Rosa and the Veil of Gold

by Kim Wilkins

  “What sort of question—” started the wife.

  “I’m from Mir,” Em said. “Are you from Mir, too?”

  The woman inched close to the man and felt for his hand. Em took their silence as confirmation.

  “Please help me. I’m like you,” she said. “My name is Em.”

  “I’m Mirra,” the woman said cautiously. “This is my husband Artur and our son Slava. We can’t help you.”

  “Please. My friend Daniel…he’s unconscious, enchanted by russalki. I’ve hidden him as best I can, but I’m afraid a leshii will find him and I just want to bring him somewhere warm where he can recover—”

  “Stop, stop,” said Artur. “Why should we help you? You would bring us into danger, and you offer us nothing in return.”

  “What can I offer you?”

  “Gold.”

  “I thought only the enchanted creatures wanted gold.”

  “So they do, and we have to deal with them,” Mirra said.

  Em thought about the bear, tucked away in the woods. Was it possible to cut off the bear’s nose, or her foot, or some small portion of her? What if the Snow Witch only valued her intact? No, if anybody was going to be mauled for gold, it was going to be Em.

  She had one gold filling and crown, her second-to-last molar on the left of her jaw.

  “Do you have any gold?” Artur was asking.

  She looked at him clutching his wife’s hand, the firelight creating unnatural shadows in the hollows where his eyes should have been. Daniel, unconscious and alone, needed her help.

  “Yes, I have,” she said. “But it might be hard to get to.”

  Without even a swig of brandy to dull the edges of her pain receptors, Em was duly handed a pair of rusted pliers and told to remove the tooth.

  Using her index finger, she carefully felt along her jaw line, counting the teeth with her fingertip to make sure she had the right one. Then she inserted the pliers and fastened them around the tooth. Sour metal and dirt. She closed her eyes. She was cold, exhausted, hungry. She wanted to weep. She braced herself.

  She couldn’t do it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, removing the pliers so they could hear her, “but you’ll have to do it for me.”

  “I can’t see to do it,” Artur said, suspicious that she would renege on their deal.

  “If I line the pliers up on the right tooth, all you have to do is pull.”

  “Slava,” Artur barked to the young man. “Give up your chair for the lady.”

  “Better if you do it with her lying down,” Mirra suggested, “then I can hold her head.”

  This was a nightmare. Em’s thighs trembled as she lowered herself to the hard, soot-streaked floorboards. Once again she found the tooth and attached the pliers, then she guided Artur’s fingers to the handles.

  Mirra’s hard hands closed over Em’s forehead, pinning her head to the ground. She wanted to entreat Artur to do it quickly, but couldn’t speak with the pliers in her mouth. The sight of him, pink hollows under his brows, grim-faced in the firelight, made her close her eyes and wish for the pain to be over quickly.

  He pulled. Em bit back a shout of pain. He pulled harder, and she felt the tooth loosen. Her jaw was reluctant to let it go. Hot spirals of pain rushed up her cheek and into her skull. Even her eye sockets ached. One more wrench and the tooth came free, sucking from its socket with a shuddering creak. Em tasted blood, her tongue instinctively moving to the hole to apply pressure.

  “There!” Artur said. “Now, Mirra, show this to Slava. I need his good eye to confirm this is really gold.”

  Em sat up, both hands pressed hard against her jaw. The pain was white hot, and her head throbbed sharply. Mirra clutched the tooth in her right hand, opening her palm to Slava. Em had thought him brainless, but his eye fixed keenly on the tooth.

  “Shiny, shiny,” he said. “Shiny gold.”

  Mirra snatched it from his grasping fingers and he moaned and cried and rocked back and forth again. Mirra turned an apologetic smile to Em. “He’ll be quiet soon,” she said. “We try to ignore him when he’s noisy.”

  Em was in too much pain to care about the noise. Her eyes watered and she couldn’t stand up. Slowly, slowly, it began to dull, leaving her with a hot ache stretched across her jaw.

  “Where is this friend of yours hidden?” Artur was saying, and Em realised he had taken his bearskin coat off a hook and was shrugging into it.

  “I can show you,” she said, then realised that she couldn’t travel. She was bone-weary, in pain, stricken with hunger and the unrelenting cold of her blood. “Or you can follow my path back there,” she said. “I twisted grass, I left stacks of stones. I…” She hung her head. “I can’t go another step.”

  Artur tapped Slava on the shoulder. “Get up, boy. Go out and bring the horse and cart round. Young woman, if you give us the directions and tell us exactly where this friend of yours is, we’ll go fetch him. You stay here with Mirra. She’ll make you food and give you a warm place to rest.”

  “Thank you,” Em managed.

  Within minutes, Artur and Slava had left, Em’s directions carefully memorised. Mirra served up a steaming dish of rabbit stew and Em, despite her sore mouth, ate it gratefully. She sat on the floor next to the fire, her skin hopeful though her heart knew the heat wouldn’t reach into her, while Mirra sat in the chair and mended socks. Her fingers found holes, threaded needles, made neat stitches all without the assistance of her eyes.

  “How long have you all been blind?” Em asked.

  “That would be a long and unpleasant story,” Mirra said, lips drawn so tight that her hairy chin puckered. “You should rest.”

  “I can’t. I mean, I can’t sleep. If I did…” Em was almost too tired to form sentences. “I can listen. You could tell me your story. I must stay awake.”

  Mirra sighed and put her mending aside. She rubbed her knuckles and shook her head sadly. “Do you think it’s better to be alive and miserable than to be dead?” she asked.

  Em thought about Morozko’s touch, and how it had saved her life but filled her veins with frost. “I think so,” Em said. “Where are you from?”

  “From Mir, as you guessed. We have been living here for sixty years now. We were originally from Chechnya, but in 1944 Stalin had our whole village sent to Siberia. Other communities went too. There were thousands of us in exile.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “Many of us exiled Mir folk came across. We’re common in this part of Skazki. One hundred miles out of Irkutsk, there is a crossing.”

  “A crossing?”

  “Through the veil. There are twenty-seven crossings dotted over Russia. The thrice-nine lands of Skazki.”

  “So you’re saying there are twenty-seven ways out of here?”

  “Yes. If you can find them, if you have sufficient magic to cross the veil.”

  Em was excited now. Maybe they didn’t need the Snow Witch. “What do they look like? Is there one nearby?”

  “About eighty miles north of here, right on the eastern edge of the Dead Forest. It’s where we first entered Skazki.”

  Despite all her physical discomforts, Em was beginning to hope again. Eighty miles: she could be there in under a week.

  “They’re difficult to see,” Mirra continued. “Impossible for me, of course. Best to see them at night, when the colours are brightest. Or if you have magic in your eyes: the second sight.”

  As soon as Daniel was back, she could make her way up there. Perhaps she could persuade Artur to part with his horse and cart. She had no more gold, but maybe she wouldn’t need the bear.

  “Many people, many good people came through that entrance when we did,” Mirra said, her voice dropping sadly.

  Em tapped her forehead. What was she thinking? Of course she needed the bear. Magic for the crossing. Then how else could she get the horse and cart? Steal it? If only Daniel was here, awake and alert and able to help. He’d know something for sure. He understood
all about this enchanted logic.

  Em glanced up. An expectant silence hung in the air. Mirra must have asked a question. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Em said.

  “You were silent a long time. I thought you might have fallen asleep.”

  “No, no. I shouldn’t sleep. Mirra, if there are so many crossings back to Mir, why hasn’t anyone told us before? Everyone we spoke to said there was no way back.”

  “Leshii? Vodyanoy? Witches? They don’t want you to go back. They want to hunt you.”

  Em leaned forward eagerly. “Tell me your story. You came here sixty years ago?” She pushed aside her tiredness and focused intently on Mirra’s tale, in case it contained more vital information.

  “Give or take a few years. We came because we were starving to death in Mir, and because Slava was sick and dying. We were told that your own death couldn’t find you here, and we gave everything we had—except our horse—to a local volkhv to help us cross. We had a daughter then, a tiny girl of three.

  “The volkhv was sending people over in their hundreds, getting very rich no doubt. We arrived and spread out, grateful for the milder weather, the possibility of living long, long lives. Friends of ours went west immediately, in search of water. They survived two hours in the Dead Forest. We heard their cries as they were slaughtered. We learned very quickly to stay away from the woods, then to stay away from the water. We learned very quickly there was, in fact, nowhere safe for us. We built our house here and huddled inside it and hoped for the best.

  “Slava had been dying of a stomach ailment, but almost as soon as we arrived he grew stronger. Or at least, he grew no worse. For that, we had to be happy. We had our lives, we had a roof over our heads and woods to hunt in. We had our freedom. Or so we thought, because we hadn’t reckoned on Egibinicha.

  “That’s how she introduced herself, but I know now that she has many names, all of them evil. A witch, foul to look upon, a heart woven of snakes and a soul formed of flies. She killed and ate my daughter.” Mirra hung her head and the firelight glowed against her grey-streaked hair. “Without eyes, I can shed no tears for her.”

  Em let the silence sit for a while, gently massaging her jaw. The pain was constant but dull. The quiet crackle of the fire was soothing. Outside, rain fell, its rhythmic pattering restful. She feared sleep, so she prompted Mirra to keep talking. “How did you lose your eyes?”

  “Egibinicha took them. First mine, one at a time. Payment, she said, for allowing us to live. These woods belong to her, and all that dare to live in them must make the payments she asks for. In return, we can hunt the woods, and she protects us from the leshii.”

  “She takes payment in eyes?”

  Mirra shook her head. “Not just eyes. All manner of things. She took our eyes when we displeased her. We try very hard not to displease her. She left Slava with one eye so he could continue to hunt, but the pain and the distress of losing his other sent him mad.”

  Em stood up and paced.

  “Are you worried for your friend?” Mirra asked.

  She stole a long glance at Mirra’s face, the way the firelight made deformed shadows in the hollows under her eyebrows. “I’m worried I’ll fall asleep,” Em said. “My friend and I are under an enchantment. If we sleep at the same time, we could wake up anywhere.”

  “Who put you under this enchantment?”

  “I’m not sure. Have you ever heard of the Snow Witch?”

  Mirra frowned. “No. But witches are to be feared greatly.”

  Em shook her arms and stretched them over her head. All her nerves and muscles were singing to her to lie down. Sleep, sleep. Mirra fell silent and Em paced, making plans and calculations. Eighty miles north, on the edge of the Dead Forest, there was a crossing between Skazki and Mir. It made much more sense to forget about the Snow Witch, and head for the exit. She’d still have to bring the bear, of course. It was the enchanted ticket to enable them to cross. She allowed the fog of despair to lift. Daniel might be better in a few days, and they would be well-fed before they set out. They could make it. She glanced at Mirra. The woman was nodding into her chest, and Em didn’t want to disturb her, but being inside the sleeping house with its soothing sounds was a danger to her. She left the gloomy room behind her, and went out into the cold rain to wait.

  They would be hours yet, but she feared nothing from the cold, and the discomfort would ensure she didn’t drift off unexpectedly. She sat with her back leaning against the front door, gazing out across the misted fields. The door creaked open behind her and Mirra stuck her head out.

  “Em?” she called.

  “I’m right here,” said Em, tugging the hem of the woman’s skirt.

  “You don’t want me to make a bed for you?”

  “No. I have to stay awake.”

  “You’ll freeze out here in the rain.”

  “No, I won’t.” Em stood and ushered Mirra back inside. “Go to bed. I’ll be fine. I’ll wait here for them to return.”

  The insistent rhythm of the rain, hour after hour, took its toll on her wakefulness. Despite intense discomfort, her body kept crying for inertia. Em wouldn’t give in. She paced and, when pacing became soporific, she recited television scripts. She might have been amused by the situation, under other circumstances: pacing in the rain in Russian fairyland, talking to nobody about the sex lives of North Sea puffins. But exhaustion had dulled her sense of humour along with all her other wits. Two nights without sleep, and who knew how many more she had to endure. As long as Daniel was unconscious, she had to stay awake.

  Daylight was just a shade away when the cart finally became visible. Em walked out to greet them.

  Artur and Slava had oilskin cloaks on, but Daniel was curled, still unconscious, under his sodden fur in the cart. Artur sat in the back with him.

  “Has he woken at all?” she asked Artur.

  “I cannot see to know,” he replied, as Em jogged along beside him. “I didn’t feel him stir. Ask Slava.”

  “Slava?” she said, turning her attention to the younger man, who was on horseback. “Has he stirred? Has he opened his eyes?”

  “Once, a little,” Slava said. “Once, a little. Once, a little.” He repeated the phrase over and over, stuck in a senseless loop.

  Once. A little.

  Em knew, then—she knew—that this would work out. Daniel was coming up. As soon as he did, she could seize a few hours’ sleep and they could be on their way. To the exit, just eighty miles north of here.

  Slava pulled the horse and cart around the back of the cottage, and he and Artur carried Daniel inside. The rain had eased, and the sky was brightening.

  Mirra woke when they arrived, and she helped Em with Daniel while Artur and Slava curled up on a mattress and slept. Em was grateful for the activity. Hope had given her a second wind. They stripped Daniel of his wet clothes, and Em hung them with his fur outside, under the narrow eaves. The drizzle still misted over the clothes, but Em hoped that the rising sun would soon burn through the clouds and dry them.

  Mirra brought blankets, and they wrapped Daniel and dragged him close to the fire. Mirra poured off a little broth from the previous night’s stew, and Em sat Daniel in her arms and tried to get a few drops down his throat. He stirred, grunted, drank a mouthful, then lapsed back into unconsciousness.

  Very promising.

  “Have you heard of an enchantment like this before, Mirra?” Em asked, as she settled Daniel once again, smoothing his hair from his sleeping brow.

  “I’m not certain.” Mirra sat back and turned her blind face to Em. “Russalki did it to him, you say?”

  “Russalki.”

  “Then you have little to fear. They meant to drown him, I suppose. They only wanted him to sleep long enough that he couldn’t escape the water. He will come out of it eventually.”

  “How soon?”

  Mirra shrugged. “There is no way of knowing.”

  Em rubbed her eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

  Mirr
a reached out, feeling for Em’s hand. Em thought that it might be a gesture of affection, but Mirra squeezed her fingers so hard it hurt. “You have been treated lightly by Skazki,” she said, her voice growing bitter. “Do not complain to me of sleep.” Then she released Em’s hand and stood up. “I go to fetch water.”

  “I’ll come with you. I need to keep busy.”

  “As you wish.”

  Em filled the day labouring with Mirra—fetching water, uprooting vegetables from a scrawny patch behind the shed, bringing in wood for the fire, feeding and watering the horse—and every time she entered the house, she hoped she would see Daniel sitting up, eating soup and ready for action. When she asked Slava if Daniel had stirred again, he went back into his “once, a little” loop. Artur said he’d heard Daniel mutter something incoherent, but nothing else.

  For Em, all her physical discomforts had blurred into each other. She was tired because she was cold, she was cold because her jaw ached, her jaw ached because she was tired. Weariness was lead in her veins, and had robbed her of all precision of speech and movement. She longed for oblivion, but clung stubbornly to wakefulness.

  Daniel stirred around nightfall. He muttered something in English, and it had been so long since Em had heard the language that she couldn’t make sense of it. Then his eyelids fluttered once, and he fell back under.

  It must be soon. It must be soon.

  Phrases got stuck on repeat in her head, until she was nearly as asinine as Slava. She was a zombie, barely able to go through the motions, dropping her food and bumping her elbows on walls.

  Day flickered out, night relaxed into place. The fields outside were dark under clear skies, and all her hosts were sleeping quietly inside. Em walked around and around outside the house, fighting sleep. As soon as Daniel was awake, she could rest. Then they’d have to be on their way. Eighty miles north. Eighty miles north.