by Taki Drake
The visions slammed into her one by one, overwhelming impressions of battle and danger. Zhanna wearing the clothes that she was traveling in, in a broken down shelter, trying to pull desperately away from a strange woman. Scattered sparkles of the air, transformed into Zhanna as an older woman holding onto the body of a man, slender of build, and with red hair. Her baby, her grandchild, crying over his corpse.
The current lessened and became less horrific. Now Bolormaa saw Zhanna meeting up with Stefan and his friend Mikail, looking through large sacks of items. She smiled at that, relieved that Zhanna would survive.
The visions had just left her when the pain of a massive blow slammed her to the ground. Curling instinctively around her bowl, the seer dropped heavily. A rough hand grabbed the back of her hair and dragged her upright. It was Krava, tinged in a red aura and with the smell of rotting meat around him.
“See what good your banishment did, you old bitch. You do not have enough power to keep me out when I truly wish I to be here. But I didn’t really come for you. Where is that granddaughter of yours? Where is that bitch?”
Her eyes watering from the pain of the grip on her hair, Bolormaa answered him, refusing to be cowed. “She’s not here.”
“I can see that. She cost me power! After being so tempting a target, she escaped me. She was just there, ripe for the plucking and somehow she’s escaped. Just for the problems she’s caused me, she will suffer and you will too!”
The powerful man grabbed the old woman’s arm. Twisting it painfully, he forced her back down to her knees. Shoving his face into hers, he demanded, “Where is she? Tell me now, and perhaps I’ll let you live.”
Bolormaa stared defiantly back at him and refused to speak. Wrenching the frail old woman to her feet, Krava shook her hard and demanded in a louder voice, “Where is she? She is mine. Mine to use and mine to control.”
Somehow Bolormaa kept hold of her bowl, pressing it against her chest with the arm that was not being twisted. Years of training had taught her that the bowl was worth more than her life. The seer clutched her lifelong possession against her and bravely defended the most precious thing in her universe. She refused to answer the spitting, frothing man causing her so much pain.
“I will teach you what your defiance brings. And I will enjoy every second of it!”
Bolormaa braced herself as she saw Krava pull a knife from his waist. She knew that what would come next would make all the pain that she’d ever suffered seem like a minor problem. In that split second, she saw her own death and accepted it.
“Hold now! What do you think you’re doing, Krava?”
It was Stefan, who had come to check on Bolormaa. When Zhanna had requested that he and Mikail would look in on her grandmother while she was gone, Stefan thought he would do it once every few days. But some intuition had told him that perhaps this was a good day to check with her.
He and Mikail were planning on doing some practice exercises like all off-duty mercs tend to do. They each had their staff and sword with them, on the way to the practice area and thought to swing past the old woman’s cottage to make sure that she was well. The situation that they had interrupted alarmed them and set them into battle mode.
Krava snarled in fury and threw the old woman into the corner. Spinning to confront the two others from his mercenary band, the mage no longer looked totally sane. The odor of rotting meat was stronger around him, and the body posture was of a berserker about to jump.
Without a word, Stefan and Mikail spread further apart. Their hands automatically dropped to their weapons, and each drew their sword and staff. It was Mikail who chose to speak next. “Krava, what the hell are you doing? This is one of our own, a respected elder. Have you gone mad?”
Krava snarled at them, more foam appearing on his mouth. “She’s keeping something of mine, and I will have it. She won’t answer, and if she doesn’t answer, she dies.”
Mikail continued to talk to the maddened mage while Stefan tried to inch his way into a position between the unconscious seer and Krava. Taking a conciliatory tone, Mikail said, “Just calm down, and we can figure what’s going on. I’m sure she didn’t mean to steal anything from you.”
Maddened by the interruption of his interrogation of Bolormaa, Krava attacked without a word of warning. Diving for Mikail, the blood mage used his large build to slam the smaller man off his feet and onto the ground. Roaring with frustrated rage, Krava ran through the doorway and disappeared.
Stephan dropped to his knees by Bolormaa and checked her gently for damage. The seer started to regain consciousness, muttering in pain and trembling with reaction. Throwing a protective circle around her, Stefan stood up. He and Mikail checked out the remainder of the small home and the surrounding yard. Krava was nowhere to be seen.
By the time they came back into the cottage, Bolormaa had managed to sit up and had seated herself at the table, righting the chair that had been dumped during her struggle. Her scrying bowl was once again wrapped carefully in its protective covering but still sat in the middle of the table.
“What the hell happened, Bolormaa? We have never seen Krava like that.”
The seer explained what it happened and the demands that Krava had made of her. She told the two mercenaries that she had refused to tell him where her granddaughter was or where she was going. She also told them that she thought that Krava was a blood mage. The two men were shocked. Neither of them had suspected what was going on although thinking back at some of their assignments, previously unexplained occurrences and behaviors made more sense when viewed in this new light.
“Bolormaa, we need to stand watch here and protect you. He might come back, and you are very vulnerable, isolated this far from the village center.”
“Stefan, while I appreciate that, it still won’t be safe. The two of you will leave on assignment soon because you have to feed your families. Spending all that effort and time on one old woman is not the best for you.”
Mikail added, “We have to do something, Bolormaa. It is unconscionable that he would attack someone of our village. This conversion is not something that we want to be known about us nor should we have it known about our troop.”
While Bolormaa agreed, she did not want them trying to wrap her in protective cotton. Instead, she suggested that they might escort her to a place where she knew she would be safe. If they then still had energy and time, and if they really wanted to do something to make her feel better, they could go after Zhanna and help her along the way.
After some discussion, the two mercenaries agreed that they would take Bolormaa where she wanted to go and then follow Zhanna to the city of the Volkhvy. Bolormaa was pleased but realized that she needed to get moving soon. Her determination to keep active and to keep her granddaughter safe was taking a toll on her body. If she did not get to a safe place soon, she was not going to be able to protect either herself or those she cared for.
She told the two men that she be ready to go in five minutes. Stefan was amazed. “Don’t you have to pack or something?”
“No. The safe place has been waiting for me for a long time. It is in readiness, and I will go there and be safe until it’s time for me to come back.”
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She was as good as her word. It wasn’t quite five minutes before Bolormaa was back in the kitchen with a small bag of belongings, her scrying bowl, and a walking staff. She allowed one of the mercenaries to hold her bag of possessions, but she refused to let anyone touch the scrying bowl.
They took off toward the deeper part of the woods, a place where most of the people in the village never traveled. Only a few brave hunters and those that gathered mushrooms would head in that direction. Only in the day and only in a party.
This seer’s feet knew the pathway. Bolormaa felt the target with the strength of the pull of her heart. She unerringly led them through the forest and onto the dimly seen paths.
The party had not traveled for more than an hour when they came
upon a small clearing. It appeared to be empty but when Bolormaa stood on the edge and said a couple of soft words that neither mage could hear clearly, the appearance of the glade changed.
Instead of an empty meadow, there was a small cottage surrounded by a bramble fence. The cottage looked occupied, door open and a tendril of smoke coming from the chimney. Stefan put a hand out to stop Bolormaa. “Careful! Looks like someone’s already there.”
The old woman smiled at the large mercenary. “It’s been waiting for me. I would know if someone else was there. No one is.”
Stephan and Mikail stared each other for a moment. Although the village had known that Bolormaa was a seer of great power, they had never really understood how strong she truly was. It was so much easier to pretend that she was just an old woman. The idea that someone with great power lived in their village was not comfortable for either the men. But they had said that they would deliver her to where she wanted to go, and they kept their promises.
Glancing around warily, they escorted Bolormaa to the doorway. She looked neither right nor left but marched determinedly to the cabin. She stepped over the threshold and turned to the two men. Thank you so much for bringing me here. I will be safe, and you will not have to worry about me. But please, please, go after Zhanna. I saw where you would catch up with her and I know she will need you. Promise me.”
The two mercenaries promised her and then turned to leave. Stephan was still uneasy about leaving such an old woman, such a frail old woman, alone in the forest. He had thought of another argument before they had gone more than 15 feet away. Putting his hand out to stop Mikail from moving, he turned to call back to Bolormaa but stopped. The clearing was there, as was the bramble fence. But there was no cottage. There was no scent of smoke in the air, and there was no sign that the cottage had ever been there.
Without a word, the two men left to go home.
Chapter 9
Zhanna’s trip was going well. The weather had continued to be good, and they had not encountered any problems along the way. Even for someone used to working and walking all day, this was a long trip. She was starting to get tired and began to think about where she was going to spend the evening. It had not occurred to her that she would need to take shelter with her, which she now knew was naïve.
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Zhanna laughed, relieved and comforted by the acerbic practicality of her familiar.
They had not traveled more than an hour longer when they saw in a small clearing, off to the side of the pathway, one with the unmistakable signs of a building. Zhanna could hear the rush of a stream someplace close by and the combination of a moving waterway and the straight lines of a cottage gave her hope that they might meet someone friendly the would let her sleep in the barn or by a fire.
Dascha had gone ahead to explore and soon came back. Her tail was twitching, which Zhanna knew was the sign of indecision usually mixed with irritation. She waited for Dascha to tell her what the issue was.
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The two continued in silence as they walked up to the cottage. There would be time enough later to decide. For right now, they would just gather information.
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The cottage once had been lovely. The traces of good construction could be seen still in the standing walls and the remnants of the roof. The door had long ago gone the way of nature, reduced to tinder by the ravages of time and the elements. Without attention, most man-made structures in this part of the world were quickly reclaimed by the wild. Only vigilance and effort kept the village’s cottages dry and weather tight. This building had no such care.
Zhanna wondered what the original builder of the house would have thought if he or she had seen what it come to. Shutters hanging by one strap, decayed door hanging to be clattered by the wind. It made Zhanna sad to see what had once been something so lovely abandoned like this.
Approaching cautiously, Zhanna and Dascha examined the building and what used to be a farmyard. There is no sign of the barn, but Dascha had found rotted fence posts that probably had marked a corral or pen. It didn’t seem that there had been anyone living there recently. All of the signs were old.
Zhanna gathered some sweet boughs for bedding. The bed box was still there, but the mattress had long ago been chewed apart and used by the wild animals for their nests. It was easy for her to sweep out the box and put in the boughs. It would make a comfortable bed for her and Dascha, and she could feel her bones yearning for the rest.
Unsure of the chimney condition, Zhanna made a small fire outside and heated up a little bit of porridge. The warmth of the small meal was just enough to relax her and make her even more ready for bed.
Unable to go to sleep when she knew that there were dirty dishes, Dascha went to the stream to pull up a bucket of water. She planned on heating the water so that she could do the dishes and hopefully have a little bit left over for her cleanup also.
Dipping into the stream with the bucket, she straightened up and then reared back in surprise. The brown eyes and blonde hair of the woman standing in the stream were startling. Zhanna had heard no sound, seen no sign of anyone else. But here was a woman, soaked to the skin and in a tattered dress standing in the middle of an ice cold stream.
“Oh, my goodness! You poor thing. You must be freezing. I have a small fire, so come with me and we will warm you up.”
The woman looked at her strangely, and said, “What are you doing here? The people who lived here are all dead. No one stays here because they’re afraid, afraid that punishment will land on them also.”
“It would not make any sense for someone to punish me. I am just traveling through here and stopped for the night. We can talk of punishment, and perhaps you can tell me the story but should we really get you warmed up. You look frozen.”
“You must have an easy conscience, traveler. You have no sign of fear, and you do not seem startled by someone dressed as I, appearing in front of you.”
“Of course, I’m startled. But my surprise doesn’t cover over my concern that you might need assistance. Won’t you come sit by the fire and tell me your story?”
The woman stepped out of the river. Her tattered skirt only concealed her legs down to her ankles, revealing that she was wearing no shoes. Her skin was pale and gray although her eyes were lit with a dangerous light.
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Zhanna could hear her familiar sighing mentally with exasperation. The tone was so annoyed that the young witch was
not surprised when her familiar strolled up to her side and sat down, watching the spirit with a predatory gaze.
The Rusalka drew in a sharp breath when she saw the familiar. Glancing quickly between the cat and Zhanna, she said, “You’re a witch! I thought all of them had died. I felt many of their deaths, and then none of them came by anymore. It has been such a long time, and they have not kept their promises.”
“What promises? The Volkhvy would not have broken faith with you if they had still been alive. All of them died trying to save our people. My grandfather and my parents were some of those that died.”
The spirit girl thought about that for a few minutes. There was a flash of some intense emotion across her face, animating it for a brief second before disappearing into the cold and dead expression that she had worn before. She began, “I fear that means that you are not here to maintain their promise? I had hoped that you had come to renew the favors between your kind and mine.”