Anya and the Nightingale

by Sofiya Pasternack

  “Okay,” Ivan said while they waited. “This road goes south to Kiev. We have to cross the Dnieper once we get there, but they have plenty of ferries. We might even catch a boat in Kiev and go south that way. We’ll go faster.”

  “Into Rûm?” Anya asked.

  “It’s called Patzinakia where the Pechenegs are,” Ivan said. “I tried to grab a map, but that’s when Shestka asked what I was doing, and I ran.”

  Anya snorted. She hadn’t even thought to bring a map.

  A splash, and then Håkon slid out of the river, shaking the glittering water off himself. He half slithered, half crawled to them.

  “Hey!” he whispered. “Did you get what you needed?”

  “No.” Ivan sighed. “We didn’t get a map.”

  “That’s . . .” Håkon bobbed his head. “A problem.”

  Anya started down the road. “We can find one somewhere.”

  “And buy it?” Håkon asked. “Did you bring money?”

  Anya hadn’t—she didn’t have any money to bring—but Ivan said, “I brought about twenty rubles. It was all I had.”

  “That works,” Anya said, and the three of them set off down the road toward Rûm.

  Chapter Nine

  They walked on the road under the rising moon. Every few steps, Ivan would thump at the ground with his staff. Håkon, unencumbered with a bag at all, took time to investigate every tree they passed, every little puddle, every mound of dirt. The last time Håkon had been out of the village had been as a baby, before Kin brought him to Zmeyreka. And outside of his home’s ravine, he stayed in the river as much as possible. The freedom to inspect the road and trees kept him occupied for a while, but then he tired of this constant inspection and slithered between Anya and Ivan. “How long are we going to walk? I’m getting tired.”

  Anya was tired too, but she didn’t think it was smart to stop so close to the village. Once they exited the southern end of the valley, she’d be more open to stopping. Plus, there were caves down there, and they could use one to stay warm in.

  She relayed her plan to Ivan and Håkon, and they agreed. They trudged on the packed-dirt road, breath pluming in front of them as they went. The sky was clear and crisp; distant stars blazed in the cold night. Marching down the road was keeping Anya warm, with the exception of the tip of her nose. By the time they got to the southern end of the valley and found a cave that would fit all three of them, the tips of her ears throbbed and her nose was numb.

  Inside, the cave was mostly level. Anya and Ivan kicked rocks away to make a relatively smooth area to lie down on.

  Ivan stuck his hands on his hips and said, “Okay, Håkon. Make a fire and we’ll try to get some rest.”

  “Make a fire on what?” the dragon asked. “Some rocks?”

  Ivan waved his hand at the floor, then out of the cave toward the trees. “A pile of wood, of course!”

  Håkon squinted at Ivan. Anya said, “I’m too tired to get any wood. We can all just lie next to each other. Håkon can keep us warm.”

  They tossed their bags to the ground, and Anya set her bow and quiver carefully atop them. They both hunched next to Håkon, who was comfortably warm even after the long trek. She pulled Håkon’s blanket out of his backpack and draped it around the three of them as much as possible.

  As soon as Anya sat, she shut her eyes. She was exhausted. But her shivering kept her awake. She burrowed up next to Håkon’s warm side, willing his warmth to soak through her coat and down to her skin. It would eventually.

  “We’ll rest for the night,” Anya said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “In the morning, we’ll go as far as we can, until we get to Kiev.”

  “Sounds good,” Håkon said.

  Ivan just nodded.

  Anya tried to go to sleep. She stared at the cave mouth for who-knew-how-long instead, thinking. She couldn’t let Håkon go all the way to Rûm with her. South of Kievan Rus’ was a dangerous place. And Håkon wasn’t exactly subtle, with his ruby-red scales and twisting horns. Someone would stab him before she could explain that he was nice.

  She swallowed hard. Last summer, she had decided that a dragon’s life was worth the same as a human’s. She had killed a human in order to save a dragon. Sure, Sigurd had stabbed himself with the magical dagger, but she had wanted him to die. That had been enough.

  There was no way she was going to let that sacrifice go to waste.

  Maybe in the next couple of nights, she could wait for Håkon to go to sleep and then she and Ivan could leave him behind. For his own safety.

  Håkon shifted as he lifted his head up. He was staring, eyes hard and wide, toward the rear of the cave.

  “Anya,” he whispered.

  “What?” she whispered back, turning to look where he was looking. In the depth of the cave, something had changed. It was too dark to tell exactly what, but it was different. Smoother. Closer.

  What kind of cave shrank like that?

  Anya shook Ivan, and his eyes popped open. “Whung?”

  “Shhh.” She put her hand over his mouth. “Look.”

  He followed her pointing finger toward the back of the cave as Håkon shifted to his feet. He slithered a tiny bit in the direction of her finger. And then . . .

  Light. Orange, heavy, spilling out of a crack that widened as they watched.

  Håkon scrambled backwards, dodging the light on the floor like it would burn him. Anya grabbed her bow and nocked an arrow. Ivan grabbed their backpacks and made for the exit.

  A silhouette appeared in the light. Small. Human. Female. It jutted one hip to the side, jammed a fist against the hip, and said, “What are you idiots doing? You’re going to freeze to death.”

  Anya lowered the bow and let the string go lax. She squinted at the silhouette. “The ibbur?”

  With one hand splayed upward, the silhouette said, “Obviously. Now, get in here.” And she walked away, leaving the doorway orange and empty.

  From behind Anya, Håkon squeaked, “What is that?”

  “Remember how I told you I got that magic dagger that would kill only if I wanted it to?” Anya said.

  He nodded. “And you stabbed me with it?”

  “Right. Well,” she said, “that’s the woman I got it from. The ibbur.”

  “The nice ghost,” Ivan mumbled as he shuffled to Anya’s side. “Are we sure she’s nice? She called us idiots.”

  “You are an idiot,” Anya reminded him. He nodded.

  Håkon was quiet, tail flipping back and forth against the cave floor. “I think we should go in,” he said.

  “Me too,” Ivan said.

  “Yep,” Anya agreed, and the three of them gathered up their bags and weapons and walked through the door in the back of the cave together.

  * * *

  Inside, it looked the same as it had months ago when the ibbur had given Anya the dagger. Every inch of wall was covered with bookshelves, and every inch on the shelves was packed with books. Some of the piles on the floor had shifted around, but they were all still as haphazard and numerous as they had been last time. It was blissfully warm inside the hut, and Anya sighed as her cold face thawed.

  Something flew through the air at them: a snowball. Ivan reached up and grabbed its threads, bringing it to a halt in the air before it hit any of them.

  The ibbur cackled from the other side of the room. She was in the same white dress as last time, with the same beautiful hair and eyes like spring pools. She wiped a wet hand off on her white apron, which had blue waves embroidered across the top.

  “Good, Ivan,” she said. “You’re getting better.”

  “I am?” He blushed. “I guess so.”

  “Definitely.” She pointed a finger at Anya. “Any magic for you yet?”

  That familiar sick feeling of being left out rose up in Anya, and she managed to push it down before she said, “No.”

  “It’ll come,” the ibbur said, almost dismissively. She had moved on to Håkon, who shrank back at her attention. “I
didn’t get to meet you last time.”

  “No,” he said. “I was—”

  “Being killed, I know.” She smiled. “You’re so big.”

  “Uh . . .” Håkon’s blue eyes shifted back and forth, looking from one end of the floor to the other. Anya wasn’t sure if dragons were capable of blushing, but to her, he looked a shade of deeper red. “Thank you, Gospozha.”

  “Gospozha, pah!” the ibbur said. “Call me Lena. Will you do that?”

  Håkon brightened a little and said, “Of course.”

  “Hey!” Ivan said. “You never told us your name!”

  “That’s because you two aren’t dragons,” Lena said, sticking her tongue out at him.

  Håkon perked. “Do you know other dragons?”

  Lena clasped her hands at her waist. “No,” she said. “There aren’t others. You’re the last, Håkon.”

  Håkon’s cautious smile dropped. “The last . . . Are you sure?”

  Lena nodded sadly. “Very.”

  Håkon curled up on himself, tucking his nose inside his coils. Anya put her hand between his shoulders and said nothing. What could she say about that?

  Ivan knew what to say. “Sorry, Håkon.”

  The dragon tucked his nose farther down.

  Lena stood quietly, teeth on her lower lip, watching Håkon. She sighed. “I didn’t mean to bring you such upsetting news tonight. Your story ends happily, Håkon.” She smiled. “Probably.”

  He withdrew his snout enough from his coils to glare at her. “Probably?”

  “Yes, I think so.” She motioned for them to follow her to the fire, where she sat in her chair and the children gathered on the floor. Anya opened up her coat to keep from sweating, and Ivan stripped off his and collapsed to his knees in front of the fire. Håkon slithered up and coiled again, tucking his legs inside the coil so he just looked like an enormous red zmeyok.

  “Going to find your Papa, Anya?” Lena asked.

  Anya gaped. “How did you—”

  “I know because I know,” Lena said. “Where is he?”

  “Patzinakia,” Anya said, remembering what Ivan had called it.

  Lena blinked. “That’s very far away.”

  “I know,” Anya said, then pointed to Ivan and Håkon. “We know.”

  From his spot on the floor, Ivan said, “We didn’t think it out very well.”

  Anya frowned at him. “I had to do something. My family has already waited a whole year, and more. And he’s got to come back. Mama can’t . . .” Her nose stung, so she rubbed at it. “Mama misses him.”

  Lena nodded, her face troubled. Anya was certain the ibbur was going to make her go home, and Anya was trying to figure out what she’d say to Lena to convince her not to do that. The four of them sat in silence but for the crackling of the fire. Then Lena said, “I’ll help you.”

  Anya, Ivan, and Håkon looked at her. Anya said, “Really?”

  “Of course,” Lena said, then stood. “And I won’t send you empty-handed.” She went to one of the bookshelves. She dug around for a moment, looking behind and under books, and finally she pulled a necklace with a pendant from behind a stack of texts with flowers drawn onto their spines. She turned to Anya with a smile.

  “A gift for you, Anya,” Lena said.

  Anya didn’t really want a necklace, but she figured Lena had her reasons, so she stood and reached for it. Then she realized the pendant was actually a large metal key.

  “What’s it open?” Anya asked.

  “A door,” Lena said.

  Anya looked at Lena, exasperated. “What’s special about the door, then?”

  Lena laughed. “Nothing. The door is ordinary. It’s what’s behind the door that’s special.”

  Anya swallowed. Was this a key to the cell where Papa was being held? How would Lena have a key to it?

  “How will I know which door?” Anya asked, nearly whispering.

  Lena shrugged. “You may not. You’ll just have to try the key everywhere.”

  Lena handed the necklace to Anya, and she pulled it over her head, careful to tuck the key under her dress. It sat on her chest against her skin, comfortably cool and heavy.

  Lena motioned to Ivan, who shuffled to her. She plucked a book off the shelf and handed it to him with a smile.

  Ivan opened the book and flipped from front to back. “It’s empty,” he said.

  “Is it?” Lena asked, stroking her chin. “I suppose you’ll have to fill it, then.” She pulled a charcoal pencil out of the air and handed it to him.

  He took the pencil with a suspicious squint. “Are these magical?”

  “Absolutely,” Lena said.

  “Really?” Ivan grinned. “With what magic?”

  Lena whispered her answer: “Voice. You may have heard it called charm magic.”

  Ivan studied the empty book and the pencil. “Written voice magic?”

  Lena lifted a finger in the air. “Not all speech is spoken, Ivan. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it will.”

  Ivan shut his mouth. “I see.”

  “Whatever you write in that book will influence those who read it,” Lena said. “But not forever. So be careful.”

  Ivan nodded, clutching the book and pencil to his chest.

  Then Lena turned to Håkon. He was still coiled with his nose tucked down. She knelt in front of him and put a hand on his scales where his nose was hidden.

  “I have something for you, too,” Lena whispered.

  He pulled his nose out, eyes hopeful. “Something magic?”

  “Better.” Lena wagged a finger at him. “But you’re not going to like it.”

  Håkon frowned. “It’s better than something magic, but I’m not going to like it?”

  She nodded. “But it’s important. They need your help.”

  “Who?” Håkon asked.

  “You’ll figure it out.” Lena slipped her pale hands on either side of Håkon’s red face and touched her forehead to his. “Be so, so careful,” she whispered. “He’ll do anything to have you. Anything to turn you back.”

  Anya watched, and her skin prickled at Lena’s words. Turn Håkon back? Turn him back from what?

  Before Anya could ask, Lena kissed Håkon on the forehead. Where her lips touched, a bright light burst out, growing brighter and more dazzling until Anya couldn’t bear to look at it anymore, and a warm flash enveloped her as she hid her face in the crook of her elbow.

  Chapter Ten

  The warmth faded, and Anya looked up. Lena’s hut was gone, replaced by an unfamiliar road with trees on all sides; half the trees had decided to put on their fall colors, but the other half stubbornly clung to summer green. The sun shone into Anya’s face out of a clear blue sky. Ivan stood next to her, likewise blinking away the brightness, and he mumbled, “What happened?”

  Anya looked around. “I think she brought us to Patzinakia.”

  “How does she do that?” Ivan yelled.

  “Be quiet!” Anya hissed. “Håkon, hide.”

  She realized then that Håkon wasn’t there. She spun, her heart seizing in her chest, and she almost tripped over a pile of coats and bags on the road next to her. The pile was a hodgepodge of the things they had worn into Lena’s hut, but also new coats and hats that didn’t belong to them.

  She pointed. “There’s your coat . . .” She bent closer, staring.

  A foot poked out from under the pile. A human foot.

  “Ivan!” She gasped and knelt. She threw his coat at him and pushed the bags away. Underneath it all, a boy lay face-down on the road.

  Oh no. When Lena had let them out, they must have landed on top of someone. She rolled the boy over, grimacing, hoping he was alive.

  Ivan pulled on his coat as he bent to peer at the boy. “Does he look familiar to you?”

  Anya shook her head. She had never seen him before in her life. He had deep golden hair curling around his ears and at his neck. His clothing was too big for him, threadbare, and he wore oversize, scuffed b
oots. A smattering of freckles colored the rosy skin at the tops of his cheeks. She reached out to touch his face when his eyes snapped open. They were a familiar shade of brilliant blue.

  Anya jerked her hand back. “Håkon?”

  He looked up at her. “An—Any . . .” He ground his teeth together, and a look of panic crept across his face. His lips moved like he had a mouthful of honey. “An. Ya.”

  She couldn’t speak. She just stared at him with her mouth hanging open. Ivan stood by, equally agape.

  Håkon—Was it really him, though?—looked back and forth between them. His panic was plain on his face, and mounting. “I f-feel . . . strange.”

  “You look strange,” Ivan mumbled, and Anya swung her fist at his leg. “Ow!”

  Håkon’s breath hitched, and it took him a few tries to get out, “Wh-what did she do?” He tried to roll off his back but only moved from the waist up. He swung his arms up, then froze. He brought his hands back, trembling, in front of his face.

  Then he screamed.

  “Håkon!” Anya slapped her hand over his mouth. His breath blasted against her palm as he continued screaming. She shook his head back and forth. “Stop! Stop it. Someone’s going to hear you.”

  Finally, he quieted, and Anya took her hand away from his face. His mouth was still twisted in a silent scream. He didn’t blink.

  “What—?” he squeaked finally, looking down at himself. At his human body. His breathing got faster and faster the longer he looked. He kicked one foot and started keening, like he was going to scream again.

  Anya put her hands on his arm. “It’s okay.”

  “Okay?” He crossed his eyes, looking down his face, at where his dragony snout no longer stuck out. “Whuh-whuh-where is my face?”

  Ivan pointed to his own. “You’ve got one like this now.”

  “I hate it!”

  “You haven’t even seen it,” Ivan scoffed. “It’s not a bad face.”

  Håkon still lay on his back, hands up in front of his face with the fingers curled in. Anya hooked her hands under his shoulder and tugged him, trying to prompt him to sit up. “Come on, Håkon.”

  He was dead weight as she tugged him forward. Sitting up, legs straight out in front of him, wasn’t a good position. He started to lean to one side and did nothing to stop himself from falling over.