Deep magic second coll.., p.38
Deep Magic - Second Collection, page 38
part #2 of Deep Magic Collection Series
Vanya stopped to loosen the collar of his coat and listen for sounds of pursuit. He heard only his own breathing. He spat out the white gemstone and slipped it into his pocket—it wasn’t doing him any good in the darkness anyway, and he was worried about swallowing it. Hopefully, the creature wouldn’t come down here into the warmth.
He continued on, moving slowly to keep from tripping on the uneven stone. After perhaps an hour, he caught a faint glimmer of light ahead, rosy as a sunrise. The light grew stronger as he progressed, filling the tunnel, which leveled out and opened into a narrow, rough-hewn chamber.
The room was triangular, with the entrance in one corner. Each of the other corners held a small fountain of steaming water, bubbling up from some unknown depth. The left fountain glowed ruby-red, pulsing with a beat that rang in Vanya’s ears. The right fountain seemed to burn with white fire, so fierce that Vanya didn’t dare look into its depths.
Vanya stared. He’d actually found them. The water of death and the water of life.
Carefully, he removed the bandolier from his shoulder and checked each of the waterskins to be sure that they had not been damaged. Then he carefully filled one from the red fountain and capped it off. He was surprised at how heavy it was—heavier than water should have been.
He set the waterskin aside and removed his coat. The chamber was warm as a summer day, and he had already begun to sweat.
As he filled the rest of the skins, he worried. He was pretty sure that the creature in the caves above was a morozko—an ice demon. He was fortunate that the magic of the rusalka’s kiss was more powerful than the demon’s. But now he was trapped.
Invisible or not, he couldn’t sneak ten full waterskins past the morozko. And even if he somehow managed that, climbing down the mountain with all of them on his back would be impossible. He’d need several trips, time he didn’t have.
He capped off the last of the waterskins and then sank to the ground, resting his head on his knees. How had he come to this point? He wasn’t capable enough to manage this task—it was a miracle he had gotten this far. He wasn’t some grand knight like the bogatirii of old. He was nothing . . . just a useless boy who had failed his dying father and was hated by his older brothers.
The sound of ragged breathing brought him to his feet. He spun toward the chamber entrance. In the shadows of the tunnel, a faint movement stirred. The morozko stepped into the light.
Vanya backed up against the wall, but the creature did not approach. Sweat ran down its pale blue face in streams, soaking its white beard and dripping to the floor.
“You should have run when you had the chance, boy,” it hissed. “Now you’re trapped.”
Vanya looked around him, as though an escape might have opened up somewhere. He braced himself for the creature’s attack. It lifted its foot as though to step forward, but didn’t move, letting the foot settle back in place.
“You’ll waste away in here,” it said. “I can give you a quick death.”
Vanya tried to think of what his brothers would do in this situation, but it just made him want to punch the wall in frustration. What good had it ever done him to think of what his brothers would do? He could never do the things they did. He had no strength, no smarts; he couldn’t fight, couldn’t strategize. All he could do was . . . nothing.
“Please, just let me go,” he whispered.
“You belong in my collection.” The morozko pointed up the passage.
“Why?” Vanya shouted, shaking with fear and frustration. “I’m no one. Nothing. Why can’t you just leave me be?”
The morozko smiled. “You are special. One of the few to reach the waters. A person of power. You will be mine.”
Vanya shook his head. “I’m not, though. I haven’t done anything. The kings got me here, and the wolf, and the firebird. I’m just . . . the idiot that got caught up in it all.” He sighed and slid down the wall until he was sitting.
The creature scoffed. “You don’t fool me. You have power. Magic.”
Vanya blinked. “I don’t have any—”
“My frost could not touch you. You evaded me and sneaked down here. I can feel your magic.”
“It’s . . . not my magic.” Vanya slipped his hand into his pocket to grasp the white gemstone. Could he trade it for his life? As soon as the thought came to him, he felt guilty—he’d been trusted to bring it back to the king. He couldn’t trade away the king’s last memento of his wife.
But what else could he do? His brothers would have known. They would have been heroes.
“I’ll trade you,” he said, trying to smother his guilt. “I will give you the magic, if you help me leave.”
The morozko narrowed its eyes and nodded.
* * *
Vanya dropped the last few feet from the cliffside to the road, falling to his knees in relief. He would never climb anything again. The morozko jumped down with ease and placed the full waterskins beside him. It held out a hand.
“Your magic.”
Stomach wrenching, Vanya dropped King Miedni’s gemstone into the creature’s hand. The morozko squinted at the gem, sniffed it, and nodded. With a grim smile, it leaped away, headed up the cliff in huge bounds. Vanya watched it leave, angry with himself. His brothers would have done better. He should have done better.
He turned and found the wolf approaching from where she had been resting in the sunlight, beyond the shadow of the mountain. She watched the morozko climb away with her hackles raised.
“You are alive,” she said. Vanya’s cheeks flushed slightly at her evident surprise.
“I found the waters.” He tried not to sound bitter.
The wolf looked over the waterskins, her eyes tired. “I don’t think that I can carry all of those right now.”
Vanya nodded. “We’ll have to split them up.”
The wolf took six of the skins, and Vanya took the rest. Slowly, exhausted, they worked their way down to the forest, where they stopped to rest. The final rider, a man in black on a horse darker than night, passed them there at a gallop. He raced up the cliff to the mountain peak just as the last rays of sunlight disappeared into darkness.
* * *
The walk back was slow with the waterskins weighing them down. Vanya’s bitterness lay on him almost as heavily as the waters. He tried to reason with himself that trading the king’s gemstone had been his only option, but he didn’t really believe it. There had been another way—he just hadn’t been able to figure it out. He never had been capable enough, and he likely never would be.
It was nearly morning when they reached the black river. Vanya climbed onto the wolf’s back so that they could cross the bridge. When they reached the other side, the wolf suddenly collapsed.
Vanya fell from her back. He landed on his side and felt a crunch as the white bracelet shattered beneath him, falling in pieces into the mud. He cursed and turned to the wolf.
“Are you all right?”
“I was arrogant,” she wheezed. “It has been many years since I have run so hard. I need rest.”
“Rest, then,” Vanya said, removing the waterskins from her back. He set them beside the path. “We can camp here tonight.”
He helped the wolf limp up the slope to a grassy patch beneath a heavy pine. Then he returned to the riverbank for the pieces of the bracelet. He held them in his hands, despairing. First the gemstone, now the bracelet. He shoved the fragments into his pocket, fuming at himself. Yet another failure.
A low rumble echoed over the river—hoofbeats. Vanya scrambled up the bank. Two horsemen were riding at a gallop toward him. One was a bear of a man, all black hair and beard, riding a horse large enough to pull two wagons; the other was tall and lean, and even at this distance the cleverness that shone in his eyes was clear.
Vanya’s brothers had found him.
“They’ll kill me,” Vanya whispered, too scared to move.
“Get behind me!” the wolf yelled, stumbling to her feet. “Quickly—”
The wolf didn’t get to finish. Vanya saw his brothers raise bows as they rode; their arrows struck the wolf in the neck and between the ribs. She fell down the slope toward the river, clawing weakly at the mud. Her eyes met Vanya’s just as her tail touched the water. She shuddered, and the light left her eyes. Her body slumped to the ground, withered.
Vanya wanted to cry out, but terror seized his throat. His brothers bore down on him, swords in hand. They leaped from their horses without slowing and crashed to the ground on either side of him, watching the wolf warily.
Then they dropped their swords and lifted him in a crushing embrace.
“By Perun, Vanya, we thought you were dead,” his eldest brother said.
“You . . . what?”
“We returned home to find you missing,” his second brother said. “Father was mad with worry. His dying wish was that we find you.”
They lowered him to the ground. His eldest brother, Gregorii, looked him over. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Whole and well?”
Vanya nodded, still dazed. “How did you find me?”
“When we couldn’t find you in the forest, we went for help,” his second brother, Dima, replied. “There is a king that keeps a firebird imprisoned, which is said to know many things. We snuck into his garden, and the bird told us that you were stolen away by an evil wolf.”
“We hurried after you as fast as we could.” Gregorii added.
Vanya stared at his brothers, and then at the body of the gray wolf. Then he began to cry. His brothers attempted to console him, but he pushed them away and scrambled down to the wolf.
“The firebird lied to you,” he told them, trying in vain to pull the wolf up the bank. “The wolf didn’t steal me away.” He slipped in the mud and fell. Still crying, he leaned his forehead against the wolf’s shoulder. “We thought you were coming to kill me for my failure.”
His brothers looked shocked and then ashamed. “We have said many hard words to you,” Dima admitted. “Worse than we should. But you are our brother; we could never raise a hand against you.”
His brothers helped Vanya carry the body up the bank to the grassy patch beneath the pine. Slowly, they coaxed the story from him—the rusalka, the fox, the kings, and the aid of the gray wolf.
When his story was finished, they knelt with Vanya beside the wolf, hats in hand and heads bowed. “We meant to protect you,” Gregorii whispered. “We’d just lost Father—we couldn’t lose you as well.”
Vanya stared at the fallen wolf. He felt dejected and lost—but more than that, he was angry. Not at his brothers; in the end, this was his fault. For not being capable enough. For embarking on such a foolish journey when he had known all along that he couldn’t manage it.
His bitterness filled him, overwhelming, until something within him broke beneath it all. Every success on this journey had come through the wolf’s direction and aid, from the firebird’s information to chasing down the riders. Every failure, every mistake, had been his own. It wasn’t right that someone as capable as she should die, and he should live. He stood, shaking his head. “I cannot allow this to happen.”
He retrieved two of the waterskins. As his brothers watched, he poured the water of death over the wolf, slowly moving from her head to her tail. The glowing ruby water seeped into her, and her withered body gradually filled back out. The arrow wounds closed up without a scar. It took every drop from the waterskin.
Then he poured the water of life over the body. The water shone and glistened as though the sun were out, and the light trickled across the wolf to concentrate upon her breast and her eyes.
The last drop fell upon her brow. With a shudder, the wolf began breathing again. Immediately, she leaped to her feet and turned on Vanya’s brothers, growling. They scrambled back, hands raised. Vanya jumped between the three, and the wolf paused, confused.
“They were riding . . .” she said, glancing over her shoulder down the road. She turned back, her eyes coming to rest on the empty waterskin in Vanya’s hands. “Vanya, what have you done?”
* * *
The wolf insisted that Vanya ride on her back as they journeyed to the city of King Miedni. “I have not felt so whole and rested in many seasons,” she said. “It is the least that I can do.”
His brothers accompanied them. The wolf only allowed it after they had apologized profusely. She chided them throughout the journey for believing the words of the firebird.
When they reached King Miedni’s castle, they were greeted at the gate by the princess. Her face was tight with frustration that bordered on fury.
“My father succumbed to his wounds during the night,” she said, “so I hope for your sake that you haven’t returned empty-handed.”
Vanya presented a pair of waterskins. “This will bring him back.”
She snatched the waterskins and swept away, leaving Vanya standing at the gate.
Soon, cheers echoed through the castle halls. King Miedni appeared in the entry hall, hale, hearty, and free of bandages, with his daughter grinning at his side. As they approached, Vanya lowered his eyes. “I apologize, Your Majesty—I had to trade away your wife’s gemstone for the waters.”
“Ah.” The king sighed and then shrugged. “Well, then I shall consider those waters her last gift to me. No doubt she would have wished it.”
The king smiled and swept Vanya, his brothers, and even the wolf inside for feasting and celebrations. Late in the evening, true to her word, the princess pulled Vanya aside and formally offered him her hand in marriage. She didn’t even seem unpleased at the prospect.
“I am . . . I am honored,” Vanya replied, face warmer than summer, “but I fear that I would not suit you well as a husband, and I do not wish to be a burden to you.” Before she could protest, he hurried on. “It occurs to me, though, that my eldest brother might get along quite well with you. If he catches your interest.”
The princess blinked, surprised. She pursed her lips, looking across the great hall at Gregorii. Vanya smiled slightly—she seemed a little pleased by the idea.
“Is he the sort of man you are?” she asked.
“He is twice that or more, Your Highness.”
She told Vanya that she would consider it.
The next morning they bid the princess and King Miedni farewell. As they rode eastward again, a stunned Gregorii revealed to them that he and the princess were indeed betrothed. “Vanya, this is an honor that I do not deserve,” he said.
“You have fought hard for our father and our family’s fortune,” Vanya replied. “How can you say that you do not deserve it?”
Gregorii shook his head. “I could not have given up the hand of such a beautiful and fierce maiden. You did not speak truthfully to her—I am not even half the man that you are. I would be fortunate to become so.”
Vanya blushed. He didn’t quite believe the compliment, but it was nice to hear his brother say it.
They came the next day to the city of King Serebron. Vanya presented two waterskins to the king with an apology for breaking the white bracelet. The king waved the loss aside.
“It was pretty, but of what real use was that bracelet?” he said. “I doubt we’ll ever find another who could chase down the riders.”
Soon the king’s young son was alive and struggling to escape his parents’ tearful embraces. The king offered Vanya his daughter to wife, which Vanya declined. He pointed out that the princess was clever and intelligent and would likely be far happier with his brother Dima as a husband. The king spoke with his daughter and found that she agreed, and so the betrothal ceremony was performed that evening.
The next morning, the brothers set out again, Dima promising that he would return as soon as possible. “But what of you, Vanya?” he asked. “Will you have no reward?”
“I wouldn’t be a fit son for a king, anyway.” Vanya shrugged. “I’m not clever enough by half.”
“Vanya, you have gone where few others would dare and saved the lives of many—with more to come. If I could trade my cleverness away to become like you, I would.”
Vanya smiled, again not quite believing the compliment. But he rode a bit straighter that day.
That evening, they made camp near the road that led to their village of Drubina. The wolf and Vanya’s brothers asked Vanya what he intended to do with the four remaining waterskins. He evaded their questions, pleading weariness—but he suspected that they knew what he had planned. So once the others were asleep, he rose again. He placed two of the waterskins beside his sleeping brothers with a note asking them to revive their father.
“You’re just sneaking away in the night?” the wolf whispered from beside the dying fire.
Vanya nodded. “I knew I couldn’t sneak past you, though.”
“Then you are less foolish than you once were.” The wolf followed Vanya as he set off down the main road, toward the palace of King Zalateen. “But still quite foolish, if you think to give up your life for the fox.”
“I suspect the world will have more use for a clever creature like him than for me.”
The wolf cut in front of him, stopping him short. “You cannot truly believe that.”
Vanya sighed and held out the last two waterskins. “Please take these to King Zalateen.”
The wolf glared at him, but didn’t stop him from placing the skins on her back. “This is a greater respect and honor than the fox deserves.”
“I won’t let anyone die for me—not even the fox.”
“I know you won’t.” She shook her head and slipped away into the night. Vanya set out toward the forest. He knew his brothers would probably come after him; but they didn’t know the way, and their horses would have trouble in the forest. As long as he got far enough ahead of them during the night, they would not catch him.
