Dark Goddess

by Sarwat Chadda

  Billi took it.

  Dimitri drove them into the heart of the city. Unlike London with its labyrinth of narrow streets and buildings all cramped together, Moscow was wide and broad. The boulevards gave Billi endless panoramas, especially along the river. Ice shone on the roads, and a fresh cloud of snow was beginning to descend.

  The tires rumbled on the cobbles of Red Square. Ahead stood the multicolored onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral. The composite building was actually interconnected churches, each with its own individual spire and dome. Veiled in snow, the cathedral looked as though it had been snatched from a fairy tale. Moscow had an ethereal magic when it was cloaked in winter. To one side stood GUM, the gigantic department store, its walls and windows outlined by thousands of golden bulbs. Opposite that were the immense, dark-red walls of the Kremlin fortress.

  “Once, this was all ours,” said Ivan. His eyes shone with the reflection of the lights and dazzling colors. “My ancestors were crowned there.” He pointed to a series of golden roofs behind the red fortress walls. “Archangel Cathedral. Saint Michael was said to be the protector of our family.” He leaned back in his seat. “I heard a strange story about him recently.”

  Billi kept her attention on the scenery, but her voice went soft and quiet. “Oh? What story?”

  “Do you believe in God? In His archangels?”

  “You’re asking a Templar that?”

  “The Patriarch of Moscow is a close personal friend of the Romanovs,” said Ivan, referring to the head of the Russian Orthodox Church. “He told me that Michael had fallen; it came to him in a dream. That he had been cast down.”

  Billi didn’t move, but sweat trickled down her back. Did he know? That she had cast the archangel down?

  “I wonder what the other archangels must think, knowing that their brother has been sent to Hell.”

  Billi could feel how close he was to her.

  “What do you think, Billi?”

  “I think you should be careful what you read into the dreams of an old man.”

  Ivan laughed. Billi liked the sound of his laugh. His guard was down and the imperious barrier he usually put up had fallen away.

  “You area difficult person to understand,” he said. “You have many secrets, I think.”

  “No more than most.”

  Ivan watched her thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is true: we all have things we are frightened of telling others.”

  They drove along Kremlevskaya Naberezhnaya, the broad road that ran beside the riverbank. Billi watched the broken platforms of ice drift slowly down the Moscow River.

  They were rolling along beside a park when Billi caught a flash of fire from beyond the trees.

  “What’s that?” There were more flames. Streaks of light wove and spun in the darkness.

  “Dimitri, stop,” said Ivan.

  The car pulled up by the curb, and Ivan jumped out and opened Billi’s door. “Bolotnaya Square.” He held out Billi’s new coat for her to put on.

  “You’re quite the gentleman, Ivan.” Billi laughed.

  “We do things differently in Russia.” His hands lightly brushed her shoulders as he placed it around her. Then he turned her so that they were face-to-face.

  “Are you warm enough?” he asked, straightening her collar, his fingers resting on the top button, next to her neck.

  Billi flushed. Despite the snowflakes, she was suddenly more than warm enough.

  Ivan took a step back and collected his own coat from Dimitri. Then he offered Billi his arm.

  “Shall we?”

  They moved down the path toward the flames. Music beat across the night sky, a cacophony of clashing beats and drums and guitars, and slowly Billi started to make out groups of people collected like tribes around the open center of the park.

  Fire dancers spun fireballs attached to long chains around their bodies in a seamless path of golden light. There were dozens of them: some competing, others showing off or egging one another on. Large steel bins had been placed around the park, each a fire pit that one of the tribes was gathered around.

  Despite the subzero temperatures, some of the men were bare-chested, and the orbiting fireballs threw ever-changing patterns of light and shadow over the contours of their bodies.

  “Koshchey doesn’t like me coming here,” said Ivan. “He says I shouldn’t mix with ‘peasants.’”

  “Is that what you think?” She’d never met a bona fide member of a royal family before. Her own ancestors were thoroughly anti-monarchy. The SanGreals had taken part in the French Revolution. The closest they’d come to royalty was when they’d operated the guillotine.

  “Nobility isn’t about coats of arms or titles.” He nodded in the direction of more dancers. “I’ll never be free, like them. Every moment of my life has been dedicated to one purpose. To lead the Bogatyrs. To protect those under me. And as a Romanov, that means Russia.” He sighed. “That’s why I like it here. Just for a short while I can forget what it is to be Ivan Alexeivich Romanov.”

  Billi touched his hand. Ivan took it all so seriously. When she’d met him she’d thought he was just about fancy clothes and posh living, but he was more than that. She knew how he felt. Didn’t she feel the same about being a Templar? They were both dedicated to their lives of duty, and nothing else.

  “For what it’s worth,” said Billi, “I think you’ll do a great job.”

  “If Koshchey lets me.” Ivan gripped her hand. “I’m not so naive as to think he’ll just hand it all over when I turn eighteen. He’s just waiting for me to slip up.”

  “Look, if you’re going to get in trouble for being here, we can go.”

  “I’m in enough trouble already.” He waved at one of the dancers. The girl smiled as she whirled a pair of burning chains around her body, wrapping herself in an incandescent pattern.

  “For helping me?” Billi should have known that there were always going to be consequences for Ivan. “I’m sorry.”

  Ivan frowned. “Don’t apologize. You stepped up to protect that girl. It’s what I should have done.”

  “You defied the Bogatyrs.” She thought about that talk she’d had in the elevator, about how Ivan was an idealist. “You defied Koshchey.”

  “Only because I followed you.” Ivan raised his hand to her cheek. “You have that effect on people. Haven’t you noticed?”

  Billi laughed, trying to cover how unsettled she felt from the heat of his touch on her face. But she didn’t move. “Don’t follow me. I have a bad effect on people.”

  “Do you know what it is to be a noble?” he said, more to himself than to her. He peered into the fire, the orange glow of the flames casting him in gold. “It is to have an ideal and to strive toward it. No matter what the cost. To believe in something more important than yourself.”

  “I had a friend who thought the same.” A coarse, thick lump, a stifled sob, rose to Billi’s throat as she recalled Kay. Ivan was so like him, but so different. Tears rose, and she tried to stop them. What would Kay think, her being with Ivan? Ivan, the prince, the nobleman. Kay had been a noble man too.

  Ivan moved his gaze away from the flames and looked at her. “What happened to him?” He moved his hand from her cheek, cupping her chin, and gently lifted her face.

  Billi blinked, but the tears still fell. “He died.”

  “I hope his killer suffered.”

  “Yes.” Billi held it in by biting her lips. She had done what she’d had to do, but she’d regretted it ever since. Eyes closed, she tried to hold back the misery she’d fought down for the last three months. Kay’s death by her hand. “I suffer every day.”

  “I am sorry,” said Ivan. He leaned closer, until she could hear him whisper. “Chekhov said to begin to live in the present, we must atone for our past. But we can only atone by suffering extraordinarily.” He drew her nearer, and as he spoke, Billi’s eyes were drawn to his lips. “But then the suffering has to end.”

  Billi could hardly breathe as the dista
nce between them slowly closed. She didn’t want to betray the memory of Kay; she never thought she’d meet anyone as good as him. But Ivan was good; he was like her-trapped in duty and responsibilities beyond his years-yet he still cared.

  She paused-just for a second. Ivan waited, sensing her uncertainty. But Billi realized she didn’t want to move away. She leaned forward, grazing his mouth with hers ever so lightly. She felt dizzy with the sensation. With his arm around her, supporting her, Ivan kissed her, and for that moment Billi forgot everything else.

  Now was the time to look to the living-to Ivan.

  Billi held Ivan’s hand as they walked back to the car, silent. There wasn’t anything to say now. They knew how they felt-but she was leaving tomorrow. Billi felt the calluses along his fingers, which, like hers, he’d gained through years of sword practice. One indent on the forefinger she didn’t have: trigger time. He’d spent as long on the firing range as he had on the dueling deck.

  His grip was firm and secure, warm and soft.

  Then his fingers tightened.

  A woman stepped out from the cover of the trees. The flames swayed in the large steel drum in front of her. She wore a paisley scarf over her hair. Billi recognized her. She was the Polenitsy woman they’d helped escape out of the apartment block earlier that day.

  Three other women stalked the darkness on the edge of the firelight, moving like the wolves they truly were.

  Billi shot a look at the car and saw Dimitri lying on the ground, a heavily bearded man leaning on his back, knife to his throat. Her hand dropped to her hip, feeling the edge of her kukri strapped to her belt.

  “We come under a flag of truce,” said the woman with the scarf. She kept her distance and held her hands open.

  “What do you want?” asked Ivan, backing away from the four approaching women, keeping Billi behind him.

  “To thank you for allowing us to escape.” She looked up at Billi, eyes narrowed. “And to deliver a message from our pack leader, Olga.”

  Old Gray. The fact that they hadn’t been torn to pieces already boded well. Billi moved to Ivan’s side. His fist trembled as he struggled to control his rage. He flipped back the corner of his coat, and a moment later his pistol was in his hand.

  “Olga killed my father.” He whispered it, his grip tightening on the pistol.

  “He died well, young Romanov. She honored him with single combat, after Koshchey had abandoned him.”

  “You are wrong,” hissed Ivan. “He was trapped, betrayed. I was told so.”

  The woman shrugged. “He was, as you say, betrayed, but not by the Polenitsy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The paisley woman glanced down at Ivan’s gun, then spoke. “People have been disappearing, Tsarevich. Your father knew. We had information regarding who was behind these disappearances. We had agreed to meet. He would allow us to live in the cities, provided we did not hunt humans, and we would tell him who was responsible for the missing people. I’m sure it will come as no shock to you to know who this man is.”

  “Koshchey,” Ivan croaked.

  Paisley nodded. “Your father trusted him. That was a mistake. He told Koshchey of the meeting, and Koshchey followed secretly. We discovered this and thought your father had planned a double-cross, so he was killed. Just what Koshchey wanted.” She shrugged. “Only too late did we discover we had been used. We regret your father’s death. He was a noble man.”

  Ivan stared dumbly at them. But it all made sense. He closed his eyes, and Billi watched the rage build in him. He pressed his fists against his head, teeth clenched together as he held in the anger, letting it swell.

  “Nyet, nyet, nyet,” he repeated. Billi touched his hand, and a cracked sob came from deep in his chest.

  “Who knew?” asked Ivan.

  “Many of the Bogatyrs. We have watched how Koshchey has built his army of loyal followers. Once he controlled your father’s wealth, he bought all the men he needed. Many have become rich with your father’s demise.”

  “What is the message you’ve brought?” Billi snapped.

  “Go home, Templar. The Spring Child is where she should be. Olga warns you to come no farther: she would be honor-bound to fight you, and that is something she does not wish.”

  “And what of Fimbulwinter?” Billi asked. “Wolves freeze as well as men.”

  “Fimbulwinter?” repeated Ivan, looking at her, confused. She’d kept this from him, and now Billi realized she’d made a mistake; she should have trusted him. She had a lot of explaining to do.

  The woman scowled. “That is a lie. The goddess has promised usa great spring. She would not betray the wolves, who have served her loyally since the earliest times.”

  “It is not like the gods to care for mortals,” said Billi. She’d seen enough horror from Michael, and knew that lesser beings were always sacrificed to the ambitions of the divine. “Fimbulwinter is coming, and Baba Yaga won’t care if the packs starve. The Spring Child learned this directly from your goddess.”

  “She is mistaken, and afraid. Her death will be a glorious sacrifice-far better than what Koshchey has planned for her.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Ivan. “If what you say is true, why is Koshchey even helping the Knights Templar find the Spring Child? Saving her serves no purpose. There is no profit in it for him.”

  “You are wrong. There is profit.” The woman turned away. “We can show you what he has planned for the Spring Child.”

  25

  “F OLLOW US,” SAID PAISLEY

  The man with the big beard let Dimitri get to his feet, and tucked away his knife.

  The Polenitsy got into their own car, a nondescript white Volvo. Paisley motioned to them to follow as they started the engine.

  “And what else have you been hiding?” snapped Ivan the moment he sat down.

  “Please, Ivan, we need their help.”

  Ivan crossed his arms. “Tell me. Everything.”

  “I will. But let’s go.” The Polenitsy car rolled away into the light traffic.

  Ivan gave a single curt nod to Dimitri, and the car started up.

  “What is Fimbulwinter?” He sank his head in his hands. He looked shattered. The news of Koshchey’s betrayal threatened to overwhelm him. That, and how the Bogatyrs had become so swiftly corrupted. His father’s legacy, everything he was striving for, was in tatters.

  So, as they trailed behind the Polenitsy, Billi explained. She told Ivan how they’d found Vasilisa, how they’d discovered she wasn’t just a psychically gifted child but an avatar, a being with the power to control nature. Ivan listened, not moving, his eyes barely blinking. Eventually Billi finished. They sat silently for a minute. Ivan had a lot to take in.

  “You really think Vasilisa can cause such a huge cataclysm?” said Ivan.

  “She felt the eruption of Vesuvius and was able to damp it down, so she’s certainly got a psychic link with volcanoes. Beyond that we don’t truly know. But we have to assume the worst case, that Vasilisa has the power to cause a super-volcanic eruption.”

  “And why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “Ivan, I’ve made mistakes before, trusting someone because I cared about them too much, trusting them too early.” Billi touched the scar on her neck. “I was betrayed and a lot of people died. I couldn’t make that mistake again.”

  “Who was this person?”

  “Michael. Your Michael.”

  Ivan gasped. “So it is true. Michael was cast down.”

  “Believe me, he deserved it.” Billi took his hand. “My not telling you sooner should change nothing between us. I trust you, Ivan. I need your help.”

  Ivan slowly nodded. But he still pulled back his hand. “Nothing that I thought I knew aboutmy fatheror even this situation is as I imagined it. You are not the only one who needs some time to trust now, Billi.”

  They drove for an hour, not speaking much, before the Volvo stopped and Paisley got out. Dimitri drew their own car up beside the Volvo.
As soon as they’d stopped, Ivan got out and confronted Paisley.

  “Come and see,” she said.

  They’d parked beneath a massive, rumbling bridge. Cars roared overhead and graffiti covered the concrete supports. Three large semitrailers sat gathering rust, and the shell of a burned-out car lay among the weeds and piles of rubbish. A tall wire fence lined the far side, isolating this derelict area from another equally derelict zone.

  “Have you ever wondered why the vampires no longer hunt in Moscow?” asked the woman.

  “Koshchey has driven most of them out,” said Ivan.

  “No. Koshchey made a deal with the blood-drinkers.” The woman walked up to one of the trailers. The cornerswere deeply pitted with rust, and the paint flaked, exposing the dull brown-and-orange panels beneath. Someone had tried to set fire to it, leaving black scorch marks along the doors.

  The chain and lock holding the doors shut were brand new.

  One of the Polenitsy hauled a large pair of steel cutters from the backseat of their car, and after a few grunts of effort, snapped the shiny chrome chain, then tossed it into the undergrowth.

  Paisley stepped back, indicating for Billi and Ivan to go before her.

  “I’m not here to play games,” Billi said.

  “This is not a game. Look inside.”

  Ivan looked at the door, testing the handle. He nodded at Billi. He wanted to know how far Koshchey had gone.

  Together, Billi and Ivan heaved the door lever up. The smell warned her before her eyes were able to penetrate the darkness within. She’d smelled the putrid odor of death enough times to recognize it without being sickened. But this time she covered her mouth as she looked into the dark chamber.

  Naked, emaciated bodies lay piled within. Billi’s head swam with nausea as she saw broken teeth sprinkled across the steel floor. She saw the hands of one man who lay closer than the others. The flesh on the fingers had fused together. Billi stepped forward and saw his face. She closed her eyes too late. The image had burned itself into her.