Mistress of the Solstice (18 page)

“Then, what happened?” Wolf
snarled. “All you needed was to grab the Needle and
get out of there. How hard could it be?”

“I do have the Needle,” Ivan said.
“Here.” He fumbled in the pouch at
his belt. His hands shook. He had never seen Wolf like this.

“Keep it,” Wolf said.
“It can’t be used unless you fulfill
your suitor’s task.”

He turned and walked away along the forest path.

“Wait!” Ivan called out. When no
answer came, he started along the path after the disappearing gray
tail, first at a walk, then at a run. “Please,
don’t leave!”

“You have a task to fulfill,” Wolf
said without turning. “Go, do it. If you survive
you’ll get yourself a lovely bride. Deadly, true. But
quite a beauty. Skillful in bed, too, that’s what I
heard. Maybe she’ll teach you a thing or two about
love.”

“Don’t you want to know what the task
is?” Ivan panted. He could fall in rhythm with the
wolf’s slow trot, but talking on the run was hard.

“Why? I’m not the one who got himself
into this mess. And, whatever task she gave you, you’re
meat, boy. I’d be better off finding myself another
hero. A real one, this time.” Wolf spat out the last
words before speeding up.

Ivan strained to match his pace.

“We have twelve days before the
Solstice,” he gasped. “We could
still make it.”

“I said forget it, boy.”

“I am sorry,”
Ivan said between breaths. “I really am. I hesitated
up there. I—I lost my chance.”

There was no answer, but after a while Wolf started to slow down,
eventually falling into a walk. Ivan hurried along, struggling to
steady his breath.

“D’you know what it
takes to fulfill a prophecy?” Wolf said after a
while. “There are times you can’t
hesitate.”

“Look,” Ivan pleaded,
“can we please slow down to discuss it? I
can’t keep up much longer.”

“You can never keep up.” Yet, after
a few more paces Wolf stopped and faced Ivan. “All
right, boy, I’ll hear you out.”

The house looked deserted. The shutters swung on broken hinges. From
behind them, the dark empty windows gaped like the eyes of a blind man.
The wicker fence was broken in so many places it hardly looked like a
fence anymore, and the small path from the gate to the
house’s front door was overgrown with tall weeds, among
which the jagged leaves of the stinging nettle reached out in a vain
attempt to catch a trespasser unawares.

There were no trespassers here. Who would trespass in this desolate
place?

“What’re we waiting
for?”

“Hush.” Wolf peered into the dusk.

“Why?” Ivan whispered after a long
silence.

“Do you know the saying:
‘Don’t wake the
trouble’—?”

“You mean,
‘don’t
trouble
the
trouble’?”

“Whatever you humans say.”

“What trouble?” The words froze on
Ivan’s lips.

The door of the house swung open with a creak that was carried on the
wind like a human wail. And then it slammed shut by itself. There was a
thud, then a rustle as something invisible made its way through the
weeds to the gate in the fence. The gate opened and closed. Then
everything went quiet again.

Ivan felt chills creep up his spine.

“Now,” Wolf said.

“What was that?” Ivan whispered.

“I said,
now
,
boy.” Wolf’s rumbling whisper echoed
in Ivan’s gut. It was not a pleasant sensation.

Crouching, he followed Wolf to the house.

Wolf paused by the door. “Don’t make
me do it, boy,” he growled. “Open
the door.”

“What is this place?” Ivan asked.
He hesitated to touch the crooked wooden doorknob.

“Trouble. It lives here. Now, get inside before
someone sees you!”

Ivan took a deep breath and pulled the door. It moaned as if alive.
Trying not to think of what was waiting for them inside, Ivan followed
Wolf’s gray shape into the darkness. The door shut
behind them with a thud, and Ivan wondered if they’d be
able to get out.

As he stepped from the entry way into the room, he realized that it was not
as dark as he’d feared. Light from the rising moon
streamed through the window, illuminating the inside of the house with
a cold white glow.

“Over there, on the table.”

Ivan looked.

The table was actually a shelf that protruded from the
wall beneath the window, attached by coarse wooden boards. It was
littered with dust and bits of what looked like the remains of year-old
meals—the kind one would rather not think about. To the side, a pile
of dry chicken bones glowed ghostly white against the gray of old dust.

Something ball-shaped protruded from among the bones.
It looked like no chicken skull Ivan had ever seen. In fact, it had eye
and nose sockets, strangely similar to those Ivan had seen in an old
graveyard. It was almost like—

He forced his eyes further along the shelf, to a beaten metal jug
sitting next to a flat clay dish. The water in the jug glistened like a
dark eye. It seemed to wink as it caught Ivan’s gaze.

“Pour the water into the dish.”

“What?” Ivan asked.
“Why?”

“Are you daft, boy? Hurry. We don’t
have much time.”

The jug was cool to the touch. Though dust thickly coated its dark
metal sides, its suffused gleam made Ivan wonder what
it was really made of. Back in the palace he’d once
seen an old silver chalice, his father’s most prized
possession, that had had a similar glint hidden in the carvings of its
exquisite workmanship. The jug he held now was not elaborately carved,
but it looked, if anything, even more ancient in its frightful beauty
than the one his father treasured.

The water did not splash as it hit the dusty clay
surface. It filled the dish with the confidence of a body filling out
the familiar shape of its favorite chair. The water
belonged
there. Yet, as
it poured out of the jug, the jug itself did not become any emptier.

Ivan filled the dish to the brim and carefully put down the jug.

“Now look.”

Wolf put his front paws on the table and together they bent over the
still surface of the water.

At first all was dark. In the glinting moonlight Ivan even imagined he
saw their reflections, barely distinguishable in the darkness. Then the
splotches of moonlight became livelier, filling out the dull clay dish
with their silvery glow. And then—

Ivan didn’t catch the moment when the shapes reflected
in the water came together into a picture. There was a field washed
with the afternoon sun, and a great tree in the distance. The breeze
rippled the tall grass, so that the field looked almost like a lake of
gray-green water.

The picture moved. They followed the view over the grass to the side of
the giant tree. Ivan could now see that the field ended in a jagged
cliff just beyond. There was a stream of water, far below. And
something white down there, something that oddly resembled the pile of
chicken bones on the side of the table.

Ivan took a breath and stepped away from the dish. The vision faded.

“Now we know where your path lies,”
Wolf said slowly. “To the Cat. Oh,
well.”

He jumped down and made his way to the door. Behind him, steam rose off
the surface of the clay dish, milky like the fog rising over the water
in the early hour of the night. Then, the dish was dry again, covered
with old dust as if nothing had touched it in ages.

Ivan found his voice. “What do you mean, the
cat?”

Wolf gave him a long look.

Ivan followed the beast to the door. He knew when it was best not to
wait for an answer.

In the dark entry area Wolf stopped so suddenly Ivan almost ran into
him.

“What is it?” Ivan whispered.

Wolf turned, his muzzle pushing close to
Ivan’s ear, the beast’s hot breath
burning his cheek. “As we open the door and go
outside, follow the path to the gate and on toward the forest.
Don’t step off the path, whatever you do.
Don’t run, whatever you think the danger is. And, most
importantly,
don’t look
back
.”

They opened the door and slid out into the dusk. As they made their
hasty way along the path, Ivan imagined he heard a creak behind him, as
if someone opened the door and stood there, looking at their retreating
shapes. It took all his strength not to turn, to continue walking,
following Wolf’s unhurried trot along the path, out the
gate, and further, over the nearest hill toward the distant shape of
the looming forest.

As they reached the hedge, Ivan imagined he heard the distant thud of
the door closing behind them. He realized he was trembling.

They walked for what seemed like hours before Wolf finally stopped.

“We camp here, boy,” he said.
“Make sure you rest well. You’ll have
much to do tomorrow.”

 

Marya

T
he day I turned thirteen was the first day my Mirror told me I was the
most beautiful woman in the world. Stunned, I stood and watched my
reflection, a face that had never seemed to me to be particularly
attractive. A pale narrow oval, for which my black hair, dark cherry
lips, and green eyes seemed too richly colored. The most beautiful?
Hmm…