Through the White Wood

by Jessica Leake

  I shook my head. “Today is the first day my power didn’t come with the high cost of killing people indiscriminately. I wouldn’t count my ability as an asset.”

  He looked at me appraisingly. “You were able in the end to stop your power—have you ever done that before?”

  It was true that I had eventually gained control over the release of the cold fire, but I wasn’t sure if that was due to my own ability or because Grigory’s branches had been choking the life from me. “No, but I also don’t know if I could do it again.”

  He nodded confidently. “You could.”

  Unwilling to argue with him, I changed the subject. “And what of you, Gosudar? Have you no otherworldly ability?”

  “I am skilled at swordplay, but no, not anything else that could compare to yours.”

  “Still, you haven’t told me why I must fight this enemy with you—assuming I even had the ability to control my element.”

  The prince’s expression hardened. “So that what has happened to Novgorod and the Drevlians will not happen here.”

  Confusion knitted my brows together, and I would have blushed at my own ignorance if I was capable of blushing. Instead, frost spread up my neck. “Forgive me, Gosudar, but what happened to them?”

  He looked momentarily taken aback, which only made me curse my ignorance all the more. “I have forgotten that you have spent your life in a secluded village. It’s no surprise that you wouldn’t know. The princes there have taxed their people to death. What they cannot pay in gold, they must forfeit in people—the princes’ men sell them and regain their taxes that way. They have designs on Kiev, ones that were set into motion many years ago. Now that the Drevlian prince and the Novgorodian prince have joined forces, I have no choice but to protect my people any way I can. War will be inevitable.”

  Unease trickled through my mind. In light of such evil, the prince’s war sounded almost . . . just.

  But as I thought about the realities of battle and of war, my skin turned painfully cold. There would be people trying to kill each other purposefully. And if what the prince said could be believed—that they had gathered those with earth abilities—then they would be slaughtered in the most unimaginable ways.

  Worse still was the knowledge that the prince was asking me to do the slaughtering.

  “Have all attempts at diplomacy been exhausted? Surely no one wants war.”

  He laughed darkly. “They do want war. By all accounts, they have taken great pleasure in destroying the soldiers I send to stop them from encroaching farther on our land. Many villages in the north have fallen.” He met my gaze. “I need you, Katya.”

  I tried not to let his words stir me. “You need my power.”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “I can make no promises,” I said, looking at the contents of my goblet like it held the answers to the mysteries of life.

  “All I can ask is that you try,” he said.

  I couldn’t deny that I wanted help gaining control over my power. And being here with others like me was more than I could have ever hoped for. All my life, I’d wondered why I had such power. Where I came from. Who I really was. Maybe this was a chance to find out.

  Sometimes where we least want to go is where we need to be.

  Babushka was wise, but in this case, I wasn’t sure I was interpreting her words correctly. It made me even more desperate to go and see her again.

  With my heart beating hard in my throat, I nodded to the prince. But I knew that even if I should gain control of my power, I would never allow it to be used as a weapon.

  No matter how I felt about the prince’s war.

  Chapter Eight

  THE PRINCE LEFT SHORTLY AFTER, SAYING I needed to rest, but I thought he’d just gotten what he’d come for: my agreement. I’d gladly given in to the lingering fatigue left behind by the cold fire, sleeping until well past dawn. But it was the banya I sought when I first woke. I needed the cleansing steam and heat—not only for my body, but in the hopes that it would chase away the confusion lingering in my mind. I pulled open the door and went out into the hall, now bright with sunlight and candelabras lit in every darkened corner. Once I made my way down the stairs, I saw Vera bustling by with an arm full of linens.

  “Can I help you with something, devotchka?” she asked when she caught sight of me.

  “I want to visit the banya,” I said. “Would that be all right?”

  Her headscarf was a beautiful rich green, and some of her hair had escaped, as though she’d been rushing around this morning. Still, she smiled at me like she had all the time in the world. “Of course. I can go with you if you like. There are fresh eucalyptus branches inside, too—I just put them there myself this morning.”

  “I don’t want to take you away from your chores,” I said with a nod toward the linens.

  “You won’t,” she said with a shake of her head. She put the linens down in a pile at the bottom of the stairs. “I don’t mind stepping out for some fresh air for a moment.”

  She led me then to the back of the palace, near the kitchens, and out into the dvor. We continued in the opposite direction from the stables, only a little way from the palace. There stood a little wooden banya, constructed of rounded logs. Smoke puffed heavily from its chimney.

  She opened the door for me, and we both stepped into a little room where I could remove my clothing. A rush of warmth enveloped me, and I knew it would be still warmer when I went to the steam room. Vera walked past and checked the next room—the one where the actual bathing occurred. “No one here,” she said briskly. “Now, off with your clothes, and I’ll bring you something to change into while I wash these for you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” I said, hesitant both to wear anything else and that she should trouble herself.

  She answered with a look that reminded me so much of Babushka I had to swallow hard. She waved her hand at me impatiently.

  I did as she asked, handing her my clothing in exchange for a bundle of eucalyptus branches tied together.

  “Do you think anyone else will enter while I’m in here?” I asked, glancing at the door behind us. The banya was for everyone in the palace, so it was rather surprising I was able to have it all to myself.

  “I very much doubt it,” she said, and I felt my shoulders relax. “The women in the palace tend to bathe in the very early morning, and the men like to come here in the evening to relax. The prince, though, he’s a little more unpredictable.”

  “I’ll hurry then,” I said, more to myself than her.

  “Mind the bannik,” she said with a little wink as she left.

  I smiled to myself at the thought of a visit from a bath spirit; if ever I needed a hint as to what the future would hold for me, it was now.

  The door closed firmly behind her, and I brought one of the buckets of cool water with me as I entered the steam room. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall, the fire devouring an enormous pile of wood. Wide bowls filled with water were placed around the room, causing clouds of steam so thick I could barely see. With a sigh of happiness, I ladled the water over myself and rubbed the grime off my skin with the eucalyptus leaves. The sharp, herbal smell perfumed the steamy air, and the extreme heat was enough to penetrate even my icy skin.

  My village had a banya, but it was one I couldn’t frequent often. Being enclosed in a small space, completely naked, was something I tried to avoid at all costs. I’d learned being vulnerable like that could be humiliating at best and dangerous at worst.

  I sat on one of the wooden benches closest to the fireplace and ladled water and used the crushed eucalyptus until every inch of me felt clean. In this thick steam, I wasn’t as warm as I’d been directly after releasing the cold fire, but it was close.

  I stared at the flames dancing through the steam, using the ladle to dip and pour the water over and over until it was almost hypnotic. Because of this, it was quite some time before I noticed the bannik staring at me from the other be
nch.

  But when I finally saw him, a small man no bigger than a human baby with long white hair and a long white beard, ice raced over my skin so quickly that a blast of steam erupted from me. It hid my nakedness, at least, though I was sure if the spirit lived here he’d seen his fill.

  “This is a very nice banya,” I said to him, because it was always important to be polite to a bath spirit, lest he use the steam itself to suffocate me. Our village had one, too, but it was much smaller and rarely seen. This one, though wrinkled as an old man, was full and fat.

  “Da,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep and grumbly for such a small creature. “The prince is generous.”

  I certainly couldn’t argue with that, but I was surprised into a watchful silence that he was speaking to me. With one eye on the clouds of steam surrounding the other bench, I wrung out my hair and listened for a moment for Vera’s return.

  In the thickness of the steam, I hadn’t noticed him move closer, but soon, I realized the bannik was on the bench beside me.

  “Child of Winter,” he said, and I startled. Could he sense the power within me even in this common place? It was a curious name—one I’d never heard before—and there was something about it that brought goose bumps to my arms despite the heat. “Do you wish to know your future?”

  This gave me pause. A bannik was typically a good spirit, known to foretell a good or bad future, but he never spoke to do so. It was said that one had only to present one’s back to the bannik, and if it was with gentle fingers that he touched one, then the fortune would be positive. If not, then one’s back would be rent with claws.

  “I haven’t had a very fortunate life so far,” I said cautiously, “so I fear what the future holds for me.”

  The bannik released a sound that was like the hissing of steam. “Fear is good . . . until it is not. You may choose not to hear what I have foreseen, but then a decision will be laid before you, and you will make the wrong choice.”

  A sound came from the other room, and Vera’s voice called out, “Katya, I’ve returned with your clothing. I will lay it out here for you.”

  “Thank you, Vera,” I said, my gaze never leaving the bannik.

  I waited until I heard her leave.

  “Tell me,” I said, my words swallowed by steam.

  “The earth will only fall to fire and ice,” the bannik said. “Without them, everything you have ever loved will be taken from you.”

  The ominousness of his final prediction chilled me to the bone. I disliked riddles and wasn’t very good at them, but it was easy enough to figure out what he was talking about. Earth most likely meant the earth elementals the prince’s enemies had been gathering; ice referred to my power; but fire . . . fire I wasn’t sure about. “Who has the power of fire?” I wondered aloud, but the bannik had faded again into the steam, leaving me to think on his words with dread growing in the pit of my stomach.

  I left behind the eucalyptus branches I hadn’t used as an offering for the bannik, though I wasn’t sure I was thankful for what he had told me. I didn’t want such responsibility placed on my shoulders. I would have been happier had he urged me to go home to my village, despite the danger that awaited me there.

  I found the clothing Vera had left for me in the other room: a plain linen rubakha, and a brocade rubakha in pale blue and gold, trimmed with embroidery and seed pearls. The more ornate tunic was meant to be worn over the other, and as I pulled on the linen one, I found that it reached my ankles. She’d even included soft leather leggings to wear underneath. My boots were waiting for me, which I was grateful for, and I pulled those on beneath the linen rubakha. A matching pale-blue headband, trimmed in seed pearls with beautiful dangling tassels that hung over my ears, helped keep my newly washed hair under control.

  As I left the banya, the words of the bannik echoing in my ears, I saw Kharan from across the courtyard. So much had happened since I’d last seen her—most notably the fact that Grigory had nearly constricted me to death with his branches—that a sort of joyful relief bloomed within me at the sight of her.

  I made my way across the dvor, and she waved to me when she saw me approach. She was dressed in a long blue-and-black tunic, belted at the waist. Black pants peeked out from the split in the tunic, and she wore a beautiful hat trimmed in silver fox fur. She was leading Daichin, who looked around curiously.

  A smile lit her face as she took in my clothing. “I see you finally relented and wore something out of that enormous trunk the prince gave you.”

  I glanced down at the heavy brocade. “Not by choice. These are the clothes Vera brought for me while I was in the banya. I can only hope she hasn’t taken my old clothes away to burn them.”

  Kharan laughed. “She did the same to me when I refused to take off my deel when I first arrived,” Kharan said with a sympathetic look. She nodded toward the stable. “I was just about to go for a ride. Would you like to join me?”

  “Yes, a ride would be nice.”

  She nodded and led me back to the stables, but Ivan caught up to us before we could enter.

  “If you and Katya are going riding,” Ivan said to Kharan, “then put her on one of the Vyatka horses, like Dukh.”

  “Fine, fine,” Kharan said, waving him off.

  “Is that one of the plow horses?” I asked hopefully as we entered the stables, and Kharan laughed.

  “Practically.”

  Kharan asked one of the grooms to saddle Dukh, which turned out to be a stout dun-colored horse with a black mane and tail and a friendly face. Definitely one of the humbler horses I’d spied in the stables when I’d visited before.

  “This will be the perfect horse for me,” I said to Kharan, admiring Dukh’s stocky physique. He didn’t look like he could make it faster than a brisk walk.

  She shot me a look. “I thought you were joking before, but I take it you don’t have much experience with riding.”

  I shook my head. “Very little. Our village didn’t have many horses.”

  “Dukh will take care of you, then,” she said, giving him a pat. “He’ll happily plod along.”

  At least he wasn’t very big. I managed to hoist myself up easily enough. I took up the reins and followed alongside Kharan, and Dukh’s pace was slow, as promised.

  The palace’s paths were winding and full of snow, but I could see areas where, in spring and summer, there would be lovely gardens. Skeletal trees reached toward the sky, surrounded by evergreen bushes peeking out from beneath the snowy ground. As we made our way to the back of the palace, toward the river, there was a small wood-and-glass building—a greenhouse located right off the kitchen. That must have been how fresh herbs were present in last night’s soup.

  Something else, too: a tunnel carved into the stone that jutted out from the rear of the palace, near the kitchens. I pointed it out to Kharan. “Where does that lead?”

  She followed my line of sight. “Ah, that is the escape tunnel for the palace should we ever fall under siege. It leads to the river.”

  “Has the palace ever been under attack?”

  “Not in all the time I’ve been here at least,” she said, but her expression soon turned grave. “Though that may change if the prince’s enemies breach the city.”

  “And you fear that as a possibility?”

  “There is no doubt that war is coming; it’s just a matter of where and when. I heard enough whispers of it in my travels here.”

  I glanced at Kharan, who was barely holding the reins, letting her horse have his head and follow the path on his own. “You said before that you and Daichin had come all the way from the steppes. Did you leave willingly?”

  “In a way,” she hedged. When I stayed silent, inviting her to say more, she continued, “I came because my ability wasn’t conducive to nomadic life with my clan, and after my parents”—she paused, her gaze focusing on a spot somewhere over Daichin’s ears—“after they died, my grandfather said I should go where my power was useful, so I joined a trade cara
van and eventually made my way here.”

  I could see from the way her face darkened that it still pained her, and that she probably still missed her tribe. “I’m sorry about your parents,” I said, knowing the words weren’t enough. “I never knew my own, but my dedushka is also no longer of this world.”

  “We’ve both known loss,” she said, “but we can do our families a far greater service here than we ever could at home. This is what I saw as I journeyed west: the soldiers of our enemy burning villages still loyal to the prince, seizing land, and always searching for people with power.”

  The picture she painted was a bleak one, and more frightening than I could have imagined. “The prince told me they have earth elementals, but were they able to find others?”

  She shook her head. “We are so few and far between. The earth elementals are from a tribe who only intermarry their own. They are said to have come far from here—from the south.”

  I had to give Dukh a little nudge with my heel to keep him from stopping. “Is Grigory from the same tribe, then?”

  “Distantly. His power is diluted compared to theirs.”

  “Not diluted enough,” I said with a dark laugh. “He nearly choked me to death yesterday,” I said at her questioning glance. “The prince had made me think I could control my cold fire, and when I ultimately was unable to rein it in, Grigory stepped in to keep me from harming the prince . . . by any means necessary, I suppose.”

  She made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat. “Were you hurt?”

  “Not badly.”

  “I’m glad. So it was only the shock of what he did to you that allowed you to stop your cold fire?”

  I turned her question over in my mind. “I think perhaps it provided motivation, yes, but I did manage to gain control—at least enough to stop it.”

  She looked at me with eyebrows raised. “That’s the first time you were able to exact some control over it, right?”

  I nodded. “Thanks to Ivan’s suggestion.”