The Shining Falcon

Chapter XLII Lesielo

Giggling, Marfa scurried down the narrow forest path, hearing Stefan laughing and panting somewhere behind her. Of course, she didn't plan to run too fast! She had no intention of outpacing him, not with those lovely thoughts of capture and delicious surrender dancing in her mind. As an old married couple of nearly a year, they were supposed to be somberly working in forest and garden, not cavorting about like a couple of spring‑mad deer‑didn't she, after all, have her hair coiled up on her head in a married woman's braids? But you couldn't be expected to be serious all the time, not when you were young and alive and—

Marfa stumbled to a stop. «Stefan! Stefan, come here. Hurry!»

By the time he caught up to her, she was kneeling beside the crumpled form. «Marfa, what— A woman! But she isn't from the village… Is she dead?»

«N-no. But she's all bruised and scratched, and I think she's got a touch of fever.» Marfa glanced earnestly up at her young husband. «Oh, Stefan, we've got to get the poor thing to shelter right away!»

She ached. Mind and body, she ached, and her throat was so painfully dry that when she tried to groan, no sound came out. But this wasn't the hard forest floor, surely.

Maria opened her eyes in bewilderment, to find a bright-eyed young woman staring down at her. «Where… ?»

«Don't worry. You're safe, now. You're in our house, in the village.» The young woman was cradling her head, letting her drink something that was cool and herbal and very soothing. «There, now. That's better.»

Maria attempted a smile, and drifted right back into sleep.

It was early morning when she awoke, and Maria blinked in confusion, trying to straighten time out in her mind. Had she actually slept through the day? It seemed very possible. At least she felt better now, less weary, less filled with despair.

Warily, she sat up. Sore muscles complained, but the ache wasn't anything she couldn't bear, and after a moment, Maria gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed-

«Akh, be careful!»

It was the bright-eyed young woman, small and pretty, who'd given her something to drink. Maria frowned, trying to remember… «You were the one who found me, weren't you? I mean, in the forest.»

The young woman nodded. «I almost stepped on you. Nearly scared the life out of me! Thought you were dead-no, don't try to stand up yet!»

«I'm all right now, really.» Maria stretched carefully, wincing at bruises, trying with fierce determination not to think about who had caused them, or of his fate. Instead, she glanced about, finding herself in a small, clean one-room house that reminded her of the farm of her family's exile. Nothing they'd had there, though, had been as lovingly carved and painted as these chairs and table and — «I've pushed you out of your own bed, haven't I?» Maria asked contritely, and the other woman gave her a quick grin.

«It's all right. You needed it more than we did. Besides, it was… kind of fun, Stefan and I snuggling on the floor by the fire!» She blushed. «We… haven't been married all that long, you see. Akh, but here I am, keeping you standing with nothing more than a shift on you! Wait, now…» She rummaged about in a chest for a bit, then came up with Maria's pack. «The clothes you had on-Well, I did my best to wash 'em and mend 'em, but…»

Maria shuddered. «That's quite all right. I… don't want them back.»

The other was looking at her in sudden sympathy. «It was a man tore 'em like that, yes? And gave you those bruises, too? He didn't, ah‑I mean… You know what I mean. He didn't — "

«Rape me?» Maria finished bluntly. «No.» Seeing the unease on the young woman's face, she added, «He wasn't one of your village men, either; you don't have to worry about that. And, at any rate, he's… dead.»

«Well, good! Yes, I mean it! Anyone tried that with me, I'd have the pitchfork in him, or—or the butcher knife!» The small, fierce thing nodded in satisfaction. «That's it! He'd be singing all the high notes in the choir when I was finished with him!» She stopped in sudden dismay. «Oh, now, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to start you crying!»

«I'm not!» Maria gasped between bursts of giggles. «Singing—singing all the high notes, indeed! Thank you! I—I haven't had too much to laugh at lately.» Sobering, she added, «But I'm forgetting my manners. I am…» She stopped at the last moment, remembering caution, and finished lamely, «Maria.»

The other woman merely nodded. Peasant she might be, as her accent and surroundings proclaimed, but that didn't make her either stupid or tactless. «And I'm Marfa. My husband, as you've heard me say, is Stefan. And our village is called Lesielo, and it's under the» — she stumbled over the unfamiliar word — «sovereignty of Finist, Prince of Kirtesk.»

Suddenly Maria's legs wouldn't support her. «Finist. Oh, God, Finist… Am I finally near Kirtesk?»

Marfa was watching her with bright-eyed curiosity. «I knew you were more than you seemed!» she said triumphantly. «What with that pretty silver necklace, and your fine way of speaking‑I knew it!»

«Marfa…»

«Don't worry, I won't betray your secret. Whatever it is.» The last was said with a good deal of hope. But when

Maria said nothing, Maria continued, «Oh, but I shouldn't speak too lightly of our Prince. Not with him being so ill and — "

«Ill! What do you mean? Marfa, please, tell me!»

The peasant woman stared at her in astonishment. «Hey, now, gently! We don't get much news from Kirtesk, here in the forest. But a peddler told us poor Prince Finist flew back from who knows where—you did know he can change his shape? Into a beautiful, shining falcon?»

«Yes, of course. Please, Marfa, go on!»

«Well, he came flying back maybe a month, a month and a half ago, with gashes all over him. His cousin is tending him, the Lady Ljuba — "

«Ljuba!» That was the name of Finist's dangerous kinswoman. Dear God, when Alexei was raving about the woman «with Power, true Power," that could only have been Ljuba, too! That means she knows about me! That means—she wants me dead!

Maria froze in stunned horror at the realization. Sorcery, aimed directly at her… But if Ljuba had been able to strike her down, surely the woman wouldn't have needed the dubious aid of a madman. Surely that meant Maria was safe, as long as she stayed in the protection of the forest.

But I can't stay here forever! Her journey cross‑country had plainly used up at least a month already. I've got to get to Finist! What am I going to do?

«Maria?» Marfa asked warily. «Are you all right?»

«I—Oh, yes, of course. Please, go on.»

«Well, uh, the Lady Ljuba is something of a sorceress herself, but whatever she's doing isn't working too well, because Prince Finist is supposed to be…I'm sorry, but he's supposed to be burning up with fever, and no one knows for sure if he's going to live.»

«No, that can't be — "

«Uh… there's more. The Lady Ljuba is his Regent, since he's too sick to rule. And she…» Marfa hesitated, looking about warily. «She's not like our Prince; she's a real tyrant. And she's gotten herself betrothed to Prince Finist—but he said some sort of spell, and now she can't marry him until—until she manages to wash the bloodstains out of his caftan—easy, now! Don't faint!»

«I'm not about to faint," Maria said grimly. «Marfa, you and your people love the prince, don't you?»

«Saints above, yes! Stefan and I in particular! He-he saved us, you see, saved us from something that—well, never mind. We'd do anything for him, anything.» She hesitated, then added defiantly, «Not like for that… treacherous Lady! She's got to be treacherous! If she were so good, why'd our Prince put such a spell on her, eh?» Her eyes were suddenly very serious. «You love him, don't you? Not as subjects love their ruler, no, as—as woman loves man. Please, don't try to deny it. It's clear as sunlight on your face. So. I'm not asking who you really are, name or rank or anything. But if I were you, I wouldn't risk going straight to Kirtesk, not with that jealous sorceress waiting.»

«What other choice do I have? Marfa, it's true, I do love him. And the thought of Finist in such terrible peril — "

«Whoa, now. I'm not saying you should just give up.»

«What are you suggesting?»

«Did you ever hear of Prince Vasili? No? He's Prince Finist's uncle. And though he went into a monastery years ago‑I guess so he wouldn't confuse the line of succession or something like that‑it's said the royal magic runs in his veins, too. Go to him; he's a kind, saintly man. Who knows? Maybe he'll have some sort of counterspell that'll make the lady just» — she made a shooing gesture — «slink away.»

Maria hesitated. How wonderful it would be to be able to turn to someone magical for help… «But if he's a monk — "

«Well, as a monk, he'd be sworn to combat evil, wouldn't he? Surely he can help you—and our Prince!»

«Akh, but it's been so long already. And Kirtesk is so close.»

«Not as close as all that. Look you, it takes a good fortnight to get to Kirtesk from here, and that's riding, not walking. It takes only a week maybe, not much more, to get to the monastery. We'll lend you a horse, I promise.

And if the magician‑monk can help you, you haven't wasted any time at all, have you?»

«Marfa, I—Thank you!»

«Don't be thanking me just yet, not till all is well. But when it is‑do be reminding our Prince of Marfa and Stefan… Stefan, the—the wolf. Oh, but you can't be meaning to leave right away!»

«I can.» Maria's hand went to the silver necklace. «If Finist is as ill as you say, I can't afford to wait another moment.»