by E. P. Clark
“Oh, Vlastomila Serafimiyevna will never accept that,” said Olga. “I told you: she’s very strict about whom she lets there. An unmarried man and a stranger will never have a chance.”
“I have to go,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, and his face and his voice were much more intent than usual. “And she and I are not strangers.”
“Still, I doubt she’ll agree. She’s very strict,” said Olga, apparently oblivious to the sudden urgency in Oleg Svetoslavovich’s voice.
“There’s no harm in asking, I suppose,” said Slava, before Oleg Svetoslavovich and Olga could start arguing over the matter.
“I knew you were a sharp one from the moment I met you, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, provoking a loud laugh from Olga. The three of them soon left, although not before Vladislava had extracted a promise from the others that they would make absolutely sure she got to say goodbye to Slava before she set off.
Despite having slept for a good part of the day, Slava was still weak enough that as soon as her visitors had left, she collapsed back into sleep, awakening only the next morning, when servants came for her and told her it was time to ready herself to leave. Deciding to take Vlastomila Serafimiyevna’s words on faith, Slava went down to the front hall with nothing more than some warm clothes, all borrowed from the kremlin household, since her own clothes were such disreputable rags by this time that the servants had taken them away and never brought them back, probably because they were now being used to clean the floor.
Olga, Oleg Svetoslavovich, and Vladislava were all waiting for her. Vasilisa Vasilisovna, Andrey Vladislavovich, and Lisochka were also hovering unhappily in a corner. Slava went over and thanked them for their hospitality and promised to return in a few days’ time, which elicited a faint murmur from Vasilisa Vasilisovna and nothing more than fearful, suspicious looks from the other two. Slava gave up on them as a bad job and returned to Olga.
“It’s a snowy day for travel,” Olga told her. “Are you sure you’re strong enough after your illness?”
“I feel stronger than before,” Slava said, and it was true. New strength was pouring back into her, as often happened after an illness, and she was looking forward to the journey with keen excitement.
Vladislava was extracting another promise from her to return as soon as possible, when Vlastomila Serafimiyevna arrived. Oleg Svetoslavovich promptly went over to her and spoke to her privately, and to the great astonishment of the others, she agreed that he could ride with them as far as the sacred woods surrounding the sanctuary.
“There is a cabin there on the edge of our territory for seekers,” said Vlastomila. “You will be very welcome there, Oleg Svetoslavovich.”
Oleg Svetoslavovich bowed, Olga hugged both him and Slava, Vladislava made them promise one more time they’d be back soon, and within a very short time they were in the sleigh, being carried swiftly through the snowy streets.
Chapter Six
The snow was falling so fast that Slava soon found she couldn’t look around without it filling her eyes, and she couldn’t talk without it filling her mouth, so, despite her desire to see more of Lesnograd and to question Vlastomila Serafimiyevna and even the sister driving the sleigh, she passed the first several versts of their journey in squint-eyed silence. It was only around midday, when they had left the city long behind and were traveling through a dense fir wood which offered them a little shelter from the snow, that she was able to come out from her cocoon of clothing and orient herself.
“Late winter snows are often the heaviest,” observed Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, on seeing her try to shake some of the snow off her hat. “We were lucky to be able to travel at all.”
“How far have we gone?” asked Slava.
“Perhaps fifteen versts. We have not made very good time, but, as I said, we were lucky to able to travel at all.”
“And how much farther?” asked Slava.
“Another fifteen versts or so. We should be there just after sunset.”
“Will it be fir woods all the way?” Slava asked, trying not to stare too obviously at the darkness that filled the narrow spaces between the trees.
“There will be a small village, and some other woods as well,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
“And you have nothing to fear here, anyway, Tsarinovna,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich. “This is the prayer wood, after all.”
“All the more reason to be afraid,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna calmly. “I should think that you of all people would realize that, Oleg Svetoslavovich.”
“Well, the Tsarinovna still has no reason to be afraid,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, grinning. Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, in striking contrast to every other woman Slava had seen, showed no inclination to grin back.
“I am glad you think so,” she said, and went back to gazing at the trees, evidently uninterested in any further conversation.
“What are you doing—praying?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich, after another verst or so of silence that was obviously weighing heavily on his spirits.
“Yes,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. After a little while, she added, “Should you not be doing the same, Oleg Svetoslavovich?”
“Well…” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, and it was clear from his voice that Vlastomila Serafimiyevna was absolutely right, and he knew it, but for some reason did not want to admit it.
“A great duty may lie before you, Oleg Svetoslavovich,” continued Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, still staring serenely at the snow in front of them. “Is that not why you begged me to let you accompany us? I would spend every moment of this journey in prayer, if I were you. And fear not: you will not go down your father’s path. You have other things to fear, but not that.”
Slava desperately wanted to know what great duty could be lying in front of Oleg Svetoslavovich such that he would do something that could even remotely resemble begging, not to mention what his father’s path was, and why he wouldn’t want to go down it, but when she glanced his way, she saw that he was uncharacteristically uncertain and embarrassed, and so she quickly looked the other way, and kept her questions to herself. It wouldn’t hurt her to engage in a little praying too, she told herself. By the very next tree, though, she was sunk deep into daydreams and had forgotten all about any thought of prayer.
They passed the village Vlastomila Serafimiyevna had mentioned. Its inhabitants bowed silently as they went by, in a show of respect that was much quieter but somehow even more frightened than anything Slava had ever seen for the Imperial sleigh.
“Is there much traffic between the village and the sanctuary?” she asked.
“No,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “Our gods are very strong, and they fear them.” And that was that.
Slava made another feeble attempt at prayer. It was not something she was very good at, or cared much for—which was probably, she told herself, why she wasn’t very good at it. She knew that some people—such as Vlastomila Serafimiyevna, for example, and even, to her surprise, Oleg Svetoslavovich, it seemed—could spend hours engaged in prayer, but she always got bored and went for a walk instead.
“Do you not care for prayer, Tsarinovna?” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna asked suddenly.
“How did you…?”
“You’re fidgeting, Tsarinovna,” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna pointed out. “Do you not pray regularly?”
“No, I always get bored and go for a walk,” Slava admitted.
“How wise of you, Tsarinovna,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “The gods are so much more likely to speak to us when we go to them, rather than demanding that they come to us, in our stuffy houses and crowded cities. But since you are trapped in this sleigh, simply pretend that you are walking, and see what falls into your mind.”
By now they were back in the woods. Slava stared out at the snowy trees. I wonder who lives here, she thought. What creatures are watching us go past? I wonder what they think of us? I wonder…She drifted off into fantasies of what they must look like in the eyes of the woodlan
d creatures watching them from behind the trees…The forest was so vast, and she was so small…Some strange monster with a strange, mingled smell went sliding by with a strange noise…She bounded off deeper into the woods…And then she could see herself from above…She was so vast…Full of living creatures…A strange monster with a strange, mingled smell went sliding through her with a strange noise…She was so vast…Spring was coming soon…Things were waking up inside of her…Some deep evil was stirring…It had hidden away inside of the strange sliding thing with the mingled smell…Aimed far to the South, at that proud woman in the great city…A curse…Even though it was not meant for her, it was poisoning her…A curse…For the proud woman in the South…
“The curse!” cried Slava, making everyone jump. Everything whirled around her for a moment, and then it all snapped into place, and she was riding in a sleigh through the woods once again.
“What about the curse, Tsarinovna?” asked Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
“The curse…It’s in me! I mean…Not in me, in the sleigh…I sensed it when I was the forest…” Slava trailed off, aware of how peculiar that sounded, even to her own ears, but it seemed to make sense to Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
“You were the forest, Tsarinovna?” she asked. “A vision?”
“I suppose…I just drifted off…and at first I was a snow hare, and I sort of spread out, and I was the whole forest, and I could see and feel everything inside of me, I could see us driving through the middle of me, and then I felt the curse, poisoning me…”
“You knew of this curse already, Tsarinovna?” asked Vlastomila Serafimiyevna.
“Oh, well…” Slava and Oleg Svetoslavovich glanced back and forth, and then Slava plunged in and told Vlastomila Serafimiyevna everything she knew or guessed about the curse, except Vladislava’s involvement in it.
“I see,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna when she was done. “I see. A curse in the prayer wood. That is serious indeed, especially as we are the ones to bring it here.”
“Can you do anything about it?” asked Oleg Svetoslavovich. “You and the sisters?”
“I do not know,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “But it seems that the Tsarinovna can. A rare gift indeed, Tsarinovna.”
“What? Why?”
“You just read the heart of the entire forest, Tsarinovna, did you not realize that?”
“I did?” exclaimed Slava. “Why? How?”
“If I could answer those questions easily, Tsarinovna, I would be a much better priestess than I am,” replied Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. “And I suspect this is a matter outside of even the gods’ ken, anyway. But we are almost to the sanctuary, and there we may find answers.”
“If we are going to find them, we will find them there,” said Oleg Svetoslavovich, with more seriousness than Slava would have expected. She had—not forgotten—but somehow not really given much thought of late to the fact that he was, after all, the gods’ chosen. But of course, he would be much more knowledgeable, and more devout, than she could ever be.
The sanctuary, when they arrived, looked more like an ordinary waystation than Slava had expected, although why she would have expected it to be anything other than what it was, she didn’t know. She had never been to a sanctuary before, and had always vaguely imagined that one would have more obvious signs of the gods’ presence than this rather homey-looking wooden building with a large porch in front and a barn in the back.
“Come and have supper with us, and then you will be escorted to our cabin,” Vlastomila Serafimiyevna told Oleg Svetoslavovich. “The sisters will give you provisions.”
Oleg Svetoslavovich thanked her, and they climbed out of the sleigh and went up onto the porch, while their silent driver drove the sleigh around to the barn. Sisters in plain brown robes came out to meet them, and if they were surprised by the presence of Slava and Oleg Svetoslavovich, they gave no sign of it, merely welcoming them to the sanctuary, giving them slippers, and leading them to a large table in a central room, where supper was already waiting for them. Even Vlastomila Serafimiyevna’s announcement that Slava was the Tsarinovna was greeted with nothing more than polite bows, which was very pleasant.
There was a long prayer before the meal, of course, which gave their driver time to slip speechlessly into the room. Even after all the words of the prayer had been said, the sisters sat for a long time in silent contemplation, their heads bowed and eyes closed. Slava felt very shallow and worldly in comparison, and had to make a strong effort, only partially successful, not to fidget, since no one else seemed to be fidgeting, not even Oleg Svetoslavovich.
The problem with prayer, she thought, as the silent prayer dragged interminably on, was that, despite Vlastomila Serafimiyevna’s words earlier, everyone seemed to expect you to pray to something, about something, and in general put in a lot of concentrated effort in a way Slava found completely mystifying and incomprehensible, instead of just letting the mind wander, something Slava was so naturally good at…she wondered how many of the sisters there were just letting their minds wander, as she was…she wondered, not for the first time, but more seriously than she had in a while, what other people thought when they let their minds wander…were their heads filled with strange and wonderful visions, more real than real, as hers was…she wondered how Vladislava was doing, and whether or not Vasilisa Vasilisovna was being kind to her…she wondered what kind of thoughts went through Vladislava’s father’s head, locked as he was in his witlessness…she wondered what Oleg Svetoslavovich was thinking right now, and if he bothered to pray over his dinner when no one else was looking…she wondered what kind of thoughts went through the gods’ heads, if they could be said to have either heads or thoughts…and what did trees think, or birds or bears or any of the other creatures of the forest…she could see the little building in the middle of her, full of strange creatures who sat and stared at their food before eating it, and amongst them was someone who had been given a duty, a heavy duty, and not even the gods know how that would turn out…
“May the gods bless our food and our union here tonight at this table,” said Vlastomila Serafimiyevna. Slava hoped no one had noticed her start as she was jerked out of her thoughts and back to the table.
Although there did not seem to be any particular prohibition against talking at the table, conversation was sparse. Vlastomila Serafimiyevna informed everyone that she had acquired the necessary provisions, “and also two guests,” and the other sisters made comments meant to express their gladness, and then everyone went back to eating. From what little discussion took place, Slava gathered that some of the sisters at the table were actually sorceresses in hiding, but they wore the same plain brown robes as the others, and by the end of the supper she still couldn’t tell for certain which of the women were sorceresses and which were sisters of the sanctuary. Anxious as she was to speak to the sorceresses, the urgency of her task had diminished in her mind since her arrival at the sanctuary, and she did not even attempt to seek out any of the sorceresses and ask them to speak with her privately. Her lack of interest in pursuing them surprised her, but she decided it must be on account of her recent illness. Surely the sorceresses wouldn’t be going anywhere, she told herself, and so tomorrow would do just as well. Perhaps by then she would be able to tell who was who, and could draw aside a sorceress without also drawing attention to herself. The sisters were no doubt as trustworthy as any woman in Zem’, but that, alas, was not very trustworthy. Better to wait until the right moment presented itself, Slava told herself, and finished her meal in silence.
When they were done, Oleg Svetoslavovich was led in one direction, and Slava was led in another.
“Where are you taking him?” Slava asked the brown-clad sister who was directing her.
“The kitchens, sister, and then the cabin for guests. He will be happy there. You can retrieve him when you leave. Many women choose to bring their husbands with them when they come to us seeking aid, and if we deem them deserving of our help, we are happy
to provide a place for their husbands as well.”
“He’s not my husband,” Slava said. She was about to say something about how surely the whole country knew the Tsarina’s sister was unmarried, but fortunately she heard the words in her head before they were able to reach her mouth, and she was able to stop them in time. Even the thought of saying something so self-important made her squirm. “He is a traveling companion,” she said instead. “Kin to Olga Vasilisovna, and so Vlastomila Serafimiyevna gave him leave to come pray in the prayer wood.” Slava realized she was in danger of being suspiciously chatty, and stopped herself from giving more misleading details about Oleg Svetoslavovich. “But do you not allow men to stay in the sanctuary, then?” she asked instead. “Do the gods forbid it?”
“The gods most likely look upon such matters with indifference, sister,” the sister told her. “It is we women who are easily distracted. Some priestesses, like those of the wolf, may allow and even encourage such…liaisons, but we are a very strict sisterhood.”
“Is it hard?” Slava asked. “Hard to make the choice?”
“Oh no, sister, not at all. Or rather, some of us may have spent much time in thought beforehand, but when the time comes, it is never hard.”
“And is it hard to keep to…to live in such a strict sisterhood?”
“Oh no, sister, not at all. It is easy. Because it is so strict, you see. It is easy. It is living in the world that is hard.”
“True,” said Slava. The idea of joining a sanctuary was starting to glimmer in her thoughts as a happy possibility. Then she remembered how bad she was at praying, and told herself not to be foolish.
The room her guide showed her to was just big enough for the bed and a small desk, neither of which were very fine, but everything seemed comfortable enough. The sister gave her a brown robe like the ones everyone else had on, and told her she should wear it for the duration of her stay. Slava feared it would be scratchy, but it, too, seemed comfortable enough when she put it on.