Lord of Snow and Shadows

by Sarah Ash

  All gray and silver here, touched with gold. Muted color, soft wash of gray water lapping on a silver-sand shore, soft whisper of breeze through silvered leaves . . .

  “Well, here you are at last, child!”

  Kiukiu looked up. A woman was walking along the lakeshore toward her.

  “Time to go back, Kiukiu.”

  Kiukiu gazed up at the woman. She had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Go back where?”

  The woman hunkered down beside her. “Kiukiu, don’t you know me? Heavens, child, you’ve only been here a short while; has this place worked its charm on you so soon?”

  “This place?”

  “These waters are the Waters of Forgetfulness. It’s a place of healing. But it’s not your time yet, child. You must come back with me now.”

  Kiukiu shook her head.

  “I don’t want to go. It’s so quiet here, so peaceful. . . .”

  The woman gave a sigh of exasperation. “The longer you stay out of your body, the harder it will be for you to return. And your body will age and wither. . . . Come on, child. Don’t you want your life? Isn’t there anyone else back there who needs you, cares for you?”

  “There was someone . . .” Kiukiu stared out into the pale mists, trying to remember.

  “Think!” the woman said sharply. “The last person you saw before you came here!”

  Blue eyes, blue as the sea in a far summer country.

  “Lord Gavril,” she murmured.

  “Well, if that’s it, then it must do,” muttered the woman. “Lord Gavril. Fix your thoughts on him, Kiukiu.”

  A blinding dazzle of snow and lightning flashed across her mind. The gray mists vanished. She remembered. She looked at the woman and saw it was Malusha.

  “Grandmother? Why are you here?”

  “At last!” Malusha grabbed her by the hand, tugging her to her feet. “Come, we must hurry. If we linger here, we’ll both forget why we came. And then there’ll be no going back.”

  “But . . . my father. I found him. I have to—”

  “Later, there’s time for that later,” Malusha urged, pulling her up the bank and away from the shore. “Look ahead, Kiukiu, into the trees. Keep looking ahead. Somewhere near here there’s a portal.”

  Everywhere Kiukiu looked she could see nothing but birch trees, a bewildering maze of silvered trunks. No sign of a portal. Panic gripped her. They would never find the portal, they would be forever wandering through this endless forest of eternal trees, hopelessly searching. . . .

  Malusha pulled her to a stop and sharply slapped her cheek.

  “Ow!”

  “That’s for thinking such foolish thoughts. Think them here, and they become true. We are going to find the portal. We are going home.”

  Kiukiu nodded, face stinging.

  If Malusha had not been with her, she would have missed it. It shimmered in and out of her vision, a distant mirage, an ephemeral veil of golden motes briefly glimpsed as the sun slants down through a dusty window or a leafy forest clearing.

  “Hurry!” Malusha grabbed her hand more tightly, head down, running toward it as if it might disappear at any moment.

  As they ran, Kiukiu became aware of shadows slinking alongside, increasing their pace as they increased theirs.

  “Something’s following us!” she cried.

  “Don’t look round.” Malusha’s grip on her wrist tightened. “Don’t look back. Just run.”

  Shadows. Starved of life, starved of love, Kiukiu could see the Lost Souls in her mind’s eye, could see their empty, cold eyes, their clawing hands, could sense their terrible hunger.

  They want me. They want my lifeforce. They’ll never let me go!

  Breathless, gasping, they reached the portal, and Malusha struck it with her clenched fist. The shadows were gaining on them. Kiukiu could sense them gathering, clustering together. Hungry hands reached out, grabbing at her, pawing her legs, trying to hold her back.

  “Don’t let them follow!” Malusha cried as the portal suddenly gaped open. She caught hold of Kiukiu and shoved her through.

  And then Kiukiu was hurtling helplessly through chaotic darkness, utterly lost, utterly alone.

  CHAPTER 34

  “Now you truly are . . . your father’s son. . . .” Kostya, lying propped up on pillows, just managed to whisper the words, and Gavril had to lean close to catch what the old warrior was saying. There was a rank, rusty smell on his breath, old blood and pus mingled. “Jushko told me. Jaromir Arkhel is destroyed, and your father’s spirit is at peace.”

  “You’re not to tire him, my lord,” Sosia said, bustling in with a bowl of hot water. “He needs his rest.”

  “Stop fussing, woman,” whispered Kostya with a brief glint of his old ferocity.

  The wound seemed to have drained all the old warrior’s strength and vitality; his lean face had become emaciated, and his scarred hands lay listlessly on the bedcovers. His breathing was shallow, and from time to time a rattling cough shook his whole body, leaving him grimacing with pain.

  “Jushko’s a good man,” Kostya said after a while. “He’ll make a good bogatyr. Not much to say for himself, but he knows his men. And he’s loyal. He’d give his last drop of blood rather than betray you, my lord.”

  “What’s this talk of Jushko?” Sosia said briskly. “You’re my lord’s bogatyr, Kostya.”

  “I’m no use to you like this, my lord,” Kostya said, turning his head away. Gavril heard the catch in his voice. “And you’re going to have need of a bogatyr. Michailo won’t give in without a fight. For all we know he’s gathering his own little army out there, planning his campaign. . . .”

  “Rebellion?” Sosia said, stopping in her tracks. “Civil war?”

  “You must crush him, my lord,” Kostya said, trying to sit up. “Put down the rebellion. Stop that woman from gaining power. She’s using him. Like she used your father. . . .” He slumped back onto the pillows, coughing.

  Sosia came hurrying over, clutching a bowl and cloth.

  “That’s enough excitement for now,” she said firmly, wiping his mouth. Gavril saw the rusty stains of brown blood on the cloth—and the sad, resigned glance she gave him over Kostya’s bent head as she wrung the cloth out in clean water.

  “I’ll leave you to rest now, Kostya,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He leaned forward and placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

  “Don’t want rest. Rest is for old men,” muttered Kostya. “Damn that Michailo to all the torments in hell for putting me here.”

  “I’ll see you out, my lord,” Sosia said loudly.

  Outside Kostya’s bedchamber, she turned to Gavril. “You see how it is, my lord? He’s putting up a fight, but for the first time in his life, he’s losing. And he doesn’t understand why.”

  “Sosia,” Gavril said, “I have news for you. But for your ears only.”

  Sosia gave him a vexed look. “I can’t leave him alone. He might need something.”

  A new kind of relationship had evolved between Sosia and the Bogatyr, Gavril saw now, a change in the balance of power—and dependance. Kostya needed Sosia, and Sosia liked to be needed.

  “Then call one of the girls to sit with him.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  Gavril led Sosia to a little antechamber and shut the door, hoping no one was listening at the keyhole.

  “You’d better sit down,” he said, gesturing to a chair.

  “Why?” Her face creased with alarm. “Not more bad news?”

  “Good news,” he said, waiting until she had settled herself in the chair. “Kiukiu is alive.”

  “Alive?” Sosia’s face went white, and then red with shock. “B-but the wolves—”

  “You must tell no one else. It must be our secret. For her sake.” Now he found that even speaking Kiukiu’s name aloud was a kind of torment. He believed that in leaving her in the monastery, he had put all thoughts of her from his mind—and now all he could see w
as her face, her gray-blue eyes gazing into his, still clouded with all she had endured in the world of the spirits for his sake.

  “How can she be alive? You found her things on the moors—”

  “I haven’t heard the full story yet. But she is safe and in good hands. I wanted you to know. And I wanted you to keep it secret until—”

  A piercing scream slashed through the quiet of the kastel.

  “What was that?” Sosia leapt up from her chair and hurried to the door. Gavril followed.

  One of the maids was running along the upper landing. Gavril could hear her high, terrified sobbing for breath.

  “Whatever is the matter?” Sosia gathered up her skirts and set off up the stairs.

  “Witchcraft!” the girl cried out, stumbling past.

  “Some girlish foolishness, my lord,” Sosia called down. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go sort things out.”

  Gavril nodded. Sosia seemed almost glad of the distraction, glad not to have to talk any more of Kiukiu. He went back into the antechamber and stared out of the window at the neglected gardens, glistening white under their thick covering of snow. Although no more snow had fallen and the sun’s faint gleam had penetrated the last thin veils of cloud, it would take the spring thaw to melt such a heavy snowfall.

  Michailo could not have gone far in such difficult conditions. Not with Lilias and little Artamon to consider . . .

  “My lord?” It was Sosia again. “I think you’d better come with me.”

  Sosia had assembled the household servants in the kitchens. All stood meekly waiting for him in a line, heads bowed, like errant schoolchildren.

  “Ilsi has something you should hear, my lord,” said Sosia. “Well, come on, girl!”

  Ninusha pushed Ilsi forward.

  “They say that I’m losing my mind, my lord. But I heard what I heard. In her rooms. Didn’t I always say she was a witch?”

  “She’s talking of Lilias,” said Sosia.

  “I was in her rooms, putting on the dustcovers, covering everything up, just as Sosia told me to. After all, my lady left in such a hurry, she didn’t even take her jewels with her.”

  “You were trying them on, weren’t you?” Ninusha burst out. Ilsi flashed her a venomous look.

  “And . . . I heard this voice.” She placed one hand on her heart, as if it were still beating too fast. “Speaking—all wavery-like and indistinct—from behind me. And I knew I was alone. I was so terrified, I almost passed out.”

  “Get to the point, Ilsi,” said Sosia sternly.

  Ilsi shot Sosia a resentful little glance.

  “I was just getting to it. There wasn’t anyone there. The voice was coming from that clock thing she has on her mantelpiece. The one in the glass case that she was so touchy about. Remember? ‘Don’t touch that, you clumsy country girl!’” She mimicked Lilias’ voice.

  “A voice coming from a clock?” Gavril said wearily. He was beginning to think this was another waste of his time. “It must be some kind of mechanical toy—or a music box. Maybe you knocked it and set off the mechanism?”

  “It spoke to me,” insisted Ilsi. “Or rather to her. It kept saying, ‘Lilias, are you there? Dysis, where’s your mistress? Please respond.’”

  “Witchcraft,” whispered Ninusha, languorous eyes widening. “Daemon voices. Her familiars.”

  “Show me,” Gavril said.

  “You must be careful, my lord, it might be a trap—”

  “Just show me.”

  Dustcovers were draped over the striped silk sofas, velvet stools, and marquetry card tables in Lilias’ salon. Only the ornaments on the marble mantelpiece had not yet been covered up.

  “There, my lord,” said Ilsi, pointing.

  A domed glass case enclosed the mechanism, a glittering device of crystal and intricately crafted metals. Gavril had, like Ilsi, assumed it was a clock. But on closer inspection, he realized it was like no clock he had ever seen. Cautiously he tapped the glass. With a click, the front opened, sprung on invisible hinges. Inside the device glittered even more brightly. Now he could detect a faint hum—barely more than a vibration—emanating from the mechanism. Fascinated, he leaned forward and listened.

  “What is it?” he murmured, more to himself than the others present.

  The humming was growing louder; more of a crackling.

  “Take care, my lord,” Sosia said nervously.

  “Lilias. Lilias. Can you hear me? Respond please.”

  Ilsi gave a little shriek. Gavril stepped back, astonished. The voice—indistinct and crackly—had issued from the mechanism.

  “Respond.”

  “Answer it,” Gavril whispered to Ilsi.

  “I—I can’t!”

  “Say you’re Dysis.”

  “Please don’t make me, my lord—”

  “You must,” he said, catching hold of her hand and dragging her forward.

  “But won’t it know? That I’m not her?”

  “Respond!”

  Gavril gripped her wrist harder. ‘Speak to it.”

  “He-hello?” Ilsi quavered. “I’m D-Dysis.”

  “At last. All these weeks—and no answer. I feared the worst.” A burst of crackling almost obscured the faint voice. “Can you still hear me?”

  “Ask who it is,” Gavril murmured in Ilsi’s ear. He could feel her trembling.

  “Who’s speaking?”

  “Feodor, who else? Listen, Dysis, now that this infernal interference has cleared at last, I have vital news for your mistress—” Another loud burst of crackling cut across the voice. “. . . Lord Gavril . . . his mother Elysia.”

  “What!” Gavril felt a shiver of apprehension go through him.

  “P-please repeat,” stammered Ilsi.

  “Tell Lilias that Prince Eugene has Elysia Andar in his keeping. She must persuade Lord Gavril to—”

  Gavril pushed Ilsi to one side.

  “You’re talking to Gavril Nagarian now. What has happened to my mother? And who are you?”

  There was a silence, punctuated by crackling.

  “Reply!” Gavril cried.

  “Altan Kazimir is our envoy,” came the indistinct response. “You will find him at Narvazh. You must do as he instructs. Make sure your men don’t harm him, but bring him directly to you.”

  “Kazimir? Doctor Kazimir?” Gavril repeated.

  “You must do exactly what Kazimir tells you. Or it will go ill with your mother.”

  The crackling suddenly ceased as the glittering artifact fell silent.

  “Hello. Hello!” Gavril shouted. No response. His overriding impulse was to dash it to the ground, destroying its crystal perfection.

  He looked up and saw Ilsi staring at him, face white as her starched linen apron.

  “Your mother, my lord—”

  “How can my mother be in Tielen?” Gavril said, utterly bewildered. “She’s in Smarna, hundreds of miles away. What possible reason would she have to go to Tielen?”

  “Perhaps they had her kidnapped?” whispered Ilsi, wide-eyed.

  Shadowy figures stealing through the moonlit grounds of the Villa Andara, the sound of shattering window glass, a woman’s terrified scream . . .

  Even the thought of his mother’s abduction filled him with a cold, irrational fury.

  “Call Jushko to me!”

  So Lilias was a spy. That at least made sense—of a kind. But on whose behalf had she been working? She was from Muscobar, not Tielen.

  What had been going on in the world outside all the time he had been cut off here in this winter wilderness?

  “My lord.” Jushko appeared in the doorway. “What’s Ilsi babbling about?”

  “That mechanism,” Gavril pointed to the mantelpiece, “is not a clock but some kind of communication device. Someone called Feodor has just told me that my mother is being held as a hostage by Prince Eugene of Tielen.”

  “What?” Jushko stared at him in evident disbelief.

  “And Doctor Kazimir is at a place
called Narvazh with further instructions.”

  “Kazimir at Narvazh?” repeated Jushko. “So he and Lilias were working for Tielen all along, eh? Pair of vipers, the two of ’em. Sooner we catch my lady Lilias, the better.” He went up to the mechanism and peered at it suspiciously. “But your mother—what proof do we have they’ve got her? Did you hear her voice, did she speak to you?”

  “You’re saying it’s a bluff?”

  “Of course it’s a bluff!” said Jushko.

  Gavril heard the undisguised scorn in Jushko’s voice. Jushko had given him the seasoned soldier’s interpretation of Prince Eugene’s tactics. Even if not intended as such, it felt like a slight, yet another druzhina criticism of his weakness as leader.

  “Don’t believe a word—until she’s spoken to you and you’re certain it’s her.”

  “If only I could reestablish contact . . .” Gavril probed and pressed the crystal device, trying to coax it into life again. “There must be some trick to this.” A faint thrumming pulse began in his temples. “Damn it all to hell, I can’t make the cursed contraption work!”

  “A bluff, I tell you,” repeated Jushko.

  “But what if my mother has been kidnapped?” Gavril felt the faint thrumming quicken to an ominous throb. Pacing the confines of Kastel Drakhaon, waiting for the druzhina to find Altan Kazimir, would drive him mad.

  “Jushko, I’m taking a scouting party to look for Kazimir and I want you to accompany me.”

  “Yes, my lord!” Jushko said.

  “And as for Lilias and her part in this conspiracy—I want her brought back alive for questioning. Alive—and unharmed.” Gavril pressed a hand to his throbbing forehead. “Station a man here by this device. At the first sign of further communication, he is to contact me.”

  Gavril smelled the familiar tang of sea brine on the biting wind.

  “The sea! We can’t be far now.”

  He urged the druzhina onward. The growing sense of foreboding had driven him relentlessly across the snowy moorlands, barely stopping to rest the horses, even riding at night by the thin light of the setting moon. Jushko had sent scouts on ahead to Narvazh to search for Doctor Kazimir, but as yet no one had reported back.