by Kim Wilkins
Silence reigned for a few moments between them, as the wind shivered over the grass.
“What do we do?” Em asked at last.
Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Em considered the statue. “She has a kind face,” she said, and reached out to brush the statue’s cheek with the back of her hand.
Ah!
A gasp, the sudden exhalation of a long-held breath. Colour flooded into the statue’s face and her eyes fluttered open.
Em jumped back. Daniel yelped in fear.
“Ha! Fooled you!” the old woman cackled, raising her hands in delight.
Daniel was backing away.
“No, no. Don’t run. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Em caught Daniel’s wrist and held him next to her. “Who are you?”
“I don’t know,” the woman said. “I don’t have a name, but I can whistle a merry tune. Listen.” With a quick breath, she launched into a Russian folk tune which Em half-recognised. It was an eerie note in the grey darkness, and she could feel Daniel pulling on her hand.
“We should go,” he said. “We don’t know what she’ll do to us.”
“I won’t do anything to you!” the old woman protested. “Ha! Why are you so afraid of me?”
Em offered the woman a smile. “You resemble somebody Daniel once knew.”
“Yes, yes, of course I do. I stole her face out of his memory as you were coming down the slope. Neither of you could bear to look at me otherwise. Polevoi aren’t known for their beauty.”
Em looked at Daniel, who nodded. “Polevoi. Field spirit,” he said. “Mostly harmless.”
“Of course I’m harmless. I told you that. What was the woman’s name?” the polevoi asked.
“Nanny Rima,” Daniel replied.
“Then that name will suit me just fine, thank you.” She reached out to grasp Daniel’s hand. Her gnarled knuckles squeezed his fingers tight. “Dear boy.”
Daniel started to smile, then checked himself. “Where are we?” he asked.
“In the middle of a grass plain.”
“We need food and clean water,” Em said. “We have nothing to offer you in return for your help.”
Rima waved her hand. “Ah, I want nothing from you. I’d like to help. Follow me.” She turned and headed north-west.
Em and Daniel exchanged glances.
“Your call,” Em said.
“I think we should follow her,” Daniel said.
“Okay.”
They fell into step just behind her, as she started whistling the melancholy tune again. Em allowed herself to hope, just a little, that they might soon have a warm meal in front of them.
The tune quivered away to nothing. Rima sighed and said, “That one always makes me sad.”
“It’s beautiful,” Em said. “Do you live nearby?”
“I live right here,” Rima said. “Wherever I am is where I live.”
“So you’re not taking us to a house?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“I know where to find food and wood for a fire, and I know a crystal stream of pure, clear water by a shady grove.” Her voice grew almost rapturous. “You just follow me.”
“How well do you know this area, then?” Daniel asked.
“It’s inscribed in my heart. I’m part of it.” She slowed so that Em and Daniel were forced to walk beside her. She smiled a grandmotherly smile. “You want more than food and water, don’t you?”
“We want to get home,” Em said. “Home to Mir. We have two options: either we find the Snow Witch—”
“The Snow Witch!”
“You know of her?”
“Yes, yes. She’s the most important person in Skazki. They say that her death would bring about the ruin of us all.” Rima clicked her tongue. “Oh, the Snow Witch! I know of her!”
“We need to find her,” Daniel said.
“Impossible. You’re in the wrong land.”
“The wrong land?”
“You’d need to find a crossing.”
“That’s our other option. Find a crossing and use it to get back to Mir.”
Rima shook her head. “Well, you can’t simply tell a crossing where you’d like it to go. It will take you where it wants to take you.”
“What do you mean?”
“They cross each other all over the place, between all the lands, between Skazki and Mir. Too complicated to explain, I’m afraid.”
“Try me,” Em said, keeping the exasperation out of her voice.
“It’s all right, though, because you’re in luck. I know where there’s a crossing nearby, direct to Mir, no complications.”
Relief flooded through her. She heard Daniel sigh.
“Really?” Em said.
“Yes, yes. I’m not lying. Not lying even a little.”
“Can you take us there?”
“I’m taking you there now. A few hours. Maybe a little more. Just follow me.” She lifted her face to the sky and sniffed the air. “You know, there’s rain coming. Clouds closing in.” She turned and gave them a shadowy smile. “Stay by me, won’t you?”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rosa raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and considered the man in front of her. He was very tall, dressed in black trousers and a peasant smock knotted at the hips. He had long grey hair tied loosely at his neck, a full grey beard and a large, hooked nose. It was impossible to tell his age. He resembled a man of seventy, except for his eyes which betrayed centuries of knowledge: they were a peculiar grey-blue colour, very pale and with small pupils. Wolf’s eyes, she thought, right before recognition swiped her.
“Oh,” she said.
He gave her a wolfish smile. “You know me, don’t you?”
“I’ve seen photographs.”
“Pah, cameras! I wish they’d never been invented. I once had anonymity. Though I suppose you think I’ve aged?”
“Not as much as you should have,” she laughed.
“There are many impossible things here, Rosa.” He held out his hand and she took it boldly. “Call me Papa Grigory,” he said, gently tugging her hand. “Come.”
“Thank you, Papa Grigory.”
He led her over the threshold and into a neat one-room cottage. The area was large, with a gleaming coloured stove, a rough-hewn table, faded rugs and a huge wooden bed. The room smelled of lavender and dust. Sitting at the table, drawing with the deformed stump of a crayon, was a little girl of about six years old.
“Hello,” Rosa said as the little girl looked up.
The child peered at her from under suspicious brows. Her eyes were dark, her hair chestnut brown. She had thin wrists, dark shadows under her eyes, pale skin, and an oddly swollen throat. She looked ill, and the wheezy coughing fit that followed confirmed it.
Papa Grigory was unperturbed by the cough. “Rosa, this is my little girl. Her name is Totchka. Totchka, say hello.”
Totchka caught her breath and, unsmiling, said, “Hello, Rosa.”
“Good girl. That’s my good girl,” said Grigory, smoothing the child’s hair. “Now, I have to talk to Rosa. Why don’t you go outside and play with your seashells?”
Totchka grudgingly pushed her chair back and climbed to her feet. “Don’t leave the light,” Grigory said. “Stay in the garden. It’s wet out there.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, lifting a bucket of seashells which sat by the door and wandering out into the garden.
“I collected them on the shores of the Mediterranean,” Grigory said, turning to Rosa. “I never knew they’d be so useful. She spends hours with them pretending to be at the seaside, spotting imaginary boats. I wish I could take her to the sea, give her real details to fill her imagination.”
“Can’t you?”
He shook his head sadly and indicated she should sit. “Totchka can’t leave Skazki. She would die.”
“Skazki?”
“That is where you are.”
Rosa took a seat. “And I came f
rom…?”
“Mir.”
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “How do you know who I am?”
“The bear. I’ve been alert to all three of you since she chose you.”
Rosa’s heart leapt. “Daniel? He’s still alive?”
“Oh yes. Lost, exhausted, but still alive. His friend Em, too. She’s a wily one.”
Sweet relief in her veins. Daniel was alive.
Grigory wandered over to the kitchen bench. “Have you eaten anything since your adventure started?”
“Only a volkhv,” she said.
He laughed as he sliced bread and cheese. “Not very tasty, I imagine.”
“Bitter,” Rosa said as he placed a plate of food on the table and sat across from her. “Thank you.”
“I expect you have questions.”
Rosa took a slice of bread. “About a million. I don’t even know where to start. I need to find Daniel.”
“I want you to find Daniel, too, and I will help you. It will be simple, and you must bring him and the Golden Bear back here. He has set himself on a perilous path. He believes he must take the Golden Bear to the Snow Witch.”
“Who’s the Snow Witch?”
“Only the most hideous and dangerous creature in all of Skazki.” His voice dropped to a low rumble and his pupils contracted to pinpoints. His hands moved nervously on the tabletop. “If the Snow Witch should catch Daniel, she will fill his mind with icy nightmares until his brain turns on itself in distress. She will drink his blood because she likes the taste of his fear. She will split open his white chest and feast on his ardent heart. Fear her, Rosa. She is a monster.”
A wave of fear for Daniel swept over her. “Daniel doesn’t know this?”
“He’s defenceless against her.” Papa Grigory smiled, his mood changing suddenly, sending deep lines arrowing from his eyes. “You aren’t to worry, I’m certain he will be safe. You’ll find him before she does.” He rose again, full of some nervous energy which couldn’t endure inertia. He opened the stove and poked the embers, scratched at a carbon smudge on the painted tiles.
Rosa finished eating and brushed crumbs from her fingers. She turned to the window, and watched Totchka through the thick panes. The little girl was hunched over her bucket at the very edge of the sunlight’s circle, laying out shells in neat rows.
“Is she from Mir?” Rosa asked.
Grigory walked to the window and looked out. “Yes. I saved her from a cruel illness. Ninety years ago.”
Rosa told herself not to be surprised. This was a land of impossibilities. “She’s still a child?”
Grigory turned and leaned his back against the window. “Yes, she’s still a child. She will always remain a child, because she was fated to die as a child. In Skazki, her own death can’t find her.”
“And what is her own death?”
“Diphtheria. Like her mother and brothers. A poor family living in a basement near Moika Canal in St Petersburg. If I hadn’t happened by, that death would have found her. Now you see why she can’t go back to Mir.”
Rosa considered this, and a glimmer of an idea began to sing to her. “Is it…can my death find me here?”
Grigory shook his head. “No, Rosa. The only death that can find you here is a death not-your-own.”
The room seemed to pulse with light. A burden, too long laid across her heart, grew light. It can’t find me here. The future was suddenly filled with possibilities.
“Rosa?”
She looked up at Grigory, who had moved to stand beside her. “Sit down,” she said, smiling. “You’re making me nervous.”
He eased into his chair, but his fingertips still moved, brushing delicate arabesques on the table. “Rosa, if the Snow Witch gets the Golden Bear, terrible things will happen.”
“What terrible things?”
“All the horrors of Skazki will be released into Mir. Leshii will stalk the highways, fire demons will descend on the cities, witches and wizards will travel wherever they please and indulge their hideous appetites. From Russia they will find their way to every curve of the globe. Nobody will be safe in Mir. There are only twenty-seven volkhvy to watch the crossings. Twenty-seven men against an army of monsters! It cannot be allowed to happen.”
The bee buzzed and bumped in her stomach. She laid her hand across her belly and said, “Shh, Anatoly. I can’t concentrate.”
“He is frantic because he knows it is true.” Grigory leaned forward and placed a gentle hand over Rosa’s fingers. She felt herself trapped in his powerful, unwavering gaze. “All of Mir’s hopes rest with you, Rosa Kovalenka. You must intercept Daniel and Em and take the bear back to Mir. Hide her where nobody will ever find her.”
“Of course,” she said. “Of course I’ll do it. I’ll leave now, if you tell me which way to go.”
“Tomorrow,” he said, “at first light. There are preparations to be made, and you should rest and eat well. Skazki is a harsh land. Nobody should wander into it without due caution.”
“Fine. Whatever you say,” she said. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”
Night turned into morning, and morning grew into daylight, and Em and Daniel were still following Nanny Rima through the nothingness. The sky was leaden. Although Daniel was glad it wasn’t raining, the clouds obscured any light from the sun. Direction was meaningless; north could be anywhere. The road to forever was a sea of long grass, sealed to a sweep of dark-grey sky. It seemed they were inside rather than outside, in a vast enclosed space from which there was no escape.
“How far now, Rima?” he asked. He was trying to be on his guard around the polevoi, but this was proving difficult. Nanny Rima was one of his fondest memories, and the creature leading them looked identical. Except for the odd, birdlike eyes.
“Not far.”
Em sighed and stopped. “I need to rest.”
Daniel turned to her. “You can’t go any further?”
“She’s been saying ‘not far’ for hours.”
“I’m not lying to you!” Rima said. “It’s not far. It’s not my problem if Mir bodies feel the distance more than Skazki bodies.”
Em looked pointedly at Daniel. “A short rest. Please.”
Rima nodded, suddenly sympathetic. “Of course, little one. Of course you can rest, poor girl.”
Em lowered herself carefully, and Daniel sat with her. As soon as stillness hit him, he wondered how he was ever going to stand up again. His thighs trembled and his heart gasped in relief. Rima paced around them in a circle, whistling melancholy tunes and chattering.
“I’ve just remembered that on the way to the Mir crossing, there’s a field of wild mushrooms! Won’t they be delicious? Wonderful rabbit hunting there, too. You know, I can charm a rabbit into my hands.” She crouched and feigned an elaborate beckoning gesture. “We’ll split him open, stuff him with mushrooms and roast him until his flesh is so tender it falls off the bone.”
Daniel realised he was salivating.
“And a crystal stream, water so sweet you’d swear it had honey in it. Honey! Of course, there are wild bees on the way. In a wood just a little way from here. We’ll stop and eat honey.” She clapped her hands together. “What a feast we’ll have!”
“It sounds wonderful, Rima,” Daniel said. “How far do you think? In miles?”
She turned her bird eyes on him, blinked once. “What are miles?”
He and Em exchanged glances.
“How many hours then?” Em asked.
“As many as it takes. Not long. By nightfall, certainly.”
“Let’s get going,” Em said, struggling to her feet.
“But, Em, you’re tired,” said Daniel.
“I’m tired of being in Skazki. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get home.”
The day gave way to evening, the stars hid behind the thick layer of clouds. Em was slow, walking with difficulty. Daniel held her elbow and tried to help her along, and was startled by the narrow distance across the back of her arm. Every time he w
hispered to her that she should rest, she drew her mouth into a line and shook her head and said, “It’ll be worth it. We’ll eat, we’ll find a crossing.”
Rima clucked about slow walkers making the journey too long, but nothing could hasten Em’s steps.
But then, somewhere in the darkest wedge of night, Em stopped.
“Em?” Daniel asked.
She was standing stock still, staring at the ground. Her shoulders were shaking.
“Em,” he said again, panicking. “Are you all right?”
Rima had stopped too, and was standing back with a half-smile on her face.
Em looked up, her eyes glittering in the dark. “I’ve seen this rock before.”
“What?”
“This rock,” she said, jabbing her finger towards the ground. “I’ve seen it before. She’s leading us in circles!”
“Oh no! No!” Rima cried. “It’s not true. All rocks look alike, it’s dark. I’m not leading you in circles. I’m leading you towards home and comfort.”
Daniel’s attention flicked from one woman to the other. “Are you sure, Em?”
“Of course I’m sure. I never forget anything. I have seen this rock before. We passed here in the early afternoon. She’s led us in a big circle.”
“I have not! You’re the one who’s making this journey hard. You’re too slow. You always have to stop to drink from puddles, and now you’re going crazy with tiredness and hunger. It’s a different rock.”
“And look!” said Em, warming to her subject now. “The grass here is bent. Somebody has walked here recently. Us!”
“The wind bends the grass. Walk five feet in any direction and you’ll see bent grass, and other rocks.” Rima turned to Daniel. “Tell her she’s seeing things. I’m trying to help you.”
Daniel wavered. Ordinarily he’d trust Em, but she looked sick and shaky. The polevoi had promised them the two things they wanted most in the world: sustenance and a way home. It would be foolish to get her off-side if Em’s exhaustion was making her hysterical.
“I think we need to rest,” he said cautiously.
“No,” moaned Rima. “No rest. Keep going and we’ll be there. Soon.”
He shook his head. “Em’s going to have to sleep.”
Rima snapped her fingers. “I’ll show you. I’ll go on ahead and find some mushrooms and bring them back for you to taste. Then you’ll see I’m not lying.”
