The Bear and the Nightingale(87)

“You know which. The tale of your brother and your enemy.”

“I did promise you that tale,” said Morozko, reluctantly.

“Twice I have seen the twisted oak-tree,” said Vasya. “Four times since childhood have I seen the one-eyed man, and I have seen the dead walking. Did you think I’d ask for any other tale?”

“Drink, then, Vasilisa Petrovna.” Morozko’s soft voice slid through her veins with the wine. “And listen.” He poured out the mead, and she drank. He looked older and stranger and very far away.

“I am Death,” said Morozko slowly. “Now, as in the beginning. Long ago, I was born of the minds of men. But I was not born alone. When first I looked upon the stars, my brother stood beside me. My twin. And when first I saw the stars, so did he.”

The quiet, crystalline words dropped into Vasya’s mind and she saw the heavens making wheels of fire, in shapes she did not know, and a snowy plain that kissed a bitter horizon, blue on black. “I had the face of a man,” said Morozko. “But my brother had the face of a bear, for to men a bear is very fearsome. That is my brother’s part; he makes men afraid. He eats their fear, gorges himself, and sleeps until he hungers again. Disorder he loves above all; war and plague and fire in the night. But in the long-ago I bound him. I am Death, and guardian of the order of things. All passes before me; that is how it is.”

“If you bound him, then how—?”

“I bound my brother,” said Morozko, not raising his voice. “I am his warden, his guardian, his jailer. Sometimes he wakes and sometimes he sleeps. He is a bear, after all. But now he is awake, and stronger than he has ever been. So strong that he is breaking free. He cannot leave the forest. Not yet. But already he has left the shadow of the oak-tree, which he has not done for a hundred lives of men. Your people grew afraid; they abandoned the chyerti and now your house is unprotected. Already he satisfies his hunger with you. He kills your people in the night. He makes the dead walk.”

Vasya was silent a moment, absorbing this. “How may he be defeated?”

“By trickery sometimes,” Morozko said. “Long ago I defeated him with strength, but I had others to help me then. Now I am alone, and I have faded.” There was a small silence. “But he is not free yet. To break free entirely he needs lives—several lives—and the fear of the tormented dead. The lives of those who can see him are the strongest of all. If he had taken you in the woods the night we met, then he would have been free, though all the powers of the world were ranged against him.”

“How may he be bound anew?” said Vasya with a touch of impatience.

Morozko half-smiled. “I have one last trick.” Was it her imagination, or did his eyes linger on her face? Her talisman hung heavy on her throat. “I will bind him at midwinter, when I am strongest.”

“I can help you.”

“Can you?” Morozko said, with faint amusement. “A girl-child, half-blooded and untrained? You know nothing of lore, or battle, or magic. How exactly can you help me, Vasilisa Petrovna?”

“I kept the domovoi alive,” Vasya protested. “I kept the upyry from my hearth.”

“Well done,” said Morozko. “One newborn upyr slain in daylight, one pallid little domovoi clinging to life, and a girl who fled like a fool into the snow.”

Vasya swallowed. “I have a talisman,” she said. “My nurse gave it to me. From my father. It helped on the nights the upyry came. It might help again.” She lifted the sapphire from beneath her tunic. It was cold and heavy in her hand. When she turned it in the firelight, the silver-blue jewel blazed up with a six-pointed star.

Was it her imagination, or was his face a shade paler? His lips tightened and his eyes were deep and colorless as water. “A little talisman,” said Morozko. “An old, frail magic, to shield a girl-child. A paltry thing to set before the Bear.” But his glance lingered on it.

Vasya did not see. She let the necklace go. She leaned forward. “All my life,” she said, “I have been told ‘go’ and ‘come.’ I am told how I will live, and I am told how I must die. I must be a man’s servant and a mare for his pleasure, or I must hide myself behind walls and surrender my flesh to a cold, silent god. I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing. I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me. Please. Please let me help you.”

For an instant, Morozko seemed to hesitate.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he said at last. “If the Bear has your life, well, then he will be free, and there is nothing I can do. Better you stay far away from him. You are only a maiden. Go home where you are safe. That will help me; that is best. Wear your jewel. Do not go to a convent.” She did not see the harshness about his mouth. “There will be a man to marry you. I will make sure of it. I will give you your dowry: a prince’s ransom, as the tale prescribes. Will you like that? Gold on your wrists and throat, the finest dowry in all Rus’?”

Vasya suddenly stood, sending her stool crashing to the floor. She could not summon words; she ran out into the night, barefoot and bareheaded. Solovey glared at Morozko and followed.

The house was left in silence, except for the crackling of the fire.

That was ill done, said the mare.