He thought of Eveshka’s book, where she had written, asking, What am I made of? My father’s wishes?
Chernevog said distractedly, Her life is her father’s. Heart and soul are hers. The substance? The god only knows. Not mentioning the child…
Wizard business went on and on with never a word aloud. Pyetr brushed down the horses, sat and sharpened his sword, for what good it might be, then gave the horses another currying, all the while trying not to think, trying not to wonder anything, while Sasha and Chernevog in unsettling cooperation looked through the several books, with a great many shakes of the head, a good many frowns, and an occasional stirring of Chernevog’s misplaced heart—a slithery anxiousness Pyetr could not ignore.
Chernevog was increasingly disturbed. That was very personally clear.
Pyetr thought, There’s something going on. Something very bad happened this morning while I was asleep. Something changed, something both of them know and Sasha won’t talk about.
Sasha looked his way and said, “Pyetr, you won’t bother us if you get something to eat.”
“Do you want anything?” he asked, hoping this meant answers, and Sasha said distractedly: “That might be a good idea.”
So he built the fire up again and got into the packs and made supper. Eveshka said he was hopeless at cooking; but a man could not go far wrong with sausages and hard-baked bread, which Sasha had gotten from the boat, evidently—along with Eveshka’s book. He recognized it, with its familiar scars.
And Sasha had said nothing to him about finding it, not a word. One might be tempted to believe that Sasha was wary of him in present company—but he bit his lip and distracted himself from that line of thinking: he wondered nothing about Sasha’s reasons, no, he refused even to consider why Sasha had come here or what had made him accept Chernevog’s offer: Snake was too clever. Snake might well be asking him questions he could not hear—he put nothing past Chernevog, and nothing beyond his reach.
He did not know, for another thing, what whatever they were afraid of might be doing out there—Draga, Sasha had said, the only name he put to it. Sasha had always said that distance made a difference with wizardry, and Chernevog had talked about a little farther dh in this woods being more dangerous than where they were now—but it did seem to him that whatever-it-was could damn well get up and walk a bit and close that gap. Whatever-it-was… which involved Draga, and Eveshka’s book, and her life, and whatever mess she was in—he was sure it did.
He wanted answers, dammit. And none came. The west was rumbling with thunder again—he listened with a little rising hope, thinking that the storm coming might be their doing, that something might be in the making.
But with dusk coming on, and the storm still delaying, he got up and got the vodka jug, and took it back to his place beyond the firelight, beside the horses. He sat down and had himself a drink—had another, and thought—
Babi.
He poured a drop on the ground. Nothing caught it. He tried another, wishing very hard, if that should make a difference. The thunder seemed closer of a sudden, and he wondered if the coming storm was on their side. He thought, Damned rotten night coming. He thought about the Things that disliked the light, and he thought about ghosts, and the one they had come here looking for.
It was too much to ask, that the old man put in an appearance.
But something cold did touch him. It brushed his face and whisked away.
No, Chernevog insisted. He did not think it a good idea to attempt Uulamets at this point. No, no, and no, no matter the reason in Sasha’s arguments. The old man had no liking for him, the old man would not tolerate his presence, they were likely to get a very unpleasant manifestation-Afraid, Sasha thought, and maybe Chernevog overheard that. Chernevog gave him an offended look. But it was true—it was fear that made Chernevog pull back and there were things he feared that Chernevog suggested:
Be rid of your heart. Listen to me. You can take it back later. It’s not irrevocable, for the god’s sake… look at me. Magic and a heart don’t go together. You can’t do anything against her until you settle that question!
Sasha thought, with the thunder rumbling frighteningly close, Master Uulamets said, Wish no harm…
“God,” Chernevog exclaimed aloud, “you’re not still listening to that old fool. Wizardry won’t help us, boy, it’s not going to help—it can’t defend your friend and it damned sure—” Don’t, Sasha wished him, for fear of Pyetr hearing: he already knew what else Chernevog thought of that wizardry could not do: it could not overcome what had happened to Eveshka.
How much longer are you going to delay telling him? Chernevog asked, with a thought toward Pyetr. Boy, he has my heart, I know the truth. I don’t know but what it spills over—I’ve never dealt with anyone but Owl, and Owl wasn’t much on understanding.
It offended him that Chernevog chided him about Pyetr’s welfare. He said, It does him no good to lose myself, does it? You don’t love anything, you never have. You don’t understand how much it hurts.
—Thank the god I don’t, Chernevog replied. —And you don’t have to. Listen to me, Alexander Vasilyevitch!
No!
For a moment breath came hard. Tempers rose, anger flared, palpable and threatening; but Sasha wished not, no quarreling, and Chernevog as strongly wished them both to be calm, saying,
Damned stubborn boy! You’ll get us all killed. Quiet!
They had resolved, at least, what creature Eveshka had allied with: one could smell it a distance, one could recognize it, Chernevog said, in his memories of her presence—
Wolves, twenty and more of them. Draga’s wolves. Chernevog recalled them all too well, creatures each with names, and more mind each and alone than they had together—One’s bad, Chernevog had said, with a shudder; but it thinks. The lot of them don’t think—in any reasonable way. Put your heart in that lot—god knows, ’Veshka never could make up her mind. I’m afraid she’s found the one creature that might suit her.
That made Sasha mad, and defensive of Eveshka. But it was also, he feared, true.
Chernevog kept after that thought. Chernevog said, now— Listen, boy, if Draga’s alive in any physical way, the power she had is nothing to the power she can get through ’Veshka. I’m telling you Simple wizardry won’t stop her, I swear to you, it will not stop her. You’ve met magic. You ran from it. Can wit overcome that? Can nature? Are you that damnably, stupidly blind, to go back at it again empty-handed?
Sasha said, back to the point of their disagreement, Listen to me. Give me your help—
Chernevog said, with stinging despite: Turn myself over to you? Bay, you’re not listening! If you want your friend alive, if you want him free—there’s a cost, and I’m not the one here begging help, I’m not the one desperate to get a fool girl out of her predicament!
Sasha looked him in the face, jaw set, said: —No. You’re the one desperate to have my help, Kavi Chernevog, because ’Veshka has every reason to want her hands on you, Draga had you once and she wants you back, and if I go, Kavi Chernevog, and if we go under, at least I’m not damning the people I care about to fight each other—
—No, Chernevog retorted—of course not! You’re damning your friend to be hers, as she is, for as long as she can keep him alive—or for as long as she can keep him out of Draga’s hands, which, between you and me, isn’t damned long, boy! If you think a loving, crazy wife is hell, god help you when you meet her mother. I’m not your worst choice—and believe me you’ve got only two.