by Kim Wilkins
Too late. A door creaked open in the hallway.
Ludmilla was up in an instant, hurrying towards the hall, but Elizavetta emerged first, shuffling weakly towards the kitchen, using the wall for support. She wore an irritable expression on her face. Rosa knew immediately that it was the woman she had seen last night; her long, white hair was unmistakeable. She was frighteningly thin, with pale blue eyes and a sad rosebud for a mouth.
“Who are you?” she asked Rosa.
“This is Rosa,” Ludmilla interjected. “She’s helping Makhar with his classes.”
“You woke me up, you little monster,” Elizavetta said to Makhar.
Rosa wanted to say, “Well, if you weren’t out late with your secret boyfriend you might have been up an hour or so earlier.” Instead she said, “I’m sorry, Elizavetta. Makhar got carried away with his pirate story.”
Elizavetta rolled her pale blue eyes. “That piece of rubbish. Ha!”
Ludmilla had Elizavetta under the elbow. “You should rest.”
“I feel very ill,” Elizavetta said, leaning on her mother heavily. “Could you bring me water?”
“Let me help you back to bed first.”
Rosa watched them go, noticing that Elizavetta could barely walk without assistance.
“Poor Elizavetta,” Makhar said guiltily. “She’s very sick.”
“I’m sure she’ll get better soon,” Rosa said. “Keep reading. Quietly, this time.”
Makhar continued reading, while Rosa turned the mystery over in her head. If Elizavetta was so sick and weak, how had she managed to leave the house alone last night? And how had she opened the heavy gate and walked the uneven ground to the edge of the woods to meet her lover?
Rosa lay on her bed with a book on Russian folklore she had borrowed from the Chenchikovs’ meagre bookshelf. The morning’s lessons were over and, until Anatoly and Ilya returned from town, Rosa was at leisure. She wasn’t particularly interested in the book itself—it was information she already knew—but Anatoly had made notes in the margins which she was attempting to decipher.
She heard voices outside, far off. Makhar calling, the sound of a car engine. She sat up and waited. Anatoly had promised to speak with her today.
Within minutes, Anatoly pushed open her door. “Are you ready?” he said. In his left hand, he held a pot of dirt.
“It’s about time.”
He checked outside then closed the door behind him. “It’s better that Ludmilla thinks I’m busy with my bees.”
“Why must you keep secrets from Ludmilla?” Rosa asked. “You’re a volkhv. It’s your business to dispense enchantments.”
He leaned his back against the door. “If you had spent your youthful beauty on an old man, you might understand,” he said. “Ludmilla is a jealous woman.”
He ambled forward and sat heavily next to her on the bed, dropping the pot at his feet. His arm pressed casually against hers. Rosa could smell stale sweat and unwashed hair.
“I have something for you,” he said.
“What is it?”
He reached into his shirt pocket, then held his fist in front of her. “It’s the start of something,” he said, his resonant voice adopting a portentous tone.
She stared down at his hairy knuckles, and watched a trickle of sweat squeeze out from his tightly-closed palm. It paused in a fold of his skin, gathering to a drop. Rosa watched, expectant. A sense of possibility grasped her, and she felt her face grow warm with excitement. The drop fell, making a dark splotch on Anatoly’s thigh.
“Let me see,” she said, prising open his fingers. On his palm a flat papery disc with a seed at its centre.
“It’s a wych elm seed,” he said. “You’re going to use it in your first spell.”
“I see. And how will this help me?”
He picked up the pot and handed it to her. “Go on, Rosa,” he said. “Put the seed in the soil.”
Puzzled, Rosa pushed the seed into the dirt.
“Good. What would you do next? If you wanted it to grow?”
“I’d water it and put it in the sun.”
“Then I say leave it dry and put it in the cupboard where it’s dark.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Go on.”
She stood and put the pot in the cupboard, closing the door behind it firmly.
“You see,” he said, “water and sun are not always necessary. How do you think we manage when winter clings to June and the bees have no flowers to visit? In 1993 every other honey grower in the region went out of business. Except for the Chenchikovs.”
“How?” she asked.
“Zagovory.”
Rosa found the word untranslatable and shook her head in puzzlement.
“Incantations, spells, magical stories.” His chest puffed out. “I’m a powerful volkhv. You might have a tenth of my power one day, if you work hard.”
“I really just want one spell. To get me across the veil.”
He took a slow breath, and exhaled with a patronising shake of his head. “Let me ask, Rosa, how far can you run?”
She shrugged. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“How far? Before you have to stop?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two miles.”
“So if you needed to run twenty miles, would you not prepare yourself? Running a little further every day? Or would you just start running and hope you made it?”
Rosa grew agitated. “Anatoly, how long will this take?”
“As long as it takes. You have magic in your smallest finger.” He waved his own pinky finger in front of her face. “That’s it. The rest grows with practice.”
“If I don’t get across soon, he might die.”
“You cannot think of that. You must focus on what I teach you, on growing your power. Now…” He slapped her knee gently. “Zagovory are structured very simply. An invocation: for your seed, I suggest the sun. An appeal to the elements: try water. A tale to link your heart to your head to the magic in your body: in this case, a tale of Mother Moist Earth to show your respect. Then state what you wish, bind the spell, and repeat every day until you see the seed sprouting.”
Rosa tried to remember all this. “Do you have that written down somewhere?”
“Of course not. It’s dangerous to write zagovory in plain language. I have a few notes about, but only in tarabarshchina.”
“Another Russian word I don’t know,” Rosa said, laughing. “I’m learning more from you than spells, Anatoly.”
“The enchanted cipher of the volkhv through the centuries.” He squeezed her hand once, then drew her to her feet. “Come, Rosa. Try it.”
Rosa was uncertain but eager. She tried to remember Anatoly’s instruction. “Sun, I beseech you. Tsar water, I invoke your aid.” She took a deep breath. “Mother Moist Earth…” She turned to Anatoly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”
“You must be creative,” Anatoly said. “A magician’s power can stand or fall on the strength of his stories. Let me show you.” He stood directly behind her. Although he didn’t touch her, his breath was close enough to tickle her ear. Electricity ran up her neck. His voice dropped to a hypnotic whisper. “Out in the great ocean there stands a white-hot rock. On the rock stand three brothers, and Mother Moist Earth gives each one a test.
“‘What can grow without rain or sunshine?’ Mother asks.
“The first brother says, ‘Nothing can grow without rain or sunshine.’ And Mother pitches him into the ocean.
“The second brother considers a while and then says, ‘Nothing can grow without rain or sunshine.’ And Mother pitches him into the ocean.”
Anatoly fell silent for long seconds, and Rosa’s body tensed in anticipation. Her spine grew warm.
“Go on, Rosa,” he said at last, “you finish the story.”
Rosa cleared her throat. “The third brother says, ‘I know what grows without rain or sunshine. It grows in the darkness, it grows in empty fields, it grows in the icy grip of winter. It is love.
’”
Anatoly turned her to face him, smiling. “Ah, that is beautiful.”
She took a step back, felt that her face was flushed. “As love grows, so does this tree grow without rain or sunshine. My word is firm, so it shall be.”
“Good, very good,” Anatoly said, clapping his hands together. “How do you feel?”
“Tired,” she said. “And warm.” She wanted to loosen her top button, but feared Anatoly might take the gesture the wrong way.
“That means you have done your work properly. So, you must keep the pot in the dark. Don’t allow any light in unless you absolutely must. And you must repeat the incantation every day.”
“I can’t write it down?”
“Why? Is there something wrong with your memory?”
Rosa bristled. “No. I’ll remember it.”
“And the one I teach you next week? The one after that?”
“It’s going to take more than a week?” she exclaimed, horrified.
Anatoly nodded, tugging his beard gently. “You love him, don’t you? The boy who has crossed the veil?”
“Well, I…”
“Now, now. Speak the truth. You will never cross the veil if you can’t speak the truth.”
“Yes, yes, of course I do,” Rosa snapped, “but we’re not meant to be together.”
“And how does Rosa Kovalenka know what is meant to be?”
“I just do. I don’t remember agreeing to tell you all my secrets anyway, Anatoly.” She folded her arms. “Why is it so hot in here?”
“Magic is hot,” he said. “I do my best work naked.”
She hid a shudder. “When can I have another lesson?”
“When the seed sprouts.”
“It could take days!”
Anatoly shook his head. “That will depend on how strong your magic is. I predict I’ll be back tomorrow.” He turned and opened the door.
“What about my bracelet? Wait. Don’t go yet,” she said. “I have so much to ask you.”
“Forget your silly bracelet. A worthless trinket. Luda expects me. She will grow suspicious.”
“Just tell me what’s over there. What is on the other side of the veil?”
“I don’t know, Rosa. I’ve never been.” He smiled. “You can tell me when you return.”
That evening, after dinner with the family and a hot shower, Rosa returned to her guesthouse. Her penknife lay open next to the armchair. Tonight, she would sleep in a warm bed, Daniel would wander in cold shadows. She released a trapped bee from her window, and wondered how far around her ankle the design would stretch before she saw Daniel again.
Before crawling into bed, she went to the cupboard to check on the pot of dirt.
A shoot, already three inches long, poked out of the soil.
“So,” she said. “It won’t be long.”
ELEVEN
True to his word, the leshii was pleasant after he’d been paid, but had an ever-growing list of demands. He refused to answer any of Em’s questions until she agreed to cook him a week’s worth of pancakes and bread. A pale and trembling Daniel had been despatched to the chicken coop to collect eggs. Em was relieved to have him out of her sight for a little while. His fear was so electric it threatened to charge Em’s heart too. Amazing, unexpected, impossible things were happening to her.
She knew she had to keep her head.
As she kneaded dough, Vikhor sat at the table picking his teeth with his toenails.
“I’ll need at least three loaves of bread,” he said, stretching back and crossing his arms over his head. Em noticed that all his clothes were on backwards. “I’ll be away for a week.”
“Where are you going?”
“To work.”
“Where do you work?”
“In the woods.”
“What do you do?”
“You don’t want to know.” He smiled. “Anything else you want to ask?”
Em didn’t know where to start.
It was very warm in the gloomy wooden house. The pale brick stove in the centre of the room was stoked and roaring. She put the kneaded loaf aside and began another, pulling the sticky dough from the wooden bowl and thumping it into the kneading trough. She hadn’t made bread since she was a child, but she rarely forgot anything.
“There are a lot of things I want to ask,” Em said. “I’m completely mystified by everything I’ve seen and heard since I woke up this morning.”
“Mir folk are often like that. You’re not adaptable.” Vikhor drummed his long fingers on the scarred table. “You know, I’ve heard that in Mir you have tiny glowing boxes with numbers on them, and with them you can talk and send pictures to people for a million miles. Is that right?”
Em thought about her cell-phone, dead in her pocket. “Yes.”
“I don’t quiver with fright when I hear about such wonders. My face wouldn’t drain of blood were I to see such a thing.” He pulled his face into an exaggerated impression of Daniel which, under other circumstances, might have been hilarious.
Em allowed herself only a guarded smile.
“You could tell me any wonder of your world, and I would accept it.” He nodded decisively. “I can adapt to anything because I can believe in anything. Mir folk can’t do that and it makes them weak.”
“Is that so?”
He rose and leaned on the bench in front of her, glancing left and right before dropping his voice to a whisper and saying, “Fear is treacherous, it clouds judgement. I warn you, your friend is a danger to you in Skazki. You should abandon him if you want to survive.”
Em wiped her hands on her pants and scratched her eyebrow. “Mir folk can’t do that,” she said, adopting his phrase. In fact, she did worry that Daniel was going to become a liability if they wanted to get out of here quickly and safely. She patted the second loaf and put it aside. “I need to pin down some clear facts. Will you help?”
“Of course. You bought my help.”
“First, how did we get here?”
“You crossed a veil. Don’t you remember?”
“Not really. I remember some strange lights…Look, has it got anything to do with this bear?” She fetched the bear from her hiding place and sat her on the bench. Daniel would never have let Em tell Vikhor about the bear, but she figured he needed all the facts if he was going to help her.
“Aha,” said Vikhor, his index finger touching the bear’s nose. “She belongs to this world, certainly. I think I even know who owns her. I’ve heard stories of this bear whispered on the wind.”
“So you think she helped us cross over?”
“Of course. She brought you home with her.”
“Then how do we get back to Mir?” Em said.
“You don’t.”
“Well, we got here, we must be able to get back.”
“You can’t.”
Em didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sorry, but that makes no sense. There’s a veil, you’ve made that clear. We crossed it, so we can cross back.”
The leshii considered her across the bench, straightening his back and folding his arms. “You could ask the Snow Witch. She’d know how to get you home.”
“And who is the Snow Witch?”
“She owns the bear.”
Em sank her hands into the bowl and chased the last of the dough onto the bench. “Fine. Where could we find the Snow Witch?”
“East and east and north a-ways.”
She held her dough-smeared hands out, palms up. “That’s it? Nothing more specific than that?”
“I’ve never met her. I’ve never been to her palace. But you’re bound to meet somebody else who can help, if you don’t get eaten first.” He nodded towards the bear. “Where did you find her?”
“In St Petersburg.”
“Hidden?”
She blew a strand of hair out of her face and started kneading. “Yes.”
“Be careful then. Somebody put her there for a reason. Somebody didn’t want her to come home.” The leshii’s big,
dirty fingers were probing the bear in every crevice, leaving smudges on the bright gold. “I’d buy her from you, if you want to get rid of her.”
Em shook her head. “She’s not ours,” she said. “We’re minding her for a friend.”
He shrugged. “Have it your way. I was going to offer you this lovely gold watch in exchange.” He dangled her watch before her. “You might need it to buy your way out of a tight spot.”
Em wasn’t certain if this was meant as a joke, but didn’t feel much like laughing in any case. Vikhor returned to his chair to wait, humming an absent melody. Pale sunlight struggled through the window, making patterns with the vines. Em digested all this information, irritated with herself for not knowing what to ask next. There would be a solution: she knew that. Locating it was going to prove difficult and, according to Vikhor’s warnings, they were a long way from home in very hostile territory.
“What else?” Vikhor asked.
“I don’t know what else to ask,” she said. “What do you think I need to know?”
“Hmm, let me think. When did you arrive in Skazki?” he asked.
“I’m not certain. When we woke this morning, we were in the bottom of your field. But we may have actually crossed the veil the previous morning. There were strange lights while I was driving. I’d nodded off for a moment.”
“Ah, dangerous,” he said. “To be moved while you aren’t aware of it. Who knows where you could end up next? Did you do it to her?”
“I’m sorry?” Em said, puzzled.
“Did you move the bear around while she slept?”
“I…well, yes we did, I suppose.”
“She’s paying you back. Be careful not to sleep at the same time as your companion. You could wake up on the ice floes.”
Em braced herself against the bench. “There are ice floes around here?”
“No, not around here. But you could wake up anywhere in Skazki, and there are some treacherous places, and all my treacherous cousins inhabit them. You’re lucky you found me first. Any of them would have finished you off by now.”
“How many cousins do you have?” she asked, determined to keep her voice even.
