Alexander, Soldier's Son

by Alma Boykin

  “I’ll give it a try.” Peter walked over to his younger brother. “This may sting a little.” He trickled a little of the spring water onto his brother’s back. As Peter watched, the terrible welts and bruises healed. “How do you feel?”

  “Better. What is it?” He sounded a lot more subdued than that last time Peter had e-chatted with him.

  “Froo-froo water. I’m going to dab a little more on.” Most of the bruises and bleeding welts faded. Peter smeared all of Stavros’s back, then poured a little of what was left into the bottle’s cap. “Drink.”

  “Ooh, that’s good stuff. Thanks.”

  “Welcome.” Ivan had been digging around in Peter’s rucksack and emerged with a shirt. Peter took it, scratched Ivan’s neck, and dropped the shirt over his little brother’s head. Stavros sighed, puffing a bit of the shirttail out, then pulled if off his head and put it on his body. It was a little large but not too bad. Stavros’s pants seemed to be intact, except for really worn knees. Stavros accepted Peter’s hand and stood, staggered, and followed his big brother back to where Catherine waited. She had bread, an apple, and a slightly scuffed meat pie for her little brother, and he gave thanks, then ate them. The older pair gnawed on trail bars.

  “OK, we’ve got you. Now we need to get out of here,” Catherine said, leaning against a tree. Ivan plopped down beside her since he no longer fit in her lap, and she rubbed his head, scratching under his chin. The purr shook the little clearing. She tipped her head side to side, then rolled her shoulders. “I’ve used up what I brought, and I think we’ve used up all Dad’s favors, so from here on we’re on our own.”

  Peter nodded. “If we go back the way we came, we’ll be the best off. I didn’t see any other exits.”

  “Me either.”

  “Mrowp.”

  Stavros had been breaking little twigs into tiny pieces, eyes on the ground. He looked up and met Catherine’s gaze. “I have no idea how I got here. I came to in a forest near a foggy wet area that made me nervous.”

  “I think we saw that general area too and no, right now we really don’t want to go near swamps.” Catherine crossed herself and the boys did likewise.

  “I didn’t think so.” He hunched his shoulders. “Um, One, Two, Ivan, I’m sorry.”

  Peter and Catherine looked at each other. “Sorry for what, Three?”

  “For being a jerk. For not listening to you and to Mom and Dad. I ignored the warning Ivan sent, then disobeyed and got in trouble. I forgot about not using my name and that tipped off the bad guys who I was. I,” he gulped. “I thought you were joking, being pricks when you talked about the Swamp God and the Sweeper. You don’t know the half of it. The Swamp God’s son?”

  “We’re calling him Swamp Junior or Swampy,” Peter said.

  Stavros managed a little smile. “Swamp Junior has a prison mine. It’s bad. Really, really bad.” The smile disappeared. “I had no idea. It hurt, dear God it hurt, and I’m not the only one. They killed, the guards tore him apart alive and ate him. I—” He buried his face in his hands and shook.

  Peter made a shooing motion to Catherine. “Go away for a bit, not too far. I got this.”

  “Will do.” Ivan got to his feet and crossed the clearing to lean against Stavros. As Catherine stood, brushed off the dust and started to explore, she heard Stavros sobbing into Ivan’s fur.

  I want to kill that monster, Koschai Chernobogovich. I want to kill the beast that made my baby brother cry.

  Chapter 7: Racing for Safety

  Some time later Peter found her. He folded his arms and stared across the little stream. “I want to kill something.”

  “That makes two of us. Do I want to know?”

  “No. Trust me, no.” He dropped his hands to his sides, fists clenched. “He’s talking to Ivan. Apparently they’d pulled him out of the mine and moved him to the woodlot not too long before we found him. Swampy Junior doesn’t want the Sweeper getting into the source of his treasury. They don’t get along, do they?”

  She thought. “Not exactly, at least, they very, very rarely show up in the same story, and then they are way far apart and the hero has to work for the Sweeper to get something to use to defeat Swamp Junior.” She bent down, picked up a stick, and started breaking it. “Is he going to be OK?”

  “No idea. He’s . . . Damn it.” Peter kicked at a stick. “If he’d had all the training the military gives you, then I’d say yeah, he’ll have nightmares but those will pass. Yanked out of the ‘normal world’, discovering that everything he blew off is real, and getting tortured and then scared half to death? I don’t know, sis.” He looked at her. “Do you know a therapist who deals with this kind of thing?”

  She shook her head. “There may be one in the Old Country, but maybe not. I wonder if that’s why we have Ivan and Gatta? A constant harmless reminder that the world is a lot stranger than we think, so we don’t get rocked as hard when the weird breaks loose?”

  Her phone buzzed. She checked. “Not harmless! =^^=!” She showed Peter.

  “Little kitties have big ears?”

  “Mrgh.” Ivan stalked up, phone in mouth, sat and texted again. “3 sleeping. Let rest if can.”

  “I think we can do that. If Swampy thinks the Sweeper has Three, his dad’s not going to be looking for Three, or us, is he?” Peter considered their options, balancing their three enemies off of each other.

  Catherine tried to recall. “No idea. I’m out of story precedents.”

  “Then here’s what we do,” Peter decided. “Escape and evade. Once we get past the lake, we follow our back trail to where we came in, and we go out. Quietly, no trying to bother Swamp or Swamp Junior, just get out. We’ve achieved our primary objective.”

  “Da,” Ivan stated, nodding his head.

  “Agreed,” Catherine said. With that Ivan stood, stretched, and trotted back to where they’d left Stavros. She tossed the bits of broken stick into the woods. “That poor kid is going to be so messed up.”

  “So’s the rest of the family.”

  “Hey, now, you’re supposed to be the respectable, responsible one.”

  “I’m a Marine on shore leave. That cancels out all attempts at respectability. Ask Dad.”

  “Thppth.”

  “Thppth right back.” He used her as an armrest, something she still detested. “And we need to rest, because once we start moving, we’re not going to stop.” He shifted into command mode.

  “Got it.” She squirmed out from under his arm and returned to the clearing. Stavros had fallen asleep, his head on Ivan’s flank. He looked a lot younger than twenty-three and she wanted to wash the grunge off his face and tidy him up. He’d kill me. He’s not a baby doll any more. Catherine settled down against her backpack and napped. It wasn’t her bed, but it was softer than the floor of Baba Yaga’s place. Her father had used one of the Sweeper’s sleeping cupboards, but the idea of sleeping enclosed gave Catherine chills, always had.

  After some time Peter nudged her awake. “Your watch.”

  Huh? Oh got it. She looked over at Stavros, who shook in his sleep. Ivan seemed relaxed still, and snoring.

  “Did he always snore?” Peter mouthed.

  “Not that bad. Everything scaled up, I guess.”

  “Wow. Hope he doesn’t get a hairball.”

  One blue eye opened and the look suggested that Peter had best not follow that idea any farther. Catherine went to water the plants. When she came back, Peter was snoring like a rhino with a head cold. Ivan gave her a disgusted look, licked Stavros’s hair, and went back to sleep. Catherine walked around, listening for night sounds and trying to decide how far they were from the exit. Could they just go cross country toward where they thought it was? If they kept their backs to the palace, that should work, or would it? I don’t remember anything between here and there, but was that just because we didn’t look for anything? And how far does that swamp extend? There are swamps in forests, and we might be running straight into the Big Bad’s living r
oom. Well crap.

  Crackle, crunch crackle. Catherine froze, then moved toward the sound, one hand on her knife. Silver and cold iron together might help. She also picked up a big branch in her other hand. Someone panted, muttered in Russian, and panted more. She heard feet on the dirt, then “Ai!” thump crunch as the person fell into the bushes. A person with a high voice. Catherine approached the source of the sound.

  “Who’s that?” she demanded.

  A gulp, and whispered, “Rose. Steve knows me.”

  “Come to my voice.”

  “I can’t. My dress is caught.”

  Right there Catherine’s opinion of whoever it was dropped. A dress in the woods? Oh come on. Knife and branch at the ready, Catherine eased around so she came up beside Rose. Yep, you’re stuck. Idiot. “Give reason help.”

  “Want escape. Not really daughter, granddaughter.” A lovely blond girl with her hair in two braids looked up from the ground. She’d landed on all fours, one loose sleeve and the hem of her dress tangled in brambles like a blackberry. “Help, please?” Catherine considered her, lips pursed. Then she reached down and touched the girl with the silver part of the knife. Nothing happened.

  “I help. One mistake and you stay behind.” Catherine kept the knife, propped the branch against a tree and untangled the girl’s sleeve. Once her arm was free, Rose managed to get her skirt loose without tearing anything. They got out of the bramble patch and Catherine looked the girl over. “How find us?”

  “Stole this,” she opened a bag that she’d been carrying and pulled out the sleeve of Stavros’s coat. “Helped me find.”

  Catherine almost fainted from a rush of combined horror and relief. If Koschai and Chernobog had used that . . . Thank you Father Lord, thank you Jesus, thank you thank you. “Come.” They went to the clearing. Rose tried to rush forward but Catherine grabbed her, hauling the taller woman back. “No. Quiet. Boys need sleep.” Stavros had rolled off of Ivan, and the cat stood, stretched, and came over, sniffing Rose. Terrified, she covered her mouth with her hands and shook.

  “Is human,” Ivan stated. He sniffed her hard once more, then backed up and put one paw over his nose.

  Catherine bit her tongue to keep from giggling at Rose’s dismay. Ivan yawned and sauntered into the brush to do whatever he did. “Cat rude.”

  “Cat Ivan. Is old, is permitted rude.” And your perfume? Ick. Too much floral.

  Rose settled down beside a different tree, where she could see Stavros. And Peter, and Catherine noticed the girl looking from one boy to the other. Stavros and Peter both resembled their father, fair complected with medium brown hair although Stavros was lighter built, at least now. If he trained, he’d probably bulk up. Peter fought the regulations because of his weight and had to get an exemption every year. As she recalled, he went in, flexed his pecs, and that was the end of it. And they probably picked swooning female Marines and secretaries off the floor after he left, Catherine sighed. She didn’t find him that handsome, but every other girl seemed to. Well, she was his sister, after all.

  Catherine made another circuit, listening and watching. The silent forest bugged the heck out of her. Even in the folk-tales and other stories and accounts birds, small animals, and insects filled the woods, as they did in the normal world. The absence made her wonder. As she considered things, she heard feet padding up and a dark shape stopped beside her. She got out her phone and texted, “Where bugs & animals?”

  Ivan’s tail swished a little and he carefully texted back, “Not know. Magic here different. Not life magic.”

  “Thanks.” It didn’t answer her question, but this wasn’t the best time to be discussing types of esoteric environment. “Hungry?”

  “Not yet. Caught fish. Not tuna.”

  Given the size of a tuna, even Giant Ivan would have trouble pulling one out of the stream. “Need to move?”

  “Yes.” He pawed the phone back into his harness. Catherine reached down and stroked him, smoothing the fur under the harness. It wasn’t meant to be worn for so long, and she found a few snarls in his fur that she tried to ease. He purred and nuzzled her.

  They returned to the clearing and found a fight. A quiet, stilted, pointedly not raising their voices fight between Rose and Stavros. Each had planted their fists on their hips. “Why should I?” Stavros demanded. “You fattened me up and didn’t try to warn me what was coming, or that your family had a little grudge against mine.”

  “Steve, please, am sorry. Very sorry. But you no ask. You hero, you know.”

  He snorted, folded his arms across his chest and glared. “No hero. Traveler, kidnapped to here. Yes, was stupid, but warning good.”

  “Am also kidnapped, stolen from family. No like spells, no like darkness. Want to leave.”

  Peter growled, “And both of you are going to bring Swampy and Swampy Junior down on us.” He rolled over and looked at Ivan. “What say you?”

  “Mrow. Meow, mroh.”

  “OK, Blondie or whatever you are called, come with us. But if anything goes wrong, I’m tossing you into the closest swamp, understand?”

  “Understand,” she whispered.

  Stavros crouched down beside Peter and whispered, “Her true name is Ludmilla. She told me and I didn’t realize what it meant until just now.”

  Peter’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “Thanks. Hope I don’t need it.”

  #

  Peter really did not want to bring the spare along, but she insisted, and she’d brought the one thing Koschai could use to track Stavros and the rest of them. And it did not look as if Stavros was about to let his hormones get in the way. In fact, he kept Catherine or Ivan between him and Rose, upsetting the girl a little. Tough nuts, sweetie, we need speed and quiet and you are not helping. They managed to cover the distance between them and the bridge in good time, then stopped, watching and waiting. There had to be guards. Peter did not see any, and Ivan could not locate any. “Can we cut through the woods, Rose?” he heard Catherine asking as they watched the bridge.

  “No. That where dragon is.”

  “The seven headed black one?”

  “Was told nine heads, and yes, black. He has garden there and it guard tree.”

  No, we are not taking on a nine-headed dragon today. They’d need more than just a little bit of the Water of Life, their Mom’s blessing, and whatever the Red Mare had given him. Beside him Stavros whispered, “Could we throw those bean burgers from the campus vegan café at it and scare it to death?”

  “We have to get to campus first.”

  “Oh yeah, sequencing.”

  Peter couldn’t see any guards, so he motioned the others to follow and he walked quickly across the bridge. He made it, Catherine made it, Ivan tip-toed across, Rose got to the last plank and hit a wall. She bounced off something and fell backwards, landing on her rump. “Oof.”

  Shit. Ivan’s fur shot up on end and Peter sensed a change in the air. “We triggered the alarm. Three, come on!” As he watched, Rose shimmered and seemed to split, becoming a bunch of girls, all blond, all dressed like her, all trying to cross the bridge. What the hell?

  “Blast it.” Catherine called in English, “Three, you have to pick which one is the right one.”

  Oh, right. Could Ivan? Peter looked for Ivan and saw the cat backing away from the bridge at a high rate of speed. I’ll take that as a no.

  Stavros seemed to be squinting and counting. He shook his head, blinked, blinked again, and nodded firmly. He crossed himself and ran across the bridge to get in front of the girls. He hesitated, swore, then reached, grabbing Rose’s hand and hauling her across the end of the bridge after him. As he did, Stavros gasped, then bit his lip hard. Peter saw blood on his brother’s mouth. “What?”

  “Silver. St. George. Come on.” The five of them ran along the lake shore, then slowed down to a brisk walk. Lightning and storm clouds seemed to billow up from the palace and the gemstone onion domes took on a malevolent aspect. Peter waved the others and they all rushed
into the woods, joining the trail.

  He peered around in the gloom until he saw the white mark Catherine had left on one of the trees. “Come.” Rose darted ahead of them, then screamed. Catherine raced up with the boys close behind, in time to see the too-perfect tree grab the girl, pulling her toward an open maw in its white trunk. Rose fought but the tree scratched her face and pulled her by the hair as well as wrapping a branch around her torso.

  Catherine snarled the Russian equivalent of “Fuck this shit,” drawing her knife. Peter and Stavros hesitated, shocked by her language. She dashed forward, beating the tree’s branches with the end of her knife. The branch withered and blackened, releasing the girl a little. “Silver, need silver!” Peter drew his own silver knife out of his pocket and slapped it against a different part of the limb. Rose almost got free. After more frantic pounding, it released enough of her that Stavros could grab her, pulling hard. As he did, Catherine sliced down, cutting off the braid still tangled in the branches. They ran until they were away from the tree, then stopped, panting, wheezing. “Hair. Link?”

  Stavros shook his head and wheezed. “No. Junior drawn to it, not her. Has other hair. Right?”

  “Da,” Rose gasped. Tears rolled down her face and she clutched the side of her head where the braid had been. “Knife.”

  Catherine gave it to her, and with a determined expression on her face, Rose chopped off her second braid. “For later.”

  Peter nodded. Sheltered but has guts. I can respect that. They passed the living spring and diverted for a drink, then returned to the path, moving as quickly as possible. Ivan seemed to be getting tired so Peter let him into his rucksack again. He fit pretty well, and Peter left the flap open so Ivan could look around. The cat did need to go on a diet, but Peter kept that thought to himself. “Can you see behind us?”

  Stavros called back. “Yes. Something big and stormy is coming.” He looked pale and he’d pulled on his coat. Rose gulped and nodded.

  They ran through the open area, trying to get back to the woods before the storm reached them. “Young master, young mistress, come! I owe you debt,” a voice called.