Chapter 21 #2
And now, with her parents gone, there was no more time for her to look.
A choice would have to be made and soon.
Of course, that was assuming there was even an empire in existence, should they be able to return and reclaim it.
They had mucked up everything. Royally, it seemed.
But what else could be expected of twins who couldn’t even decide which one had been born first?
Death began speaking again and caught her attention, his eyes narrowed as if he were reading her mind, studying her.
“Though most think of life as a blessing,” he said, “it is not always a kind or pleasant, easy journey. Yet all mortals must . . . what is the saying? ‘Suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and take arms against a sea of troubles’?”
Stacia broke eye contact. No wonder she’d been courting Death.
Apparently, she found him very attractive.
He was just tall enough too. Suddenly, she felt all the sorrow accompanying her father’s death come back, making her heart feel heavy.
Was he doing that to her? Playing with her emotions? Reminding her of . . .
I’m so sorry, Mama . . . Stacia could hear her own voice whispering the words and see the ground far below as she stood on the parapet atop the highest balcony of the palace, ready to jump.
She hadn’t leaped into Death’s arms that long ago day.
Life had a way of intervening, as it often did, but she frequently remembered that dark time.
In fact, she still had to fight to keep that darkness from consuming her.
The personification of Death laughed in that moment, and the vision disappeared.
It seemed Zima didn’t understand his words.
“Never mind, dear one,” he said. “What you do is simply what you just did. You use the device to summon me to someone’s bedside.
Leave the rest of it up to me. I’ll take it from there. ”
He straightened and stood. “Now, as for the two of you. I’ll tell you this once as a courtesy, lest you get any ideas.
This gift was given to Zima for a reason.
Knowing the details of one’s own demise can be a comfort to those who are truly at death’s door.
But for those who are not, it can be . . . well, let’s call it a millstone.
“The weight of that knowledge will burden a person for the entirety of their lives and can sink them into a dark place, where no one can ever find them again. There is a difference between knowing who you are and where you’re going, between faith and purpose, and just driving toward a dead end.
Think about that the next time you want to touch the hourglass. ”
Stacia wet her lips, which she found had gone suddenly dry. “We—we will,” she said.
“See to it.” Death stood up, dusted his hands, and winked at Zima. “Farewell, young lady. Use that gift wisely.”
“I will. Spasibo.”
“Thank you.” He seemed about to leave, but then hesitated.
“Oh, and just so the two of you know, there can be a great deal of healing found if one takes advantage of the—what is it called—oh yes, the Seal of the Confessional. In my experience, the roles of priest and parishioner do not need to be strictly adhered to for counseling to remain effective.”
With that, Death disappeared.
“What, um, what do you think he meant by that?” Zakhar asked.
“I have no idea,” Stacia replied. “Unless there’s something you’d like to talk about?”
“No. Nothing on my end. What about you?”
“No. Not at all. Ya v poryadke. I’m in apple-pie order.”
“Good.”
“Khorosho.”
“Otlichno.”
“Let’s go then, shall we?”
* * *
The little group was quiet and rather sober as they struck camp and climbed back into the balloon.
Zakhar navigated, and they proceeded to move ahead quite rapidly, making up a good deal of distance.
By the time they set up camp that night, he announced they should arrive at the mountains sometime the next day.
They camped near a rushing river, and Zakhar stood next to it and used the nose bag to catch a large salmon that leaped right out of the water.
Belizna, the white ermine, was happy to eat any pieces of the fish that came her way.
When they were finished, they all lounged by the fire, enjoying the warmth and their full bellies.
After they tucked Zima into her makeshift bed near the fire, with Belizna curled up in her arms, Zakhar offered to stay awake for a while to keep an eye out for strangers.
Stacia and he had decided not to eat the last biscuit.
They were full of fish and didn’t need to, but they’d also agreed that if a stranger appeared again, they wouldn’t simply offer it to them either, at least not without consulting with each other first. Stacia and Zakhar weren’t sure the gift given to Zima was a good thing, though they both thought that the nose bag had come in handy.
After Stacia had slept a few hours, Zakhar nudged her awake, and then he rolled into his blankets and fell asleep quickly.
To keep herself busy, Stacia decided to sharpen her only weapon: the staff given to her by the old man.
Truthfully, she hadn’t given it much thought at all.
She never used a walking stick, and with Iriko at her side, she had preferred using his claws as weapons rather than the stick, but she had practiced stick fighting a bit when she was younger.
Pressing the hidden button that released the spearhead, she examined it carefully in the firelight.
The carved bear with its open, roaring mouth had a hinge so delicate and detailed she couldn’t see it or even hear it.
And when she peered into the mouth when the blade was hidden, there was absolutely no sign at all that it was inside. The craftsmanship was excellent.
She’d found a stone adequate enough to sharpen the blade, but once it was exposed, she didn’t have the heart to touch such a rough, everyday object to something so exceptional.
The blade was almost jewellike. Stacia wondered if there was a whetstone built into the staff, because when she pressed her thumb to the surface, it bled instantly.
“Okay,” she said softly, pressing the knob to shield the blade. “You don’t need sharpening. Guess I’ll practice instead.”
Stepping away from the fire so as not to wake the two sleeping campers, she found an area clear enough and began working on some old staff techniques.
Her heavy outerwear soon proved cumbersome, so she removed her coat, tossing it over a nearby boulder, just working in her close-cut trousers, her snow boots, and a long-sleeve blouse.
As she moved, her boots pressing down into the packed snow, twirling the staff from arm to arm, across her back, and thrusting it at invisible adversaries, her breath formed pillowy clouds in the frosty air.
Picking up speed, Stacia twirled and dipped, using the staff as a launch device.
It helped her push off tree trunks and kick higher, harder, faster, farther.
Then she began twisting it in her palm, quickly unsheathing the blade, then using the back of her foot to kick the staff the other way so the blade could be thrust directly into the heart of an enemy.
Stacia practiced this maneuver over and over again until she felt confident she could use it if they were attacked.
Stopping for a moment, she twisted her arms and neck, shaking out her limbs, preparing to go again.
She felt good. Warm, despite the chill in the air.
A sheen of sweat had risen on her arms, and there was moisture in the little cleft at the bow of her upper lip.
She licked them and rolled the staff over her forearm a few times.
Then she slipped on a patch of wet snow.
Stacia quickly corrected herself and recovered her footing, but not before she nicked her other arm with the exposed blade.
She hissed, feeling the sting, but it was nothing compared to the cuts and injuries she’d had before.
In fact, the pain disappeared very quickly.
She was about to start working again when her vision went blurry.
Stacia staggered, and the staff fell from her hand and landed in the powder at her feet.
Then it was like a heavy coat dropped from her shoulders, and she felt lighter than she’d ever felt before.
Her perspective shifted. It was almost like she’d boarded the balloon ship again and had risen a few feet in the air.
Confused, Stacia looked at the campfire, a good distance away, and then down at the staff again.
Someone had fallen next to the staff. No!
On top of it. And what was worse—the staff that was so very, very important to the shaman that it was only on loan was now broken in two!
One piece lay on each side of the body. Speaking of which, why was there a body?
Did I kill a person accidentally? Stacia hadn’t heard anyone nearby.
The light had changed. Everything was brighter.
Different. Colors that had been muted suddenly weren’t, and things normally bright were dull.
Stacia focused on the fallen person. She couldn’t see the face, but there was something about the hair and the boots.
The hair was braided and . . . and red! It was her!
But . . . how? Stacia looked down and could still see her hands and her legs, but she was somehow floating in the air.
Wait! Hadn’t the White Shaman said something about the blade severing her from her body if it cut her?
Oh no! What had she done? She should have been more careful. How was she going to fix this?
Help! Oh, help! White Shaman? Can you hear me? Death? she tried. But there was no answer.