by E. P. Clark
The crowd gasped.
“Your head!” cried Vladya. “Like light!”
The golden-eyed leshaya’s golden eyes seemed to fill the whole hall.
“Not again!” screamed Vladya. “Not again! It hurts too much!”
The crowd screamed too. It was made up of dozens and dozens of individual women, but just then it screamed with one voice, one voice begging for mercy.
“Krasnoslava!” said the golden-eyed leshaya sharply. “Enough!”
Suddenly Slava could see with only her own eyes again.
“You were losing yourself, Krasnoslava,” it said, just to her. “Sucking in the crowd’s feelings, like a tree taking in sun and water. Beware of that, Krasnoslava. A little is more than enough. There is more to their feelings than just sun and water. Poisonous evil lies there too. You must not suck in too much of that, or you will be poisoned by it too. You see, your gift runs both ways—always. You cannot give without receiving.”
“Yes,” said Slava faintly. “Will…will I be able to reach out again, like that? Do I have that gift now?”
“You always had that gift, Krasnoslava,” said the leshaya. “Just as all women do. Anyone can raise her voice and reach out to her sister. You just have to be willing to speak up. There is no magic to it. You have no need of my magic for that.”
“But…” said Slava. “How will I make them listen to me now? No one has ever listened to me!”
“That is not true, Krasnoslava,” said the leshaya. “Perhaps it seemed to you, and to them, that no one ever listened to you, but they did. They did because you listened to them. Hearing others, seeing others, being others—that is your gift, and it always, always runs both ways. You have nothing to fear, Krasnoslava. They will listen to you, as long as you are willing to let them hear you. Everyone is always listening, Krasnoslava, whether they know it or not. You just have to find the right words to reach their ears. But that is your gift—the other edge of its double-edged blade. The fact that you hear them so clearly means that you know, in your heart of hearts, how to make them hear you. You just have to listen, to yourself as well as others, and then you will know.”
“The Tsarina!” said a voice in Slava’s ear, before she could respond to the leshaya’s words, or even make sense of them. She looked around. Boleslav Vlasiyevich was tugging at her arm and pointing. Vladya was folded over double, her face in her knees, and sobbing bitterly.
“Take her to her chambers,” Slava ordered. “You and…” she looked at her companions. Valery Annovich was standing to the back of the dais, behind all the others, looking even more bewildered and miserable than everyone else. “You and Valery Annovich can take her to her chambers.” She went over to Vladya.
“Vladya,” she said softly. “Vladya, it’s all right. Vladya, there’s nothing wrong.”
“It hurts too much,” said Vladya into her knees, rocking back and forth.
“I know it does, Vladya, but you can go to your chambers now.”
“I felt like I was being washed away, Slava! I was washed away, and there was nothing left of me!”
“I know, Vladya, I know. You can go to your chambers now. Boleslav Vlasiyevich and Valery Annovich will escort you.”
Vladya raised her head and looked directly into Slava’s face. “How do you stand it, Slava?” she asked, and something like her old sharp determination peered out from her eyes for a moment. “How do you keep from being washed away?”
“You have to find the part of you that’s made of stone, not sand,” said Slava. She wondered if Vladya’s mind was really returning, and if so, for how long.
“Even stones get ground down into sand with enough water,” said Vladya.
“Yes,” said Slava.
Vladya’s face collapsed, and her head sank back down to her knees. Some distant part of Slava couldn’t help but be surprised at her sister’s agility: she was folding into a pose that would have done credit to a child of two, let alone a grown woman. Slava supposed despair had made her boneless.
“Help my sister to her chambers,” she ordered Boleslav Vlasiyevich and Valery Annovich. They helped her to her feet, Boleslav Vlasiyevich with alacrity and Valery Annovich with deep uncertainty, and led her to the door in the wall behind the dais. Slava was pleased at this evidence of thought on their part: the last thing Vladya needed was to be paraded past all her princesses. The hidden passageways were much more appropriate for her now—and were likely to remains so, she reflected.
“Well, Krasnoslava,” said the golden-eyed leshaya, once Vladya had been escorted off the dais and into the passageway behind the wall.
“Yes,” said Slava.
“You appear to be the only one left here,” said the golden-eyed leshaya.
“And them?” asked Slava, nodding towards Olga and Vladislava. She knew she was only pointlessly trying to delay things, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“They do not count, and you know it,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “Not here. The only person who matters on that dais is the descendent of Miroslava Praskovyevna, as you well know. And so, Krasnoslava, many-times Miroslavovna, what are you going to do?”
“Vladya is unfit to rule,” said Slava.
“Yes,” said the golden-eyed leshaya.
“Prasha is too young—she is still a child.”
“Yes,” said the golden-eyed leshaya.
“My mother has refused to return to Krasnograd and resume the throne.”
“Yes,” said the golden-eyed leshaya.
“I am the Tsarinovna. It is my duty to rule in Vladya’s stead, at least until she recovers.”
“She will not recover,” said the golden-eyed leshaya.
“You can’t know that! She could recover—the damage to her mind could be but slight.”
“She will not recover,” repeated the golden-eyed leshaya.
“How can you know that! You can’t possibly know that!”
“I know,” said the golden-eyed leshaya, and blinked her large eyes slowly.
“Krasnoslava,” she said, once her eyes were open again. “Krasna Tsarina. Let us stop pretending. Let us stop playing games. Your sister will never rule in Krasnograd again. You ensured that the moment you brought us through that gate. No—you ensured that the moment you accepted our bargain, and agreed to bear the child we offered you. And many other times as well. You have been asked to choose between two sides many times, Krasnoslava, your sister’s and another’s, and every time you have not chosen your sister’s. You traded her life for Vladislava’s, and for the chance to have a daughter of your own. So now you must take your sister’s place. It is the price you must pay for what you have done.”
“But…” said Slava, and then, realizing that she was starting to whine, stopped herself. “Yes,” she said. “It is the price.”
“Doubly over,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “It is the price for defeating your sister, and it is the price for enlisting our aid to do so. You must rule now, Krasnoslava, and the daughter you will be given must rule after you. It is the price.”
“Yes,” said Slava. “And a heavy one it is, and one that will be paid by more than just me. Just as the price for my rule is my rule, and my daughter’s rule after me. Is that a price you are willing to pay?”
“It is a gamble,” said the golden-eyed leshaya soberly. “You are a dangerous woman, Krasnoslava. I have no doubt that as Krasna Tsarina you will be even more dangerous, and your Darya, your gift from the gods, will be doubly dangerous, if not worse. But it is a gamble we are willing to take. Gambling on your mercy is a risk worth taking: that is why you are here.”
“And if they”—Slava gestured towards the crowd—“deny me? If they are loyal to my sister, and demand her return to the throne?”
“They will not,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “They are not so loyal as to turn against a sorceress of such great power as you. You have defeated your sister, Krasnoslava, and exercised your power over your subjects in no uncertain fashion. You are a w
oman to be feared, Krasnoslava—a worthy Tsarina.”
Slava looked out onto the crowd. “True,” she said.
“Princesses!” said the golden-eyed leshaya, turning to the crowd. “Bow down to your new Tsarina!”
The crowd sank to its knees and knocked its forehead against the surely-dirty floor. “Tsarina!” cried out many voices. “Ai-da Tsarina! Our Tsarina! Little mother! Have mercy, little mother!”
“Rise,” said Slava. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Olga and Dunya had both sunk to their knees as well, and pulled Vladislava down with them.
“Rise,” she repeated. “I have no need of your prostrations. It is your loyalty I demand.”
“You have it!” someone shouted out, to be seconded by many more. “You have it, little mother! Our loyalty! Our loyalty is yours!”
“Take the throne, Krasnoslava,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “You must take the throne.”
Slava sat down on the Wooden Throne. Bizarrely, for a moment all she could think of was the one time she had sat in it before—as a child, in her mother’s lap. It was more comfortable than she had expected. She rested her hands on the armrests. The wood was soft and welcoming, and the spells carved into it made a soothing shape under her hands. She felt as if she had finally found the place she was meant to be, the place that was her true home. She could feel the tree it had once been, and through that, all the trees of Zem’, and the earth they grew from, and the animals that lived in their shade and protection, and the power that her connection with them gave her.
“Where are my faithful companions?” she asked. “Snow hare! Where are you? And snow fox! I would have you at my side.”
“Here, Krasna Tsarina,” said the snow hare, loping across the dais and leaping into her lap.
“Here, Krasna Tsarina,” said the snow fox, trotting across the dais and curling up at her feet.
“And Elk? And Gray Wolf? And Bear? We have not spent much time in conversation, Bear, but I value your presence greatly.”
“Here, Krasna Tsarina,” they said, and arranged themselves behind her, the dais creaking in protest under their weight. Elk reached her head over the throne and rested her soft nose on Slava’s shoulder.
How lucky for all of us that you saved my sister, she huffed into Slava’s ear.
It was not luck, Slava told her in reply. It was meant to be.
You are no doubt right, Krasna Tsarina, agreed Elk. They waited for a moment in companionable silence while Bear and Gray Wolf snapped at each other and quarreled over who got to stand where.
Pay no mind to them, Krasna Tsarina, said Elk. They must have their little differences, just to show themselves that they know how to think.
I know, said Slava.
The leshiye arranged themselves in front of the dais, on either side of the throne.
“Let it be known,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “Zem’ is full of souls and spirits, many of which do not wear the form of women. But we have chosen to ally ourselves behind one who does wear the form of woman, Krasnoslava Tsarina. Any who go against her go against us as well.”
“I thank you for the confidence you have entrusted in me,” said Slava. “And Zem’ will thank you too one day for your support.”
“I have no doubt, Krasnoslava Tsarina,” said the golden-eyed leshaya, turning to her and eyeing her gravely. “And now we will leave you to it. We have done all we can for the moment. We must return to our forest homes.”
“Thank you again,” said Slava. “I shall never forget what you have done for me.”
“I am certain of that, Krasnoslava Tsarina. Neither shall we.” The golden-eyed leshaya blinked her golden eyes in one long slow blink, and when she opened them, for a moment Slava thought she was drowning in golden light. But then she blinked her own eyes, and the feeling disappeared.
“Come, let us go,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “Let us leave the Tsarina to her rule. She has many matters to attend to.”
“We would stay,” said the snow hare. “At least for a little while.”
“Yes,” said the snow fox. “My brother and I would stay. Someone must keep an eye on this innocent, at least until her full teeth come in.”
“Stay as long as you wish,” Slava told them. “You are always welcome.”
“We weren’t asking you,” said the snow fox.
“Anyone who wishes to stay with me in my kremlin must ask me, nonetheless,” Slava told her with a smile.
“Well said!” said the snow fox. “I see my fears are already partially put to rest.”
“Even so, I would stay,” said the snow hare. “Even the best of travelers can lose her way from time to time.”
“Stay,” said Slava. “I wish it greatly.”
“Then let them stay, to be our eyes and ears, as well as your strong support,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “The rest of us must be on our way.”
“Stay strong, Krasnoslava Tsarina,” said Bear. “Whenever you need a little of my strength, call for me.”
“I thank you,” said Slava, bowing from her seat.
“Stay strong, Krasnoslava Tsarina,” said Gray Wolf. “Whenever you need a little of my good friend Oleg Svetoslavovich, call for me, and I’ll bring him. Just call very soon or not until next year, because this summer you’re going to be too fat for any man to want you.”
Slava tried to thank him for that, but she was laughing too much to get the words out.
“That’s all right, Krasnoslava Tsarina,” said Gray Wolf, seeing her problem. “On second thought, never underestimate the willingness of men, even for very fat women. Call for me whenever you want him. I’ll make sure he comes.”
“You are too kind,” Slava told him. “When you stepped out of the woods, back in Deep Pond, I thought of how I had been thrown to the wolves, and how lucky I was to have been thrown. You are a good, kind wolf.”
Gray Wolf tried to snarl at that, but it only come out as a snort. He retreated from the dais in mock offense.
“Stay kind, Krasnoslava Tsarina,” said Elk. “Whenever you need a little of my shy spirit, call for me.”
“Of that you may be sure, sister,” Slava told her. Elk snorted softly into her ear, and walked off the dais.
“Call for me,” said the golden-eyed leshaya. “And I shall call for you. But for the moment, Krasnoslava Tsarina, farewell.”
“Farewell,” said Slava, and watched as they all walked out of the Hall of Council, between the kneeling princesses.
There was a moment of silence.
“Ai-da Krasnoslava Tsarina!” someone suddenly shouted.
“Ai-da Krasna Tsarina!” someone else shouted, and Slava realized it was Dima.
“Krasna Tsarina!” a hundred voices joined in. There was another flurry of bowing, which filled the Hall of Council with the rustling of a hundred dresses and the scraping of two hundred boots.
“Sisters,” said Slava, rising from the throne. “I thank you for your welcome. I am sure that none of you will forget this day, and what you have witnessed. But now I must retire. I have much to attend to, not the least of which is the sorry situation of my own sad sister.”
“Go, little mother!” voices called from all sides. “Go and see to your sad sister! The gods watch over you and her, little mother!”
“I thank you for your kind wishes,” said Slava, and began retreating towards the same door behind the dais through which Vladya had been taken. Dunya, followed quickly by Dima and Olga, jumped to open the door for her and escort her through. Vladislava followed close behind, one hand clinging to Slava’s skirt.
“Will you hold my hand?” she asked as soon as they were all through the door and in the narrow passageway between the walls. “I’m—I’m—I’m—”
“Don’t bother the Tsarina, little princess,” said Dima. “And speak to her properly when you do speak.”
“Give me your hand, Vladislava,” said Slava. “You have been through a terrible ordeal—you and Olga both.”
; “It was nothing…Tsarina,” said Olga, starting off as herself and finishing with the puzzled voice of a woman whose house has just crumbled to the foundations. She eyed Slava in the semi-darkness, realized that Slava could probably see her eyeing her, and looked away quickly.
“Nonsense,” said Slava briskly. “It must have been terrible. I am sorry I could not have arrived sooner.”
“How long did it take you to get here?” asked Vladislava, her voice filling with curiosity. “Did you travel with those leshiye?”
“Yes,” Slava told her. “It took me two days to travel here from Deep Pond.”
“And how long does it normally take?”
“It took us a week to go the distance the other way,” Slava told her.
“That’s quite fast, then, two days,” said Vladislava, sounding impressed. “Did you run the whole way?”
“The leshiye ran,” said Slava. “I just sat as they carried me.”
“I wish I had been carried by leshiye, instead of stuck in that dungeon,” said Vladislava.
“Vladislava!” said Olga sharply. Vladislava pursed her lips in a sulk.
“I certainly hope you’re not planning to shout at Vladislava every time she asks a question,” said Slava with a smile. “Because if so, you’ll never get anything done at all.”
“True,” agreed Vladislava, cheering up. “And I have lots of question—Slava! Are you really Tsarina now?”
“It seems so,” Slava told her.
“But what about Prasha?” Vladislava asked. “The Tsarina’s—the other Tsarina’s—I mean the former Tsarina’s—daughter. What about her?”