C. Cherryh - Yvgenie

No! she bade her mother, and took a step backward.

Look out ! her mother wished her. Her mother wanted her to look behind her, and the hair prickled on her neck. She thought—it’s a trick, it’s a trick like the others. She’s making that cold feeling…

“No!” her mother said, and started for her, wanting her as she spun about to escape. Wanted her to stop, warned he of death under the willow’s branches and for a moment the very earth underfoot seemed to tremble.

Another lie, she thought, and cast a look back at her mother. “Don’t come close to me!”

“Ilyana!”

Look, her mother wished her. And wanted what was there into the starlight. Coils rolled out, glistening wet, a head as large as a horse’s rose up and grinned at her with white, white teeth.

Something hit her breast and seized her about the neck, familiar arms, a desperate and frightened Babi: she hugged him without any thought but imminent destruction. She wanted Babi safe. That was all she could think of—could muster no conviction against that Thing her mother conjured—

Her mother wanted it here.

Her mother said, at her back, “Ilyana, Ilyana, comeback, right now. You don’t belong here.”

She could not move. Perhaps it was wishes. Perhaps it was terror. Babi growled and shivered in her arms.

“Ilyana!” her mother cried, and fear and feeling that never had been, for her, not once, not ever, came flooding up, with anger, and desire that was shattering as Kavi’s touch and tender as her father’s. Her mother wanted her safe at home, her mother wanted her away from this dreadful place that she belonged to.

“Bonesss,” the snake said. Hwiuur. She had no doubt. And Babi ducked his head beneath her chin and hissed. So did the vodyanoi, and the air shivered with river cold. “Your mother’s bones are still mine. She wants you safe. But you never should have existed, little mouse. She can be my pretty bones again. And what will you be, I wonder? Supper?”

“Hwiuur!” her mother said, forbidding him.

Hwiuur said, “One or the other is mine. One or the other; and I own you, pretty pretty bones, I only haven’t pressed matters—I only let the old man think he was clever, sending a mouse to catch a creature far-, far cleverer than he was. And ever so patient.” More coils poured out of the shadows, glistening wet and black. “On the other hand—you could give me the mouse. And I’d give you—oh, Kiev. Or whatever. Anything you like, pretty bones.”

“No,” her mother said. And of a sudden someone else was there, god, her father was there, and Kavi, and Yvgenie—

The vodyanoi hissed and lunged and Babi jumped from her arms, ran hissing and barking into Hwiuur’s face. She wished at the creature—hurt and harm and pain—and only got its sudden attention. It reared up and lunged for her and she furiously wished it no! as thunder rolled down on her from behind and hit her in the back.

The world jolted. An arm was around her waist, she was wholly off her feet and against the side of a white horse.

And her father—oh, god—

Volkhi shied off and Pyetr left the saddle, not—not his best dismount, no. He landed on one foot and lost his balance, fell and saw the creature coming down on him, a vast shadow with breath like the grave and there was no time for aim—he shoved his arm at Hwiuur’s face and dumped the whole damned herb-pot, salt and sulfur, in the jaws that closed on it—

—and opened again, with a hiss and a fetid breath that he knew in his nightmares. It hurt, god—it hurt, he all but dropped the sword in his good hand, and a coil whipped over him in its wounded frenzy. He hit it. He kept wondering where help was and got his feet under him and hit it again and kept hitting it, with everything he had, while Babi lunged at it and hissed and snarled.

It grew smaller, and smaller, and its struggles never ceased. Neither did his hitting it, until it was a shriveled black thing, with arms like a man, hiding its face with its hands and wailing, “No more, no more, man, oh, the bitter salt—”

“Let my wife and my daughter go! Let them alone! Do you hear me?” Another whack with the sword. “Do you swear?”

“Yes,” it cried, “yes, yes, no more.”

Eveshka was with him, Eveshka stayed his arm and hugged his shoulder, saying, “It won’t die. It can’t die. They don’t.”

“Ilyana—”

The pain stopped. The fear for the mouse did. The mouse was very well, give or take bruises, with the boy’s arm about her, and she was safe right now, no matter the quality of her suitors—Yvgenie Kurov was a damned fine rider, thank the god: wizardry might keep a man on a horse—but never guide a catch like that.

Hwiuur made a move to slither away. Pyetr hit him. What Eveshka wished he could not tell, but the air felt heavy. And Hwiuur shrank and shrank until he was like a withered, glistening serpent again.

“Make him swear by the sun,” the boy said—but that was Chernevog. “He’s afraid of that, at least. Make him swear.”

“I swear by the sun!” it cried in a faint, high voice. “I’ll never, ever, ever do harm to you. I’ll be your friend. You’ll see, I’ll bring you such nice gifts—I’ll never harm anyone in your house—”

“Nor our children or their children,” Eveshka said, “forever! Nor our friends or theirs!”

“I swear, I swear to everything you say!”

“Hit him,” Chernevog said. Pyetr hit him, and Hwiuur added, “By the sun, by the terrible sun! I swear! Let me go.”

“We have to be away ourselves,” Chernevog said. “This place itself is a ghost. And it won’t outlast the sun.”

He had greatest misgivings. But he lifted his sword and stood back, and let the creature slither away toward the willow.

Babi was faster. Babi pounced and swallowed, and sat up with his small hands folded across his belly

And licked his lips.

The stars were gone. In a while more there would be sun, but Sasha refused to dwell on that thought. He said, aloud or not he did not clearly notice, More wood. And thought, Mouse. Pyetr. Eveshka. Time you were moving.

One did not know clearly that everything was well. But there had been a moment that he felt he could breathe again.

In a bit more Missy made a soft, worried sound, and horses arrived out of the dark. They trotted up to Missy and Patches, trailing reins, glad to find friends. There had been snakes. Volkhi’s rider had ridden him straight at a snake and fallen off in front of it. Volkhi was never going near any snakes again, never, ever. Even if his favorite person wanted to be, he would not. No. and Bielitsa thought the same.

Worrisome. Exceedingly worrisome. He looked at Nadya across the fire they had made on this barren, windy hilltop, and she looked back at him, scared and staunchly not saying a word. For a moment he did not know what more he could do than he had done.

But he wanted his family back. He wanted them to meet Nadya. To have evenings together. By a nice fire. Hundreds and hundreds of thousands of evenings. One would not accept otherwise.

And of a sudden he felt very much better. Very much better.

He said, on a long sigh, “Bring them back, Babi, bring them here. Vodka, Babi.”

He unstopped the jug. He poured. Babi was immediately there to catch it, a very satisfied Babi. One could tell.

Then he heard the mouse cry “Uncle Sasha!” and saw the lostlings coming out of the dark, the mouse, hand in hand with young Yvgenie. Pyetr with Eveshka. He felt everything at once, too confused to defend himself from them until Nadya rose and stood beside him.

He put his arm about Nadya as she did and wished her well—wished ’Veshka not to be upset, please. Nor the mouse. Yvgenie said, “Nadya?” and came and took her hand, but to a wizard’s hearing it was very clear where hearts were, and Yvgenie’s was most honestly with the mouse.