Rosa and the Veil of Gold (37 page)

“She is a cruel spirit, Mother Moist Earth, and she feels anger deep in her bowels. She sent the rain first: cold, miserable
downpours which churned the ground to sucking mud. Fire demons had been ahead of her, scorching the earth black and it congealed to tar with the rains. Knee-deep in the cold filth were Napoleon’s men. Their starving horses could not move. Misery marched among them. And then, Mother sent the cold: temperatures plunged deep and deep below frozen, a cold that sent fingers blue and white, that froze the blood in men’s hearts and the air in their lungs.”

“Tell the best part, Papa,” Totchka exclaimed. “With the artillery.”

“Ah, yes. The gunners couldn’t operate their cannon because their hands and feet had frozen off,” Grigory said, and Totchka laughed and clapped her hands together gleefully.

“Across the miles, Aleksandr’s voice carried on an ill wind to Napoleon. ‘Go,’ he said to the French king. ‘You’ve made enough young wives widows, you’ve made enough infants orphans, you’ve quenched your thirst on the blood, and ground your teeth on the bones of the Rus. No more. Go.’

“While the Grand Army was limping away, small bands of Russian troops picked at them, emboldened by the knowledge that the very earth they loved so much was their ally. By the time Napoleon crossed the river out of Russia, the Grand Army was reduced to a handful of sad, ruined cripples. Less than one in twenty men had survived. The others had been swallowed in the snow and mud, their bones a sacrifice to appease the great spirit of the Mother.”

Totchka settled under again, suppressing a yawn. “Then what happened, Papa?”

“Then Aleksandr was so grateful that he clasped the Secret Ambassador to his bosom. ‘My dear friend,’ he said, ‘in repayment, I will give you what you have always wanted from me. Tomorrow at midnight, I will hold a secret ceremony and I will swear you three promises.’

“The Secret Ambassador was almost too excited to button his shirt the next evening. Here was the promise upon which he had been waiting, for surely Aleksandr meant to grant him his dearest wish—the reunification of the kingdoms of magic and men.

“The great hall was ablaze with candles. The dim light flickered over the friezes of saints. Here, the goddess Mokosha’s face under the Virgin Mary’s veil; there, a wooden crucifix carved with the eyes of a leshii. Aleksandr wore dark colours, as did his closest advisers. The Secret Ambassador advanced up the hall between sparse rows of men, glancing at the faces. These men were all allies; none of the nay-sayers had been invited. In the flickering amber light, Aleksandr asked the Secret Ambassador to kneel. He held aloft the Golden Bear and said, ‘Tonight, in this court of shadows, I swear three times.

“‘First, I swear that the Russian people honour and love you for your part in saving Russia from the French king.

“‘Second, I swear that under my rule no penalty shall ever be paid for the worship of magical creatures from your dear kingdom.

“‘Third…’ Aleksandr paused, smiling. ‘Dear friend, what a pleasure it is to grant you your dearest wish. I swear that as long as a drop of my half-magic blood lives on, the kingdom of men and the kingdom of magic will—’

“‘Stop this!’ A door slammed open. The Secret Ambassador’s head whipped up, and his heart, prepared for joy, was now stained with uncertainty. Ekaterina, in her long nightshirt, hair flowing behind her, strode into the room.

“‘Go on, Aleksandr,’ said the Secret Ambassador, close to tears. ‘Please. Don’t listen to her.’

“Ekaterina pushed her way through the crowd and ascended the shallow staircase, where she wrenched the Golden Bear from Aleksandr’s hands. ‘What nonsense is this? Are you mad? You cannot swear upon such a heathen object.’ Here, she threw the bear across the floor. ‘And you certainly cannot swear to allow heathen monsters free reign in our kingdom. Yes, yes, your secret has been let slip, brother, and in good time too. What were you thinking? I am most displeased.’

“The Secret Ambassador was still hopeful. Foolish old man. He should have known that all was lost, and indeed it was when Aleksandr mumbled an end to his sentence: ‘As long as a drop of my half-magic blood lives on, the kingdom of men and the kingdom of magic will remain as they always have.’ And then he went too far. ‘When the last drop is extinguished, then I can help you no more, Secret Ambassador.’

“A bolt of shock speared into the Secret Ambassador’s heart. How he wept and wailed!

“Aleksandr took the Secret Ambassador aside much later. He promised he would think more about it. Weeks turned into months and years. The folk of Skazki enjoyed freer crossing and much happy hunting in Mir. Still the Secret Ambassador waited on the final promise. At last, angry, the Secret Ambassador organised a secret meeting. Aleksandr didn’t arrive, indeed nobody ever saw or heard from the Tsar again.

“At this place the story of the Tsar Aleksandr and the French king has come to an end. Now, Totchka, it is time to sleep.”

“No, no, tell me first…what will happen on the day when the last drop of half-magic blood dies?”

“It is too awful to speak of,” Grigory said, his face darkening. “Monsters will roam free, cold will settle over everything. You aren’t to think of it, Totchka, for it will not happen.”

Totchka smiled uncertainly. “Really, Papa?”

“I have always made you that promise, little one. And I shall keep it.” He glanced at Rosa. “Now, sleep.”

Totchka yawned. “Another story?”

“No, precious child. Sleep now.”

Totchka’s eyes closed, and Rosa settled next to her. She was tired, but excited. Sleep came in fits and starts, her dreams quivering in and out of wakefulness, leaving her confused and restless. At one point, deep in the night, a strange noise woke her. At first, she thought it was just Grigory sighing. Then, she could hear crying. A woman or a child, but far off and quiet.

Rosa turned on her side and slowly cracked an eyelid open.

Grigory sat at the table and in his hands was a shining mirror. He hunched over it, sighing. The sobs appeared to be coming from the mirror’s surface. Then Grigory shifted, putting his back between her and his activity. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep again, wondering about Grigory’s secrets. Somewhere in the hour before dawn, sleep finally caught her in its firm grasp, and she knew nothing again until the morning.

“She’s still sleeping.”

“Then wake her up.”

Rosa’s eyes flickered open. Totchka leaned close, her sticky index finger about to jab Rosa in the eye.

“I’m awake,” Rosa said, gently brushing aside the little girl’s hand. “What time is it?”

Totchka frowned in puzzlement, and Rosa presumed that time didn’t mean the same here in the protective bubble of Papa Grigory’s cottage.

“Is the sun up?” she asked instead, sitting up. She noticed that Totchka wore a too-large headdress: a decorated kokoshnik which didn’t match her plain brown dress.

“Oh, yes,” Totchka said. “It’s been up for hours. Papa said I wasn’t to wake you until it was nearly time to go. He says your journey will be tiring and dangerous. So I let you sleep late.”

Rosa’s eyes sought out Grigory. He was busy in a far corner, organising coloured fabrics on hooks.

“Thanks,” Rosa said. “I like your hat.”

“It’s
your
hat,” Totchka said, pulling off the headdress and handing it over.

Rosa took it curiously, ran her fingertip over the fine intricate beading. “I don’t think I’ll be needing a kokoshnik.”

“Rosa,” Grigory growled. “You’ll do as you’re told.”

Rosa shrugged, threw back the covers and put the hat on, modelling it for Totchka with only Grigory’s shirt for an accompaniment, which left her knees exposed to the cool
of morning. Totchka laughed and Grigory turned to smile at them.

“Take a closer look at it, Rosa,” he said. “It’s special.”

Rosa realised that the fabrics Grigory was fussing with were actually clothes. She pulled the kokoshnik off her head and examined the patterns. Triple-pearl clusters hung at every inch. The peak was decorated with the shapes of a circle and an apple embroidered in gold thread.

“Where did you get this?” she asked.

“I’ve always had it,” he said cryptically. “These clothes too. A hero’s costume…or should I say, a heroine?” He moved to stand next to her, indicating the embroidered apple. “You see? The apple rolling over the saucer is the symbol of travel in distant lands. Nine drops of pearls, three pearls in each group, represent the twenty-seven lands of Skazki.” He took Rosa by the hand and led her to the clothes. “And here is the rest of your costume.”

“I don’t want to wear fancy clothes,” she said. “I just want to wear my blue jacket.” She indicated where it was hanging over the chair near the stove. “Daniel likes me in blue.”

“Heroes wear red, not blue,” Grigory said firmly. “You must be dressed properly for your journey.” He pushed the door open and Rosa saw Voron, the sleigh, waiting in the front garden. “We shall equip you fit for a hero’s journey through the lands of Skazki.”

By mid-morning, the sleigh was packed and Totchka and Grigory were fussing around her as she waited, in her underwear, to be dressed for the journey.

“First,” said Grigory, “the fiery sarafan.” He held out the dress for her to step into. It was made of deep red silk, embroidered with gold brocade. “Here,” he said, indicating the pattern across the bottom of the skirt, “is the six-winged fire dragon. May his flames keep you warm wherever you go. The sun, the moon and the stars decorate the sleeves, so that they may always illuminate your way.”

Rosa allowed Totchka to tie the dress across her bust. Little bells hung at the ends of the ties.

“Listen,” the little girl said, rattling the bells. No sound. “They are magic bells, for they will always be silent until danger lurks near.”

Papa Grigory held out a wide belt, which he wrapped around Rosa’s hips. “This dreaming girdle will help you while you sleep. It will send you dreamed warnings of danger, or good counsel when you are lost or confused.” He touched her mother’s bracelet, still wound together with the one Daniel had given her. “You already have some of your mother’s magic, and a link to find your lover.” He touched her other wrist. “Here, you have three protection knots remaining. I shall give you another charm to hang about your throat.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a leather strap. Hanging from it was a spearhead.

“A thunder arrow,” Rosa said, reaching for it. “Is it flint?”

“It’s made from a fallen star,” Totchka said, eager to correct her. “Isn’t it, Papa Grigory?”

“A fallen star, just so,” he said, knotting it around Rosa’s neck. “
Sata
, Rosa. You know what that is?”

“A meteorite,” she said. “Yes, I know.”

“I found it myself out in the north-eastern forests. All the trees for a hundred miles had been flattened like grass. You wear a star about your neck, Rosa. Few could bear its weight, but you are special.”

Rosa touched the spearhead reverently.

“Last,” Grigory said, “these shoes.” He held up a pair of leather shoes, which Rosa could tell at a glance were far too small.

“They won’t fit,” she said.

Grigory frowned. “This costume has been waiting here for centuries. For you. Everything else fits.”

Rosa sat and pushed her toes into the shoe to demonstrate. “See? Far too small. What are they, anyway? Lucky shoes?”

Grigory’s dark expression told her she had been too flippant. “They are death shoes, Rosa. Should you fail, should you die, these shoes will take your spirit back to the one place you can know great happiness. You will avoid the fate of other revenants.”

The thought moved her temporarily to silence. What would be the one place she could know great happiness? In Vasily’s kitchen eating fried eggs with her uncle? Sitting with Daniel late on a summer night on his tiny back patio? Or could she go further back in time? Back to the first precious years on Prince Edward Island, years of gentle mists and rustling green, her parents happy and in love, all the ugly twists of fate as yet unanticipated?

“She can tie them on her belt, Papa,” Totchka said, “then put them on if she dies.”

“If she is dead, she can’t put her shoes on,” Papa said.

The puzzled frown again touched Totchka’s face, and Rosa realised she understood death no more than she understood time.

“She’s right in a way,” Rosa said. “I’ll get some kind of warning from the bells. I can squeeze into them if I have to. Tie them on my belt.”

And so she was finally ready to leave, her battered lace-up black boots in odd contrast to the traditional costume. She took heavy furs for Daniel and Em, as Grigory said they had lost most of their supplies. The sleigh was packed, the sun gleamed dully on its black curves. Her heart was in her throat with anticipation. Grigory helped her into the padded black-velvet seat.

“Voron will take you wherever you want to go. You must find Daniel yourself, the same way you’ve found him before.” He touched the bracelet. “Return to me soon, Rosa, with that damned Golden Bear. I think I know how to reward you.” His eyes met hers, their strange paleness shrewd.

Yes, he knew.

“I’ll do my best,” she said.

Grigory smacked the side of the sleigh once. “Up, Voron,” he said. “Rosa’s in charge now.”

The first tilt into the air nearly unseated her; she held on and the sleigh lifted upward. Her stomach dropped, her spine turned to water. Voron arrowed through the protective bubble around Grigory’s house, speeding her into cool violet air. Laughter bubbled on her lips as the wind rushed onto her cheeks and sent her hair streaming. At first she clutched the bar in front of her, then released it, felt the giddy half-falling sensation of being skyborne. She risked a glance behind her, was thrilled by the steepness of the angle. Below, she could see Totchka and Grigory waving, doll-faced miniatures with white hands. She watched them until they disappeared behind her and the sleigh levelled off.

Rosa held out her wrist, her fingers searching for the swallow charm on her mother’s bracelet. She opened her second sight, was dazzled by the veins of silver and gold that ran through the sky.

“Which way?” she asked.

The swallow turned, then stopped to point: “North-east, Voron,” she said.

The sleigh bobbed, tilted, turned, then sped off into the clouds.

Em was dying, and Daniel couldn’t deny it any longer.

She pushed on bravely through the endless grass, but all the colour had fled from her cheeks and her breathing was coming in shuddering rasps. He insisted that they rest around twilight, afraid that her heart would simply stop if she went any further.

“You have to rest,” he said. “Sleep a little while. I can scout ahead and see if there’s any food.”

“Sure,” she said, gratefully. “I’ll rest a little while.” She lowered herself to the ground and lay on her back, her hand over her heart, and closed her eyes.

A tide of dread and sorrow washed through him. She would die; he would be alone. Then he would die too. This was the end, certainly. They hadn’t eaten in days, and had only drunk from muddy puddles. Em had started complaining of stomach cramps, and would almost certainly have vomited if there was anything inside her to get out.

Daniel moved on, knotting grass stalks as he went so he could find his way back. In every direction, there was nothing but more grass stretching away on indifferent fields which led to nowhere. The sun set as he crested a low rise. He hoped to see something, anything: a stand of trees, the gleam of a river, a distant village. Anything but more grass.

This time, surely.

His heart sank as he topped the rise. More grass, as far as he could see. Another hill to taunt him in the distance. He opened his freshly-acquired second sight, scanning for crossings. Nothing. Just sky.

For days it had been the same: the constant hope that the landscape would change, the constant cruel disappointment. He couldn’t escape, even in his dreams, which were filled with vast grassy steppes, under dull twilit skies, rolling on endlessly and endlessly to the end of time.

He turned and headed back to Em.

She opened her eyes as he sat beside her. “Didn’t find anything?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think you would, but I was still hoping.”

“I wonder when we’ll stop hoping.”

“Maybe we never will. Maybe hope is biological. A survival instinct.” She didn’t sit up. The grass formed a sheer curtain around her so he couldn’t clearly see the haggard death’s mask her face wore.

“I’m sure we’ll find something tomorrow,” he mumbled.

“I’m not so sure, Daniel.” She sighed. “Let’s play a game, keep our minds off it.”

“I can’t play games, Em—”

“For me. Please, Daniel. I can’t bear to just lie here watching the stars appear and wondering if I’m going to die before the sun comes up.”

“Em, don’t say that.”

“Why not say it? I can feel it. I can feel my body shutting down. I know it’s coming.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of course I am. My body’s sending me a million signals, telling me to keep going, to survive. I can’t bear to listen to it any more. Go on, list me five shades of blue.”

Daniel smiled weakly and answered her questions as night deepened overhead and the stars shone. Five perennial flowers, five tropical fruits, five Spencer Tracy films, five capital cities in the southern hemisphere, five great female rulers. Finally, she said, “Now list me five things you’ll miss if you never get back home.”

There were five million. “I’m not sure.”

“Go on. You first, then me.”

Daniel considered, wriggling into a sitting position so that he could see Em better under the darkening sky. “All right. First, I’ll miss food. Curries and beer in particular. Second, I’ll miss music. I’ll miss my Beatles collection. Third, I’ll miss London. I’ll miss the orange lights through the mist on winter mornings. Fourth, I’ll miss my own bed, with the hollow in the middle where I fit perfectly and the smell of the washing powder they use at the local laundromat. And fifth…” He trailed off, the game suddenly becoming far too serious.

“Go on,” she said.

“I’ll miss Rosa,” he said, “although I didn’t have her anyway.”

“But you always had the possibility.”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s it.” He sighed and leaned forward to grasp his knees. “Now you.”

Em was quiet for a while, thinking about it. “I’ll miss shopping. I’ll miss my house, and my garden…” Another silence, then she said, “I guess I don’t have as much to miss as you.”

The wind shifted across the grass, a sinuous movement. On their first day out here, Daniel had admired the breeze’s progress as beautiful: now it put his nerves on edge, and he longed for the calm of stillness instead of the itch of movement. He longed for vertical structures to hide beneath instead of this endless horizontal exposure.

“How about regrets,” Em said. “What will you regret?”

“Em, we’re talking like dead people.”

“We are dead people,” she said lightly. “You know that.”

“I’ll regret that I didn’t fly.”

“I’ll regret that I didn’t love.”

“I’ll regret that I did.” He laughed and it turned into a sob. He swallowed hard, determined to stay brave. The breeze moved across the grass again, sighing its barely-audible sigh.

“Sometimes,” Em said slowly, “I hear a man’s voice in my head.”

“What does he say?”

“I’m exhausted and sick when I hear this voice. I’ve heard it before, and it wasn’t a hallucination. At least, I don’t think it was.”

“What are you talking about?” Daniel was concerned. Usually Em was perfectly coherent, no matter what the circumstances.

“He’s speaking to me now,” she continued.

“What does he say?” Daniel asked again, a little slower.

“He says, ‘Morning won’t come without me’.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t mean to get your hopes up.”

“You haven’t.”

Em was silent a long time. Daniel waited for her to speak again, then panicked and thought she might be dead. A quick check of the pulse at her wrist told him she wasn’t, but it also woke her up.

“Sorry,” he said, when her eyes flickered open and she caught him in her gaze.

She grasped his fingers in her own. “Hold onto me, Daniel.”

“I will.” He didn’t let go as she fell asleep once more.

Voron flew at the same speed Rosa flew in her dreams, coasting and dipping over currents, chasing its own shadow over gentle rolling hills and stands of trees. The sleigh was made of iron and wood, but sometimes under her fingers she thought she could feel the twist of lithe sinews, or the swell and shrink of breath. The sky sped past as they crossed a forest, and smoke rose into the air. Rosa looked down, but could see nothing through the trees. Was it burning wood or burning flesh she could smell? It was hard to remember she was in hostile territory when she felt such exhilaration.