Rosa raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and considered the man in front of her. He was very tall, dressed in black trousers and a peasant smock knotted at the hips. He had long grey hair tied loosely at his neck, a full grey beard and a large, hooked nose. It was impossible to tell his age. He resembled a man of seventy, except for his eyes which betrayed centuries of knowledge: they were a peculiar grey-blue colour, very pale and with small pupils. Wolf’s eyes, she thought, right before recognition swiped her.
“Oh,” she said.
He gave her a wolfish smile. “You know me, don’t you?”
“I’ve seen photographs.”
“Pah, cameras! I wish they’d never been invented. I once had anonymity. Though I suppose you think I’ve aged?”
“Not as much as you should have,” she laughed.
“There are many impossible things here, Rosa.” He held out his hand and she took it boldly. “Call me Papa Grigory,” he said, gently tugging her hand. “Come.”
“Thank you, Papa Grigory.”
He led her over the threshold and into a neat one-room cottage. The area was large, with a gleaming coloured stove, a rough-hewn table, faded rugs and a huge wooden bed. The room smelled of lavender and dust. Sitting at the table, drawing with the deformed stump of a crayon, was a little girl of about six years old.
“Hello,” Rosa said as the little girl looked up.
The child peered at her from under suspicious brows. Her eyes were dark, her hair chestnut brown. She had thin wrists, dark shadows under her eyes, pale skin, and an oddly swollen throat. She looked ill, and the wheezy coughing fit that followed confirmed it.
Papa Grigory was unperturbed by the cough. “Rosa, this is my little girl. Her name is Totchka. Totchka, say hello.”
Totchka caught her breath and, unsmiling, said, “Hello, Rosa.”
“Good girl. That’s my good girl,” said Grigory, smoothing the child’s hair. “Now, I have to talk to Rosa. Why don’t you go outside and play with your seashells?”
Totchka grudgingly pushed her chair back and climbed to her feet. “Don’t leave the light,” Grigory said. “Stay in the garden. It’s wet out there.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said, lifting a bucket of seashells which sat by the door and wandering out into the garden.
“I collected them on the shores of the Mediterranean,” Grigory said, turning to Rosa. “I never knew they’d be so useful. She spends hours with them pretending to be at the seaside, spotting imaginary boats. I wish I could take her to the sea, give her real details to fill her imagination.”
“Can’t you?”
He shook his head sadly and indicated she should sit. “Totchka can’t leave Skazki. She would die.”
“Skazki?”
“That is where you are.”
Rosa took a seat. “And I came from…?”
“Mir.”
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “How do you know who I am?”
“The bear. I’ve been alert to all three of you since she chose you.”
Rosa’s heart leapt. “Daniel? He’s still alive?”
“Oh yes. Lost, exhausted, but still alive. His friend Em, too. She’s a wily one.”
Sweet relief in her veins. Daniel was alive.
Grigory wandered over to the kitchen bench. “Have you eaten anything since your adventure started?”
“Only a volkhv,” she said.
He laughed as he sliced bread and cheese. “Not very tasty, I imagine.”
“Bitter,” Rosa said as he placed a plate of food on the table and sat across from her. “Thank you.”
“I expect you have questions.”
Rosa took a slice of bread. “About a million. I don’t even know where to start. I need to find Daniel.”
“I want you to find Daniel, too, and I will help you. It will be simple, and you must bring him and the Golden Bear back here. He has set himself on a perilous path. He believes he must take the Golden Bear to the Snow Witch.”
“Who’s the Snow Witch?”
“Only the most hideous and dangerous creature in all of Skazki.” His voice dropped to a low rumble and his pupils contracted to pinpoints. His hands moved nervously on the tabletop. “If the Snow Witch should catch Daniel, she will fill his mind with icy nightmares until his brain turns on itself in distress. She will drink his blood because she likes the taste of his fear. She will split open his white chest and feast on his ardent heart. Fear her, Rosa. She is a monster.”
A wave of fear for Daniel swept over her. “Daniel doesn’t know this?”
“He’s defenceless against her.” Papa Grigory smiled, his mood changing suddenly, sending deep lines arrowing from his eyes. “You aren’t to worry, I’m certain he will be safe. You’ll find him before she does.” He rose again, full of some nervous energy which couldn’t endure inertia. He opened the stove and poked the embers, scratched at a carbon smudge on the painted tiles.
Rosa finished eating and brushed crumbs from her fingers. She turned to the window, and watched Totchka through the thick panes. The little girl was hunched over her bucket at the very edge of the sunlight’s circle, laying out shells in neat rows.
“Is she from Mir?” Rosa asked.
Grigory walked to the window and looked out. “Yes. I saved her from a cruel illness. Ninety years ago.”
Rosa told herself not to be surprised. This was a land of impossibilities. “She’s still a child?”
Grigory turned and leaned his back against the window. “Yes, she’s still a child. She will always remain a child, because she was fated to die as a child. In Skazki, her own death can’t find her.”
“And what is her own death?”
“Diphtheria. Like her mother and brothers. A poor family living in a basement near Moika Canal in St Petersburg. If I hadn’t happened by, that death would have found her. Now you see why she can’t go back to Mir.”
Rosa considered this, and a glimmer of an idea began to sing to her. “Is it…can my death find me here?”
Grigory shook his head. “No, Rosa. The only death that can find you here is a death not-your-own.”
The room seemed to pulse with light. A burden, too long laid across her heart, grew light. It can’t find me here. The future was suddenly filled with possibilities.
“Rosa?”
She looked up at Grigory, who had moved to stand beside her. “Sit down,” she said, smiling. “You’re making me nervous.”
He eased into his chair, but his fingertips still moved, brushing delicate arabesques on the table. “Rosa, if the Snow Witch gets the Golden Bear, terrible things will happen.”
“What terrible things?”
“All the horrors of Skazki will be released into Mir. Leshii will stalk the highways, fire demons will descend on the cities, witches and wizards will travel wherever they please and indulge their hideous appetites. From Russia they will find their way to every curve of the globe. Nobody will be safe in Mir. There are only twenty-seven volkhvy to watch the crossings. Twenty-seven men against an army of monsters! It cannot be allowed to happen.”
The bee buzzed and bumped in her stomach. She laid her hand across her belly and said, “Shh, Anatoly. I can’t concentrate.”
“He is frantic because he knows it is true.” Grigory leaned forward and placed a gentle hand over Rosa’s fingers. She felt herself trapped in his powerful, unwavering gaze. “All of Mir’s hopes rest with you, Rosa Kovalenka. You must intercept Daniel and Em and take the bear back to Mir. Hide her where nobody will ever find her.”
“Of course,” she said. “Of course I’ll do it. I’ll leave now, if you tell me which way to go.”
“Tomorrow,” he said, “at first light. There are preparations to be made, and you should rest and eat well. Skazki is a harsh land. Nobody should wander into it without due caution.”
“Fine. Whatever you say,” she said. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”
Night turned into morning, and morning grew into daylight, and Em and Daniel were still following Nanny Rima through the nothingness. The sky was leaden. Although Daniel was glad it wasn’t raining, the clouds obscured any light from the sun. Direction was meaningless; north could be anywhere. The road to forever was a sea of long grass, sealed to a sweep of dark-grey sky. It seemed they were inside rather than outside, in a vast enclosed space from which there was no escape.
“How far now, Rima?” he asked. He was trying to be on his guard around the polevoi, but this was proving difficult. Nanny Rima was one of his fondest memories, and the creature leading them looked identical. Except for the odd, birdlike eyes.
“Not far.”
Em sighed and stopped. “I need to rest.”
Daniel turned to her. “You can’t go any further?”
“She’s been saying ‘not far’ for hours.”
“I’m not lying to you!” Rima said. “It’s not far. It’s not my problem if Mir bodies feel the distance more than Skazki bodies.”
Em looked pointedly at Daniel. “A short rest. Please.”
Rima nodded, suddenly sympathetic. “Of course, little one. Of course you can rest, poor girl.”
Em lowered herself carefully, and Daniel sat with her. As soon as stillness hit him, he wondered how he was ever going to stand up again. His thighs trembled and his heart gasped in relief. Rima paced around them in a circle, whistling melancholy tunes and chattering.
“I’ve just remembered that on the way to the Mir crossing, there’s a field of wild mushrooms! Won’t they be delicious? Wonderful rabbit hunting there, too. You know, I can charm a rabbit into my hands.” She crouched and feigned an elaborate beckoning gesture. “We’ll split him open, stuff him with mushrooms and roast him until his flesh is so tender it falls off the bone.”
Daniel realised he was salivating.
“And a crystal stream, water so sweet you’d swear it had honey in it. Honey! Of course, there are wild bees on the way. In a wood just a little way from here. We’ll stop and eat honey.” She clapped her hands together. “What a feast we’ll have!”
“It sounds wonderful, Rima,” Daniel said. “How far do you think? In miles?”
She turned her bird eyes on him, blinked once. “What are miles?”
He and Em exchanged glances.
“How many hours then?” Em asked.
“As many as it takes. Not long. By nightfall, certainly.”
“Let’s get going,” Em said, struggling to her feet.
“But, Em, you’re tired,” said Daniel.
“I’m tired of being in Skazki. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get home.”
The day gave way to evening, the stars hid behind the thick layer of clouds. Em was slow, walking with difficulty. Daniel held her elbow and tried to help her along, and was startled by the narrow distance across the back of her arm. Every time he whispered to her that she should rest, she drew her mouth into a line and shook her head and said, “It’ll be worth it. We’ll eat, we’ll find a crossing.”
Rima clucked about slow walkers making the journey too long, but nothing could hasten Em’s steps.
But then, somewhere in the darkest wedge of night, Em stopped.
“Em?” Daniel asked.
She was standing stock still, staring at the ground. Her shoulders were shaking.
“Em,” he said again, panicking. “Are you all right?”
Rima had stopped too, and was standing back with a half-smile on her face.
Em looked up, her eyes glittering in the dark. “I’ve seen this rock before.”
“What?”
“This rock,” she said, jabbing her finger towards the ground. “I’ve seen it before. She’s leading us in circles!”
“Oh no! No!” Rima cried. “It’s not true. All rocks look alike, it’s dark. I’m not leading you in circles. I’m leading you towards home and comfort.”
Daniel’s attention flicked from one woman to the other. “Are you sure, Em?”
“Of course I’m sure. I never forget anything. I have seen this rock before. We passed here in the early afternoon. She’s led us in a big circle.”
“I have not! You’re the one who’s making this journey hard. You’re too slow. You always have to stop to drink from puddles, and now you’re going crazy with tiredness and hunger. It’s a different rock.”
“And look!” said Em, warming to her subject now. “The grass here is bent. Somebody has walked here recently. Us!”
“The wind bends the grass. Walk five feet in any direction and you’ll see bent grass, and other rocks.” Rima turned to Daniel. “Tell her she’s seeing things. I’m trying to help you.”
Daniel wavered. Ordinarily he’d trust Em, but she looked sick and shaky. The polevoi had promised them the two things they wanted most in the world: sustenance and a way home. It would be foolish to get her off-side if Em’s exhaustion was making her hysterical.
“I think we need to rest,” he said cautiously.
“No,” moaned Rima. “No rest. Keep going and we’ll be there. Soon.”
He shook his head. “Em’s going to have to sleep.”
Rima snapped her fingers. “I’ll show you. I’ll go on ahead and find some mushrooms and bring them back for you to taste. Then you’ll see I’m not lying.”
Daniel helped Em to the ground. “There’s no need for that. Em will rest, and then we’ll move on.”
“I insist,” Rima said. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in no time.”
Daniel felt a twinge of concern as Rima’s white figure disappeared into the dark, her melancholy song dwindling to nothing on the summer breeze.
Em was resting her head on her knees. “I’m sorry, Daniel. Maybe I was wrong.”
“Get some sleep, Em,” he said, smoothing her hair. “By the time you wake, she might be back with mushrooms.”
“I don’t trust her.”
“Poisonous mushrooms, then,” he joked.
She lifted her head and smiled wryly. “I’d still eat them.”
He nodded wearily. “So would I.”
Em lay on her side in the long grass, and Daniel sat close beside her, huddling under the fur. No warmth to take comfort in from Em’s body. He watched her as she fell asleep, then cast his gaze over the wide dull nothing which surrounded them. A breeze tickled the grass, sending ripples of grey movement across the plains. He rested his chin on his knees and waited for Rima.
Em rose slowly to consciousness. Her hands were folded beneath her head and shoulder, and she felt something hard under her fingers. A rock? She moved her fingers to brush it away, but it was stuck to her.
She sat up, rubbed her shoulder. The hard lump was her bone, jutting through skin. Daniel was sitting, his back to her, watching the clouds dissolve on the dawn sky.
“Daniel?” she said.
He turned. “She didn’t come back.”
Em could have wept. No wild mushrooms, no juicy roasted rabbit, no honey, no clean water.
“We shouldn’t have trusted her,” she said.
“If we wait here…maybe…”
Em shook her head and brushed stray hair from her eyes.
“We headed north-west, Daniel. The sun’s rising there…” She jabbed her finger towards the intensifying glow in the east. “That means we’re now facing south-east. She led us in circles. She got us lost on purpose. We’re probably right back where we started.”
Daniel sagged into his knees. “Why did we trust her, Em?”
“Because we’re desperate,” Em said, brushing grass seeds off her clothes.
Daniel turned his gaze back to the sky, and Em noticed he was squinting and drawing his brows down, then shaking his head as if to clear his vision.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Ever since I woke up from the russalki’s enchantment, my eyes have been doing strange things.”
“What kind of strange?”
“It’s as though…” He squinted again. “It’s as though I can see an extra layer of air. With colours. Now that the clouds have gone, I can see the sky has streaks of gold through it. Can you see that?”
Em looked at the sky. It was more violet-hued than the sky at home, but there were no streaks of unusual colour. “No.”
“I wonder what it is,” he muttered, turning his hands over in front of his eyes and peering at them. “It’s strange.”
“Something the russalki did to you? To see underwater?”
Daniel’s head jerked up. “Oh. I remember. Lobasta wanted me to see the bear, in the rock pool. She said…” He drew his brows down in concentration. “So much of it is a blur.”
Em glanced away discreetly. She had seen and heard too much of what the russalki did to Daniel, and didn’t want to see his embarrassment if he remembered too.
He fell silent. She turned back.
“Daniel?”
“She said she was giving me a second sight.”
Em drew a breath, then smiled. “And with second sight, you can find a crossing.”
“I can find a crossing.”
Em felt laughter bubbling up. “We can find a crossing. You have second sight. We can probably find other things, too. Turn it on…go on. Can you spot any food out there? Which direction should we go?”
Daniel spun in a slow circle, squinting like a schoolboy at a multiplication problem. “Food…water…come on.” He returned to his original position and shook his head sadly. “I don’t sense anything. Maybe it’s not working right.”
“You probably need to practise. Just try to find the direction we should travel. Just turn off the thinking part of your brain and see what happens.”
“That way,” he said, without hesitation, indicating east.
She nodded. “Good work.”
“Em, are you okay to walk?”
She wasn’t okay. She could feel her body starting to close down, her poor heart protesting, her muscles and bones trembling. But there was nothing else she could do.
“Let’s move for a few hours and see what happens,” she said. “We might be closer to home than we think.”
While the rain intensified outside, the comfort bubble around Papa Grigory’s cottage stayed warm and dry. Night did come, but it was soft and forgiving, not the miserable cold of a windy, rain-soaked Russian night. Rosa sat at the wooden table while Grigory told Totchka a long story about Princess Vasilisa the beautiful.
Rosa was warm, comfortable, hopeful, and a little impatient.
Finally, the little girl dragged under by sleep, Grigory joined her at the table.
“She is a beautiful child, isn’t she?” he said, sighing, his gaze still attached to Totchka.
Rosa didn’t reply. In truth, she thought Totchka grim-faced and unfriendly, but parents were always blind to their children’s faults. She indicated the collection of dolls lined up at the end of Totchka’s bed. Their linen heads were faceless. “Why don’t her dolls have faces?” she asked.
“She’s superstitious. Her mother once told her that bad magic could get into dolls with faces and make them come alive.” He shook his head, smiling. “She doesn’t outgrow her childhood fears, even though I’ve promised that nothing of the sort could ever happen to her here. I protect her from everything bad.”
“Like rain?”
“Sometimes I let a little rain in. I’m thinking of opening the sky tonight. The garden needs watering.”
“How do you do it?”
Grigory turned his attention to her, twitching his eyebrows comically and feigning an ominous voice. “Magic. Haven’t you heard the tales about me?”
Rosa laughed. “That’s powerful magic. You have the bubble around the cottage the whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that exhausting?”
“How else do you think an ageless creature like myself has aged so dramatically?” he said. “For centuries, I resembled a man of forty. In the short time I have been blessed with Totchka’s love, I have grown wrinkled and spotted.”
He shook his head. “I can’t die.”
Totchka stirred and his eyes were drawn back to her. “My immortality once made me fearless. I never realised until I met Totchka that one could fear something much more than one’s own death,” he said. “I love her so dearly. It grows every day.” He smiled at Rosa. “Impossibly.”
“You must adore her to expend so much energy on magic sunshine.”
“The circle of light protects us from more than inclement weather, Rosa. Skazki is dangerous. It teems with hungry spirits, and Totchka is defenceless. She wouldn’t survive a week without it, without me.”
Rosa’s eyes went to the window, but all she could see were reflections: the warm glow of candlelight, her own pale face. “How long would I survive, Grigory?”
“That would depend. Are you going to set Anatoly free?”
“Eventually.” A bump and buzz in her stomach. “Though he doesn’t deserve it. I have no magic of my own now. It’s all gone.”
“Then you would be almost defenceless in Skazki too.”
“Almost defenceless. But my own death couldn’t find me.”
“Well now, Rosa. What about these questions?” Papa Grigory said, but his expression betrayed no puzzlement. “What do you want to tell me?”
“Nothing. Just yet.” She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “I’m keen to go. Must I wait until morning? What if Daniel needs me before then?”
“We need to make preparations.”
“We spent all day baking bread and packing.”
“You need to rest. You can have my side of the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Rosa glanced at the warm bed, the sleeping hump of the little girl’s shoulder. It did look inviting, and she was tired.
“Go, Rosa. Sleep. I have a few things to take care of.”
Rosa woke in the dark, her head too full of thoughts to regain sleep. Totchka slumbered on, untroubled. Rosa sat up and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dark. She could make out the shape of the table and the chairs. The stove popped and cracked softly. Papa Grigory was nowhere in sight. She quietly folded back the covers and rose, stopping to smooth the blanket over Totchka’s shoulder. The little girl muttered in her sleep, then settled.
Rosa tiptoed across the cottage to the front door, then stole out into the garden. Rain fell lightly, warm drops on her cheeks and nose. She couldn’t see Grigory anywhere, but movement outside the bubble caught her eye. Was that him in the trees? Hesitantly, she took a step outside the protective circle. Cold, wet wind on her right leg; sweet, balmy rain on her left. She almost drew back inside the bubble. It was late and she was tired, but she was curious. The freezing downpour soaked her in two seconds. Arms crossed over her chest against the cold, she called, “Papa Grigory?”
“Over here,” he said.
She followed his voice into a broad stand of trees, and found him bent over a large dark shape. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Grigory straightened. His hair was soaked. She could see, now, that he stood next to a huge pile of deadfall. Branches and twigs and leaves piled to shoulder height in the middle of a ring of trees.
“You can help,” he said. “We have to clear this away.”
“Why?”
“There’s something underneath it that you’ll need for your journey.” He bent over the pile again, throwing off debris.
“Can’t we do it in the morning? Or when the rain lets up?”
“It’s good to suffer from time to time, Rosa,” he said, heaving a branch onto the ground. “It reminds you you’re alive.”
Rosa helped him in dragging branches from the pile, parting overgrown vines and clearing heaps of leaf matter. Her hands were muddy, her clothes were soaked, but her heart was pounding from the vigorous activity.
“So what are we looking for under here?” Rosa asked.
“A sleigh,” said Grigory, not pausing from his work.
“A sleigh?”
“You can’t go on foot. You’ll never catch up with them. Only I have the power to collapse the crossings. And I’m not leaving Totchka.”
“And what’s going to pull it?”
“It pulls itself through the sky.” He braced himself and began to roll a huge log out of the way. “Come, Rosa, help me with this one.”
She moved to the other side and put her shoulder to the log. Rain ran down her cheeks and her neck, her hair clung to her face. She pushed as hard as she could, straining the muscles in her arms and back, and the log began to give.
“There!” said Papa Grigory, and the log rolled, pulling a veil of vines and dead leaves behind it. Beneath, exposed now to the rain, was the front end of a black sleigh. Its curved bow was painted with two enormous bird eyes, and came to a black point which resembled a beak.
“This is Voron,” he said, stroking the curves lovingly. “Raven son-of-Raven. He’s been in my family for years.”
Rosa nodded, peeling back some more vines. “It’s beautiful. Doesn’t it get damaged out here?”
“No, it remains always new.” He scratched a smudge off the bar. “This sleigh will take you wherever you want to go.”
Rosa cleared debris from around the skis, unable to hide her pleasure. A magic sleigh to travel a land of wonders.
“Voron pleases you, Rosa?”
“Oh, yes. I can’t wait to go.”
Grigory suddenly stopped what he was doing, his head snapping up. “Can you hear that?” he asked.
“What? No.” Rosa tuned into the darkness, could only hear rain.
“Totchka. She’s crying.” He dropped his handful of twigs and started towards the cottage.
Rosa hurried behind him. “What do you think is wrong?”
“Her cough sometimes wakes her up. What I wouldn’t give to make her better.”
Rosa followed him in the dark, thinking about Anatoly and his daughter. Elizavetta may even be dead by the time Anatoly returned. She felt a twinge of guilt.
“I’m sure she’s all right,” Rosa said.
“If she wakes and I’m not there, it panics her,” Grigory answered, as they stepped back into the bubble and out of the heavy rain.
Totchka was at the door in her nightdress, looking thin and frightened. “Papa! Where were you?”
“Hush, child. All is well. Return to your bed,” he said, ushering Totchka back into the warm cottage.
“I can’t sleep now. I’ll have nightmares.”
Rosa closed the door behind them.
“Then let me change into some dry clothes and I’ll tell you a story.”
Totchka, sniffling, agreed to this. Grigory gave Rosa one of his shirts to change into, and she hung her own clothes by the fire and climbed into bed next to the little girl.
Papa Grigory pulled up a chair and he stroked his beard and made hums and hahs of consideration.
“Which story, now?” he asked.
“The French king!” Totchka said. “Mother Moist Earth and the French king. You know it’s my favourite.”
“Very well,” said Grigory. “Lie still and listen quietly.”