Viktor continued to speak over the top of Tal, as though he wasn’t even there. So, perhaps this was a recording, after all. “It’s much more critical that you concentrate on replacing the eggs. All your skill, all your effort must go toward that. There’s little time left. It must be accomplished by midnight Sunday.”
She looked at Tal, but he only shook his head and lowered his brows. “Eggs?” she asked the face in the pond. “Do you mean pysanky eggs? And replace them where?”
He looked at her with a sort of sadness, like he pitied her some great lack of knowledge. “Nadia should never have allowed your mother to cut you off from your heritage for so long. I wish we had known of her treachery in blocking your memories of your crafting talent. We can only hope you’ll be able to
follow
the instructions once you’ve read them.”
“I don’t understand, Viktor. What instructions? What eggs?”
He sighed. “For me to answer that, you’ll need to get the parchment scroll from the bookshelf in my den. It’s the only scroll with copper handles. Could you bring it here, Mila?”
She looked at Tal. “If I take out my foot and break the connection, I might not be able to get it back. Sometimes the whole thing would erase if I got twitchy when I was little. But this is important. I don’t know why, but I think it’s
really
important that we listen to the whole message.”
He nodded and stood up, and then bent down to whisper softly in her ear. Hopefully it was quiet enough that the recording wouldn’t pick it up. “I agree. This is the third time eggs have been mentioned now, and after the one glowed at your house, I think we must follow up on this.” He stood and started to turn. She opened her mouth and pointed, planning to offer directions back to the house, but he waved it off. He opened his mouth to speak, but then remembered the still image of Viktor, who regarded them absolutely motionless in the pond, not even seeming to breathe. Tal leaned down again to dizzy her brain with puffs of warm air against her ear and the delicious, spicy scent of whatever cologne he was wearing. “I remember the way. I’ll be back as quickly as possible. But, please—find out all you can about the girl’s condition. I need some assurances that they’ve gotten her quarantined and know how to treat the illness. We can’t be certain what all Alexy has told the O.P.A. or royal guard, and if they trace my magic signature and discover the illness like I did, they’re going to hunt me down like a wild animal. I fear for you and your grandmother … not to mention the girl, if that happens.”
And what chance would I stand if he’s afraid of them?
“I’ll find out what I can. You find the scroll.”
As soon as Tal was out of sight, she addressed Viktor’s image again. “Could I see Suzanne, Viktor? Her mother is very worried and I’d like to say that I saw she was fine.”
There was a long moment while the image stared off into space. “That would be a bad idea, Mila. The less you know, the less chance that people will try to find you to extract information.” He looked at her then, directly into her eyes with an intensity that made her question again whether this was a mere recording. “It’s for your safety that I ask you not to probe further. I could never live with myself if you were harmed because of choices that were mine and Nadia’s.”
He looked so worried that she couldn’t refuse him. “Fine. I’ll trust you and Baba. But please find a way to get word to Carole about Suzanne. Candy won’t be able to hold her off from mounting a search party forever.” That request met with a sincere nod, so she moved on to the next subject. “Could you please tell me about the eggs now?”
That request made Viktor hold up a finger and disappear out of the image for a moment. He came back with an elegantly dyed pysanka, which he held up to show her, perched on the fingertips of his left hand. He waved his right palm over the egg and it began to glow and vibrate, identical to the one on her mantel. But the decorations were completely different. She pointed to it. “I have one at home that does that same thing. How does it work?”
His brows shot up to disappear under the headband. “You’ve already created a
dushat?
” He smiled broadly. “But that’s
wonderful
, Mila. I’m so very proud of you for taking your art to that level. This will make things much easier.”
She’d never heard the word
dushat
before. She was pretty sure it was Ukrainian, so it was probably spelled with an
sz
instead of the
sh
she heard. “Is
dushat
the word for a glowing egg? What does it do? It stopped glowing after a minute and I couldn’t make it work again.”
He spoke the word again, this time putting in that little growl that told her for certain how it was spelled. “The
duszat
stopped glowing, you say? Was there a Guilder in the room with you by chance?”
She nodded. “Yes, Tal was in the room. He’s the one who noticed it glowing, but he doesn’t know why it stopped, either.”
Viktor’s image let out a small laugh. “He wouldn’t have to
know.
His body, or his focus stone, would simply absorb the magic in the
duszat.
It’s no different than a plant absorbing moisture from rain or you absorbing oxygen from the air you breathe. There’s no conscious recognition of the fact.”
“The glowing really
was
magic? How did it get inside?” She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the little glowing egg.
Now he smiled at her, the same smile her father and Baba gave her when she was seven—the night sooty wax was melted off the hen’s egg she’d labored over for days to reveal the vivid colors and designs of her first completed pysanka. There was pride in that smile, mingled with innate knowledge of the craft that made the pride so much more profound to her. “You
put
it there, Mila. You have become a true Parask. While the other guilds take magic and utilize it, we
create
the magic to be used.” He waved his hand again and the pysanka darkened, became just a pretty decoration once more.
“But Tal just told me that magic comes from
trees
, and that the trees are dying, so magic is dying too.” It was hard trying to decide who to believe. Her mind said to trust Viktor, because she always had. But Tal seemed so sincere and
certain.
But Viktor was nodding sagely. “Yes, Nadia told me of your Talos.” The way he said it,
your
Talos, suddenly made her fidgety. “I remember the Onan family—they were powerful mages, and they’d expected Talos to be one of the greatest Guilders to be born in a generation. I wish one of our brethren could have been there to stop him from being mutilated by the prince.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Mutilated?”
Again he nodded, but didn’t explain much further. “You would do the mage guild a great service by healing the damage, if you’re able.” She opened her mouth to ask for more information, but he held up a hand. “The prince knew he was not as magically powerful as his father, or as powerful as Talos would grow to be. But enough of this, we have little time, Mila, and that information can wait. But Talos is correct that Agathia’s magical needs are served by the slave trees.” He tapped the top of the egg and looked at her significantly before lowering his voice and leaning forward slightly. “The eggs are
inside
the trees, Mila. That is a secret that very few outside the Parask know. Each slave tree was carefully grown … trained just like my bonsai to have four identical main branches around a center trunk. Inside each branch was placed an egg—one for each guild. But occasionally these eggs must be replaced or the growing tree will crush the shells. It’s an arduous task to create and replace the pysanka in each of the five trees.” He tilted his head and gave her the same look as a teacher during a pop quiz. “Because what happens when a pysanka shell is cracked?”
She found herself nodding, remembering the words of her father. “All the healing leaks out, just like the yellow yolk.” A slow smile came to her face. “So there
are
Trees of Life, then.”
He chuckled and tucked the egg into a pocket of his fluffy patterned tunic. “No, no. Not plural. There is only
one
Tree of Life. The others are slaves, much like—” He pursed his brows, appearing to search his mind for an analogy. “Much like an electrical substation. They generate some small amount of power on their own, but mostly serve as amplifiers from the one true Tree. But you’re correct that the Agathians
believe
there are four trees and that all are required.” He must have noticed her questioning look, because he uttered a small, sarcastic laugh. “It would have been foolish on our part to tell the guilds there is only one Tree, Mila—human nature being what it is. Each guild would seek it out, battle to own it, to rule over the others. It was much better to have the kings each believe that there were
four
Trees of Life. By leaving that belief in their minds, it guaranteed they wouldn’t harm the other trees for fear of destroying the magic in their own realm.”
It made perfect sense—the ultimate cold war. Belief of a mutually assured destruction would keep people cooperating for centuries. “So where is this one true Tree of Life that needs eggs? And why hasn’t anyone else made them yet?”
He sighed. “Nobody has made them because the members of our guild were banned from the underground—sought out and slaughtered centuries ago. Myself, the Penkin line that includes you, and a few others are all that is left of what was once a thriving guild.” His face hardened, and anger glittered in his eyes. “After watching what they did to my family … and
your
family, and barely escaping with my life to live here in lonely solitude, I’ve had no desire to offer my services.” The egg began to glow then. The light, yellow as a fresh yolk, seeped from around his closed fingers. “If it were left up to me, I would advise you to have nothing to do with the Agathians. I would tell you to create your own beauty and joy and leave them to the suffering their choices have wrought.”
For a moment, Mila shared his anger. She’d seen images of Viktor’s family—delicate paintings on porcelain, bone carvings, and faded photographs that were all that was left of the people he’d held so dear. She’d watched him walk by them, stroke the images gently and brush away wetness from his eyes. But she didn’t know they’d been executed. Her anger turned to shock at his next words.
“I’m still firmly convinced the king’s guard orchestrated your father’s death.” He nodded at her dropped jaw, but then shrugged. “But Nadia swears I’m being paranoid, and she would know better, I suppose. I was here, while she was there.” He opened his hand again. “You can see how the emotions of the crafter affect the
duszat
. A Parask must be pure of mind, with joy and warmth in their heart … all the best qualities of life, to create a
duszat.
Any other emotion would taint the pysanka, and so taint the user. You see this yellow glow? It’s a negative energy. Pure magic should be the absence of color, as white as an egg. I would doom all of Agathia, including those who have done me no wrong, by making the attempt.” He waved his hand over the little egg again, and it went still and dark. “So, I have waited for centuries, keeping watch over the descendants of our guild, waiting for one who has both talent and a calm intellect. I believe you’re that person, Mila.”
A swirl of conflicting emotions and shock traveled through her, hand in hand. “But, I don’t—”
He ignored her protest. “Nadia has convinced me that the situation is critical, Mila. While I say
good, and let them fall,
she has forgiveness in her heart and fears what would happen in this modern time if the Agathians are forced to move to the surface. That the great prison of Rohm has fallen tells me she’s right. You must make the attempt to correct what I’ve allowed to fail. While I hate to put such a great burden on you, I know whatever you can do will make a difference, even if you only stave off the inevitable for a few years.”
The enormity of what he was asking was finally starting to settle home in her mind. She tried to find the words, staring blankly as a covey of quail emerged from the meadow. The female and five chicks didn’t even notice her. “I haven’t a clue where to start. I’ve never even
been
to these places. I’ve never tried to make a
duszat
. I must have made it by accident. And, I’ve got a life, Viktor—a job, bills to pay. I can’t wander around the world, making eggs, even to save the world. I just can’t do it.”
He reached out his hand in a comforting gesture. “Read the scroll, Mila. It will change your mind. It’s only a few days of your life, versus an entire way of life for millions.”
Already she was beginning to feel that annoying mix of anticipation and pathos for those she didn’t know. It was that heady combination of shame and pride that made her reach into her purse as she passed by a bell ringer gathering Christmas donations at the mall. She
could
make a difference, like seeing the tree in the bank covered by paper angels—representing children who would have no gifts under the tree without her help.