Now the Bear was pacing the golden mare, beast-shaped. “Men will not keep their word,” he said.
“I do not recall asking for your opinion,” she snapped.
“Better for chyerti to fight them, before they destroy us,” the Bear went on. She could hear the echo of men screaming in his low voice.
“Or better yet, let the Russians and the Tatars destroy each other.”
“Dmitrii and Sergei will keep their word,” she said.
“Have you ever thought what meddling in their war will cost you?”
he said. “What price Dmitrii’s promise and his admiration? I saw the look in your eyes when Dmitrii called you princess.”
“Is the prize not worth the risk?”
“That depends,” said the Bear, as they ran through Midnight. “I am not sure you know what you’re risking.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t trust his seeming-sense any more than she trusted his wickedness.
THE LAKE WAS DARK in the moonlight, rippling black, white dazzles on the crests of the waves. No long, terrifying journey on foot for her this time; Vasya found the lake swiftly, as though her blood remembered it.
She and Pozhar and the Bear burst out of the trees and found themselves beside the great stretch of moonlit water. Vasya’s breath caught in her throat and she slid down the mare’s shoulder.
The horses were grazing where she’d last seen them, near the shore. This time they didn’t run from her but stood, ghostly in the cold mist of early autumn night, raised their flawless heads and looked. Pozhar pricked her ears and called softly to her kin.
The witch’s empty house stood black and still on its tall posts, on the other side of the field. Still a grim ruin, the domovaya asleep once more, perhaps, waiting in her oven. Vasya let herself briefly imagine the house warm with firelight, with laughter, her family close, the horses—a great herd—grazing in the starlight outside.
One day.
But that night, she was there neither for the house, nor for the horses.
“Ded Grib!” she called.
The little chyert, glowing green in the dark, was waiting for her in the shadow of the great oak. He gave a small cry, ran toward her, then halted halfway. Either he was trying to look dignified, or the Bear made him nervous, Vasya could not tell.
“Thank you, my friend,” Vasya said to him, and bowed. “For asking Pozhar to come to me. You both saved my life.”
Ded Grib looked proud. “I think she likes me,” he confided. “That is why she went. She likes me because we both glow at night.”
Pozhar snorted and shook her mane. Ded Grib added, “Why did you come back? Are you going to stay now? Why is the Eater with you?” The mushroom-spirit looked suddenly fierce. “He is not to kick over any of my mushrooms.”
“That depends,” said the Bear pointedly. “If my brave mistress does not give me something better to do than run to and fro in the dark, I will happily kick over all your mushrooms.”
Ded Grib bristled. “He is not going to touch anything of yours,”
said Vasya to Ded Grib, glaring at the Bear. “He is traveling with me now. We came back for you because I need your help.”
“I knew you couldn’t do without me!” cried Ded Grib, triumphantly. “Even if now you have allies that are bigger.” He gave the Bear a very hard look.
“This is going to be a terrible war,” the Bear interjected. “What damage do you expect to do with a mushroom?”
“You’ll see,” said Vasya, and offered her hand to the little mushroom-spirit.
MAMAI’S ARMY WAS STRUNG out along the Don. The vanguard was already settled at Kulikovo, the reserves encamped in stages for a great distance to the south, ready to march up at first light. Moving softly through Midnight, Vasya and the mare and the two chyerti capped a small rise, and peered through the trees at the host below.
Ded Grib’s eyes grew huge, seeing the scale of the sleeping enemy.
His green-glowing limbs quivered. There were fires along the bank as far as the eye could see. “There are so many,” he whispered.
Vasya, surveying the immense stretch of men and horses, said,
“We’d best get to work then. But first—”
Pozhar would not take saddle or saddlebag; Vasya had to carry a pouch slung around her instead, annoying when riding fast. From it she withdrew bread and strips of hard smoked meat: Dmitrii’s parting gift. She gnawed a bit herself, and without thinking, tossed some to her two allies.
Utter silence; she looked up to find Ded Grib holding his bit of bread, looking pleased. But the Bear was staring at her, holding the meat in his hand, not eating.
“An offering?” he said, almost growling. “You have my service; do you want still more of me?”
“Not at present,” said Vasya coldly. “It’s just food.” She gave him a scowl and resumed chewing.
“Why?” he asked.
She had no answer. She hated his wantonness, his cruelty, his laughter, and hated it even more because something of her own nature called out in answer. Perhaps that was why. She could not hate him, for to do so would be to risk hating herself. “You have not betrayed me yet,” said Vasya at last.
