Rosa and the Veil of Gold

by Kim Wilkins

  “How can you stand it?” he said, his voice constricted with swallowed hysteria. “How can you be calm and keep going? Are you even human?”

  Em recoiled from his accusatory question, anger flaring inside her. She had been asked that before—by her ex-husband, countless co-workers, her own mother—and had always hated it. “I am what I am,” she said forcefully. “You know nothing about me.”

  Daniel clapped his mouth shut, chastened. “I’m sorry.”

  “Just keep rowing.”

  He picked up the oars and did as she said.

  “I don’t want to die any more than you do, Daniel,” she continued. “I’m particularly unnerved by the possibility that my death may be extremely unpleasant. It’s not my way to dwell on these things. Fear and love, sadness, joy…I do have feelings, but they are transient and don’t take root. I’ve always been this way.”

  Daniel frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “You wouldn’t. I’ve never met anybody else who can, because I’ve never met anybody else like me.”

  He watched her, and she watched him. The boat slid through the water and the sun moved behind clouds. The oars beat and pulled at the water, clunking softly.

  “Well, then,” he said at last, in a quiet, resigned tone, “explain it to me.”

  “It’s not that easy.” Em tucked her hair behind her ears, searching for the right words. “It’s like explaining colour to a blind man.”

  “Try.”

  She thought about it a few moments, then ventured forth. “Do you know what permafrost is?” she asked.

  “I think so,” he replied, obviously perplexed. “The layer of frozen soil in cold places. Like Russia.”

  “Yes. It thaws very infrequently, very briefly. Nothing much grows in it. A few hardy shrubs, lots of surface vegetation like lichen and so on.”

  “Why are we talking about permafrost?”

  “Because that’s what I’m like.”

  “You’re frozen?”

  “You must admit, you find me cold,” she laughed, “but it’s far more complex than that.”

  His eyes were puzzled, but his expression was determined. “Go on. Explain it.”

  “Daniel, I don’t feel things the way other people do. At least I’m fairly sure I don’t, because you all sound like you’re talking another language when you speak of love, or passion, or…anything.” She glanced away, watching the ripples that arrowed out behind the oars. “I’ve never felt fear as anything beyond a moderately sophisticated survival instinct. I’ve never felt anything catastrophic enough to call love, not even for my own child. My relationships with others have been shrubs and moss, never monstrous fruit-bearing trees.” She pulled her knees up to her chest, certain she hadn’t made herself understood. “My heart is like permafrost,” she said. “Cold and barren, not the rich black soil of the south.”

  Daniel fell silent for a long time, and she glanced up to see if he was staring at her with the same disgust and fear that others had displayed. He wasn’t. He was looking at her, and he said, “That’s very sad.”

  She held up a hand to stop his pity. “Spare me.”

  “It explains a lot about you. How you are with people, that odd detachment.” He smiled apologetically. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “You’re not. You’re just telling it as you see it.”

  “How come you’ve never mentioned it before?”

  Em sighed. “It’s not that it’s a secret,” she said, “but it’s not an ideal conversation opener either, and I don’t really get close enough to people to feel I should reveal so much of myself.”

  A rush of summer air hissed over the treetops, dimpling the water and bringing her skin out in gooseflesh. Her arm ached and she was sorry she’d told Daniel. They needed to rely on each other, and if he was suspicious of her now…

  “But you married,” he said, as though the thought had popped hot and urgent into his head. “You had a child.”

  “It was an experiment. A disastrous one. I’d heard so many women talk in rapturous tones about children, I thought that if anything could awaken feeling in me, that would be it. I chose a suitable husband, I bore his child. I still felt…not nothing. I just felt very little.”

  “Have you spoken to a doctor? A psychiatrist?”

  Em bristled. “No. I’m not dangerous or murderous or psychotic. I know right from wrong. I feel pity quite strongly, especially for those who suffer from emotional trauma.” Slaves to feeling, like you, she wanted to say but didn’t. “I’m certainly sickened by what we did this morning…” She trailed off. “It was the only practical thing to do.”

  Daniel kept drawing on the oars. They made a rhythmic thump and swish, and Em felt strangely light. “Do you hate me now, Daniel?” she asked.

  “No,” he said.

  She noticed the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “What is it?” she said.

  He chuckled. “I shouldn’t laugh. I don’t mean to be—”

  “What?” She smiled tentatively. Nobody had ever found her situation funny before.

  “We’re like two rejects from Oz, Em. You don’t have a heart, and I have no courage.”

  She allowed herself a stifled laugh. “I’m glad you’re not afraid of me,” she said.

  He shrugged. “No matter what you are,” he replied, “I’m glad we’re in this together.”

  Em leaned her chin on her knees, relieved. “So am I.”

  The river was wide and gleamed like a dark mirror. Daniel couldn’t grow used to life on the boat. He couldn’t get comfortable, he was sick of the taste of fish, he hated going to the toilet in a bucket, and the wind sheering over the water negated the warmth of the ring of magic fire between him and Em. But at least they were moving; hopefully closer to the Snow Witch and home.

  Late on the second afternoon they glimpsed the hem of the Dead Forest. Bolotnik had been right: he could recognise it on sight. The tall trees were crowded on top of each other, and sinuous shadows slid in and out of the narrow spaces, winding around the tree trunks. Their whispers layered and layered, so that the further along the river Daniel and Em travelled, the more the forest moaned in one mournful voice.

  “I don’t understand,” Em said to Daniel, instinctively dropping her voice to a whisper. “I thought these dead people…what did you call them?”

  “Revenants.”

  “I thought revenants haunted the places where they died.”

  “They do. And they’re here as well. Nanny Rima always told me that the dead travel in a blink.”

  “We should be quiet,” Em said. “We don’t want to attract attention.”

  Daniel agreed and fell silent, and the shadows grew long and night came, morning followed, and so on as he and Em silently glided past the lightless forest.

  Another two days passed, and the silence of the river seeped into his blood and organs and calmed him. He rowed, feeling the rhythm sink into his muscles. Sometimes he quietly passed the oars to Em for an hour or two and lay back in the boat to watch the clouded sky move above him, as it had moved above the gaze of every traveller before him. The days grew rhythmic too, the clunk and pull of the oars in the morning, the drifting stillness in the afternoon when they both rested their tired bodies. Often, he gazed at the dark forest and thought about death, and began to accept it. Sometimes it felt like he and Em would be caught on the river forever, never seeing the end of the Dead Forest. They ran out of food again, but didn’t speak of it.

  Finally the trees thinned, the shadows grew paler and the whispers grew softer. The east bank was giving way to flat fields dotted with stands of larch leading their eyes to a distant haze of hills, and Em and Daniel began to speak again.

  “We’ll have to travel a little further on land into the east,” Em said, “past the southern front of the Dead Forest.”

  “Bolotnik spoke of frost plains.”

  “We’ll know when we get there.” Em tugged her sleeve down over her left wrist, where Bolotn
ik’s wife had scratched her. She hadn’t complained of it, so Daniel assumed it was healing normally. Thank God. He didn’t want to contemplate continuing this journey alone. “When do you want to pull the boat in?”

  “Let’s finish the day on the river, make sure we’re entirely clear of the forest,” Daniel said, stretching his arms above his head. He felt a series of pops up his spine as his muscles decompressed. “Though I’m sick of rowing.”

  “You’ll be sick of walking again before long,” Em said.

  The boat continued downstream, and the river narrowed and the banks grew steep. Em talked about going back to the flat lands, but Daniel didn’t want to take any chances. “Perhaps one more night on the boat?” he said.

  “I suppose I can survive. I’m hungry though.”

  “Me too.” On cue, his stomach growled.

  “Perhaps we can—” Em stopped suddenly, her body erect. “Listen,” she said.

  Daniel stilled himself and listened. Voices.

  “More revenants?” Em asked.

  “It’s coming from the west bank,” said Daniel. “Not the forest.”

  “What are they saying?”

  Female voices calling out, a word here, a word there. Then, a high girlish giggle: Daniel gasped involuntarily. A sensation as warm and sweet and clinging as honey surged in his blood. Inexpressible promises lurked in that laughter.

  “Russalki,” he breathed. “Oh, Em, we’re in trouble. Whatever you do, don’t say my name.”

  Em nodded, serious. “Right, so we’re safe as long as I don’t say your name?”

  “I hope so. Can you hear what they’re saying?”

  Em shook her head. The boat slid forward, and the voices became more distinct.

  Boris!

  Vladimir!

  Zoryn! Oh, Zoryn! Laughter, like shallow water over gleaming stones.

  Eduard! Anastas! Evgeny!

  “Names?” said Em. “Are they calling out names?”

  “Men’s names,” Daniel added, “in hope that a man of that name will pass and become ensnared. Once they have your name, they’re irresistible.”

  Igor! Demyan!

  The voices promised…something he had wanted all his life, some unutterable magic thing which his skin dreamed of, some flowering painful heat which had always resided inside him but had never yet been brought to consciousness.

  “You’re okay now, right?” Em said, leaning forward with an expression of concern. “You look—”

  Daniel shook off the distraction. “I should be fine. We’ll just keep rowing, get away from this bend in the river. They haunt small sections, form communities. An hour or so downstream, we’ll be safe. I’ll be safe.”

  Florenti! Oh, Florenti, do come to me!

  Kiryl! Oleg!

  The soft voices continued, caught on a breeze and amplified between the high riverbanks. Daniel bit his lip hard. He tasted blood.

  “Let’s keep your mind occupied,” Em said. “Tell me everything you can about russalki.”

  The way ahead grew narrower, vines and overhanging branches crowding onto the water. Daniel cast his mind back to Nanny Rima’s stories.

  “They’re young, beautiful women. Usually suicides or murder victims. Behind the laughter lies a great sadness…a great angry sadness which is dangerous. They want to be loved, but they’re unpredictable. Some of the tales tell of russalki who marry men and live half the year on the land. Then they pine for the water and begin to resent their lovers and their children and drown them for spite.”

  The voices were fading behind them now, the river widening. Daniel filled his lungs with a deep, shaking breath, calm slowly restoring itself to his body. “Sounds like we’re past the worst of it.”

  Em nodded, hunching forward to warm her hands on the low fire. She looked small and pale, and Daniel thought about what she had told him, before the long silence. That she had never felt love. He had spent a long time feeling intimidated by her, but now he just felt sorry for her. For himself, too, because no matter how fond of her he grew, they had already become as close as they were ever going to be.

  “Fish,” she said softly.

  “What?”

  She sat upright, hands on the edge of the boat, peering over. “Fish. There.”

  Daniel looked where she was pointing. A school of fat silver fish were keeping pace with the boat, close to the surface.

  “Get the bucket,” Em said.

  “The toilet bucket?”

  “They’re close enough to catch. We can cook the germs off.” Em leaned forward and grabbed the oars. “Quick, they’re splitting off in the other direction.”

  Daniel seized the bucket and stood unsteadily, leaning his spare hand on the edge of the boat. “Steer me a little closer, Em.”

  Em did as he asked and he leaned out, casting the bucket into the water. The fish wisely swished away from him. He was put in mind of one of those arcade machines, where grasping the prize with the mechanical claw seemed so easy until actually put to the test. He pulled the bucket in, thought about giving up. Hunger nibbled his stomach and a second later he was trying again, leaning out as far as he safely could—

  Sylvestr!

  The clear piercing voice broke the air. A shock of surprise and desire jolted Daniel who began to pitch over.

  “Daniel!” Em called, lurching forward to grab his leg. The boat dipped dangerously close to the water.

  Daniel!

  Daniel!

  Daniel! Daniel! Daniel!

  In a moment, the woods along the bank were ringing with a dozen voices, all calling his name.

  Daniel landed with a thump back in the boat, which righted immediately. His skin prickled with fear and desire.

  “I’m sorry! God! What have I done?” cried Em as the voices rang across the water.

  Daniel, come to me!

  Daniel? Tinkling laughter, the most desirable thing he’d ever heard. Searing desire bloomed again, more intense this time. His body was a slave to it; his skin prickled from his scalp to his toes, heat rushed to his groin, making his balls ache and his cock grow hard.

  “Em…” he started, fear chasing the desire.

  “Don’t listen to them,” she said. “Put your fingers in your ears.”

  Em’s voice was growing indistinct. A sharp hot nausea overwhelmed him, dragging at his stomach, plucking his skin. The only thing he could think of which would relieve the discomfort was to plunge into the water. He imagined that the moment his body hit the water, he would experience an instant orgasm, more powerful than an Atlantic current.

  “Sit down!” Em ordered, pushing his shoulders. He hadn’t even realised he was standing. She forced him onto the floor of the boat, tearing off her fur cloak and wrapping it around his head. “Don’t listen to them, listen to silence.”

  The russalki voices were muted now. She had wrapped his ears in fur, was pulling his cloak off him to make a second layer which she draped over his head. Darkness and muffled quiet descended. He breathed, screwing his nose at the rank smell of the fur. Far off, far off…

  Daniel!

  Dozens of them, quiet as butterfly wings on a still day, but there all the same. He pulled his hands up against his face, bit into his palms. The boat was moving swiftly. Em was rowing hard. He stayed under the dark quiet and tried to focus on other sounds. His own breathing, his rapid heart. All over his body, the waves of hot and cold ran. Whenever that faint whisper of his name hushed past his ears, a longing more inexorable than death pulled at him, chilling his skin, filling his mind with visions of lips and breasts and warm wet places to plunge into.

  Em kicked him, said something he couldn’t quite hear. She thrust his hands over his ears, and all he heard was ringing silence.

  She kicked him again a few moments later. Then she was pulling the furs off him.

  “They’ve stopped,” she said.

  Daniel took a gulp of fresh air. All he could hear now in the woods were distant birds. Relief spread through him.
>
  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I think so. A bit shook up.”

  “I’m sorry.” She indicated the water. “We lost our toilet.”

  The mundanity of her complaint cut through his befuddled state. “Do you need it right now?”

  Em shook her head. “I can last. I think we should stay aboard for another day at least, make sure we’re well and truly out of russalki territory.”

  Daniel took the oars. “Let’s move fast. The more distance I put between them and me, the better.” The boat slid quickly through the water, and Daniel felt a sense of loss which grew sadder with each oar stroke. He pulled further and further away from unutterable pleasures, beyond the dreams of any man, and never to be offered again.

  Three hours past the russalki, Em knew it was her turn to row. How, then, was she to tell Daniel she couldn’t? That the wound inflicted by Bolotnik’s wife was agonisingly hot and, she was fairly certain, festering with slow-moving poison? Escaping the cries of the russalki had hurt her, pulled the wound open afresh as she’d rowed as hard as she could. She had to rest it.

  “Can we drift for a while?” she said to him. “I’m tired.”

  “I’ll keep rowing then.”

  “No, take a break. We haven’t heard any voices for hours. I’m sure we’re in safe waters again.”

  Daniel dropped the oars and they drifted slowly. Em pressed her palm discreetly over the wound; the pressure relieved some of the boiling ache. Half an hour passed, and Daniel was about to pick up the oars again when the boat became suddenly still.

  Em sat up and peered into the water. “That’s odd. The current is still moving.”

  Daniel lifted the oars and pulled hard. They barely moved a foot.

  “What’s happening?” Em said.

  An eerie rhythm echoed between the banks, wood knocking on water, water sucking against the current. In front of her, their magic ring of fire flickered and went out. Then the boat began moving upstream, back the way they came.

  “Bolotnik,” said Daniel. “He’s found out what we did to his wife.”

  “Holy shit!” Em cried as the boat began speeding upstream. “He’s recalled the boat. What do we do?”

  “Jump. Before we’re back among the russalki.” He was already climbing to his feet. The boat was skimming fast now, almost without touching the water.