if not for the expression of her eyes.
“I—I don’t have one! I
don’t have a nickname!” She threw
her head back and wailed, with the sound that Ivan had in the past few
hours learned to call laughter. Kikimora’s laughter.
He waited for her to finish and did his best not to look away.
“Then,” he said
quietly, “why don’t we give you
one?”
She looked at him with wonder. For a moment her eyes became dreamy,
almost sane.
“You? You will give me a
nickname?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Why not?”
She hesitated. “All right. But—why
don’t you get your Net first? Uncle Leshy
won’t be pleased if I keep you.”
“In that case,” Ivan suggested,
“while I am getting the Net, why
don’t you think what kind of a nickname
you’d like to have?”
Her eyes showed doubt. And wonder, which sparkled
through the madness like a star in a stormy sky. “All
right. Just don’t reach all the way inside. The Net is
right near the opening. And deeper inside there’s
the—the handcatcher!” She laughed again. This time
it lasted shorter than before.
“The nickname,” Ivan reminded her.
“Think of the nickname.”
He stepped forward and reached into the gaping hole of
the tree. Oksana was right. The Net was very close to the entrance. It
was soft, like a breath of warm air. So alien to the moldy swamp chill.
Was this why Raven chose Leshy as a guardian of his magical bane?
Was it Raven’s choice? Was he free to choose the keeper
of the only item in the world that could truly harm him? Or was it
forced on him by some higher powers, to maintain control over the
world’s order?
Did such powers truly exist?
Ivan forced the thought away as he pulled the Net out and clenched it in
his fist. It was woven so finely that it could be folded to the size of
a hazelnut. Partially folded, it filled his hand like a puff of warm
air.
Oksana sat on the ground a few paces away, her face blank.
“Have you thought of a nickname?”
he asked.
“I don’t have a
nickname,” she said absently, as if their
conversation minutes ago hadn’t happened.
Ivan lowered to the ground in front of her.
“What did your mother call you?”
She looked at him, startled. Then she threw her head back, shaking with
a deafening fit of laughter.
Ivan waited. He didn’t look away.
Marya
I followed my savior into warm darkness. After a patient moment I heard
a match struck and soft reddish light poured into a lantern on the
table.
It was a cozy room, with a small curtained window, a washbasin in the
corner, and a large bed. It even had sheets made of plain, sun-bleached
linen, and the pad underneath had wisps of wool mixed in with the usual
mattress straw. My new acquaintance obviously liked to travel in
style.
I threw a helpless glance around, pulling the scarf tighter around my
savaged dress.
“You don’t need to be
afraid,” he said gently. “Would
you like me to leave?”
“No,” I whispered.
“I’d rather you stayed with
me…sir.”
I gave him a long look and noted a spark of new interest in the depth of
his dark eyes. It echoed in my chest with growing excitement. The hold
was established. All I had to do now was turn the spark into flame.
And hope he was as good as his looks suggested.
“My name is Kirill,” he offered.
I looked at him as if deciding whether or not I could trust him.
“I’m Dasha.”
“Well, Dasha, why don’t you sit on the
bed? I’ll take this chair over
here.”
I stepped over to the bed and stopped helplessly, as if realizing for
the first time what my next difficulty was going to be. I looked down
over my torn dress. Then, I raised my head and met his eyes with a
hunted look.
After a moment, he saw it too.
“I can offer you my spare shirt to
wear,” he said with hesitation.
“And, perhaps it would be better if I left you alone
after all.”
“No! Kirill…” I
said pleadingly. “These men—they saw where I went.
If you leave me alone here, they’ll
“I—I don’t have one! I
don’t have a nickname!” She threw
her head back and wailed, with the sound that Ivan had in the past few
hours learned to call laughter. Kikimora’s laughter.
He waited for her to finish and did his best not to look away.
“Then,” he said
quietly, “why don’t we give you
one?”
She looked at him with wonder. For a moment her eyes became dreamy,
almost sane.
“You? You will give me a
nickname?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Why not?”
She hesitated. “All right. But—why
don’t you get your Net first? Uncle Leshy
won’t be pleased if I keep you.”
“In that case,” Ivan suggested,
“while I am getting the Net, why
don’t you think what kind of a nickname
you’d like to have?”
Her eyes showed doubt. And wonder, which sparkled
through the madness like a star in a stormy sky. “All
right. Just don’t reach all the way inside. The Net is
right near the opening. And deeper inside there’s
the—the handcatcher!” She laughed again. This time
it lasted shorter than before.
“The nickname,” Ivan reminded her.
“Think of the nickname.”
He stepped forward and reached into the gaping hole of
the tree. Oksana was right. The Net was very close to the entrance. It
was soft, like a breath of warm air. So alien to the moldy swamp chill.
Was this why Raven chose Leshy as a guardian of his magical bane?
Was it Raven’s choice? Was he free to choose the keeper
of the only item in the world that could truly harm him? Or was it
forced on him by some higher powers, to maintain control over the
world’s order?
Did such powers truly exist?
Ivan forced the thought away as he pulled the Net out and clenched it in
his fist. It was woven so finely that it could be folded to the size of
a hazelnut. Partially folded, it filled his hand like a puff of warm
air.
Oksana sat on the ground a few paces away, her face blank.
“Have you thought of a nickname?”
he asked.
“I don’t have a
nickname,” she said absently, as if their
conversation minutes ago hadn’t happened.
Ivan lowered to the ground in front of her.
“What did your mother call you?”
She looked at him, startled. Then she threw her head back, shaking with
a deafening fit of laughter.
Ivan waited. He didn’t look away.
Marya
I followed my savior into warm darkness. After a patient moment I heard
a match struck and soft reddish light poured into a lantern on the
table.
It was a cozy room, with a small curtained window, a washbasin in the
corner, and a large bed. It even had sheets made of plain, sun-bleached
linen, and the pad underneath had wisps of wool mixed in with the usual
mattress straw. My new acquaintance obviously liked to travel in
style.
I threw a helpless glance around, pulling the scarf tighter around my
savaged dress.
“You don’t need to be
afraid,” he said gently. “Would
you like me to leave?”
“No,” I whispered.
“I’d rather you stayed with
me…sir.”
I gave him a long look and noted a spark of new interest in the depth of
his dark eyes. It echoed in my chest with growing excitement. The hold
was established. All I had to do now was turn the spark into flame.
And hope he was as good as his looks suggested.
“My name is Kirill,” he offered.
I looked at him as if deciding whether or not I could trust him.
“I’m Dasha.”
“Well, Dasha, why don’t you sit on the
bed? I’ll take this chair over
here.”
I stepped over to the bed and stopped helplessly, as if realizing for
the first time what my next difficulty was going to be. I looked down
over my torn dress. Then, I raised my head and met his eyes with a
hunted look.
After a moment, he saw it too.
“I can offer you my spare shirt to
wear,” he said with hesitation.
“And, perhaps it would be better if I left you alone
after all.”
“No! Kirill…” I
said pleadingly. “These men—they saw where I went.
If you leave me alone here, they’ll
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