Alexie. You must see it." The voice stayed calm.
The boy's eyes brightened. Life returned, as quick as it had left hours ago. He started to raise himself from the pillow.
Alexandra became concerned, afraid he would inflict a fresh injury. "Take care, Alexie. You must be careful."
"Leave me alone, Mama. I must listen." Her son turned to Rasputin. "Tell me another story, Father."
Rasputin smiled and told him about humpbacked horses, the legless soldier and eyeless rider, and an unfaithful tsarina who was turned into a white duck. He spoke of the wildflowers on the vast Siberian steppes, where plants have souls and speak to one another, how the animals, too, could speak and how he, as a child, had learned to understand what horses whispered in the stable.
"See, Mama. I've always told you horses could speak."
Tears welled in her eyes at the miracle before her. "You are so right. So right."
"And you will tell me everything you heard from the horses, won't you?" Alexie asked.
Rasputin smiled approvingly. "Tomorrow. I'll tell you more tomorrow. Now you must rest." He stroked the boy until the tsarevich dozed back to sleep.
Rasputin stood. "The Little One will survive."
"How can you be sure?"
"How can you not?"
His tone was indignant and she instantly regretted her doubting. She'd many times thought her own lack of faith was the cause of Alexie's pain. God was perhaps testing her through the curse of hemophilia to see the strength of her beliefs.
Rasputin stepped around the bed. He knelt before her chair and grasped her hand. "Mama, you must not forsake our Lord. Do not doubt His power."
Only thestarets was allowed to address her with such informality. She was theMatushka, Little Mother; her husband, Nicholas II, theBatiushka, Little Father. It was how the peasantry viewed them--as stern parents. Everyone around her said Rasputin was a mere peasant himself. Perhaps so. But he alone could relieve Alexie's suffering. This peasant fromSiberia with his tangled beard, stinking body, and long greasy hair was heaven's emissary.
"God has refused to listen to my prayers, Father. He has forsaken me."
Rasputin sprang to his feet. "Why do you speak this way?" He grasped her face and twisted her toward the bed. "Look at the Little One. He suffers horribly because you do not believe."
No one other than her husband would dare touch her without permission. But she did not resist. In fact, she welcomed it. He whipped her head back and bore a gaze deep into her eyes. The full expression of his personality seemed concentrated in those pale blue irises. They were unavoidable, like phosphorescent flames at once piercing and caressing, far off, yet intent. They could see directly into her soul, and she'd never been able to resist them.
"Matushka,you must not speak of our Lord this way. The Little One needs you to believe. He needs you to put your faith in God."
"My faith is in you."
He released her. "I am nothing. Merely the instrument through which God acts. I do nothing." He pointed skyward. "He does it all."
Tears sprang in her eyes and she slumped from the chair in shame. Her hair was unkempt, the once beautiful face sallow and wizened from years of worry. Her eyes ached from crying. She hoped no one entered the room. Only with thestarets could she openly express herself as a woman and mother. She started to cry and wrapped her arms around his legs, her cheeks pressed tight to clothes that stank of horses and mud.
"You are the only one who can help him," she said.
Rasputin stood rigid. Like a tree trunk, she thought. Trees were able to withstand the harshest Russian winter, then bloom anew every spring. This holy man, whom God had certainly sent, was her tree.
"Mama, this solves nothing. God wants your devotion, not your tears. He is not impressed with emotion. He demands faith. The kind of faith that never doubts--"
She felt Rasputin tremble. She released her hold and stared up. His face had gone blank, his eyes rolled to the top of his head. A shiver quaked through him. His legs went limp and he crumpled to the floor.
"What is it?" she asked.
He did not reply.
She grabbed him by his shirt and shook him. "Speak to me,starets. "
Slowly he opened his eyes. "I see heaps, masses of corpses, several grand dukes and
hundreds of counts. TheNeva will be all red with blood."
"What do you mean, Father?"
"A vision, Mama. It has come again. Do you realize before long I shall die in terrible