The Shining Falcon

Chapter XLV Earth Magic

The forest was all about her, dark, terrible, in the moonless night. The air hung heavy and still, stifling with the smell of rotting vegetation—

The forest was all about her, waiting …

Her magic had fled, she couldn't recall even the simplest spell. And what was that strange stirring, that creaking… ? The trees were moving. Slowly, terribly, they were closing in about her—

Crushing her.

Ljuba came starkly awake, trembling, heart racing. Again, these dreams, these terrible dreams— Night after night, always about the forest, always ending with forest‑demons slaying her, painfully, horribly.

Forcing herself under control, Ljuba got to her feet. She'd had her bed moved into Finist's quarters so that she might always keep an eye on him in his illness, and now she stood grimly over him.

Look at him, sleeping so peacefully, as though nothing is wrong. Ljuba clenched her fists in frustration. Damn you, cousin! I don't know how you're doing this, but these dreams can only be your sendings!

Enough. She was foolishly letting him drive her to the brink of hysteria, instead of concentrating on her plan to stop him. Oh, it was a dangerous sorcery she meant to try, no denying it. But if it worked—no, when it worked— the sendings would stop. Tonight she would—

Tonight? Blinking, Ljuba saw that light was shining through cracks in the closed shutters. Morning already, and in a moment her servants would be entering to dress her. Right now, she was in no condition for any of them! Reluctantly, Ljuba murmured the twisting phrase of a restorative spell, sighing with relief to feel new strength flooding through her. It was a false strength, she knew, and she would pay for it later, but for now…

For now she would cope.

It was the day when all folk could bring their petitions before their prince—or, in this case, before his Regent. Ljuba eyed them all with distaste, wondering why Semyon hadn't just cancelled the whole thing. Trying to make her look bad? After all, the old fool hated her, he knew it and she knew it, for all the mask of courtesy. And she'd had trouble with him already, arguments about her policies, about her ways of doing things. When she had challenged him, he'd turned a meek face on her and murmured something about her being Regent, only Regent…

One of these days, Semyon, you're going to go too far. And then …

Ljuba sat sharply erect, recognizing those in the front of the crowd. Damn! It must be Semyon's doing—these were the messengers from Stargorod. And this time he knew she had no excuse not to hear them out.

Haven't I? Angrily, she got to her feet. «It is time for me to return to tend our Prince. I declare this audience at an end!»

«But lady…»

How had the fool guards let them approach this closely? «I said the audience is at an end. Now stand aside!»

«Lady, please. We're sorry to hear of Prince Finist's illness. But we only wish to know whether our master's daughter is here. Her name is Maria Danilovna, and — "

Out of the corner of her eye, Ljuba saw Semyon start. «No!» she snapped, fighting down a wave of panic. «I know nothing of her.»

«Are you sure? She was headed this way, her father's been so worried— Please, lady, are you sure?»

Without warning, the false strength drained from her.

Dizzy, shaking, furious, Ljuba forgot all caution and snapped, «She's dead! What more do you want? The girl died in the forest. Now get out of here!»

She hurried off toward the prince's quarters—but Semyon moved to block her path. His eyes were quite unreadable.

«How did you know?»

«What do you mean, old man? Get out of my way!»

«You said, 'She died in the forest.' How would you know that?»

«Don't try to question me! Stand aside, or I — "

«You couldn't have known she was dead. You couldn't even have recognized the name Maria Danilovna—a girl you'd never met—unless… you killed her.»

She should have challenged him, she should have laughed him away as mad, but Ljuba, shaken by the quiet horror on his face, could say nothing at first, nothing at all. Then she said, very softly, «A dangerous accusation, old man," and felt a surge of Power within her. It would be so simple, a psychic clenching of his heart… He was old, after all, no one would suspect…

Semyon must have known his peril. But he said, almost calmly, «There is a scroll stored in the royal chapel, its location known only to one priest. If I should die mysteriously, that scroll shall be read…»

He let his words trail off suggestively. Fuming, Ljuba stared, seeing nothing but bland self‑control on his face, unable to get past that smooth, practiced facade. Despite herself, she was shaken, wondering… Was this only some desperate bluff? He couldn't know about Finist, and the potion—but what other hold could Semyon possibly have over her? What evidence might he have been able to collect?

After a moment or two of tense silence, Ljuba bit her lip in frustrated rage. Damn him, he'd overmatched her; she dared not call his bluff. Her authority was shaky enough. The slightest bit of scandal, and farewell Regency, farewell hopes of power.

«I think," said Ljuba carefully, fighting to keep her voice steady, «that it might be best for you if you were to retire. Are we in agreement?»

He looked as though he was aching to argue. But Semyon evidently realized he'd best not push an angry magician too far, and yielded.

«You understand, lady, that my estate lies within the city walls.»

«I don't care where you go, old man! I just want you gone from here!»

«So be it. Lady, you shall have my written resignation by midafternoon.»

«I shall be expecting it," said Ljuba flatly. «Now get out of my sight!»

Semyon bowed in reluctant obedience as Ljuba swept by, then straightened slowly, painfully, a storm of rage behind the practiced blandness of his face. Curse her! After all the long years of service, to be casually thrown aside by that fickle, malicious child!

That sorcerous child.

Damn it, why did I try to challenge her?

If only he'd kept his mouth shut! Maybe Ljuba did have something to do with the death of poor Maria, but such things could have been settled when Finist recovered. Now it was too late. Words spoken couldn't be unspoken, and now he must leave the palace—and Finist.

Akh, Finist! As long as I was still within the palace, you had at least one loyal protector, old and worn though I may be. Now …

But surely Ljuba wouldn't hurt her own cousin.

«Or, rather," murmured Semyon with more than a touch of cynicism, «she wouldn't hurt her one real hope for genuine power!»

Would she… ?

But the guards were eyeing him with wary, sympathetic glances—sympathetic glances that certainly wouldn't stop them from following their Regent's orders. Rather than suffer the shame of being formally thrown out of the palace, Semyon gave them the curtest of bows, and left.

Midnight: The chamber was small and dark and window‑less, there beneath Ljuba's palace, almost featureless, the door bolted fast by iron and magic both. And in the center of the room, within a circle marked—for those who could see it—by glowing lines of force, Ljuba stood, naked, trembling more from exertion than cold, her golden hair a long wild mass clinging to skin glistening with perspiration there in the candlelight.

As always, it had been a struggle to form the circle properly, to hold the mystic forces properly in place. But now it was complete, the correct scrolls were open before her, the correct items stood on the small table beside the scroll-stand, all of them properly aligned to the four directions. There was no reason to delay.

No reason save fear. There on the table was the object of her magic, no great or terrible thing, just a small pin such as a woman might use to hold back her hair, nothing frightening at all. But that pin was made of iron. Pure, cold, magic-hating iron.

And Ljuba didn't know whether she had the strength to work with iron. If she failed, even for a moment, and the force of it broke free…

She would be dead so quickly she'd feel nothing. And no magic at all could be worked through a fog of self‑doubt! Ljuba set about casting her mind inward and inward… calming… calming…

Cool-eyed, she began. Stretching out her hand to the eastward item, a candle red as flame, Ljuba murmured, «Svarozits, hear my call," dimly aware that the force she invoked had once been a god of the old, pagan days. «Svarozits, Lord of Fire, hear my call.»

The candle burst into flame at her touch.

«Svarozits, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this candle burns, so shall this iron pin burn Finist's will. In your name, be it!»

Too soon to tell if her charm was working. Quickly Ljuba reached out a hand to the southern item, a clod of dark, fertile earth.

«Syra, hear my call. Syra, Lady of Earth, hear my call.»

She crumbled the earthen clod, let it sift to the chamber's floor.

«Syra, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this earth covers the floor, so shall this iron pin bury Finist's will. In your name, be it!»

Odd; the air within the circle seemed to be growing so close, so heavy, making her eyes burn. Ljuba wiped a hasty hand across them to try to clear them, then reached out for the third item, the westward item, a small bowl of water.

«Vodyankoi, hear my call. Vodyankoi, Lord of Water, hear my call.»

Slowly she poured out the water.

«Vodyankoi, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this water falls, so shall this iron pin drown Finist's will. In your name, be it!»

Akh, the air was heavy, making her head ache, making her lungs labor, making it difficult to remember the next step… How she longed for sleep. She wanted nothing so much in all the world as to sleep… but she dared not. If the charm were left unfinished, if the Power was roused but not controlled, she might as well slit her throat here and now and be done with it. Grimly determined, Ljuba reached out to the last item, the northern item, one shining feather lost by Finist in falcon-form.

«Perun, hear my call. Perun, Lord of Sky and Wind and Storm, hear my call.»

With a sharp Word, she hurled the feather from her. It whirled about and about as though caught in the heart of the wind.

«Perun, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this feather is conquered by the wind, so shall this iron pin conquer Finist's will! In your name, be it!»

Hot, it was so hot, stifling, dry heat—the iron! The power of the iron was aroused. She must bind it—now.

«By Fire, Earth, Water, Air I bind you! By the Power of Day and Night I bind you! By—by the — " She couldn't think. There was wild, terrible pressure on her mind, on her body, crushing her.

Savage with determination, with pain, Ljuba shouted,

«By the Power of Light and Dark I bind you! By the power of my will you must yield to me! By the Power of my will—you are mine!»

The force of magic, the force of iron, whirled up in one great, silent explosion. Ljuba had time for a sharp, anguished scream-Then she knew nothing more.

Aching, groaning, Ljuba forced her heavy eyelids open, forced an unresponsive body to its knees. The circle had burst wide open in the explosion of raw Power: Shreds of her scrolls and splinters of the table littered the floor, and the walls were darkened with scorching. Shaking, she glanced down at herself, half expecting some hideous, dying ruin. But she seemed whole; the magic she'd conjured had flung itself out and away from her. And the iron pin? Ljuba reached out for it with a trembling hand, seeing it glowing red with heat. But as she gingerly touched it, the heat drained away.

She had done it. The magic was complete—and now Finist would be hers.

Shaking with exhaustion, Ljuba struggled to her feet, wearily pulling her caftan about herself. Soon the pin would be in place. Soon she'd be able to sleep.

Finist stirred as she approached him. Amber eyes opened, too bright, too mocking. «You… don't give up… do you?» It was a painful whisper of sound. «Poor cousin… never have real power, never… Never break my binding…»

«I shall," she hissed.

«Shall you?» he taunted with feverish glee. «Have you washed the bloodstains from my caftan? No? Then you shall never wed me, cousin! Never have the throne of Kirtesk!»

Enough of this! Ljuba stabbed the iron pin into the shining locks of his hair, feeling him tense with the shock, then collapse into deep, mindless slumber.

«So, cousin.» Ljuba smoothed his hair back to hide the pin. «No more defiance. No more taunts. No more disturbing my dreams!»

She managed to reach her own bed before collapsing, sinking immediately into a well of sleep.

But…

Eyes were watching her in her slumber‑mocking, inhuman eyes. A voice, the whisper of wind on leaves, laughed softly.

«Did you think to escape so easily? You have roused the forest's wrath, oh woman! You have harmed a forest-friend and threatened the forest—you shall never know peace again! Sleep well, oh woman! Sleep while yet you can!»

And Ljuba awoke with a start, head pounding, aching for sleep, alone and afraid and at last despairing.