Through the White Wood

by Jessica Leake

  Ever since the first night, I’d also avoided being alone with the prince again—a fairly easy feat when he was spending more time with his bogatyri the closer we came to Constantinople. Nothing had happened that night—not really—but the heat of his gaze and my answering interest frightened me almost as much as losing control of my power. I was afraid to care for him. Afraid to be hurt when I knew he was the grand prince and I was an abandoned girl with no family and no village. And though I had agreed to help him, I was afraid that he still valued my abilities above all else. More than that, I knew the cold, cruel twists of this world. The more I cared about someone, the more likely I seemed to be to lose them.

  Sometimes because of my own hand.

  Even befriending Kharan made me nervous, though she had proven to be impervious to any of my moods. If I was quiet and tense, she spoke of things she had seen or heard on her travels (like the people she’d encountered who rode elephants like horses just as Dedushka had always told me) so that I couldn’t resist engaging in conversation. If I became so lost in my own thoughts that I could barely pay attention to my surroundings, she turned our steady march south into a riding lesson. The last I greatly appreciated because I knew next to nothing about riding—only enough not to fall off my horse on our long journey.

  And Kharan was a superior horsewoman; Daichin did anything she asked of him. She frequently dropped her reins to reach across and forcibly push my heels down or adjust my grip on my own reins, and Daichin didn’t even blink. Once she even kneeled upon his back, her spine perfectly straight while Daichin trotted then cantered then galloped, to demonstrate the importance of balance.

  After two full days under her tutelage I had no hope of kneeling on Zonsara’s back, but at least I could make her walk and trot and stop when I wanted her to.

  “You’re doing well,” Kharan said, as I trotted to catch up to her and Daichin and slowed Zonsara to a walk again.

  “You’re a good teacher,” I said, giving Zonsara a pat on the neck. “Only I wish I could go off trail a bit to practice leading her. I think Zonsara is mostly following the others, especially Daichin.”

  Daichin snorted when he heard his name, and Kharan smiled. “We’re about to make camp, and there’s a stream just there,” she said, indicating the silvery water burbling happily to our left. “You could follow it for a while when we stop, and then you’ll know if you can guide Zonsara on your own or not.”

  I glanced ahead, to where the prince led with Ivan close behind. “Do you think I should tell the others?”

  “I’ll vouch for your character and swear you didn’t intend to escape,” Kharan said, light teasing in her tone.

  If I had any intention of escaping, I wouldn’t get far. I couldn’t ride well, certainly not at a gallop, and I had no supplies—everything was in the wagons.

  I didn’t have long to wait before we stopped. Over the next hill and through the trees, there was a little clearing, large enough for us to make camp. The horses all nickered happily; they knew they’d soon get bags full of grain and some well-deserved rest.

  I felt a little twinge of guilt at denying that to Zonsara, if only temporarily, but at least I had a small bit of sugar to reward her for the delay.

  “I won’t be gone long,” I said to Kharan and turned Zonsara’s nose off the trail and toward the stream. She flicked her ears back and forth for a moment, as though unsure she should be leaving the safety of the herd, but a little flicker of happiness went through me when she decided to listen to me.

  Behind me, I could hear one of the men question where I was going, but Kharan answered, “Where she’s supposed to.” The man said nothing else, but I think that was only because most people were a little intimidated by Kharan. She could, after all, learn your deepest secrets without you even knowing.

  But soon, all thoughts of everything else drifted away as I followed the silver stream. It burbled cheerfully over rocks as Zonsara lent the soothing sound of soft hoofbeats to the water’s melody. When we went around the next bend, the trees thick on both sides of the stream, I sat back on my hipbones like Kharan had taught me.

  Zonsara immediately responded by halting, both ears flicked back to listen to my next request. I preferred to think of it that way—as asking rather than commanding. Whether animal or human, we all responded better to being asked instead of told.

  I gave her a little pat, and then squeezed lightly with my calves. She walked on again, her head bobbing in time to her smooth gait.

  We continued for a few more minutes, until I started to feel a little bubble of worry that I’d strayed too far. I had an hour yet before the sun went down, but I didn’t want to be caught alone in the woods after dark. Not only because it would be more difficult to find my way back, but also because there were countless stories of the creatures that inhabited the forests at night—not beasts, but ancient creatures that had their own legends. Some were kind and beautiful, like the firebird. Others . . .

  I just didn’t want to run into the others.

  But just as I thought I’d better turn Zonsara around, I saw the stream emptying into a pond up ahead, the water reflecting the blue of the sky and the green of the trees. But most important, it was unfrozen.

  It had been so long since I’d seen any body of water without at least blocks of ice floating on it that I couldn’t resist going to the water’s edge. I dismounted Zonsara and gave her the sugar cube I’d kept from the tea Kharan had brewed that morning. She was so well-trained, I didn’t think I’d have to tie her up, and she was already eyeing the tender grass and plants that grew near the pond.

  The water looked so inviting that I bent down to touch the surface of it and found it to be warmer than my skin—not entirely surprising since my skin always felt like ice, but pleasant all the same.

  A soft rustle of wings sounded from above, and Elation came to land on one of the trees nearby. She looked down at me, quietly surveying the pond.

  Zonsara snorted, nose-deep in greenery. A glance at the sun told me I still had a little time—it hadn’t quite dipped below the tree line. I pulled off my boots and sat down by the edge, putting my feet in the water. The stream fed into the pond with the most soothing sound, and for a while, all I could do was watch the hypnotic ripples across the surface, my mind quiet for the first time in a long time.

  The longer I watched, though, the stranger the ripples looked—swirling round and round in the center of the pond, bubbles forming beneath. Something was rising from the depths, and I tilted my head to try to figure out what I was looking at. Green, with shimmering scales like a fish. But when the water calmed, I saw that it was a girl, only a little smaller than I was.

  Above, Elation screeched a warning.

  The girl grinned at me, her mouth full of teeth as sharp as knives. Her hair was so long it touched her knees, and it shimmered in the dying sun. I knew what she was, just as every peasant in Kievan Rus’ knew of her kind: a rusalka—a water spirit. This wasn’t like the familiar bannik. A rusalka was a malevolent spirit.

  Behind me, Zonsara whinnied nervously. My legs twitched—I wanted to run, but I knew the rusalka would catch me before I could even get to my horse. And anyway, I didn’t want to leave my boots behind.

  It was early for this spirit to be out—summer was usually the time when everyone knew not to swim alone in lakes and ponds. But maybe the fact that we were already farther south than I’d ever been explained why a rusalka would be in a pond in the first days of spring.

  She tilted her head at me, and even this small movement made my heart pound and my skin turn to ice. The rusalki were spirits of women who had drowned, and in their misery, wanted to drown others just as they were. At least, that’s how the stories had always gone. I’d always suspected there was more to it than that.

  Despite my fear, I forced myself to say something. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll just put on my boots and be on my way.”

  “You haven’t disturbed me,” she said, her voice
like water over rock. “Were you seeking a warm pond to bathe? You look like you have journeyed far.”

  There was kindness in her tone and in her expression, but I knew it had to be a trick. Everyone knew the rusalki liked nothing more than to drown any person who entered their water. “It’s not warm enough for me to bathe in, but I was just so happy to find water that wasn’t frozen that I couldn’t resist at least putting my feet in.”

  She smiled. “It’s much warmer in the middle here. It is I who warms the pond, and I haven’t quite reached the edges yet. Come,” she beckoned, her hair moving with her arm, “you will see.”

  “That’s a kind offer, but I should get back to my camp,” I said, noticing with a little shiver of unease that the sun had dipped far too low.

  I stood, but before I could step out of the water, she called out again. “Please don’t go. I never have any visitors, and I’m terribly lonely. Won’t you at least stay for a moment and talk?”

  Her eyes were dark as night, but round with sincerity. Still, I didn’t want Kharan to be reprimanded because I’d stayed away too long. “Perhaps I can come again on our return journey, but I must go now.”

  I took one foot out of the water, and that’s when I was hit with a massive wave, as though I was swimming in the Black Sea instead of a small pond. It sucked me back toward the center of the pond, wave after wave crashing over my head, pushing me under the water. I didn’t have time to take a breath before my mouth filled with water again.

  Panic fluttered inside me like a bird caught in a net. I barely knew how to swim, and my clothes were heavy and sodden. I fought toward the surface only to be thrown back again. My lungs burned, and desperation tore at me.

  Water was part of my element, I thought in my panic; I couldn’t let it defeat me.

  I focused on the cold covering my skin, on it radiating from the core of me. I thought of the release of explosive power I’d unleashed on the raiders and my village, on the elementals in the forest. I wouldn’t need such power here. I only had to freeze the pond—just as I had the river when I escaped. Beyond the water, I thought I heard hoofbeats, and a flicker of worry entered my mind. Had Zonsara fled?

  When next the wave pushed me beneath the surface, I stopped trying to fight it physically. Instead, I let the cold spread until it was emanating from me. Colder and colder, and as the wave rose up, it froze beneath me, shoving me to the surface. I gasped for breath.

  It sounded like someone shouted my name, but the ice grew, drawing my attention to the center of the pond.

  Like cold fingers, my power reached for the rusalka. Her eyes were huge with fear and her grin was long gone.

  I let the ice grow until it gripped the rusalka; she screamed as the bottom half of her body became encased in ice. “You tricked me! You pretended to be a mere mortal, but I see that you aren’t. You’re a daughter of Winter.”

  She emphasized winter as though it was a person rather than a season, and it so surprised me that I stopped my ice from spreading further. The bannik, I remembered, had called me something similar. “You know who my father is?”

  Her eyes were on the icy water so close to the middle of the pond, but she glanced up at me. “Not father—mother.”

  I thought of Babushka’s journal. Of how she never mentioned my mother by name. Could this be true, or was the rusalka merely trying to trick me?

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Anyone with eyes for the creatures of the Old World can tell that you are no ordinary mortal.”

  Despite my wariness, I found myself desperate to know. “Who is she?”

  The rusalka shook her head. “I will not invoke her name here, not when spring has already come. Go to the old witch in the woods—Baba Yaga. She will help you.”

  We’d all heard the stories of Baba Yaga, a witch who lived in the woods, wiser than any other, but with a taste for human flesh. “I’d rather not become a meal for a witch.”

  “It’s no trick,” the rusalka said. “She won’t harm you for the same reason I won’t, and she may tell you more besides. It’s your choice.”

  Was my mother so powerful then? That this spirit and Baba Yaga would fear her wrath? It seemed unlikely, after all that I’d experienced in my village.

  “And how would I find this witch?”

  “You must travel east to the deepest part of these woods, until the sun and moon have switched places.”

  I didn’t know why creatures such as the bannik and rusalka chose to only speak in riddles, but at least she had given me a direction—if I dared to believe her.

  I kept my eyes on the rusalka as I backed toward the shore, walking carefully on the ice I’d created. Just as I reached solid ground, I turned to the sound of hoofbeats and found Sasha riding his own horse while he led Zonsara. “Katya, thank God, I was so worried when I found Zonsara galloping into camp without her rider.” He fell silent when he saw how wet I was and then looked to the middle of the pond where the rusalka was held prisoner. “What happened?”

  “I invited her to stay and talk with me,” the rusalka said before I could answer, “but she deceived me into thinking she was an ordinary mortal—not Winter’s daughter.” Her eyes had that strange light of hunger in them as she looked at Sasha, but he wasn’t foolish enough to approach the water.

  “You are fortunate she’s unharmed, demon,” Sasha said. To me, he said, “Come, we should get you dry.”

  Heedless of how dripping wet I was, Sasha helped me remove my sodden coat only to replace it with his fine fur one.

  “Wait,” the rusalka said as I walked toward Zonsara. When I turned back to her, she pointed to the ice. “My pond.”

  “Leave it,” Sasha said. “Perhaps it will save someone else’s life by preventing this demon from drowning them.”

  I hesitated. “I gave her my word.”

  I walked to the edge again, the rusalka watching me from the water, and Elation watching from above. In all likelihood, the spirit could free herself after I left, but I was sure it would take some time. I’d thawed my ice only one other time before: when I’d accidentally frozen water in a horse trough. But that was a much smaller amount of water. Trepidation twisted my stomach at the thought of trying to thaw the pond, but I wouldn’t let myself back away now.

  When I touched the ice, I thought of how I’d called the ice to me, how it traveled over my skin. Only this time, I recalled it.

  With a hiss, I winced as the cold seeped into me. The ice receded, the water melting again as the cold spread over my skin instead.

  I stepped back, and the prince strode over to me. Clouds of cold billowed from my mouth with every breath. “Are you all right?” he said in a low voice.

  I nodded. “Yes,” I answered, but my teeth chattered viciously.

  “Can you ride?”

  “I won’t do that to Zonsara—I’m soaking wet,” I managed to say.

  He gave me an exasperated look. “Then I suppose we’ll walk.”

  After gathering up the horses, he stayed close by my side, but I wouldn’t take his proffered arm. If I was to master myself and my power, I couldn’t let something like that disable me.

  I glanced back at the pond, but the rusalka was gone.

  Daughter of Winter.

  But who was Winter?

  Camp wasn’t far, only a ten-minute walk away. The prince was thankfully quiet the whole way, though I could tell he wanted to say something. He was waiting, it turned out, for me to change into dry clothes.

  Barely the moment after I had donned my rubhaka and skirt. Thankfully, Vera had included one set of plainer clothes for me, suitable for travel—the prince called out to me from the other side of the tent flap.

  “You may enter,” I said after a glance at Elation, who watched the tent entrance just as I did.

  The prince ducked as he came through the flap, a steaming earthenware cup in one hand. “For you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and took a sip of the warm kvas.

&n
bsp; “You shouldn’t have left on your own,” he said, his voice quiet, but his eyes gazed back intensely. “You could have died. Again.”

  “It wasn’t my intention to endanger myself,” I said, trying very hard not to feel chagrined. “I only wanted to test out my riding ability when I was on my own.”

  His body tensed. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving, and no one could say for sure where you’d gone.”

  “But Kharan—”

  “She should have told me right away,” he said, his words cutting into mine. “What if that creature had managed to overcome you?”

  “Forgive me, Sasha,” I said, surprised at just how upset he seemed to be. “Obviously I didn’t know there would be such danger, but in any case, I was able to protect myself.”

  “You’re right—you were able to defend yourself in the end. It was only when I came upon you, drowning in the pond like that . . .” His jaw flexed as he trailed off, looking pained. “But it may be partially my fault for not conveying to you how dangerous are the woods we travel through. They are not as wild, I suppose, as the woods in the north, where every moment you may chance upon a creature of legend. Still, there are enough here—enough to do you harm or even kill you. We are safer in numbers.” His tone had grown increasingly passionate the more he spoke, and now his whole body was tense.

  “I’m sorry, truly,” I said. “I hadn’t realized the danger, but I can’t say I entirely regret the encounter . . . not after what I learned from the rusalka. She said I was the daughter of Winter, and that Baba Yaga could tell me more.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You can’t mean to take that demon’s advice—Baba Yaga won’t answer your questions. Surely you’ve at least heard of her in your village? She’ll trick you and torture you, and you’ll be glad when you finally die.”

  Though his words made me quake, I didn’t flinch away from his gaze. “That name, though—daughter of Winter. The bannik in your banya said something similar.”

  This gave him pause. “You spoke to the bannik?”