At one point Kharan left and went to the line of horses tied to low tree branches. When she returned, she was leading a wheat-colored pony. I watched with some surprise as she fed him some of her own kasha.
“Is this one yours?” I asked.
She smiled at him proudly. “Yes, this is Daichin. He came with me all the way from the steppes and isn’t as magnificent, perhaps, as some of the desert-bred horses the prince has, but Daichin is the one thing I can call my own.”
I thought of Elation, and though she wasn’t mine by any means, I could still sympathize with Kharan. “If he made the long journey here with you, then I understand your attachment.”
She petted him and I did the same, marveling at his thick coat. “He’s a hardy thing,” I said, and I could tell just from his flinty hooves that he was tough and reliable.
“He is,” she agreed, scratching beneath his forelock. “Strong enough to bring me all the way here without a moment’s lameness. Though he has grown fat in the prince’s stables. He’s not used to being pampered in a stall. At home on the steppes he’d be digging through thick snow for his food like every other horse. I ride him every day to keep him from becoming too sedentary, but it’s not enough.”
“It takes skill to be fat even in winter,” I said with a smile.
Kharan laughed. “This is true, but when the horses are dining on kasha as delicious as any that would be prepared for us, then they can’t help but grow rounded bellies.” She glanced down at the bowl of kasha she was even now sharing with him sheepishly. “I suppose I’m partly to blame, too.”
After a much shorter length of time than I would have thought possible—I had only just finished my tea and porridge—the contents of the camp were loaded.
Ivan walked over to us, his steps quiet on the fresh snow. “Ready to travel to Kiev?”
As if I have a choice, I thought, but nodded.
Ivan had the sleigh ready, and he offered me his hand, roughened by cold winters and hard work, to help me into it. I settled down and drew my coat tight, nerves and fear churning unpleasantly inside me. Despite my treatment here, I knew I wouldn’t avoid facing the prince’s judgment. The punishment for death and destruction caused in my own village would be unavoidable. I steeled myself for what lay at the end of today’s journey.
Kharan mounted Daichin beside me, and Ivan settled in to drive the sleigh, the two white horses stamping their hooves as if eager to be off. The other men formed pairs in front of and behind us without having to be told. Their horses were heavy battle chargers, and I thought uneasily of what Ivan had said about the road to Kiev not always being safe.
Ivan signaled the lead guards to go on ahead, and then our sleigh was gliding over the snow, the sounds of jingling harnesses and horse hooves filling the woods. The sound was cheerful, but it made me think of chains. I couldn’t shake my apprehension, however amiable most of the guards had been to me.
It was almost more frightening to be treated with compassion than to have been greeted with aggression. At least then I would have known where I stood. The luxurious tent and even Kharan’s kindness made me fear a trick—something I was no stranger to.
I watched the snow-laden trees as we passed by, and it felt as though ice crystals were slowly forming over my skin. I had learned that kindness was usually cruelty in disguise, that those who grew more powerful from the belittling of others usually liked to provide their victims with something they could take away. As a prisoner who had been exiled by her village, I had so very little else that could be taken away from me.
Only a month had passed since I’d lost control. It had never happened before. My power—if it could even be called by such a name—had only ever subjected me to mockery. Sometimes, I could do simple things with it, like freeze water into ice—not a particularly useful skill in winters as brutal as ours. And the village children I’d grown up with found it endlessly amusing to put me in situations they knew would result in me becoming as stiff as a corpse—anything from simple teasing to hitting me with sticks to see if I’d flinch.
But that day was different. For one thing, I’d never been pushed that far before.
Ironically, when I lost control, I wasn’t the one being targeted—the victim was the one person other than Babushka who treated me with any kindness: Dedushka.
His given name was Lev, and he had once been as strong and respected as the lion he was named for. That was before he became a world traveler—long before he took me in. He and Babushka had wandered across the snowy world, making trade and accruing vast amounts of knowledge, particularly in the healing arts. But when they finally returned to the tiny village where they had first settled, they were treated with suspicion and disdain. The other villagers wrongly believed that because Lev and his wife had traveled far and wide, they then thought of themselves as superior to the humble people of the village. It didn’t help when they took in a babe left for dead in the cold winter woods—a girl with strange powers. Me.
In the end, my adoptive grandparents were only tolerated because of Babushka’s gift of healing and Dedushka’s hard work as a logger. But as Dedushka grew older, his strength failed him, and eventually he could no longer work as he once had. Then it was his wood carving and stories that provided an occupation of sorts. He spun tales of far-off places we could never hope to see, of magic and monsters and creatures of legend, which held us all enthralled long into the night.
On this particular evening, he’d sat by a fire, surrounded by young and old from the village. He told us of warriors who rode animals several times larger than a horse—war elephants, they called them. Enormous and intelligent, with more brute strength than a warhorse. He told of golden books detailing the strategy of using such animals, of how the Persians had once used them to terrify and destroy whole Rus’ military units.
The melodic tone of his voice, the way he used his entire body to paint a picture of his tales—these traits made it impossible not to listen once he started talking.
Though I could feel myself being drawn in, I had remained a safe distance away from the others, hovering just outside the warmth of the fire. Dedushka’s sharp eyes had landed on mine, and he grinned and beckoned to me welcomingly.
“Come, join us, dear girl,” he said.
Several eyes landed on me and narrowed warningly. The men were in a dark mood that evening already. At the mill, one of the chains holding the logs in place had rusted and broken, spilling many weeks’ worth of work. They would be picking up logs for days. “I’m fine where I am,” I answered, skin prickling.
Dedushka’s smile widened in spite of the tension around the fire. “Nonsense. You cannot be comfortable hovering in the shadows. Come sit by me—surely these fine men will move.”
“Not for her,” Sergei said, the scar above his lip twisting cruelly with his sneer. Rodya, his brother and his friend, as always, followed his lead.
“Not for the Ice Witch,” he said.
Dedushka watched me for a moment, judging my reaction. It had been a long time since I’d come crying to Babushka and Dedushka after being taunted by others, and I’d done my best to hide it from them once I was old enough to stifle my cries. I remained as still as a statue. “An accusation of power and magic is not one to take lightly,” he said finally. “It seems foolish to taunt such a person.”
“He has a valid point,” Yury, one of the few men of sense in the village, said. “What does it matter to you if she sits here with us?”
“I don’t want her to think she’s anything other than a burden on this village,” Sergei said, his small eyes shifting to mine.
“Katya is no burden,” Dedushka said in his calm but firm way. “She has never asked for anything from anyone in this village, and especially not from you, Sergei.”
Sergei’s hand tightened into a fist at his side, for he was well known for his volatility. “You’ve always thought you were better than us, haven’t you, Lev?” He jerked his chin in my direction. “That you could e
ven force us to accept that Ice Witch no one wanted. Well, you were wrong.”
“Go home, witch!” Rodya said, eyes flashing just like his brother’s.
“You’re letting the misfortune of our work today anger you,” Yury said, exasperation creeping into his tone. “If you cannot be at peace, then go home. Leave the rest of us to enjoy the evening.”
Dmitri, one of Sergei’s friends, glared at Yury. “Why are you defending the witch?”
“Because we only want a bit of peace,” Viktor, Yury’s cousin, added with a shake of his head.
The others were treating this casually, as though it was only a tantrum being thrown by a child, but I could read the danger in the air. It charged the space around us like the threat of lightning.
And then Dedushka came slowly to his feet, aided by his beautifully carved walking stick. “Take my seat, then. I won’t continue until you do.”
I hesitated, but I didn’t want to leave him standing there alone. As I walked closer, Sergei leaped to his feet and grabbed me.
“Let go,” I said as ice spread over my body.
Sergei only grinned, knowing there was little I could do.
“Enough of this, Sergei,” Dedushka said, his voice deep with warning, but we all knew he was no longer strong enough to be a threat.
But then Dedushka surprised us both by reaching for Sergei’s arm. Sergei jerked it out of his reach, but in doing so he lost his hold on me. I spun away.
The other men shouted as Sergei began to grapple with Dedushka. He knocked Dedushka down, and Dedushka fell painfully to the logs they’d been sitting on with an audible thump.
I screamed, and something ignited within me. A rush of cold escaped from my outstretched hand, dousing the fire instantly.
Everyone, including me, was stunned. Never before had my power done anything more than turn my skin cold and hard or freeze small buckets of water.
A flicker of fear passed across Sergei’s face, and he reacted as he always had—by lashing out. “You see? He has brought a witch into our midst, just as I said!” He yanked Dedushka roughly to his feet before catching his brother’s eye.
Rodya and Peter grasped Dedushka under each arm. Dedushka struggled to escape their hold, but he was no match for their strength.
“Anatoly will never stand for this,” Dedushka said. “Unhand me. Now.”
“What are you doing?” Yury demanded of Rodya and Boris. They ignored him and pushed past him unheedingly. “Then I will go to Anatoly.” And Yury left to find the village elder.
When Yury left, it was as though the one voice of reason left, too. Even Viktor, who had spoken up before, said nothing now. The others who had been sitting around the circle, though they had stood when I’d doused the fire, did not speak. I couldn’t tell then if their silence meant they agreed with Sergei.
“We’ll leave now,” I said, desperation clawing at my throat as I caught hold of Rodya’s arm. “Only let him go.”
But he backhanded me, the blow strong enough to send me flying to the ground, though the ice of my skin prevented it from causing me any real harm.
“It’s too late for that,” Sergei said. “We’ve tolerated him for too long.” He stared at me. “He should have never taken in a stray witch.”
“Stop,” I shouted. “Please.”
They dragged him toward the trees at the very edge of the village, and I lurched forward to follow. The threat of violence hovered, a dark cloud infusing the men with cruel power.
When someone produced the length of rope, I knew the threat would become a promise of murder. Dedushka fought them, wildly, but he could not escape their grasp. I pushed through the crowd of men, each of them flinching away the moment my hand made contact with them. I was radiating cold, so much that frost hovered in the air around me like an aura.
“Let him go!” I yelled, snatching at Sergei’s arm.
He shoved me away. “Shut up, or we will hang you both, witch.”
They made a noose and wrapped it around the old man’s neck. Dedushka cried out. Rodya wrenched my arms behind my back, and then it was difficult to say what happened next.
I remember the ice in my veins spreading outward. I remember encouraging it instead of trying to stop it.
The power bubbled up from within me like a geyser, cold and ruthless. As the men threw the rope over the branch, the cold fire burst forth in an explosion that illuminated the night sky. Blue in color, blindingly blue—brighter than the sky. My skin was hard as marble, shielding me from its cold.
The men scattered with terrified shouts, but the blue fire clung to them, spreading over their bodies and consuming them faster than the hottest blaze. They shattered when they hit the ground.
Some made it as far as the village, and the fire spread to the huts and buildings. It froze the carefully built structures instantly, and then the people living inside the izby shattered like shards of glass. Half the village was destroyed in an instant.
But the worst of it was that Dedushka had been consumed just as Sergei and Rodya had been. I found his small body, broken in several pieces as though he was a statue instead of a once living, breathing man.
I’d killed him as surely as if I’d fastened the rope around his neck.
It was the suddenly increased pace of the men and Kharan on horseback and Ivan in our sleigh that dragged me from my dark thoughts. As the trees blurred by, and the horses’ nostrils flared, both with the effort to pull the heavy sleigh and to carry the men at such a fast clip, a sense of foreboding gripped me. If we were so close to Kiev—an easy day’s ride, as Ivan had told me—then why was such a pace necessary?
The rush of wings close enough to ruffle the fur on my hood drew my attention. Elation had finally returned. She let out a low whistle and ascended rapidly into the sky, far above us. There, she banked, making a wide circle around us, one golden eye on me at all times.
She had found something.
“Ivan,” I shouted, but my voice was swallowed by the wind.
Still, his back and shoulders tensed noticeably, and he reached for his sword.
Up ahead, a bend in the road revealed the reason for Elation’s agitation and the men’s breakneck pace.
Armed raiders were pouring from the trees, a wave of men in ragged clothing with unkempt beards, their archers firing arrow after arrow over us as men on foot attacked our guards. The state of their dress and their dirty, unwashed faces made me think they were acting out of desperation. And desperate men were dangerous.
Before long, we were forced to a jarring stop.
Kharan was to the rear of the sleigh on her hardy little pony, and I feared for them both. The prince’s men surrounded the sleigh, shielding me with their bodies.
An arrow zipped through the air, perilously close to the hood of my coat. Tension rippled over me, and my skin hardened into impenetrable ice, leaving me with a grim stoniness.
The guards sprang into action around me, cutting down the raiders closest to them. The battle was loud and chaotic, the shouts of men and the twang of metal meeting metal. In the chaos, I lost track of Kharan.
I resisted the urge to shout at the guardsmen to move away, to engage the raiders and not worry about me, but of course it was their job to deliver me to the prince in one piece. My earlier plan to escape during the confusion of the battle flitted through my mind, but as I looked around at the flying arrows and the flashing swords, I realized I hadn’t truly expected us to be attacked. Nor had I realized just how terrible a battle would be.
From atop his perch on the sleigh, Ivan cut down one of the raiders—the horses plunging and rearing as raiders attempted to break them free from their harnesses. One nearly succeeded in pulling Ivan, and I fought the warring desire within me to come to Ivan’s aid.
Not that way, I thought. Not when it could mean his death along with the raiders’.
Boris wielded his sword like a knight out of a fairy tale, but even with his obvious prowess, more and more men surrounded him unt
il I feared he’d be overtaken.
Grigory fought raiders at the base of a tall pine tree, his blade somehow parrying the many that flew at him. Then something unexpected happened. Grigory raised his other arm, and the tree itself groaned, bending and swaying as if under a powerful wind. Next I saw the boughs smashed into the raiders closest to Grigory, sending them flying into crumpled heaps in the snow. I remembered then that Kharan had said others had abilities like mine, and I realized Grigory must be able to control the trees.
Another arrow pulled my attention away from Grigory as it whistled past me and nearly hit its mark: Daichin. At some point he had lost his rider, and as he galloped out of the line of fire, I scanned the battle for Kharan. Finally, I saw her, not far from Grigory. She held a dagger to the throat of the raider who’d fired the arrow that narrowly missed her horse. In the next instant, he was dead, blood pouring from his throat. She turned to another threat: two more raiders, who circled around her with jagged blades. I thought of how kind Kharan had been to me, and the ice on my skin spread; the palms of my hands tingling with the temptation to destroy the raiders the only way I knew how. I shook with the effort to hold myself back.
But then I remembered I had another option. I held out my arm, and Elation, though she had stayed far above the skirmish, dived at my call.
The loud clash of swords still rang out, but Elation didn’t flinch. She glanced at me, her tawny eyes predatory. Waiting.
“Blind them,” I said, and sent thoughts of her daggerlike talons tearing into the raiders.
I lifted my arm in the air as she took off, her powerful wings carrying her toward the nearest cluster of enemies. Bloodcurdling screams greeted her outstretched talons as she tore into a man with a curved sword. As he dropped his weapon to cradle his face, she took off only to circle around again for another victim.
Just then, something crashed into the sleigh, distracting me from Elation’s battle. I turned to find Ivan slashing the throat of one of the raiders who had managed to almost climb aboard. The raider slumped off the sleigh, the smell of blood coppery in the air. And then another raider succeeded in pulling Ivan from the sleigh. A group of four swarmed him. He took down the first man easily—a quick thrust with his sword, but as he parried the weapons of two at once, the third smashed him with his hilt. Stunned, Ivan fell back against the sleigh, dazed and unsteady. Several times he tried to regain his footing and failed. The raider grinned, and to my horror, continued forward, as though he would finish Ivan off.
Through the White Wood Page 4
