by E. P. Clark
“But never mind them,” Dasha told Pyatnyshki, choking down the last of her pie. “We’re well rid of them, aren’t we? Come, let’s go.”
Dasha’s plan to use the verst stone as a mounting block proved to be more difficult to put into practice than she had expected, but after a fair amount of scrambling, re-skinning her knees, and a brief quarrel with Pyatnyshki, whose good nature finally snapped after Dasha fell off the verst stone for the third time and crashed heavily into her shoulder, yanking her reins in the process, Dasha managed to clamber up onto Pyatnyshki’s back, and set off again.
Even though they were moving, the mosquitoes and midges whined around them mercilessly in the breathless air. Dasha urged Pyatnyshki into a trot, but after less than a verst her head was hanging and new sweat had soaked through the old sweat that already saturated the saddlecloth, and then into Dasha’s trousers, making them stick and chafe against her legs. Reluctantly, Dasha let them drop back to a walk. Would they even make the next waystation by dark at this rate? Or perhaps they could find a cabin. That would not require any of Dasha’s meager store of coin, at least, but it would also mean no supper and no breakfast either. Unless she cooked up some of Pyatnyshki’s oats. But that would mean Pyatnyshki would go hungry, and Dasha had only the vaguest idea of how to cook oats anyway. And how would she light the stove? She had nothing to start a fire with, and even if she did, she wouldn’t know how to use it. What was she going to…a warning prickle spread out across her scalp.
“Not again,” groaned Dasha, shivering and shaking her shoulders, hoping to dispel the fit before it struck. But it kept gathering. She looked around. Was Gray Wolf still stalking them? Or was something else about to jump out at them?
A rumble sounded off in the distance.
“Oh thank the gods,” Dasha told Pyatnyshki, giving her a soothing pat on the neck, which was more for Dasha than anything else. “It’s just a storm gathering.” Now that she was looking, she could see black clouds massing on the horizon. A storm would provide some relief from the heat, so unusual for this early in the summer, and it might even give them some water to drink. Only…Dasha had no cloak or cape. She was going to be soaked through, and after the storm it would be cold. She could catch a chill. Lightning flashed on the horizon, so bright it left spots in Dasha’s vision, and there was another rumble, much louder than the first one. Or she could be struck by lightning before she got around to catching a chill. She should find shelter. It was unfortunate that shelter did not appear to be very keen to find her.
“Let’s keep going,” Dasha told Pyatnyshki. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Pyatnyshki gave her a look with her good eye, apparently not as convinced of their luck as Dasha, or perhaps still harboring a grudge for the way Dasha had crashed into her when trying to mount her, but she ambled forward at Dasha’s urging. Trotting, however, appeared to be beyond her, and Dasha had to settle for a slow walk, as lightning flashed again, and the air pressed down on them, so still and stifling that Dasha found herself gasping for breath, even though they were barely moving.
They came around a corner and Pyatnyshki pricked up her ears, looking back in the direction they had come from. “What is it, girl?” Dasha asked her. Her voice was drowned out by the next rumble of thunder, but Pyatnyshki continued to look behind them with interest. The air went still again, and was then broken by the distinctive sound of hoofsteps and human voices.
“Maybe they’ll know where we can find shelter,” Dasha told Pyatnyshki, as a crack of thunder made the ground shake, and a cold breeze, welcome after the stifling air of a moment ago but still laden with the threat of the oncoming storm, struck them in the face. Pyatnyshki’s slow amble gradually turned into a halt, and then a sidle around till they were facing the newcomers.
Two young men, not much older than Dasha, she thought, appeared around the bend and came trotting up to her. Their horses were no finer than Pyatnyshki, but were faster by virtue of being younger and less blind. The two young men grinned as they approached Dasha and Pyatnyshki, and called out in greeting, “There’s a storm coming! What’re you doing out here alone, girl?”
“I could ask the same of you,” Dasha said, wheeling Pyatnyshki around to fall in step with the two young men, who dropped back to a walk and came up abreast of her, one on each side.
The two young men grinned and exchanged glances. “We’re not alone, we’re with each other,” the one on the left said.
“Yes, but…” began Dasha, and then stopped. Young men of noble birth were not generally allowed out much by themselves until they were married, and sometimes even afterwards, if they had a strict wife or there was reason to be concerned about their behavior, but things were much freer for commoners, and on closer inspection it was obvious that these two young men were the sons of rich peasants or petty merchants. Their linen shirts were stained and the embroidery was coarse and fraying, their trousers were patched, and their boots were in danger of going to pieces and falling right off them as they rode. Only their grins were bright and fresh. A little too bright and fresh. There was something reminiscent of Gray Wolf in their smiles. Which was why young men should not be allowed out unescorted, no matter how common, Dasha thought with exasperation, but these men had been, and now they were riding next to her.
“I’m Tolya,” said the young man on her left. “And that’s Tonya,” he went on, nodding to the man on her right. “What’s your name?”
“Dasha,” she told him. “And this is Pyatnyshki.”
Tolya and Tonya burst out laughing together. “Is she your companion, then?” Tolya asked. “You could do better than that, you know.”
“Maybe, but she’s the best I’ve found so far,” Dasha replied. Tolya opened his mouth to make some response, but was—perhaps fortunately—drowned out by another crack of thunder.
“We should get to shelter,” he said, once the sky had fallen silent again. “There’s a little cabin not a verst down the road. It’s not much, but it’s enough for the three of us. Come on, let’s go.” He urged his horse into a canter, and Tonya followed after him. Dasha tried to as well, but Pyatnyshki’s canter was a sad, jerky affair, hardly worthy of the name, and she dropped back to her accustomed slow jog after no more than a dozen paces.
“Come on!” Tolya called back, as another flash of lightning lit the entire sky, and a few fat drops of rain fell on their heads, bringing with them a welcome coolness, but also the threat of a future chill.
“This is as fast as she goes!” Dasha shouted back at him. “You go on! We’ll meet you there!”
“The Black God take it!” swore Tolya, reining his horse back to a trot. “Why’d you have to have such a worthless nag!” He dropped back level with Dasha, and without warning kicked Pyatnyshki hard in the flank.
“Stop it!” Dasha shouted at him. “Why are you hitting her like that? She’s mine!” As soon as she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing to say: hurting Pyatnyshki was wrong because it hurt her, not because she belonged to Dasha. Although that reasoning seemed unlikely to affect Tolya. “What’s wrong with you!” Dasha shouted. “Leave her alone!”
“You’ll be struck by lightning for sure if you don’t get going now!” he shouted back, kicking Pyatnyshki again in the flank and whipping her so hard with the ends of his reins that she squealed.
Another flash of lightning, so bright it seemed that the whole world had turned white and colorless, arced down from the sky. For an instant Dasha froze. Maybe they were right? Maybe she needed to do whatever was necessary in order to save herself? And she would be saving Pyatnyshki too, wouldn’t she?
Tolya whipped Pyatnyshki again and swore when she only broke into a creaky lope. Dasha pulled Pyatnyshki, who was rolling her one good eye and trying to escape from Tolya, to a halt, only to discover that Tonya had flanked her on the other side and was kicking and striking her as well. “You go on,” she told them. “I don’t need your help. You go on, and leave us be.”
“By all the gods, you stupid littl
e fool, the gods rape your mother, you’re too stupid to save!” screamed Tolya, his words rising above the next crack of thunder. He grabbed Pyatnyshki’s reins, jerking hard on her mouth, as Tonya grabbed Dasha’s arm, intent, she could tell, on pulling her off Pyatnyshki’s back.
Dasha’s right hand flew out of its own volition and cracked Tonya hard across the face. There was a crunch and he dropped her arm and screamed and clutched his nose, which was streaming blood. Tolya swore again and dropped Pyatnyshki’s reins to lunge at Dasha, but she grabbed his hand with both of hers and twisted, and there was another nasty crunch and a scream, and Tolya was crouched over his horse’s neck, cradling his broken fingers in his good hand.
“You stupid, stinking piece of carrion!” he screamed. “I hope the gods rape your mother and you! And your horse! I should do it right now!”
“You shouldn’t have touched me,” Dasha told him, as the few fat drops that were falling changed to a deluge, plastering her hair to her scalp in an instant. “Or hit my horse. Go, find shelter. I won’t hurt you any more, as long as you leave me alone. Go.”
“I was trying to help you, you rotten piece of carrion!”
“No you weren’t,” Dasha told him. “You just told yourself you were, so you could hurt us. Now go. I won’t come after you, or send anyone else after you, if you leave now.”
“You’re alone! You don’t have anyone to send after us!”
“Do you really want to find out?” Dasha asked. “At the very least, I have my sword.”
Tolya looked over at Tonya, who was still clutching his broken nose. They both took off, kicking their horses much harder than necessary, whimpering and moaning as they went.
“That was bad,” Dasha told Pyatnyshki, choking slightly on all the rain that ran into her mouth as soon as she opened it. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. And I’m not sure I made things any better. Now we’re stuck out here in the storm, and they’re injured and angry. Probably they’ll do something even worse soon.” Images of what had just happened reappeared in Dasha’s mind, showing themselves to her insistently, and showing even more insistently what could have happened if she had acted differently, agreed to go along with Tolya. Some of the images told her she was a fool, but many others told her she had had a lucky escape, a very lucky escape. She thought back to the moment when she had almost agreed to go along with them, and shuddered. She realized that once again she had stood before a grave decision, even if it hadn’t seemed so at the time, and she had made the right choice, but she so easily could have chosen the other way, because there had been so many good arguments for that choice too, and that would have been terrible. Better to be cold and wet and alone than…whatever Tolya and Tonya would have made of her.
“But it would be even better not to be cold and wet,” Dasha told Pyatnyshki. “And better still if I could have just explained things to them, and not had to hurt them. They just seemed so determined not to listen! If only they’d listened for just half a moment! If only they hadn’t been so set on ruining everything for all of us!”
Pyatnyshki flicked her ears as if to say that there were some things that just couldn’t be put right or made better, no matter what, and set off at a stolid walk, apparently indifferent to the downpour soaking her hide and the thunder shaking the ground under her hooves.
“At least the rain is washing away all the sweat,” Dasha told her. “It’s like we’ve had a steam, isn’t it? First we got all sweaty, and now we’re washing off in cold water. It’s…efficient, that’s what it is. We’re having a bath while we’re walking down the road, aren’t we?”
Pyatnyshki gave no sign that she had an opinion on this, or that she’d even heard Dasha at all, and continued to plod along with her head down and her ears laced back to keep the rain out of them. Dasha wished she could lace her ears back. Or do something about the hair that had gotten loose of its braid and was clinging to her face, or the clothes that were now twice as heavy as they had been before, and seemed to have grown double the number of seams as well, all of which seemed bent on binding and chafing. I’m soaked through, Dasha thought. If this continues, I won’t have to worry about catching a chill, because I’ll drown soon. She tried to push her sodden hair off her face, but only managed to make it stick to her hands as well as her nose and mouth, and jerking her fingers free jerked a clump of hair free from her scalp as well, which then wound around her fingers and got caught in the reins.
This can’t last forever, Dasha comforted herself. These summer storms pass as quickly as they form. By the time we’re another verst down the road, it’ll be sunny again. A thick rivulet of water coursed down the back of her neck, and another one ran into her left boot. Even another verst seemed too far to travel under such conditions.
Maybe the cabin they mentioned will be empty, Dasha told herself hopefully. But when they reached the cabin, which was more of a hut set off half a dozen paces from the road, Dasha recognized Tolya and Tonya’s horses outside. They were tied up by their reins to a hitching post out front, with no attempt made to shield them from the rain, slip their bits, provide them with food or water, or anything else that might make them more comfortable. Dasha stopped in indecision. Something should be done to help them. On the other hand…they weren’t dying, and Dasha had no need of her visions to tell her that another encounter with Tolya and Tonya would not end well. Even injured (and mortally stupid as they seemed to be), the two of them could probably work together to hurt her if they wanted to, and she was fairly certain that they would want to. Injure her for certain, and quite possibly rape her, as they had threatened. By all the gods! This was why young men shouldn’t be allowed out unescorted! It seemed they couldn’t take two steps without abusing their horses and assaulting passers-by. And if she were to go in there and confront them, someone would end up with more than just a broken hand, Dasha was certain. Even if she emerged the victor from that confrontation, it would only be by injuring them so severely they might never be able to work again, and where would be the victory in that? And they most likely hadn’t learned anything at all from their first encounter with her other than anger and resentment against those who would stop them from doing harm; more anger and resentment was unlikely to improve matters. No doubt they thought of her, not as the girl who had been forced to defend herself against them when they attacked her horse and threatened to rape her, but as the girl who attacked them when they were only trying to help her, and going in and waving her finger at them and telling them how wrong they were was unlikely to change their minds. Dasha gnawed at her lip, and then, with a leaden sense of shame that she was making the slightly less bad of two bad choices, urged Pyatnyshki on.
After another verst the rain did finally stop, which lifted her mood slightly. Emptying out her boots and wringing out her clothes and the saddlecloth as best she could lifted it even more. She had a brief moment of panic when she heard riders behind her and thought that Tolya and Tonya had caught up with her again, but it proved to be a completely different group, who swept past Dasha and Pyatnyshki with barely a sideways glance, spraying them with mud. That was irritating, but not as much as their attention most likely would have been, so Dasha counted herself lucky, and after another stop to clean off as much of the mud as she could manage, she and Pyatnyshki continued their slow plod down the road.
***
They rode on until late afternoon without any further mishaps, other than an intense hunger that seized Dasha and refused to let go. The appearance of a waystation, nestled in a bend in the road, was a very welcome sight, and Pyatnyshki even managed a brief trot when it came into view.
“You’re soaked through!” called the girl who came out onto the porch to greet Dasha as she rode up. “What’d you do, drown?”
“Something like that,” Dasha called back, sliding off Pyatnyshki’s back and unsticking the saddlecloth, which had come off with her, from her legs. “Do you have any room?”
“Loads, if you’ve got the coin to pay for i
t,” the girl told her. Seeing Dasha’s hesitation at that, she added, “It’s forty grosh for supper and bed, and another ten for breakfast. Twenty for your horse.”
That would leave Dasha with only ten grosh left over. “Very well,” she said, as boldly as if she had a purse bulging with coins. Perhaps something would happen tomorrow that would solve the problem of her poverty. Or perhaps she and Pyatnyshki would just have to ride the rest of the way to Lesnograd on empty bellies. It couldn’t be that far, could it? “How much farther to Lesnograd?” she asked, handing Pyatnyshki’s reins to the girl.
