“Oh,” she sighed and smiled. She looked at Voran chidingly. “I think now you have paid off your debt to me, my son.” Not only was there no wound on her, but her clothing was clean and untouched—a rich overdress of gold brocade, covered in jewels, like something out of an ancient tapestry. Mirnían chortled.
“That was a bit much, no?” He raised one eyebrow at Voran, and Voran shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
Aglaia closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep instantly, her wrinkles smoothing away to reveal the same face Voran remembered so well. Only her white hair told of her actual age.
“What have you done?” thundered Buyan. Zmei assumed a fighting stance. “Where is the Living Water?”
“It is gone. I destroyed the tree. Whatever power it left me is now gone in the healing.”
Zmei roared and charged the three of them. Mirnían reached for his bow.
“No, Mirnían,” whispered Voran, unfazed by the giant. “Wait.”
Voran raised both his hands. Zmei jerked back in fear, as though someone threw fire at his face. His sword out, he backed away.
“Very fine,” he growled. “But do not think that trick will work for longer than a day. You shine with the power now, but it will fade. You think you have come out the winner in this game? You fool. Every darkness, every shadow, every power in this world and all the others will hunt you from this moment forward. You thought the Raven was a problem. You do not know what you have unleashed on yourself. You will see me again, soon enough.”
Voran unsheathed his sword and saluted, as he would at the training field in the warrior seminary.
“I look forward to that day, Zmei.” He bowed low, to his waist. When he looked up, Buyan snored, and Zmei was nowhere to be seen.
There is one thing you must never forget. No matter how evil the times, no matter how dire the calamity, if there is but one person on earth who makes Covenant with Adonais, then the world will not fall. The dawn will come after the dark night, though it lasts for centuries.
From “The Testament of Cassían, Dar of Vasyllia”
(The Sayings: Book II, 21:30)
Chapter 35
Covenant
Lebía stood, as she did every morning, on the banks of the sea, waiting for Mirnían to return. For more than a year, she had seen nothing. After the baby had been born, she came with the little bundle in her arms, that simultaneous source of pain and joy, terror and courage that taught her, for the first time in her life, that she had no idea what it meant to love.
The baby gurgled something profoundly wise, and she found herself enthralled by him. Already he smiled when she looked at him, opening a toothless mouth wide and cackling in joy. If only he would sleep a little more at night.
When he had finished his oration, she looked up again and saw something. It was probably nothing; probably yet another trick of the light, another game of the early spring sun. Already all around her Nature was just waking to life; only she remained cold with the winter of her heart.
Then she recognized them—longboat sails. She watched in mute astonishment as two, then five, then ten, then twenty boats came into view, all of them bearing the standard of old Vasyllia—a Sirin in flight enclosed within a fiery sun.
“I will not expect it,” she said aloud. “It is not my husband. He is gone from me.”
Still, her heart pined and agonized and shuddered in fear. Soon the first boat came close enough for her to see the passengers at the helm. Mirnían and an older woman, hooded, stood together. She looked directly at Lebía. The wind caught and threw back the hood, revealing a face Lebía never expected to see again in her life. The face of her mother. Lebía burst into tears and lifted little Antomír above her head.
The moments of waiting were each an exuberant eternity. Lebía imagined asking them every question hoarded over months and years, felt every prick of pain and swell of joy she could have ever conceived, all in a few moments. And yet, the boats seemed to do no more than stand on the water.
Now, she was in Mirnían’s arms, limp from tears of joy. Aglaia held little Antomír. She seemed a favorite of his already, and he babbled to her with all the seriousness of his three months. Mirnían could not contain himself at the sight; he tried to enclose all of them in his arms at once. Behind Mirnían, the twenty boats were filled with Vasylli.
“Who are they?” Lebía asked in wonder at their tear-streaked faces.
“They are all that remain of the true Vasylli,” said Aglaia, “rescued by the Sirin from the Raven.”
“We have little room on Ghavan,” said Otar Svetlomír behind them, approaching Aglaia with open arms. “But we will make more.”
Aglaia embraced him as an old friend, then seemed to recollect herself and fell on her knees, begging for his blessing. He put his hand on her head and pulled her close, and they sobbed together.
All of Ghavan met the refugees with cheering and wonder. Some found brothers, children, friends among them, and the dead eyes of those who had seen the Raven began to flutter with new life. Immediately, Mirnían took control of the situation and ordered that trestles be set in the center of the village, and that a great feast be prepared for the faithful Vasylli. But no sooner did he command than Lebía heard a surge of the song of the Sirin in her heart. Aína whispered to her, and only she could hear.
“Vasyllia!” exclaimed Lebía more loudly than she ever had in her life, feeling foolish and elated all at once. Everyone hushed and looked at her in surprise. “This is not the only joy for Ghavan. Come, my dear family, I must show you Vasyllia’s hope.”
She rushed out of the square into the woods, pulling Mirnían’s hand to follow. Aglaia came, still discussing great things with little Antomír. The villagers, somewhat confused, followed a little hesitantly. They walked for what seemed like hours, but the early spring cold dissipated with their brisk pace. Finally, they reached a spruce grove, stately in silence. Hidden within the trees was a tiny white aspen, gently pulsating with light.
“Is that what I think it is?” Mirnían’s eyes wide with wonder. He turned to see Lebía smiling at him proudly. “How did you know?”
“The hope of Vasyllia,” whispered Otar Svetlomír. He fell on his knees before the sapling.
“We must replant it in the center of the village,” said Mirnían.
“I do not know, my love,” said Lebía. “It seems somehow disrespectful, no?”
“I mean to honor it, swanling. Were we not punished enough for hoarding our treasures in Vasyllia? Let us bring the tree to a place where all can see it and be filled with hope.”
Filled with sudden inspiration, Mirnían walked up to the sapling and reached for the roots.
“Be gentle with it,” whispered Lebía.
“I will be gentle with both of my new treasures, always.”
