Deep magic second coll.., p.36
Deep Magic - Second Collection, page 36
part #2 of Deep Magic Collection Series
“That happens to all of its feathers eventually.” The man removed his glove and threw it into a brazier in the corner. Then he sat behind the desk. “Do you know who I am?”
“King Zalateen?” Vanya replied, his stomach queasy.
“The Fifth.” The king nodded. “Now—tell me how you came to be trespassing in my garden and why you seek the waters of death and life.”
Vanya told the truth, relating his full story. His second brother might have been clever enough to talk his way out of this situation, but Vanya wasn’t; honesty seemed his best option.
“I see,” the king said once Vanya finished. “That is an impressive story.”
Vanya shrugged. “It all seems to be getting further and further out of hand, Your Majesty.”
The king chuckled. “Isn’t that the way of things?” His laugh was subdued, but warm. “Very well, then,” he continued. “To find the waters, you will need a way past the black river. My older brother managed to cross it once. Go to him, tell him what you have told me, and he will help you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
King Zalateen held up one thick finger. “I am choosing not to punish you for trespassing in my garden on one condition: when you retrieve some of the fabled waters, you must bring back extra for me.”
“For you?”
“Yes. My wife and daughter were killed by bandits many years ago. My wife they burned, and there is nothing left of her.” Eyes downcast, he took a slow breath. “But if I can someday find my daughter’s body, then with the waters I can restore her life. Will you do this?”
Vanya felt his spirits sink—now not only was the fox depending on him, but also a king. He nodded, though. What choice did he really have?
“If I am able, then I will, Your Majesty.”
“If you do, you will have my thanks, and a reward fit for a prince.”
Before Vanya left, King Zalateen ensured that he was fed and attired in warmer clothing; Vanya hadn’t been cold, of course, but it was nice to look presentable. The king also gave him four large waterskins—two for the water of death and two for the water of life—which he tied to a bandolier over his shoulder, so that the skins rested against his back. Then the king accompanied him to the western gate of the city and pointed into the distance.
“Follow the road into those hills, and you’ll come to the lands of my brother, King Serebron. Don’t bother sneaking onto his grounds—tell him that I’ve sent you, and he’ll welcome you warmly.”
Vanya hesitated. “Couldn’t you come with me, Your Majesty?” he asked. “I think you would be far more capable of retrieving the waters than I.”
The king shook his head. “I must always stand guard over the firebird. And I must build a higher wall around the garden evidently.”
“Oh.” Vanya’s heart sank. “All right.”
He set out down the road with the king waving him off. When he rounded a small hill, the gray wolf appeared suddenly from a thicket of trees. Vanya jumped in surprise.
“You made it,” the wolf said. “I half expected the firebird to have tricked you into freeing it.”
“I’m not that foolish,” Vanya grumbled.
“How did you get out of the garden?”
Vanya sighed. “I’ll tell you on the way.”
* * *
A day and a half later, they reached a large square city alongside a wide river. On an island in the river stood a shining castle—the home of King Serebron.
“I will stay out of this city,” the wolf said, wrinkling her nose. “So many humans living together begin to stink; I can smell it from here.” She turned and slipped away through some leafless bushes along the road. “I will meet you when you’re finished.”
Vanya entered the city alone and worked his way to the castle, where a stuffy butler informed him that the king was indisposed.
“Please, his brother sent me,” Vanya said.
“The king is not to be disturbed,” the butler replied. “You may give your message to me, and I will relay it to my lord.”
“It’s not really that kind of message—” Vanya cut off as a young woman entered the hall. She had long dark hair and pale skin, and was dressed in a padded black riding dress.
“Who is this?” the woman asked.
“A messenger from King Zalateen, Princess.” The butler bowed, gesturing for Vanya to do the same.
“What is the message?” the princess asked.
Vanya licked his lips, afraid to speak. Conversing with a king had been intimidating enough; but his slow tongue was sure to trip up in front of a lovely princess. “He, um . . . he sent me to ask your father how to cross the black river, my lady.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the butler frown. “Your . . . Majesty?” Vanya corrected. The butler shook his head slightly. “Highness?” The butler nodded.
“Cross the black river?” The princess frowned. “Why?”
“I’m supposed to . . . well, find the waters of death and life.”
The room was silent. The butler stared at Vanya, and the princess paled.
“Come with me.” The princess hurried away. Vanya followed her down a wide, black-draped hallway, jogging to keep up with her pace.
“What makes you think that you can find the waters?” she asked.
“Well . . .” Vanya said, a little out of breath, “the firebird . . . and your uncle . . . it’s a long story.”
“Tell it to me.”
Vanya related the tale, doing his best not to make himself seem foolish. He finished just as they arrived at a wide courtyard with trees along each side. A low stone building stood in the center.
It was a mausoleum, Vanya realized. A woman in black stood in the snow beside it. She looked much like the princess, save that she had a few lines of gray in her hair and a few extra lines of worry and sadness on her face.
“Who is this?” The woman frowned at Vanya
“A messenger from Uncle Zalateen for Father.”
The queen frowned and glanced at the mausoleum’s door, where a man had just stepped into view.
“A messenger?” the man said. “What is so pressing that you brought him here?”
King Serebron couldn’t have looked more different from his brother; Vanya found it hard to believe they were related. Where Zalateen had been huge and hairy, Serebron was small and wiry, with a narrow, clean-shaven face and almost snow-white hair. His shrewd blue eyes studied Vanya.
“Tell him,” the princess ordered.
Vanya explained his situation in full, trying not to look at the princess as he mentioned things he’d glossed over before. The queen gasped when he mentioned the waters of death and life.
The king raised an eyebrow. “So someone finally got the firebird to talk. Well done.”
Vanya shrugged. “I was just lucky your brother kept it from killing me.”
“Modest too. A rare trait among young men.”
Vanya flushed. “Your brother said that you knew how to cross the black river. Is it something I could manage?”
“Oh, yes,” the king replied. “It’s actually very simple. But first, come here.”
He beckoned for Vanya to follow him into the mausoleum. Inside stood rows of sarcophagi; the nearest was smaller than the rest, only a few feet long.
“This is the grave of my son,” the king said softly. “He died a month ago, taken ill during the first storms of winter. He was but a babe.” He turned to look Vanya in the eyes. “I am sure you can guess my condition for helping you find the waters.”
“You want some too.” Vanya looked at the painfully hopeful eyes of the queen and the princess, his stomach sinking. This was growing to be too much for him to handle. But he nodded. “If I am able, I will bring some of the waters back for you.”
King Serebron smiled, and the queen began to cry. “Come inside, then,” the king said. “I will show you how to cross the black river.”
The king led his family and Vanya to a vast library with windows overlooking the river. He sent the princess and the queen to retrieve a map and led Vanya to a corner near the windows. From a glass case there, he removed a small white bracelet, carved out of bone.
“All you have to do is wear this,” the king said. “And the bridge across the river will appear for you.” He smiled, slipping the bracelet onto Vanya’s wrist—it was almost too small, and felt very fragile.
“That’s it?” Vanya asked. “You’re sure?”
“Oh, yes. I crossed the river myself back when I was young and daring. I saw all of the riders, too, from a distance: white, red, and black. The dawn, the sun, and the dusk.”
“Those are the horsemen that I’m supposed to follow?”
“So it seems.” The king gestured to a tapestry on the far wall, which showed the three riders in the forest. “But it will be difficult. I could not get close enough to follow them—they vanished like mist in the sun when I drew near.”
Vanya frowned. “Then how am I supposed to follow them?”
The king rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think my eldest brother, King Miedni, will be able to help you with that. I wish I had known of the riders before I crossed the black river—I would have spoken to him first.”
“You could come with me, Your Majesty,” Vanya said, eager at the prospect of more experienced company.
But King Serebron shook his head. “The bracelet only works one time for each person and their mount. You can cross once and return once, and then the bridge will not appear to you again.” He sighed. “I was foolish to go unprepared.”
The princess and the queen returned with the map, whispering together. The king showed Vanya the place the bridge would appear. Then, to Vanya’s embarrassment, the king was forced to explain how to read the map properly.
Once the king finished, the queen pulled him aside. They conversed with their daughter in whispers; then King Serebron took her hand and turned to Vanya.
“If you can do this, young man, then I will give you my daughter to wife. You will be a son to me, and a portion of all that I have will be yours.”
Vanya blushed and stammered out an uncomfortable thanks. It seemed to him that the princess didn’t look very pleased at the prospect of marrying him—but she kept her chin up and nodded to her father’s promise.
They gave him a third pair of waterskins and insisted on feeding him, but did not protest when he declined to spend the night. Partially, he felt he should be on his way again, and he also felt uncomfortable around the princess—their attempts at conversation were awkward and halting. His eldest brother might have impressed her with some feat of strength, and his second brother would have kept her laughing with his crafty turns of phrase, but Vanya could do neither. The princess excused herself from dinner early, and he left soon after.
King Serebron had a horse saddled for Vanya; once Vanya had scrambled into the saddle, the king pointed to the white bracelet.
“Remember,” the king said. “It will only allow you to cross the river once—after you return to this side, it will be useless. You’ll only have one chance to find the waters, so make sure you are prepared.”
Vanya nodded and carefully nestled the bracelet in a fur-lined pocket of his cloak for safekeeping. His heart was heavy as he rode away. So many people were depending on him now. The further he got in his task, the more sure he was that their hopes would all be dashed.
The gray wolf joined him on the road as soon as he left the city; his horse shied away from her, prancing nervously. Vanya related everything that had happened, while struggling to control his mount—he’d never been a good rider.
“He would give you his daughter?” the wolf said. “That seems an impressive reward for a task you were already planning to do.”
“To be honest . . . I’m not really sure that I want the reward,” Vanya admitted.
“Why not? Is the girl unattractive?”
“No, she’s beautiful. It’s just . . . it didn’t seem like she wants to marry me. I don’t think I would make her happy.”
“Hmm.” The wolf tilted her head. “Then do not take her.”
Vanya snorted. “I can’t just refuse to marry a princess.”
“Why not?”
“Because I . . . well, it would be very rude, I suppose.”
“But it would not be rude to take a wife that doesn’t want you?”
“Well, it . . . I guess when you put it that way, it would be rude to marry her too. What do you think I should do?”
“I do not care what you do,” the wolf growled. “Still . . . I would never select a mate that did not want me.”
Vanya pondered the problem that night as they camped among the trees on the shore of a frozen sea. The faces of King Serebron and his queen appeared in his vision whenever he closed his eyes, haunting him with their desperate hope. King Zalateen, the fox, and the rusalka all lingered in his nightmares as he slept, demanding he help them, and over them all loomed his dying father and his angry brothers, chiding him for his neglect and uselessness.
* * *
In the morning, the wolf went hunting. Vanya sat huddled in his cloak, staring out over the frozen sea, until a voice interrupted his thoughts.
“You should not be wasting time here.”
Vanya jumped and looked around. The voice had sounded high and reedy, like an old woman’s.
“Up here, young man.”
He looked up into the trees above his head and almost shouted in shock. At first, he thought the creature in the branches was an enormous raven—until he saw the leathery human face where the beak should have been. Stringy gray hair obscured the creature’s eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Before the thing could reply, the wolf came trotting out of the trees, her muzzle bloodied from her morning meal. “Gamayun,” she said to the creature, clearly surprised. “What are you doing so far north in winter?”
“I know where I will be needed, wolf.”
“This is Gamayun, the foreseer,” the wolf said to Vanya. “She sees much of what is and will be.”
“I . . . I recognize her now.” Vanya stood, still shaky, and bowed. “I have heard many stories. It is an honor.”
“So polite,” Gamayun replied. “And yes, it is.”
“Um . . . thank you.”
“Do not linger here, young man.”
“Why not?”
“Hours ago, as dawn was nearing, your father passed away,” she replied. “He might have lived, had you not lost his medicines. Now your brothers have left home astride their fastest horses to pursue you.”
Vanya went pale. “They’ll kill me.”
“If you wish to cross the black river before they can stop you, you must make haste.”
“Thank you for your words, Gamayun,” the wolf said, bowing her head. Vanya did the same.
“Go!” the creature shrieked.
Vanya scrambled onto his horse and set off down the road at a near gallop with the wolf keeping pace. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Gamayun flying to the south, a shrinking black dot on the horizon.
“You’ve met her before?”
“Once,” the wolf said. “She sheltered in our forest many years ago.”
Vanya silently thanked whatever gods were responsible for Gamayun’s visions. His father was dead—that news was painful enough. But now his brothers pursued him. He normally looked to what they would do when he was faced with problems . . . but what could he do when his brothers were the problem?
They soon reached the castle of King Miedni, which stood on a steep promontory that jutted out into the sea. The wolf waited by the road as Vanya hurried in.
Again, Vanya was stopped at the entryway by a butler. But this butler was interrupted by a booming shout from the hall behind him.
“Who is that? Send them in here and stop trying to keep people away from me!”
The butler sighed and gestured for Vanya to enter the hall. It was adorned with weapons and trophies from more animals than Vanya could even recognize, lined with rows of tables and fireplaces set in the walls. King Miedni sat at the end of the hall, and Vanya gasped when he saw the man.
King Miedni was large—taller even than King Zalateen, though not so wide—with a vast mane of auburn hair and a bristling beard. His only clothing was a pair of loose breeches, but his legs, one side, his chest, an arm, and an eye were swathed in bandages.
“What brings you here, boy?” the king asked.
“Um . . .” Vanya tore his eyes away from the bandages—many of them were stained with blood. “Your brothers sent me to you, Your Majesty.” He related his story.
“A way to approach the fabled riders?” King Miedni mused, stroking his beard. He sent a servant to retrieve something. “Well, my brother was right—I believe I can help you.”
Vanya blinked. “Just like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Um . . . nothing.” Vanya hesitated, but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What happened to you, Your Majesty?”
The king grunted, scratching his hairy chest where the bandages left it exposed. He pointed at one of the hunting trophies on the wall. Vanya almost jumped out of his skin—the head was huge and scaly, with rows of wickedly curved teeth.
“I hunted that dragon years ago, but I only got the one head. Finally tracked him down again to get the other two, and the fiend got the drop on me.”
Before Vanya could reply, a tall red-haired young woman came into the hall carrying a small iron chest.
“You shouldn’t be seeing solicitors right now, Father,” she said, frowning. “You need rest.”
“I’m fine,” the king growled, snatching the chest from her hands. “You all need to stop treating me like a sick child. My brothers sent someone to me for aid, and I’ll not turn him away.” The king removed a small white gemstone from the chest. “Put this gem into your mouth and it will make you and any other you touch invisible. You should have no trouble following the horsemen.”
“Horsemen?” the princess repeated. “What is this, Father?”
“This daring young man is going after the waters of death and life. He has learned the path from the firebird and retrieved my brother’s bracelet to cross the black river.”
