Yvgenie (22 page)

‘
Dammit!'' Pyetr said, while Yvgenie listened to his own mouth speaking, and heard, inside, a voice like his own, saying, Yvgenie, Yvgenie, the world won't miss him. Surely you don't. The men he'd have killed should be grateful. And he won't be coming here.

He wept against Pyetr's shoulder. He did not know why. It did not seem to him he had ever loved his father: he remembered the huge stairway and the gilt and the paintings; and his father holding him by the shirt and hitting him in the face—but he surely had loved someone—he had the strongest feeling he had loved the girl who had saved him, but his whole life was sliding away from him, all the things he might have loved, all the things he might have wanted, even his name, and his father's name.

He had Pyetr. He had the memory of Ilyana and the river. He had a wizard who believed someone inside him was his enemy, and who wanted to drive this thing out of him—or get answers from it—while Pyetr waited to cut his head off— and, god, he wanted to live, if only to find out who he was, or what he might have been, or whether he deserved to be treated like this.

‘
Poor lad,
’
Pyetr said—he had hoped if he could once do right he might find kindness somewhere. But he heard his own voice whispering to him in his heart.

We're old friends, Pyetr and I. And his wife. A most remarkable man—friend of wizards, and magical things, and quite reliable. He wants us both to be ghosts. Be glad
he's
not the wizard.

Sasha was setting out herbs. Sasha said, quietly,
‘
Just hold on to him, Pyetr.
’

‘
What are you doing?
’
Pyetr asked.
‘
What do you hope to do?
’

‘
I don't know what I'm doing,
’
Sasha said.
‘
If I knew I'd do it. I just don't want him wandering about tonight, in whatever form.
’

‘
Salt in a circle won't work. It never stopped my wife.
’

‘
I'd say keep the rope on him for his own protection.
’
Sasha's voice again, quiet, as he tossed pinches of dust into the fire.
‘
His and ours.
’

‘
We can't just talk about him,
’
Pyetr said.
‘
He's not a sack of turnips.
’

‘
Beware your heart,
’
Sasha said.
‘
If there's a shred of his own life left in him, we'll try to find it—
’
Sasha moved between Yvgenie and the fire, a faceless shadow as he rested on Yvgenie's shoulder.
‘
Go to
sleep!
’
he said suddenly.

‘
I don't want to die,
’
he protested; he had heard the anger, he saw it in Sasha's face, and said, while he was falling,
‘
Pyetr, help me. Pyetr, dammit, listen to me—
’
as the shadow wrapped him in.

Not dead, Pyetr thought, with the boy's weight gone heavy in his arms.
‘
What in hell was
that
about?
’
he asked, and held on to the boy as much to still his own shaking as for any good he could do. Something was grievously wrong, he was sure of it, but Sasha gave him no answer. Sasha had leapt to his feet, looking out toward the walls, toward nowhere-crying,
‘
No! Stay out, stay away, you can't help us—
’

Eveshka, Pyetr thought, and heard her like an ache in his heart. Eveshka had wanted the boy dead. She wanted him—

‘
'Veshka,
’
he muttered against the boy's hair,
‘
listen to Sasha. It's a poor, drowned boy, 'Veshka, and it's Kavi's foolishness, don't do anything—
’

Something happened. Sasha moved between him and that source; or wished a silence, or something of the like. Sasha cried aloud,
‘
Eveshka, you're a fool. Do you understand me? Your husband won't forgive you that foolishness. Your daughter won't. Listen to me, dammit!
’

It might have been a long while that passed. Pyetr's leg began to tremble under him, in its uncomfortable bend, the boy's weight grew heavier and heavier in his arms; he was sure something was going on, something both magical and desperate between his wife and his friend, and he ducked his head, pressed his brow against the boy's shoulder and made his own pleas for calm.

Eveshka said to him then, so clear it seemed to ring in winter air, Pyetr, I'm on my way home. I want you to let go of the boy, I want you not to touch him, not to think about him, I want you to go to the house immediately and take care of our daughter, do you hear me? Now!

So many wants. An ordinary man had no choice without a wizard's help. As it was, he had trouble letting the boy down gently and standing up.

He said,
‘
'Veshka—
’

But she was not listening. She refused to hear him, and speech damned up in his throat. So he thought, instead, about the heart he had held for her, about its terrible selfishness, that weighed a lost boy's life so little against its wants and its opinions, and thought, I'm safer from him than from you, 'Veshka. He could only threaten what I love. You
are
what I love. What can I do against that?

He saw Sasha take a breath. He found one of his own.

‘
God,
’
Sasha breathed then. And:
‘
Mouse!
’

The door banged open. His daughter was standing there in the sunlight. She looked at the boy on the floor, she looked at them, and said, faintly.

‘
Mother's coming home.
’

Pyetr crossed the floor to reach her, but she fled the doorway, out into the blinding sun, and ran across the yard before she so much as stopped to look back at him, not wanting them to touch her, no.

‘
Mouse, we need your help!
’

‘
I don't
want
to help you!
’
she cried, and turned and bolted along the side of the house, braids flying, running like someone in pain.

‘
Oh, god,
’
he said, and took out after her, fearing she might head for the river, or loose some foolish wish. He heard Volkhi protest something, a loud and clear challenge, he heard Ilyana running up to the porch before he rounded the corner of the house, and she looked down at him from that vantage. She was crying.

‘
Mouse, I've got quite enough with your mother right now. Are you going to wish me in the river? Or are you going to listen to me first?''

‘
No one ever listens! I told you he wasn't any harm!
’

‘
But he is, mouse! He may be your friend, but he's killed that boy, mouse, he's wished your uncle's house burned, he nearly killed your uncle—do you call that no harm?
’

She set her hands on the rail and bit her lip. Maybe she was listening. Or maybe his daughter was wishing him in the river, he had no idea. He heard the horses snorting and stamping about behind him, but he kept his eyes on his daughter and his jaw set as he advanced as far as the walk-up.

‘
Your mother is on her way back here,
’
he said, setting his hand on the rail.
‘
She's not in a good mood, mouse, and I'm trying to reason with her. But it's not easy.
’

‘
She'd better look out, then. She's not going to kill him, papa! Nobody's going to kill him!
’

‘
I've talked to your friend. He's here to see you, mouse-mouse, dammit—
’

But his daughter had gone inside, and the door slammed.

He started up to the porch. He lost his conviction halfway up, that he truly wanted to go into the house, or talk to his daughter. He looked aside in frustration and saw—god, a strange white horse with its nose across the hedge, a horse bridled and saddled, holding discussion with their three horses in the stableyard.

Damn! he thought. He did
not
like this. It took no wizardry for a lost horse to smell out the only other horses in these woods, and Yvgenie had lost one in the flood. It was the sudden accumulation of coincidences that set his nape
hairs on end—that and the storm feeling hanging over the house.

That
was from his daughter—who might or might not be responsible for the horse, which,
dammit,
was at least an indication that wizardry was lending them more trouble, and might have something to say about someone needing to get somewhere; or might mean only that Ilyana thought the boy should have his horse back. He set his jaw and doggedly did what he did not want at all to do, walked up to the porch, banged the door open and said, before he had realized it, in his own father's most angry voice:

‘
Mouse?
’

She was in her room: the door was shut.

He knocked. He softened his voice.
‘
Mouse, this is no time for tantrums. I
need
you, your uncle needs you and there's a visitor at the fence. Dry your eyes and come out here.
’

She said, through the door,
‘
I don't know why anybody asks me when they never believe what I say. I'm sure the horse is my fault. Everything else is!
’

‘
No one's saying anything's your fault, mouse, don't put words in my mouth. Come out here and be reasonable.
’

A long silence.

‘
Mouse?
’

‘
I don't know what's happening,
’
a small voice came back.
‘
Papa, mother's going to do something awful to him. She's coming back and she's going
to
kill him.
’

‘
She's not going to kill him, mouse. She may even think she will, but she hasn't seen him. He seems a nice lad, other visitors aside—I'm sure he owns the horse out there, and it's not at all remarkable it came calling. Horses' noses work very well without magic. But Chernevog is involved in his being here, and you won't get your way slamming doors, mouse. Certainly not with your mother. We didn't hurt the boy, I swear to you we didn't. We need to talk about this.
’

Another long silence.

‘
Mouse, we're all very tired. Your uncle's at his wits' end and so am I, please don't cry.
’

‘
I won't let mother kill anybody and I won't let her make you do it!
’

‘
Neither will I, mouse. That's a promise. But I want you to listen to me. Please. I want you to be ever so good and reasonable,
and please
don't scare your mother, for the god's sake, mouse.
’

‘
She wants you to kill that boy!
’

‘
It's not her fault. It was a mistake and she knew it. And I'm not easy to wish. Do you mind if I open the door?
’

‘
No! Don't!
’

He dropped his hand from the latch without thinking about it. He said, patiently, reasonably,
‘
Ilyana, we're going to help him.
’

‘
How? By wishing him dead? Why not? All my friends are dead. I don't have any living ones.
’

His own vinegar was in that remark.

‘
All right,
’
he said to the door,
‘
mouse, I suppose I'll have to do without your help. And I could truly use it right now.
’

‘
What do you want me to do?
’

He pushed the door open. She was sitting in the middle of the bed. Babi was in her arms. Babi growled at him. Babi was not wont to do that. But he was not wont to fight with his daughter either.

He said, quietly,
‘
There's a strange horse out there. That's one thing. And there's the house and the mud. I don't want your mother to have anything to complain about when she gets here.
’

‘
I did that, papa, you haven't even looked. I eve
n scrubbed the floors.
’

He had not noticed. Not a bit. He looked at the floor, looked up at his daughter's reddened eyes.

‘
I'm terribly sorry, mouse. I really am.
’