Rosa and the Veil of Gold (38 page)

“Isn’t this fun, Anatoly?” she shouted.

Anatoly was still. Perhaps he’d given up fighting her. Her senses prickled, and she snapped her head up. Ahead, the sky was splintered. A crossing.

“Are we going through there?” she asked. Voron didn’t waver in his path. The veil draped the sky, miles in each direction. “I guess we are.”

She braced herself as the sleigh shot through the veil, sending fragments of coloured light exploding into the air, shuddering through her and pushing her breath back down her throat. Then, she was simply
elsewhere.
The sky was twilit colours of blue and grey, and a great glittering river snaked below her.

Water. The thought made her throat feel dry. Time to try a landing on Voron.

“Voron,” she said. “Down.”

The sleigh bobbed lightly on the air, coasting rather than propelling forward. Then the descent began, slowly drifting fractionally side to side like a feather. They settled in the long grass on the riverbank and Rosa climbed down. The route to the water’s edge was rocky, and the sarafan became the most impractical thing she had ever worn. She tucked the sides up into her underwear so the skirt hung around her knees rather than her ankles. The stars and moons on the skirt glowed faintly, adding a pale blue light to the dusk as she made her way down to the water.

Rosa crouched there, scooping handfuls of water into her mouth. Behind her, up on the bank, she heard a rustle but when she stood to look around, there was nothing but Voron, his metal beak gleaming faintly in the twilight. She smiled. “If I didn’t know better, Voron, I’d say you were alive.” Voron remained silent.

She turned back to the water, casting her gaze over the opposite bank. The smell came again and this time she knew: smoke weighed down with the fatty odour of burning flesh. Down here on the ground, the danger seemed much closer. She switched into her second sight, sending it through the trees to discover where the smell emanated from. Too distant.

Then movement in the water caught her eye. She stepped back, her gaze searching into the river. A pale, dead-eyed thing was staring back at her. She let out a little shriek and scrambled back onto the bank. The swamp spirit launched itself up out of the water, rotted white hands reaching for her hair. Rosa kicked out, got away, and ran for Voron.

“Up, Voron, up!” she cried, and the sleigh lurched and lifted, as though it knew the danger. The swamp spirit, weedy hair clinging thinly to its wrinkled scalp, caught the back of one of the skis and took to the sky with them.

“Get off!” Rosa screamed, as she felt the sleigh’s weight shift and start to shudder. The creature was going to pull them out of the sky, and they were already up a hundred feet. Rosa’s eyes scanned the sleigh for a heavy object to beat the thing off, then she tore the thunder arrow from around her neck.

“I said, get off!” she shouted, as she thumped the swamp spirit’s fingers with the lump of rock. As she did so, a thunderous roar cracked around her, splitting the air and echoing metallically in her ears. The creature lost its grip and fell. Voron, divested of the burden, shot upwards. Rosa watched as the swamp spirit spun through the sky, a white blur, then landed in a crumpled heap on the grass below. She retied the thunder arrow around her neck, feeling her heart slow.

Rosa settled back in her seat, knees curled up to her chest. Grigory said that, so far, Daniel and Em had survived in Skazki: how? She had been attacked by a leshii and a swamp spirit and had
had to use magic to protect herself. They had no magic. Perhaps Em was as strong as she was smart.

Perhaps Rosa had underestimated Daniel.

As she pondered this, a dislocated but familiar sound reached her ears. Bells. Complex patterns and combinations of high and low chimes, coming to her on the breeze. Below, the landscape was changing. Flat lands gave way to low mountains; snow, half-melted and dirty, gathered on rises. The bells grew louder, echoing through the peaks and valleys. Up ahead, on a flat hilltop, she could make out the outline of a towered building, golden cupolas gleaming in the dark. The trajectory that she and Voron were on meant that it would pass directly underneath them. The clouds grew close, a flurry of snowflakes caught in her hair. She was glad for the sarafan’s enchanted warmth, because she could feel the temperature dropping steadily. Mists blurred their path, then cleared again, as the bells reached a deafening volume. The building was directly in front of her: a palace, painted bright colours and topped with golden domes and clattering bell towers. Pagan symbols and frescoes were outlined in gold on every surface: bears and bulls, winged dragons and darting fish. Then it was rushing beneath them and behind. She turned to look at it, curiosity an itch deep inside her.

“Voron,” she said, “go back.”

Voron veered to the right, turning back in a circle.

“Go round,” she said, before they had reached the towers again.

Voron began to circle the palace, and Rosa watched it from the side of the sleigh as they passed once, twice, three times.

“What is it?” she whispered. It looked like a Russian Orthodox cathedral, with its onion domes and gold decorative towers. But there were no crosses; no saints on the white and blue paintwork. The square that surrounded it was paved in grey stone, smattered with grubby melting snow.

She tapped Voron’s iron shoulder. “Down, Voron.”

The sleigh slowed, sharpened its angle, and dipped towards the square. Rosa played absently with the protection knots at her wrist.

Voron skidded into a bank of snow in the empty square. The bells sounded frantic, stuck on a loop. The cold air made the sound harsh. The ground was slippery with ice, and a chill wind flapped at her
clothes. Snowflakes spun around her as she crossed the square. She felt small and young. The twilight here was purple, but had not yet deepened towards night. Pale stars tried their hardest to shine between the clouds. Huge carved wooden doors towered above her and she stopped to catch her breath, gazing at the elaborate shapes of celestial bodies, animal spirits, vines and antlers which an artist had chiselled from the wood. Her heart was fast, the familiar sizzle of adrenalin in her chest. She pushed one of the doors open, letting a crack of snowy twilight into a dark entry hall. Empty. Rosa slipped inside, leaving the door open behind her. High windows admitted a little light. A wide staircase swept away from her up to an empty landing. No furniture, no rich ornaments, just a grand hollowness.

“Hello?” she called.

The door creaked behind her. She glanced over her shoulder. A disembodied voice boomed through the room.

“Did Koschey send you?”

Rosa slowly searched the room with her gaze. “Show yourself.”

“You have Koschey’s sleigh,” said another voice.

“I only know him as Papa Grigory,” Rosa said evenly, although her mind was ticking over quickly.
Koschey, the deathless.
It explained a great many things about Grigory. “He didn’t send me here. I came of my own free will.”

Disembodied laughter in the chill emptiness. “Does Koschey know you have such a strong free will?”

“Who are you?”

“Come up the stairs,” the first voice said. “We’re in the throne room at the end of the hall.”

Rosa backed towards the door. “No thanks. I’d best be on my way.”

A sudden blast of wind slammed the door shut, muting the roar of the bells. Rosa tried the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“We simply won’t take no for an answer,” said the second, quieter voice.

“Come, little Mir girl. We’ll tell you about Koschey.”

“Just follow the stairs.”

She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t have stopped. She was supposed to find Daniel. And yet, she wanted more than anything to meet the occupants of the castle.

“I’ll only stay a minute,” she said, unwinding a protection knot across her knuckles. She took a deep breath and started up the staircase.

Em was cold, but she had always been cold. Now she felt life retreating from her, shrivelling into a weak pulse somewhere deep inside her. She had thought that death would be an expanding sensation, not this uncomfortable contracting. She slept fitfully, always surprised when she woke again to see the stars, to see Daniel’s hunched back as he sat next to her, gazing out across the fields.

No, the cold was different.

She sat up. Daniel turned to her.

Prickling across her skin, icy and sharp.

“He’s coming,” she breathed.

“Who?”

The wind wailed, slowly, a moaned promise, closer and closer. The sky churned to the freezing movement of his wings. Daniel’s hair whipped about as he looked around, alarmed.

“Morozko.”

“Who? What do you mean?” His words were caught at his lips and tossed aside by the wind.

She struggled to her feet and turned, her hair blowing into her eyes. In the distance, a white figure against the grey dawn. She was reminded of old paintings, angels emerging from apocalyptic skies. Overwhelmed, she lost her balance and fell. Daniel caught her and lowered her to the ground.

“Em, be careful.”

“It’s going to be okay. He’s coming.”

Footsteps. Cold. She saw Daniel shudder. She closed her eyes.

“Who are you?” Daniel said.

“Don’t touch me,” said Morozko. “It’s dangerous.”

Then his icy arms were around her. She opened her eyes. He had her cradled in his strong embrace, pressed against his chest. “I’m here, you’re safe,” he said. “There’s food and clean water not ten miles from here.”

“I can’t walk,” she said.

“Then I’ll carry you.”

The sun rose and dazzled Em’s eyes as Morozko led them back towards the south-east and over a hill to the edge of a wood. A glistening stream rushed over rocks, field mushrooms grew in abundance. Daniel built a fire while Morozko hunted in the trees. Em waited, still too weak to move, breathing relief and hope anew. They still might make it home.

“This is a lot harder without a lighter,” Daniel said, furiously rubbing sticks together over a pile of dead leaves.

“Leave it for Morozko. He can probably start a fire.”

“No, I think I’m finally getting…there.” Sparks smouldered in the leaves. He poked them gingerly with a stick. “Yes, that looks good.” He looked up at Em. “So, how much do you know about him?”

“I know that he’s saved me twice now.”

“Morozko is the father of the frost. Though none of the stories Rima told me had him looking like that.” He hitched a thumb towards the wood, where Morozko’s lithe and muscular body slipped in and out of sight between trees. “He took pity on a mortal woman who was dying of exposure.”

“Perhaps it’s his speciality.” She laughed weakly. “I don’t care. I’ve drunk fresh water, we’re going to eat properly, we have shade to rest under. I don’t care what happens next.”

“You don’t?”

“It can’t be worse than dying on the steppe.” Her eyes went to the woods again. Morozko was very still now, and the curve of his lower back beneath his wings seemed hard and inviting to the
touch. A sudden movement, a pounce. Then he was returning to the fire with a pheasant, its head dangling on a broken neck.

“Food,” he said, handing the bird to Daniel. “I’ll take care of Em.”

Daniel took the bird, but Em could see his eyes were suspicious. Why not? They had been chased, injured and led astray by every creature they had met. Morozko sat with Em, pulling her into his cold embrace. She knew he was different, though. She knew he was going to be her saviour.

“Rest a little longer, Em,” he said, laying her head on his chest and stroking her hair. An echo of memory, from her childhood. Her mother held her like this, but she would always struggle away. She felt no desire to struggle away from Morozko. A little girl, wrapped in his embrace. “There will be food soon, and I will stay here with you a day or two until you regain some strength.”

“Thank you,” she said, and her ribs fluttered. An unfamiliar feeling. A vulnerability of the fingertips, a weakness in the chest. Perhaps she would feel better after she’d eaten.

In the end, Em could only eat a very little. Her stomach cramped and threatened to send the mushrooms straight back up. But the clean water and small amount of food had made her feel alive again, instead of half-dead. She sat by the side of the stream with Morozko, watching the sunlight on the water and feeling an inexplicable sense of excited joy.

Daniel came to crouch next to her. “I need to sleep,” he said.

“Of course,” she replied. How had she not thought of it? Daniel hadn’t slept the previous day. “I’ll stay awake.”

Morozko waved a dismissive hand at Daniel. “Take yourself off under the trees. Sleep as long as you like, and I’ll ensure the safety of your companion.”

Again, Daniel’s suspicion was only thinly veiled. He nodded, and moved to the cover of the trees. Em watched as he curled into a ball and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, Morozko said, “He’s asleep.”

“How do you know?”

“I can tell. Are you in love with him?”

Em almost laughed. “I’m in love with nobody.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve never loved,” she said. “I’ve never felt anything.” Em watched the sky. The morning brightened, white clouds materialised and transformed. She sighed, comfortable and glad to be alive.

“I can never repay you,” she said. “You’ve saved my life.”

“The price will be paid in time.”

“What price? I’ll pay anything.” She thought about the bear, slung under Daniel’s clothes. They needed it to get home, but if Morozko asked for it…It was strange, the thought of giving up everything for him was pleasant: a kind of martyrdom where the burden of making decisions, of going forward, was lifted from her finally.

“Something’s happening to you,” Morozko said, his eyes narrowing as he examined her face. His skin was as smooth as marble. “I think you are starting to feel.”

His comment confused her, but she was recovering from near-death and couldn’t be blamed if she wasn’t herself. So she sat silently, enjoying the morning and trusting she’d be well again soon.

Rosa stood uncertainly at the top of the stairs, peering into the gloom. At the end of the long hallway, a door opened and amber light spilled out onto the stone tiles. Dust danced slowly, turning bright and dark in the glow. The voices no longer echoed about: they obviously came from the opened room.

“Come on, then,” the first voice said, “don’t be afraid.” Rosa advanced up the hall, straightening her spine and preparing herself to run at any moment. She paused at the door, peering around the corner into the throne room. It was lit with dozens of candles, the light glinting dully off dirty gold objects junked into corners and across dusty surfaces: cups and crosses, knots and icons. Two men sat within, side by side on a long carved bench. A wooden throne gathered dust on a riser, under a window which commanded a view of twilit skies. The men were dressed in traditional Russian costume. The first, a dark-haired man with a pointed beard and dramatically Slavic eyes, wore stain-spattered robes of gold and orange. His corpulent companion, with red-gold hair and a curling beard, was dressed in blue.

The dark-haired man stood. “What is your name, friend of Koschey?”

“I don’t know that I’m a friend of Koschey,” she replied. Superstitious about revealing her name, she said. “You can call me Mir girl.”

“Why do you have his raven sleigh?” asked the second man.

“He loaned it to me. I have to…tell me who you are first. I won’t say another word until you do.”

They exchanged glances. The dark man nodded. “I was once known as Perun. My companion’s name is Veles.”

Rosa gasped an incredulous laugh. “You’re…?” Perun, the king of the pagan gods, deity of war and thunder. This slight, untidy man? And Veles, god of cattle and trade, music and wealth. “You don’t look like gods.”

“And you don’t look like Koschey, although you arrived in his sleigh, you’re wearing clothes made by his hand, and you’ve got the same ugly gleam in your eyes as him,” Veles said, his round face flushing red.

Slow down, Rosa.
“But, Perun and Veles are…Why are you sitting in a dirty room in an empty palace alone?”

“We’re not alone, we have each other,” Veles said. He turned to his companion. “She doesn’t believe us, brother.”

“Then we shall make her believe,” Perun said, pride gathering in his voice. “Silly Mir girl.” He rose, and Rosa could see the effort it took to straighten joints and mobilise muscles. Once he was up, though, his bearing was tall, his movements graceful. He strode to the window and unlatched the shutter. Cold air rushed in. With a guttural gasp and a powerful throw of his arm, blinding lightning split the sky. Simultaneously, thunder boomed down on the palace, rattling the shutters, shaking the walls, dislodging crosses and icons hung on the wall and setting the dirty treasures dancing and jittering against each other. Rosa couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. Wax, loosened by the shuddering, poured down from the wheel of candles above Rosa, narrowly missing her shoulder. It pooled quietly, as the thunder died off and all was still.

Perun closed the shutter. “It’s too cold to have the window open,” he said, returning to his seat and lowering himself gently.
He nursed the arm he’d used for magic against his chest, as though the effort had strained the muscles.

“You’re right, brother,” said Veles, reaching out to rub his arm. “Let us stay warm.”

“If you’re Perun and Veles, what are you doing here?” She gestured around.

“We’re waiting,” said Veles.

“Waiting for what?” she asked.

“We’ll ask the questions,” Perun said. “Sit down.”

Rosa lowered herself to the floor. It was smeared with centuries of soot and dust. The pool of wax smelled thick and fatty. She tucked her dress under her knees, but knew it would be filthy by the time she left.

“Explain to me,” Perun said, “how you come to have Koschey’s sleigh if, as you maintain, he didn’t send you here to spy on us.”

“Grigory loaned me the sleigh to find somebody. I saw your palace and was curious, so I came down to look.”

“Who were you meant to find?”

“My lover.”

“He’s lost in Skazki? Why does Koschey care?”

Rosa hesitated. Grigory hadn’t forbidden her from talking about her reasons for being here, and Perun and Veles had as much to gain from her finding Daniel as she did. They might offer assistance. “My lover has the Golden Bear, and I have to stop him from taking it to the Snow Witch.”

Perun and Veles emitted twin gasps.

“Do you hear what she says, brother?”

“I do. The Snow Witch may finally have her wish.”

“The Mir girl may stop her. Koschey has told lies.”

“Koschey is always interfering!”

“We should have never let him have so much power.” Veles looked as though he might rise from his seat, then he sagged down again. “But I hadn’t the energy for Mir myself.”

“Stop, stop!” Rosa said, holding up her hand. “You’re talking too fast. Explain what you mean. What lies have I been told?”

“You tell us,” Veles said, jabbing a chubby finger at her. “Why must the Snow Witch not have her bear? What tale has Koschey told you?”

“That all the horrors of Skazki will be unleashed on Mir,” Rosa said.

Perun and Veles regarded each other with expressions of resigned displeasure. They shook their heads, made tutting noises, like an old married couple who had long since grown blind to each other’s infirmities and grime.

“What then?” Rosa asked.

Perun turned his dark, expressive eyes to her. “The fate he has you imagine can never be. Once we did roam in the wide world, but we have long since been confined to this land of blood and colours.”

“Koschey has lied to you. He deals in lies.”

“The truth is, Mir girl, that when the Snow Witch has the bear, the two worlds will separate finally and permanently. Do you understand what this means?”

Rosa shook her head. “No.”

Perun struck the items off on his fingers. “No more Skazki creatures can hunt in Mir. They will starve and die out. No more Mir creatures can live in Skazki. Koschey’s ugly little daughter will be sent home. That is why he lied to you.”

It took a few moments for this to sink in. Grigory had lied to her? She didn’t want to believe it. What if Perun was lying to her?

“If what you say is true,” she asked slowly, “what will happen to you? You don’t hunt for food in Mir.”

Veles shook his head sadly. “It has already been happening to us for over a thousand years. We’re fading to nothing.”

Perun opened his hands, gesturing weakly. “Look around you. This was once a grand palace, wrought of stone and wood. Then the new religion came, and we were renamed as saints and prophets. What did they call us, Veles?”

Veles squinted towards the ceiling, bringing back the recollection. “I was Saint Vlasii,” he said. “Christians carried icons of me into cattle fields on holy days. You were the Holy Prophet, the thunder-maker, ascending to heaven on a fiery chariot.”

Perun rolled his eyes. “If I could have lived in heaven instead of here, believe me, I would have.”

“The new religion raised white towers and cupolas of gold around us,” Veles said. “Slowly and slowly, we are being forgotten.”

“To be forgotten is worse than to forget,” Perun said, his head drooping. “Our glory dissipates daily. I can no longer keep the sun in the sky. This is our twilight.”

“We grow dim. When the ties between the worlds are permanently severed, it will all be over.”

“You’ll die?” Rosa asked.

“Death can be glorious,” Perun said, his chest puffing out. “Amid the clang of arms in battle, or in the white heat of martyrdom, or at the end of a noble quest which has changed worlds. No, we won’t die. We’ll just slip away into oblivion, forget ourselves.”

Rosa felt her body grow cold, her worst fear named aloud. “How can you stand it?” she asked. “Don’t you fear it?”

A long silence ensued, and Perun’s eyes went to the window and gazed at distant stars. Finally, with a sigh, he said, “I’m tired.”

“You needn’t worry,” she said. “I can stop the Snow Witch getting her bear.”

“It is time for us to go,” Perun said. “Let us go.”

“I don’t understand,” Rosa said. “You want to fade away?”

“We want to surrender to fate,” Veles said. “Time is too long. You wouldn’t understand.”

Silence fell. The years weighed heavily in the room, and Rosa felt it. Dust moved, candles dripped; darkness layered on darkness. Her thoughts were half-formed and rapid.

“I see you thinking,” Perun said. “Who do you believe? Koschey or us?”

“At least go to see the Snow Witch,” Veles advised. “Once you see her, all will be clear.”

“Go now,” Perun said.

Rosa climbed to her feet. “Yes, I’ve already stayed too long.”

“Make the right decision, Mir girl,” Perun said. “Consider what we’ve told you.”

Confused and inexplicably tired, Rosa left the throne room, clattered down the stairs and back out into the snowy twilight. Voron waited, the velvet seat soft and warm.

“Up,” she said, and the sleigh took to the sky, putting thousands of feet of freezing air between her and the two old men. She thought for a long time, found herself growing more and more weary.

“If I lie down a little while, Voron, will you keep me on track to find Daniel?” she asked.

There was no answer, but she lay down anyway. Almost as soon as her head hit the padded seat, she drifted off.

Dark. Sweat. Hot steel. Blood. Jewels. Torn flesh. Coloured ribbons. Frost. Ice. Pain. Wrenching pain. Where are they? Why does nobody come for me?

Rosa’s eyelids fluttered open briefly, and then she was sliding back into sleep. The sleigh’s cadence soothed her. Just before she went under, she thought she could hear the sound of giant wings flapping on the still twilight air.