The Winter of the Witch (Winternight Trilogy #3) - Katherine Arden Page 0,129

gasping for air, her lips turning blue. Her dim eyes sought Vasya’s face. Vasya took her bloody hand in hers.

“My child?” the woman whispered.

“You’ll see her soon,” said Vasya, steadily.

“Where is she?” said the woman. “I can’t hear her cry. There were men—oh!” A choking gasp. “Did they hurt her?”

“No,” said Vasya. “She is safe, and you will see her. Come, we will pray to God.”

Otche Nash—the Lord’s Prayer was soft and familiar, comforting; the woman joined in as she could even as her stare grew fixed and empty. Vasya didn’t know she’d begun to cry until a tear fell onto their joined hands. She lifted her head to see the death-god standing there, his white horse at his side.

Their eyes met, but his face was without expression. Vasya shut the woman’s eyes, laid her on the earth and stepped back. He did not speak. Her body lay still on the earth, but nonetheless the death-god seemed to gather the woman in his arms, gently, and put her on his horse. Vasya made the sign of the cross.

We can share this world.

He turned his eyes again to Vasya’s face. Was there a flicker of feeling there? Anger? A question? No—only the death-god’s ancient indifference. He swung to the white mare’s back and rode away, silent as he’d come.

Vasya was soaked with the woman’s blood and burning with shame, that she’d been sleeping in the woods thinking herself clever, while others bore the burden of the Tatars’ anger.

“Well,” said the Bear, coming up beside her, “you’ve put an end to my brother’s indifference, that’s certain. Poor fool, is he doomed to regret every dead girl he carries away over his saddlebow?” The Bear looked pleased at the prospect. “I congratulate you. I’ve been trying to make him feel things for years, rage mostly, but he’s as cold as his season.”

Vasya barely heard him.

“It will be delightful to see what happens when the snow comes,” the Bear added.

She only turned her head slowly. “There is no priest,” she said, low. “I could do nothing for her.”

“Why would you?” asked the Bear, impatient. “Her own people will come out of hiding soon enough, and they will pray and weep and do all that’s needful. Besides, she’s dead, she won’t care.”

“If I—if I hadn’t—”

The Bear gave her a look of outright scorn. “Hadn’t what? You are playing for all of Rus’ seen and unseen, not one peasant girl’s life.”

She pressed her lips together. “You might have woken me,” she said. “I could have saved her.”

“Could you?” the Bear asked calmly. “Perhaps. But I enjoyed the screaming. And you told me not to wake you.”

She turned away from him and vomited. When she had done, she rose and got water from the stream. She washed the blood from the dead woman’s body and composed her limbs. Then Vasya went back to the stream and scrubbed herself, by the light of the dying fires, heedless of the chill. She scraped at her skin with handfuls of sand until she was shuddering with cold. Then she cleaned the blood from her clothes, and put them wet on her body.

When she had done, she turned around to find the Bear and Ded Grib both watching her. Neither said a word. Ded Grib looked solemn. The Bear’s face was free for once of mockery; he looked puzzled instead.

Vasya shook the water from her hair and addressed Ded Grib first. “Do you mean to come to the battle, my friend?”

Ded Grib shook his head slowly. “I am only a mushroom,” he whispered. “I do not like the fear and the fire, and I am tired of these fighting-men; they have no care for growing things.”

“I have liked it,” said Vasya, determined not to spare herself. “The fear and the fire of these last nights. It made me feel free, and strong, to make others afraid. Others paid the price for my pleasure. Ded Grib, I will see you at the lake, God willing.”

Ded Grib nodded, and vanished between the trees. The sun was just rising. Vasya took a deep breath. “Let us go to Dmitrii Ivanovich, and make an end.”

“The first sensible thing you’ve said since you woke up,” said the Bear.

32.

Kulikovo

THE RUSSIANS RODE DOWN TO Kulikovo at the close of the third day, and made camp. Even Dmitrii was silent, except to give the necessary orders, settling the men for the night, deploying his forces for the dawn. He’d had reports, of course, of the numbers. But