The Midnight Land: Part Two: The Gift (The Zemnian Trilogy Book 2)

by E. P. Clark

“Darya Krasnoslavovna,” said Oleg dreamily. Slava couldn’t help but wonder if he was like this with all his women.

  “With red hair and golden eyes,” she said, looking up at the ceiling to hide her smile at the thought of how not-special she was to Oleg. She knew that under other circumstances she would have been very hurt and angry, but right now she felt nothing but a great sense of joy. For once the act of love had left her feeling uplifted and cleansed, as it was supposed to, and not soiled and ashamed, as it so often did. For once she had felt that it really was the life-giving union of the earth and the sky, the expression of the purest love…and all because, Slava suspected, the two of them had been the only beings present in that bed that night. Slava was used to sharing her lover’s bed with her lover’s vanity, who tended to be a selfish and frigid party to their actions. But not this time. This time, unlike all the other times, it had just been the two of them. And, of course, he did have the benefit of experience…lots of experience. Probably best not to mention any of that to Oleg, though.

  “She will be beautiful—and very special,” she said instead. “I’m sure of it.”

  “But just to be even more sure…” said Oleg, kissing her navel. “And because we’re getting cold without our clothes…”

  “Smart, too, I can see, and very observant,” said Slava, laughing.

  ***

  Sometime that was definitely the next morning, Slava was awakened by the sound of something heavy walking around the cabin.

  “What’s that walking around the cabin?” she asked. “It sounds heavy.”

  “Gray Wolf,” said Oleg, lying there with his eyes closed. “Come to get me.”

  “Why?” asked Slava.

  “To take me back,” said Oleg, still not opening his eyes. Slava suddenly realized that he was anticipating a scene with her, and was afraid to open his eyes and look at her.

  “Then you should go,” she said, as kindly as possible.

  “I don’t…” he began, and Slava could see that he didn’t know what to say, or even what he wanted to say, or even what he wanted in general, but it didn’t matter, because he thought he had to leave.

  “If the gods are calling, then you should go,” she repeated more firmly. “And I must return to the sanctuary, anyway.” She got out of bed and began dressing herself.

  “You’re very calm,” said Oleg. “Aren’t you…”

  “What?” asked Slava.

  “Afraid? Worried? Concerned?”

  “No,” said Slava.

  “I never can understand how women can be so calm about this,” said Oleg, finally opening his eyes and looking at her. “You’re going to have a child! Alone!”

  “I won’t be alone,” Slava pointed out. “I will have all of Krasnograd at my disposal, and probably most of Severnolesnoye as well, once Olga finds out. If ever a woman was going to be well cared for, that woman would be me.”

  “Yes, but…” said Oleg, looking uncharacteristically lost and unhappy.

  “And I expect you to watch over her—over both of us—as well,” Slava said. “I’m sure you will do your best. Our daughter will be lucky, having you as her father.”

  Oleg laughed disbelievingly at the idea of anyone being lucky to have him as a father.

  “And you can come see her whenever you want, you know,” Slava pressed on, annoyed by his disbelieving laughter and determined to prove him wrong. “It would be nice if she were able to know her father. My own father died when I was so young I scarcely remember him. Sometimes I think it would have been nice to have a father around. When she’s older she will probably need to spend time with you, too. You can teach her about service to the gods.”

  Oleg’s face cleared. Once again, Slava was amazed at how easy it was to make people feel better with just a few well-chosen words.

  “I wish you could come with me,” he said. As far as Slava could tell, he meant it, at least for the moment. She wondered how often he sincerely meant what he said at the moment he said it. Probably most of the time. Just like he had sincerely meant what he had said last night, but it had been last night when he had said it, and now it was this morning.

  “And live in the woods?” Slava asked, with a smile to show that it was meant to be a joke.

  “It’s not so bad,” said Oleg. “I have a house. Well, more of a cabin. Well, actually, more of a…Well, anyway, it’s not so bad. Better than the hovel my father…Better than those tents you lived in for weeks and weeks. It’s very quiet. Peaceful. You’d probably like it.”

  “I probably would,” agreed Slava, keeping her doubts to herself. Oleg’s house was probably a horrible shack. Although right now even a horrible shack didn’t sound so bad, if they could stay in it and be alone together, away from the rest of the world. For a moment Slava was distracted by that happy fantasy. But then something twinged inside of her, and she knew that that was not an option. Running away was not an option. Krasnograd was at the end of her journey, whether she wanted it or not. She thought of Vladislava’s dark path, and suspected that hers was darker still. She remembered how she had seen herself sliding through the forest the day before, bearing some black evil, and she knew without a doubt that, were she to run away to Oleg’s cabin to live with him, she would bring that evil with her, probably in the form of a vengeful Empress seeking her lost sister as well as every opportunity to wreak death and destruction on these dangerous Northerners. Now there was a curse indeed, Slava thought, and one that required no sorceresses to wield it: her sister could easily bring about her own destruction with only the slightest nudge from outside forces, or maybe not even that. And Slava’s place was, inescapably, by her side. At least perhaps that way the damage could be controlled somewhat. Probably by making it even worse than it was to begin with. Slava would have cursed her fate, except that she knew that cursing her fate was the surest way of having fate curse her in return. Too many curses, she thought with chagrin, and probably some of them centered around this daughter who was not even in existence yet.

  “But I have to go back,” she said. “I cannot just disappear, much as I might like to.”

  Oleg raised his head and gave her a surprised look, and she knew she had hurt him without even meaning to. He, she remembered, had just disappeared, and they had both gotten caught on the other edge of the double-edged sword of words. She said quickly, “And when our daughter is of age, I promise you, she can come and see your house for herself. Any time you want to visit her, or she wants to visit you, I promise you, I will make sure it happens.”

  “You’re very kind,” said Oleg.

  Slava shrugged.

  “And you feel sorry for me, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” said Slava.

  “Of course you do,” said Oleg, shaking his head. “I’m leaving you to fend for yourself, and you feel sorry for me. I’d laugh if I weren’t angry about it.”

  “It is my nature,” said Slava. “No need to get angry about it. It won’t help, anyway.”

  “Are you ever going to come out?” someone called. It took a moment for Slava to realize that it must be Gray Wolf, and he was speaking inside their heads. “Surely you’ve done the deed by now.”

  “Patience is the crown of princes,” Slava said back to him.

  “Lucky for me I’m not a prince, princess,” said Gray Wolf.

  “That’s Tsarinovna to you, my fine fellow,” said Oleg, getting up and beginning to dress himself. “And I don’t see what you’re in such a rush about, anyway. We have all the time in the world, you and I.”

  “Send her out here,” said Gray Wolf. “We want to see her.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” asked Slava.

  “We,” said Gray Wolf. “Come out and see.”

  Slava left Oleg to finish putting his clothes on, and went outside. Gray light was already filtering through the trees. Gray Wolf was standing by the front steps. He was even more monstrous than she remembered.

  “You’re so huge,” she told him.

  �
��Save it for the men, Slava,” said Gray Wolf. “That kind of flattery doesn’t work on me.”

  “Who said it was flattery?” said Slava. “I was just thinking how monstrous you are.”

  “That is flattery for a monster like me,” said Gray Wolf. “Can I come closer? Can I rest my head on your shoulder?”

  “Of course,” said Slava.

  “Of course,” said Gray Wolf. He stepped closer and rested his very heavy head on her shoulder. “You aren’t afraid?” he asked.

  “No,” said Slava.

  “You carry a very heavy burden, you know,” he said.

  “Yes, my shoulder can tell.”

  Gray Wolf laughed in her ear. “Our hopes are high for you, Tsarinovna,” he said softly. “That is the burden I meant.”

  “I can carry it,” Slava told him.

  “The leshiye are here for you,” he said. “To escort you back to the sanctuary.”

  “Won’t that draw attention?” Slava asked with a smile.

  “Only the good kind,” said Gray Wolf. “The sisters are used to that kind of thing. This is a prayer wood, you know.” He lifted his head from her shoulder, which really was growing tired, and pressed it against her belly. “What better place to conceive a child of the gods.”

  “Yes,” said Slava, stroking his neck. “She will be blessed, I can feel it. I felt their spirits settle inside of me last night. Or something, anyway—happiness, perhaps.” She thought of the curses swirling around them, and took heart from that germ of happiness currently lying in her heart. A little counter-curse, as it were.

  There was a rustling noise, making Slava look up. Leshiye were coming out from the trees. The one closest to Slava had golden eyes.

  “Are you ready, Krasnoslava?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Slava.

  The candles went out in the cabin. After a moment, Oleg stepped out onto the porch.

  “Well, let’s go, brother,” said Gray Wolf, moving away from Slava. “Enough mooning around here! This is women’s business. We have no place here!” He said it boldly because, Slava could see, he knew that Oleg did not want to go, and did not know what to do, and was generally sad and at a loss.

  “I will come to Krasnograd next year,” said Oleg, looking at Slava and then looking away.

  “That will be good,” said Slava. “You will be welcome. Come to Krasnograd any time.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to go,” said Oleg, and once again he really meant it, at least for the moment. “I wish I were going back to Krasnograd with you.”

  “Then come,” said Slava. A wave of tenderness rose up inside her in response to his own momentary tenderness. “Come back to Krasnograd with me. You can be my consort, if you wish. I’ll even marry you, if you wish.”

  “My wife might have something to say about that,” said Oleg, with a painful smile that told Slava her proposal had been rejected. “Last I heard, she wasn’t dead yet.”

  “She can set you aside,” said Slava, unable to stop herself even though some part of her knew it was already hopeless. Now that she had thought about it, of course Oleg should marry her and come back to Krasnograd. It was such a blindingly obvious solution to so many of their problems that she was ashamed neither of them had thought of it earlier. Their child would have a father, Slava would have a husband and be free of her sister’s attempts to satisfy both her greed and her hatred of Slava by marrying her off to rich but spoiled princes, Oleg would be able to return to human society, and they would—if they came up with a clever enough story—have a marriage alliance with Severnolesnoye. It was too perfect for Slava to give up on just because of Oleg’s fearfulness and Princess Severnolesnaya’s general obstreperousness

  “And you really think she’d do that? You must not know her bad temper like I do.” Oleg gave her another painful smile, one that showed he had been thrown into a panic by her offer and was blurting out any excuse he could come up with to avoid accepting it.

  “She will if the Tsarinovna asks,” said Slava. “If that is what you wish, then I will ask it, and she will agree. Come back to Krasnograd with me and help me raise our daughter. Because, while I may be the most well-cared for woman in all of Zem’, I will also be surrounded by enemies, ill-wishers, and, it seems, imported as well as home-grown curses, and Darya will be doubly so. We could use your strong right arm at our sides.”

  For a moment Slava could see desire rush to Oleg’s face, as he pictured the life she had offered him. But then, with bitter clarity, she could see him crush it.

  “I can’t,” he said, looking at the ground to avoid looking at Slava, but she could still see by the set of his shoulders that what he meant was I’m afraid to. If he had really wanted to, Slava was certain that all the leshiye in the world wouldn’t have stopped him from coming to Krasnograd, and—judging by the eyes of the leshiye standing around them—they might not even have tried. But there was no need to put that to the test, because she could read in his eyes, his shoulders, his whole body, that Oleg was terrified of coming to Krasnograd and being mixed up in this “women’s business,” at least not until next year, and not until he was sure he could leave again a free man. Slava had never thought to see him afraid, but she could see that, now that the prospect was facing him squarely, he feared Krasnograd and the bondage of being “her man” and possibly even being happy more than any pangs of separation and remorse. Because his idea of happiness was, just as it was for so many others, nothing more than the slender branch of his own satisfied desires, and that branch was already breaking. She remembered what the cold wind had said, how others would use her and then turn away from her in dislike after they were done with her, and she wondered how much of that weakness was guiding Oleg right now. She would have liked to say none at all, but just then she couldn’t be sure of that. She wondered what he would have done if Slava had been facing, not comfort and safety upon her return to Krasnograd, but cruelty and danger, and she couldn’t help but suspect that he would have run just the same—after all, he had not offered to come with her when he had thought she might be leaving him to go to a dark fate, only expressed regret at the necessity for his absence. For a moment she thought she might choke on her own indignation at this revelation of faint-heartedness, but then she swallowed it down. After all, what else could she have possibly expected from him? His courage was the courage of fearlessness, not conviction. He too, just like everyone else around her, was mired in the way things seemed to be, and was too afraid to change them. He might have taken on a few unpleasant tasks for her sake, but only a few. The heaviest burdens she would have to carry by herself, and no amount of word-magic could induce him to shoulder so much as an extra ounce of her troubles.

  “I know you can’t come,” she said. For a moment it looked as if he were about to say something, to offer some sort of excuse or justification, but she cut him off by saying, “Then there is nothing more to be said.”

  For a moment she felt another twinge of unease, and she wondered if she should put her foot down and insist. If she really did bear a child, then—despite all that she had just said to allay Oleg’s and her own fears—she really would be surrounded by enemies and ill-wishers, not to mention curses, and she really would need, or at least like to have, someone’s strong right arm at her side, and Oleg’s was probably better than most. She looked at his hunched shoulders, and saw that he was still poised for flight, and flight in the opposite direction of both Krasnograd and her. She could also see that he was already rewriting their whole conversation in his head into something that made it impossible for him to have accepted her offer. She could see that he had already formed his opinion of his options, and, ill-founded as it was, she would have a great deal of difficulty in disabusing him of his confused and frightened notions, if she could have any success at all. She thought again of putting her foot down and insisting, but an even stronger twinge told her that the only thing worse than letting him go would be to make him come with her.

  “Enough standi
ng around in the cold: we should leave,” she said.

  “I really will come next year,” he said, looking up her as if he really meant it. She wondered how many different moods a man could go through in a single morning. Surely Oleg had already managed to go through them all. She had to suppress a sigh, or perhaps tears, or perhaps the desire to shout at him to make up his mind. None of that would do any good anyway. Either he would come next year, or he wouldn’t, and in any case, he wasn’t coming now. It occurred to her that right now he was the one in need of her mercy, and that she must give it to him, but not too much, because what he needed right now was a gentle guiding hand, not the turned back or the firm shove she longed to give him. If she hadn’t been standing where she was just then, she would have shaken her fists at the sky, or perhaps laughed heartily, over the quandary she had been placed in. How could she help them both without crushing him in the process? She wondered if taking his hand and stroking it gently would be the right thing to do. It was what she wanted to do.

  “Come, Krasnoslava,” said the leshaya with the golden eyes, stretching out its branches at her. Slava climbed down from the porch before she could do anything very wise or very foolish.

  “I will be waiting,” she said, looking back up at Oleg. Now his hand was too far away to take, and she wished it were in her own, but she could see that throwing herself at him right now would frighten him away, as if he were a beaten dog who didn’t know whom he could trust. Even so, she still, selfishly, wished she had taken his hand, even if only for a moment. It might be the last moment she had with him. She squelched that thought firmly. “But not for too long,” she added. “I do not have all the time in the world, as you do.” The leshaya swept her up in its branches, and within a few breaths she was carried out of sight of the cabin and everything else.

  Chapter Eight

  “Women are strange,” said the leshaya after a little while. “And so are men. How long would you have stood there, if we had not taken you?”

  “A long time, probably,” said Slava.