The Shining Falcon

Chapter X Peasants

Finding a broom, thought Maria wearily, was proving to be the least of their problems, a simple matter of tying a bundle of long twigs to a stout stick with a scrap of the rope blessed Sasha had thought to include in their supplies. While their father struggled, swearing under his breath when he thought his daughters couldn't hear him, to provide Brownie with at least a makeshift stable out of one of the half-ruined sheds, she and Vasilissa set about sweeping out the farmhouse as best they could, holding their breath against the various smells, till at last Lissa burst into tears because her delicate hands were beginning to blister.

Maria was in no mood to be sympathetic. «And you think mine aren't? Stop whining!» She brushed her disheveled hair back impatiently. «If you don't want to sweep anymore, why don't you go get us some water instead?»

Vasilissa, still sniffling a bit, obediently disappeared, only to come hurrying back inside. «The rain barrel's nearly empty, and there's something green and disgusting growing in it.»

«Ugh. We'll have to see about scrubbing that out. But for now… we passed a stream on our way in here. If you take one of the buckets — "

Lissa stared at her in horror. «Go into the forest, you mean? Maria, no. I can't.»

«Whyever not?»

«Don't you know? Maria, They are out there! The) won't pass that palisade, but They are out there, just beyond it… Don't you feel Them?»

«Oh, Lissa, now what?»

«Demons, Maria, forest demons…»

«There aren't any demons!»

But the young woman's eyes were so wide with unreasoning fright that there was no arguing with her. Maria gave a wordless cry of frustration, snatched up a bucket herself, and started forth, trying to make some useful plans as she went.

Demons in the forest, indeed. It was too lovely out here, quiet and green, the stream sparkling in sunlight shining through thick leaves, to believe in them. Far easier to accept the existence of beings out of the old tales, the sly, mischievous nature sprites which, if they were sometimes perilous for humans to meet, at least had no concept of true evil. Maria sat on the streambank and looked about with undisguised pleasure, revelling in the moment of solitude, breathing in the clean, spicy air, feeling a sudden sense of peace such as she'd not had a chance to enjoy in… she couldn't even remember how long. Granted, this was wilderness, and there might be dangerous creatures about, bears, she supposed, or wolves, but right now she was finding it very difficult to worry about them.

Eh, but pleasant though this was, she couldn't afford to loiter, and Maria reluctantly scrambled to her feet. Tonight they would have to sleep under the wagon for shelter, and eat whatever dried provisions Sasha had included. At least they would have clean water to drink, even though the filled bucket was proving far heavier than she'd expected and‑curse it all, she'd hit the lip of it against her knee and gotten herself drenched! But by tomorrow, Maria told herself with a sort of clenched-teeth cheerfulness, the farmhouse would be clean enough and aired out enough. They'd have a roof over their heads once more.

She had forgotten—they ah» had—that the roof leaked. They remembered it the next night, when the rains came. «I should be able to replace the missing shingles myself," muttered Danilo from their dubious shelter bade under the wagon. «They're only slabs of wood, after all. Damn! I'll have to waste a day cutting new ones from the planking of the sheds instead of going into the village to get us a plow of some sort. The roof has to be fixed before we can— But we have to get started on the soil right away if the seeds are to be planted in time for any sort of harvest and— Akh, I forgot, we've also got to do something about getting some chickens‑making a coop for them—getting food for them—for us…»

He broke off in dismay, staring helplessly at his daughters. And Maria, just as overwhelmed as he at the ordeal before them, could find nothing hopeful to say, nothing at all. Instead, she and Vasilissa silently moved into Danilo's arms, and the three of them huddled together in desperate, loving courage.

«I can't do any more," Vasilissa whimpered. «Maria, I can't.»

Maria didn't even bother looking up from her weeding: cabbages, turnips, carrots, whatever grew quickly and could be stored for a long time; the village women, if not exactly friendly towards strangers, had, at least, been willing to teach her the basics of gardening. «You can.»

«I can't! I'm just too tired.»

«I'm tired, too.» It was an automatic response, without any real fire behind it; long days of endless labor, of helping Danilo clear and plow resistant soil—praying all the while that it was rich enough to support crops—of sowing seed and chasing away a never-ending troop of thieving birds and beasts, of cooking and mending and rebuilding, had dulled any anger she might have felt. Groaning, Maria sat back on her haunches, trying to ease complaining back muscles. A fine boyarevna I look now. Broken nails, sunburned face …

Still, they'd come a long way from that first, terrifying day in only… just how long was it? Maria blinked to realize she'd quite lost track of time. Were they a month into their exile already? Two months? There had been, thank Heaven, not the slightest sign of pursuit from Stargorod, and that other way of life and its dangers already seemed vague and unreal. There were more immediate perils now. Maria glanced about. It had been full summer when they'd arrived. The weather was still warm, but now that she studied it, the forest all about them did seem to be already slipping past that last, lush peak of growth. And what happens when the weather turns chill? Fighting down the increasingly familiar ache of fear, Maria forced herself to concentrate only on what they had managed to accomplish so far. They'd made good use of the wood salvaged from the ruined outbuildings. The roof was at last reasonably rain-proof, though replacing the shingles had proven to be even more tedious, lengthy, and perilous than Danilo had predicted, particularly since he'd had to spend so much time perched atop the house. There was a reasonably secure stall for Brownie, a pen for the one aging pig Danilo had been able to buy in the village, and a ramshackle enclosure for chickens. Maria smiled faintly, thinking that for a time it had seemed they were feeding every fox in the forest on those stupid birds‑Damn! They were out again! «Oh, Lissa, you forgot to latch the gate again.»

«I hate those chickens! They're smelly and disgusting — "

«You like the eggs well enough.» Maria was busy catching up the foolish creatures, which didn't put up more than a token struggle, and dumping them back over the fence; not bothering to use their stubby wings, they landed like so many plump, feathered rocks and promptly set about scratching peacefully in the dirt of their pen. «Lissa, if you don't want to tend the chickens, take care of the pig instead.»

«Oh, but he's so big and ugly!»

«Then don't look at him! Curse it all, Lissa, I can't do everything around here!»

«Maria!» It was Danilo, returning from the hunt, spear over his shoulder, a brace of rabbits dangling down his back. «Don't talk to your sister like that!»

«But — "

He'd reached her side, whispering, «You know how delicate she is! She can't stand hardships.»

Maria wanted to shout, And I can? But she was too painfully aware of how drawn her father's face had be‑come, of the guilt and shame radiating from him—that he should have brought his daughters down into this—and Maria contented herself with saying, half choking on suppressed frustration, «The snares worked, I see.»

The year was turning, all too swiftly, towards winter. The forest fairly blazed with color, a wild tapestry of birch‑leaf gold and oak‑leaf copper picked out in threads of somber larch-green, all beneath a sky clear and sharp as blue enamel. The air was crisp enough to hurt the lungs and dazzle the mind.

If one had time to let the mind be dazzled.

Driven by terror, the exiles prepared for the coming ordeal of winter as best they could, wasting few moments on unnecessary speech, caulking the chinks between the logs of their house with mud and moss, setting racks of meat‑deer and rabbit—to dry, piling up turnips, carrots, the grain they'd bought in the village, in every spare corner of the house and barn. There was no time to spend in soothing the fears of Vasilissa, who grew more housebound and afraid with every shortening day. But though she still sensed demons everywhere beyond the charmed ring of their palisade, she could at least be useful, pickling cabbage or beets, though at times she sobbed with fright into the mixture over Things only she could see.

Maria went on wider and wider expeditions into the forest as the days grew short, hunting nuts, fruit, anything edible, anything that might last the length of the winter, hardly aware of the forest except as a source of potential food. Akh, and of firewood, wood to keep them warm and alive… Unable to coax Vasilissa out with her, she foraged alone for dead branches and twigs, dragging them back in an old shawl, while Danilo used their one precious axe to join with the villagers in cutting down dead trees; neither he nor Maria saw anything at all incongruous in the once proud boyar coming back triumphant because he'd managed to gather a whole wagonload of wood.

They'd been putting off the matter of the pig for as long as possible. «It's no good," said Danilo at last. «We can't carry him through the winter. And we need the meat.»

«Can't we just call in the butcher?» Vasilissa asked without thinking, then added softly, «Oh.» Her eyes widened at the thought; her face paled. And suddenly, hands over mouth, she was running out to their rickety outhouse.

«So much for Lissa as pig-slayer," Maria said.

Later, she regretted that feeling of smug superiority. Neither Danilo nor she had the vaguest idea of how to kill a pig. After a long and horrifying struggle, Danilo finally managed to brain the madly squealing beast with a club, and cut its throat. Maria grimly held a basin to catch the blood, telling herself it was precious food, thinking of blood puddings, sausages. She steeled herself to watch the full basin.

And then she too was hurrying off to be sick.

Still the winter came on, tearing the last leaves from the trees, leaving the trunks and branches dour and lonely in the long twilights and chill nights. Vasilissa cried out to find the water frozen in the washbasin one morning, and she and Maria went frantically over the garden one more time, trying to glean the last turnip from the freezing soil. At last Maria straightened, shivering through thick layers of clothing.

«That's it, Lissa. There's no more any of us can do now. Except wait.»

«And pray," her sister added softly.

The forest lay quietly under the snow, bearing about it an air of tranquility and deadliness, making Maria think of some alien creature well aware of the presence of three little humans, well able to destroy them, but simply not caring enough to make the effort. Stay out in cold sharp enough to shatter a knife, she told herself, and the creature would most certainly strike to kill.

There was nothing for the three of them to do now, save see to Brownie, secure and shaggy in his dense winter fur, and to those chickens weather-wise enough to stay huddled together, safe within their coop. The days grew short and crisp, with air that froze the lungs, long nights filled with distant wolf-song. And all at once there was time, too much time, long spans of huddling before the stove and staring blankly into the fire, or mending clothes that had been mended twenty times over, or checking and rechecking the stores that were already dwindling—they were get-ting heartily sick of turnips and smoked pork, and beginning to dream about fresh fish, sweet cakes, precious salt—and conversation.

For a while Maria tried to entertain the three of them with storytelling and the music of her sweet-stringed gusla. But words seemed out of place in the heavy winter silence, and music thin and unbearably lonely.

They'd long ago lost track of the calendar, making one half-hearted attempt to celebrate what they estimated must be Yuletide, but slowly they lost interest in measuring the count of days, resigned as any animals. As the painful time dragged on, day into night, night into day, Vasilissa shrank so much into herself that Maria had nightmares of her never being able to reenter the living world. Didn't her father see what was happening?

But Danilo, reacting in his own way to the boredom and the fear, was lost in the memory of the injustice done him. The firelight made his brooding face look alien, cruel. Maria shuddered, and deliberately picked fights with Vasilissa, as much to stir her sister's blood as to help Maria hold to her own sanity, and prayed for the winter to end. But no one seemed to hear her.