The Breathing Sea II - Drowning

by E. P. Clark

  We know. We are sorry too. We will not ask it of you—today. Perhaps tomorrow. We ask the same thing as the bear. Do not capture us, or torment us. And do not hunt us too heavily. There are only so many of us. We are not likely to hunt and harry you in turn, as the wolves and bears might, but our vengeance could be even more complete, should it be taken. We could disappear entirely. We could disappear entirely, and then where would you be? We would not do so willingly, but it could happen, if you do not hold up your end of the bargain.

  “I know,” said Dasha. The wind was continuing to rise, buffeting her this way and that, so that she was forced to wave her arms in order to remain standing. “I will hold my end of the bargain.”

  Let us hope it is enough, Tsarinovna, said the elk and the deer, and then stepped back into the shadows together.

  “What do you wish?” Dasha asked the wolves. “The same as all the others? Not to be captured and tormented, and to be allowed to live?”

  Yes, Tsarinovna, said Gray Wolf. And one thing more: no one is to hunt or harm a wolf. We must always come out on top in every fight, you know, and win every bargain.

  “Very well. Providing you do no harm to us, we will do no harm to you.”

  Or even if we do, Tsarinovna.

  “I cannot promise that. People will defend themselves. Even the gentlest doe will attempt to kick and throw you, if you attack her.”

  But you are not does, Tsarinovna. You are different. Prove that to us. Refuse to fight back.

  “I can’t…”

  Promise anything. Very well. But let it be known that if anyone harms a wolf, even if they believe themselves justified, we will count ourselves justified to harm them in turn. We will leave you humans in peace as best we can—providing this pact is not broken. Break it for any reason, no matter how good it seems to you, and we will break it as well. It is the best you are likely to get.

  “Very well. I accept, then.”

  Gray Wolf turned to look at the gathered wolves, and then turned back to Dasha. We are done, then, he said.

  NOT YET.

  The wind that accompanied those words struck Dasha so hard she staggered and went down on one knee. She looked around wildly, searching for the speaker. But all she saw was that she was in the center of a rapidly expanding empty circle. Even Vlastomila Serafimiyevna and Gray Wolf were backing away from her.

  “What do you want?!” she shouted. She struggled to get up, but was slammed down to the ground again, this time to both knees, by another gust of wind.

  WE WANT YOU, TSARINOVNA.

  “To be your servant? As my father is?”

  YES. AND NO. WE HAVE LISTENED TO WHAT YOU SAID, TO THE BARGAINS YOU MADE WITH YOUR SISTERS AND BROTHERS HERE. AND UNDER OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES WE WOULD LEAVE YOU TO YOUR BARGAINING OVER THE PETTY BUSINESS OF WHO LIVES AND DIES, AND HOW. THAT DOES NOT CONCERN US. OUR BUSINESS IS LIFE, NOT LIVES. WE DO NOT CARE WHETHER ANY ONE OF YOU LIVES OR DIES, AS LONG AS LIFE GOES ON. BUT YOU HUMANS LIKE TO DO THINGS THAT ENDANGER LIFE. AND SO WE MADE YOU, TSARINOVNA. WE MADE YOU TO TIP THE BALANCE TOWARDS LIFE RATHER THAN TOWARDS DEATH, THE WAY YOUR HUMAN SISTERS AND BROTHERS WOULD TILT IT.

  “What do you want of me? What do you want me to do?”

  THE WOLVES AND ALL THE OTHER CREATURES OF THE FOREST ARE CORRECT. YOU HUMANS ARE TAKING MORE THAN YOU GIVE. YOU STEAL FROM OTHERS WITHOUT GIVING ANYTHING IN RETURN, AND SPREAD DEATH WHEREVER YOU GO. YOU WISH TO LIVE AS WOLVES, BUT WITHOUT FOLLOWING THE HARSH TRUTHS THAT WOLVES MUST FACE.

  “So what do you want me to do? Become harsh? Become a wolf? I can’t!”

  SO WE HAVE SEEN, TSARINOVNA. NO. BECOME THE DEER INSTEAD.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a deer,” Dasha said, with a tiny smile at the absurdity of it all. “Is that what you’re going to do to me? Transform me into a deer? Give me four hooves, long ears, and a tail?”

  NO, TSARINOVNA. YOU ARE GOING TO TRANSFORM YOURSELF INTO A DEER, OR SOMETHING LIKE IT. NOT ON THE OUTSIDE, BUT ON THE INSIDE. YOU ARE GOING TO SWEAR TO DO NO NEEDLESS HARM, TO NOT TAKE THE LIFE OF ANY LIVING THING, TO GIVE MORE THAN YOU TAKE.

  “Even if I do that—which I will—it will do very little. Even if I do that, everyone else will still be doing harm, stealing lives, taking more than they give.”

  YES. BUT SOMEONE MUST TURN THE TIDE. SOMEONE MUST BE THE ONE WHO STANDS IN FRONT AND SAYS, ‘THIS IS HOW IT MUST BE.’ BECAUSE THEN THOSE BEHIND HER MIGHT ONE DAY FOLLOW. SOMEONE MUST BE THE ONE WHO MAKES THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE BECAUSE WOMEN ARE IN IT, JUST AS YOU SAID.

  “That is my purpose, then, my meaning? To stand in front and be the one that others make fun of, so that perhaps, someday far in the future, they might come and join me?”

  The cold wind paused, as if for thought. IF YOU WISH TO THINK OF IT LIKE THAT, TSARINOVNA, THEN YES. ALTHOUGH WE WOULD TELL YOU THAT LIFE HAS NO MEANING, THE WORLD HAS NO MEANING, NOT AS YOU WOMEN CONCEIVE OF IT. ITS ONLY MEANING—OUR ONLY MEANING—IS THE CONTINUATION OF LIFE, BY ANY MEANS POSSIBLE. YOU ARE JUST BEING USED AS ONE OF THOSE MEANS. BUT IF YOU WISH TO GIVE IT MEANING, YOU MAY. MEANING AS YOU WOMEN UNDERSTAND IT IS NOT SOMETHING THAT COMES FROM THE OUTSIDE, ANYWAY. MEANING IS SOMETHING YOU MAKE FOR YOURSELF.

  “So you’re just going to, to steal from me? To take from me, without giving? As you have accused others of doing—as you’re setting me to stop them from doing, even though we all know I’ll fail? You’re just going to…” Dasha choked on her own words, and fell silent. The, the, the unfairness of it made her want to scream. She knew that what the gods were telling her was true, and that they were asking her to do good things, but they were not asking her, they were forcing her, they were forcing her to do good things for their own selfish reasons, so that she was afraid that their selfishness would bleed into her actions, until they were no longer good any more. They wanted her to be generous, but how do you remain generous when everyone is trying to steal from you? That wasn’t generosity any more, that was…the false generosity of the slave, the forced generosity of the prey being brought down to feed those who could not live without it, of the sheep led to slaughter. If they could, they would all refuse their generosity, and if they did, the world might be a little bit of a better place. She should refuse too! She should tell them all that she would not be forced this, this, this injustice! If they wanted to make things better, they should start with themselves, instead of with her!

  “I don’t deserve this!” she cried. “I deserve…I deserve something better! I deserve more from the world than this!”

  THE WORLD? WHAT HAVE YOU EVER DONE FOR THE WORLD, LITTLE TSARINOVNA? OTHER THAN TAKE FROM IT. NO, LITTLE TSARINOVNA, THE WORLD OF WOMEN IS NOT THE SAME AS THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD, AND NOT EVEN YOU ARE THE CENTER OF IT. SO BEFORE YOU SPEAK TO US OF THE WORLD AGAIN, PUT PROOF TO YOUR WORDS WITH DEED, AND DO SOMETHING FOR “THE WORLD,” GIVE BACK TO “THE WORLD” RATHER THAN TAKING FROM IT.

  “It’s not fair that I should have to suffer so much!”

  WHY IS IT NOT FAIR? WHY SHOULD YOU BE DENIED THE SUFFERING THAT IS THE LOT OF ALL LIVING BEINGS? WHY SHOULD YOU BE DENIED THAT GIFT?

  “It isn’t a gift!”

  IT CAN BE. IT CAN BE A GIFT; WE HAVE SEEN IT. WE HAVE EVEN FELT IT, FOR EVEN GODS CAN SUFFER AND DIE. IT DEPENDS ON WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT. SUFFERING IS A HAMMER. IT IS UP TO YOU WHETHER YOU LET IT BREAK YOU DOWN, OR FORGE YOU INTO SOMETHING OF WORTH. SOMETHING THAT GIVES MORE THAN SHE TAKES. AFTER ALL, TSARINOVNA, YOU, JUST LIKE ALL OTHERS, EVEN US, ARE A SMALL, INSIGNIFICANT, FRAGILE BEING. YOUR WORTH IS NOT IN YOU BUT IN YOUR PLACE IN THE GREATER WORLD, THIS WORLD THAT IS MORE THAN JUST YOUR COURT AND YOUR KREMLIN AND YOUR WORLD OF WOMEN, BUT SOMETHING GREATER THAN ANY OF US—EVEN WE GODS—CAN SENSE OR COMPREHEND, SOMETHING VAST, AND SO FULL OF LIFE, MORE LIFE THAN YOU CAN POSSIBLY IMAGINE.

  “Then perhaps I don’t deserve that either. I don’t deserve any of it!”

  WE DO NOT GIVE PEOPLE WHAT THEY DESERVE. WE GIVE THEM WHAT THEY NEED. AND IF YOU DO NOT DO THIS, WHO WILL?

  “That’s not the point!”

 
; THEN WHAT IS THE POINT, TSARINOVNA?

  “That this is unfair, unjust! You’re using me for your own ends, without consulting me!”

  WE ARE GODS. WE ARE LIFE. LIFE USES ALL WHO PARTAKE IN IT FOR ITS OWN ENDS. NO ONE CAN ESCAPE THIS, AS LONG AS THEY ARE ALIVE. EVEN AFTER THEY ARE DEAD, THEY CANNOT ESCAPE THIS. EVEN WE OURSELVES CANNOT ESCAPE THIS, AND YOU, TSARINOVNA, MOST CERTAINLY CANNOT. AND BESIDES, HAVE WE NOT GIVEN YOU GIFTS? GIFTS OF MAGIC AND POWER, BEYOND WHAT ANY OTHER WOMAN IN ZEM’ CAN DREAM OF?

  “What gifts?! My useless visions? My fire? My…my curses that only harm and never heal? What gifts?! I would give them back if I could! Those are not gifts!”

  THEY ARE, TSARINOVNA. GIFTS ARE GIFTS IF THE GIVER GIVES THEM. WHAT YOU DO WITH THEM AFTERWARDS IS UP TO YOU. AND DID YOU NOT JUST SAY THAT YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A DEER? Dasha could have sworn that the voice was laughing a little. ARE WE NOT GIVING YOU EVERYTHING YOU EVER WANTED?

  “It’s…it’s different…it’s different when it’s forced upon you.” Dasha wanted to scream and cry, to shout at them that it was unfair, that they were ruining their gifts to her by forcing them upon her in the way that they wanted, rather than giving them to her exactly as she wanted, it was unfair, it was unfair…

  Dasha.

  Dasha blinked, and for a moment couldn’t make out what was standing in front of her. Then the figure resolved into that of Vika. She was wan and faint, so faint that Dasha could barely see her, and her form was constantly being torn into shreds by the wind, only to reform itself, each time a little fainter than before. Dasha, she repeated. This is not a matter of justice, but of mercy. An excessive focus on justice only leads to injustice. You taught me that. You’re never going to find perfect justice, especially for yourself. Better to focus on making things better, rather than trying and failing to make them perfect. You taught me that. Now let me teach it to you in turn. What they are offering you may be no more a gift than the half-life, cursed life, I got after death, but it was a gift nonetheless, and one that I am now, finally, able to give back. To you. Turn this into a gift as well. Turn what they are offering you into a gift, for others if not for yourself.

  She winked out. Dasha couldn’t tell if she had just slipped back inside her, or if she was gone for good.

  “Very well,” Dasha said. She struggled to her feet. “I accept your offer. I will make your pact. And it will be a gift, because I’m going to make it a gift.”

  YOU SWEAR IT, THEN? TO NEITHER HARM NOR KILL ANY LIVING THING, NOR CAUSE THEM TO BE HARMED BY YOUR ACTIONS?

  “What if I have to make war?” Dasha asked. “What if Zem’ is invaded during my rule, and I have to go to war to defend it?”

  THAT WOULD BE ALLOWED, TSARINOVNA. Dasha thought the voice was laughing at her again. IF YOU OR THOSE YOU LOVE ARE UNDER DIRECT THREAT OF HARM, THEN YOU MAY DEFEND YOURSELF. BUT YOU SWEAR IT? TO NEITHER HARM NOR KILL?

  “I swear it,” said Dasha.

  AND DO YOU SWEAR TO PROTECT THE CREATURES OF THE FOREST, AND ALL LIVING THINGS, AS IF THEY WERE YOUR OWN KIN? BECAUSE THEY ARE.

  “I swear it,” said Dasha.

  AND DO YOU SWEAR IT ON BEHALF NOT JUST OF YOURSELF, BUT ALL YOUR LINE? ON BEHALF OF ALL YOUR DAUGHTERS AND GRANDDAUGHTERS TO COME?

  “I swear it,” said Dasha.

  THEN TAKE OUR FINAL GIFT, TSARINOVNA, AS RECOMPENSE.

  Another gust of wind hit Dasha, so strongly that she was knocked onto her back. Bright lights exploded in her head and filled her vision, blinding her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Dasha!”

  “Tsarinovna!”

  Little Tsarinovna!

  Oleg and Vlastomila Serafimiyevna were both scrambling towards her. Even Gray Wolf was stalking towards her cautiously. Dasha pushed herself to her elbows.

  “I’m all right,” she said.

  “You’re bleeding,” Oleg told her, kneeling down by her side and putting his hand on the back of her head. Dasha winced. “You must have cut yourself on a stick—or just from the force of the blow. You’re really bleeding. She’s really bleeding!”

  “Allow me, Oleg Svetoslavovich.” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna knelt down beside him, and placed her hand on the wound. She tsked. “Honestly, Oleg Svetoslavovich, you’re just as weak-nerved as any other father when it’s your daughter who’s injured. It’s barely more than a scratch. Head wounds gush like waterfalls: you know that.”

  “It could be more than just a cut,” Oleg said stubbornly. “And it needs to be cleaned and covered.”

  “It will be, Oleg Svetoslavovich. Give her to me, and we will treat her as well as she would be treated in her own kremlin.”

  Allow me. Gray Wolf bent his enormous head down, pushing it between Oleg and Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. Before they could protest, he began to lick the wound clean.

  “Tfoo!” said everyone at once. “How disgusting!”

  Only to you weak-stomached humans, said Gray Wolf. It will clean the wound, better than anything you might try yourselves. I was gifted with more than just size and strength, you know, impressive as they are.

  “It’s true,” said Oleg. He seemed to be recovering from his first, instinctive disgust. “He’s done it to me before. A few licks, and the wound always heals clean. Only…” The corners of his mouth turned down in distaste. “It’s different, somehow, seeing you do it to Dasha.”

  No doubt. But it will be just as effective. There. Gray Wolf’s tongue gave her one more firm lick, making Dasha want to shriek as its roughness threatened to abrade the wound even more, and withdrew.

  “The bleeding’s stopped,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.

  And it will not take septic.

  “That’s nice. We should clean it and cover it even so.”

  Of course, if it comforts you. I will leave you now. My business here is done. Do not forget your vows, any of you, and we will not forget ours. Gray Wolf turned to go.

  “Wait!” called Dasha.

  He turned back. Yes, little Tsarinovna?

  “What was the final gift? The one they gave me at the end? What was it?”

  Gray Wolf looked her up and down. I do not know, little Tsarinovna.

  “Neither do I! I don’t feel any different. But I want to know what it was! What if it’s something just as bad as everything else, and it pops out at me unexpectedly at the worst possible moment? I should know beforehand if that’s going to happen.”

  I see your imagination is still as lively as ever, little Tsarinovna. No doubt that is how it will happen. And with those comforting words, Gray Wolf turned and, with one bound, cleared the heads of the other wolves, and disappeared into the darkness under the trees. The big female, the one with whom he had spoken earlier, rose from her haunches, nodded at Dasha, and set off into the trees after him, followed by all the others. In a moment every trace of them was gone.

  “Come,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “We should take the Tsarinovna into the sanctuary. Help me carry her.”

  “You’re letting me into the compound?” said Oleg, at the same time as Dasha said, “I can walk!”

  “Are you sure, Tsarinovna?”

  “Yes!” Dasha pushed herself up to sitting, and then clambered to her feet. Shakily, it had to be admitted, but still to her feet. “See?” she said. “I’m fine!”

  Vlastomila Serafimiyevna and Oleg both looked doubtful. “Why don’t you take my arm,” Oleg suggested.

  “Fine. If it will make you happy.” In fact, Dasha had to admit (to herself) that she was glad to have Oleg’s arm to lean on as he led her back through the gate and inside the compound. The ground seemed strangely unsteady under her feet.

  “The sickchamber is this way,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, leading them into the main building, and then down a different corridor from the one that led to the regular cells. “Sister Yeseniya! Send for Sister Galina.”

  “Right here, Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.” A short, slight sister with a gentle face stepped up from the group of sisters following be
hind them. “Bring her right there, if you please, Oleg Svetoslavovich. Yes, right into here, that’s right. Set her down on this chair, if you please. Will you let me look at you, Tsarinovna?”

  “Do as you will,” said Dasha.

  She thought Sister Galina would go immediately for the cut on her head, even though it was, she noted, still not bleeding. Instead, however, she held a candle up and shone the flame into each of Dasha’s eyes in turn, watching them carefully and nodding with satisfaction.

  “What are you looking for?” Dasha asked her.

  “To see if the eye works properly, Tsarinovna. Sometimes after a blow to the head, the pupils don’t open and close as they should, or one will be bigger than the other. Do you feel sick, Tsarinovna? As if you might vomit?”

  “Not really,” Dasha told her. “Actually, I feel kind of hungry.”

  “Does your head hurt?”

  “A bit. Not a lot.”

  Sister Galina nodded again in satisfaction. “Good. Tell me if that changes, Tsarinovna. I’ll just bind this cut on your head, and have some broth brought to you.”

  “She has the falling sickness,” Oleg put in.

  Sister Galina frowned. “Is that so? Why was I not summoned to see her before, then?”

  “I don’t have the falling sickness,” Dasha said quickly.

  “Well then, you have something exactly like the falling sickness.”

  Sister Galina frowned some more, and placed her hands on Dasha’s temples. A pleasant warmth spread from them across Dasha’s scalp, and all down her neck. Sister Galina held her hands there for a long time, much longer than any healer had done before, and when she brought them away, she was frowning even more than she had been earlier.

  “Like anyone who has the gift of healing, I can sense what is inside your head, Tsarinovna,” she said. “No, not like that! I cannot read minds. But I can sense the flow of energy inside your head. When a person has the falling sickness, the energy is disturbed, and instead of flowing smoothly, it jumps and spurts, like water tumbling over sharp rocks. In your head—there is nothing like that. Lots of energy, yes, much more than normal, but it flows as it should.”