The Winter of the Witch (Winternight Trilogy #3) - Katherine Arden Page 0,47
she drank it slowly.
“Babushka,” she asked, “did you ever see your daughters, after they left this place?”
Baba Yaga’s old face grew still as carven stone. “No. They abandoned me.”
Vasya thought of Tamara’s withered ghost, wondered if this woman could have prevented that horror.
“My girl plotted with the sorcerer to take the firebird by force!” snapped the old woman, as though she could read Vasya’s thought. “I could not catch them. The mare is the fastest thing that runs. But at least my daughter was punished.”
Vasya said, “She was your child. Do you know what the sorcerer did to Tamara?”
“She did it to herself.”
“Shall I tell you what happened to her?” Vasya asked, growing angry. “About her courage and her despair? Of how she was trapped in the terem of Moscow until she died? And even after! You shut your lands and didn’t even try to help her?”
“She betrayed me,” retorted the witch. “She chose a man over her own kin; gave the golden mare into Kaschei’s keeping. My Varvara left me too. She tried first to take Tamara’s place, but she could not. Of course she could not; she had not the sight. So, she left, the coward.”
Vasya stilled, struck with sudden understanding.
“I didn’t need either of them,” the old woman went on. “I shut the way in. I shut every road but the Midnight-road and that road is mine, for Lady Midnight is my servant. I have kept my lands inviolate until a new heir should come.”
“Kept your lands inviolate?” Vasya demanded incredulously. “While your children were trapped in the world of men, while your daughter was abandoned by her lover?”
“Yes,” said the witch. “She deserved it.”
Vasya said nothing.
“But,” the old woman went on, her voice softening, “I have a new heir now. I knew you’d come, one day. You can speak to horses; you awakened the domovaya with fire, you survived the bagiennik. You will not betray me. You will live in the house by the oak-tree and I will come every midnight to teach you all I know. How to master chyerti. How to keep your own people safe. Don’t you want to know those things, poor little girl, with your burned face?”
“Yes,” said Vasya. “I do want to know those things.”
The woman sat back, looking satisfied.
“When there is time to learn,” Vasya continued. “But not yet. The Bear is free in Rus’.”
The old woman bristled. “What is Rus’ to you? They tried to burn you, didn’t they? They killed your horse.”
“Rus’ is my family. My brothers and sister. My niece, who sees as I do. Your grandchildren. Your great-grandchildren.”
The woman’s eyes began, disconcertingly, to gleam. “Another with the sight? And a girl-child? We will walk through Midnight and get her.”
“Steal her away, you mean? Take her from her mother, who loves her?” Vasya dragged in air. “You should think of what happened to your own children first.”
“No,” said the woman. “I didn’t need them, little serpents.” Her eyes were savage, and Vasya wondered if it were solitude or magic that had planted this deep seed of madness inside her, that she would reject her children so. “You will have my powers and my chyerti, great-granddaughter.”
Vasya got up and went and knelt at the old woman’s side. “You honor me,” she said, forcing her voice to calm. “At dusk I was a vagabond, and now I am someone’s great-grandchild.”
The old woman sat stiff, puzzled, watching Vasya with reluctant hope.
“But,” she finished, “it was for my sake that the Bear was freed; I must see him bound anew.”
“The Bear’s amusements do not concern you. He was long a prisoner; don’t you think he deserves a little sunlight?”
“He just tried to kill me,” said Vasya acidly. “That is one amusement that concerns me.”
“You cannot stand against him. You are too young, and you have seen the dangers of too much magic. He is the cleverest of the chyerti. If I had not come, you would have died.” One withered hand reached out and caught Vasya’s. “Stay here and learn, child.”
“I will,” said Vasya. “I will. If the Bear is bound then I will come back and be your heir and learn. But I must see my family safe. Can you help me?”
The old woman withdrew her hand. Hostility was winning out over the hope in her face. “I will not help you. I am steward of this lake, these woods; I care not for the world beyond.”
“Can you at least tell me where the winter-king is