by Taki Drake
She was so close to Blagogarsk. Turning back now would not be wise. There was a reason that she had come here, and that reason had not gotten less important. Instead, it was now more critical than ever that she get help in training her talents. Her vulnerability to the night hag was just one case in point. She had to find a trainer or training material.
She slipped a little deeper into a restless sleep, waking as soon as sleepy birds began to welcome the dawn. She and Dascha were on the road before full light, anxious to be away from the memory of the night hag. As fast as they moved, however, they couldn’t escape Zhanna’s shadowed feelings about approaching danger and the concern she felt for her grandmother.
Chapter 13
The city was beautiful. The golden glow of the morning sun shone kindly on it, turning its surviving windows and doors to glittering gems and cheerfully painted metal. The first impression was of something that had been left for just a moment, someplace whose owners would be returning any second. They would be ready to pick up the threads of their lives and go on. But Zhanna knew that there was no life there to go on. The same event that had torn her parents and grandfather from her had destroyed those of the city also. Many of the Volkhvy had once called Blagogarsk home. They lived there, taught there, learned there. The city itself was not large, but it had been the seat of the Volkhvy Council for hundreds of years.
This is where the witches of Russia had looked for guidance, for discipline, and a code of conduct. The city, or more accurately the people of the city, had held the blend of the Russian culture and its code of honor and conduct in high regard. They were the defenders of that unique mixture of applied passion. The wholehearted enthusiasm of the Russian people for life had been braided with a determination to do what was right, irrespective of cost.
With all of the deaths from the great Russian sacrifice, the willing sacrifice, or dobrovol'naya zhertva, the witches of Russia had lost their heart. The destruction of the keepers of honor meant that they had misplaced their community’s pool of wisdom and code of honor. Zhanna refused to think that those qualities had been lost. It was just inconceivable to her that those essential parts of what had made the Volkhvy a force to be reckoned with could be irreplaceably mislaid or gone.
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Zhanna chuckled quietly to herself. There is no better way of telling her that Dascha was feeling better. She only was snarky when she was happy.
After all, her familiar was correct. They had an exploration to do, and they certainly were going to try to carry off some loot. Hopefully, the third part would be true also, since she was not too sure how much good she was going to be getting out of trouble today.
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Zhanna was having an awesome time. They had explored six of the building so far, and she was beside herself with excitement on what they were finding. When they had first come into the city, they had seen some evidence of looters. A couple of broken windows, a door that had been kicked in, that sort of thing. That was all on the edge of the city.
Once Zhanna and Dascha had traveled further into the city, all signs of disturbance had ended. Doors were still closed, windows were still shut. Even the amount of dust and dirt in the middle of the city was limited. In fact, the general street appearance was better than any other place Zhanna had ever seen.
The young woman was practically humming with the energy and euphoria of discovery. At this point, they had been mostly looking. Zhanna had picked up very little. She knew from a discussion with her grandmother that grabbing all sorts of things on the way in was a recipe for disaster. First of all, her hands would be occupied which was not good on the defensive front. For another reason, it would be silly to pick things up only to put them down again when she found something that was newer and more interesting.
Their seventh building had a very plain front and no windows. Zhanna thought it looked interesting and promising while Dascha wasn’t so convinced.
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As Zhanna approached the door of the building, she felt a stab of surprise. It brought her to a full halt because the feeling wasn’t hers. It seemed to come from someplace outside of her, but close by. Looking around, she noticed that Dascha was already surveying the area. The tip of the cat’s tail was twitching and her familiar was obviously on the hunt.
There didn’t appear to be anybody moving in the area, and they had seen no sign of footsteps or other passage of human beings or even any of the creature. But the stab of awareness and its startlement had been real, not something that happened a long time ago. Whoever, or whatever, had been surprised was here, now.
A feeling of being watched started to press on Zhanna. She could tell that Dascha already felt it by the crouching posture of her familiar. Moving carefully forward, the young witch opened the door to the building. Nothing jumped out at her, nothing exploded. Zhanna breathed a sigh of relief. She had been braced for the sort of scary things that the elders talked about around vodka and tea in the evenings. But in this case, all was quiet.
The press of additional eyes had continued to grow. How could so many watchers be there and neither she nor Dascha could see them? Zhanna didn’t know, but there didn’t seem to be anything that she could do about the watchers. Rather than spin in indecision, she decided to move forward. Resolutely, the young woman advanced into the room.
“Dorogoy Bog, dear God!” escaped Zhanna’s mouth involuntarily. Even Dascha was quiet in stunned amazement.
It was a bookstore. A bookstore larger than any Zhanna could have dreamed or imagined. It was huge. Beyond huge. Looking around the room, she could see cases and cases of books. Behind low counters with elaborate cash registers, she could also see locked cases that contained scrolls and sealed tubes.
Sparkles tease the edge of her gaze, and every inch of her exposed skin felt bathed in warmth. Bemused, she turned around in a full circle, seeing the sparkles from the corner of her eye on every counter, every bookshelf, every cabinet. Somehow, she had just walked into a place where magic was bought and sold.
It was amazing. Even the irrepressible Dascha was silent. Eerily silent until Zhanna had pivoted a full circle and came face-to-face with a ghost, floating only a few inches away from her.
“EEKKH!” screeched Zhanna as she jumped back several feet. The apparition just floated there. The ghost looked like a bad picture of a man in his late 50s, early 60s. He had the slim build of a scholar and a slightly suspicious look on his face. He said, “Who are you and what are you doing here? The store is not open.”
The sheer normalness of that question surprised Zhanna. Here she was in an abandoned city having a conversation with a timekeeping ghost that had just complained about her being in a store, decades after its operating hours had changed. The desire to laugh was becoming overwhelming. Instead, the young witch cleared her throat rather noisily before responding, “I am here to explore. I’m also here to see if there’s anything that can help me with my training.”
The ghost seemed to be both surprised and somewhat disappointed when she answered coherently. He opened his insubstantial mouth to reply again when he was rudely interrupted.
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“Of course, she’s here to find material to help her training. I told you, Oleg, that someone had to come here and pick up materials to train themselves or others. What else can they do?”
“That is no excuse, as you very well know Pavel. Operating hours are there for a purpose in this young woman has ignored that purpose. I think she should be thrown out and not permitted to come back in.”
The second ghost just laughed. He was a much jolly looking man. Slightly rounded shape, his full beard was a style that pretty much screamed Russian. He reminded Zhanna of one of the Orthodox priests that had come by years before. The man had exactly the same sort of manner and cheerful benevolence. She found herself smiling back at him, even without thinking about it.
“Come over here child and sit down. I’m afraid we have very little hospitality to offer you since our current state doesn’t require food or drink. You and your familiar are the first visitors we’ve seen in a very long time. What is going on in the world and how can we help?”
The combination of everything that had gone on over the last few days came crashing through onto Zhanna at once. The spells that she cast that were so much more advanced than her knowledge, the battles, deaths, and blood, all of these went into the big pot of her emotions. The tension she felt now, the feeling of impending doom, and her underlying feeling of helplessness to deal with all of this complexity was more than her control could handle. Sitting down at the table, placing her backpack on the floor by her feet, Zhanna burst into tears.
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Zhanna had sobbed her eyes raw. It was an ugly cry, one that left the nose clogged, skin blotchy, and a truly impressive headache pending. At the same time, it had felt good to let it out. She was sure that her incoherent explanation had been difficult for the ghosts to piece together. It was not how she normally explain things, but Oleg and Pavel seemed to understand what was she was trying to say.
They had been joined by other ghosts. In another situation and time, Zhanna would have been frightened when she looked up and saw a two-deep circle of insubstantial forms around her as she sobbed out her news and her heartbreak to the two dead mages. Instead, she just accepted their presence and kept on. Crying and explaining, crying and explaining.
Finally, she wore out. Her throat was sore from talking for so long, and her eyes felt like they had grit in them. She still felt better than she had for weeks. Weeks of unsurety, weeks of desperate effort. Even if all that the ghosts could do was to listen to her, the young witch felt better.
“It sounds like there several things going on,” a melodious voice said.
At the first beautiful note of the voice, Zhanna had looked up quickly. The ghost was the first female that Zhanna had seen inside the city. The spirit’s gossamer hair was perfectly done, the short robes of a working mage were arranged flawlessly. Despite that, Zhanna did not feel intimidated by the woman. Instead, there was a sense of relief, a sense of thankfulness at her presence.
The woman continued, “It will take us a while to understand the ramifications of everything you had said, Zhanna. But one thing that is very clear to me at least is that you have a series of emerging talents and that all of those talents are untrained. The emergence of talent lines is something that has to happen at its own speed, but training the talents that you know about and developing your skills in those areas, that something we can definitely give some guidance on.”
Another voice joined the conversation, this one older and more frail sounding. Noticing the respect that the other ghosts displayed, Zhanna paid careful attention to the ancient-looking woman that was suddenly seated at the table next to her. In a slightly quavering voice that resonated like the sound of the deep, bone-breaking drums, the old woman said, “You cannot keep her here, Irina. She has things that she must do before she can come for a longer study here.”
Turning to Zhanna, the old woman continued in a singsong of ritual, “I see you, Zhanna Artyrofna, granddaughter of Bolormaa, the Farsighted of the Steppes and Ilia Stepanovich, granddaughter of Yakov Igorovich and Olesya Vadimovna, daughter of Artyr and Fedosia. May your visions bring you clarity and your powers grow straight and strong in honor.”
Zhanna had no idea what to say. She could tell that this was a ritual and she felt the trembling in the air as if the universe waited for her to say the right thing. The expectant gazes of the spirits in the room were like ghostly feathers on her skin. Trembling lest she make a grave error. She could feel a persistent shaking in her limbs and at the pit of her stomach. What on earth should she say? What should she do? The young witch had no idea.
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There was a pause before the familiar respondent in an equally confused way, <<… Thanks?>>
The uncharacteristic response from her imperturbable familiar caused Zhanna to choke down totally inappropriate laughter. Trying desperately to control her shaking voice, Zhanna responded from her heart, “Thank you. I am afraid that I have no idea how to respond appropriately. I wish I did because I would like to offer you the honors that you are due. Unfortunately, I am lost without a guide on what I have to do or what I should be saying.”
The specter of the old woman smiled, and there was a frisson of ghostly sighs that skittered around the room. She replied, “I can feel your intent, and it comes from a desire to acknowledge respect and thanks. I know that you are untrained. Your visions will be different than those of your grandmother because your heritage and training are different. Bolormaa nursed on the milk of a different land, and her visions ride that wild horse through the winds of sight. Yours will be different. When you come back this way again, we will speak more of this.”
With a faint popping sound, the ghost of the old mage disappeared. Where she had been sitting, the glint of metal caught Zhanna’s eye. Leaning forward, the young woman saw a delicate chain with a small pendant lying on the chair.
“She meant you to have it,” said Irina. “I’m not sure you realize how greatly you’ve been honored. I truly hope to see you again because that would mean that Nastia Ochistit’ Glaza will finally train someone.”
Solemnly, Zhanna picked the necklace up and placed it over her head and tucked into her blouse.
Chapter 14
Feeling overwhelmed, Zhanna had struggled to pull herself together. The ghosts cooperated by flitting around the store making recommendations and explanations about the different things she might take to help with her training. There were too many of the specters for her to get to know them by name or to even keep track of them individually. Wherever she went, they were there in groups. Some talking, others listening.
Dascha was kept in a constant state of alertness, fur fluffed out and claws half sheathed. Zhanna was pulled from area to area, each with its ghostly advocate. It was tiring and exciting.
The young witch agreed with her guides in that she wanted to take only those things that would help her at the current stage of her training. She was paranoid that somehow the information that she was taking outside of the city would fall into the wrong hands. Zhanna wanted to make sure that everything that she took would be something that she could learn from now.
When she completed this group of lessons, she would come back for another set of texts. The city and the specters were better able to protect the irreplaceable books than she. To her, it made a lot of sense that she would borrow only the books that she needed at one time. She would return to drop those off and pick up another set as her skills and her learning continued.
After exhaustive discussion and comparison, Zhanna ended up with eight texts and two scrolls. It seemed to be the right amount to Zhanna. Pavel and Oleg agreed.
Happily stowing her “loot” into her pack, Zhanna looked around for Dascha. Her familiar had disappeared a while back, murmuring something about going to see something with Irina. Zhanna had been busy at the time, so she had not really paid attention to where they were going or why.
The buzz in the back of Zhanna’s hea
d that maintained the witch-familiar bond was usually just a gentle reassurance that all was well. However, as Zhanna closed the last strap on her pack, a sharp stab of alarm poked into Zhanna’s brain. Springing to her feet, Zhanna spun to around to face Pavel. Forgetting in her distress that he was not in a physical form, Zhanna attempted to grab him by the arm as she urgently asked, “Where did Irina and Dascha go? Something’s wrong!”
When neither Oleg nor Pavel could answer right away, Zhanna turned and ran toward the door. So great was the urgency, so strong was her desire to get to Dascha, that she ignored Pavel’s yelled reminder to take a weapon. The terror echoing down the familiar bond overrode any consideration for her own safety, driven by her need to protect Dascha.
Running as fast as she could, hampered by her bruised and tired body, Zhanna ran unerringly to a small building about 300 yards away. As she got closer, she could hear Irina yelling and cursing. She could feel her familiar’s terror and an echo of pain. Something had hurt Dascha! They would pay!
Zhanna crashed through the door at a full run. Trapped in a corner, surrounded by a pair of floating swords were Dascha and Irina. Irina was trying to protect the cat with her body. Even though the ghost didn’t have a physical body to do any actual blocking, she was darting in and out. It seemed to be confusing whoever, or whatever was wielding the swords.