Magic of Talisman and Blood

by Raye Wagner

  “If you continue to just stand there, you’ll never get back in time,” a man said.

  Vasi gasped and spun, shocked to find the fourth Horseman sitting astride his blue dun. He was dressed, as always, in his mismatched shoes and patched trousers. His ethereal beauty was even more striking this close. Dark hair stood in sharp contrast to his pallor as if his skin were shades lighter than it should be, and his blue-tinged lips made her wonder if he were too cold, or perhaps he’d been ill and was still recovering. But his lithe, muscular body was neither thin nor sickly.

  The Horseman dismounted but kept the reins in his hand. Turning to face her, he smiled, his features alight with humor. “Good morning, Vasilisa.”

  The Fourth Horseman. Death.

  Despite his smile and courtesy, her heart raced. Vasi knew the mild, calm, even disheveled appearance was just a façade. And did he know her name because of what he was? Or did Baba Yaga actually talk about Vasi?

  “Good-d morning,” she stuttered. Despite her unease, the man’s courtesy required she meet in kind. In the mornings, when Vasilisa spied from her window, Baba Yaga conversed with this Horseman far more than the others, which had to account for something. Unless . . . the witch had asked Death to kill Vasi. “Are you going to kill me?”

  He laughed. “I would never risk her wrath. She may kill you, young one, but I do not think she will look kindly on anyone else who makes the attempt. Baba Yaga has been alone in the woods far too long. She’d forgotten why we exist. I think you might’ve reminded her.”

  Perhaps the Horseman had been ill, and his mind affected. Could the djinni of death become sick? Djinn could obviously go blind and suffer scarring, so perhaps disease could also take a toll on the immortal beings. Was he even djinn, or were there other magical beings? Vasi wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

  “Please, Your”—she wasn’t sure what title to use with a djinn, so she improvised—“Magnificence, I need your help.”

  “That’s why I’m here, little witch. There is much you don’t understand, and your next tasks will require additional knowledge.”

  “Couldn’t you just fix everything for me?” Vasi asked, knowing how awful her question sounded. But djinn were all-powerful, especially Death. “Just restore the Phoenix Fire, please? That will get rid of the Cervenean army.”

  “You already know I can’t. Aksel told you only a witch can wield what you call the Phoenix Fire.”

  Vasi’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “I hoped he was mistaken.”

  “My dear brother makes many mistakes, but in this thing, he is precisely correct. Do let me tell you a story about—Excuse me, how very rude I’m being.” He bowed at her. “I am Jeyvan.”

  The Horseman tugged his horse’s reins, and he and the beast stepped closer. Dark energy surrounded him, and it spilled over her, sending her heart pounding. The sky darkened, a hazy gloom descending on the meadow and through the woods, casting it all into shadow. Suddenly, where towering pines had once boasted their healthy green needles, husks of rotting trunks crumbled to the ground. Crows swooped low, their caws echoing in the air. The earth churned, worms and maggots bubbling out of the soil and spilling over dry, dead grass.

  Not real, not real, not real, Vasi repeated in her head as she squeezed her fists so tight her nails bit into her palms.

  “You can see it, can’t you? You can feel my power,” he said with a tilt of his head.

  Even though his gray, milky eyes could not see her, he seemed to sense her terror. “It must be disconcerting to trip back and forth between worlds. Does what I am scare you?”

  “Of course. I don’t want to die,” she replied in a hoarse whisper. Part of her wanted to run away screaming. But another part, something deep within, held her fast, a thirst for understanding he could quench. How she reacted felt of paramount importance.

  As she stood firm, the scene shifted, and from dark moldering rot, green shoots burst from the ground. Trees grew as did grass and flowers. Birds flew in and out, making nests for their young. A little girl with warm ginger hair ran into the meadow, laughing as she chased a butterfly. And then, only the familiar meadow surrounded her.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Vasi said, staring at the space where the child had disappeared.

  Jeyvan nodded. “No, I can see you don’t, but that’s because you keep trying to find answers with the senses of your father’s mind. Not your mother’s.”

  The basket slipped from her fingers and fell to the dirt. Vasi’s heart pounded harder, and tears flooded her eyes. “Did you—did you know her? She wasn’t a witch, couldn’t have been a witch.”

  “You’re quite right; your mother was not a witch.” The Fourth Horseman leaned toward the young woman, and in a voice so low she wasn’t sure if she felt it or heard it, he answered her first question. “Yes, I knew Danica. She was a morning star, and we grieved when she left. But she couldn’t stay here forever. Celestial beings were never meant for this realm.”

  “Do you mean a djinni? My mom was one of you?” Her mind reeled. “There’s no way that could be true.” Vasi pointed back toward the road the Horsemen ran past every morning. “My mother wasn’t anything like you four.”

  “Quite right,” Jeyvan said, shaking his head. “My brothers and I are extremely powerful, but we are not from the heavens.”

  “But you are djinn,” she insisted.

  “The question isn’t what I am,” Jeyvan said with a chuckle. “It’s what you are and what you can do.” He raised his dark eyebrows, and his pale lips parted into a wide smile. “Do you like games?”

  Vasi’s mind was stuck on the impossibility the man had proposed, and his question took a moment to register. Hoping it was the right answer, she stuttered, “I-I suppose.”

  “Good. Let us play a game, you and I. Try to control the wind, little witch.”

  The previously still air suddenly danced with a light breeze. It crescendoed from a refreshing draft to blustering storm. The gale became a tempest, and the wind buffeted her, whipping her hair about, tugging the skirt of her dress one way and then another. The basket battered about her legs, round and round in a circle, and her breath caught in her throat so she could neither scream nor inhale. Every time she tipped toward the ground, a gust pushed her upright. The wind continued. Black dots spotted her vision as a vice encircled her. The crushing weight drove the air from her lungs, and Vasi swayed. He was going to kill her.

  Then, just as suddenly as the cyclone started, the wind died.

  Vasi gasped, falling to the ground on her hands and knees. She greedily sucked in the now plentiful air, but after only a lungful, she recovered. Her vision sharpened, the pressure in her chest disappeared, and her head cleared. The basket rested upright at her feet. Vasi stood and stared at Death with wide eyes, her hands and knees trembling. “That wasn’t a game,” she whispered. “You almost killed me.”

  “You can’t yet control the wind?” Jeyvan asked.

  “I can’t do any magic. No one has given me any instruction,” she said.

  “I apologize, little one. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His skin remained pale, however his lips were no longer tinged blue but a healthy pink. His mismatched clothes vanished, and instead, he wore a doublet and hose in a dark iridescent fabric she’d never seen before. The air around him glowed, and offering a tentative smile, he said, “As a measure of good faith, let me give you an added lesson.” He held out his hands to the clearing. “Close your eyes, Vasilisa, and I will show you the Lumea.”

  Vasi didn’t dare disobey him. As soon as her eyelids closed, colors burst across the blackness as if threads within a tapestry. She could see the pale-green life in the forest foliage, the thin thread of silver air exhaled by the plants, the red angry chitter of an animal protesting, the golden energy of a bird trilling a song, glorifying in the warm air this late in the year. She could feel the pulsating, muddy energy of the earth, rippling out from the core of the planet.

  “This is where
your power is, little witch, all around you. Feel the feathering touch of the palest blue moisture in the air, kissing the vibrant green vegetation. The energy of fire can range from the sigh of yellow warmth to hot reds and angry oranges, which can ignite and burn if not contained. Breathe in the vibrancy of air; it weaves its power from the sky down to where you stand upon the earth. The vitality of air touches all of life. Listen to the song of the breeze—”

  “I hear it,” Vasi whispered. The melody was both beautiful and melancholy, an iridescent shimmer that quieted when Vasi tried to focus. The sound made her soul ache, and she strained to both see and hear it.

  “When you need your power, close your eyes. Look for the colors, and listen for the sounds they carry. Feel the magic so you can become one with it. You must learn, Vasilisa, all that you can, for your decisions alone will determine not only your fate but that of Beloch— and many more.”

  Surely he was joking. But wasn’t that what she’d hoped for? She needed to save Beloch if only so she could save her father. “Please, couldn’t you just help me save my father?”

  “Ah,” he said, shaking his head. “There are no shortcuts for knowledge even if you can step through space and time.” He nodded at her. “Good day, Vasilisa the brave.”

  Vasi opened her mouth, unsure if she should thank Jeyvan or wish him a good day, and surprised herself when she blurted, “Why does Aksel wear a mask?”

  The blind djinn climbed back onto his horse and turned, regarding her, though this time his milky gaze did not quite meet hers. “Why does it matter to you?”

  Vasi wasn’t exactly sure. Why should she care if a djinni’s face was scarred? Instead of trying to explain something she couldn’t, she asked, “Why doesn’t he stop? All of the other Horsemen stop, but he just races by every morning. And who is the young woman who waits to meet them some days?”

  “Better run along and gather her herbs,” Jeyvan said with a chuckle. “You have much still ahead of you, and I suspect you’ll find magic before you know it.” He bowed shallowly, a smile playing on his pale lips. Then he clicked his tongue, and his beautiful horse turned and headed down the path into the woods.

  19

  Deep in the forest, Vasi scrabbled in the dirt, her fingers aching. Sweat streamed down her face, mixing with the tears of exhaustion and hopelessness. Baba Yaga had instructed Vasi to collect three herbs: borage flowers, evening primrose seedpods, and Svet’s wort blooms. After Jeyvan left, Vasi sauntered into the forest, still distracted by the strange vision of colors but confident. None of the plants should have been difficult to find, but evening primrose flowered in the summer, its seedpods yet to happen this year. The borage and Svet’s wort blooms were gone, both plants flowering in the late spring and early summer. What Baba Yaga demanded was impossible. They were not available to harvest because they did not exist this time of year.

  The filtered lavender of evening deepened into darker hues, and Vasi’s stomach clenched with realization: the sun had already set. She squinted at the fuzzy borage plant she’d knelt next to, willing it to grow a single bloom. “Do something!”

  The star-flower’s purple leaves fluttered with the breeze, taunting her.

  “Girl, the sun is down. Your task is over.” Baba Yaga’s call whispered through the forest, followed by a cruel cackle. “Come back and be locked away.”

  The witch sounded pleased with Vasi’s failure. She jumped up, and the ground rolled under her feet.

  Don’t run, the voice told her.

  “Now, voice?” Vasi shot back, steadying herself on a trunk. “Quiet all day, and now you pipe in?” She’d lost her mind. “Take a witch’s punishment for failing an impossible task?” she muttered. “Ridiculous.”

  The djinni Jeyvan had instructed Vasi to stop the wind. He’d shown her colors bursting under her eyelids, but they’d disappeared without his power. Vasi was dizzy, parched, exhausted, and desperate.

  Go back.

  “And let her lock me up?” Vasi ground her teeth. If she was trapped, she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Aksel had brought her to Baba Yaga, but the witch was determined not to help Vasi. The plants were there in the woods, but the parts Baba Yaga wanted? Impossible.

  Vasi swallowed. Backing away from the path, she stepped on the dry underbrush, her heart stampeding in her chest, demanding escape.

  If she returned, a slow and agonizing death awaited. The witch was so deluded, she would undoubtedly let Vasi die. Hadn’t Jeyvan even said as much?

  All of the impossible tasks, all the threats of punishment, was it to force Vasi out?

  Don’t run.

  Vasi darted into the cover of the trees, upending her basket on the forest floor. She ran. “Jeyvan! Help!”

  She climbed over fallen logs, dodged branches, and pumped her arms as she sprinted through the clearings and into the dark depths of the woods. “Please,” she panted. “Please, someone, anyone, help me.”

  The forest sloped down into a break in the trees, and Vasi spilled out of the woods, tumbling down the grassy slope. She stood, brushing the leaf litter from her hands, and stared in shock. The strangest sight rose into the air, and her mind reeled. She gasped and stepped toward the barrier made of thick, intertwining vines. The moonlight cast the fortification in shades of gray, and as she approached, Vasi saw the vines writhing.

  Entranced by the strange, snake-like slithering movement, she saw the vines had large thorns like those of a rose bush, only much bigger, deadly big. She reached forward, intending to touch the undulating wall, when thunder ripped through the air. Vasi looked up, expecting to see clouds rolling across the night sky, but stars winked back at her.

  A massive form climbed over the towering wall, moonlight silhouetting the hairy creature. The monster stood on two legs like a human and shook its hairy arms as it bellowed into the night.

  Vasi stared in awe, her exhausted body frozen in shock at the sight of the odd beast. The creature leapt off the wall, diving straight for Vasi, preternaturally fast as it hurtled down. She screamed, throwing herself to the ground, and she rolled over the cool grass, curling into a ball.

  Vasi hoped playing dead would be enough, for there was no other escape.

  A loud crashing of tree branches reverberated from behind her, followed by a strange whining. Vasi peeked through her arms to see the animal rise. It stood taller and wider than a man, perhaps twice as wide and a full head and shoulders taller. The moonlight illuminated the beast’s features. He had a long muzzle like a dog, and as his maw gaped, she could see his finger-length canines. Pale horns twisted out from his head, but the eyes were strangely human-like, making the creature’s features even more startling.

  The musk of animal carried in the air as the beast stalked forward, snapping his teeth as he bored down. Vasi whimpered and scooted back, crab-walking away, too terrified to scream or run.

  Baba Yaga whirled into the clearing, screaming. “You!” she snarled, bearing down on Vasi. “You think you can run away from your consequences?”

  The witch floated several feet in the air, standing inside what looked like a butter-churn barrel. The fire in her eyes flared high, and she held a massive wooden pestle aloft, shaking the cudgel-like instrument at Vasi. “You don’t deserve magic.”

  Baba Yaga swung the pestle, and it whistled through the air toward Vasi.

  The beast reared, darting between her and the witch. It slashed at the blurring weapon, bellowing in obvious rage, and diverted the pestle’s trajectory. The mortar zipped forward as the witch rotated, and she brought the club through with another swing aimed at Vasi. The creature leapt between them again, and the pestle landed with a crack on its shoulder. The beast bared its teeth and growled.

  “She’s mine,” the witch yelled at the large man-beast. She jabbed at the creature with her pestle. “Get back.”

  It huffed out a cloud of condensation and batted the pestle away. The creature barked, deep grunting sounds, and tilted his head.

  “She
gave her word,” Baba Yaga snapped. “Get back to Zelena.”

  The beast shifted, moving steadily to keep itself between Vasi and Baba Yaga, growling low.

  The witch pulled the long wooden pestle into the flying mortar. “Fine. Good riddance.” Baba Yaga leaned over the edge and stared at Vasi. “Just so you know, your failure was not that you didn’t collect the herbs. You saw the kurz mites, Sef, and the very strands of magic in the Lumea when you were with Jeyvan. You’ve already done magic. Just like you don’t learn to read in a week, mastering magic takes time.”

  Vasi absorbed the words, dumbfounded. She had magic. “I—”

  “You quit,” the witch said. The bucket lifted into the night sky. “And that is where you failed. So, go on, leave. And when the sun rises tomorrow morning, I’ll seal the forest so you’ll never be able to enter again.”

  “Wait—” Vasi screamed at the witch.

  But Baba Yaga flew off, crouched over the butter-churn, leaving Vasi with the beast.

  She glanced at the creature, covering her ears and cowering back to the ground as the beast bellowed into the edge of the wood.

  “Don’t move,” a man said.

  Vasi glanced up, and her shoulders sagged in relief. “Aksel,” she whispered, climbing to her feet. “How—”

  He wore his hood low over his face, only his lips and chin visible. His horse danced nervously, and the djinni held his finger to his lips. “Shh. Listen. I must leave before full night and can’t take you back, but help is already coming. Stay here.” He tugged on the reins of his animal, and as his horse turned back into the woods, he said, “Please, don’t give up.”

  Vasi stared, mouth agape as his last words registered a moment too late, for when she opened her mouth to question why he was pleading for her to continue, he was gone. She turned back toward the beast, and the white-haired creature stalked toward her.

  The animal loomed over her, and she held up her hands to ward it off, even knowing doing so was pointless. It reached for her, and she couldn’t stop herself from whimpering, “Please.”