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

by E. P. Clark

  Perhaps it’s just a bundle of clothing, or an extra blanket, she told herself. She looked at it as hard as she could in the darkness, but could come to no definite conclusion about its contents.

  If I don’t find out what it is, I’ll think about all night and I won’t get a wink of sleep, she told herself, and slid out from under the covers. She tiptoed over towards the formless dark shape in the corner, but stopped a couple of feet away from it, still unable to make out what it was, but too apprehensive to come any closer.

  “Over here, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said a voice in her head. It was very faint, and sounded as if it were at least two hundred years old.

  “What do you want?” Slava whispered.

  “I want you to come down and talk to me,” said the small huddled figure. “If you can lower yourself so far.”

  “Of course,” whispered Slava, sitting down on the floor, which was extremely cold and dusty. “Who are you?”

  “The house-spirit of this cabin,” said the small huddled figure.

  “I didn’t know these cabins had house-spirits,” said Slava, since it was the only thing she could think of saying.

  “Most don’t,” said the small huddled figure faintly. “Just a few. And we are old and uncared for, as you see.”

  “You poor thing,” whispered Slava. “How do you survive?”

  “The charity of strangers,” said the small huddled figure, turning to look at Slava more directly. Slava’s eyes suddenly grew able to focus on it, and she saw that it looked almost like a small hairy woman who was no bigger than a little child, but also like a leshaya, and that it was very, very old. It was sitting with its back to the wall, hugging its knees.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” Slava asked.

  “Do you know what house-spirits are, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna?” asked the house-spirit softly.

  “What?” asked Slava.

  “We stand halfway between the world of women and the world of magic,” said the house-spirit. “We are sisters to both women and the leshiye, and daughters of the gods themselves. Does that sound familiar?”

  “Well…” said Slava, to whom it did not sound familiar, even though she could tell by the house spirit’s voice that it should.

  “What do you think your daughter will be, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, should she have the good fortune to be born?”

  “She will be a house-spirit?” asked Slava, trying to hide her distaste at the thought. In her mind’s eye her daughter was already tall and beautiful, with hair the color of fire and eyes the color of the sea.

  “No, don’t worry about that, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said the house-spirit, laughing faintly. “She will be even more beautiful than how you picture her now. Should she have the good fortune to be born. But like me, she will be halfway between two worlds, and the pawn of both, unless she takes great care not to be used.”

  “I will teach her to be strong and wise!” Slava exclaimed.

  “I’m sure you shall, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said the house-spirit. “Just as you are doing your best to teach young Vladislava who lies there in your bed. But young Vladislava, and your little daughter, would do well to learn that there is more to living than being strong and wise, which comes so naturally to them anyway. I was glad to see that Vladislava was frightened when I peered out at her from under the stairs. It is good for the strong and wise to know what it is to be fearful and foolish from time to time. I hope you teach your little Krasnoslavovna to be gentle and humble, as well as strong and wise. I came to you to ask you to teach her to remember us little folk too, and to remember that she is one of us. Strength, and wisdom, and courage, and a heart and mind full of fire are all very well, but so many of us lead our little lives tied to our hearths and homes, and that is all very well too. Don’t let her forget that, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna. Don’t let her get too proud. Should she have the good fortune to be born.”

  “I’ll try,” Slava promised.

  “Only try?” asked the house-spirit. “Is that the best you can do?”

  “I think that’s the best any mother can do,” said Slava. “So much of each new life is out of our hands.”

  “Well said, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said the house-spirit. “But now I know: there is something you can do for me.”

  “What?” asked Slava.

  “Send your daughter to me. To us, to the house-spirits, so that she can learn about softness and kindness and service. These are things that many would do well to know more of.”

  “Yes,” said Slava. “Is news of…Is my news spread all over Zem’, then? Does the whole world of magic know of it already? Because I myself am still unsure, and you are doing nothing to increase my certainty.”

  “All the world of magic knew of it the day it happened,” said the house-spirit. “Your humility does you credit, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, but a possibility as great as the arrival of your Krasnoslavovna made everyone with so much as a drop of foreseeing blood in her veins stare into the future and wonder. Your little Krasnoslavovna has a bright path before her, should she have the good fortune to be born, and you may be sure that we—the house-spirits, and the leshiye, and all our sisters and brothers—will do our best to ensure that that happens. So many children are unwanted or unneeded, but your little Krasnoslavovna does not even exist yet, and already we look forward to her rule with hope, which is not often the case, I assure you. And you may be sure of one other thing as well: You will be watched over wherever you go.”

  “I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” said Slava with a little laugh, little as she felt like laughing. The house-spirit’s words were not comforting at all, even though Slava could tell she meant them to be so.

  “You have nothing to fear, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said the house-spirit, stretching out her small wrinkled hand and stroking Slava’s own hand, which seemed so large and strong in comparison. “We none of us mean you any harm. And you may count on the house-spirits, I promise you that. My sister in Krasnograd already awaits you.”

  “The kremlin has a house-spirit?” asked Slava. “I never knew.”

  “House-spirits only show themselves to the pure of mind and humble of heart,” said the house-spirit. “Only those who are willing to serve are worthy of being served. Your family so rarely is worthy. But for you we will make an exception.”

  “I am honored,” said Slava. “Although I fear that I have too much of my family in me to be worthy. Every day the fire and steel my companions accuse me of possessing shows through a little more.”

  “Fire and steel?” said the house-spirit. “You think you are made of fire and steel?”

  “No,” said Slava. “But others say I am, and sometimes I feel it coming out of me, like claws stretching forth from my fingers.”

  “Ah,” said the house-spirit. “Well, perhaps that is so. The depths hold many things. But, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, you and your companions are gravely mistaken if you believe you are made only of fire and steel. I fear you are made of much stronger stuff than that.”

  “Oh,” said Slava. “Such as, for example?”

  “Water, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, water. Water is such a simple thing, is it not? And yet so powerful. After all, we fear fire and steel, but we pour water in and out of our bodies every day without a second thought. We must have it to live, and yet it can kill just as surely as any sword or flame. It takes any shape, and can tear down any wall, brick from brick and stone from stone. It can be cold hard ice, or disappear into the hottest of steam, and yet it will always return as water. You may have steel submerged within you, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, and you may grow hot enough to scald all around you, but that is because you are made of water, and water you shall always be.”

  “I suppose I can see that,” said Slava, “but perhaps I won’t share that with the others. I think it does them better to think of fire and steel. And what about this daughter you say I will have, if she should have the good fortune to be born? Will she be made of water too?”r />
  “What was it you thought to yourself, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna? Hair like fire and eyes the color of the sea? Perhaps that is how she shall be on the outside, but without a doubt that is how she shall be on the inside.”

  “That sounds difficult,” said Slava. “Not that I would expect anything different, given who her parents will be. But I fear she will be unhappy and choke on all that steam.”

  “Oh, very likely, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, very likely. Which is why you must send her to me and my sisters. Who better than house-spirits to teach a girl how to keep the kitchen of her own mind? Who better than house-spirits to help someone keep her fires banked and her well clean, so that she can use them for good rather than let them run wild or go bad to destroy her home and family? Promise me, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, promise me you will send her to us!” The house-spirit’s voice rose to a desperate shout, so that Slava feared it would awaken the others, but none of them so much as stirred.

  “I promise,” she said. “If you promise to watch over her as if she were your own. For she shall be very precious to me, should she have the good fortune to be born, and I already know I will be loath to let her out of my sight even for an instant.”

  “I promise,” said the house-spirit, this time speaking almost in a whisper, as if she had spent all her strength on that last desperate plea. “My head for beheading, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, she shall know nothing but health and joy when she is with us, nothing but health and joy.” The house-spirit reached out her small hand, which was like an old woman’s hand but also like the branch of a tree, and rested it on Slava’s arm. “Health and joy,” she repeated.

  “Health and joy,” echoed Slava, covering the house-spirit’s hand with her own, much larger and fleshier one. For a moment there was a great surge of warmth where the house-spirit was touching her, as if, she couldn’t help but think, she were a kettle set on a hot stove, and then they released each other and Slava felt no different than before.

  “Now go back to the bed,” ordered the house-spirit, sounding exactly like a fussy nanny, only much older. “You need your rest. But when you make breakfast in the morning, make extra for me, and leave some porridge in the pot.”

  “Of course,” said Slava.

  “Sweet dreams, Krasna Tsarina,” said the house-spirit, and, in some fashion that Slava couldn’t quite make out, slipped through a tiny crack in the wall, and disappeared.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning Slava wasn’t entirely sure that she had not dreamed her encounter with the house-spirit, but she left a little porridge in the bottom of the pot anyway, feeling unusually peaceful and contented as she did so. If the house-spirit had been a dream, it had been a strangely pleasant one. And when Vladislava inched fearfully down the steps, watching anxiously for any sign of peering eyes, Slava, instead of telling her there was nothing to fear, told her that whenever she was tempted to mock someone for being afraid of something for which Vladislava had no fear, she should remember how she walked with trembling knees while everyone else skipped blithely down. By the look on Vladislava’s face, the lesson did not have much effect, but Slava felt good about saying it, at least.

  Yesterday’s spring had fled in the night with its racing clouds, to be replaced by a bright hard winter day. The snowy ground was covered with an icy armor that made every step treacherous, and Grisha and Sasha struggled for some time, cursing, with the stockade gate, which had frozen shut.

  “It will be another long day,” said Olga grimly.

  “It’s so bright!” complained Vladislava. “It’s hurting my eyes!”

  “Then keep them shut!” snapped Olga.

  “Then I’ll be bored!” whined Vladislava.

  “We could play a game,” suggested Slava. “We could try to guess what’s happening by the sound of the sleigh runners.”

  “You’re just saying that to make me stop whining!” said Vladislava resentfully.

  “Is it working?” asked Slava, trying to smile as cheeringly as possible.

  “NO! It’s just making it worse! I hate traveling! I hate winter!”

  “You’re acting like a girl of five!” shouted Olga.

  “You’re acting like a girl of five, and you’re much older!”

  “By all the gods, how I hate children!”

  “No, you hate Lisochka, and now you’re treating me the same way!” screamed Vladislava, and burst into tears. Grisha and Sasha stopped struggling with the gate.

  “Everyone is overwrought after our bad day yesterday,” said Slava soothingly. This cost her a considerable amount of effort, as what she really wanted to do was shake both Olga and Vladislava until their teeth rattled, but much to her pride, the strain hardly came out in her voice at all.

  “Yes, that’s it,” agreed Olga, her voice trembling. “A change of scene and company would benefit us all. Dunya! You get to tutor the little princess today! Take her in the other sleigh and teach her something!”

  “I know nothing of being a princess,” Dunya said.

  “Good! Nothing good ever came of being a princess anyway. Teach her something useful. Teach her…teach her how to read tracks, or some such thing. Grisha can help.”

  “When will I ever have to read tracks when I rule Lesnograd?” demanded Vladislava, still sobbing. “That’s stupid!”

  Olga opened her mouth to shout something ill-considered, but Dima said quickly, “Come with me, little one, and I’ll teach you how to drive a sleigh.”

  “Why? Why should I learn how to drive a sleigh?”

  “Because it will be fun, and then you will be able to drive wherever you wish,” said Dima.

  This argument quelled Vladislava’s quarrels and dried her tears, and by the time Grisha and Sasha had gotten the gate closed behind them, Vladislava was in Dima’s lap and enthusiastically repeating after him all the parts of the harness. The men who normally rode in the same sleigh with Olga and Slava took one look at Olga’s face and retreated wordlessly, leaving Slava and Olga to themselves. The rest of the party all packed somehow into the second sleigh, and they set slowly off.

  “Well, perhaps that will keep her out of our hair for a few hours,” said Olga. “I don’t see how you can stand to be around her.”

  “She’s very clever, and very brave, and a very wonderful child,” said Slava. “I can’t help but love her.”

  “She’s a vain, spoiled brat who shouts out whatever she thinks will hurt people the most,” said Olga.

  “Yes, she is very clever,” said Slava.

  “It doesn’t take cleverness to blurt out nonsense!”

  “Vladislava rarely blurts out nonsense,” said Slava. “Nonsense doesn’t hurt people.”

  This provoked a long sullen silence from Olga, which was just as well, as the ice on the road required extremely careful driving. It was only after they had gone several versts, and the icy snow had softened into slush, that Olga suddenly said, as if there had been no pause in their conversation, “You don’t honestly take her words seriously, do you?”

  “Very seriously,” said Slava. “I take everyone’s words seriously.”

  “But most people’s words are just nonsense! Trash!”

  “If you’re tracking a creature through the woods, then its scat is a valuable sign, even if it has no value of its own,” said Slava.

  “True enough,” said Olga. “Well, I’ll soon be rid of her, and you’ll be welcome to spend as much time listening to her as you wish. Thank the gods Lisochka didn’t take up your offer to come with us too! Anyone would think you wanted a child of your own, the way you keep taking in strays.”

  “Perhaps I do,” said Slava.

  “Want a child of your own? No, you don’t. Or if you do, you’re crazy. No one wants children.”

  “Most women want children,” said Slava with a smile.

  “Most women are fools,” said Olga. “But they only realize their foolishness when it’s too late. Children are a great curse—even worse than men, which half of them gro
w up to be, the Black God take them. Thank the gods that you have none, and keep it that way. Why are you smiling in that strange way?”

  “Oh…” said Slava, who, despite her best efforts, had been unable to suppress a smile that was half pain and half uncontrollable mirth.

  “You’re not…expecting a child, are you? You can’t be!”

  “It seems likely,” Slava confessed. “But it’s still early yet.”

  “What!! How!!! Who is the father!?!”

  It took Slava some time to sort through all the possible responses to this, and say calmly, “The gods had a hand in it.”

  “Ugh!” And Olga shuddered all over and fell into a stunned silence for several more versts.

  ***

  “How!” she suddenly demanded that afternoon.

  “Oh, you know,” said Slava, unable to repress a grin.

  “Truly?” said Olga, giving her a surprised look.

  “Is there another way?” asked Slava.

  “You said the gods had a hand in it,” said Olga. “I though maybe…”

  “Well, it was their idea,” said Slava. “But, you know…”

  “How horrible!” cried Olga, shuddering all over again.

  “Quite the contrary,” said Slava, still grinning.

  “How did they make you do it? How…” Olga trailed off, her face still filled with horror and revulsion.

  “They asked,” said Slava. “Many times. And every time I said yes.”

  “Truly?” demanded Olga.

  “Truly,” Slava told her. “At first I did not realize to what I was agreeing…”

  “How could they!” Olga burst out.

  “But then I did realize, and I agreed anyway.”

  “Why!!?!”

  “I felt it needed to be done. Not only that, I wanted to do it. I was happy. I am happy, Olga. I feel…fulfilled. As if my life has purpose now, as if I have a reason for living, which I so painfully lacked before.”