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

by E. P. Clark

  “No need to wait,” said Slava, and looked into Vladya’s eyes.

  For a moment Vladya was still, and then she shook her head, and then she tried to pull away, but even though she was the one holding onto Slava, even though she was the one holding Slava down, she was unable to prise herself free, and everything Slava had seen of her, everything Slava had thought of her, came pouring into her like a flood, like the time the Krasna had broken its banks when they were children and washed away half of Krasnograd, and no matter how hard she struggled to hold onto solid ground, onto a wall, a post, anything solid and familiar, she couldn’t stand against the onslought of Slava’s thoughts, and in the space of a few breaths she, too, was washed away.

  Boleslav Vlasiyevich was standing an arm’s length away, but had somehow failed to stop her or drag her away from Vladya. The other guards had not even made the half-dozen steps it took to reach them before it was over. Slava stood up. Vladya was still holding onto her.

  “Slava?” she said faintly.

  “Yes?” said Slava. “Vladya! Are you still there? Do you see me!?”

  “Where is mother?” said Vladya, and began to cry.

  “Shhhhh,” said Slava, putting her arms around her. “Shhhhh. Everything is all right now.”

  “Yes,” agreed Vladya, and stopped crying. “Everything is all right now.”

  “We should leave this place and return to the palace,” said Slava. “We have no need of this dark dungeon anymore.”

  “Yes,” agreed Vladya. “We should leave this place and return to the palace. We have no need of this dark dungeon anymore.”

  “Olga and Vladislava should accompany us,” said Slava. “There is no need to keep them here anymore, now that we know they are not traitors.”

  “Olga and Vladislava should accompany us,” repeated Vladya. “There is no need to keep them here anymore, now that we know they are not traitors.”

  “You heard the Tsarina!” cried Boleslav Vlasiyevich. “Boys! Free Olga Vasilisovna! Someone watch over the little princess! We’re leaving!”

  The guards looked back and forth at each other. “Ah, Boleslav Vlasiyevich…” a couple of them ventured cautiously, and Slava could see that they had their doubts about the Tsarina’s sudden change of heart.

  “You heard the Tsarina!” said Boleslav Vlasiyevich. “Let it not be said that we stood here gaping when she gave an order!” He started striding briskly in the direction of the dungeon doors, and the guards, with hesitant and puzzled looks, let go of Olga and formed up around Slava and Vladya. The little shape slipped back into the shadows. Slava was sure that it was the house-spirit, revealing itself to her at last.

  Slava started walking after Boleslav Vlasiyevich. She was unable to match his pace, though, hampered as she was by Vladya’s fumbling, wavering steps. Vladya clutched at her arm and pressed up against her as they walked, as if she were terribly cold, or terribly afraid. She was shivering.

  “Slava!” she whispered urgently. “Where is our mother? I want her, Slava, I want her!”

  “She is away,” Slava told her gently. “But you will be able to see her soon. Perhaps she will even come to Krasnograd.”

  “She has to, Slava! I want to see her! I need her!” Vladya started crying, and pressed up even more closely against Slava’s side. Slava wondered if she would ever feel more guilty, or more wretched, in her entire life than she did now, supporting her broken sister after being the one to break her. She hoped not. She didn’t see right now how that could be possible.

  They made their way up the stairs and corridors to the palace proper. “Where to, Tsarina?” asked Boleslav Vlasiyevich, but he looked at Slava.

  The Hall of Council, the snow hare whispered in Slava’s mind. Everyone should see the state your sister is in, so that you may claim her place unopposed.

  And don’t you dare refuse, added the snow fox. It’s the only right thing to do, and you know it.

  “The Hall of Council,” said Slava out loud. She wished the snow fox were wrong, but she was, unfortunately, right. Just as Slava had known on her way down to the dungeons, she would not be able to leave them a free woman.

  “The Hall of Council,” repeated Vladya feebly. “What will we do there, Slava? Will our mother be there?”

  “Not yet,” Slava told her soothingly. “But soon. We’ll only spend a short time there, and then you can retire to your chambers.”

  “I want to sleep,” agreed Vladya. “I’m tired. But I’m afraid of bad dreams.”

  “Everyone fears bad dreams,” Slava told her gently. “But you have no reason to fear them anymore, Vladya.”

  “I don’t?” asked Vladya, brightening.

  “No,” Slava told her. “No reason at all. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again, Vladya.”

  “It won’t?” said Vladya, cheering up even more.

  “It won’t,” Slava promised. “You can live in your chambers and…” Slava trailed off, not knowing what innocent pastimes her sister might take up, since she had never had any before. “And rest,” she concluded. “You’ve earned a long rest.”

  “Yes, I have,” agreed Vladya. “I’d like a rest. Can’t I go to my chambers now?”

  “Shortly,” Slava promised. “First the Hall of Council.”

  “If you say so, Slava,” said Vladya obediently. “But only for a short while, yes? I’m very tired, and I don’t feel very well.”

  “Only for a short while,” agreed Slava.

  The others would like to come in, the snow fox told her. Tell that man there to call off his guards and let them in.

  “Boleslav Vlasiyevich!” Slava called. “My companions would like to come in!”

  “Into the Hall of Council, Tsarina?” he asked doubtfully. “Will they fit?”

  They will fit, the snow hare said. Their form is not so fixed as your own.

  “They will fit,” Slava assured him. “Tell your guards to let them in.”

  “Yes, let them in,” seconded Vladya. “I’d like to see them!”

  “As you say, Tsarina,” said Boleslav Vlasiyevich, bowing in their direction. “Mariyich! Miroslavych! Relay the message!”

  A couple of guards broke away from the main pack and took off down a corridor leading to the outside. The rest of them continued their inexorable march to the Hall of Council. It seemed to Slava that it was much farther away than usual, and she wished they would hurry up and arrive, so that she could get this over with.

  The seemingly magical communication system of the kremlin was apparently still in place, for word had obviously gotten out that it was safe to walk the corridors again, and people were sticking out their heads here and there, and even scurrying back and forth, so that there was the impression of a hive coming to life again after the danger had passed.

  As they approached the Hall of Council, Slava could see people going in the doors, and the hum of a crowd of voices. She tried to conceal her cringing.

  The more witnesses, the better, said the snow fox.

  My sister is right, said the snow hare.

  I know, agreed Slava.

  Then don’t forget and lose your nerve, said the snow fox.

  “Why are all the people there, Slava?” asked Vladya anxiously. “I don’t want too many people!”

  “They have come to see us,” Slava told her soothingly. “They’re glad that we are all right, and they’ve come to see us. There’s nothing to fear: we’ll let them look at us, and then we’ll leave.”

  “I want to go to my chambers,” said Vladya fretfully.

  “Soon, Vladya, soon,” Slava told her. “We’ll just go into the Hall of Council for a moment, and then you can go to your chambers, I promise.”

  This appeased Vladya briefly, but as they made to enter the Hall of Council, she hung back like a frightened child, and Slava had to half-coax, half coerce her to come into the Hall of Council with her.

  It was, Slava had to admit, frighteningly full of princesses and other onlookers. Slava wondered w
here they had all come from on such short notice. There was a great deal of whispering, and the crowd was slow to make way for Slava and Vladya to pass between them to the Wooden Throne. Not, Slava thought, out of any disrespect, but because they were so eager to see what had become of the Tsarina and the traitor-Tsarinovna who had been let back into the fold.

  They climbed up onto the dais where the throne was stationed, and there was an awkward moment as they both stood uncertainly in front of the chair.

  “Sit, Vladya; sit on the throne,” Slava whispered into her ear.

  “I don’t want to,” Vladya objected. “I want to go to my chambers.”

  “Sit just for a moment,” Slava told her.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” Boleslav Vlasiyevich whispered to Slava from the other side of her sister.

  “I think it must be done,” Slava told him.

  Vladya sat down reluctantly on the throne and looked out on the crowd, which looked expectantly back.

  “They want you to say something,” Slava whispered to her. She felt wretched about what she was about to do, but every time she thought about doing something else, her stomach lurched, and she knew that she must do this thing and no other. There was no escape for her from this distasteful duty.

  “What do they want me to say, Slava?” asked Vladya anxiously.

  “Anything,” Slava whispered to her. “Say you are glad to see them.”

  “I’m glad to see you!” Vladya shouted, in the voice of a shy child suddenly forced to perform in public.

  There was a ripple of surprise through the crowd. None of them had ever seen the Tsarina like this before, and Slava could see that they didn’t know what to make of it, other than that they didn’t like it.

  “Now what, Slava?” asked Vladya.

  “Tell them you’ve forgiven me, that it was all a misunderstanding and that there are no more differences between us,” Slava told her.

  “Forgiven you for what, Slava?” asked Vladya, frowning.

  “For thinking I was a traitor,” Slava told her. “It was all a misunderstanding. I wasn’t a traitor at all. You can see that now, and all is forgiven and I can come back to Krasnograd.”

  “Slava!” cried Vladya in horror. “You weren’t a traitor!”

  There was another ripple through the crowd.

  “Yes,” said Slava. “And now all is forgiven, and I can come and go from Krasnograd as I please, and there is no bad blood between us.”

  “Who said you were a traitor!” demanded Vladya, becoming more and more agitated.

  “You thought I was a traitor, but it was all a misunderstanding,” Slava told her patiently.

  “No!” insisted Vladya. “I would never say that! You weren’t a traitor, Slava, that’s impossible! Slava!” She looked up at Slava, and something like consciousness peered out from her eyes. “Did I say you were a traitor? Oh Slava!” The spark of consciousness slipped away from sight. “No Slava, no, I didn’t, I didn’t say you were a traitor, I didn’t, Slava, I didn’t! I want our mother, Slava! Where is our mother!” She started to cry.

  “Shh, shh,” Slava told her, bending over from where she was standing beside the throne and kissing Vladya’s head. “Shh, Vladya, stop crying. This will all be over soon enough.”

  “NO!” shouted Vladya. “I want to go to my chambers! I want to go to my chambers! I want to go to my chambers! Why are all these people here!? Send them away! They’re hurting me! They’re hurting me with their eyes!”

  “The Tsarina is overwrought, and will retire to her chambers now,” said Slava firmly, helping Vladya up from the throne. “This audience is over.”

  “No, Krasnoslava Tsarinovna, it isn’t,” said a voice from the doors, and the golden-eyed leshaya came in.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  You can talk, said Slava stupidly.

  Out loud, too, said the golden-eyed leshaya. And I summoned some more of my friends for this audience—and yours. “Make way for my companions,” she said out loud. “We are rather large.”

  She was followed into the Hall of Council by Gray Wolf, and Elk, and Bear, and several more leshiye. Dima, Dunya, and Valery Annovich slipped in behind them.

  For a moment, as they entered, the only sound was dozens of indrawn breaths, as all the princesses gathered there gasped in astonishment, but that was soon followed by cries of fear and delight, and then demands to know what was happening.

  “Make way for my companions,” Slava found herself shouting, as the crowd milled about in confusion, but then Gray Wolf snapped at them, and the golden-eyed leshaya blinked in their direction, and suddenly there was a large clear space by the doors.

  “We would walk up to the Tsarina,” said the golden-eyed leshaya.

  All the guards looked to Boleslav Vlasiyevich, who looked to Slava.

  “Let them come unhindered,” Slava ordered. “They are my allies, and will do you no harm.”

  “As long as you deserve none,” said Gray Wolf cheerfully.

  “Even those who deserve it shall not be harmed,” said Slava.

  “Kindhearted as always, Krasnoslava,” said Gray Wolf. “Are you sure that is wise?”

  “There is more to wisdom than being wise,” said Slava. “Come up to the throne, and harm no one on your way up.”

  The crowd shuffled nervously towards the walls, clearing a path for Gray Wolf, who stalked happily down it. My wolf, thought Slava, even though he was most certainly not her wolf. They threw me to the wolves, and this is what we all got for it. He was followed by the golden-eyed leshaya, who made her stately way between the fearful princesses; Elk and Bear, who looked around with frank curiosity; and Dima, Dunya, and Valery Annovich. Dima appeared overwhelmingly relieved to see them all still alive, Dunya appeared indifferent to the fuss around her, and Valery Annovich appeared stunned at finding himself where he was, and extremely uncertain about joining the others on the dais, but not seeing any better choice.

  “I see you saved your little princess—and your friend,” said the golden-eyed leshaya, looking at Vladislava and Olga.

  “Were they in danger?” asked Vladya, surprised. She seemed to have calmed down for the moment, but Slava could see that another outburst could happen at any instant.

  “It is of no matter,” Slava told her gently.

  “Does she not remember, then?” asked the golden-eyed leshaya.

  “It seems not,” said Slava.

  “Our brother and sister shared with us what they saw, but they could do no more than see,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “I would hear your story in your words.”

  “We went down into the dungeon,” said Slava slowly.

  “So I saw,” said the golden-eyed leshaya, when Slava stopped. “And then the Tsarina threatened to kill the little princess, and your friend, and you yourself, did she not?”

  “Yes,” said Slava reluctantly, as the crowd gasped.

  “No!” shouted Vladya. “No I didn’t! I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t! Oh Slava! Did I?”

  The crowd shifted uneasily in the silence that followed.

  “Yes,” said Slava, with what even she could recognize was agonizing slowness.

  The crowd gasped again. The golden-eyed leshaya ignored them.

  “And she ordered this man here”—she stretched out a branch towards Boleslav Vlasiyevich—to kill all of you, did she not?”

  “Yes,” agreed Slava reluctantly.

  “And she wanted to save you for last, so you could watch the little girl die and then be boiled as a traitor, did she not?”

  Slava realized with horror that, true as that all was, she could not force herself to open her mouth and agree with it. Saying such a thing of anyone, let alone her own sister, no matter how true it might be, was too terrible even to think of right now, let alone pronounce out loud in front of witnesses.

  “No!” cried Vladya, saving Slava from having to speak. “No, no, no! I would never do something like that! Slava, where is our mother?”

  �
��Soon,” Slava promised her.

  “And so, to save all of you, you were forced to reveal the true nature of your gifts to her, were you not?” continued the golden-eyed leshaya.

  “I suppose,” said Slava.

  “You hurt me!” Vladya cried accusingly. “You hurt me with your mind! You’re mean! Slava, where is mother? I want her! I want her!” She started to sniffle, which quickly turned into full-throated sobbing.

  “What do you think, Krasnoslava?” asked the golden-eyed leshaya, still paying no mind to either Vladya or the crowd. “Do you think the people in this hall believe your story?”

  “I don’t know,” said Slava.

  “Then look out, Krasnoslava, look out onto them and tell me.”

  Slava looked out onto the crowd. Mostly, she saw, they were astonished and terrified by the presence of her companions, and horrified at the sight of Vladya breaking down and crying on the throne. There did not seem to be a lot of belief in their faces. They could see that something magical and shattering had happened, but they did not want to believe in anything that would shake up their lives so terribly, and they were also slightly sorry for Vladya’s suffering, which was clearly Slava’s fault. Well, many of them were. Some of them were secretly—because they would rather die than admit it inside the Hall of Council—delighted to see the proud and fearsome Tsarina humbled like that, but that did not endear Slava to them in any way—quite the reverse, in fact. Anyone who could make the Tsarina cry was someone who needed to be sent as far away as possible.

  “They don’t believe me,” said Slava. “They don’t believe me because they don’t want to. They wish I would go away and stop bothering them.”

  “What will make them believe, Krasnoslava?” asked the golden-eyed leshaya seriously.

  “I don’t know,” said Slava. “Perhaps if they saw things through my eyes for a moment.”

  “Then show them, Krasnoslava,” said the golden-eyed leshaya.

  “How?” asked Slava.

  “Reach out to them, Krasnoslava. Reach out to them, and I will help you touch them.”

  Slava looked out onto the crowd again, and thought of what she saw there: all the pride, and greed, and fear, and sympathy, and concern for others, and petty envy and jealousy, and the need to be strong and brave, and the desperate wish to be, even for an instant and even if carefully hidden away from everyone, even themselves, a better person—a hero. Someone who saved others. That, she saw, was the way into their hearts. They all, even if they would never, ever say it, even if they didn’t know it themselves, wanted to be a saviour, just for a moment. Only saving others was hard, so much terribly harder than it should be. But they all wanted it, nonetheless, and Slava could give it to them, just for that precious instant.