Chernevog (v1.2)

by C. J. Cherryh

  God, no! he thought, and he wished Chernevog’s heart back where it belonged.

  But he felt no change at all; and Chernevog said, with a stinging rebuke, I haven’t hurt him, I’ve no wish to, without taking back what I don’t want, personally, to carry. You won’t do my heart any harm—not where it sits. So just do what I tell you-no different than with Uulamets, is it?

  Damn you, Sasha thought, and quickly restrained his anger, seeing Chernevog smile at him—affording him a moment to think what he might do to Pyetr to teach him a lesson.

  Chernevog said, I have no need to. Do I?

  No, he agreed, earnestly trying to turn his thoughts to cooperation, at least for the while.

  Chernevog said aloud, to Pyetr: “Let’s dispense with grudges. Shall we? They do so little good. I won’t blame you, you won’t blame me, we won’t quarrel: that’s best, isn’t it, Pyetr Ilyitch?”

  Careful, Sasha wished Pyetr.

  “Isn’t it?” Chernevog asked.

  “Yes,” Pyetr said faintly.

  “That’s your friend bespelling you, not me. He’s very much afraid for you, Pyetr Ilyitch. But we have an agreement, and I’m not sorry for it, I’m truly not. Be agreeable, is that so much to ask?”

  “No,” Pyetr answered, a mere movement of the lips: Say anything he wants, Sasha wished him, never mind the truth.

  Chernevog said, “I really, really have come to envy you two. I don’t know I’ve ever seen two people trust each other.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Pyetr said, before Sasha could stop him.

  “No,” Chernevog said, “I wouldn’t. I really wouldn’t. But it’s comfortable just being with people like you—even if I am a snake.” He smiled at them, and shrugged. “This snake can do very well for you, you understand, if you’ll only let him.”

  “He’s lost his damn mind,” Pyetr muttered under his breath.

  “No, no, no,” Chernevog said. “I’m very serious. The leshys did teach me something—patience, for one thing. Waiting for things instead of forcing them. They do come. This one did.”

  “I think I’ll have a nap,” Pyetr said. “It’s late. We’re in the hands of a crazy man.”

  Sasha’s heart turned over. He wished Chernevog not to do anything about that; and Chernevog only said, gently, “I wouldn’t change him. —We’ll talk about ‘Veshka tomorrow.”

  II was a trap, of course. Sasha bit his lip and knew Pyetr knew it, and knew Pyetr had not the constitution to ignore a challenge.

  Pyetr just sat there and stared at Chernevog, that was as far as he went; and Chernevog sat there a moment before saying, with no trace of mockery, “Something’s seriously wrong. I’ve as much magic as I need—but I feel limits I didn’t have before. I don’t know whether it’s something the leshys did to me or whether it’s something altogether different. I do know that Veshka’s north of us, I know she’s left the boat, I know old Hwiuur’s about…”

  “Let’s get to the point,” Pyetr said.

  “That is the point. Hwiuur’s being—pardon me—a snake. Very difficult to catch. Possibly it’s a little last rebellion: he’s like that. But it’s not the only uneasy feeling I have, and it doesn’t, as you say, answer the question what’s happened to the leshys, a very major question, in my position. So I do think it’s just as well we go north, and find ‘Veshka, and explain to her you’re with me—because if we don’t, she’s very likely to fall Into the hands of some other crazy person, do you see, and none of us wants that.”

  Pyetr said nothing. Sasha thought of flowers, thought of bread baking, thought of the garden at home and wondered if it needed weeding. He wished the weeds at least not to prosper.

  Chernevog said, “Prudent, but let’s all admit she might try to free you, and I’ve no doubt there are things that will fly straight to her to help her. That’s why I want to find her first. That’s why I’m sure you do.”

  Flowers, Sasha thought. Birches and a fieldmouse by the hearth.

  Pyetr, don’t listen to him.

  Chernevog said, “Your friend is speaking to you again. He’s trying to advise you be careful. So would I. I’d give him the same advice, of course, but he’s trying not to listen to me. — I’ll warrant his head’s not hurting now.”

  The pain had gone. Sasha had no recollection when.

  “See?” Chernevog said softly. “A safe camp, a safe rest. I can be very easy to get along with, if people are agreeable. — Put some wood on the fire, will you?”

  The house seemed larger inside than out—the log walls were trimmed and polished and other rooms were curtained with fine needlework at which one had no wish to gaze overlong, the patterns so caught the eye. Fire blazed up in a hearth of river stone, an oak mantel held silver plates, and herbs hung in chains and bunches beside it.

  This was Draga’s house.

  And the mother Eveshka had not seen from her birth a hundred years ago was young and beautiful, her mother’s hair was long and pale, freshly brushed and tied up with ribbons, her nightgown embroidered with blue flowers very like those Eveshka had thought she had made up, to sew about her hems.

  It was her nose, her mouth, her chin, except a little cleft. The resemblances both fascinated and terrified her.

  Her mother said, “Do come in, Eveshka,” and, “Let me take your coat, dear, do sit down, god, your hair’s all over leaves…”

  Eveshka set her pack down by the hearthside bench her mother offered her, and kept her coat on, and stayed standing.

  But her mother slipped on a robe, drawing her braids over one shoulder, said, looking at her, “Would you like some water to wash?” —implying, Eveshka supposed, that her face must be dirty. Her hands certainly were. Her boots were muddy from the rain. She would never have let anyone so disreputable besmirch her own well-swept floors, she would scold Pyetr or Sasha or her father right out the door to shed the boots, but she suddenly found herself defending her dirt as her right to be out that door again tonight, very soon, and sooner, if she found reason.

  “No, thank you,” she said.

  “Well, do sit,” her mother said, beginning to fuss about the kitchen. “Do.”

  “You needn’t go to any trouble,” Eveshka said. “Why did you call me here?”

  “Because I wanted to see my daughter. Because you’re in danger.”

  “From whom? From you?”

  Draga drew tea from the samovar, set silver cups on a silver plate and slipped a honey-cake onto a small dish to set beside it.

  Eveshka repeated, wanting a truthful answer: “From you, mother?”

  Draga brought the tray to the fireside, set it on the end of the bench.”Your father told you terrible things about me. I know.”

  “My father’s been dead for three years,” she said shortly. “Why now, mother? What do you want?”

  “To protect you. And my grandchild.”

  She wanted no wishes about the baby one way or the other until she was sure what she wanted, and she was surrounded by wishes, everyone’s damned interference in something happening inside her.

  “Does everyone in the world know?” she asked sharply.

  “You didn’t?”

  She wanted to know things; she desperately barred her mother’s thoughts, that came at her this way and that, persistent as a snake after eggs.

  She said, carefully, aloud, “No, I didn’t. It can’t be far along.”

  “Mere days. Pyetr’s the father?”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “That he’s a common man. That he’s very kind to you, and very wise, and very handsome.”

  That was not the response she had expected. Her father had never had a kind word for Pyetr, and that one of her parents finally agreed with her judgment tempted her to question all the things she had heard of Draga—but she must not be taken in that easily, dammit, no. Her mother had been spying on them, her mother had been sneaking about eavesdropping on their business.

  “You’re afraid,” Draga said. “Here, don’t
let the tea cool—sit down, sit. God, you’ve grown so beautiful.”

  “I was murdered! I spent a hundred damned years as a ghost, mama, where in hell were you when I needed help?”

  “Dear, I’ve had troubles, too.”

  “You were sleeping with Kavi Chernevog. You sent him to our house, you sent him to rob papa, and to sleep with me, if he could—”

  “That was Kavi’s idea.”

  “He was a boy, mama, you were years and years older than he was!”

  “A very charming, very dangerous boy. I wanted you, dear. I wanted you to come and live with me, and yes, I sent Kavi; your father would hardly have let me walk up to the door. Kavi wanted me to teach him certain things—I agreed if he’d go and get you away from your father, which of course took your cooperation. Yes, I thought he might try to win you for himself, you’re of an age; but Kavi had no intention of keeping his promises. He stayed to learn what he could from your father, he got caught where he had no business to be, and he still had a chance to have kept his promise to me. But he murdered you instead. Do you understand? He killed you because he’d told too many lies, and he knew how strong you were, and he knew you’d tell me too much. He knew if you ever got to me, the two of us would grow closer and closer, until he had no chance against us. So he killed you to keep you from me. And then he had to kill me before I found out what he’d done,”

  “Did he?”

  “He came very close to it. I was very weak, all but helpless. I knew what he was doing—I ‘d even have offered your rather my help, if I’d been able to, but I hadn’t the strength. Then—I found out later it was Kavi’s fall—something changed quite suddenly, and I could wish myself back, bit by bit.”

  It was plausible. It was entirely plausible. Draga offered the tea, stood patiently with the tray in her hands, wanting her to take it, and for courtesy’s sake, and because her mother seemed disposed to stand there until she made up her mind, Eveshka took the cup from the tray, only to hold in her hands.

  “No cake?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, well—” Her mother took the other cup, set the tray on the mantel and sat down, patting the bench. “Do sit. God, after all these years. What a lovely young woman you are!”

  Eveshka stayed on her feet. “Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted to see me?”

  “Because I wasn’t sure you’d come, I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me—and because there’s more going on than you know.”

  “Evidently everything’s going on that I don’t know! I’m having a baby and my dead mother’s hiding in the woods—”

  “ Dear, dear, sit down. And drink the tea. It’s not poisoned.”

  So finally her mother talked about things as they were. Eveshka sat down, coat and all, holding the teacup in her lap, and looked her mother in the eye, saying, “So what else don’t I know, that you think I should?”

  “A great deal.”

  “I’ve an hour or so in mind.”

  “Aren’t you warm in that coat?”

  “Let’s get to the point, mama.”

  Draga sipped her tea. “Kavi Chernevog.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s awake, he’s looking for you, and he has your husband and his friend prisoner.”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “I’d be very careful trying to bespeak young Alexander at the moment. You’re liable to get a very unpleasant answer. —Let me tell you, daughter, you’re a lovely, intelligent young woman with your father’s manners, my wits, and both our gifts in measure enough Kavi finds you very dangerous. I wanted you here. I would have wanted your husband and young Alexander with you, but that part of it your young friend prevented. At least Kavi doesn’t know about me yet and Kavi doesn’t believe you have any help now that the leshys have fallen asleep.”

  That, she had not known. The rest of it—She threw one small item onto the pile, hoping it was harmless. She said, “Hwiuur’s loose. The vodyanoi.”

  “I know him. Where is he?”

  “In your woods, mama. Is he yours?”

  “No, he’s not mine. Hwiuur belongs to whoever scares him. And since Kavi’s waked—I’ve no doubt whose he is. You say he was in my woods. Where?”

  “You should know that, mama, you should know it, he was close enough. You knew I was there.”

  “I saw you. I didn’t see him. I don’t like this at all.” Draga shut her eyes a torment, and wanted something. Of a sudden something large stirred beyond the curtains, claws clicked across the boards and a huge bear thrust a nose into the room—came shambling in as if it owned the place.

  “His name is Brodyachi,” Draga said. “He is a bear.”

  Brodyachi rocked from side to side, swinging his head and managing to look at Eveshka sullenly, eye to eye. He had a terrible scar across his head and other scars that looked like burns, about his shoulders.

  “Trespassers, Brodyachi!” Draga went and opened the door.

  Brodyachi got up and slouched out of the house into the night.

  “I had him indoors tonight,” Draga said, “knowing you were very close. I’m afraid Brodyachi’s rather a sullen fellow. Be on your guard against him. —Would you like some tea to drink this time, dear? That cup must be cold by now.”

  “This is fine.” She had an idea what Brodyachi was, and that it would be no easy thing to overcome the spells that protected him.

  So her mother had her heart well protected. But she had hers in her, and there was nothing but her wishes to defend it.

  Her mother said, “Won’t you take off the coat?”

  They lay down to sleep, with the fire built up, their canvas tied between two rocks and the surviving wall of the bathhouse. It was dry, it was warm, it should have afforded them comfort. But the sight of Chernevog reading by firelight afforded none, and as for what had happened to him, Pyetr felt a decided queasiness about his stomach—not pain, not acute fear: he told himself that nothing substantial had happened, that he still had his own heart, whatever the substance of it was, and Chernevog’s could not be that well-used, however old it was.

  Sasha touched his shoulder. He turned his head and saw the worry on Sasha’s face.

  “This time it is my fault,” Sasha whispered, and wanted something, Pyetr had no idea what, except it upset his stomach further.

  Sasha gave up whatever he was doing and looked thoroughly upset.

  “Don’t believe him,” Sasha said. “Whatever you do, don’t start believing him.”

  “Hell,” he whispered, “I have trouble enough believing in Babi.” He elbowed Sasha in the ribs, “Get some sleep. At least we don’t have to keep one ear awake for Snake tonight. We know damn well where he is.”

  Bad joke. It was the best he could do. Sasha said, touching his brow— “Go to sleep, Pyetr.”

  Damned dirty trick the boy had, Pyetr thought, opening his eyes in the sunrise. But he was, all the same, grateful.

  21

  Eveshka waked facedown in a comfortable nest of pillows and blankets and felt a moment of cold fear, having no memory of railing asleep, or having lain down in this bed which was clearly in her mother’s house. Somehow she was in a clean white gown, somehow she was washed and barefoot, and with her hair braided with pale blue ribbons. And someone was stirring about beyond the curtains, clattering pottery. The house smelled of breakfast.

  “Mother!” she cried, irate. She flung her feet out of bed, looked in vain for her pack, her boots and the clothes she had been wearing. There was only a light robe on a peg and she put it on and stormed out into the kitchen.

  Her mother looked at her, mixing bowl and spoon in hand, and said, “Set the table, dear.”

  “Mother, where’s my bag?”

  “Breakfast first.”

  Eveshka walked about the room, peering under benches and behind curtains.

  “The dishes are in the cupboard,” Draga said.

  “Where are my clothes, dammit? Where are my belongings?”
>
  “You sound like your rather.” Draga nodded toward the other curtain. “Your baggage is there, your boots are clean, outside the door, your clothes are drying. You’re quite the slugabed, my dear.”

  Eveshka went to the curtained closet, drew out her bag and her coat and laid them on the bench by the fire, where her mother was putting cakes on a griddle. She walked to the door, opened it and retrieved her boots, standing in the open door to pull them on.

  “Eveshka, dear, you’re making a draft in the fireplace.”

  “I want my clothes,” she said, and closed the door and walked out across the clearing in a nightrobe and her boots to collect her clothes off the oak that stood at the edge of the woods.

  Thank the god, she thought, her book was on the boat. She could remember nothing of how she had gotten to bed—sleeping like the very dead last night, since she supposed it was her mother who had washed her and braided her hair and dressed her like a ribboned doll.

  She reached up to get her clothes from off the tree and heard a loud grunt, looked, still standing on tiptoe, and saw the bear get up from behind the oak and look at her.

  “Nice Brodyachi,” she said, wishing absolutely nothing at him, knowing how touchy a wizard’s companion could be. “That’s a good fellow.”

  She gathered the clothes, backed carefully away, one eye to the bear. It walked with a sullen swing of its head, faster and faster. Moaned in a bear’s warning voice.

  “Mother!” she yelled.

  And dashed for the door and slammed it as Brodyachi charged. She braced her shoulder against it and dropped the latch as he flapped the wood.

  Her mother was taking up the cakes.

  “Brodyachi,” Draga said, rising to her feet, and Eveshka could hear the bear’s harsh sigh, hear the boards of the door creak as it sat down against it. Her mother said, “After breakfast, you can feed him a cake or two. That may win him. —Do get the dishes, dear. I’m standing here with nowhere to put these.”