The Sparrow in Hiding

by J. Kathleen Cheney

  Irina gazed at him as if she wanted to say something but, whatever it was, it never came.

  Evgeny glanced up at the bay laurel, searching for another topic since that one seemed to have died. He should confess the truth about his curse, but he wanted to put that off for another day. A day as far away as possible. “Have you tried napping out here?” he asked instead. “To talk to your mother, I mean.”

  “I don’t feel safe out here,” she said, “not since that day.”

  Ah, that is understandable. “Would your brother not sit out here with you?”

  She shook her head. “Illarion doesn’t believe Mother is here.”

  Stubborn as an oak. “Well, I am here,” Evgeny said. “If you were to try to sleep, I would stay here if you wish.”

  That offer seemed to tempt her. “Don’t you have other things to do?”

  He did, but he would willingly put them aside. He could make up the chores the next day. “Nothing pressing.”

  She took another bite of her pierogi. “I don’t know if I could simply fall asleep,” she said, “but I would like to try.”

  Evgeny smiled. “Then I would be happy to watch over you.”

  So after they had finished eating a leisurely meal, Irina lay down on the blanket, hands folded neatly on her breast. She closed her eyes. After only a few minutes, Evgeny knew she was asleep.

  

  The trees whispered all about her as the afternoon heated the forest. Their words became more distinct as time wore on. Fireflies flittered among the branches. The birds sang their evening songs, settling down for the night. Irina lay there under the darkening night sky and watched the stars flicker to life. In the distance, she heard something splash into the lake.

  She was alone in the woods. Evgeny had been there with her, but she must be in the world of dreams now and he hadn’t followed. She sat up and set her back against the trunk of the great bay laurel tree. “Mother?”

  “Yes?” a voice asked.

  Irina looked above her, trying to find the source of the voice. A small cloud of fireflies floated down from the branches to the blanket, coalescing into the form of a woman before her eyes. Glowing and ghostly, her features were indistinct, but Irina recognized her mother’s face. “Mother?”

  The woman smiled gently. “Yes, Irina?”

  “Why did you leave us?”

  The ghostly woman reached out with a hand that almost touched Irina’s face. “I had no choice, Irinka,” she said. “It was time.”

  Irina leaned her cheek toward that insubstantial hand, but couldn’t feel it. “Time?”

  “Yes. The spell that made me human only lasted ten years. That last night I was standing in the library waiting for your father when I felt the change coming. My feet began to reach for the soil, my hands for the wind, and I had no choice. I could not stay in the house, so I ran. This was as far as I got.”

  “But why did you not tell us?” Irina wailed in the voice of an abandoned eight-year-old.

  “That was the price that made me human,” her mother whispered, “that I must forget the terms of the bargain I made. I didn’t remember it had to end . . . until it was already ending.”

  Irina closed her eyes. They’d all misunderstood. “Illarion thought you were tired of us, and Father thought you tired of him.”

  “Never,” her mother said. “Tell them both they are wrong.”

  Irina laughed. “They will never believe me, Mother.”

  “Then tell Illarion to ask the leshy,” her mother said. “The leshy would never lie to him.”

  Irina stared at her mother’s glowing form. “The leshy doesn’t talk to us. I’ve only ever glimpsed him in the distance.”

  “Not the one that lives in these woods. The one that came with you from St. Petersburg.”

  A leshy had come with them? That would mean there were two. But leshies were territorial, weren’t they? “Is there more than one in these woods?”

  Her mother shook her head, hair rattling like the stiff leaves of the bay laurel tree. “The one who watches over you doesn’t live in the woods. He only comes out here to talk to me.”

  “There’s a leshy who watches over us? But . . .” Leshies protected the trees and the animals. They might make deals with humans who came into their woods, but humans were never their priority. Then again, Illarion and I aren’t completely human, are we? “Why does a leshy watch over us?”

  “I begged his aid,” she said. “He agreed to watch over you should anything happen to me. I didn’t know I would have to leave you so soon.” Irina felt the caress of the wind as the woman reached out to stroke her hair. “But he cannot watch both of you at once, not if you and Illarion will not stay together, so he has asked me to give you to this man. He believes you will be safe with him. From what I have seen of him, I believe him correct.”

  Irina felt her brows drawing together as she tried to untangle her mother’s words. “What man?”

  “This man,” her mother said, gesturing toward the blanket.

  Evgeny? Clearly, her mother knew Evgeny was there in the waking world.

  “But be cautious,” her mother added, “for he trails magic from his wingtips and his eyes shed no tears. One day the witch will come for him, and threaten all in her path.”

  And with that pronouncement, her mother dissolved into hundreds of fireflies that dispersed through the branches and a wind that howled into the dark night sky.

  

  The tree’s leaves rattled in the cool wind and Irina slept on. It had been hours.

  Sitting on the edge of her blanket, Evgeny divided his time between watching her and the forest. The owls stood sentry at his bidding, but he couldn’t rely on them blindly. They weren’t the brightest of birds.

  He’d also caught a glimpse of the leshy, its beard of twisted vines and glowing green eyes visible between two distant trees. The leshy was surely curious about humans—or what passed for human—out in his forest after sunset.

  At least the moon was full, granting him enough light to see Irina’s face. It wasn’t natural for her to have slept this long. It spoke of magic, and Evgeny didn’t know whether he should try to wake her or not. He was surprised that no one from the house was searching for her. They had to know she was missing.

  Irina rolled onto her side toward him. She murmured something in her sleep and laid her head on his thigh. Evgeny froze, too startled even to breathe. One of her hands slid under his thigh as if she’d mistaken his leg for her pillow. He reached down and pushed back one of the dark curls that lay against her cheek. He should wake her, but she looked so happy, as if whatever she saw in her dream pleased her.

  The calling of the owls back and forth alerted him to a dark form walking down the pathway toward them. By the size, he knew it must be Nikolai Morozov. A moment later, the man crouched at the edge of the blanket, wearing only a casual tunic and dark trousers with his boots as if he had just come from his dressing room. “Has she been asleep all afternoon?”

  “Yes,” Evgeny said. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to leave her to fetch anyone.”

  “She’s talking to the trees,” Morozov said, “and they speak at a different pace.”

  Evgeny stared. How could the man possibly know how trees spoke to each other? Whatever it was that he saw inside Morozov, it wasn’t the nature of a tree.

  “It shows great trust,” Morozov said, “letting you stay near while she sleeps.”

  “I am aware,” Evgeny told him. “She told me about her husband coming here. I am grateful you came to defend her.”

  “Yet I was too late,” Morozov said. “I cannot be in two places at once, so it is hard to keep my eyes on both Irinka and Ilari.”

  Irina jerked suddenly, coming awake. She looked disoriented, and when she realized her head was on Evgeny’s leg she struggled to sit up, her cheeks flushing. “I’m so sorry,” she said, gazing around the dark woods, eyes wide. “How long have I been asleep?”

  


  In the moment between when Evgeny had glanced down at her and then looked up, Morozov had disappeared. Evgeny shook his head and turned back to Irina. “All afternoon. Did you talk to your mother?”

  “She talked about . . . a leshy watching over us.” Her eyes rose to meet his, their color faded in the dark. “She said . . .”

  Now I understand. He had a good idea exactly where to find that leshy; he’d just seen it. That was what he’d observed when looking at Nikolay Morozov . . . a creature that could change its form to be anything, even human. “What did your mother say?” he prompted.

  “Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. She glanced up at the night sky. “It’s dark! I don’t know what my father must be thinking.”

  Evgeny suspected her father hadn’t noticed her absence yet. The man seemed to drift through his days like a boat unanchored. He was more surprised that Irina’s cantankerous maid hadn’t come hunting her.

  Irina pushed to her feet and collected her things. Evgeny rose as well. He helped her pick up the blanket and held one end while she folded it. He gathered up the basket and held it against his hip while she glanced about to see if she’d left anything. Then he led her back along the pathway, taking care that neither of them tripped over a stray root. When they’d reached the edge of the trees and could see the lake shining under the light of the moon, she paused and laid one hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

  “I hope it was helpful,” he said honestly.

  “Promise me something,” she said. “Please.”

  For her, he was likely to promise away his very soul. “What?”

  “Promise you won’t run away.”

  It was a foolish thing to promise, but looking down into her eyes, he could do little else. “I promise I won’t run away.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and then she surprised him by reaching up and kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

  She didn’t speak again as he escorted her back to the house. And once they’d reached the steps, she paused and bid him goodnight. Evgeny wasn’t certain what had just happened, but Irina clearly wanted to get away from him, so he handed over the basket and watched until she reached the doors of the Big House and slipped inside.

  Then, still shaking his head, he wandered back to the aviary. Perhaps tomorrow it would make sense.

  

  Irina dumped the basket and blanket right inside the door and dashed up the stairs. She ran down the hall and stopped to pound on Illarion’s bedroom door before letting herself in. “Illarion?”

  Barefoot, he emerged from his dressing room tugging on a robe over a loose pair of trousers. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I have to talk to you,” she told him. “Where’s Kolya?”

  Illarion’s eyebrows drew together. “He went for a walk. What’s so urgent that you would come into my bedroom, of all things?”

  Years ago, that wouldn’t have given him a moment’s pause, but he’d turned proper somewhere in the interim. At least where she was concerned. Irina scowled at him. “I talked to Mother.”

  His nostrils flared, but he didn’t say anything.

  “She didn’t leave because of anything any of us had done. She had no choice. The spell that made her human had run its course.”

  One of Illarion’s brows rose, but he still remained quiet.

  “She said to ask the leshy if you didn’t believe me, that the leshy would never lie to you.”

  Illarion leaned against the back of the sofa. “She told you?”

  That question proved that Illarion knew all about this mysterious leshy that was supposedly watching over them. “About the leshy that came here with us? Yes.”

  Kolya walked into the room. “Why is this door hanging open?”

  Illarion gestured toward Irina. “She says she talked to our mother.”

  Kolya looked at him oddly. “Do you not believe her? You should.”

  Illarion just shook his head as if disgusted.

  “That’s not the important part,” Irina said, throwing her hands in the air. “The important part is what she said about Evgeny.”

  That got Illarion’s attention. “Evgeny Petrovich?”

  What other Evgeny did he know? “Yes,” Irina snapped. “She said the witch would come for him one day.”

  Illarion rubbed a hand across his face and cast a worried glance at Kolya. Kolya’s lips twisted. Irina waited. Illarion’s reaction told her he knew all about the witch already.

  “How would our mother know that?” Illarion asked Kolya. “About the witch, I mean.”

  Kolya leaned back against the footboard of the bed. “There are currents in magic, an ebb and flow. If this is going to happen, then power will be building. The trees can sense that.”

  Illarion’s lips pursed. “I’ve made arrangements. I’ll send him to Finland, and from there I can get him out of Russia altogether. Surely she won’t pursue him that far.”

  “No,” Irina protested. “You can’t send him away. Surely there’s something we can do to protect him here.” She found herself asking that last of Kolya rather than her twin. “Can we not protect him from one witch?”

  Kolya’s lips pressed together. “I will consider it.”

  Irina sighed. That was as much as she could ask. “Please just don’t send him away. This is my home. I don’t want to leave here.”

  “If I sent him away,” Illarion asked, “you would go with him?”

  Irina licked her lips. “If he wanted me to,” she whispered.

  Kolya’s brow rose again. “You do trust him.”

  She didn’t know when she’d made up her mind about that, but she had at some point. “Yes.”

  “Go on to bed then,” Kolya said. “We’ll figure out something in the morning.”

  Irina didn’t question him. She just turned and let herself out of the bedroom, drawing the door closed behind her. If Kolya said they would figure something out, they would.

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  HE TRAILS MAGIC from his wingtips and his eyes shed no tears.

  Irina lay in her bed, the morning light slanting through her windows, and tried to shake the chill that hung about her. Her mother’s warning had been about Evgeny, of that she was sure. The reference to magic surely meant his curse, the wingtips a reference to the birds in the aviary. His eyes shed no tears must be for his cursed eyes, the reason he was barred from the church. But then her mother had said, the witch will come for him one day and threaten all in her path.

  Her mother hadn’t said the witch might find him, but that she would come for him.

  Irina gazed up at the plaster of her ceiling, the delicate plasterwork vines at the edge of the crown molding. Their mother had asked a leshy to watch over them, surely something a leshy would only agree to do if it knew they were part tree. Leshies guarded the forests, not people. The leshy had spent years trying to watch over her and Illarion both, an impossibility since she and her twin were often in different places. And if she stayed behind at the dacha when Illarion returned to St. Petersburg, the leshy couldn’t watch over them both, so it had asked her mother’s permission to hand protection of her over to Evgeny Petrovich.

  That leshy—not the one that lived in the forest beyond the dacha, but a different leshy—had come from St. Petersburg with them.

  The answer was there, at the edge of her consciousness, only she was afraid to acknowledge it. She’d never seen a leshy crouching on their carriage. There had never been one in the house, either here or in the city. But leshies could change their appearance. They could be an old man, or any creature of the woods or . . .

  . . . or an eight-year-old boy who’d lost his family.

  Leshies had no shadows.

  Irina closed her eyes and shivered. Who was Nikolay Morozov, truly?

  She tried to pray, but had no idea what to ask of God or which saint would aid her. Kolya had been nothing but protective of them—both of them. And Illarion knew. He had to, or she wouldn’t be able t
o tell him to ask the leshy as her mother had said. Had Illarion always known?

  Irina took a deep breath, swung her feet over the side of the bed, and got up. The only way she was going to sort this out was to ask. And this time, she wouldn’t let Illarion put off her questions. She dressed and went to the breakfast room, but neither her brother nor Kolya was there. When she wandered to the aviary, Evgeny was also missing.

  Frustrated, she walked out to the forest. Her mother waited, patient as always. “Has Kolya always been a leshy?”

  The leaves rattled, the trees whispering confusing answers.

  “Has the leshy always been Kolya?” That seemed wrong, since leshies were ageless.

  Her mother’s leaves clattered together like small swords. Both, the wind whispered.

  Irina sat down at the base of the tree and wrapped her arms about her legs, uncaring of her muslin gown. Kolya was both, just as she and Illarion were both human and tree, just as her mother was both tree and, in some small part, still human.

  

  In the morning, Evgeny found that his lure by the village stream had worked as planned. A male pheasant strutted there along the bank, hunting for more corn. When Evgeny called him over, the pheasant followed willingly enough, pecking at the trail of dropped corn all the way back to the aviary. When they went inside, the pheasant hen strode out to approve the new arrival.

  Evgeny left them to get to know one another and went about his chores. Yesterday afternoon he’d let a few go, and so he was now behind. But he’d been glad of the chance to help Irina and considered it time well spent. He’d already filled all the dishes and watered the plants when he heard the aviary door open. He came out of the workroom, expecting to find Irina come to sketch the birds.

  Lizaveta stood there instead, wearing a traveling gown of austere black and a hat with a veil. Her eyes showed red from tears. Mourning, he realized. She must be in mourning for Nadya.

  “What are you doing here, Lishka?”

  She licked her lips nervously. “Grigori is dead.”

  Evgeny stopped a few steps away as she made the sign of the cross. “By his own hand?”