Yvgenie (31 page)

He said, fighting Pyetr for pieces of that thought,
‘
Eveshka was up there with Draga when neither you nor 'Veshka knew the mouse existed—Draga wanted the baby, no question. That's how she got her there—she couldn't wish 'Veshka herself, 'Veshka's too strong; but she could wish the mouse there: nobody wished anything about the mouse, since none of us knew she existed—
’

‘
Draga didn't have a damned thing to do with the mouse.'' Some illusions one hated to challenge.
‘
In fact Draga or Uulamets either one might have wished
Ilyana
into existence, Pyetr, forgive me. But we
don't
know either of them got what they wanted. Wishes can pull other wishes off the mark, make them turn out differently than planned—certainly a young wizard is a scary handful; and unpredictable; and dangerous—but not,
not,
in my considered opinion, the creature
Draga
wanted from the beginning, and not under her grandmother's posthumous influence.
’

‘
Who said she was? Who
ever
said she was?
’

^‘
'Veshka.
’

‘
Hell,
’
P
yetr said
in disgust.
‘
She gets those damn moods.
’

‘
No. Sometimes she admits what's in her heart. And she's
right
to worry.
’

‘
Il
yana's not a sorcerer! She's
not
Chernevog's kind,
Che
rnevog himself isn't what he was.
’

^‘
Pyetr
, 'Veshka died—and in her own thinking, she never
w
on her struggle, no matter that her father brought her back
to
life. She lost. Nobody wins against sorcery—one either
uses
it or one ultimately loses to someone who does. That's
what
she believes. She didn't want the mouse badly enough
to
protect her from Draga—that's what haunts her: she was
surprised
to know she had a
baby, she was under her mother's
will
, beset with her mother's a
rguments and she only scarcely
wa
nted the mouse enough for your sake to keep her alive. Something could have gotten to her—yes.
’

‘
That's not so, Sasha!
’

‘
I agree with you. I don't think you can make anyone good or bad without his consent. I don't think it's being six
tee
n, or fifteen—I think it's whatever moment you decide what you need and decide what other people are worth to you. I was five when I made my terrible mistake; but I think we
t
aught the mouse her lesson, and I don't for a moment
belie
ve she has to kill anyone to learn it. More than that, I
think
there was a time you should have been here and 'Veshka
sh
ould have taken the trip to Kiev, if you want the truth; and
a t
ime last year we should have taken the mouse downriver to Anatoly's place and let her meet the household, damn the consequences.
’

‘
Why didn't you say that, for the god's sake? Why didn't you insist?
’

‘
I did say it to 'Veshka, I said it to you more than once,
if you'll remember, but no one listened. They were delica
te
years. It
wasn't
a time for quarrels in the house.
’

Pyetr ran a hand through his hair.
‘
God.
’

‘
When 'Veshka wished you to Kiev, I knew you'd be back; I knew the mouse would want you back. What's more, I knew 'Veshka would. She can't turn anything loose. Not her daughter. Not her husband. Not an idea, once it takes hold of her—and she doesn't ask where she got all of them.
That
’s
her trouble, friend. She learned to fight from her father. Her young lessons were
all
that way. And in teaching the mouse what to do with magic—I had to hold Eveshka off.''

Pyetr was quiet a moment, staring into the fire. Sasha bit his lip, hoping he had not gone too far, wanting—

No.

‘
I won't tell you what to think, Pyetr, only what I think
.
There always seemed too many quarrels for me to start
an
other. All I could think was—just get her to the age of
reason.
Eveshka says she wasn't working magic—but she was, s
he
was constantly, in every op
inion she holds. How do you con
vince someone not to hold opinions?''

‘
How do you convince
Eveshka
not to hold opinions?

‘
The god only knows, Pyetr. I'm afraid neither of us
was
that clever. The things we want do come true: we
make
them happen, we shape them with what we say and what we
do.
It's not the mouse's fault. Not even his, I think. We made
the
mouse lonely. She wanted a playmate. She wished one
up
and he wanted—perhaps to come home. I don't know.—
But
you
taught her things. How to hold a baby bird. Do yo
u
remember?''

Pyetr frowned at him, upset and confused.
‘
Not how
to
hold lives in her hands.
’

‘
How to hold a fox kit. You said, 'If he bites it's only f
ear.
Be careful.' Do you reme
mber that? That's a very important
lesson.''

‘
A bite isn't a betrayal. It isn't your whole damned far against you. Or your mother wanting someone dead.
’

‘
I wish her to remember what you taught her, Pyetr. That's
the
wish I make for her.
’

''
G
od, don't put it down to me!''

‘
All those years she should have been with you, all the
years
we kept you apart—what you did teach her, in spite of
that
,
the
mouse sets most store by. You were the forbidden.
You
were the one out of reach.—What would you wish for
her
now?
’

‘
To
wait for me, dammit, that's what I've been saying—
for
her to talk to me. That's what I want.''

Dan
gerous wish. Dangerous and indefinite and putting
Pyetr
at risk. But Pyetr was, he had had faith in it for years,
wiser a
nd braver about such things than he was. So he said,
slo
wly, with the awareness of everything unhinged, and ev
eryth
ing in doubt:

‘
I wish that, yes. And I wish you well, Pyetr... as well I know how.
’

Pyetr
looked at him as if he were mad, looked at him
in the g
ray dawn, that time that ghosts began to fade, and
sa
id, no faintly he could hardly hear:
‘
Wish
yourself
well,
Sasha
.
’

Beca
use he had chosen the wish he had—foolish wizard
that
he was: he had deceived himself for so many years
that he
wished Pyetr's welfare completely unselfishly, for
Pyetr’s
benefit, and not his: Let Pyetr be well, let nothing
change—

He
th
ought, not for the first time, All of us brought him
from
Kiev. Who knows, maybe we wished him into
tr
o
uble to
do that, and he never would have played dice with
the tsare
vitch or crossed Kurov. As it was, it got him home,
and it p
ut him here, where he nearly died last night
.

Babi
turned up in his lap, Babi grabbed for his neck and
hung on
, fiercely, with his small hands.

—Babi
knows something Babi doesn't like. I wonder where
Babi was
before he showed up last night. Things aren't going
well,
Pyetr
's right.

‘
Have
you done that?
’
Pyetr persisted.
‘
Do you wish
yourself well,
Sasha?
Or have you done something com
pletely foolish?
’

Pyetr could tell he was woolgathering.
Pyetr knew his hab
its, and his expressions.

‘
I wish myself to keep you alive,
’
Sasha said slowly
.
It was all he dared wish this morning. In their fear for t
he
mouse's abilities, they had wished nothing about a wizard too old for a child's mistakes, a wizard who had done
a
child's naive magic twice now—unwisely in both in stances.

He got to his feet. He picked
up the vodka jug and delib
erately let it fall.

Babi turned up below it, caught it in his arms and glared at him reproachfully.

But it had not broken. He could not harm it, even trying. In its way it was dangerous. Fall holding it—and the
jug
would survive.

It was Pyetr's coat, Eveshka had no doubt of it when she had fished it out of the river.
‘
Pyetr!
’
she cried aloud to the forested shore, to the winds and the morning; she wanted Sasha to answer her; but n
o answer came, not from her hus
band, not from her daughter, not from Sasha, not even from the vodyanoi, who wanted to torment her. She knew its ways; oh, god, she knew them—knew that it lied, but one could never rely on that.

What she wanted now was a breeze—with the sail canted, the tiller set—just a very little breeze, please the god. Ever so slight a breeze—while she trembled with fear and wider wishes beckoned.

The sail flipped and filled halfway. The boat moved, ever so slowly.

And stuck fast again.

She did not wish a storm. She shut her eyes and wished— please, just a little more.

The boat groaned, the sail flapped and thumped.

The wind was there. It took so little for a stray puff of
wind
to come into this nook, skirl among the trees along
the
little stream,
and come skimming across the water
...

Something wanted me toward this shore. Then want me inner, dammit! I've no intention to swim for it!

The boat heeled ever so slightly and slid free, bow facing
the
brushy water edge.

She lashed the tiller and ran forward, past the deckhouse,
under
the sail and along the low rail to the bow, with the
sna
ggy wooden hook they used for an anchor. She swung it
around
and around her with all her might and loosed it for
the
trees.

It landed. She hauled on the rope and felt it hold, threw a
loop abo
ut the bow post and hauled, not abruptly, but with
patie
nce.

Wizardry waited to swallow her up. The river did, while
the
vodyanoi taunted her with cruel laughter and told her
lies
. It was a big boat, a very big boat, but on the water the slightest breeze and the slightest of women could move
it
.

There were terrible holes in the coat she had fished out of
the
water, and stains, despite its soaking, that were surely
bl
ood.

Hwiuur could not
be
killed, that she knew, not in this
wor
ld—but there were powers outside this world, in that place
wh
ere magic lived.