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

by E. P. Clark

  Slava slept restlessly that night, but she told herself that that was to be expected, a strange room and strange home and strange people and so many adventures in the past week. She arose the next morning determined to go to breakfast and eat at least a bite or two, and then sit down and write her letter without delay.

  There was a new person at breakfast that morning, a quiet thin woman who looked like an older version of Dunya, and who proved to be a tracker traveling from Krasnograd back to the steppe. Her name was Nadya and she sat in silence for most of the meal, only breaking her silence when Anastasiya Tatyanovna, the sanctuary mother, asked her straight out for the latest news from Krasnograd.

  “They say that the Tsarinovna has plotted some black treason against the Tsarina, and fled the city with the help of her dark accomplices,” said Nadya.

  Slava tried not to look like someone in the midst of plotting black treason. Fortunately, Nadya had no idea who she was—she had merely been introduced as “Our guest, Krasna.”

  “But they say that the Tsarina has managed to capture some of her fellow traitors,” continued Nadya, warming to her subject. “One was only a child. They say the Tsarina plans to have them put to death if the Tsarinovna doesn’t show herself soon.”

  “WHAT!!!” Slava screamed.

  Everyone stared at her in horribly mild surprise.

  “WHY?” Slaved demanded, still, she could tell by the others’ faces, screaming.

  “They’re traitors, sister,” said Nadya calmly. “And the Tsarina hopes that the Tsarinovna will return for them. Some say it’s a little harsh, putting a child to death, but the Tsarina says that a traitor’s a traitor—best to get rid of them before they’re grown, like vipers.”

  The chair knocked against Slava’s legs as it fell over, but she didn’t feel it, just as she didn’t feel all the stares as she ran out of room, or the door slamming against her, or the cold rain hitting her face as she left the building and ran across the muddy yard to the prayer wood, or the wet ribbons slapping her face as she ran through a thousand other women’s silent, useless prayers, or the cold mud squelching over her legs as she fell to her knees in front of the largest of the prayer trees.

  “Save her!” Slava heard someone shouting over and over again. “Save her, save her, save her!” The person shouting was herself, but she couldn’t make herself stop, nor did she want to. “Anything—anything you ask! Just save her!”

  “Do you think you are the first with that prayer, little woman?” said the cold wind in her face. “Many women have knelt before us, just as you have, and begged us to save their daughters, but so rarely is that prayer answered.”

  “I don’t care!” cried Slava. “Just save her!”

  “Yes, many women have said that too,” said the cold wind. “All of them would have been happy to sacrifice the lives of a thousand other mothers’ children, or even their own life, for the one of the person they wished to save, but it so rarely happens. What makes you think you are any different from them?”

  “Because I’ll FIGHT HARDER!” screamed Slava. “I’ll FIGHT HARDER—fire, and steel, and magic, and blood, and great flooding tides, and everything else inside of me! Whatever it takes to save her!”

  “It will take more than you have, little woman,” said the cold wind. “Even you don’t have enough to save her.”

  “You told me last time that I would succeed where others had failed! And I will!”

  “Even so, you cannot save her, little woman. Her fate is her fate, and it is a dark one. She is doomed by the curse that she caused to be brought down on your family. And her own, too, of course—after all, you are all blood kin. So by destroying herself she will be fulfilling the curse that she herself caused to be cast against her. She must die, and then the curse will be broken, and you and your sister will be free. But you cannot save her.”

  “Then you have to!” Slava sobbed. “You have to save her! I’ll give anything…Haven’t I already given you so much? And I’ll give you more, I promise! I’ve already promised you my own blood—take it! Anything you ask! Just save Vladislava!”

  “Why?” asked the cold wind. “The world is full of little girls like her.”

  “No! Not like her! There’s only one Vladislava!”

  “That is not true,” said the cold wind, its laughter blowing in Slava’s face. “The world is full of Vladislavas.”

  “Yes it is true! There is only one of her, never to be repeated! And now my sister will destroy her! Save her, save her, save her!”

  “She’s not even your own flesh and blood,” said the cold wind. “Well—not as your sister is. And she truly is a traitor. How fitting that your sister’s delusion should lead her to administer real justice. No, Slava, we cannot save her, and neither can you: you turned down our offer, remember? You lost all your chance to be strong, to be a hero. But don’t worry: our later bargain will work to your advantage. You will stay here and have your baby, and soon you will forget all about Vladislava. Your own real daughter will be a more than adequate replacement for the little traitor who is only the most distant of blood kin. And then your sister’s madness will run its course, and after she demonstrates the danger she poses our land by executing the granddaughter of Princess Severnolesnaya, everyone will call for you to replace her, and you will become Tsarina, and your daughter after you. It will be so easy—so much easier than you think now. A year from now Vladislava will be barely even a sad memory. Even her own mother will not grieve for her overmuch—or rather, she will enjoy grieving for her dead daughter much more than she ever enjoyed caring for her when she was alive. Everyone will be well served by her death, and it will be so easy to let it happen.”

  For a moment Slava could see how that was true. It would be easy, so easy, to stand by and let justice take its course. Vladislava was no one to her, no one but a little traitor. It would be so easy for Slava to stay here in this sanctuary and bear her own daughter in peace and quiet, the peace and quiet she had always longed for, and a year from now Vladislava would be nothing but rotting bones and a sad memory. Slava could already see the happy outcome of Vladislava’s death: Vladya would administer justice, thus putting the Severnolesniye in their place and restoring order to the realm, and no one would even mourn Vladislava’s death more than was proper. Her fate was, as the gods and Vlastomila Serafimiyevna had said, her fate, and it was, without question, a dark one, but there was nothing Slava could do about that. Not even she could save someone who was destined for a dark fate, and it would be unnatural for her to try. It would be in the nature of things for Slava to sacrifice some other mother’s child without a second thought, and even Vladislava’s own mother had thrown her to the wolves long ago. No one would miss her too much, and as it was she was nothing but a nuisance. It would be so easy, and so right too. It would be what everyone would tell Slava was her duty. For the first time Slava realized, truly realized, how heavy a burden her gifts had laid upon her. For far from the first time she felt she might be torn apart, as her desperate desire to save Vladislava, dark as she was, tore in one direction, and her desperate desire never to return to Krasnograd, never to look its dreadful people in the face again, never to be faced with all the pain that came from their own irremediable dreadfulness, tore in the other. It was as if wild horses were tearing off in opposite directions, with her heart tied to their tails. Whatever she did, she knew, her heart would not escape from this dreadful, dreadful, thrice-dreadful ordeal whole and unharmed. Her fate was her fate, and no one could save her from it.

  “NO!” she screamed. “I won’t! I’ll never forget her! You can’t replace one person with another! No one will ever replace her! If you try, I’ll…I’ll hate that child you demanded I have for the rest of my life! I’ll make her a curse, like Lisochka! No, I’ll…I’ll end it now! It’s still early—these things happen all the time! I won’t have her! I’ll sacrifice my own blood! My own blood! Anything for Vladislava!”

  “You don’t mean that,” said the col
d wind, but it sounded uncertain.

  “Watch me,” said Slava quietly. At that moment she knew, more surely than she had ever known anything, that she really would do anything for Vladislava, even if it meant sacrificing the child-to-be she had been told she was carrying around inside her, because no future child could ever, ever replace Vladislava, no, not ever. Not even all those happy dreams she had had of a daughter of her own, all that potential joy she had wanted, that she had been starving for. Nothing mattered now except Vladislava. Without Vladislava the rest would be a lie, would be like ashes and wormword in her mouth. Slava didn’t know yet how she would save her, but she knew that she would, and that nothing could stand in her way. The easy path, the right path, was the wrong one, and she could never take it, no matter how much others might think that she should, or even how much she might want to herself. Even if everything in her was screaming at her to take the easier course, even if she was begging herself to turn aside and give up, she could not. She was the one who had to stand in front, who had to take the hard path, because there was no one else who could or would, and no one could stop her, not even herself.

  Something moved in the corner of her vision. Slava whipped around. A leshaya with golden eyes was standing there.

  “The gods are cruel,” it said. “Even when they mean to be kind, they often give their gifts in unwelcome packages, and things turn out other than as you’d hoped. Don’t put your faith in them, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna. Put your faith in us instead.”

  There was more movement, lots of movement, so that it seemed as if the whole forest were uprooting itself and moving in protective ranks around Slava.

  “What…” said Slava, and fell silent.

  “The gods are cruel, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” repeated the golden-eyed leshaya. “One shouldn’t turn to them for help too often. We, their daughters, should turn to each other instead. You showed us that.”

  “I did?” said Slava, and then, thinking it would be unwise to show too much surprise at the leshiye’s willingess to help her, asked quickly, “Are you the one…The one I…met before?”

  “A sister, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “One day you will learn to distinguish us from each other, just as you distinguish your human sisters by their faces.”

  “I see the difference now,” said Slava, and it was true, she did: this leshaya was smaller and more slender than the one she had encountered on the Severnovostochnaya road. It came up and laid a branch on Slava’s shoulder, and all the forest seemed to draw up around them.

  “You showed us,” the leshaya repeated. “When we tried to take your gifts, and thought we had failed—we succeeded. It was just that your gifts came in an unwelcome package, and things turned out other than as we’d hoped. We saw the world as you do, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, and we saw how weak and frail we all are—and how we must help each other. You helped us, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, and so now we will help you. We will help you save this Vladislava you hold so dear.”

  “Thank you,” said Slava. “You won’t regret it, I promise you.”

  “As to that, I can’t say,” said the leshaya. “Vladislava has already started down a dark path, and it is very likely that an even darker path still lies before her. Her fate is her fate, and if we avert doom now, it will come to find us later. But we will help you help her nonetheless, as otherwise we are all doomed for a certainty.”

  “Thank you,” said Slava again, rising to her feet despite the leshaya’s heavy branch on her shoulder.

  “It is the least we could do,” said a huge wolf, stepping out from the gathered ranks of trees.

  They threw me to the wolves, Slava thought to herself, and almost smiled. She gave a tiny wave to Gray Wolf, and he grinned his toothy grin back at her.

  “Indeed,” said an elk, stepping out and sniffing Slava’s face with surprising delicacy for so enormous a creature.

  “Indeed,” said a bear. “You haven’t saved any of my kin yet, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, but I’m sure the day will come.”

  “As it already has for me,” said a snow hare.

  “And for me,” said a snow fox.

  “I…” said Slava, as animals continued to appear from between the trees. “I don’t know what to…”

  “I see our daughters have grown rebellious, as daughters so often do,” said the cold wind, and laughed. “Much good may it do you! Well, daughters, if you must rush off to Krasnograd, then rush off—we won’t stop you. And Krasnoslava—remember what you were told before. You would do well to consider the price of any help they offer you.”

  “It will still be lower than the price you demanded,” said Slava.

  “If that is what you think! We will be watching over you, Krasnoslava.”

  “Thank you,” said Slava.

  “For what? They have done nothing,” demanded the golden-eyed leshaya.

  “Thanking the gods is always wise,” said the cold wind. “You have the look of your foremother, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna. Much good may it do you!” And then Slava could feel it disappear from the space around her, leaving nothing but an empty ringing in the air.

  “Come, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “We must set out for Krasnograd.”

  “The others!” said Slava. “We should see if the others want to come with us. Dima will want to come for sure.”

  “Then let us go, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna,” said the golden-eyed leshaya, stepping back so that Slava could lead the way. The trees all stepped back to form a path for Slava to go down, their leaves making a rustling sound as they moved.

  Dima, Dunya, Grisha, Sasha, Slanik, Olik, and Slava’s mother were all standing on the sanctuary porch, staring anxiously into the moving forest.

  “Slava!” cried her mother as soon as she appeared. “Slava, where have you been? What happened?”

  “I asked for help,” said Slava. “And it was given to me.”

  More people were appearing on the sanctuary porch. Sisters were running out from inside the building, and brothers from the nearby men’s sanctuary were making their astonished way through groves of trees that had not been there the last time they had come this way.

  “We’re going to Krasnograd,” Slava said, speaking mostly to Dima and Dunya. “To save Vladislava. And Olga, of course, too. Will you join me?”

  Dima, Dunya, and the others all stepped forward without hesitation. “When do we leave, Tsarinovna?” asked Dima.

  “As soon as you’re ready,” said the golden-eyed leshaya.

  “We’re ready now,” said Dima, and the others all nodded.

  “Good,” said Slava. “Sisters!” she called out to the sanctuary porch. “Are there any brave women willing to send out messages?”

  Zhenya pushed her way to the front of the ever-growing group of astonished sisters. “I will, Tsarinovna!” she cried. “Where do you bid me to go?”

  “I need messages sent to Lesnograd and Princess Stepnaya,” said Slava.

  “I will go to Lesnograd,” said Zhenya.

  “And I to Princess Stepnaya,” said Nadya, also stepping forward, much to Slava’s surprise.

  “It’s a long way for one woman to travel,” said Slava.

  “I shall make it with all speed, Tsarinovna, have no fear,” said Zhenya.

  “Your message will be delivered, Tsarinovna, don’t you worry,” agreed Nadya. “I never did hold with killing children, even if it’s the Empress herself who orders it. And I’m going that way anyway.”

  “Then tell whomever rules in Lesnograd that their heir has been imprisoned in Krasnograd and threatened with death, and that the Tsarinovna has gone to rescue her, but that they should send…whatever force they think best down to Krasnograd at all speed. Tell Princess Stepnaya or whomever rules in her stead that baseless accusations of treason have been leveled against her kinswoman Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, and that her life is in danger.”

  “Slava!” cried her mother in horror. “You know what the Severnolesniye and
the steppe princesses will do..!”

  “Yes,” said Slava. “I do.”

  Someone else stepped forward to join their group, interrupting whatever her mother was about to say in response to that. Slava saw, with only slight surprise, that it was Valery Annovich.

  “Take me with you too, please,” he said, speaking to Dima. Slava could see that he was still much too ashamed to look at her, but that he desperately wanted to go back to Krasnograd and prove his worth, possibly even redeem himself somehow. And, she thought, even if his reasons for coming with them were personal, he still represented two of the most important Krasna princesses. If she could get Malokrasnovskoye, Yuzhnokrasnovskoye, and the other Krasna princesses to support her, along with Severnolesnoye and the steppe princesses, Vladya would have no choice but to give way. If only she could be certain of their support, and that they would arrive in Krasnograd in time…little chance of that…so they must make all haste while they could. Dima glanced her way, asking what she thought of including Valery Annovich in their party, and she nodded her permission.

  “Of course,” said Dima. “Are you ready?”

  “I am,” said Valery Annovich.

  “It seems we are all ready, then, Tsarinovna,” said Dima.

  “Let us be off, then,” Slava told the golden-eyed leshaya.

  “Slava!” cried her mother again from the porch. Slava looked up at her expectantly, hoping just for an instant that her mother really was about to save her from what she had to do, as she had hoped when they had set off from Krasnograd.

  “Slava, you know that what you do—it could lead to war!”

  “Only if Vladya is foolish,” said Slava.

  “Slava, be careful!”

  “I make no promises,” said Slava. She knew then that she had been foolish to hope for anything. Foolish and wrong. Her mother could not save her from what she had to do, because she, Slava, had to be the one to stand in front and be brave. “This is not a moment for caution,” she said. “This is a moment for courage.”

  “Oh Slava!” For a moment Slava thought her mother might start to cry, but instead she smiled and said, “So much like your father, Slava. He was always so headstrong too. Headstrong and foolhardy.”