The Shining Falcon

Chapter XXIX Demons

The crow, bearing a small vial in its claws, squirmed and struggled its way through the missing slat in the locked shutters barring the window, let the vial fall, and smoothly transformed back into golden Ljuba, a bit breathless, but smiling a small, contented smile.

Did the old fool really think he could keep her captive?

Ljuba's smile thinned. All this time, she'd been acting the docile, resigned, helpless lady, and so far, the act had worked well enough. Let Semyon believe he had her imprisoned in the inner chambers of her own palace. Granted, she had no way to unlock the iron chains with which he'd had the shutters of her windows fastened. But quiet, patient pryings had worked loose that slat, letting her pull it out or fit it back into place as she would. As long as she could continue to change to crow-shape and squeeze through the narrow opening, she was hardly a captive.

Of course, Ljuba reminded herself, replacing the slat, she still had to be wary of the chains. Iron was a perilous metal even for someone with only weak magic in her blood. Her avian true-shape wouldn't be affected by accidental contact, but catch a wing or claw in a chain and her Power would be bound, too; if she couldn't free herself by simple struggling, she'd be left hanging ignominiously till someone thought to rescue her. Worse, if she tore feathers or skin on the iron, she would almost certainly damage her will or her Powers.

For the moment, that wasn't a problem. Right now, she wasn't interested in escaping.

Ljuba had been cautious enough to bar the door before removing the slat and taking flight; this time there would be no unwelcome intrusions. Kneeling, she pulled back one of the rich carpets covering the floor, then spilled the contents of the vial she'd brought from her experiment-room—a room from which Semyon thought he had barred her—onto the smooth marble. Eyes shut, the young woman concentrated, calming her mind, cooling her thoughts… She spoke a few cold, careful words, and felt the Power stir…

Ljuba looked down at her handiwork: the potion had frozen to a smooth sheet of ice. It would melt of its own accord soon enough, leaving nothing but a trace of dampness for prying Semyon to find, but for now, it formed as fine a mirror as anyone could want. Carefully, she began to concentrate, and saw the icy surface grey, then clear. Gently, now, gently…

There he was, there was Finist, and with him, that young woman‑Maria Danilovna. Ljuba stared at them both intently, and what she saw was…

Love‑clear, strong, shining love.

«No…» It was an involuntary moan. «Akh, no…»

But there it was, no denying it. Finist did love this Maria, she loved him, there was no room at all for Ljuba…

And why should that hurt? Why should she care? For a bewildered moment, Ljuba didn't know herself at all. She trembled on the verge of something new, something wondrous…

Something weak. Something stupid and useless and weak. Recoiling in self‑disgust, frightened at how near she'd come to losing precious control, Ljuba forced out as ugly an oath as she could find, taking fierce joy in the vileness of it.

Fool, fool! Just because he was the first man in God knows when to be gentle in your bed, there's no reason to wail like some stupid girl bemoaning the loss of her virginity! He's your road to power, no more, no less.

It was a long time before she could force herself to believe that. But at last, staring into the icy mirror, Ljuba managed to calm her mind till she could watch almost dispassionately. Soon she saw Finist fly angrily away. But what was this? She sensed someone else's triumph at that. Not the sobbing Maria, but someone akin, closely akin… Delicately, Ljuba widened her scan and found Vasilissa.

«Why, you little fool!» Ljuba told her contemptuously. «Don't you realize this is only a lovers' spat? Don't you realize he'll be back?»

Wait, now… Idiot indeed, this young woman, weak and fragile of mind. Ljuba could sense the uneasy workings of that mind even from here, feeling how it teemed with old fears, old superstitions…

«So very fearful," Ljuba said slowly. «So ready to believe almost anything, anything at all… So willing to be led.»

The young woman licked her lips thoughtfully, a cat considering potential prey.

Vasilissa awoke with a start. Someone was calling her name. The demon? Had the demon returned for revenge?

No, this was surely a woman's voice, sweet and warm and loving. Bewildered, Lissa pulled aside the bed curtain, and gasped.

There, shimmering and faint as heat-haze, a woman stood. Woman? This radiant being was surely more than that, this being with the waterfall of golden hair and the beautiful face and the rich, glittering, golden robes…

«An angel," breathed Vasilissa. Hastily she stumbled from bed and fell reverently to her knees. «Are you an angel?»

«I am… Call me a messenger," said the shining being. «Come to tell you how to save your sister.»

Vasilissa drew in her breath sharply. «But she's already safe! The demon is gone!»

«Gone, Vasilissa, but not banished. He will return.»

«No!»

«Do you doubt me, child? Do you dare?»

«Oh, no, I didn't mean any discourtesy! I only meant — "

«Come, child, enough. Would you save Maria's soul?»

Her soul!» gasped Vasilissa. «Of course I would!

«Listen, then…»

Please, tell me what I must do!» The golden being smiled faintly.

Ljuba broke contact with a gasp of exhaustion, falling full‑length on the floor. Ugh, but the melting potion was cold and slimy! With a little cry of disgust, the young woman wearily dragged herself to her feet, and collapsed onto her bed. Lying there, staring up at the embroidered canopy, she began to laugh.

The little idiot had thought her an angel, and believed her every word! But would she be able to carry out her instructions properly? Ljuba's laughter faded. All at once she found herself shaking with a chill that had nothing to do with the physical. What if the stupid girl went too far? What if, in her zeal, Vasilissa decided to act on her own, or tried something too dangerous, or—

Stop this! Ljuba snapped at herself. It would work, of course it would! She didn't dare start doubting now. It would work, and Finist would be hers.

But… if it failed…

Ljuba groaned in dawning horror. If her plan failed, she might just have given what amounted to Finist's death sentence.

I've got to stop her!

Struggling to her feet, Ljuba tried again and again to restore the mental link with Vasilissa, tried till her head ached and her body shook with exhaustion. But it was useless; she hadn't the strength. Whether she willed it or not, her plan had been set into motion.

She wouldn't weep anymore, Maria told herself fiercely. Yesterday had been… yesterday, and though she ached to recall the words she'd said in anger, the past wasn't to be changed. Tonight she'd sit here in her bed‑chamber, and hope—no, she would believe that Finist would forgive and return. Together, they'd find a way out, a way that would see Danilo yielding to them, and letting them wed. «Wed," Maria said softly. «Wed to Finist…» That he was a prince did give her pause, just a bit, and the fact that she'd be a princess in a city foreign to her.

But she could endure anything, adapt to anything, with Finist at her side. And at any rate, as a boyar's daughter, she'd been trained to accept that someday she would marry a noble who would almost certainly be a stranger to her, who might take her away to foreign lands. Who just might turn out to hate and abuse her… Maria shivered at the thought. Wonderful, to think of Finist as her husband instead—warm, kind, loving Finist…

Why was I such a fool? When he asked me to wed him, why didn't I just fling myself into his arms? Why, oh why did I send him away? She bit down on her lip, hard. He must return to me. Dear Heaven, he must!

He'd been flying for what seemed an eternity, right through the night and the next day, pausing only to snatch a dove on the wing—as falcon, he wasn't squeamish about raw food—flying on till sheer wing-weariness drained the anger from him.

Akh, Maria, why was I such a fool? Why did I pressure you like that? Why didn't I give you more time to think things through? The prince stabbed his talons fiercely into the branch on which he perched. I can't leave it like this! God, no, I've got to go back!

Wings spread, Finist leaped into the air once more.

Maria started violently as someone knocked on the door to her bed‑chamber, thinking for one wild moment, Finist! But that was ridiculous, he'd have no need for a door.

«Maria? Are you still awake?»

«Lissa!» Maria cast one last, longing glance at the window and the empty night sky beyond, then sighed and went to open the door to her sister. «Lissa, love, what is it? What's wrong?»

The young woman was virtually shaking with tension, but she blurted out, almost defiantly, «Nothing! Why should anything be wrong?»

«Akh, Lissa. What is it? The foul dreams again?»

«No, I—I just couldn't sleep, and I thought I'd see if you were awake, too. See, I—I had the servants prepare us some warm milk. I thought we could drink it together, the way we used to do when we were children.»

Gigglings and gossipings and childish secrets… fragments of warm memory raced through Maria's mind, and she smiled faintly. Although warm milk was the last thing she wanted right now, the young woman said gently, «Of course, love. Come, sit here beside me.»

Lissa had poured the milk into two goblets. «To happiness," she toasted diffidently.

«To happiness," Maria echoed willingly, and drank. She stopped, puzzled. Lissa, who'd been watching her intently, straightened.

«What's wrong, Maria? Is it too sweet?»

«Not sweet enough! Are you sure this milk is fresh?»

«Oh, it is, it is! Look, I've brought honey to sweeten it… There. Is that better?»

She looked so concerned that Maria could only sigh and drain the goblet. «There, now. Finish yours, and we'll… I'll…»

«Maria?»

«Odd… Suddenly I'm so sleepy! I… can't seem to…»

«Hush, dear.» Vasilissa was moving around her, helping her out of her clothing and into bed. «Sleep, Maria, sleep well.»

«This—this is… silly… I…»

But she couldn't fight the heavy tide a moment longer. Her eyes closed, and Maria let the dark ocean sweep over her…

For a long while, Vasilissa stood frozen, staring, heart pounding. Dear Heaven, was Maria all right? Was she breathing regularly?

«Yes…»

It was a sigh of relief. She'd never prepared a sleeping potion before; that sort of thing was usually Maria's task. She hadn't been quite sure the dosage had been correct. Yes, and then, when Maria had questioned the taste of the drugged milk… Vasilissa had been all but ready to confess, to beg her sister's pardon. But somehow she'd managed to hold out.

Of course she had: Maria's soul was at stake. And for Maria's sake, she would be brave. Suddenly obsessed with a need for haste, Vasilissa let her goblet fall and snatched up the bundle she'd brought. Oh, but the angel would be so proud of her! The angel had wanted her to use simple nails set in wood, barely enough to tear at the demon's skin. She'd sworn the bite of cold iron would be enough to confuse his mind and magic, and make him flee back to his demonic home.

Vasilissa smiled. How much more effective would the demon-trap be since she'd used, instead of petty little furniture nails, good, strong spikes, horseshoe nails, stolen from the estate's stables? With one last glance at her deeply sleeping sister, the young woman hurried to the window and began to prepare. Maria's window was the exact same size as the one in her own bedroom; she had been able to work out the precise measurements she needed, and had even had a chance to try this out once there already.

There. It was done. The window was barred by a crisscross of wood, laths studded with horseshoe nails and jammed crosswise into the frame, the iron spikes pointing out into the night, invisible in the darkness. Vasilissa gathered up all traces of her visit, took one last, lingering glance at Maria, then stole quietly out of the room. Soon she would know if she'd succeeded. Soon she'd know if Maria was safe and the demon banished—forever.

It was a strange time to come visiting, Finist admitted to himself, past the midnight hour, nearer to morning than tonight. But Maria just might still be awake… At any rate, he didn't think he could bear to wait a whole day through till the next nightfall to straighten out things between them.

Danilo's estate crouched like some vaguely seen sleeping beast in the moonless darkness, and even with his falcon-keen vision, Finist had to strain to pick out the shape of Maria's window. But there it was, and he wasn't going to waste a moment more! Finist soared silently towards the window on outspread wings, planning a smooth swoop that would—

No, something was wrong! He sensed a wave of hatred, the cruel, cold blaze of iron. Frantically, Finist tried to pull out of his dive, but it was already too late. He cried out his pain as iron tore into him. For a terrible moment, he thought he'd been fatally impaled; then, desperate, he managed to wrench himself free. Wild with agony, bright feathers stained and torn, Finist fought to stay airborne. The iron, the cold, burning iron, beat at his mind, driving away clear thought, driving away humanity. No longer rational, the falcon gave one last, despairing mental cry:

Maria! Maria, save me! Kirtesk— Seek Me‑My love! Save me!

And then he lost all hold on his human self. The wounded falcon flew wildly away, lashed by pain, knowing only that it must reach safety, it must reach home, home!