Authors: CJ Cherryh
Pyetr, dammit,
notice
that I'm not talking to you! Stop and wait! I don't like what I'm feeling right now.
Misighi, do you hear me?
Please
hear me.
Then a faint, far thought did come to him.
‘
Pyetr?
’
he asked softly, and did not like—did not like the uneasiness he felt in the air. He suddenly wondered what Volkhi was up to: that seemed the safest question—
Volkhi was angry, his saddle was empty and he was frightened, exhausted and lost, in a place where Volkhi was sure there were snakes—which was, emphatically, Not His Fault.
‘
Misighi, dammit! Wake up!
’
He wanted, oh,
god
Missy to hurry, please! because he could hear a very quiet voice now that he knew beyond a doubt what to listen for, a sibilant and mocking voice, wholly untrustworthy.
7
‘
Does its head hurt?
’
the vodyanoi asked out of the dark. It slithered over Pyetr's leg,
a
nd back again, up against his cheek, wet and smelling of river water. Something unpleasant flickered lightly against
his ea
r, inside it, and Pyetr could not move, not so much as lo case the arm that had gone numb under him.
It whispered within his ear,
‘
Is it sorry now, is the man
sorry
now for his discourtesies?
’
Get away from me, he wanted to say; but breath failed him. The vodyanoi's serpent shape loomed up and up across the visible sky, and lowered, to nudge his chin familiarly with its blunt nose.
Salt and sulfur, he thought desperately. Salt and sulfur— in my pocket if I could reach it—
Did Volkhi get away?
‘
The horse ran, oh, yes, off into the woods. Maybe we
can fi
nd him.'' A coil fell across his chest, and grew heavier,
cr
u
sh
ing the breath out of him.
‘
Or maybe not. You're so
fond
of him. Maybe I'd rather eat him later. And no, you
can’t
reach it, nasty man.
’
Sasha! He shut his eyes, thinking as sanely as he could: I'm in deep trouble, friend. Can you possibly hear me?— 'Veshka? Then, on another, calculating thought:—Mouse, your father's in a damned lot of difficulty. Could we have some help, mouse? You could
make things up with your mother
... so much easier if I wasn't this thing's supper—
'Veshka! God, do something!
Heavier and heavier. He felt his ribs bending, felt the world turning around and around, dark shot through with colored fire. Hwiuur said, tongue flickering maddeningly against his ear,
‘
No one's listening. Perhaps it would be polite if I let it breathe a moment?''
He would. Yes. Anything to get feeling into his hand and find the salt, or his sword—not clever of him to think of that in the vodyanoi's hearing, no. But Hwiuur's weight eased all the same, and he gasped after the promised breath, thinking, What does he want? Whose
is he this time, if not Cherne
vog's?
—Who's off in the woods with my daughter—
Oh, god, mouse, where are you?
The vodyanoi rose up and up, huge, darkening the night over him.
‘
Is it polite now?''
‘
It's very polite,
’
he whispered to that shadow, discovering he had a voice.
‘
What do you want, Hwiuur?
’
‘
Pretty bones is on the river tonight. And in my cave. What do you think about that?''
'Veshka. The god only knew what the snake meant about the cave. He risked another, deeper breath.
‘
My wife's not so easy to catch.
’
The vodyanoi hissed and bent lower, sharp teeth looming above his face.
‘
Very dangerous, very, very dangerous. Foolish man, to get a young one with pretty bones. Life in death. Death in life. Her bones are still in my cave, foolish man, and she hears the river every night in her dreams.
’
‘
What
about
my daughter?''
‘
Such pretty, pretty bones. Tell Sasha, tell my dear, my sweet Sasha, that he's been as much a fool as you have.
’
‘
I'll be happy to tell him. Make him hear me.
’
‘
Oh,
can't
he, now? Too, too bad. Then perhaps we can make a bargain without him, you and I?
’
‘
Maybe.
’
‘
Dangerous, dangerous man. What will you give me?
’
‘
What are we dealing for?
’
‘
Bonesss.
’
The vodyanoi slithered across his chest, beneath a numb leg and over it, under his back and around and
around
his body and still he could not move, not so much as n linger.
‘
Bones, of course. What will you offer for them? What have you got to trade?''
He felt pain in his shoulder, apart from the general ache in his limbs. Another in his right hand, thinking of which, he tried to move if only a single finger—thinking, The d
a
mned snake's bitten me—that's what it's done. Come on, dammit—god—
‘
Will you trade?
’
Hwiuur asked.
‘
Nice,
fresh
bonesss, I wonder?
’
He might have his sword by him, if starting with that ache in his shoulder, he could move at all. There was the salt—
The vodyanoi moved across him and weighed his arms.
‘
Nasssty man. Don't do that. Your daughter's run off with fine rusalka. With our old friend
Chernevog. Aren't you inte
rested?
’
‘
Sasha!
’
he yelled. The vodyanoi chuckled softly and
ca
ressed his cheek with a scaly jaw.
‘
Oh, Sasha should have done something by now. So should pretty bones. So might your daughter—but
she's
sleeping with Chernevog tonight. Such a dutiful child you've made. You should be so very proud.
’
Coils went around and around him. He shut his eyes, try
i
ng to move that
hand, or to make someone hear him, without magic, without anyone in earshot—
‘
Misighi!
’
he breathed, because there were things that
were
magical as the vodyanoi, that needed no spells to hear
their
names invoked—
Breath stopped. There was no room for it. Then something
s
narled and spat and rushed, hissing and spitting, across the dead leaves toward him. The vodyanoi reared up and hissed like water on hot iron, carrying him in its coils.
He had a view of the ground. Far below. Then came a sickening drop. Something attached to his leg—he thought, Hell—what
is
it?
Pain got through the numbness. The coils slipped away from him and let him go.
For what good that did.
Missy was exhausted. Missy trampled down the undergrowth in her path and simply plowed straight ahead, her breath coming hard—
far
too many apples and sweets from the kitchen over the years—she could not keep such a pace as she took now.
But she smelled something familiar and friendly. Her ears went up and she lifted her head for a look as she went, on a last reserve of strength. It was Volkhi she was thinking of, in Missy's way, nothing to do with names: but Sasha knew what she smelled, he had wished Volkhi to come to them, and thank the god, Volkhi, alone of everything in the forest, seemed to have heard—Missy, if not him.
But where was Pyetr, he wondered of Volkhi, where had he left him, how long ago?
It was a thoroughly upset, thoroughly tired Volkhi, who did not know where his rider was, and who was sure he was in trouble for it. He arrived out of the brush like a piece of night, distraught, angry, his thoughts scattering every which way—
But he was willing to stand while Sasha slid off Missy and climbed up on his back. Volkhi thought it was stupid to go back where he knew there were snakes, but he would go, if everybody else was going. Volkhi was going to kick hell out of anything that moved back there.
Sasha agreed with him. He wanted leshys, he wanted the mouse's attention, he wanted Pyetr's, if he could reach him; and most urgently, knowing the name Volkhi did not, he the vodyanoi sliced and fried, if it harmed a hair on
Pyetr
's head—
H
wiuur, you're being a fool. Hurt him and I'll get you for
it
, I'll
get
you, Hwiuur, there'll never be a day I'll be off our track.
Then he was certain of a sudden where he was going—
the slac
k of Missy's reins taking up all but pulled him off Volkhi's
ne
ck as Volkhi pricked up his ears and jolted into a brisker
pace
.
Volkhi shook his head and protested with an I-know-
you
sound as Sa
sha reined him down to a pace Missy could
ke
ep. He wanted to go where Volkhi wanted to go, fast, and
it
was not helping hold Volkhi in at all.
Ba
bi was the thought he began to sort out of Volkhi's
thou
ghts. Babi was no easy creature to wish and Babi would
not
tolerate eavesdropping—but the horses both could hear
hi
m. The horses had an idea of Babi that a man had trouble
hold
ing; but Volkhi was definitely answering him, in Volkhi's
wa
y: Volkhi launched himself straight up a hill with a drive
of
his hindquarters, wanting more rein as Sasha tried to hold
on
to Missy and stay in the saddle, while if ever a horse could
swear
, Volkhi was swearing, fighting the reins all the way to
hp crest, into a thin growth of saplings.
Something shone pale in the dark thicket below, a white
scrap
of cloth gleaming through interlaced branches—a body
lying
on the ground.
‘
O
h, god—
’
He almost let go of Missy's reins, then re
cal
led that all their medicines were on Missy's back, and held
on
to Volkhi's saddle and to her, begging her to hurry, please!
While
Volkhi fought him all the way down the hill.
H
e
wanted
Pyetr to be all right, he wanted the whole woods
to
know they were in trouble as he slid down from Volkhi's
back
and shove
d
his wa
y thro
ugh the interlaced twigs of saplings.
Babi was curled at Pyetr's side, a very small, very
black ball of fur that growled and hissed at him as he
fell
his knees.
Pyetr
was lying on his stomach, one arm beneath him, his
shirt
stained dark on his right shoulder, and, god, he
had bled enough for three men. He was still breathing—b
ut
only just.
His hands were shaking as he peeled Pyetr's collar down and discovered a wound a sword might have made: a
vodyanoi’s
bite, he was sure of it. On both sides of the shoulder-and blood was still coming.
Nothing had been going right: nothing of his magic had worked, and he was never good at doctoring; he believed in pain more than he believed in his own magic, 'Veshka always said so. Uulamets might have dealt with a wound like this
,
'Veshka could, little as she worked magic; even the mouse was better than he was—if it was baby birds or a wounde
d
fox
—
Stop shaking, fool. The old man's voice echoed out
of
memory.
Fool,
master Uulamets had used to call him when he hesitated. —What's more important, feeling or doing? One or the other,
fool!
Use your wits! Think!