by E. P. Clark
“‘Seems’ is the right word,” Oleg said dryly. “They were always a bit odd, and now that they’re being flooded with new sisters, they’re even odder. Popularity goes to people’s heads like that sometimes. And they’ve opened a men’s sanctuary right next door, if you can say that about a compound in the middle of the woods, and that promises to make things even worse. All they can think about is what will give them the ecstasy they believe brings them closer to the gods. If you or one of the sisters here were to go to them, like as not they’d say this is the way of things, and invite you to a hunt—or an orgy.”
“Oh.” Dasha could feel her face contorting in an involuntary grimace, forming the same creases that had formed on Oleg’s face when he had frowned a moment ago. Which meant that when she was his age, or the age he appeared to be, she would have the same lines on her face. Such a funny thought. “I would think…” she began, and then stopped.
“That I’d be more at home with them than with these drab sisters?” He laughed, but there was no mirth in his laughter. He sounded more like her mother in one of her black moods, than her father. “There was a time when I would have thought so too, Dasha my heart, but that was a long time ago. That sanctuary is for those who have known no troubles, or who can’t bring themselves to face them. I’ve known my fair share of troubles, and I’m trying to bring myself to face them. But that’s neither here nor there. This sanctuary, the Sisterhood of the Forest—they have all that, and more besides. The forest holds everything, not just the hunt, but the hunted, and the growing trees and deep still pools and all that brings life, as well as death. You’re better off with them than with anyone else.”
“But the wolves…” said Dasha. She took a sip of her tea. It was weak and acrid. She told herself she would have to remember to tell Vladya to send some to the sanctuary, along with sugar and jam.
“The wolves.” He sighed. “I can make no promises, but I will see what I can do. If I succeed, they will come to you tonight. Whether they do or not, we’ll need to leave tomorrow in order to be back in Lesnograd in time to set off on Vladya’s journey. Unless you want to stay here?” he finished hopefully.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t like to stay here,” Dasha told him. “It’s just that I think I need to go with Vladya to Pristanograd. But it’s a shame. Vlastomila Serafimiyevna’s taught me more in one day than all my tutors combined managed in ten years.”
“Has she, now? Not that I’m surprised. She’s always had a wise head on her shoulders, and it doesn’t surprise me that you have more to learn from a sanctuary mother than from a sorceress. Maybe you should join a sanctuary. Just for a bit, you know, so that they can train you. Maybe after we meet your mother in Pristanograd, we should come back here.”
“Maybe,” said Dasha. It was a welcome thought, but when she tried to imagine it coming true, it felt…only half-right, somehow. Her visions remained stubbornly hidden when she strained after them, but there was something there she wasn’t quite seeing.
“Come on.” Oleg put his cup down. “This tea is terrible anyway. We’ll leave it for the boys to finish—they’ll drink any swill. I have wolves to summon, and you should get back to the sanctuary. They might come for you tonight, and I’ll definitely come for you tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” Dasha said, putting her cup down too and standing. “You’re…helping me a lot, you know. In funny ways, but still.”
“Am I?” Oleg smiled, not a mocking grin but a genuine smile, as if she had touched him in a way he was not used to being touched. “Funny ways are better than none, I suppose. Now come. You’ll want to get back inside the sanctuary as soon as possible.”
***
They rode back in the face of a rising wind, which was so cold it made Dasha’s head ache, despite the sun shining down on them through the narrow strip of clear sky provided by the road. Sister Yeseniya muttered something about it being a “wolf wind,” but Sister Bozheslava said nonsense, it was just an ordinary wind, and there was nothing unusual about it being so cold, even this close to Midsummer. Ordinary or not, Dasha was glad to arrive back at the sanctuary and take shelter behind its high walls.
“That was brief,” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna said, when they presented themselves to her. “Could Oleg Svetoslavovich do nothing, then?”
“He said he would try,” Dasha told her. “But he needed to do it on his own. The wolves may come for us tonight, though. To parley,” she explained.
“Well, I suppose it is worth trying,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “But in the meantime, I would work with you more on your training, Tsarinovna, if you are willing. We can continue our work with fire. It empties the mind like nothing else.”
“Shouldn’t we plan what we will say to the wolves, if they come to parley?” countered Dasha.
“What will we say to them, Tsarinovna?”
“Ah…that we are sorry?”
“And if they say that is not enough?”
“Ask them what they want?”
“You see, Tsarinovna? We already have a plan.”
“But what if they ask more than we are willing to give?”
“Then we will not give it, Tsarinovna. It is not so complicated as you seem to think it is. Which is true of so many things. Now come: let us return to our studies of fire.”
Dasha followed Vlastomila Serafimiyevna to her cell, privately thinking that it was just as complicated as she thought it was. What if the wolves wanted something that was more than the sanctuary was willing to give, but it was still necessary? What if they wanted…she tried to think of all the things they could ask for, and how the sisters could respond, which was difficult, as she had only the sketchiest acquaintance with both parties. Suppose they wanted…
“You are worrying, Tsarinovna,” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna said, interrupting her. “No doubt over things that are out of your control, and may be beyond your knowledge.”
“They wouldn’t be if I could just know…” Dasha trailed off, not knowing what it was she would have to know in order to know what she needed to know.
“Then clear your mind, Tsarinovna, and perhaps it will come to you.” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna took down the stools stacked on top of her little table, and set them on either side of it. She took her seat on the far side of the table, and waited for Dasha to take hers.
“It’s just…there are so many things to think of…”
“Such as?”
“What if they want, I don’t know, someone’s life in exchange for the life that was taken?”
“I don’t know, Tsarinovna. What if they do? What shall we do? Shall we give it to them?”
“No! Only…it would be justice, and if it would cause them to stop stalking you…”
“They will stalk us from time to time in any case, Tsarinovna. They are wolves. We must, in our humility, accept this. It is easy to think that we should be free from that sort of danger, but that is a dangerous thought to have. We should all know what it means to be prey.”
“Yes, but…what if they want…I don’t know…regular tributes? Of flesh?”
“What if they do, Tsarinovna?”
“What would you do if they wanted, I don’t know, you to slaughter your horses and goats and chickens, and give them to them?”
“I would say no, Tsarinovna. They can hunt for themselves. You are making this more difficult than it needs to be. There are few things that we will give them, because there are few things that we can give them. Other than our time and attention, which is what we will give them this evening, if they are willing to give the same to us.”
“But what if…”
“The more you try to force an answer, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, with some asperity, “the more it will elude you, just like your gift. Now come. Sit. There is an unlit candle standing here before you, that needs lighting. The fire is all around you, inside of you. You just have to allow it to gather and come through you. Allow yourself to get out of its way, so that it can do what i
t naturally wants to do.”
Dasha sat down on the stool, and tried to focus on the candle. Her thoughts kept circling back to the wolves, and the possible meeting with them that evening. She should be thinking about it, she should have a plan for it, she should be trying to have a vision of what would happen, or what could go wrong…her head ached, and her visions felt blocked, as if there were a thick wall between her and them. A wall that they breached whenever they wanted to, but one that she couldn’t so much as peer over with one eye! It wasn’t fair! It was her gift, not theirs! Who the “they” was she couldn’t say, but at that moment she felt that “they” were denying her what was her birthright, and something she should be able to obtain just by snapping her fingers. It was hers! Hers! He—
“Your hands, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
Dasha looked down. Flames were leaping up from her hands, threatening to set not just the candle, but her robe, her hair, the table, and the entire cell on fire. She tried to quell the blaze, but it only leaped higher.
“I could control it yesterday!” she cried in frustration.
“That was yesterday, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
“But I should…”
“But you can’t,” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna cut her off. She had to raise her voice in order to be heard over the crackling of the flames. “What were you thinking of to cause this?”
“It’s not my fault!” protested Dasha.
“Whose fault is it, then, Tsarinovna?”
Dasha wanted to jump up from her stool and storm off, but now, when she didn’t want it, a vision rose up in her mind, strong and clear, showing her what would most likely happen if she were go storming through the sanctuary with her hands on fire. Like as not she would burn the whole place down.
“It may not be your fault, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, speaking more gently. “But it is still your problem. What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to…I’m going to…keep trying, I suppose,” said Dasha.
“And you see? The flames have gone out.”
Dasha looked down. Sure enough, the flames had disappeared completely, as if they had never been.
“I can feel them, though,” she said out loud.
“The flames? Of course you can. They are a part of you, after all. You just have to allow yourself to sense them, Tsarinovna, and be their conduit, instead of trying to force them to be something that they are not.”
“I’m not trying to force them to be something they’re not!”
“No? You are trying to make them obey you, are you not?”
“Of course! Magic should obey you!”
Vlastomila Serafimiyevna laughed at that, to Dasha’s chagrin. “And yet it does not, Tsarinovna, no more than a child on the cusp of womanhood does. It follows its own season, just as everything else does. But it is still within you, and if you let it, it will—not do your bidding, but aid you, if you ask it humbly enough.”
“My father thinks I’m too humble,” Dasha complained. “He was very angry with me and my mother because of how much I apologized to everyone, and asked their permission for everything I did. Now you think I’m not humble enough. I wish I knew exactly how humble to be! I’m not trying to be the wrong amount of humble, it’s just that nobody seems happy with me, no matter what I do. Every time I think I’ve gotten it right, along comes somebody else and tells me I’ve gotten it wrong.”
Vlastomila Serafimiyevna laughed some more at that. Dasha could feel her own lips turning up in an involuntary smile, which she fought to turn into a scowl, but, traitorously, her mouth started to laugh instead.
“A wise observation, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, when she was done laughing. “If you go chasing after what other people think, trying to please them, you’ll end up being torn in half, like a rag doll being fought over by a pack of greedy sisters. Pursue the truth instead.”
“But you told me there’s no such thing as the truth! Or was it Gray Wolf? I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything! Everyone’s been trying to teach me things, and I can’t keep any of straight any more!”
“A sure sign that you are on the path to wisdom, Tsarinovna,” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna told her. “Clarity only arises from confusion. I think we have done enough with fire today.” In, Dasha thought mulishly, direct contradiction to her words, she held her hand over the candle, causing it to light. “Let us focus on prayer instead,” she said.
“I don’t see how that will help. I’m not very good at it, anyway. I never have been.”
“Oh, Tsarinovna? How is one ‘good’ or ‘bad’ at prayer, anyway?”
“I get fidgety and bored,” Dasha confessed. “My mother says she has the same problem.”
“Does she? Yes, I remember her saying so. She would walk in the woods instead, which is much the same. But I will teach you how to pray. Rather, how to empty your mind, so that your prayers can flow through you like your magic does. Turn your eyes to the candleflame, Tsarinovna. Yes, just like that. Allow it to fill your vision. Now count. Count from one to ten. When you are done, begin again.”
“That’s not emptying my mind,” Dasha argued. “That’s filling it up with numbers.”
“So it is, Tsarinovna. Try it anyway.”
This is stupid, thought Dasha, staring at the candleflame till her eyes began to water. This is a waste of time. I should be doing something. Maybe I should have stayed with the domoviye after all. Or even the vodyaniye. They wouldn’t be making me stare at stupid candleflames, I warrant. I’d be…swimming or something. Disregarding both Vlastomila Serafimiyevna’s instructions to focus on counting, and her own lifelong dislike of swimming, Dasha began to imagine herself swimming underwater, letting the cool fresh water flow over her. In her imagining, it was clear and clean and exactly the right temperature, with a gentle current that kept her hair out of her face without impeding her forward movement. Also, she could swim and swim without needing to come up to breathe. She dove deeper, all the way to the sandy bottom, which sloped in one direction, like the bottom of a lake, not a river, except that this was vaster and more turbulent than any lake she had ever seen, and the water tasted of salt. She landed on the sandy bottom and looked up. The sun shone faintly at her through green water many times deeper than she was tall. She turned and looked out in the direction of the slope, which led down and down…down and down to a cliff that plunged into blackness and unimaginable depth…
“AKH!” Dasha twitched and jerked so hard that she half fell off her stool, and had to clutch at the table to pull herself back upright.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “I had a fit.”
“So you did, Tsarinovna, and you extinguished the candle in the bargain.”
Dasha looked up. So she had.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, still speaking in that same small voice, although now it was beginning to irritate her, even as it kept coming out of her mouth. “I think I had a, a vision, or a dream, or…I’m not sure.”
“Describe it to me, Tsarinovna.”
Dasha tried to describe what she had seen, although she felt she couldn’t possibly convey the terror that the sight of that sharp cliff and the black depths beyond it had evoked, even though she described it several times.
“I see,” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna said. “That…that is beyond my ken, Tsarinovna. That is the sea, not the forest.”
“So what should I do about it?”
“Do about it? Why should you do anything about it at all?”
“But it must have meant something!”
“I suggest you pray on it, Tsarinovna.”
“But I might see it again!”
“So you might. And this time you might understand it. Or not. But you might come closer to understanding it.” Seeing Dasha’s aghast look, Vlastomila Serafimiyevna continued, “Prayer can be boring, Tsarinovna, it is true, just as your mother found, but that is only the beginning.
Once you begin to study it seriously, it is likely to become terrifying, maddening, sorrowful—all the bad things you try to hide from yourself. Once you begin to pray, you can no longer hide from them, and they will parade before you like a collection of your worst nightmares. It is not unusual for new sisters to spend their first few days or weeks or months in prayer crying, shouting, shaking, running and hiding, as all the things they don’t want to see or think or feel come rising up inside them and flood out. It is just happening more quickly for you.”
“That sounds terrible!” said Dasha. “I don’t see any use in doing that! Especially since I don’t want to become a sanctuary sister in any case.”
“So what will you do, Tsarinovna? How will you learn what you need to learn? Or will you keep running, like your father, remaining only half of what you are meant to be because you are too afraid to face that other half?”
“My father doesn’t run! Well…he does. But he’s trying to stop.”
“That is good to hear, Tsarinovna.”
“And I’m not like him!”
“That may be true, Tsarinovna. Your mother ran for a long time too. It is not unusual for people to run from what frightens them, especially when it is what they most want and need.”
Dasha wanted to argue against that, but it had such a nasty ring of truth to it, true truth, not the fake kind where people took a grain of truth and mixed it up with a lot of false wishes and real meanness in order to win an argument that shouldn’t be won, that she forced herself not to. Instead she said, “What if it makes me weaker? What if praying, and facing the frightening things it shows me, makes me weaker and more confused in the short term? That could happen, couldn’t it?”
“It could, Tsarinovna. But you will still be stronger in the long term.”
“But it could weaken me, confuse me, for tonight, or for my journey to Pristanograd, couldn’t it?”
“Is that what you fear, Tsarinovna? Or are you just arguing against it?”
“I truly fear it. And I’m just arguing against it,” admitted Dasha. “I don’t want to see that black cliff again.”
