Lord of Snow and Shadows (21 page)

“Kiukiu must go,” Lilias said. “Michailo?”

Michailo had been watching, contributing nothing, arms folded across his chest.

“Kostya left you in charge of the kastel,” said Lilias. Suddenly her green eyes brimmed with tears and her voice began to tremble. “Send her away. I’m afraid for my son.”

“But the winter snows have started—” said Kiukiu.

“I don’t care where she goes, I won’t have her near my baby.”

Kiukiu saw Michailo glance at Lilias, who melted into tears as she cradled her child. She saw him swallow hard.

“Kiukiu,” he said.

“Yes?” she whispered.

“You must leave the kastel.”

“But I tried to save the baby—”

“I am commander here in the Bogatyr’s absence.” Michailo’s face was expressionless. “You are dismissed from the Drakhaon’s service.”

“Think yourself lucky.” Lilias stared at her over her baby’s head, her green eyes narrowed, sharp shards of river jade. “In Mirom, wicked servant girls like you are sentenced to years of picking oakum. Their heads are shaved. Most die of dysentery before their sentences are up.”

“In Mirom I’d get a proper hearing,” Kiukiu burst out.

“You have half an hour to collect your belongings,” Michailo said. He moved now, going to Lilias’ side. “Please don’t distress yourself so, lady,” he said in a softer voice.

Kiukiu turned to Sosia. “Auntie—”

Sosia looked down at the floor.

“I can’t help you this time, Kiukiu.”

“But where can I go? Can’t I shelter in the barn till the snows stop?”

“You will be escorted out of the kastel grounds. Do not return on pain of death. Remember,” Michailo said in a low voice, “and remember well, Kiukirilya. In Lord Gavril’s absence, I have charge of Kastel Drakhaon. Now go, collect your possessions—before I change my mind.”

Kiukiu clapped one hand to her mouth to try to stifle her sobs and ran out of the room. As she passed them, she could sense Ilsi and Ninusha watching her in silent, gloating triumph.

Her mind was all of a panic. If Lord Gavril were here—

But what was the point? He was miles away. There was only Sosia—and Sosia had washed her hands of her. She had spoken up for her so many times, but against Lilias, she was powerless.

Kiukiu passed a window and saw the distant gleam of the snows blanketing the moors. The sky was gray, promising more snow. Where could she go? She had spent all her life at the kastel. She had no family but Sosia.

She hurried down the stairs to her little room and tore the worn blanket and sheet off the bed. The blanket would have to serve as a cloak. She began to throw her few possessions into the sheet: her comb, blue hair ribbons, thick darned socks . . .

“Kiukiu.” Sosia stood in the doorway. Her face was pale, her lips paler still. She looked old and ill. “Why did you do it? Why?”

“I was saving the baby; he was choking on his vomit,” Kiukiu said. “But
she
hates me, she used it against me—”

“The owl, Kiukiu. Have you no sense? In the massacre those cursed creatures attacked our men, women, and children. They are not
ordinary
owls.”

The thought of Snowcloud lying dead, bleeding in the snow, made Kiukiu begin to sob again. “Lord Gavril helped me rescue him. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“Go to the village,” Sosia said briefly. “Ask at the inn for Piotr. He’ll give you work. Mention my name.”

“But it’s a day’s walk on foot to Klim.”

“Then you’d better hurry. Here’s bread and cheese for your journey.”

Kiukiu tied the blanket about her neck and waist and slung her knotted sheet over one shoulder.

“Wait.” Sosia untied her woolen kerchief and wrapped it around Kiukiu’s head. “To keep you warm.”

“Sosia!” bellowed Oleg. “Where’s that good-for-nothing niece of yours?”

Kiukiu shuddered. “Don’t let him near me. Please, Sosia. He—he’ll interfere with me. You know what I mean.”

Sosia gave her a nod. Then she hugged her swiftly, pushing her away as Oleg and two of the
druzhina
loomed in the doorway.

“Take care,” she whispered to Kiukiu.

“Come on, girl.” Oleg grabbed hold of Kiukiu by the arm, dragging her to the door.

“Where d’you think you’re going, Oleg?” Sosia, arms folded, blocked his way.

“Seeing this girl off the property.” Oleg was breathing heavily in a way that made Kiukiu’s flesh crawl; his body stank of sweat and stale beer. She had no doubt that he intended to do her harm.

“You were supposed to have moved ten kegs of ale for me yesterday. And those flagons of cider . . .”

“Can’t they wait?”

“You dare ask me to wait?” Sosia demanded tartly.

Kiukiu felt the grip on her arm relax. She pulled free and darted out into the passageway. The two
druzhina
were after her in a moment, and she felt their hands clamp on her shoulders. She twisted but they held firm, almost dragging her along.

To her shame, she saw that the whole of the kitchen staff, right down to the lowliest scullion, was standing, watching her humiliating departure from the kastel, Ilsi and Ninusha at the front. No one spoke, but Kiukiu was certain she saw Ninusha smirking. Ilsi’s eyes burned brightest, sharp with malicious triumph.

Who would make Lord Gavril’s fires when she was gone? Who else knew how to smooth down the clean sheets and plump the feather pillows just so? Tears threatened to flow again, bitter tears—but she blinked them away, refusing to let Ilsi and Ninusha relish their victory.

As the two
druzhina
marched her past the stables, she couldn’t help looking with a shiver at the marauding crows and kites that had been killed and nailed up to rot, moldering trophies of tattered feathers and curled claws. Snowcloud would soon join them, his once beautiful white down stained with brown blood. . . .

Kiukiu stood forlornly in the trampled snow, gazing back at the dark towers of the only home she had ever known.

And now she was an outcast.

“Lord Volkh,” she called softly. “Can’t you help me? There’s no one else. I helped you, I stopped the exorcism. . . .”

She listened intently. But the only sound was the soft, sad whine of the wind.

Even Lord Volkh had abandoned her.

CHAPTER 16

Kiukiu shouldered her bundle of possessions and set off down the road without another backward glance. Here, at least, the snow was well-trodden by the
druzhina
’s horses—but at the end of the road, at the edge of the kastel grounds, lay open moorland.

A little trail wound across the moors to the distant village of Klim. The pines were thinning out now, and the protection that the forest trees had given her from the keen wind would soon be behind her.

She came down the lane and stopped. An icy-breathed wind sighed through the pine needles, rattling the leafless branches of the last remaining trees.

A white desolation stretched ahead as far as she could see. The dark green gorse, the bronzed fronds of bracken, all had disappeared beneath the snow. There was no sound except the incessant sighing of the wind, a desolate, lonely whine. And there was no break in the gray canopy of cloud overhead, no hint of sun or thaw. Even the trail was difficult to make out now that it was covered with drifts of snow.

Must keep moving,
Kiukiu told herself. She put her head down and trudged out into the powdery snow. The wind whined about her ears; she was glad of the warmth of Sosia’s scarf.

After a while, she stopped, breathless and weary. Her feet were beginning to feel wet; the snow had worked its way into all the cracks in her old boots and melted, seeping up into the soles.

Am I going the right way?
She shaded her eyes against the snowlight; even though there was no visible sun, the whiteness was dazzling, making her eyes ache. All the usual landmarks looked different—
or had vanished, blended into the monotonous snowscape. The Kharzhgylls should be on her right side, with the biggest peak, Arkhel’s Fang, in the center.

But as she peered across the snowfields, all she could see was a dull mist where the mountains should be. And if she were on the right path, shouldn’t she have come to the shepherd’s hut by now?

She felt a sudden pang of apprehension. If she had lost her way, she could wander into one of the moorland quagmires and never be found again. Or freeze to death—

“Stop scaring yourself!” she told herself fiercely. “Just keep walking. You’ll come to Klim soon enough.” She wrapped the old blanket more closely about her. After a while, she began to mutter rhythmically to keep her feet moving. “Lord Gavril will save me, Lord Gavril will save me. . . .”

As she tramped doggedly onward, it began to seem as if the light were slowly fading and the snowmist was rolling closer, blotting out everything but the immediate surroundings. She had no idea how long she had been walking now, only that her bundle seemed to weigh more than when she had set out . . . and her feet were not only wet, but sore.

Up ahead she saw a standing stone looming out of the mist.

Eat something,
she decided. A lighter bundle would help. She rested her back against the lichened boulder and untied her bundle, pulling out the bread and cheese Sosia had given her. It was not until she began to eat that she realized how hungry she was; she tore into the rye bread, relishing the taste, the chewy crust. Even the cheese—the hard, pungent ewe’s milk kind, usually used for toasting—tasted delicious.
Better save some just in case . . .
She looked down regretfully at the last of the loaf and a corner of cheese, and then stuffed them back in the bundle.

Just in case I don’t reach the village?
She pushed the thought away.
Must keep going.

She slung the bundle over her shoulder and forced herself to start out again, away from the shelter of the boulder.

The mists seemed to have rolled in more thickly, and even the trail was becoming difficult to make out. Sometimes she found herself blundering into snow-covered bracken. Her legs were aching now . . . and her feet were numb with cold.

Reach the village soon.
She kept the picture of the village in her mind, imagining arriving at the inn, knocking the snow from her boots, opening the door and feeling the glorious warmth from the fire enveloping her, seeping right down into her frozen toes . . .

Was it growing darker? There would be lights in the village, lamps lit in the little houses, she would soon see them glowing in the mist . . .

Kiukiu stumbled on a stone, righting herself. Her stubbed toes hurt in spite of the numbness, bruised and sore. She was tired now, tired enough not to walk with a regular gait anymore. Bone tired. And cold. She shivered in the intense, aching cold.

Keep on walking—it can’t be far now.
Stubbornly she kept on even though it was fast growing too dark to see. Only the white shadow of the snowfields still glimmered, stretching away into the moonless dark, endless and empty as the White Sea.

The little whispers of doubt that she had tried to ignore began to clamor in her mind.

Lost. She was lost on the moors. She would never reach the village; the snow and the intense cold would gradually freeze the last of her strength. She would sink down into the drifts, dying here alone. They would never find her body until the spring thaws, if the wolves didn’t find it first. . . .

Stop thinking like that!
She must find shelter, huddle up for the night in her blanket, and wait till dawn.

Shelter. She could hardly see more than a yard or so in front of her. There was no shelter, only bracken and stone outcrops and the slow-rolling snowmist.

Something cold and feather-light brushed her cheek. First one soft, chill kiss, and then another and another. . . .

It had begun to snow.

Kiukiu stumbled blindly on, head down, through the softly falling snow. Just putting one foot in front of another took all her energy now. She no longer knew which way she was going. Sometimes she thought she saw figures in the swirling white flakes, and then the wind would whip them away. Snow mirages, white on the blackness of night.

Can’t . . . keep . . . going. Must . . . rest.

But where could she find shelter, out here on the bleak moorlands? There was not even a dry stone wall to act as a windbreak.

“Ghost Singer . . .”

She heard voices in the wind, soft as the whispering snow.

“Who’s there?” she called hesitantly.

“Guslyar . . .”

Was she imagining the voices? Little eddies of snow, whipped up by the wind, whirled about her and were blown away into the darkness.

“Is there anyone there?” Snow blew into her mouth, melting to icewater, sending shivers through her aching body. “Please? Anyone?”

Now she could hear faint singing, an eerie sighing, desolate music, cold as the drifting flakes.

How could there be people singing out here, so far from shelter? She shook her head, trying to clear the persistent sound.

Suddenly a memory flung her way back into the warm kitchen at the kastel. She could only have been four, five years old. She had knelt, nose pressed to the cold pane, smearing the glass with her hot breath. Outside the snow twirled and swirled, wind-spun eddies of chill white down.

“The old snow woman’s plucking her geese again,” Sosia had said, busily stirring vegetables into soup at the cooking range.

As Kiukiu stared out, she saw figures amid the snow, vague and insubstantial, wreathing in a swirling dance. Their wild hair spun about their slender bodies like spirals of frost-hazed mist. And then it seemed as if they saw her at the window, for the dance ceased and they clustered together, stretching out fingers as thin as icicles, their eyes huge and dark as the moonless sky.

“Auntie,” Kiukiu had called. “Who are they? Those people outside?”

“No one is outside in this blizzard,” Sosia replied distractedly, concentrating on the soup.

And then she had heard the voices. Wisps of sound at first, cold and brittle as hoarfrost, then the singing grew stronger, wilder. The music was so beautiful that it made her heart ache. She had never heard anything so beautiful in her life.

And before she knew what she was doing, she was getting down, walking toward the door, wanting to go out into the snow. . . .

She ran smack into the legs of a tall man who stopped and caught hold of her.

“Where are you off to, little one?”

It was one of the
druzhina,
Yuri, Auntie Sosia’s elder brother.

“Outside. To join the singing.”

“There’s no singing outside. Only blizzard.”

He picked her up and carried her back into the kitchen, dumping her on the table.

“But the dancers—”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the Snow Spirits?” He crouched down so that his head was on a level with hers. “The spirits of people who died out on the moors in the snows? They come back with the blizzard every winter and they sing to lure the living to their deaths in the snow.”

“What nonsense are you filling her head with now?” Sosia cried, turning around from the bubbling pot. “There’s no such thing as Snow Spirits. It’s just a silly tale.”

Just a silly tale . . .
Kiukiu repeated to herself now, trudging doggedly on.
No one there. Only the wind.

Pale faces, white as mist, loomed out of the swirling snowflakes. Spindle-thin fingers, translucent as icicles, plucked at her hair, her clothes.

Voices breathed in her ear, whispering of the cold caress of the snow.

“You’re not there!” shouted Kiukiu. “I don’t believe in you. You don’t exist!”

A thin, high voice began to sing in the mist. It sang of snow-filled wastes, the white vastness of the icebound sea. The song was pure as clear ice and bitter as eternal winter.

Kiukiu was desperately tired now. She stumbled, nearly fell. She tried to block the song from her mind.

Many voices joined the one.
“Rest,”
they sang.
“Let us wrap you in soft snow, let us sing you to sleep.”

“I can’t hear you,” Kiukiu cried. How did they know all she wanted was to stop and lie down? She could no longer feel her feet. Her throat and lungs burned with the cold, dry snow air. But if she stopped it was as good as giving up. . . .

Her foot caught in a knotted clump of heather. She pitched forward, putting out her numbed hands to try and save herself. Too late. Snow Spirits wreathed around her, hands linked in a swirling, spinning dance. She was trapped.

“Help me!” she called vainly into the darkness. She tried to push herself back up but the snow clung to her clothes, weighing her down as still the spirits circled, closer, closer . . .

Faces glanced down at her, white as death, cruel and bleakly beautiful as mountain snow. Chill fingers caressed her, each drifting caress numbing her blood until she cowered, shivering uncontrollably in the wet snowdrifts.

“Help me!” she called again, even though she knew there was no one to help her.

“Sleep,”
sang the sweet, cold voices, stroking their chill fingers through her hair.

Kiukiu saw a dark doorway slowly opening before her. With growing dread she recognized the yawning blackness beyond. It was the portal to the Ways Beyond, the portal she had last crossed with Lord Volkh’s spirit-wraith clinging to her. Now it yawned open for her alone.

“No!” she cried, furious that she should have to die like this. “I’m not going to go through! It’s not my time yet! I have to protect Lord Gavril. I gave my word—”

“Why go on suffering?”
whispered a single voice close to her ear.
“Give in. Let go. Is life so sweet?”

Kiukiu sank back into the snow, exhausted. The black portal towered above her. She was too weak to resist it. Already she could feel the dark leaking into her mind, filling it with death-cold shadows. As she sank back into the snow, her will begin to waver. The darkness was surrounding her, numbing all her senses. All she could hear was the whispering chant of the Snow Spirits. She was fading . . .

Dying.