Hello and welcome to third chapter! This one is about Dimitri, the second tsarevich. I really find it fun how many ways second (step)sibling can be treated in the story. I Hope that you will enjoy this!
They kill their third brother, tear him apart and throw what remains into woods. There is no honor in that act, no grand duel he accepts knowing risk. They assault him while he sleeps ( who knows if he even noticed). Heavy steel cuts through skin and muscle, breaks nerves and bones and leaves bloody pulp more reminiscent of semi-cooked porridge than human body.
They steal his treasures, his ticket to throne. They hunt woman who sleeps with him ( '' How did that oaf get hold of such beauty?'' Vasili says), and when they catch her and make her kneel. She spits and curses, but when they press steel at her neck, she cowers and vows to keep her lips shut. In end she becomes tsaritsa. Just to other tsar than one she wished.
And now his first brother is dead as last, and he hadn't had such merciful fate. Killed by fiery witch , his capital shaken by her power, his home torn apart by her spells. There is nothing left to scatter to wind, and no rite can be speak empty prayers over empty urn. She immolated him, they say. She burned him alive and chained half of his soul to this world and sent other half to afterlife. They shouldn't fear that he will turn in one of unclean, thought. There is no body left for him to inhabit.
He remains in the church after funeral. There are no people, and for that the chamber looks so much bigger and holier. He kneels in front of the altar, bowing to crucifix and icon of Theotokos and speaks. Voice that comes out isn't like his- it is broken and high pitched and snivelling, voice of child who fears punishment.
'' Please... please spare me, spare me.'' He doesn't know to whom he prays, to God or his brother or that witch, but they don't answer ( thought light breaks through window and everything is so much quieter).
'' It was Vasili... Vasili killed him, Vasili threatened her, it is all his fault. I tried to talk him out of it, tried to do it another way but he wouldn't listen.I did nothing! Nothing! Nothing!'' And that was truth. He did nothing at all. Nothing to stop Vasili, nothing to protect Ivan. He was consumed with greed as much as Vasily. he didn't raise his sword, but he too wanted to take away Ivan's treasures. He did suggest they talk to Ivan, force him to hand them over, but he didn't move when Vasily took his saber out of scabbard. He didn't help Elena escape, or tried to stop Vasili from forcing her to make a vow. And in doing nothing, he stained his hands.
'' He is dead! Life for life, isn't that enough? There is no need to kill me too. You can leave me alive.'' It seems as if icon and crucifix hardened their eyes, filled them with venom. His voice breaks further, panicked sobs rising and falling in volume as his eyes redden and his nose swells.
'' Please. I will repent. I will change, and atone, and be good tsar. If I die, so will tsardom. Nobles will try to establish themselves as new royals, and they will fight till tsardom is torn to pieces.'' At this, hatred disappears from their gazes, and he sees concern, surprise. His tears and snivel stop stop and his heart slows down. Panic and fear that shook his head retreat and his skulls stops with ache.
'' Thank you. Thank you. I will keep my promise.''
He goes away, not sure if he imagines everything or if he truly witnessed miracle. He wanders halls and abandoned roads, and returns to camp. In morning, they will go to summer palace, while his home is being rebuilt. And hopefully they can get somebody from Arcanist Enclave to do something about fire pillar.
When he came, Elena's cool expression slipped at sight of his red and swollen face, and something that might have been concern shone in her eyes. She hesitated for moment, and then that chill of hers returned, her eyes piercing him.
'' I understand that we are to be married. ''
'' Such is custom of our people. In case of tsar's death, his heir can marry widow if she gives her consent.''
Elena snorted. her consent was given when when Vasili forced her to marry him. Despite his death, oath she made still stood, and it would force her to marry Dimitri. Vasili and his father were quite clear on what she was to do in case of Vasili's untimely death.
'' I won't lie with you.''
He hesitated. That would be problem, if she would bear him no heir. Not only would their line be in danger of ending ( they had few cousins left), but there would be rumors, whispers at court. Treachery and plots made to besmirch his name. That already happened with Vasili, for whole court knew she and him slept in separate chambers. If it repeated... He wondered how far would oath go, could it force her to...
To stand like doll while he raped her? He, who took away her home, her life, her freedom? He and his brother murdered Ivan to take her, forced her become bride and keep their secrets. made her participant in murder. They forced her to relinquish her throne, her country to ministers. Brought her to unfamiliar land full of people who she didn't understand. If it was him in her place, he would do same.
'' Agreed.''
In the end, they have to build new palace, and move big part of capitol. Arcanist Enclave tried their best .Truly, for once. This time they didn't just send amateur who looked at spells, said they are too complicated and took three bags of gold. No, not this time. They sent their best, experts with decades of work under their belt. They came, pale and stricken, gaping and gulping as they approached.
They tried everything. They tried to extinguish it with water and magic and cold, but flames burned as bright as before. They tried to move it, but it did not falter under their barrage. They tried to siphon it off, but it's magic was too strong, too hard for them to consume. Pillar remained, stretching in sky and consuming water, scorching earth. For three days and three nights they examined flames, before they gave up and took only half of price.
He could understand their frustration. He knew nothing of magic, but quite bit of politics. Powerful, rogue witch appearing out of nowhere, killing tsar, damaging half of capitol and defeating prestigious member of Enclave such as tsaritsa Vasilisa ... He shuddered at thought of all explanations and bargains they would have to provide to all royals on continent.
Around him, people scavenged and crawled through broken remains of city, picking whatever trash they thought useful. He saw scrawny old man, with skin hanging from bones like drying laundry, pick up torn curtain and cover himself. Young woman with torn clothes and purple bags under eyes picked up bread from mud and gave it to child holding her hand. Tall, strong man with multiple scars rummaged through rubbish, picking up poles and cloth to make tent.
He looked at them, poor and weak people who loyally served his family for generations, who now suffered because of their and minor aristocracy would have problems, but in the end, they would either move or pay for renovation of their homes, but what would happen with peasants that lived at edges of city, with small bakers and seamstresses and innkeepers, people who didn't have gold to pay the best architects in the land, who didn't have summer palaces in which they could hide, servants to get them food, soldiers to give illusion of comfort?
Once, Ivan said something. Well, half asked and half mumbled, and it was difficult to understand thanks to his confusing, abstract speech, but point was: '' How can tsar know what happens with people if he is always in palace? Why do they serve if tsar does nothing for them?''
Remark earned him slap and screaming by father, fist and laughter by Vasili, sigh and lecture by tutor and lecture by Dimitri. Ivan nodded and listened through talk of diplomacy and trade and price arrangement ( he even managed to to rock or yawn), but when everything was finished and he was let to go after swearing that he learnt lesson, Dimitri was sure he heard Ivan mutter '' Well, they don't see you doing things.''
'' Master, we are ready to go.'' Voice snapped through his daydreaming like sharp sword through cotton cloak, and he turned his head to servant bit too fast as his memories faded like morning mist on sunlight. It took him moment to register meaning of words.
'' Master... are you feeling well?''
'' Yes. Now call the driver.''
'' Why?''
'' Because'' he smiled '' we are staying with our subjects.''
It was hard, but it worked, which was all that mattered.
He and his stayed in best preserved parts of city, but still they had to struggle. They had to repair buildings to keep away rain and thunder and cold, to find space for all people. They had to cook their own food on makeshift stoves, food they had trouble getting. It was horrible to sleep in dark and damp, on straw filled with stones, yet whenever he thought to complain, image of woman feeding child muddied bread flashed in his mind, and he closed his mouth.
Some servants, and lords and ladies that decided to stay with him, murmured that he has gone mad. Soldiers laughed and congratulated him. Elena spoke not, but cooked and slept without any complaint, her face always neutral, as if she grew up in woods.
They had to borrow money from their neighbors and allies, whose couriers smiled smiles as pleasant as snake scales, slithering and cold, and talked at length to their masters how proud tsars of Rustaya fell. They schemed and plotted to perform annexation on Rustaya, just like Rustaya did with Ruttryniya years ago.
But people...People adored him. They sang praises to tsar Dimitri, who decided to stay and suffer with his people. Who shared his food with them, paid for their homes with his money. Who trusted them enough to send his soldiers away, who wasn't scared of witch. Who didn't let his mourning get in way of his duty. It didn't matter that he slept in best preserved house, that money he gave them was money of their neighbors, that food that was sent to people wasn't of same quality as one he ate. That he knew that bigger danger was at borders, that if any of civilians decided to strike at tsar they would be sentenced to death, that it was almost sure witch wouldn't return. That there hasn't exactly been much to mourn.
Year passed, and capitol was restored. They made new palace, new streets, new 's walls were as strong as before, it's towers just as tall. It was beautiful and shining and giant. Never again would it be attacked, people spoke ( and turned their eyes away from flames in distance, and prayed in their heads).
Following years were hard, as they tried to repay debts. Taxes went little higher, less crops were consumed by people whose land birthed them than those from other lands. They gave up silks and jewels, sold all arts they produced, sold national treasures. People had to treasure what they had, but with each day debt was smaller, and taxes lower.
Thanks to compassion he showed that first year after attack, people didn't hate him. Their losses made them bitter, but there was no hatred. They were sure that he didn't waste money on his own comfort, but also that he could have found better way to solve problems they faced. They spoke both good and bad of him, which was same as if they didn't speak at all.
Which was more than he expected, for to be truthful, he didn't rule. He was second son, meant to be replacement in case Vasili died, which his father found unlikely. He got nothing more than basic lessons in diplomacy and governance ( highly irrational and careless, advisers whispered). He was supposed to be financial adviser and head of treasury, taught how to calculate, not speak. He didn't know how to strike deals or soothe insulted ambassadors, how to read between lines or make subtle threats. And silence, which came so naturally to him, was taken by others as either sign of disrespect, stupidity or meekness. Which was why ruling was left to Elena.
Elena, who reigned as tsaritsa of Thrice-Tenth kingdom for five years, and then as tsaritsa of Rustaya for five more years. Taught her entire life, with natural talent, she was able to fulfill all duties he was failing at. She was good tsaritsa-but not kind one. She skillfully navigated turbulent waters of court life, spun her web of schemes and lies, and delivered her enemies to damp dungeons and cold blades. Manipulated people and spied on them all, all for benefit of state in future. needs of many over lives of few, she said.
It benefited state and improved lives, but people feared and distrusted her. Dimitri saw clearly that he will go in history as unremarkable king, devoted three sentences in history books. One naming him, his parents,brothers and wife. Second containing dates of his birth, death and coronation. Third mentioning that he struggled with debts after assassination of his brother and damage delivered to capitol. And nothing more.
After all, only really good or really bad kings got lessons dedicated to them, because that is all people care about. The rest served to fill in the blanks.
What is second sibling?
That is but one of many questions asked by those whose fates were shaped by stories. For tales have strict rules ( though they appear to be so flexible), and some things are always same. First sibling is wicked and cruel and lazy and cowardly and isn't bothered by blood dripping from their hands. Third sibling is good and brave and honest and abused and cursed. But second sibling, second sibling is one of mysteries, one of rare roles that offer some freedom, for they are bound by different rules ( extremes are all that matter to tales, whether it character or age, and anything in between is secondary).
Second sibling, some say, is just as wicked as first, but it's reach is smaller.
Second sibling, others disagree, is ally to third, bound by fear and false love.
Second sibling, third speak, only there because tales like threes, or because storytellers forgot what comes after first, so they added another till they remembered, or because it makes third seem more extraordinary.
Second sibling, fourth theorize, is nobody and nothing, blank space that is as neutral as first is rotten and third noble.
And those who lived long enough to see their lives, their sufferings, their triumphs turned from fact to rumor to myth to children's tale would tell that it depends on which tale took you to replace them.
If you were to ask the First of Third, she who first sat among ashes, she would tell you that just as they fight over love, or treasure, or dragon, first and third fight over second. It is third's burden to ensure that second isn't corrupted ( she would also tell you that if first wasn't corrupted either, it all would be much easier, but most choose not to bother with that), for evil and good fight over every single person equally vicious as they fight over entire realms.
He was dying.
It wasn't tragic. He lived for fifty one year, which was more than most could boast. He managed to get his state back in solid state, didn't incur hate of his subjects and once hasn't fought in war. All in all, acceptable life and reputation not too different from his father's.
Oh, and his crime remained hidden. Nobody ever found Ivan ( not that many bothered). It was all too easy to say that strange and foolish boy got killed by some bandits or stray beast. It wasn't much of waste- they could do without one colonel ( not that Ivan would have ever ascended to that position if he wasn't tsar's son) or one more branch of royal family.
He wondered what he will find on other side. Will Saint Peter let him enter heaven, where Virgin will congratulate him on keeping his promise, and where he will finally make amends with Ivan? He would fall to his knees and hug him and cry and apologize so much.
Dimitri cracked weak smile. ,, Such arrogance.'' he thought. Much more likely that he will immediately be kicked to Hell, where Vasili will wait for him and ask what took him so much time.
Torches and candles burst with life without any warning, flickering wisps turned into roaring flames. Room got warmer, brighter, as shadows grew longer and covered him. He could hear quiet crackling of flame that consumed strong timber, but not deduce where it came from.
Metal on doors shone with faint yellow light, and started melting, sliding across wood like oil on water. Wood itself turned black and grey on some spots, from where charred splinters and dusty ash fell. Tiny sparks came from beneath the doors, flying around madly. His tired eyes mistook them for fireflies, before they collected themselves in shape of women.
Sparks joined each other, absorbing more and more of flying light, till woman of pure flame stood in front of him. He started to sweat, and then glow dimmed, shadows retreated and room grew colder.
Light and flame were dimming, growing paler and paler by seconds, retreating bit by bit till she was creature of flesh and bone. She was beautiful, but now she looked as cold as she was warm minute ago. Her skin was pale, shining and hard like porcelain. Her eyes were grey and empty like those of fishes that dwell at bottom of mountain rivers, and her blonde hair seemed to be made out of platinum strings. She wore expensive, teal dress that re recognized as traditional Ruttryniyan garb.
'' You are bit late, I am afraid.'' She slightly cocked her head to left and said '' How so?''
'' Well, I'm on my deathbed. I will most likely live one day more.''
Slow, red light arose from floor next to his bed, shaping itself into chair. Woman walked over to him, smoke coming from her feet, and sat on it.
'' If you are so near death, I would say I came at right time.''
His eyes widened and he craned forward, not blinking. Before he spoke, coughing fit overcame him. Whole time she was sitting there, waiting for him to finish.
'' Why? There is no honor in killing man when illness is just waiting to take him.''
'' And there is honor in killing brother while he sleeps?''
It wasn't really surprising. Some of Arcanist Enclave theorized that woman was citizen of former Ruttriniya, who killed tsar to avenge annexation of her people. They didn't have much to base that-only her dress. He himself had another theory, which seemed to be confirmed now.
Everybody knew old tales, legends of witches and fairies and other magical creatures who disguised themselves as old and poor, then tested character of random people. He didn't understand why they would do that, and as everybody, thought those tales to be just that-tales for bored and hyperactive children. But after Vasily's death, he started digging over history for known cases of magical attacks on royalty.
What he found made him vomit. He found tales of arcanists who destroyed cities because their friends were betrayed, witches who stalked and cursed people because they cheated on their neighbors. Fairies who killed newborns because they weren't invited to christening, who cursed people to spew toads and snakes because they didn't speak politely to them.
And tales of magic users who avenged death of people kind to them. There was particularly gruesome tale of witch who tested young man, disguised as beggar. Man was killed by love rival, who stole his home and wife. Witch learnt of this by spirits, and she turned killer's entire family into rabbits, save for his children, who became crazed wolfs whom she persuaded to eat their own family. And many more. When he finished with reading, only one thing passed through his mind.
Ivan was always kind to beggars.
'' I never understood why there was so much attention given to fratricide. My first victims were my sisters and mother.''
'' You killed your family?'' Anger bubbled in him. This changed much. He could accept her berating him because of what he has done, but to do that when she is guilty of same thing, when he repented..
Ah, but did you repent? Voice in his head chuckled. And how you know that she didn't repent?
'' Though, they were stepfamily, not my own blood, and people seem to employ double standards in that situation. And they tried to kill me first-after years and years of abuse.''
'' It was self defense? Or revenge?'' Well, that made it hard to blame her. Her stepsisters sounded like Vasili- maybe they got together in Hell.
'' Neither, actually. An accident.''
'' How do you accidentally kill three people?''
'' By dropping lantern when you are hit and setting house on fire.''
'' Oh. I would say that I'm sorry, but it sounds like lucky accident.''
'' It was. '' Whole time her expression didn't change, and he was treated by empty gaze and amused almost smile. '' It must be strange, talking with me this way. I killed your brother.''
'' But are you here to kill me?''
She chuckled and whispered something. '' Aren't you smart. Always have been.'' twirling her hair, she leaned down. '' No, that is not why I am here. Death was for Vasili. Fear and guilt were for you, and in my experience they work much was fun seeing you, all scared those first few years, so sure I will burst from ground and turn you to ash.''
'' That... that was cruel. cruel and disgusting and completely sick.''
'' It was funny. You looked like jester.''
'' Young lady, that is no way to address your elders.'' Woman blinked and then started laughing like mad. '' Elder? Dear tsar, tell me- if twenty years ago I looked as young woman, and I look young now, what are chances that I bore this face for longer than you have been alive.''
That stopped him, and he dazed off, thinking for some time on old legends. '' Big, I would say.'' Well, if she was really that old, going around dressed as beggar to test people made sense. If somebody lived long enough to witness many cruelties of world, and had power to change that, they probably would. Bitterness and misguided idealism drove people to do stranger things.
Or she was just bored and wished to add some adventure in her life.
She hovered around him, moving fingers. It made her seem like cat who wished to get hold of spilled milk but couldn't reach it.
'' Are you casting spell?''
'' Oh no. I'm just inspecting materials.''
'' Materials?''
'' Your life. One you are leaving. Your final breaths. I could make clothes out of it. Mourning garb perhaps. But I wouldn't take them without permission.''
'' ...Clothes can be made out of that?'' One part of him wished to laugh and say that it's impossible. yet other claimed that it wasn't so preposterous as it seemed-she was witch, and has lived for who knows how long. She had magic, making impossible happen was her job.
'' Yes. If you have right fibers, and this ones look really promising.''
'' Well, thank you. You can take them.'' It could maybe even make her more affable. He still didn't know if she planned something, and didn't dare to ask.
She waved with her fingers, and bundles of what seemed to be solid air and threads made of mirrors arose from around him, flying to her palm. They shone for moment and disappeared.
'' Truth, I came here to ask you three questions. Answer them with yes or no, and we will see what will be of your fate. And be honest- I don't like liars.''
'' I understand.'' He gulped.
'' Do you regret what happened to Ivan? '' He thought it was going to be something hard. He almost started with of course, and how could I not, but then he took just one look at her eyes and instead simply said.
'' Yes.''
'' Do you think you are to blame.''
Little slower, quieter, but just as sure, accompanied by teary eyes.
'' Yes.''
'' And do you think you deserve forgiveness?'' He didn't answer. His mouth was left hanging and his eyes glazed over, while his mind went away. he wished to say yes, but then guilt bit his heart, eating away his confidence like worm in apple. He wished to get forgiveness, sure, but did he deserve it? He couldn't answer-such decision surely was reserved for God and Ivan. for judge and victim, not for criminal like him.
He wandered through memories, through years, till he came to library of old palace, fifteen year old. In front of him stood Ivan, crying and bleeding.
'' It's nottt right, nott right. Why-y do they do that? They have no right..''
Fifteen year old him sighed with exhaustion and kneed next to Ivan, putting hand on his head. Ivan pulled up his head from his arms and knees, and looked at him, one eye open, other closed and surrounded by purple welt.
'' Listen Ivan,''he said, in bored and tired voice that made adult him hit himself '' this has to stop. You are adult now, and can't cry like girl. Sure, father sometimes isn't very patient, but you can't blame him. He has lot of work to do, and you don't help him with your escapades and rebellions. Not every father would be so understanding. Everything he does, he does for you. If you were less loud and more communicative, if you stopped sneaking out and played with other children instead with animals and your crafts, if you behaved like prince and got better results with your tutors, he wouldn't be so angry with you. You must change.'' It was monotone, still voice, one repeating all things his father angrily mumbled to himself, excluding insults and crude words no civilized man would utter, but it did trick with Ivan. He stopped crying and instead gazed at Dimitri.
'' Really? He won't... beat and shout?''
'' Yes. But it's all up to you. You must try. Promise.''
'' I pro-omise.'' He tried to hug Dimitri, who pulled him away before he got up and dusted off his knees.
'' But what about Vasili?''
'' Well, you have to learn or fight. Or hide.'' And he went away, leaving Ivan to wipe blood from his cuts. He kept his word- he did things that scared and disgusted him but pleased their father, hid from Vasili and never once complained.
'' Will you answer?''
Her voice snapped him out of memories, and he looked at her, tears running over wearied face. His voice was loud, clear and unshakeable.
'' No.'' And with that word, he slowly released air from himself, till his lungs were empty and and his chest stopped rising. His numb head fell to pillow and his mouth, left hanging open, started to slobber, creating small, foamy sea of saliva and tears on sheets next to him. His eyes were left wide and empty, like those of doll. His skin was already starting to go pale, as his body cooled. Vasilisa turned, let chair disappear, made one step towards door, and then stopped. With snap of fingers, she called forth white clothing, slightly unfinished, with belt nest to it, and left it neatly folded on bed.
When guards awoke from their enchanted sleep, they went to check on tsar and found him dead. Main adviser asked how did clothes for deceased get there, and threatened to throw them in dungeon. But tsaritsa intervened on their behalf, saying that if somebody was so kind to leave funeral robes, they mustn't show ingratitude. And she smiled, cold smile that didn't reach her eyes, and adviser bowed and mumbled apology and went to bother somebody else.
They washed body, dressed it, laid him to rest with his head pointed to icon. For three days and three nights they left him alone, and on beginning on fourth day, they smelled flames and saw smoke dancing in front of chambers where body was laid to rest. They rushed, screaming and pulling hairs, ready to put out fires...Only to find room cold and unharmed, filled only with smoke and dying flickers of green flame.
On place where tsar's body laid, there was now decorated urn with ashes.
Thank you for reading and please review.
So, about burial- I placed it onto Orthodox Russian burial rites. Clothing, belt, washing, icon corner, three days of waiting, they are all part of traditional Orthodox funeral. I, however, added cremation. It is supposed to prevent person from raising as undead, a valid fear in this world.
Next chapter is about next reincarnation, in modern day, serving as prelude for another story.