5. Beware of the Goat from Its Front Side, of the Horse from Its Back Side, and a Monk from Any Side
5
BEWARE OF THE GOAT FROM ITS FRONT SIDE, OF THE HORSE FROM ITS BACK SIDE, AND A MONK FROM ANY SIDE
Quickly, Nik trailed behind the leshi, trying to ignore his irritation as he walked in clothing that was inside out and backward and twisting uncomfortably in places he’d prefer the fabric not be bunched. He tugged at the neckline. “Don’t you mean you want the horse to kick me and the goat to butt me?” he asked the tree man.
Nik had been kicked by horses enough to know such a thing rarely if ever brought luck, but he wasn’t going to complain. Better to be kicked than eaten.
The tree spirit called Larix turned suddenly and lowered his head, pointing a gnarled finger nearly a foot long at Nik’s nose. Nik swallowed when he saw glowing yellow eyes blinking from the depths of the mossy green beard and remembered the spider creature saying how much she’d enjoyed hiding behind it and springing out on unsuspecting victims.
“If you want to survive,” he cautioned in a gravelly voice, “I’d suggest trying to be more like a tree.”
“I don’t understand,” Nik said in reply.
“Exactly. Humans are nearly incapable of remaining silent. They are too desperate to be seen. Too anxious to be adored. They don’t realize that the ones who are watched and admired are the ones who are cut down in their prime. How much better is it, then, to go unnoticed? To hide within a copse? Animals understand this. They are camouflaged from those that prey on them. Or they hide among large herds.
“Trees only speak when there is something of grave importance to say. Wisdom takes decades to acquire. If you must speak at all, speak tacitly; otherwise, watch, observe, listen, learn. Those who live longest are the most careful and observant. If you want to survive, you must learn this skill.”
* * *
Nik rehearsed in his mind the advice given many years before by the old tree spirit as he rode on, league after grueling league, back to the shadowed, dark forest near Pyrs. He no longer regretted how he was raised or the fact that he’d been nearly destroyed by monsters, both the human kind and the supernatural. Those experiences had forged him into the creature he now was: the soldier worthy of caring for a tsarevna and, someday, if he watched and waited patiently enough, the one who’d win her care in return. All his prior perils had led him to his beautiful Veru, and he’d brave any obstacle, defeat any foe, and outwit any rival to remain in her presence.
When he was a good distance outside the town and far enough away from the forest not to be in danger, he dismounted and stripped off his clothing, carefully turning all the items backward and inside out just as the tree spirit had instructed him to do many years before. Then he placed his military-issued boots in his knapsack and pulled out the boots lined with gray winter wolf fur the leshi had made for him so many years before.
After lacing them up, he walked a few steps, taking his time and practicing as the tree spirit had taught him. He was delighted to find he could still move as silently as he’d been taught. Nik had been careful not to use the skill or the illusion cast by the tunic and the boots in the camp with the soldiers unless he absolutely needed it. The Royal Guard were a suspicious lot, and they were quick to burn anyone practicing zagovory, or folk magic, not bothering to differentiate if it was black or white magic before resigning the poor wretches to an awful death.
It was that, as well as Nik’s growing experience with distrusting those around him, that led him to hide his magical gifts as well as the means of escape in several places over the next few years. He made it a point to sleep with his back to the wall and in the closest spot to the door, and he never attempted to stand out in the crowd, just as the wood spirit had taught him. That particular counsel had saved his life on many an occasion. Nikolai made it a point to only achieve enough to accomplish his purpose and then quietly fade into the background, just as the leshi had taught him to do long ago.
Over the years, Nik caught wind of a few hermits and lone wanderers who supposedly held knowledge of the magical arts. He always managed to get himself assigned to the groups sent out to investigate. Most were charlatans, but a few were legitimate. When the opportunity presented itself, he’d steal their books of magic or spells, which were very probably nicked from other traveling sorcerers anyway, and practice. Most items ended up being fake or tricks, but he always learned something and held out hope he’d discover more magical relics someday.
Since he was small for his age and looked younger than he was, he shaved a few years off the calendar, which made it all too easy for others to trust him, including his beloved tsarevna. But Nik knew simple parlor tricks and lies wouldn’t work this time. What he was about to attempt would require all his skill, all the artifice he could conjure, if he was going to be successful.
As he stood there on the same road he’d once escaped on, heading back to the very forest he vowed he’d never enter again, he wondered for a moment if this was the best way. He wanted to prove himself to Veru. Show he was worth not only keeping around, not only as a friend, but that he would do anything, absolutely anything, to be considered good enough for her. The problem was, deep in Nik’s gut, there was a sinking feeling that there was nothing he could do that would ever make him good enough. Not for any woman. And certainly not for a tsarevna.
He worked his jaw, gritting his teeth as he considered giving up instead. Just accepting there was no hope. No redemption.
Nik had been running away from something for a long time. When he’d been with Veru in her room, it felt for the first time like he was a protector and not the victim. Like he’d been running to her all along. If he ran from her now, leaving her alone with her problems, then what did that mean? That he’d been a coward all along? That he’d deserved everything that had happened to him?
No. He refused to accept that. Nik would help his tsarevna, and in saving her, he’d also be securing his own future, his own rightful place. He had to return. There would be no more running. Not this time.
Veru was the most likely of the twins to win an alliance with a powerful leader. She’d be married, and soon, if he recognized what was ailing the tsarina. If Nik had any chance at all of attaining his dream, convincing an empire that a tsarina’s consort could be a commoner instead of royalty, then it meant he had to save the tsarina. And there was only one way, as far as he knew, to do that.
Nik let out a shaky breath, not relishing what was to come. Then he centered himself, gritted his teeth, and a silent, steely resolve strengthened him. He stood still for one long moment, then another. He barely breathed. The skin on his knuckles became numb in the cold. Then he felt nothing as the magic came to life. The air hushed. He heard the scurry of a small animal digging in the snow, the call of a bird high overhead, and the wind moaning through the damp trees.
Silently, he took one step, then another. He stood next to a bush. Then in a copse of trees. The animal kept digging. It even popped out its head and looked around before ducking back down to dig again. His own horse couldn’t see him. She grazed and glanced up once in a while but nickered and then went back to wandering off the road. The magic of the tunic and the boots still worked well.
After checking his bag for kalach bread and salt, he stood in front of the horse and turned his back to her. She sensed something but couldn’t see him and danced away. It took several tries, but finally she butted his back lightly with her head, then she startled and took off at a brisk trot, neighing and shaking her head as if disturbed.
“Neechevo, little one,” Nik said, hoisting his bag on his shoulder. “That’s all right. You head to town. If I survive, I’ll find you later. If I don’t, it won’t matter much.” As he began walking down the road toward the town, Nik mumbled, “Too bad there isn’t a goat around here.”
The kick from the goat had hurt his shin, but he couldn’t deny he’d had great luck in that he’d escaped from the dark forest with his life that first time. He wasn’t convinced he’d be as fortunate this time around. What he and his tsarevna needed was a miracle. Nikolai didn’t know for certain whether the force found in the trees bordered on the miraculous or the preternatural, but his intention was to harness that power to his advantage.
As he drew closer to the town, he began noticing that Pyrs was much worse than when he’d left it five years before. In fact, the town looked as if it had been abruptly abandoned. It had never been a large town, but the fat cottages that once had rosy glows in the windows and smoke coming from stone chimneys now appeared gaunt, with hollowed-out innards and creaking open-mouthed doors that barely hung on their hinges.
Hungry, golden-eyed animals now half-wild and half-domestic slunk and hid in dark shadows and crevices searching for something weak to ease the growling in their bellies. Overturned carts with ripped-open bags, boxes, and crates half filled with weeds and snow showed how long it had been since anyone had cared for anything in the now emptied streets.
Curious, Nik made his way cautiously to his old babushka’s home. He stood outside it for the better part of an hour, listening... waiting... watching for some sign that she still lived. But he heard nothing, except for the sound of the wind and the rustle of leaves.
Finally, he called out her name softly. Barely a sound.
“Babushka?” he said, a whisper that carried.
There was no reply.
“Escovina?” he tried.
Something snapped near the home, and he peered in that direction, but could see nothing. He was quiet for an hour. Unmoving. His time in the forest before had taught him how to be still. Another hour passed, and even then Nik didn’t stir. Finally, his patience paid off.
“She’s gone,” a familiar voice said.
The old tree spirit stepped away from the large fir near the old house and made himself visible. “I can see you’ve grown, lad. Kept up with the lessons I’ve taught you. Too bad you didn’t honor your promise.”
“I tried. He’s too powerful.”
“He’s grown even more so, I’m afraid.”
“Has he?”
The two stared at each other for several long moments, saying nothing.
“Why are you here?” the leshi asked. “You don’t mourn her.”
“No,” Nik admitted. “I need to enter the forest again.”
“Why?”
“I need his help.”
There was a hiss. “Help? He helps no one. Are you addled in the brain or simply possessed of an unctuous fervor?”
“Perhaps it is a bit of both. I must save my love.”
“There is no saving in what he does.” The tree spirit shifted his great head, considering him. “I’m surprised to hear you have found a love... that dear.”
Not bothering to remark on the last comment, Nik said, “I know he doesn’t use his power to assist others. To be clear, it is the mother of the one I love who must be saved. I care not about the means.”
There was a long moment of silence.
Nik was about to take his leave when the leshi said, “You mean to take him from this forest, then?”
“I do.”
“Then I will help you.”
“I’m not here to ask that.”
“Yes. You are. You would have asked her.”
“Yes. Passage through the swamp would have made it easier.”
“You don’t need her for that. Come. Pay your respects. Then I’ll take you as far as I can.”
The tree spirit took him behind the cottage, showing Nik where he’d buried his kikimora wife. He’d fashioned for her a beautiful coffin made of polished mahogany. A large tree had sprung up nearby and overshadowed it with its leaves. Despite the fact it was nearing winter, the tree was in full summer leaf, though the green leaves were quivering in the fall winds.
Nik knelt on the cold ground and said a prayer for his old babushka, thanking her for the gift of his tunic, surprised when he found he meant the words sincerely. Then he turned to the tree spirit and showed him the bag with the bread and salt.
“It’s not enough,” the leshi said, after his own moment of silent contemplation. “Come with me, boy,” he added, stirring much too slowly for Nik’s liking.
They entered the barn and Nik found, to his delight, the same nanny goat he used to milk. “You’re still alive, then, old girl?”
“She is. Stand behind her and give her teat a hard tug. You need a kick.”
“Right.” He winced, and said, “Sorry, girl,” more due to anticipating his own pain than feeling empathy for the old goat.
Baaa!
“Ow! Right in the knee! That’ll leave a weal.”
“Let’s hope it does. You’ll need it. Have you eaten?”
“Not much.”
“Good. You’ll blend better with nothing in the belly. It’ll keep your eyes sharp and your mind natty.”
As they moved from one group of trees to another, the tall creature warned, “Once you enter the edge of the forest, you’ll be tempted by viands of every type you can imagine. You’ll see pools of kefir, sbiten, kvass, or vzvar in cavities of rocks, borscht and ukha swelling up in tree stumps, stuffed blintzes and pierogi mushrooming in flower clusters or out of tree bark or hanging from leaves, and cream-covered smetannik adorning trees like snow. Do not be tempted by this. Don’t even touch this food. Itis a wurdulac trick. This is how they find you. Tell me you understand this.”
Nik nodded gravely just as his stomach growled at the mere mention of such delicacies.
The leshi ignored it.
“Why didn’t I notice those things before?” Nik asked.
“Because they weren’t there before. It’s as I said—he’s grown more powerful in the time you’ve been away. More desperate too. He wishes to draw others to him. It’s safer for him that way.” Before Nik could even begin to process that, the leshi moved forward, saying, “Let’s get on with it, then.”
Silently, they walked together to the edge of the forest, and they stood there until the leshi gave a twist of his long limb, signaling that it was finally safe to move into the tree line.
When Nik entered the hushed shadows of the trees, he’d expected the sinister prickly sensation of crawling things seeking refuge beneath the layers of his clothing, their tickling feet tracking a course along the bones of his spine and making the fine hairs on his body stand stiff, while his own slick sweat added to the swamp sweet perfume that rose up to bewitch his nostrils. What he hadn’t anticipated was the eerie quiet, the unnatural stillness of death that masqueraded as life.
Even the trees and underbrush felt wrong. When he placed his hand on the old, stiff trunk of a beech tree, Nik noticed that instead of the wide canopy with heavy, low branches and a silvery-gray color to the wood, the tree appeared spindly and thin, its trunk ghostly white. When he pulled his hand away, sticky syrup pooled in the cracks and dribbled down the bulging sides like fat tears, and dusty chalk clung to his hands as if he’d not touched a tree at all, but an artist’s rendering.
When he glanced up at the leshi, he saw similar tears leaking down the cracks in the tree spirit’s face and disappearing into his long, moss-green beard. They moved on, and Nik spotted a well-worn trail with a sign. It read...
бесплатная водка
предстоящий
...or
Free Vodka
Ahead
Nik stopped and pointed out the sign to Larix, who shook his head sadly, ignored the trail, and continued through the trees, cutting his own path yet moving soundlessly. Nik followed, moving not as quickly or as quietly as the leshi, but he was still proud of the fact that he was much faster and more skilled than the first time he’d been in the forest. This was made clear to him when he earned not just one but several surprised looks from the tree spirit as they walked through the trees without so much as cracking a dried branch underfoot or stirring a leaf.
They made good time, not stopping until dusk, which was about the time Nik began noticing the strange temptations Larix had warned him about. Clusters of cheese blintzes winked at him from green stalks, tiny round cakes surrounded by glistening fruit petals, the inside of the edible flowers full of candied glaze bounced on leafy vines, and he even passed a hollowed rock with steaming soup bubbling inside, fat sausages rolling to the top, making his mouth water.
He resisted the temptation, though the smell alone nearly did him in. Once he even caught himself reaching for a blintze that burst open just over his head. It was shaped like a large flower and mounded in the middle with fluffy farmer’s cheese. Around the warm, doughy, fragrant petals, he spied thick berry sauce that pooled until it dripped down the tree branch. Nik knew that if he stood just beneath the blossom and opened his mouth, he’d catch some. He could almost taste it. Closing his eyes, Nik steeled his resolve and was about to push the branch out of reach when the leshi smacked his arm hard enough that he lost his balance and fell.
“I told you not to even touch it,” the leshi snapped at the cross young man.
“You didn’t need to hit me,” Nik replied, scowling as he climbed to his feet. “A verbal reminder is sufficient.”
“We are in their territory,” Larix said. “Resent my censure if you will. My only aim is to preserve your life.”
After climbing to his feet, Nik took a long look at the tree spirit, who seemed to have shrunk in size and appeared even more wrinkled than usual. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
The creature hesitated momentarily but then let out a deep sigh of resignation and admitted, “The same blight that kills the forest affects me as well. The monster who lives here uses his power to drain the life from the trees and the animals to give false life to dead things. The longer I stay, the more likely I will die—that is, unless you are successful in evicting him or convincing him to follow you.”
“I see.” Nik placed a hand on the bark of a nearby tree, and it sloughed off, collapsing into a pile of dusty pink powder at the base. “We’d better hurry, then.”
“Yes. We should.”
They pressed forward until they finally arrived at the swamp of the kikimory. Uncertain, Larix hung back at the edge, his still-large feet sinking into the mud, the murky waters enfolding them like lover’s hands beckoning him into a dark, eternal embrace.
“What is it?” Nik asked, standing higher on solid ground, searching for monstrous spider creatures lurking beneath the exposed roots and moss-covered branches.
“I was larger before. I planned to carry you across my shoulders and wade through, but I’m shrinking quickly. The bog is vast. I do not think we can span the distance safely while my legs are still long enough to do such a thing. A raft might be possible, but in my weakened condition...”
His words dropped off, and different possibilities of how Nik could perish lapped thickly in his mind just like the heavy water rolled over Larix’s wooden ankles. Whatever they decided, time was running out, and the longer they hesitated, the worse off they’d be. A decision needed to be made, and quickly.
“Carry me for now and construct a raft when that no longer works. We won’t worry about the kikimory,” Nik said. “If we run into them, it’s likely they’re being drained just as you are.”
“Very well. Come.”
Larix offered Nik one of his very long arms, and Nik climbed up and up until he settled on the tree spirit’s shoulders. Branches grew around his body to give him a place to rest, and then the creature set out across the bog, his legs and feet sinking deep into the water, stirring bugs and iridescent green globules to the surface.
For the span of a few hours, they met little resistance other than frogs, snakes, and tree roots. Snakes moved quickly out of the way, unless they were large. Bigger ones hissed angrily and occasionally attacked, but their bites did nothing to Larix, and they just assumed he was a large floating tree, so they moved on. Only once did a large snake cause trouble, wrapping itself around the tree spirit and impeding their progress.
It was angry and hungry, and it sensed Nik up in the “tree’s” branches even with the magic of the tunic and his boots. Nik had to climb down Larix’s arm and hang by his legs, upside down, then use his soldier’s sword to cut off the head of the large reptile. After that, it still took the better part of an hour to untwist the heavy, muscled body from its death grip on the tree spirit’s body. Fortunately, Larix shrunk during that time, making the job easier; unfortunately, he found he could no longer support the weight of himself and his passenger as well. It was time to build a raft.
Larix channeled more of his power into shaping branches into a raft complete with a long pushing pole. By the time he was done, he’d shrunk even more. He was now just the size of a large human man and no longer had the ability to expand his form. Together the tree spirit and Nik climbed aboard the newly constructed raft and continued their journey. They’d traversed nearly three-quarters of the swamp. Only a bit more to go. They hadn’t encountered a single kikimora yet, either, and wondered if perhaps they were all dead.
In fact, they were just congratulating each other on the success of their journey when they spotted a ripple in the water. They quieted, watching as it diverted toward them, accelerating at a steady pace. Then an arced shape broke the water, and suddenly a huge arachnid body burst upward and landed on the surface, stretching out its eight hairy legs so each one made a puckered dimple atop the dark bog, allowing it to float.
It considered them for a moment, blinking its many eyes. Then it opened its black mouth, and Nik could see the sharp, glistening fangs. “Have you come seeking your exculpation for the death of my sister, Larix? Do you think this gift of blood, organs, and adipose is enough to shrink my fangs? I promise you—it is not. When she left our swamp hidden in your beard, you swore she would be safe. Now I will not rest until your beard is trampled beneath my eight legs and lies at the bottom of my swamp, where I will use it as a nest.”
Nik was surprised that the monstrous tree spirit beside him began to cry.
“I didn’t know,” he proclaimed bitterly to the angry kikimora.
“Your ignorance is no excuse. Come and let me kill you. Then I can die in peace at last after having built our final resting place. A nest in which to lay all my dead children. And all the eggs that will never hatch. I will use your bones to build a memorial to all the kikimory who have died, and then I will lay down next to it and pass from this world to a greater.”
With that, she pressed her legs into the water and rose up, then did it again and again, coming toward them faster and faster, running atop the water on eight spider legs at a gallop that was at once monstrous and beautiful. Nik didn’t know if he should describe it as flying, natation, or silk spinning, but whatever it was, however she moved, it was a type of magic all its own.
Before he could prepare himself for her attack—not that there was any way he could have prepared—the kikimora was on them, and she wrapped all her spidery limbs around Larix and upset the raft, dragging the tree spirit beneath the dark water. Nik went overboard as well but quickly scrambled back on top and managed to grab hold of the push pole. He waited for a moment, but he couldn’t hear any struggle between the two large beings. Figuring Larix had given in to fate, and knowing there wasn’t much he could do to help other than wishing the tree spirit luck with his sister-in-law, Nik pushed ahead.
As luck would have it, he met with no other opposition and finally found the end of the swamp a few hours later. He’d just located a cavity formed by some large rocks and was ready to sink into a deep, much-needed sleep when something hit him hard on the back of the head. The last thought he had as he slumped to the ground was that he must have been more tired than he’d thought.
Later, when he opened his eyes, he tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry to let him do much more than just press his tacky lips together. The light was far too bright to see anything clearly, and his head hurt badly. There was a sticky, metallic taste in his mouth, and he couldn’t move his hands or his head for some reason. That’s when he heard the laugh. The one he recognized. The light moved, and he blinked. If he was an optimist, he’d say that the good news was that he’d ended up where he’d meant to be. He just didn’t have the upper hand. At least not yet. Nik tried to say something, and it came out a jumbled mess.
“What? What was that?” the man said. “Speak up. Get him some water.”
A cup of water was lifted to his mouth. Nik swished it around and spat. Then he took one deep swallow and another. “Thank you. I... I’ve come to make you an offer,” he said.
“An offer?” The man laughed. “What would a soldier have that I couldn’t just take for myself?” he asked.
Nik became alert enough to recognize that his hands were tied behind his back. Wincing, he shifted to his knees and then awkwardly stood. “The offer doesn’t come from me but from the royal tsarevna.”
“The tsarevna?” the man asked, sitting forward, the interest clear on his face.
“Yes. She offers a position in the government and a title of honorary boyar in exchange for saving her mother... from death .”
At those words, the Death Draughtsman smiled and summoned his underlings, saying, “Make preparations. It seems we’re going on a journey.”