“Do you expect the rusalka to return?”
“I murdered their sister and am plotting the destruction of their adopted daughter. They would disappoint me if they didn’t muster an offense.” Aloysha stepped down until they were shoulder to shoulder, or shoulder to rib. The bogatyr was enormous.
And Kopala had battled ogres.
“My brother will arrive soon,” Kopala told him.
“I wondered. You didn’t bring back the bird. He promised me the bird.”
That gave Kopala pause. “My brother knew you were here?” And he hadn’t warned Kopala.
Aloysha ignored his question. “He made a promise. You would bring me the bird. My brothers are dead, and you were supposed to bring it to me.”
His twin’s sudden and inflexible demand made a lot more sense.
“As far as I know, the bird is dead.”
Aloysha stood straighter, looming over Kopala. “That is unfortunate.”
28
Shubin
The tunnel was clear.
Shubin led the way, following each twist and turn as it led them below the river, toward the heart of Korolevstvo.
In some places, the walls seeped water from the river. He could hear it rushing over their heads, but the rock held. Whoever had dug these tunnels had known what they were doing.
The bird, roamer, and vodyanyy were quiet as they walked next to him, and then behind him, depending on how narrow the tunnel became.
What was he doing?
The thought occurred to him—this wasn’t like him—but it was. This was more like him than he’d been able to be in years. And years.
Generations, maybe.
Shubin had been created to be a helper. His first memories were opening his eyes to a rock-hewn ceiling. He’d held up his large hands and studied them, one of which clutched the same axe he still carried on his belt.
He didn’t know who made him, but he’d had the need to help. He’d left the tunnel and stumbled into the human world.
The scene replayed in his mind as they came to a T, and he smiled.
“What is it?” Fedir asked. “Are we close?”
“Yes,” he answered. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in these tunnels.” He pointed to the tunnel on the left. “That’s a gate.” If they went that way, they’d end up in the same little town where he’d emerged on the day of his birth. How different was it now? Was there still the small pub where the miners gathered after their day, drinking silently when things went wrong and toasting when they made it out alive?
“So we go right.” Grisha disappeared, his form disintegrating like dust to fly down the other tunnel. He returned seconds later, reforming. His hair was disheveled, but his eyes were bright. “There’s a door. Hurry.”
They ran, their feet echoing on the stone until they stood, panting, in front of the door.
Shubin didn’t remember this. It was a huge monolith, carved right through the stone. He pushed it, but it was heavy, even for him.
He frowned and stepped back, hesitating.
“Let’s go.” Grisha rocked onto his toes, his muscles tensed to run.
“Wait.” Fedir held up his hand and turned his head, listening intently. “Promise me something,” he went on quietly.
Shubin faced the other man, but Fedir’s gaze was glued to the door. “You have to kill me before they do. Whoever is down there. Don’t let them use me.”
It was a promise Shubin could make, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be responsible for Fedir’s death.
“Promise.” The man looked at them, his eyes glowing gold. “Promise.”
“I will,” Shubin said, and he felt the oath tie itself inside him. A cord led from him to Fedir, linking them in this macabre agreement.
“I do, too,” Grisha said, and touched his chest, as if he had felt it, too.
“And me,” Taras added. The vodyanyy was covered in his scales, readying himself for whatever battle faced them. “I promise, Fedir. I won’t let them use you.”
Fedir nodded, pressing his hands against the stone, but not before Shubin had seen the gratitude on his face. He straightened his shoulders, muscles tensed.
Shubin touched the door. As he did, he smiled. His heart felt lighter. It made no sense. There was probably a fight waiting for him, one he might not be able to win, but it didn’t stop the rightness.
This is what I’m made to do. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Tatiana he’d known his fate was tied to hers.
This was right. This was his purpose.
29
Tatiana
“Turn here,” the girl said, but Tatiana knocked into one of the dirty, wet walls. “Here.” The girl took her hand, pulling a little to hurry her.
The surreality of the situation was overwhelming. “Is this weird to you?” she asked.
The girl snorted. Tatiana did that, too. It was the first similarity, besides the physical ones, and even those were harder to see the longer they were in each other’s company. “Is it weird to hold the hand of my replacement? A being that feels flesh and blood but is made of sticks and rocks? Yes. It is weird.”
“How far away is the gate?” Tatiana asked when that was all she said.
“I don’t know. Sometimes it changes. This will lead us to a T, and then we’ll go down another tunnel and if Korolevstvo hasn’t changed, it should be there.”
“So a day? An hour?”
“Not so long as that,” she answered.
The river was so, so loud, but the metal that had been in the air when she’d been led into the chamber where the feia and bogatyr had waited was gone. She could breathe again.
“You’re healing,” the girl said. “I can feel it. You’re not panting anymore. You’re not lagging behind.”
“The air is better.”
“It is amazing you survived so long in the human world,” the real Tatiana said as they turned another corner. The girl stumbled to a stop. “What is this?”
Tatiana stared at the huge stone door. It was carved into the tunnel, part of the ceiling and the walls.
“This wasn’t here before,” the girl muttered.
She dropped Tatiana’s hand and walked to the door, pressing both of her hands against the stone.
“It looks heavy,” Tatiana said, joining her and pushing. “Do we push or pull?”
There was a groan, and a burst of air as the door moved inward. Tatiana grabbed the girl’s hand, pulling her away and against one of the walls. It was wet, and the water seeped through Tatiana’s sweater, chilling her skin.
The tunnel was filled with dust, obscuring what little light there was, but it slowly began to settle.
The stone had split in the middle; it had been two doors, not one, and it swung toward them, not away. Through the dust, a figure emerged from between the open doors and Tatiana gasped.
The girl grasped her hand tight, fingernails digging into her skin, warning her to stay quiet, but Tatiana shook her off.
Shubin. He was alive.
And then Grisha. Fedir. Taras.
She laughed, a crazy, slightly hysterical sound, and threw herself at him.
His big arms caught her and lifted her into the air. She felt him bury his face against her neck and breathe her in. “You’re alive, exchanged girl. Well done.”
“I am,” she replied, pushing against his shoulders so she could see his face. He was dirty, and looked like he’d charged through a desert, and then a fire, but he was alive.
Grisha touched her arm and Shubin let her go. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” Tatiana pushed his long hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear so she could see the strong lines of his jaw. “What are you doing here?”
“We came for you,” Taras said. He was barely visible in the darkness, cloaked in his blue-black scales. His bright eyes shone like candles, though, and flicked toward the girl at her side. And then widened as they flicked back to her. “Who?”
“It’s the real gi
rl. The real Tatiana,” she said, glancing toward the girl and then back. Only to lock eyes with Fedir. His beautiful wings were heavy with ash and soot, but he stood proudly. “I’m so, so glad you’re all alive,” she said.
Fedir nodded at her, and Grisha looped an arm around her neck, pulling her into his chest where he held her. They stood that way a moment, until the girl cleared her throat.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“These are—” Tatiana turned in Grisha’s arms, about to introduce them all, but stopped suddenly. Names have power. “These are my friends. They saved me. Brought me here.”
“Did they?” The girl studied them without expression, except that she seemed to linger a moment on Taras. “And they came to save you?”
“We came to help,” Taras said. His hands clenched at his sides, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. Something was wrong.
“I’m taking her to the gate,” Tatiana said. “And then home. To her family.”
“We came that way,” Shubin said. His deep voice rumbled through the tunnel. He crossed his arms and tilted his head toward the open doors. “We will lead you.”
“Is it safe for you?” Tatiana asked at the same time the real girl said, “Wonderful!”
It was the most enthusiasm she’d seen from the human yet. She didn’t like it. It put her on edge and made her want to push the men through the door and shut it behind them.
Though she didn’t know why.
“I don’t know,” Shubin answered. “The tunnels are free of metal. It won’t make us sick, though it’s possible it could be poisonous near the gate.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” the girl answered. She suddenly grabbed Tatiana’s hand, dragging her away from the guys and toward the door. “We should hurry though. I don’t think the bogatyr will let me leave just like that.”
“He was the one who told Yekim to get you and bring you to the gate.”
“The bogatyr?” Fedir asked. “All of them?”
“There is only one,” the real girl said. Her grip on Tatiana was tight, and she hadn’t stopped pulling. Tatiana had no choice but to follow her or be dragged behind her. “Two were killed in the fight.”
“A fight?” Fedir asked. “When? How?”
The four of them followed in Tatiana’s wake as she stumbled behind the girl. “It’s not important,” the real Tatiana said.
Grisha disappeared only to reappear before the girl. “On the contrary. I would say it is very important.”
“It was a battle.” The girl waved her hand in the air but still held tight to Tatiana, who gave an experimental pull. The girl only squeezed harder. “I didn’t see it. I only heard of it. Two of the brothers were slain. The other took the throne. I awoke in the prison, so I’m unaware of most of the details.”
“What battle?” Shubin asked.
Throwing her free hands into the air, the girl sighed. “Can we walk and talk? I’d like to get to the human world and the family I was stolen from. Please.”
Right. Tatiana wrenched her hand from the girl so she could step in front of her. “Guys. She’s right. We should go. The bogatyr let me get her, but it could be some kind of hoax, or game. Does it really matter? Let’s hurry and get her to her family.” My family.
No. It was her family now. Tatiana was part of Korolevstvo. The human girl, the one who seemed distant and cold, she was the one who had a family.
By helping her, they’d be helping the family who had loved Tatiana.
Each of the guys watched her, weighing her words. After a moment, Fedir nodded. Taras held out his hand to her, and she took it. But he didn’t meet her eyes, and that seemed weird.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Are you healed?”
He glanced back at her and nodded. “I am. I healed almost immediately.”
“What happened?” the girl asked.
“The prince who brought us to—where exactly was the place where we were?” Tatiana asked.
“It’s the heart of Korolevstvo,” the girl answered. “It has no name.” More name stuff. “And which prince?” she went on.
Taras seemed ready to answer, but she squeezed his hand, begging him not to say. She owed nothing to Kopala, but she wouldn’t give his name out indiscriminately. It wasn’t hers to do with what she pleased. “His name should be Roethlisberger because he can throw better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“What is a Roethlisberger?” the girl asked.
“Yes,” Grisha added. “I’m curious as well.”
“He’s a quarterback for the Steelers… never mind. It’s just someone who can throw.”
The girl started to laugh. It was the first time she had, and Tatiana winced. It wasn’t the sort of laugh someone had when they heard something funny, it was the laugh someone had when someone fell into a fountain or got nailed in the dick with a baseball. “A prince? He’s not a prince.” The girl continued to chuckle. “He’s a napivboh, and older than Korolevstvo itself. The stories I’ve heard say he was created by the same creatures who gave life to Korolevstvo.”
“A god.” That was what she had to mean, right? Creatures who created a world… those were gods. And if Kopala was made by those creatures… that made him a—what—demigod?
Kopala was a demigod who had saved her, like in one of the stories she’d read about Achilles and Hercules.
It lightened a little of the worry she had about leaving him behind. Surely a demigod could take care of himself. Except, hadn’t Achilles died in a war? Shit.
“I heard a story about the prince, once,” Grisha said. “He was challenged by an ogre to see how far they could throw a boulder.”
“An ogre?” A massive, green and warted creature, maybe with tusks, popped into her head. There were ogres here. “Who won?”
“The prince,” Fedir replied. His palm warmed her shoulder as he touched her. “Are you surprised?”
Having seen his aim when he’d been trying to take out Fedir, she wasn’t. “No. But—you’re all okay?” she asked. “I wanted to go back for you.”
“We found you,” Shubin said. “It was better this way. If you’d gone looking while we were looking, we’d never have found each other.”
Tatiana took a breath to speak, but the air caught in her throat, and she coughed.
And coughed.
“It’s metal,” the girl said, “from the human world. We must be getting close.”
Tatiana had to stop, dragging Taras to a stop with her.
“Tatiana.” His face blurred as tears filled her eyes. It took her a while of hacking and gasping, but eventually she stopped. She didn’t feel better, though. Her lungs were tight, like they’d shrunk, and she couldn’t get enough air.
She studied Taras; he didn’t look very good either. His scales covered his body, and even though he still held her hand, he rested one hand on the wall to hold himself up.
“You… can’t keep… going.”
“We’re almost there,” Shubin said. “We have to be.”
Fedir and Grisha wore matching stubborn expressions, and she knew it was pointless to argue. “Okay.”
Nothing else was said as they continued to trek down the tunnel. None of them, save the human, had the energy. The further they went, the worse the air got. It did something to the flames set into the stone walls. At times they were tinged blue, other times, orange and white, throwing off sparks that fell onto the tunnel floor.
Anxiety built in Tatiana’s stomach. It became increasingly clear to her the closer they got, that she wouldn’t last long in the human world. She’d always known it, at some level, but for some reason, she thought she’d get a chance to see her family one last time.
To say goodbye.
To hug them.
To see her mother.
Maybe she’d built up a tolerance to the metal over the years she’d lived in Nativity. It had still been killing her, definitely, but now her body was almost over-reacting to it.
“There,” the girl s
aid. It was a door, a simple metal door with a brass doorknob, and she swung it open.
Beyond her was Nativity. There were the smokestacks, quiet and wrapped in Christmas lights. The huge clock, the one that looked like a scoreboard still counted down the days, hours, and seconds until Christmas.
Eight. There had been eight days until Christmas when she left, too.
Time moves differently in Korolevstvo. Days had passed in this world, but in Nativity, it was the same night.
Or morning. The sky in the distance had turned navy. Cold air blew in through the door, and Tatiana shivered. “This is it.”
“I know,” the girl whispered. She turned to face Tatiana. “Are you coming with me?”
She started to walk toward her town. Could she make it home, and then back to the gates? She glanced back at Taras. His scales looked dull. Even the bright blue of his eyes was dimmer. He looked as sick as she felt.
Behind him stood Shubin, Fedir, and Grisha. They didn’t look much better, but when he met her gaze, Grisha straightened. “I can bring you both there.”
But Tatiana didn’t think he could. This wasn’t like when he’d found her. He hadn’t been injured by Korolevstvo when he’d blown in through her window.
“You should stay here.”
“Why shouldn’t he bring us?” the girl asked. “He can fly us there in seconds.”
“He’s still healing,” Tatiana said.
“He looks fine to me.”
Tatiana let out a breath and took another one, ready to argue her point, but Grisha interrupted her. “It’s fine, Tati,” he said. His use of her nickname took her by surprise.
“But Grisha.”
“It’s fine.” He smiled at her. “The others will wait for us here.”
“You should go back,” Tatiana told them. “Go back where the air is good. We’ll meet you.”
“I’m going, too,” Fedir said. “I’ll carry you. Grisha can carry the girl.”
Forge and Fire: The Replacement Book 1 Page 16
