She was silent. Dmitrii waited. Sasha watched the light on the grass where the golden mare grazed and wondered at the look on his sister’s face.
Slowly, Vasya said, “I want a promise. But not just from you. From Father Sergei as well.”
Puzzled but not unwilling, Dmitrii said, “Then we will go to him in the morning.”
Vasya shook her head. “I am sorry—I would spare his years—but it must be here. And quickly.”
“Why here?” Dmitrii asked sharply. “And why now?”
“Because,” said Vasya, “it is midnight, there is no time to waste, and I am not the only one who must hear what he says.”
SASHA WENT, GALLOPING ON his gray Tuman, and not long after he led Father Sergei into the clearing. The moon hung strange and still in the sky. Vasya, waiting for her brother, wondered if Sasha knew that she had caught the four of them in Midnight until she chose to ride on—or go to sleep. But there was no sleep for her yet, that night.
While they waited for Sasha, she and Dmitrii sat around her sinking fire, passing a skin back and forth, talking low-voiced.
“Where do you get your fine horses?” Dmitrii asked her. “First the bay and now this one.” He was eyeing Pozhar covetously. The golden mare laid back her ears and sidled away.
Vasya said drily, “She understands you, Gosudar. I didn’t get her from anywhere; she chose to bear me. If you want to win the allegiance of a horse like her, you would have to go questing through darkness, across three times nine realms; I suggest you concern yourself with your own beleaguered country first.”
Dmitrii looked undeterred. He had his mouth open on more questions. Vasya rose hastily when the monks appeared, and crossed herself. “Father bless,” she said.
“May the Lord bless you,” said the old monk.
Vasya took a deep breath and told them what she wanted.
Sergei was silent for a long time afterward, and Sasha and the prince watched him, frowning.
“They are wicked,” said Sergei at last. “They are the unclean forces of the earth.”
“Men are also wicked,” Vasya returned passionately. “And good, and everything in between. Chyerti are, just as men are, just as the earth herself is. Chyerti are sometimes wise and sometimes foolish, sometimes good and sometimes cruel. God rules the next world, but
what of this one? Men may seek salvation in heaven and also make offerings to their hearth-spirits, to keep their house safe from evil.
Did not God make chyerti, as He made everything else in heaven and earth?”
She spread her hands. “This is the price of my aid: Swear to me you will not condemn witches to burn. Swear to me you will not condemn those who leave offerings in their oven-mouths. Let our people have both their faiths.”
She faced Dmitrii. “So long as you or your descendants sit on the throne of Muscovy. And”—to Sergei—“your monks are establishing monasteries, building churches and hanging bells. Tell them also to let the people have their two faiths. For your promises, I will go into the night now, and I will bring the rest of Rus’ to your aid.”
No one spoke for a long time.
Vasya stood silent, straight and severe, and she waited. Sergei had his head bowed, his lips moving in silent prayer.
Dmitrii said, “If we do not agree?”
“Then,” said Vasya, “I will leave tonight. I will spend my days trying to protect what I can for as long as I can. You both will do the same, and we will both be the weaker.”
“If we agree, and we win this fight, what happens then?” asked Dmitrii. “If I have need of you again, will you come?”
“If you will do as I ask now,” said Vasya, “then as long as your reign lasts, when you call, I will come.”
Again, they measured each other.
“I agree,” said Dmitrii. “If Father Sergei does. A strong country cannot afford to have its strength divided. Even if its powers are not all of men.”
Sergei raised his head. “I will agree also,” he said. “The ways of God are strange.”
“Heard and witnessed,” Vasya said, and then she opened her hand.
There was a thin line of blood on the meat of her thumb, black in the dim moonlight. She let her blood fall to the earth and two figures
appeared. One was a man with one eye. The other was a woman with night-colored skin.
Dmitrii jerked backward; Sasha, who had seen them all along, stood still. Sergei’s eyes narrowed, and he muttered another prayer.
“We have all witnessed your promise,” said Vasya. “And we will hold you to your word.”
DMITRII AND SERGEI, looking shaken, took their leave and rode back to their beds in Kolomna. Polunochnitsa said, “I have witnessed these men’s promises. Must I linger? I am not Medved; I do not love, endlessly, the strange doings of men.”
“No,” said Vasya. “Go if you wish. But if I call again, will you come?”
“I will come,” said Midnight. “If only to see the end. For you might have their promise, but you must keep your own now, and fight.”
She bowed and vanished into the night.
