by E. P. Clark
“Dream, Tsarinovna? What dream?” asked the herbwoman, with more interest than Slava would have expected.
“I dreamed about the leshaya…the one with golden eyes… she came to me and asked if I was ready to hold to my promise…I said yes…and she wanted to look through my eyes.”
“And did she, Tsarinovna?”
“Yes.”
“And what did she see?”
“The hearts of others,” said Slava.
“And was she happy, Tsarinovna?”
“So much evil…and so much goodness hidden out of fear…How could she be happy?”
“And will she come back, Tsarinovna?” asked the herbwoman.
“Probably,” said Slava. “She fled after only a little while…but she said she needed to know more…”
“I’m going to give you a tisane, Tsarinovna,” said the herbwoman. “A tisane to help you regain your strength. And I will consult with my sisters on this matter. Meanwhile, you should rest.”
“What’s wrong with me?” asked Slava. “Why am I ill?”
“You have given so much of yourself, Tsarinovna,” said the herbwoman, giving her another kind pat, which made Slava feel better for an instant. “It’s no wonder you need rest. And of course, it’s not uncommon to catch chills in winter. So stay here, rest, drink the tisane, and wait for my return.”
“Does the illness seem dangerous?” asked Slava.
“I have every hope you will recover, Tsarinovna,” said the herbwoman.
“No, I mean…can my friends visit me?”
“Right now you should rest, Tsarinovna,” repeated the herbwoman firmly. “Drink all the tisane, and rest. But try not to dream.”
“If I could learn to control my dreams…” said Slava, annoyed once more.
“Well, think on pleasant things, then, Tsarinovna,” said the herbwoman. “I will return later in the day, with someone who knows more of these things than I do. Come.” She beckoned to the serving woman, and they both went out the door, leaving Slava to her feverish reveries.
She dozed until the serving woman returned with the tisane. It was mild and slightly sweet, but Slava could still only manage a mouthful at a time. After she had downed an entire cup’s worth, at the serving woman’s insistence, she went back to dozing.
It seems I took too much from you, Tsarinovna, said two golden eyes. I am sorry, but my need was great.
It always is, said Slava. Everyone’s is.
Your strength will return, I promise, said the golden eyes. Here, have some of mine. It reached out a barky hand and laid it on Slava’s forehead. Although it was not so soft and kind as the herbwoman’s, its healing powers were even greater. Slava slipped into a true sleep.
When she awoke, it was late afternoon, and the room was no longer spinning around and around. The herbwoman was standing over her, flanked by the serving woman and a third woman Slava didn’t recognize.
“Do you feel better now, Tsarinovna?” asked the herbwoman.
“Yes,” said Slava. Her voice was still weak, but not so pathetically shaky as it had been in the morning.
“Did you sleep long, Tsarinovna?” asked the herbwoman. She handed Slava another cup of the tisane, now cold. Slava drank it down thirstily, and held out the cup for more. “Yes,” she said.
“Did you dream, Tsarinovna?” asked the herbwoman, refilling the cup. “Of the leshaya?”
“Yes,” said Slava.
“And what did she say, Tsarinovna?” asked the third woman, stepping forward. She was in her middle years, with a wise, proud face, and she was, Slava realized, in the robes of a priestess.
“She said she had taken too much, but her need was great,” said Slava, drinking down another cup of the tisane.
“Ah,” said the priestess and the herbwoman together. “You must tell me more, Tsarinovna,” added the priestess.
“About what?” asked Slava.
“The leshaya, of course, Tsarinovna, and your dreams, and anything else that comes into your head.”
“That could take a while,” said Slava.
“I have the time, Tsarinovna,” said the priestess. “See: I am pulling up a chair and sitting down.”
“Why do you want to know?” asked Slava. “Do you think I was ill because of the leshaya?”
“That’s why I asked Vlastomila Serafimiyevna to come speak to you, Tsarinovna,” said the herbwoman. “You never know with these sorts of things.”
“You never do,” agreed Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. Even sitting down, she still seemed taller and statelier than anyone else in the room. If a stranger came in and was told to pick out the Tsarinovna in the room, Slava thought, she would surely choose Vlastomila Serafimiyevna and not her.
“As soon as you told me about your dream, Tsarinovna,” continued the herbwoman, “I said to myself: ‘This sounds like priestess business.’ Well, or sorceress business, but sorceresses are hard to scare up these days. So are priestesses, but Vlastomila Serafimiyevna is my near-sister’s second-sister, so I went to my brother and asked him to ask his wife, my near-sister, that is, if Vlastomila Serafimiyevna might be visiting, and he said—”
“That I was,” interjected Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “I happened to be in Lesnograd for a few days, gathering provisions for my sisterhood.”
“Which sisterhood?” asked Slava.
“Of the forest, Tsarinovna. And so I await your tale with keen anticipation.” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna gave Slava a firm look, but, seeing Slava’s eyes wander over to the herbwoman, said, “Is there anything else you need with our patient, Yevpraksiya Yarmilovna?”
“Ah, no, Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, I don’t think so…”
“Then do not let me keep you from your other charges.”
“Oh, of course, Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, you are too kind…” And Yevpraksiya Yarmilovna backed out of the room, followed by the serving woman.
“Yevpraksiya Yarmilovna is a good woman, but these things are out of her ken,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “Now, your story, Tsarinovna, if you please.”
Slava started by recounting her dream, but that led back to their last encounter with the leshiye, which led back to her other visions, which led all the way back to their journey from Krasnograd, which took them until suppertime. She thought she would soon lose her strength, but instead she seemed to regain more and more of it as she spoke, and when servants came in to light candles and bring food, she got out of bed and ate at the table with Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
“And then yesterday, when I was in the library with Vladislava Vasilisovna, I found this book,” Slava said, after they had finished eating. “It seemed important, I don’t know why, so I took it and read it, or at least part of it, and then I had the dream.”
“You were in the library with Vladislava Vasilisovna, Tsarinovna?” asked Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, with more interest than Slava would have expected.
“Yes, we were looking for ‘The Art of Conquest’…”
“And did you find it, Tsarinovna?” asked Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, with a faint smile. Slava couldn’t tell if it was condescending or not.
“Yes, and we brought the books back here and Vladislava spent the afternoon studying battle strategy, and then…”
“Did she seem to show much aptitude for it, Tsarinovna?” asked Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, now with a look that was definitely not condescending at all.
“Yes, I suppose, not that I’m much of a judge, it was never an interest of mine, but she’s a very good pupil and a quick study…”
“You think so, Tsarinovna?”
“Of course,” said Slava, surprised. “I don’t see how anyone who has spent even half a morning in her company could think otherwise.”
“What would you say if I told you that she has a reputation all over Severnolesnoye as a hopeless pupil?”
“I’d say Severnolesnoye was wrong,” said Slava hotly. “Who could think such a thing? Only a fool could fail to see the brightness inside of her. She will
be a great woman some day, I am sure of it.”
“So am I, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “And so, it seems, are the gods. Lesnograd, however, is of a different opinion.”
“Then Lesnograd is a fool!”
“That, I fear, Tsarinovna, is all too true. They say you will be taking Vladislava Vasilisovna back with you to Krasnograd, to live there as your ward?”
“Yes,” said Slava. “Someone needs to take care of her.”
“You consider her neglected, Tsarinovna?”
“Yes! And your words make me even more sure of it!”
“I am glad, Tsarinovna. Glad that she will be going to someone who will train her to be what she is meant to be. But let us return to your book.”
“No, first let us go back to Vladislava,” said Slava. “What do you mean, the gods think she will be a great woman someday?”
“Just what I said, Tsarinovna.” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna smiled. “I am a priestess, you know. Not only a priestess, but the mother of the Sisterhood of the Forest. The gods’ will is clear to no woman, but it is, I hope, a little less dark to me than to others. When news of Vladislava’s birth arrived, I went out into the woods and prayed for my beloved Severnolesnoye, and the gods told me that my prayer had been heard, and that finally, a ruler worthy of my native land had been born.”
“They did?” said Slava.
“They did, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “And now, back to your book, if you please. Do you have it here?”
“What else did they say of Vladislava Vasilisovna?” asked Slava, ignoring Vlastomila Serafimiyevna’s question.
“You truly care for her, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, giving her a measuring look. “You have truly taken a heartfelt interest in the little heir to Severnolesnoye.”
“Well, of course,” said Slava, now very annoyed. “I asked her to be my ward, did I not?”
“One can have a ward without taking an interest in her, Tsarinovna,” pointed out Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
“Well…true enough,” said Slava. “But I can’t. I’m not going to waste my time taking in wards I don’t care for. Especially since they would be living in Krasnograd, cheek-by-jowl with me and my family, not to mention the entire kremlin. So what did the gods say of Vladislava?”
“They said she had a dark and dangerous path ahead of her, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “But what woman of greatness does not? Her fate is her fate, and for the moment we must leave her to it. Do you still have your book?”
“Yes…” Slava tried to stop worrying about Vladislava, and got out her book. Now that Vlastomila Serafimiyevna was asking for it, for some reason Slava was embarrassed to show it to her, impelled by the same inexplicable desire for secrecy of the night before. She had so few things she was allowed to keep secret—despite most people’s complete indifference to her actual wellbeing—that she was loath to share something this important with anyone else. But Vlastomila Serafimiyevna looked at her expectantly until Slava handed it over, and showed her the exact passage she had read, just before her dream.
“Ah…” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, once she had read the passage on Miroslava Praskovyevna’s special gift.
“What do you mean?” demanded Slava. “Do the gods have something to say about this, too? I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “I didn’t mean to be rude. But, you see, my gift…And to know that it was passed down to me from Miroslava Praskovyevna, that most unlikely of foremothers—for me, I mean—and to read those words and nothing more…”
“You find your gift a burden, then, Tsarinovna?” asked Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
“Yes,” Slava began, and then changed it, she didn’t know why, to “No. Not a burden. A source of pain.”
“Pain is a burden too, Tsarinovna. How many have prayed to the gods for relief from a life of pain?”
“I know, I know, and I have too, but…I have wished so many times I could lay my gift down, but now that I truly think on it, I think that I would not do it, given the chance. I don’t know why. It truly is very painful, Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.”
“Why is that so, Tsarinovna?” asked Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, with more sympathy than Slava would have expected her capable of exhibiting.
“How can it not be! To know what is in the hearts of others…I suppose if I just knew, and nothing more, it would not be so bad, but you see, I do not just know, I feel it too.”
“All the time, Tsarinovna?”
“No, not all the time, or rather, yes, all the time, but sometimes more clearly than others, and I don’t always know why. I mean, I may know that someone is sad, or angry, or happy, or frightened, but not why. So I feel their sadness, or anger, or happiness, or fear, but I don’t know why I’m feeling what I feel, and my head whirls with all kinds of wild suppositions, and long after they have gone away or changed their mood, I am still going over it again and again…”
“Yes, that does sound very painful, Tsarinovna,” interjected Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, who seemed to be already losing patience with Slava’s problems. “The gods often ask great things of those to whom they give great things. Will you come to my sanctuary?”
“What, now?” asked Slava.
“Well, probably tomorrow.”
“For how long?” asked Slava.
“A few days, most likely. It seems you are running around in circles here, looking for sorceresses, quarreling with the locals…”
“Alas, yes,” said Slava. “There has been a lot of quarreling.”
“There often is in Lesnograd,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, with another slight smile. “But not in my sanctuary. We may, however, have answers to your questions, or at least that which you are seeking.”
“You do?” cried Slava. “You have sorceresses? I thought they had gone into hiding!”
“There are people other than sorceresses who have wisdom, Tsarinovna. Although we do have sorceresses as well. Come with me tomorrow. By the evening you will already be among people who may have answers to your questions.”
“What if I’m too weak?” objected Slava. “I was just ill…”
“We will be traveling by sleigh,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “It is an easy ride.”
“I will have to ask Olga,” said Slava.
“If I were you, Tsarinovna, I would tell Olga,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “You are a Tsarinovna, not some half-grown girl seeking her mother’s permission.”
“It is the nature of a Tsarinovna to be a half-grown girl seeking her mother’s permission,” said Slava. “That is the difference between a Tsarinovna and a Tsarina.”
Vlastomila Serafimiyevna’s mouth twitched.
“But I see what you mean,” said Slava. “I’ll send for Olga right now.”
“In that case, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, rising, “I’ll come for you in the morning, before first light. Dress warmly.”
“What else should I bring?” asked Slava.
“An open mind, open ears, and open heart, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. She bowed. “Until the morning.”
“Yes, until the morning,” said Slava.
Once Vlastomila Serafimiyevna had left, Slava went out into the corridor—she was still, she noted, weak enough that a simple trip out of her room left her slightly dizzy, but at least she was able to do it—and hunted down her serving woman, whom she then dispatched to find Olga. She had hardly had the time to catch her breath after her exertions when Olga came striding into her room, followed by Vladislava and Oleg Svetoslavovich.
“Are you better?” demanded Vladislava, as soon as she saw Slava. “I asked and asked them to let me come visit you, but they said I couldn’t.”
“I’m better, or I soon will be,” Slava assured her. “It was nothing serious.”
“A chill?” asked Vladislava. “Those can be dangerous, you know.”
“Perhaps a very slight one,” Slava told her. She turned to Olga, and said,
“Vlastomila Serafimiyevna has invited me to her sanctuary, and I have accepted.”
“She has?” cried Olga. “I’ve been begging to go for years, and she always tells me I’m not ready!” She grinned. “Perhaps I should fall ill, too?”
“Perhaps,” said Slava. “We will be leaving in the morning. I’m sorry to be leaving you, but it will most likely be only for a few days, and she said I may be able to gain valuable information, and…”
“Say no more,” Olga cut her off. “Of course you have to go, although I’m envious as a poor girl at a dance that it’s you and not me. We’ll muddle on as best we can, won’t we, Vladenka?”
“You’re going?!” said Vladislava. “You’re leaving? Without me?”
“Only for a few days,” Slava told her. “Then I’ll come back, and we’ll set off for Krasnograd together.”
“You promise?” Vladislava’s lip was actually trembling in her fierce little face.
“Of course,” said Slava. “While I’m gone, you can pack your things in preparation for our journey. Olga Vasilisovna can help you choose what’s important and what’s not.”
“An excellent idea!” said Olga, cheering visibly at, Slava guessed, the thought of a task that could fill the long empty hours in the Lesnograd kremlin.
“Mother will probably have strong opinions on that,” said Vladislava. “She’ll want me to take all my finest gowns.”
“True,” said Olga, a lot of the cheer draining out of her face.
“Fine gowns are essential in Krasnograd,” Slava said. “But we may not be able to carry very many with us on our journey there. You can tell Vasilisa Vasilisovna that I will have many fine gowns made for you once we are there. And that way we can be sure you are dressed the same as the other little princesses, too.”
“I don’t want to be dressed the same as the other little princesses,” said Vladislava scornfully.
“Yes, but this way you won’t have to haul lots of gowns all the way down to Krasnograd,” Slava explained to her.
“I knew you were a sharp one the moment I met you, Tsarinovna,” said Olga, cheering back up.
“I will accompany you to the sanctuary, Tsarinovna,” Oleg Svetoslavovich put in suddenly.
