketched a rosebud underneath.

  ‘Natasha! We must go!’ Luel’s anxious voice floated up to me.

  ‘Coming,’ I said. I quickly folded the paper, scribbled ‘Ivan’ on it and left it on the desk. Then I hurried out of the room, down the stairs to where Luel waited in the hall, rather comically wrapped in a fur coat that looked several sizes too big for her.

  I had no idea how we were going and half-expected it would be through the mirror. But instead of heading to the cellar, Luel led the way to a side door, which I hadn’t even noticed before, and I found myself emerging into a large barn, the kind that has a wide wooden ramp to one side so sleighs can easily be brought in and out. And there to my surprise was my sleigh, the one I had abandoned in the snow. It was no longer broken but was in fact looking as good as new. It was loaded with my old blankets, now clean and glossy, and a big cloth-covered basket filled with food. Luel saw the expression on my face and gave a little smile. ‘Can’t have your mother thinking Professor Feyovin is a tight-fisted sort, now can we? Or she’d never let you come back.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you,’ I said, touched.

  She shrugged. ‘Throw your bag in. Then we can be moving.’ I did so, and Luel, putting her fingers to her lips, gave a long low whistle. At once the sleigh slid down the ramp and out into the snow, while we went out by the barn door. And there, harnessed to the sleigh, were my old horses, looking a little younger, their coats shining, manes brushed and eyes bright. They snorted and puffed in the bright cold air, and when they saw me they whickered with soft pleasure. To my shame, I had not given them a moment’s thought since I had arrived, for I had assumed they’d died of cold or had been eaten by wolves. ‘Thank you,’ I said to Luel, ‘for looking after them.’

  ‘Bah, they were safe enough,’ she said. ‘They were just scared, that’s all. I wasn’t intending to tell you about them for a good while yet.’ She picked up the reins. ‘Well, are you coming?’

  ‘Can’t I drive?’ I said, climbing on.

  ‘No, it’ll have to be me if we are to get there quickly,’ she said. ‘And hang on tight. Here we go!’

  She suited the action to the word, and we took off down the path like an arrow from a bow, the hedge parting before us. I whooped with delight as we went through, my uneasy feeling about leaving Ivan alone almost forgotten in the joyous gladness of going home.

  The sleigh went like the wind on the hard-packed snow, so blindingly swift that I could hardly take anything in of our surroundings apart from a blurred, dark line of forest to our right and the cloudless sky. And though we were going very fast, I felt no sting of wind on my cheek and heard only the soft jingle of the horses’ bells, like the silvery music a
t an other-worldly ball. It was as if we were in a kind of bubble, light and clear as air.

  Neither of us spoke. There was no need to. We sped on, always skirting the forest, and flew past the turning which led to Count Bolotovsky’s mansion, where I’d delivered Mama’s painting. I had to remind myself that had only been the other day, not like the weeks it felt. Soon we reached a little village and raced through it. Although there were two or three people about, not one of them turned their heads or stopped to watch us go by even though we passed very close to them. It was as if they didn’t see us. Only a cat, lying in the sun on a windowsill, stood up, its back arched and eyes big. Of course, as is well known, animals can sense things humans can’t, and even a feya’s spell of invisibility will not altogether close the eyes of a cat to her passing.

  We went through fields sleeping under snow, through woods where people were gathering nuts, past streams shrouded in ice, and still no-one seemed to notice us. We rushed down the streets of Kolorgrod and out into the familiar countryside. Finally, there we were, gliding in through the modest gates of my family’s estate and drawing up outside my house.

  Luel jumped out of the sleigh after me, helping me to unload my luggage and depositing it by the front steps. ‘Your family will be able to see you as soon as I am gone,’ she said, ‘so go in to them at once, but, mind, on no account change the story you told them or reveal anything you have seen or heard about my lord, for if you do, you will put him in terrible danger. Promise me that.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘you have my most solemn word.’ I hesitated, then went on. ‘Luel, there is one thing I would ask of you. Will you speak to me when you get back and tell me if all is well? For otherwise I know I shall be anxious.’