I wanted to see Danila, but I couldn't get to the Wastes. Lord Darrell and the Arch'Arrion never showed up after the last conversation, and I felt terribly alone. I sat in my room, pale and dumb, listening to the silence and echoes of life in the corridors of Riverstein, gaining strength and going to the school, but there they looked at me like a leper.
It was only now that I realized what vile rumors had been going on about me the whole time, what speculations had been born in the heads of the orphanages, seeing the relaxation and privileges granted to me by the Lord. And the fact that Xenia turned her back on me has only strengthened everyone in these tales.
I was even worse off now than I was in my first days in Riverstein. Of course, there were those who didn't believe any rumors and looked at me quite kindly, but I didn't notice those faces. Lost in my fears, resentment, and guilt, I saw the world distorted and angry. I felt that everyone looked at me with judgment and contempt, and I had no strength to prove them wrong. And I didn't see the point of it.
* * *
It was a quiet and gray morning. A muddy veil tightened the earth, blurring the boundary between them, and disturbingly reminding me of the eerie ghost of Hell. I wrapped myself in a hood and fixed a handkerchief on my head. A hunched figure, slipping out of the mist, frightened me, I suppressed the involuntary scream.
- Don't be afraid...of yours," the gatekeeper whispered, squinting his eyes at me. How old he is... and I had not noticed. I was so accustomed to this man's presence at the gates of the shelter that he seemed as firm and constant as the foundation of Riverstein.
And he's an old man. He looks blindfolded, his hands all brown and his face rugged with wrinkles...
- What are you walking around for? - He asks a terrible question. I mean, he wanted to be menacing, but it was almost pathetic. But we were afraid of him... The gatekeeper could easily warm up the ridge with a stick or throw dirt to the girls who had broken up.
I looked into the old, faded eyes and suddenly told myself the truth:
- I just wanted to be alone. Escape from everyone.
The old man was shaking.
- You're running away from yourself again, silly... you can't run away like that. You've been running all your life, stupid. You can't run away from yourself, Vetriana.
- Do you know my name? - I was surprised.
- What about me? You've been before my eyes all your life... all my life. How can I not know? And you, and your girlfriend, Ksenka, and your meger Rogneda, and others... all of them, as it were...
I was even more surprised, staring the old man in the eye.
- What are you staring at? Like a toad, straight..." the gatekeeper asked and smiled, "Eh, youth... silly. Look at the fog... like the autumn dawn. And thick as Avdotin kissel. I've never seen a mist like that in winter. The night of Exodus is tonight. Unconscious spirits, innocent souls...
And I sighed. And I was so tired of that breath! With strange amazement, I suddenly realized that I knew nothing about this man at all. But he's been standing at the gate all his life, sitting in the gatekeeper's room, sweeping the yard, muttering something under his nose. And I never once, not for a moment, wondered how he got to Riverstein, why he spent his life in it? Rumor had it that he had only loved one woman in his life, the Lady Selenium, and that's why he had guarded the doors of Riverstein with his faithful dog.
And it was inexplicably a pity for the old man.
He smelled it, turned his back.
- Kind, you're a Vetrite, though stupid... Kind. - The gatekeeper shuffled without looking, the Beast of the Forest will be sorry for that. The Kind don't live long.
He spit in the snow and put his legs to the gate. I looked at him in a daze, woke up and threw myself after the old man.
- Wait! Wait a minute! Why did you say that?
The gatekeeper looked angrily and I saw again, that formidable old man, whom all the girls feared.
- What did you get attached to? Get off! Get out! You said and you said!
- No, wait a minute! - I grabbed his sleeve, you know something? You know, I can feel it! Tell me!
- Here's the said girl... what do you want, silly? You'll know when I'm backing up the ridge with a stick, you'll know!
But I didn't pay attention to the threat, and I held on to it even harder.
- Tell me! You know something, don't you? About the missing children? Do you know where they are?
The old man's squinting.
- I'm telling you, kind... sorry about all of them. You'd feel sorry for yourself.
- Where are they? - I almost screamed. The grey fog worried us like the viscous waters of the Omut Im.
- I don't know! Get off... - the gatekeeper sighed. I looked angrily into his eyes without eyelashes, half-closed with yellowish, wrinkled eyelids. The pupils under them looked fearful, like wild beasts - from the norm.
And who better to know than he does the surroundings of Riverstein?
- White columns... Do you know where the room with the white columns is? Come on, then?
I held my breath.
- Don't you know that? - The gatekeeper cleverly asked, and it wasn't the room... I thought you'd been avoiding all the trails of the woods as a child, all the ancient stashes...
And he left. The fog sluggishly closed behind his hunched figure. And I stood there, catching by my tail the slippery thought, the vague memory that kept me awake...
...I'm seven years old, and I ran away into the woods again. In two years of my life in Riverstein, I've done it so often that no one was surprised by my sudden disappearance. I was barely even prevented or stopped. Probably secretly, if not obviously hoping that one day I'll just not come back.
Today was the first time I realized I wasn't pretty. That I'm not just weird, different, unusual, but not beautiful. Ugly. Ugly.
And everything happened so casually, so simple.
We were sitting in a student class at Mrs Pava's. At the singing, we repeated an excerpt from the instructions of the saint elders to the descendants, bored. The door slammed and it was as if a ray of sunshine had burst into the half-dark room. The novices stood up, saluting the Mother Superior.
- Sit down, girls," said the Lady of the Village kindly. We rustled, falling on the rough boards of the benches, without letting go of her rapturous eyes.
How beautiful she is! In a world of frightening faces, only her face did not cause fear, nor did it repel her. On the contrary, I wanted to look at it over and over again, carefully examining her thin straight nose, moist transparent eyes, golden hair...
And this enchanting voice, with enveloping notes like honey, and these wonderful manners of a true lady...
Of course, every orphan in Riverstein dreamed that the Lady of the Village would suddenly be her mother by some miracle. And everyone was trying to be like her. The girls copied everything: the intricate weaving of the braid, the careless gesture and the look. Some did better, some did not work at all, but often the "game of the lady" was our favorite entertainment.
Today, Mother Superior was wearing a yellow dress with a matte pearl shining at her throat. Golden hair styled in tall hair seemed precious silk, gold bracelets tied thinly on thin white wrists. And it was all like the sun, bright, shiny. We, in our brown hoodies, with our tightly braided hair hidden under our handkerchiefs, looked at her without breaking away. The lady was holding a light traveling chest in her hand, and the girls were loaded: it was true that Mother was leaving for the capital again.
- Mrs Pava, I'm sorry to interrupt... could you give me a few minutes?
The prioress nodded, corrected her cap and hurried to the aisle. Hurry up, because even for us seven-year-olds it was clear: the asking tone of the mother is only an indication of her nobility. And everything she says is not a request. It's an order.
The Lady of the Village stood at the door, a little impatiently tapping her leg in an elegant shoe. A light draught naughtyly raised the hem of a yellow dress, pulled out a golden curl from her
high hairstyle. A bone stiletto with a pearl top dryly knocked against the wooden floor.
Rogneda and I rushed to her at the same time. I was on the left, she was on the right. It was no wonder, therefore, that in the centre, just above the fallen stiletto, we bumped into each other and put our foreheads firmly.
- Ow!
- Ow! - Well, that's how we woke up.
- Girls! - Mrs Pava is outraged, what do you allow yourself?
Rogneda jumped up first, bruised her stiletto and, sitting in a roaring rope, stretched it out to the Lady Village. She smiled, and the shining Rogneda joyfully returned to the bench. I was still sitting on the floor, shaking my head and stunned, rubbing my forehead.
The eyes of Mother Superior's mother were perplexed to stop at me. Her transparent eyes were a little blurred, her flawless forehead cut through a discontented wrinkle. It was as if a cloud had covered itself with the sun.
- Wow... - in the student's room it was quiet as in a tomb, - Wow... what a girl... Ugly.
And gracefully turned to the door, clutching a bone stiletto in her hand. Mistress Pava threw herself after me, looked at me unpleasantly and pulled away the hem, passing by.
The door behind them slammed. For another moment I sat on the floor, and then Rogned laughed loudly, all over the student mockery, and I jumped up. Xenia came up from the back bench, got drunk and went to Rogned, but I wasn't looking. She jumped out into the corridor and threw herself away from the unhurried prioresses, with her eyes down and a lump in her throat.
"...what a girl... ugly... ugly... Ugly!!!!"
The Lady of the Village is beautiful. I'm not pretty. The yellow dress is pretty. I'm ugly. The bone stiletto with the pearl is pretty. I'm ugly...
Used to run away into the woods.
She threw her shoes under a bush of wild raspberries and was already barefoot in the thicket. In the head all knocked and knocked words, like wheels on the cobblestones: naturally, crackling, annoying. And hurtful. As if she'd ripped off a tasty, ripe berry, bitten it, and mouth rot. It's disgusting.
I kept walking and walking, shaking my head and trying to get rid of the phrase that knocked in my head. And I couldn't figure out how I ended up in that place. Only suddenly, a white light smeared into my eyes and I froze, looking around.
Early autumn in the border is not golden, but still green with pine needles. Only rare aspens and oaks burn red and yellow. And the white color that flashed between the dark trunks surprised me. I looked into a thicket that seemed impassable. Maybe the beetle and the crawling horsetail were so woven that they formed a lively and barbed barrier, blocking the way. I gently pulled one of the branches on myself and looked through the window that had formed. That's right, there's something white behind the barbs. I even managed to see a white column, wrapped in a wild rose.
As I rolled up my sleeves and turned the hem, I rushed to the barbed obstacle, rejoicing at the possibility of distraction and not thinking. I ripped my hands to blood, ripped my dress, but still managed to make a "window" enough to get through. And the dirty, sweaty, shattered, crawled out from the other side of the hedge, on a round clearing.
What I took as stone columns turned out to be trees. I was surprised to walk my hand over a snow-white, rough bark. It was warm, alive. Trees grew in a circle so flat that I couldn't believe their accidental, natural origin. Crowns with narrow leaves closed in the center of the circle, intertwined with branches so tightly that almost did not let in the autumn light.
I was hesitatingly barefoot and slipped dangerously into this strange "circle". And I clutched my mouth with my hand, frightenedly leaning my back against the white trunk.
The ground in the "circle" was lifeless, dead, no grass grew here, not disturbing the even blackness, lightly sprinkled with narrow dry leaves. There was a stone in the center. Flat and wide as a table. Empty. A wild, beastly fear. And then there was the smell. A terrible, persistent smell of decay and deadness. The white trees, woven together by branches forever, dropped thin leaves quietly, and they circled long and reluctantly in the air, as if still hoping to return upwards and not wanting to die on a terrible flat rock.
It seemed to me that the white trees were crying.
I jumped out of the circle, barely suppressing the vomiting calls. Behind the white trunks, the forest smelled calm and tasty, and the moss pleasantly cooled my legs. I greedily sucked in the air and rushed rashly to the barbed fence, crawled under it and threw myself into the forest ...
How did I forget about that? Or did my childhood memory not wish to preserve the memories of that day and erased it from my mind?
I looked back at the Riverstein building, corrected my handkerchief, and resolutely walked to the breach in the wall. The fog was sluggish, reluctantly parting in front of me. I walked through the courtyard without meeting anyone. No wonder, tonight is the Night of Exodus, all shutters are closed in the morning in Riverstein, and the inhabitants bow obediently in the lower hall under Aristarchus' careful supervision.
In the morning I woke up to the disturbing ringing of the bell, washed my face hastily, pulled on a brown hood instead of a blue dress, covered my hair with a scarf, and ran into the courtyard, eager to be in time before the corridors of the shelter are filled with novices, the smell of burning fir branches, and chants.
I barely stood at the door of the shared bedroom where Xenia was sleeping. And... I walked past.
I swayed at the refectory, wondering if I could go to Avdottier's. But then I remembered that it is customary to meet the Night of Exodus on an empty stomach and spend the day in bed and prayer, so the refectory will be empty today. And the cook will probably spend the day with her beloved, hiding behind the secure walls of the new hut.
So I came out of Riverstein alone and dived into the mist...
...and now I was hurrying to the breach, walking around the gate, though somehow I was sure that no one would stop me, even if I went through it. The barely discernible sun was slowly crawling along the horizon. If I couldn't get back before his disc hung over the tower, I'd never get past the walls of the shelter. The doors and windows will close tightly, and even if you knock, even if you scream, no one will open.
Lifting up my skirt, I dived into the snow behind the stone fence. And I fell almost waist-deep in it! I woke up, and I climbed out of the snowdrift. Ah, you should have gone through the gate! At least there's a cleared path, and there's snow...
Somehow I got out, and stepped into trees where there was much less snow. The heavy fabric of the dress got soaked and disgustingly licked to my feet, and then, seized by the frost, hung a heavy piece.
I pestilently wriggled and wrapped my head. Which way are the white trees? And will I be able to find them in so many years? And most importantly, even if I find them, what do I do next?
Throwing away my doubts, I resolutely moved into the thicket, the good beneath the thick, densely standing fir trees was almost no snow. "We'll get to the place, we'll sort it out on the spot" - that's what Ksenia always said. And she is brave and determined, I always wanted to be like her. And now I've decided to do the same.
The image of my friend came back with pain in my chest and I clenched my teeth, snacked my lip almost to blood so I wouldn't cry. "You can't think... you can't remember... you can't feel. You just have to find those trees!"
I've gone pretty far, but the trunks never flashed in front. You're lost? Wrong? Wrapped my head. I closed my eyes. Then, in the past, it was early autumn, and the forest was light, ringing. Now, at the beginning of winter, it was frowning and harsh. Frozen. Bowed down the dark heads of the pines in gloomy disapproval. He watched with wary eyes.
I listened. Did it seem or is it true, crying?
I was anxiously swept under the trees, falling into the snow. My shoes were already full of melted water, my hands were freezing, and my chest was tired. At the elbow slowly, lazily flares up the mark of Argard. And the sadness... at once rolled up the sadness, memories swept through my head: creepy
, terrible, hurtful, evil... Weary. Depriving.
In despair, I threw my head like in childhood, flipped my frozen palms on a rough trunk.
- Give me a hand...
The forest was deafly wrapped, whispered. And then it was as if he had responded, and I felt a living force flow into my fingers. A little, but enough to keep me warm and cheerful. And Argard died, the snake was lurking on my hand.
I leaned gratefully with my cheek to the pine and thanked.
And I moved decisively towards the dawn, now I knew exactly where to look for a circle with white trunks.
* * *
Turns out I was right next door. The hedge has grown over the years, became even thicker, so tightly intertwined with thorns and branches that it became an impassable wall, two human height. I bit my lips, looking at it and not knowing how to overcome this obstacle. Without thinking of anything, I walked along the "wall" hoping to find a rift in it.
And then I heard the crying again. I froze. I didn't think so! There's someone behind the wall whimpering sobbishly and sadly...
I rushed to the fence. I tore my handkerchiefs off my head, wrapped my hands in them and pulled barbed branches on myself with all my might! I tried not to break, but only to lift, unravel, cut, but the branches resisted, whipped their hands and face. My efforts made me hot, I breathed heavily, but still managed to cut through the fence, forming a hole in the ground itself, in the trampled snow.
And clinging to my clothes, I crawled under the thorns.
Behind the wall, she jumped, looking around.
The white trees were dead. I knew it at first sight. They did not fall asleep in winter to pour live juice in spring, they froze forever, without separating the dry branches woven above the center of the circle. I put my palm on a snow-white, frost-covered trunk. Ice. Lifeless. Who and why created this circle many years ago and why all six trees dried up as if at the same time, I did not know.
I stepped inside carefully. The smell of decay hit my nose, and I involuntarily clutched it with my palm.
- Save it...
I swung and threw myself at the flat stone figure. The little girl was lying under her legs, clutching her palm to the wound in her stomach. Pain froze in her wide open blue eyes.
The Wind of the North Page 27