Strandpiel Book Two
Chapter Fifteen
Dasvidanya, part three
In which an old Witch departs. Not without surprises along the way
Overlaps The Price of Flightchapter one which will be heavily referenced.
And, damn, already way over 12,000 words. This is going to run way over, with all I have to cover.
As always, this is V0.04. The inevitable Revisions.
A continuing family saga charting the interlinked lives of family and friends on at least two continents, with a cast of characters both living and dead. In this chapter, an old Witch is on the point of passing on. "Not before bloody time, if the bloody Author gets a shift on."
The scene is now set for the later events of Price of Flight. I want this to be right as it's pivotal for a lot of things to come and links to at least one other storyline. So it will be long and fairly detailed.
Story notes may be added at the end for anyone wanting insight into how these stories get constructed.
The airspace over Krapovits Oblast, a Grand Duchy in the Border Marches of Zlobenia and Far Überwald. It is roughly 8:00am by local time and maybe 9:45 by Ankh-Morporkian time.
Olga Romanoff took a very deep breath. She tried to ignore the fact her Pegasus' mane was currently a gorgeous riot of vivid hues in all eight colours of the Disc's spectrum. She felt pretty sure this would be remarked upon, not least by Lord Vetinari, but forced herself to attend to the more immediately pressing concern.
She thumbed the switch to activate her communicator.
"Syren to all pilots. Yes. I know. Not at this moment important. Firebird, are you there? Come in, Firebird. I require a report on your current location and bearing. Over."
It hadn't taken long to work out who was missing. Olga looked around her, scanning the skies, and tried not to swear. Sometimes this was difficult. She looked to her left. Nadezhda Popova, now her normal self again with a complete absence of long white beard, was also intently scanning the skies, performing the careful quartering of the airspace that was habitual to long-time Air Watch pilots.
Nadezhda, like Olga, had a special reason to feel concerned about Rebecka having seemingly vanished. Five of Olga's Pegasi had made it out of Feegle Space and reappeared in formation. Reassuringly, all five – except for one – were now recognisably Pegasi again, and were pure white flying horses in all respects, with the illusion having been left behind in the Other Place.
One Pegasus hadn't. And she was nowhere to be seen. In front of Olga, Senior Navigating Sergeant Wee Mad Arthur did the thing with the palm of his hand and his forehead.
"I apologise, Mistress Olga." he said, grinding his teeth. "'Tis that daft wee barmpot of a navigator of hers. I'll catch him such a smack roond the heid when I see him…"
She smiled.
"That is my first thought too, Mr Wee Mad Arthur. Please take such disciplinary action as you think is appropriate…"
~~Firebird to Siren. Firebird calling Siren.
"Siren here, Firebird. We do not have a visual on you. Everybody else, please search and alert me? Firebird, tell me what you are seeing from the air. I'm assuming as you are within Comms range, you're in normal space and you cannot be an impossible distance away? Over."
~~ Firebird to Siren. I am at perhaps angels three. Lots of trees underneath me. It's almost all trees. Lots of trees. Possibly fir, but hard to tell with the snow on them…
~~Hello, Mamya!
~~Please be quiet, Vassily, I need to talk to your mummy… Although nearby there is a very big river. Possibly a quarter of a mile away on my right. Big, wide, lots of river traffic. Otherwise nothing I can recognise. Over.
Olga thought, quickly and tried to get a mental picture. The River ran Hubwards to Rimwards in this region, almost…
"Syren to Firebird. You're practically over the River Ron, devyushka. Which means you're nearby. Can you tell which direction is Hubwards? Depending on which direction you're heading, we are about three miles away from the Ron on the Turnwise bank. If your bearing is Hubwards, steer course two-seventy and proceed directly Turnwise. If bearing is Rimwards, your course correction will be to ninety. Got that? We're keeping a watch here and will circle. We are at Angels One, so look below you. Over."
Five Pegasi cannot be hard to miss, Olga thought. Hardly inconspicuous.
~~Read you, Syren, Now descending Turnwise. Mother Hen? Tatiana wants to say hello.
~~ I'm here, mummy!
" Татьяна. Будьте добры к тете Ребеке. Сядьте правильно. Делай, как тебе говорят." Nadezhda broke into the conversation.
Olga smiled, allowing this.
"Vassily? That goes for you too." she said. "Sit up straight, behave and be nice to Auntie Rebecka. Mother out. All pilots and passengers, watch to your right on bearing ninety, where the River is. If you see Firebird, shout out. Remember she is over the River, and will be descending from Angels Three to join us. Over."
After a while, Olga reminded them they would be going into a wide circle over the Krapovits region and advised all pilots to keep a fix on the relative position of the River Ron to them.
Olga again frowned down at the second, smaller, problem. The multi-hued rainbow mane on her Pegasus. It had been pure white when they started out. As it always had been. She had a horrible suspicion.
"Eddie?" she said. "Look behind you, please, and tell me about Raduga's tail?"
She sensed her husband shifting in the pillion seat. After a moment, he said
"Well, Olga. It isn't white. It's, err…"
She sighed.
"Shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow. I thought so."
"Like it was in Transition Space." Eddie said. "I wonder why we're the only ones…"
"Somebody, I think, is messing. Having a practical joke." Olga said, darkly. Her communicator crackled.
~~Red Star to Syren. This is Red Star. Come in, Syren.
"Syren here, Red Star. Report, please?"
~~Been here waiting for you for ten minutes, Syren. I've got a visual on you, you came out of Transition an angel below me and maybe about a mile away. Need to ask what the Hells happened to you in there. Over.
"Syren to Red Star. Something happened to you too? We'll need to talk about it when we land. Compare reports…"
~~Advisory, Syren. Single Pegasus about a mile to my left, bearing three hundred. Looks like she might be Firebird. Guessing her Navigator's on the mark, as always. I'll go and collect and bring her over. Red Star out.
Bekki looked severely down at Wee Archie. He had the grace to look shifty and sheepish. She took a deep breath.
"It isn't just me." she said. "Can I remind you, Wee Archie, my passengers are, respectively, Captain Romanoff's son? And Sergeant Popova's daughter? There are going to be two seriously annoyed mothers out there somewhere!"
Tatiana giggled. The communicator crackled into life.
~~Syren to Firebird. You left the link open, Firebird. I'm guessing everybody heard that. Syren out.
Olga sounded amused rather than angry, she thought. I hope Sergeant Popova is okay about it too.
Bekki looked down. The landscape was no comfort. Everything was a lumpy sort of white with green bits. It was all trees in winter with the occasional clearing and a suspicion of house, though it was hard to make out details in a generally snowly landscape. She sighed. The settled, cultivated and almost-urban parts of Zlobenia were a long way away. Its capital city Rigour was even further away. This was Far Überwald with a vengeance, formerly the Rodinian Empire. And even that had centred several hundred miles away to the Widdershins and Rimwards, around the city of Blondograd.
I'd better find everybody else soon, she thought. Or I'm stuck and potentially in lots of trouble. At least it isn't snowing.
She glimpsed a suspicion of movement in front and a little to the right, lower down. Was that a set of black dots moving over the white of the treetops? Maybe a mile and a half away… She angled Boetjie round. She was just about to open a comms link again when an incoming call came in.
~~Red Star to Firebird. Come in, Firebird.
"Firebird here, Red Star."
~~Got visual on you, Firebird. Look down and to your left. Over.
Bekki looked down to her left. Eight hundred yards away and half an angel below. Hard to spot at first, a white Pegasus moving against the background of snow-covered trees. But the pilot and the passenger showed black against the white. She felt a flood of relief.
"Firebird to Red Star. Got a visual. I'm flying to join you. Over."
After that, rejoining the flight was easy. All Bekki needed to do was to fall in with Godsmother Irena, who knew the way over this landscape. Bekki remembered that this was Irena's home, where she'd been born and brought up, and that if anyone knew how to get around here, it would be her. It was a comforting thought.
After a little memory-searching she recognised Irena's passenger, who was in the pillion seat watching everything going on around her with a clear intent fascination. Bekki knew that look: it was the look of somebody who hadn't been in the air that often, and was finding it a thrilling new adventure. A veteran of six years of flying experience, Bekki almost envied this.
After a while, Xenia Galena recognised her and waved. Bekki waved back.
~~Syren to Firebird. And to Flight Navigator Wee Archie Aff The Midden. Glad you could join us. Syren out.
Wee Archie sank into the mane and tried to look inconspicuous. Bekki winced, acknowledging the grins, cheers and waves, as the formation realigned itself. Olga rode out in front to lead, and the other six fell in behind, in two vics of three. Bekki found herself falling into place to the left of Irena. Her navigator Sergeant Buggy Swires glared over at Wee Archie, making it clear even from fifty or sixty yards away that he was not a happy Sergeant. Wee Archie squirmed in place.
In front of her, Tatiana squealed and clapped her hands delightedly.
"Oh, he looks so beautiful! I want him to keep that rainbow mane and tail forever!"
Bekki realised. Whatever illusion had happened in Feegle Space had carried over, somehow, and Olga, for the moment, was choosing to ignore that it was happening to her. And another little prompt was niggling at her for attention…
~~Slava bogu, Syren, what in the Hells happened in there to Raduga Desh?
~~Syren to Red Star. Long story. We can take reports on the ground. I do have a suspicion. Valentina Olyanovna? I know what book you like reading. Do not forget I read it myself as a child. Mother out.
~~Syren? Vorona here.
There was a pause.
~ Speak now, to your mamya.
~~But, mummy! He's so pretty this way!
~~Syren, this is Mother Hen. I suspect my daughter may also have something to say. Firebird, put Tatiana Nadezhovna on?
~~Acknowledged, Mother Hen. Tatia, your mother needs to speak to you?
~~ I know you read the same picture-books as Valentina Olyanovna. But you do not go around changing the colours of somebody else's Pegasus without asking permission. That's enough, Tatiana Nadezhovna. Change him back, and then say you are sorry to Auntie Olga.
Nadezhda's voice was amused and kindly, Bekki reflected, but also firm.
~~But he looks so pretty, Mamya. Just like Rainbow Dash in the pictures!"
~~I repeat, Tatiana Nadezhovna, that is enough. Change him back.
~~You too, Valentina Olyanovna!
There was a reluctant chorus of "Sorry, Mummy!" and "Sorry, Auntie Olga!"
Olga smiled as the rainbow lights went out on her mount's mane, leaving the usual pure flowing white. Eddie looked back and confirmed Raduga's tail was now its usual white again.
"Syren to Valentina and Tatiana. No harm done, devotchkii… devyuschkii. I'll talk to you both on the ground. If that's alright, Mother Hen. Syren out."
Then she very carefully shut off the communicator and said
"Eddie, we need to do something about Valentina."
Valentina's father wordlessly hugged her about the waist, and for a few seconds both considered the prospect of raising a five year old daughter with magical ability. (1)
Then she was Captain Romanoff again. The otherwise unbroken forest underneath was now giving way to cultivated fields, farm buildings and paddocks, emerging unexpectedly from the green and white, unless you had been born here and you knew your way around. The buildings appeared a uniform white, but horses were out exercising in the paddocks, churning the snowy ground to brown, and people were visible. Some were up on rooftops, very carefully clearing deep snow from tiles and thatch. People were beginning to look up and had stopped, aware of the flotilla of flying white horses.
"Syren to all pilots. We are now over Krapovits Oblast. Landing will be in fifteen minutes. We are currently over the Cossack stanitsa of Starozolotovsky. We will overfly the principal settlements of the Oblast to advertise our presence, and we will put on a display for them, as discussed. Maintain a height of seven hundred feet and keep formation. Syren out."
Bekki, taking in an unfamiliar place from above, also noted the wooden stockaded palisade that surrounded the most important buildings of the settlement, with a guard on the wall and watchtower who were now excitedly looking up and pointing at the phenomenon in the sky. She saw Pegasus pilots waving back, and over to her left, Xenia Galena was intently looking down at something which Bekki guessed would be absolutely familiar to her.
Technically, this is Zlobenia. But also Far Überwald, where things can come out of the forest at night. How far are we here from Borogravia, and the endless war? It makes sense for things to be fortified here.
Olga identified several villages as they over-flew them, lingering in the sky for just long enough to get people out and watching.
Verkhoyansk. Vorschuta. Pechora. All of them had a look of well-tended not-very-much-disposable-income about them. Some but not all had stockaded walls, treetrunks felled from the all-enveloping forest. There was a hint that when the snow melted back, surprisingly vivid colours would emerge.
Then they came to the largest and most prosperous-looking town of all. For the first time since arriving, Bekki saw the weird-looking onion domes which to her summed up Rodinia in a single visual image. With only a little snow clinging to their upper surfaces, they were attractively patterned in blue and gold, or else green and gold, and seemed to belong to a large ornate church, built perhaps in stone and painted white.
And outside the town, in its own extensive grounds, there was what looked like a castle. The oldest parts were in imposing stone and radiated a crude castle-ness, a statement in stone that said "this place is built for defending". Newer parts of the build also said "castle" about them but were lighter, subtler, a realisation that this place is also built for living in, so let's make it comfortable and better to look at. And the newest build of all, itself perhaps several hundred years old, put Bekki in mind of grand country houses in the Shires, or perhaps in Überwald, places she had overflown on Pegasus training with her tutor Hanna von Strafenburg.
Hanna had said the word was das herrenhaus, the manor house occupied by the local nobility in her part of Überwald. The Quirmians called this sort of set-up, part luxurious country house and part defensible castle, a chateau.
"Syren to all pilots. We will circle the town, and the Estate House, in formation, and complete three full circuits. I wish my father to be completely aware that I am home. Thank you for your assistance in this. Syren out."
It dawned on Bekki as to the significance of the Estate House. And the point Olga Romanoff was going to make to its custodians. She looked down again, curious as to the great stately house Olga had been brought up in. She glanced over to her left, where Xenia and Irena were in low private conversation. Irena looked grim and resolute.
Irena's home town too. Only she was brought up in the village…she wants to make a point of her own too. I can see it in her face.
By the second wide circuit and a descent to perhaps five hundred, lots of people had left their houses and were looking up, in excitement and rapt attention. By the third, a crowd had gathered outside the front of the Estate House. This crowd seemed to centre on two people, a man and a woman, who seemed to occupy a little circle of space in the centre of the crowd, who seemed more richly dressed than most. They were looking up too, following the flight of the Pegasi. Bekki saw Olga, on her own in front and leading the Flight, waving to them.
Then, her point made, she ordered a course change on bearing two-eighty. They left the Estate House and the town of Krapovits behind them, passed over cultivated fields, and then were out over the wild featureless forest again.
~~Syren to all pilots. Attention. We will be landing in five minutes. I am now handing over command of the landing to Snegoroshka. The next voice you hear will be hers. Go ahead, Flight Commander. Siren out.
~~Acknowledged, Syren. All pilots, this is Snegoroshka. I have prepared landing strip. which is safe for Pegasi. It will take one Pegasus only, so we land one at time. I will go first. Watch where I land and follow me down. On landing, proceed to far end and leave landing strip. Also. Важный. Не летайте над домовилой. Снова говорю. Важный. Snegoroshka out."
"Errr.. Firebird to Snegoroshka. "Не летайте над домовилой? Do not fly over the house?" Firebird out. And confused."
~~Syren to Firebird. Too long to explain, Firebird. You aren't Rodinian. Stay close to Red Star, and the two of you land last. Watch us, watch Red Star, and you will see where not to fly. Syren out."
Suddenly the trees gave way to another clearing in what felt, suddenly, like the deepest, darkest, part of the wood. It was a part of the wood where lost children might find no comfort whatsoever. Bekki tried not to think about ovens, or houses made of gingerbread. Pushing such thoughts out of her mind was difficult. A new thought, of a girl in a hooded red cloak, pursued by a werewolf, flashed into her mind. Three riders. One in a white cloak, one in a red cloak, one in a black cloak, sprang up vividly. They were sitting their horses, looking at her…
She looked over to where Godsmother Irena and the shamaness Xenia Galena were flying. Xenia smiled a gentle understanding smile at Bekki, and the pictures faded. She tapped Godsmother Irena on the shoulder and spoke urgently to her. Irena looked across at Bekki, frowning sharply, and then nodded.
~~Red Star to Firebird. Stay close, Firebird. Don't let your mind be distracted. See those two wooden posts over there, the tall ones, right at the edge of the clearing? Got a fix? Well, that's the Domovila. Fly nowhere near there. Important. I'll tell you why when we're on the ground. Xenia thinks the stories are getting into your head. She'll keep them out, for now. Trust her. Red Star out.
Bekki flew on. Looking down, she saw Vasilisa Budonova make the first landing, on a clear flat strip over to one side of the solitary log cabin, the what do they call it, the isba. Funny, it's painted in dark sombre colours, blue, purple and black with a little white. But no snow's sticking to it. Is that somebody on the covered veranda, almost out of sight, just watching?
Bekki read the ground below. There was a fence there, oddly and irregularly shaped, but a fence, in nearly-white. Alternate posts were crowned with rounded white somethings. A crowd of people beginning to gather, strictly on the other side of the fence, for now. Everything else is snow covered. But that looks like an orchard. Cherry trees? Can't quite tell, for snow. Enough room for herb gardens. Cow-byre. Chicken run? And if those are not beehives, covered for the winter…
Vasilisa had landed. Stravinsky's wings had folded back. She slipped her feet from the stirrups and vaulted lightly off, standing clear as her passenger Nadezhda Popova followed. Vasilisa offered Stravinsky's reins to Nadezhda, who led the Pegasus away from the landing-strip. Vasilisa spoke into her communicator. It looked as if the next pilot down would be the Fledgling, Alexandra Mumurovka. Vasilisa, communicator in one hand, then went into ground-control mode as Lexi began her descent.
Don't fly near the house? But that's where we're landing… and those two tall wooden posts look like a gateway of some sort… a gateway. Ah. Borders and edges. And I can't see clearly what's on the other side of them…
She heard a voice, almost speaking in her ear. She couldn't tell where it was coming from.
"Это граница, Жар-птица. граница. Ведьма охраняет дверной проем. Это место - дверной проем. Работа ведьмы здесь - она сторожа."
Bekki had a suspicion. Words she could make out, like "border", "boundary" and "gate-keeper", had made sense. She looked over towards Xenia Galena, who was looking back at her, impassively and intently. Bekki made the best acknowledging Witch-bow she could, from a seated position with a child before and behind. In front of her, Tatiana Yermeka shifted. She looked up at Bekki with the sort of intensity only a girl of five can muster.
"Auntie Xenia thinks I can be a shamanka too." she said. "I heard what she was saying to you, Auntie Firebird. In my head too. She says witches guard the borders and the doorways. It's our job. The witch here, who taught Auntie Olga and Auntie Irena, guards this door, the Domovila."
"The Domovila is the Doorway of the Dead, the House of the Dead People, mamya says." Vassily piped up from behind her. "Dead people come out from that doorway, and other things too. Witches stop them."
"I see." Bekki said. "Not just any old house. I wondered."
She thought of the Dancers in Lancre and the Standing Stones in the Chalk. Here, it was wooden posts and not stones. But the same principles applied. There was a border between worlds and a doorway, a kaplyn. Where there was a place like this, you needed a Witch.
"I'm going to get to beat the shamanka's drum and wear the pretty costumes and the pretty stones." Tatiana announced. "Auntie Xenia said I could."
~~Snegoroschka to Firebird. Stand by for landing. Over."
Bekki acknowledged. She watched Irena peeling off to go into her own landing. and took careful note of where she was going. A little later, she landed herself and, gratefully, handed her passengers back to their mothers.
And the delegation of witches formed up and went to pay respects to their hostess, Natalia Svetlanavichnya.
An isolated isba and Domovila, outside Krapovits town, in the Duchy of the Border Marches of Zlobenia and Far Überwald, January.(2) The conversation is of course in Rodinian. It is largely presented here in the best and most accurate Morporkian rendition for the benefit of readers.
The old Witch sat in the rocking chair on the wooden verandah of her isba. She looked out, impassively, at the people who had gathered in the cleared space outside her home. All looked worried; some had been weeping. The gloomy forest, fir trees carrying a weight of snow that was not totally obscuring the underlying green, provided an appropriate background. Seven Pegasi, the marvellous white flying horses of faraway Ankh-Morpork, were placidly cropping at such grass and undergrowth as was available. The local population had marvelled to see them in the sky overhead, and had not been surprised to see them come down in the vicinity of the local babiushka and ved'ma, who lived by choice in an isolated isba some way from the village. You expected that sort of thing from Natalia, who had lived long enough to pass on from being a mere babiuschka to the state on its further side, that of BabaYaga.
"You made it back, then." Natalia said to the group of Witches who had landed on the flying horses, dismounted, and walked to the isba, the local mouzhiks falling back to allow their passage.
Olga Romanoff ignored the gathered peasantry, acknowledging they were here for the same reason she was. She made the Witch bow to the old lady. The delegation of Witches with her bowed too.
The old lady in the rocking chair studied them. She fitted the definition of crone: hooked nose, bright intelligent eyes, yellowed skin stretched tightly over old bones. She nodded back.
"We received the message, Natalia Svetlanavichniya. Of course we should be present."
The old witch nodded.
"Khoroscho. Now aren't you going to introduce me to people? Oh, and your husband over there and the kiddies. Bring me the kiddies, Olga Anastacia. I can show them the oven…."
There was a brief pause. The old witch cackled.
"Joke, Olga Anastacia! Can't an old lady about to die make a joke on the way out? Besides, that devuschka of yours has got magic."
She paused, and nodded at Nadezhda Popova and her daughter Tatiana.
"And the other little girl. Can feel it from here. That's interesting. Not much of interest goes on when you're a hundred and three."(3)
The delegation of Witches were invited into the isba. With infinite care, Vasilisa Budonova, the accepted Assistant Witch in the Steading, helped the old lady stand, and guided her to a comfortable chair inside the house.
Olga and Irena, recognising the physical deterioration in their old mentor, looked at each other and shared a moment of fatalistic understanding. It would indeed not be long now. They followed on, leading the Witch delegation inside.
"Don't have too much in the way of Family." the old Witch said. "And witches are spread a bit thin in these parts. Not many to see me go, but I'm glad my pupils came back this last time. Brung a few promising girls with them. I'm pleased."
The old Witch threw a long penetrating look at the trainee Rodinian witches, who had been allowed the day off from training in Lancre to attend. None was over thirteen and all looked suitably subdued and intimidated.
"How could we not?" Irena Politek asked. "You taught us, Natalia. We should be here to see you off."
"Da. And my people are out there. To make sure I'm gone and I'm not comin' back, probably. And those bloody Cossacks is on the way."
She grinned up. "There's a book on the shelf there. More notes, really. About how to make up the ointments for saddle-sores. The girl what takes over here needs to know that. A good ointment for saddle-sores gets you a long way with Cossacks."
"But you knows that, young woman." Natalia said.
"Da, babayaga. That, and care of horses." Xenia Galena had agreed.
Natalia grinned. She looked up at her former pupils.
"Olga, Irena. Savin' one or two little things, it's all yours to dispose of as you both see fit. There's one thing. Sent it on its own way to Ankh-Morpork. It'll find you. Last partin' gift."
Olga and Irena looked at each other. Mystery. Their old teacher had a "You're both bright. You'll figure it out" look on her face. One last lesson.
She nodded to Vasilisa.
"Good girl, bright girl. I'm glad it's goin' to the right Witch." (4)
There had been a moment of motherly face-palm involving Olga's son Vassily, who had, far from being reverential, actually challenged the old lady; but Natalia had been amused and approving.(5) Rebecka Smith-Rhodes' imperfect Rodinian and unfamiliarity with Rodinian customs had caused a moment too, but again that had been humorous and not disrespectful.
Bekki had, out of interest, followed Xenia out of the isba. Curiosity was part of being a Witch, after all. And from the air, she simply hadn't seen any road or path leading to this place in the forest, a place she privately thought was dank and gloomy. So where were those hoofbeats coming from, and how were they going to get here?
Behind her, Natalia Svetlanavichniya grinned, amused.
"Your pupil, Irena Yannesovna? You chose well. You taught her well, too. Got a healthy dose of curiosity, that girl. She got scepticism, too. She'll take nothing as pravda 'less she sees it for herself."
Irena allowed herself a moment to beam with pride.
Meanwhile Bekki followed Xenia at a respectful distance. She had realised, shortly after landing, that she didn't need to wear the telogreika overclothes. Partly because it really wasn't all that cold, probably just a degree or two above zero, and partly because she suspected that she'd be an obvious foreigner in this country, however she presented herself. Wearing the host nation's clothes would just mark her down even more as a clueless foreigner who was trying to fit in.
Therefore she had stripped off the padded winter clothing and stowed it in a pannier on Boetjie. Knowing she was attending a funeral, she was wearing black underneath. The new problem she had encountered was the particular kind of black she was wearing. Especially with the not-all-that-obviously-pointy-hat. Which was also black. And the swordbelt. And the black boots which were expensive, stylish, and of a certain sort of cut. With sheathed daggers in the boot-tops.
She sighed. Just before moving to Lancre, Mum had got her kitted out from a particular kind of tailor's. Which dressed both her and her younger sister. Taking Bekki and Famke to the same tailors had been practical, and Mum had pointed out that Witches also wore black clothing as a professional uniform. Therefore. Black clothing. Both daughters dressed on the one shopping trip.
She realised people around her were not really seeing Witch. They were, as far as she could tell, giving her the wary watchful respect due to an Assassin. Deciding this would do, she made herself as inobtrusive and invisible as she could, and, watching Xenia, attempted to fade into the foreground.
Ah. There is a road. But you can't see it from above as it's one of those sorts of roads where the trees are cut back on either side, as far as you can reach with a bill-hook, but are allowed to grow lots of side-branches above your head. So it's like going through a green tunnel. And of course the snow hardly got to go this far down, so it's all normal earth and green on the inside. I can't decide, though, if it's welcoming or frightening.
Bekki heard the hoof-beats getting nearer, suggesting a lot of people on horses. She also heard the singing. She heard Xenia Galena make a sort of "tcch…" noise, shake her head, and saw her deliberately walk out into the centre of the road. Here, she stood nonchalantly with her hands in her pockets… just in time for the first of the Cossack riders to come into view, in a sort of sub-gallop.
Bekki's first thought was that she wanted to yell to Xenia to get out of the way, quickly. Then her second thoughts, in her mother's voice, said
"Wait."
And the riders slowed and stopped. Not of their own volition. But something had happened to the horses, that appeared to have run into some sort of invisible wall. They slowed, cantered, and stopped , the effect rippling back through the Cossack host and then to the ornate coach they were escorting.
"Your friend Sophie Rawlinson did something similar at the Witch Trials last summer." her mother's voice reminded her. "Although that was to only one horse. Xenia Galena has just applied the same sort of magic to forty."
Bekki tried to follow the subsequent brief conversation. Although body language on the part of Xenia and the Cossacks said it all.
Horsemen piled up in confusion.
The hetman of the Cossacks cantered forward a little way, as a lone singing voice, who hadn't caught up with current reality, carried on the song, then realised he was on his own and let his voice falter into confused silence.
The Hetman looked down at a slender dark-haired woman dressed in black, who stood in their path, hands nonchalantly in her pockets. He read the heraldry on the crown of her fur cap, a cross in white cord edged in picots of gold on a black ground. That, and the neck of a white tunic that was barely visible under her long black coat, was the only splash of colour about her. He also took in not one long Cossack sabre, but two. So far they were still sheathed.
He swallowed nervously and dismounted. He bowed, very respectfully.
"Shamanka. What is your wish? How may we assist?" he asked.
Xenia Galena, ved'ma and shamanka to the Vulga Horde, looked up at him. She took her time in replying.
"That you, and the one you escort, approach this place with respect and reverence." she said.
"It will be as you wish, shamanka."
"Khoroscho."
Xenia stepped aside as the horsemen, and the coach, realised they could pass at a more sedate pace, with no singing. She made a perfunctory Witch bow to the occupants of the coach as it passed. Horses turned their heads to her and whinnied. Xenia Galena grinned, one of her primary tasks having been completed. The Cossacks would now be waiting outside, reverentially, not making noise or throwing their weight around. And the people they'd escorted, who would not now be, tactfully, asking entrance to the isba. Or, worse, demanding it.
When all had passed, and without turning her head, Xenia said
"Теперь можешь выходить, Жар-птица. Мы можем вернуться вместе"
Bekki got the gist. We can walk back together, Firebird.
They returned to the isba together, pausing at what Bekki had taken to be a white picket fence. Seen at ground level from closer to, she realised it wasn't.
"Take look, zhar-ptitsa." Xenia said, in heavily accented Morporkian. "Look close. Vedma-look."
Bekki recognised the long leg bones of some kind of animal. Too long to be a pig. Alternating with curved ribs. She frowned, and tried to remember the right word in Rodinian.
"Cows." she said. "Err… korova?"
"Da." Xenia agreed. "Korova. But people here. Think,is… people. Ponyal?"
Bekki had turned her attention to the things on top of the long leg bones from the common cow. She controlled a stab of horror and fought back a shudder. Skulls. Not cattle this time. Human.
She remembered to look at this like a Witch would look. She recognised a test, coming from the strange foreign witch.
"Da. Ya ponimayu." Bekki replied. She made herself look at the line of skulls on top of every other fence post. Well, on top of every other long bovine leg bone. She frowned. Why were they all so regular in shape? All the same colour, when you'd expect some would be older and more discoloured? Skulls came as men, women… and children… didn't they, so you'd expect some to be bigger, or smaller. And people lost teeth. She couldn't see any gaps in any bony mouth. Or damage. And why are all the jaws closed. The lower jaw falls away and detaches, doesn't it… (6)
Then she realised.
She stepped forward and picked one up. It came away easily from the fence post. It felt too light. Wouldn't a real human skull weigh heaver than this? And it didn't feel like bone. Like some sort of… plastic. Come to think of it, you cast things in moulds. And that is not a natural fissure line between individual bones in a skull. This is long and straight. Not sort of wiggly like you see on real skulls. It's a mould seam….
Aware of Xenia Galena watching her with interest and, she suspected, not a little amusement, she turned it over in her hands. And saw the faded label underneath.
BOFFO'S. OF TENTH EGG STREET, ANKH-MORPORK
It even had a price sticker still on it, although the actual price had long since faded.
"Boffo." Bekki said. "Boffo."
"Da." Xenia said, coming closer and patting her shoulder. "Is boffo. Olga Anastacia, she tell me."
Bekki returned the skull to the fence post. Before anyone else noticed.
As she turned to walk away, there was an explosion of light. She heard members of the crowd of peasants screaming.
The eye-sockets of every skull on the fence were glowing in white, red, gold or green, and radiating multicolour light.
Xenia was watching, intent and unexpressive. She waited for the light display to fade.
"But that, not boffo. Nyet."
She held Bekki's eyes.
"Baba Yaga magic. You need…" for a moment she struggled for words, then reverted to Rodinian to make the point. "с бабой-ягой. вы должны знать, где заканчивается boffo . И начинается волшебство. Ты идешь, Жар-птица?"
Bekki focused and got some of the sense. It isn't all boffo. Real magic is involved too.
"Spassibo." she said. "Thank you." Xenia smiled, gentler and with less urgency, as if satisfied her lesson had been learnt. They walked back to the isba together. Bekki wondered why none of the eye-sockets of the Boffo skulls had shone with blue light. Then she remembered why they were here. Blue light would happen later. Not now. Now was a little too early.
Women were arriving with trestle tables and trays of food and drink. Bekki understood this. A going-away party for a witch in Lancre involved a degree of community spirit, with food and drink. Some things in witchcraft were universal. The men are standing around doing not very much. That's universal too.
She glanced down at a stack of crated bottles.
And drink. But no beer?
She also noted, in a way that reminded her of Lancre, another table was being prepared with lots of mis-matched drinking glasses of various sizes. It had the same sort of makeshift improvisation about it. Some things never changed.
Xenia smiled a gentle smile. She said something in Rodinian. Bekki got words like "sadness" and "joy" and "celebration." Then she became intent again. Bekki was getting used to these sudden shifts of mood and intensity.
The older witch reached out. Bekki thought Why am I thinking "old witch? She's at most only about twenty-five. But right now she could be seventy. This is older-witch-stuff.
"Hair. I touch?"
Bekki nodded assent, wondering why.
Xenia took a lock of Bekki's hair. She stroked it, thoughtfully, maintaining eye contact. Then she said, forcefully
"Также. Ножницы. Остерегайтесь ножниц!"
Bekki looked puzzled.
"Beware of… watch out for… nozhnitzhi?"
Xenia made an impatient noise. She extended two fingers horizontally and made cutting motions near Bekki's hair.
"Scissors?" Bekki asked.
"Da! Skizzor!" Xenia said, forcefully.
Irena Politek appeared on the veranda. Bekki and Xenia waved to her. Irena called for them to come over. They'd soon be wanted. She repeated this in Rodinian for Xenia.
Beki put "scissors", or perhaps nozhnitzhi, at the back of her mind for attention later. She frowned. Hartebeeste was a world away. Two continents away. But it reminded her that she needed to find somebody to talk to about it. And she wondered about Xenia Galena. She was a shamaness, wasn't she? She saw things, she had visions, she got information through channels of her own. A bit like Mrs Cake. She needed to get past the language barrier. Xenia only had a few words of Morporkian and her own Rodinian was nowhere near fluent. Right now it just wasn't doing the job. What had Xenia seen that she felt she had to warn Bekki about? Bekki considered she needed a fully bilingual person to interpret.
However, the old witch wanted everyone present in the isba. All the witches. There was something she wanted to do. Apparently "to pass the time while she waited".
The thing with the scissors would have to wait a while. They passed through the growing crowd, anxious and not-at-ease people parting before them, and returned to the isba.
Irena grinned. Even on a sad day like this, there could still be sources of entertainment. She was counting on it, in fact. Funerals could be surprisingly pleasant events, especially when the guest of honour wasn't actually dead yet. Community gathered, people who hadn't seen each other in a long time met up… Irena paused and reflected that there were going to be at least two people out there, in the growing crowd, that she hadn't seen in far too long… scores were settled, arguments thrashed out, and hopefully resolved. She looked forward to witnessing Olga's reunion with her own parents. From a safe distance.
She regarded the ornate coach that had arrived. It had parked on the other side of the unique picket fence, and its occupants had disembarked. Two of them were with their Cossack guard, waiting to be invited within. The mass of townspeople and rural peasants were giving them a wide respectful berth. Irena, suddenly developing a soviet socialist outlook again out of general principles, tore her eyes away from the very expensive mourning black they were wearing, with the minimum of sash and medals in his case. She watched the third person who had arrived with the Grand Duke and his Countess. She was wearing black too, only shabbier and more serviceable, with a battered nondescript hat that had a suspicion of point.
She made the Witch-bow to her hosts, looked as if she were thanking them, and then walked confidently to the house. It looked as if she had been here before. Behind her, Grand Duke Nikolas Romanoff looked at Countess Ekatarinya Romanoff, and both seemed bemused, if anything.
Irena grinned. Totally worth it.
The newly arrived Witch let herself into the isba. Her worn but serviceable boots made a muffled clatter on the time-beaten clay floor, and she took in the gathering of Witches in the big main room. The oldest witch of all looked impassively back the new arrival as she made the Witch-bow.
Then she made a show of producing a battered book, licking a fingertip and searching for a page.
"Ah! Found it!" she announced, in Morporkian. She cleared her throat and read:
"Да пребудет с этим домом благословение!"
Old Natalia shook her head.
"Cut the crap, Perspicacia Tick." she advised her. "I know, and a few other people in this room know, you speak good enough Rodinian. That trick with the phrase book, where you're trying to kid people on that you don't speak a word. Then you just listens, as everyone around you thinks you can't understand a word. Won't wash here."
Miss Tick smiled. She looked around her. It occurred to Bekki that Miss Tick would know practically everybody here, simply because she'd recruited them and got them to Lancre. Miss Tick was a Witch-Finder. She was renowned for it. She was also known everywhere.
"I travel a lot." Miss Tick replied, politely. "I have to use every little skill. Languages help."
The old witch nodded back. She cackled.
"So what little skill did you use on Nikita Romanoff just now?" she demanded. "He once wanted you dragged by the heels behind a Cossack horse, for kidnappin' his daughter!"
People turned to look at Olga. She permitted herself the slightest of smiles. Olga also tried not to look taken aback to hear her father being addressed by the affectionate diminutive, as if by a social superior or an equal.(7)
"And for stealing one of his estate peasants?" Miss Tick replied. This time all eyes turned to Irena Politek. (8) "For which you too could have been whipped?"
Natalia shrugged.
"He knew he couldn't find a Cossack willin' to crack the whip." she said.
"And for some reason, their horses refused to do the dragging." Miss Tick replied.
Natalia grinned. She nodded to Vasilisa.
"Get her a cup of tea, girl!" she commanded. Vasilisa Budonova nodded, turned as if to attend to tea-making, then realised. She in her turn spoke to one of the young apprentice witches, who sighed and went to the samovar.
"You're learnin', girl!" Natalia said, approvingly. "You ain't no apprentice no more!"
"Miss Tick, had we known, we would have flown you." Olga Romanoff said.
"No need." Miss Tick said, shaking her head. "I knew I would be coming out here about a week ago. When I was stuck in Ankh-Morpork, in all that snow. Oh, thank you. Svetlana Grozhnika, isn't it? How are you getting on in Lancre? Learning more Morporkian? Good, good… anyway. A… professional contact… paid for me to travel by rail to where is it now, sounds like a form of excruciating torture… Rigour. I travelled out to here, only arrived this morning, in fact. I paid my respects to the Grand Duke – we saw you all arrive, by the way, absolutely spectacular – and I asked Grand Duke Nikolas if he wouldn't mind. Got a lift with him."
Olga shook her head.
"You just strolled up to the Estate House." she said. "You walked straight past all the guards. You said hello to my parents, and you cadged a lift. In my father's private coach."
"It wasn't terrifically hard, Olga." Miss Tick said. "For some reason the Cossack guards didn't want to challenge me very much, and anyway the price of my train ticket – return fare, by the way – was to deliver some private correspondence to your father."
Olga digested this. Then she realised.
"Vetinari paid for you to come out here?" she said. "And he got you to carry the despatches, and not us?"
"Well, he thought you had a lot on your mind right now." Miss Tick said. "And anyway, it wasn't urgent. And he only paid for a second class ticket. Hardly luxurious. I had to upgrade myself to First Class."
Olga and Nadezhda looked at each other. Bloody Vetinari. This was probably his way of saying "Do not think the Pegasus Service is the only means available to me to deliver despatches."
"Anyway, Olga, your mother wanted to know all about you. And especially about the children. We talked on the coach. They've asked if they're going to see their grand-children at any time soon today."
Vassily and Valentina cheered and started running for the door.
"Not so fast!" Natalia called, with a volume and authority that belied a centenarian body. "Got something to do first."
She addressed the witches.
"Now. You all knows that at ten to four today, that's it. Dead. Gone. Over. That's why you're all here. Now by my reckonin' there are a good five hours to go. Got to fill the time somehow. Never had a head for playin' cards. And if I start the vodka now, I won't have a clear head when the man calls. But the way I sees it, got time to kill. I wants to give you all a partin' gift. A few Words."
She looked long and hard at Olga's children.
"Reckon I should start with these two. If you're agreeable, Olga Anastacia. Get them out of the way quick, so's they can see their grand-mum and grand-dad. I knows Ekatarinya's burstin' to see 'em."
She called Vasilisa over for a whispered private word. Vasilisa nodded and went to collect a few things.
"We'll use the small back room. To be private, like."
She raised her voice.
"You all know the power of the Babayaga. That it is given to her to see a little way into the future. And that on her death, the words she speaks are true and the pictures she sees do not lie."
Things became darker and starker for a moment. Even though the word "Boffo" was just under the surface like a badly concealed iceberg, the watching Witches appreciated a bit of Theatre. Some were covertly taking notes.
"I promise you that each of you will go away with the memory of a few words of pravda. What you then do with that pravda is your business."
She motioned to Vasilisa to help her to a chair in the back room. As her assistant set the table with the necessary things, the old Witch grinned to herself.
"They'll hear pravda. But they'll also get a good dollop of vranyo, too." she said.
Vasilisa Budonova smiled, aware she was privileged.
"That last sentence was truly pravda, Babayaga?" she asked.
The old Witch smiled.
"Don't over-think it, devyushka. Else your head starts running round in circles thinkin' about Ephebian buggers in togas sayin' things like "All Ephebians are liars."
They considered their people together, about the interplay between pravda, lokh and the in-between state called vranyo that elevated evasion, mendacity and duplicity into an art-form.(9)
Vasilisa broke the silence.
"Maybe the Ephebian was lying about being an Ephebian, Babayaga. He was really from, for instance, Cenotia."
The old lady shrugged.
"Maybe. Now bring the kiddies in, Vasilisa Danutovna. Tell their mum she's to trust me, and not to listen at the door." (10)
Valentina and Vassily Romanoff looked up at the old lady with deference but no fear. They craned over to watch as she poured water into the bowl and set the jug to one side. Then she added a few drops of pure black ink, watched them spread into the water, and stirred it with a finger until the liquid was unform.
Natalia cackled.
The children looked at each other.
"Mamya said to be respectful and not rude." Valentina Romanoff said. "But you did that when we first arrived. It didn't really work then."
Natalia sighed.
"I can see we have two bright little kiddies here." she said. "Okay, I'll skip over the bits about a twin brother and sister walkin' in the woods one day who comes across the home of the wicked witch and end up completely at her mercy. Shame, it's a good story. Now. what can you both see in the bowl?"
The twins peered over and in. They looked down into the mirror-still black pool.
"Vassily's ugly face." Valentina said.
"My sister squinting." Vassily added. "Or the back of a cow."
Vasilisa quickly moved to prevent dissent and got between them. Natalia sighed and continued.
"But the point is, you are just seein' your own faces. Agreed? Now move over there. This mirror shows me things. Only me, that is, not you two. I do the seein'. I does the tellin'. You sits over there and do the listenin'. Agreed? Good."
She composed herself.
"Now sit quiet." she said. "This is tricky."
The old witch looked down into the still black. Occasionally she laughed to herself, keeping one careful step away from a cackle.
"You two. Hatched from the same egg. Close." she remarked, smiling with approximate benignity. Then she stopped smiling and looked up.
"I sees what you did." she said. "Clever. Full marks. Maybe I can have a stab as to why. But you ain't going to keep it from your mum for ever. Nor your dad. You'd better both think on, hadn't you, and tell her? One day she'll work it out. And best you tells her first, afore she does."
Outside the door, Olga Romanoff, who was telling herself she was really just standing there waiting to collect the kids when their interview with the old witch was over, as a good mother should, caught the words tell your mum before she finds out.
She frowned. Eddie, still ill at ease at being the only Wizard in a place packed with Witches, whispered in her ear "Best pretend we haven't heard, and wait for them to tell."
She nodded. She continued to strain her hearing. That sounds as if Valla might end up with a Pegasus? Worth knowing. And she's now telling Vassily he'd better shape up when he gets to be Grand Duke, as he's going to have Witches nearby whether he wants them or not. Starting with his sister.
She smiled. The kids were getting good advice, then.
"Now you two think on. Valla. Young Vaska. You can go back to your mum now and tell her I'll be seein' her last, so she can take you both to Grand-dad Nikita and grand-mum Katuschya."
The twins stood up, excitedly.
Vassily frowned.
"Grandfather is Grand Duke." he said. "And you call him Nikita?"
"Not always." Natalia said. "And I've known him since he was tinier than you. He was okay about bein' Nikita then – Vaska - even though it annoys the hells out of him now. And be advised."
She nodded over to Vasilisa.
"Somethin' tells me you're going to get a witch who'll always call you Vaska. Your Excellency. Who will be standin' just behind you so as to see you're getting' it right. And you will get it right. Ask your grand-dad."
Vasilisa smiled.
"We're done here." she said. "Let me take you back to your parents now. Valla. Vaska."
"Vasilisa? Send me… that woman from Ankh-Morpork, would you? Older. Dark hair, Air Watch."
"Nadezhda."
"And her little girl. I'll do them both together. Spassibo."
Olga and Eddie took the children out to their grandparents and a family reunion happened. There was even some love in it. (11)
Nadezhda Popova sat and tried to look stern and impassive. In common with everyone who'd arrived from Ankh-Morpork, she had left her hair unbound and loose, accepting they would be, eventually, attending a funeral. Her long dark hair therefore hung loose and cascaded around her shoulders. She had one protective hand on the shoulder of her daughter Tatiana, who was regarding the old lady without fear.
"Used to have hair like that myself, once." Natalia said. "Maybe sixty years ago."
She looked wistful, possibly a little bit sad. Then she was Babayaga again.
"Anyway."
She scrutinised Tatiana, who looked back at something she found absorbingly interesting, without any trepidation.
"Got a little witch here." she remarked. "She finds me interesting."
A centenarian and a five year old looked at each over across nearly a century.
"You were my age once." Tatiana said.
The old witch considered this.
"Probably." she said. "And I'm damn sure you'll end up my age, devyushka. It's only a matter of time. Witches live long."
"And that is it?" Tatiana asked. "That I'll live to be over a hundred?"
"Be grateful." Nadezhda said. She tried not to feel ill at ease.
"Well, since you ask." Natalia remarked. She bent over the inky liquid.
"You gets to beat the drum. You gets to learn how to dance the steps. You gets to wear the regalia. You gets to watch over the doorway to the Domovila."
She nodded to the girl.
"That's your future. I also sees you was named after a friend of your mum's. She died young. You'll get her swords. Don't ask me how. But you get her swords. Tatiana's swords. See you more grown-up when that happens, though."
Natalia grinned.
"You'll do OK. Now I needs a quiet private word with your mum. A grown-up word."
"Say thank you." Nadezhda said. "And remember this moment."
They waited for Tatiana to leave and close the door behind her.
"Shall I leave too?" Vasilisa asked.
Nadezhda shook her head.
"Stay. I trust you." she replied, trying not to let on that all this was really quite un-nerving. Even scary. She'd far rather have somebody else there.
Natalia smiled. Even laughed a little.
She took her time in speaking. Nadezhda recognised she was being tested, and held her gaze.
"Nadezhda Veranovna." Natalia said, eventually. "Don't need no scryin'bowl to work you out. And you're old enough to know what you are going to hear is goin' to be part pravda, part govno, and an awful lot of vranyo. But never lozh. Lozh is right out. I don't do lozh. Anyway.
"You're happy, right? Well, contented. Witches tends not to do happy. Good job. You likes doin' it. Good husband, and we all knows how hard one of those is to find. Even if he drives you nuts every so often and you wants to thump him."
Natalia looked far away for a moment.
"Been there meself. Long time ago now. It was worth doin'. You got yourself three good kids. Just seen one. She'll do alright. As if three ain't enough for you, you looks after them girls what the Air Watch takes in as apprentices, and you treats them like they're your own. Fledglings. Some damn good witches passed through your hands, Mother Hen."
Both looked at Vasilisa. Then back to each other.
"Anyhow. Somethin's missing, right? You tell yourself not to be silly, to count your blessin's, not to let it get on top of you. It's like an itch you can't scratch. You tell yourself it's never going to happen, you have to live with it. Not to feel jealous of the girls what can."
She looked down at the scrying bowl again. Her face split into a delighted grin and this time, she cackled. Nadezhda tried not to flinch or jump.
"You wants a flyin' horse. One of the Pegasuses. That's the big itch. Well, Nadezhda Veranovna. How would it be if I tells you that by the end of this year, latest, you will be flyin' the sky on a creature with Pegasus wings? I swear by the Gods, I ain't doing this. I'm only as good as the pictures I see. That's what I'm seein', anyway. Pegasus wings."
She looked up and grinned. Nadezhda felt a sudden leap of excitement, then reminded herself of the vranyo thing. Not to get her hopes up too high. There was always a catch, with predictions.
"It'll be your life from then on, Nadezhda Veranovna. Something to do with something Olga Anastacia gets herself mixed up in, mebbe in the next month or so. Don't ask me how. But you definitely gets yourself Pegasus wings."
There was a silence. Nadezhda tried to digest what was being said. She felt the excitement again.
"Oh, and that lad of yours. He gets to go to the Assassins' School. You'll have to put up with that. Seein' somebody, lad about eleven, in a black school uniform. Big old place. Stinks of money, and of what people are prepared to do to make it. Reckon he'll do okay, though. He'll come out decent at the other end."
Nadezhda deflated. Back to earth again.
"Reckon that's about your lot." Natalia said. "Round somebody else up to send in? Maybe that young girl you brought. Face like a pinched bum, walks like she's got a poker rammed up her jacksie."
"Alexandra Mumurovka?" Vasilisa asked. "One of your Fledglings, Mother Hen."
Nadezhda tried not to grin. It would have been unkind. But that sounded just like Lexi…
"Da. I will find her. Thank you, Babayaga."
Outside, Bekki and other Witches were passing the time by helping the local women set up tables and plates and trays for the Going-Away. It looked and smelt like a lot of baking and preparation had been going on, people called by some ancient imperative to provide for the needs of the living at a funeral, the realisation that life should go on. She was also seeking to improve her Rodinian as she helped, talking to the stolid and impenetrable peasant women who were just getting on with it, doing what needed to be done.
Right now she was learning the essential vocabulary of food and drink, trying to put it out of her mind that she was hungry. It had been a long time since breakfast.
"Oh, hello." she said, aware of the insistent tugging at the hem of her tunic.
She looked down into the insistent face of Tatiana Yermeka.
"The Babayaga said I'm going to grow up to be a witch and a Shamanka." the little girl said in a matter-of-fact way. "I get to beat the drum and sing and to wear the pretty costumes."
"Oh. Do you want to be a witch?"
Tatiana shrugged.
"Nichevo." she said. "but when she told me I'm going to be a shamanka, I was reminded. A picture I saw. Auntie Firebird, you must watch for the thing with the scissors that wants to cut your hair off. It's chasing you."
Bekki put down a salver of pierogis with intense care.
"Tatiana, when did you… oh."
The little girl was scampering off, having been invited to join in a dance with playmates of her own age.
Bekki frowned. Why did everyone suddenly want to warn her about scissors?
One of the village women was proferring her a tray of small cakes. She didn't need perfect Rodinian to understand. Some things were universal.
You're helping. You look hungry. Would you like to try a teacake?
"Spassibo." Bekki said, and took one. It was perfectly delicious.
"Don't you think thirteen is too young an age to wear a corset?" the old witch demanded.
Alexandra Mumurovka blinked. This hadn't been the opening question she had been expecting, not at all.
"But I'm not wearing a corset, Babayaga."
Natalia shook her head.
"You're wearin' one as I look at you, girl." she said, flatly. "The sort as is hardest to take off. You're laced up tight, you've got a head full of duty and service and obligation. Milit'ry family, is it? Your dad being a Polkovnik or a Hetman or something of that order? You gets to be one of them Fledglings in the Air Watch, you gets to wear a smart uniform, and you knows this is where you belong? And you don't want to let nobody down?"
Alexandra let her mouth drop open. How could she know?
The old witch tried to smile, kindly.
"Look, love, you're thirteen. It only comes around once. Be thirteen. Not forty-three. The Air Watch has got people for that. Your Mother Hen, for one. You'll get close to my age, in time, without havin' ever been thirteen once. And that's an awful shame."
She bowed her head over the bowl.
"How old is Olga Anastacia now? Middle thirties? And she commands the Air Watch. Did well for herself."
She looked up and glared at Lexi.
"Not sayin' you will, not sayin' you won't, neither. But got a picture of you in twenty years time, sittin' pretty much where Olga Anastacia sits now, in the same sort of uniform. You might not get there. But Olga was a bit like you when she was thirteen. She learnt. Reckon you will too."
She nodded dismissal. Vasilisa came forward to usher Lexi to the door.
"Think on. Be thirteen." Natalia called.
Aaargh. Thirteen thousand words. This is going to roll on into another chapter….more Last Words and the rest of the going-Away to cme...
(1) Backstory. As a very small child, Olga had been given a series of picture-based story books thought appropriate for a small girl, about a race of intelligent ponies who lived in a land all of their own, a Kingdom called Equestria. The very young Olga had been suitably entranced, had loved the books, and the memory had lingered. She had discovered, once they were on speaking terms, that a travelling companion called Irena Politek had also, as a tiny girl, read and loved the books.(1.1) Olga accepted this, that books and literacy created a democracy even open to peasants. They had grown up and joined the City Watch together as graduated witches. When after magical accident the first Pegasi had happened, Olga, in a moment of fond whimsical memory, called her mount Rainbow Dash. After passage of some more time, during which Olga had learnt that once a name is conferred on a horse it is impossible to change it, she had given the same books, about the magical pony kingdom of Equestria, to her own daughter. Who also loved them… meanwhile another little girl called Tatiana Yermeka had also discovered Equestria.
(1.1) Irena had said her reservation was that Equestria should have its Revolution and become the Equine Soviet Socialist Republic of Equestria. She speculated on how the books should be rewritten to reflect the inevitable victory of the working pony proletariat. My Little Proletariat, perhaps.
(2) Yes, I know in The Price of Flight I placed this as being in December. I've had to retcon it to January to fit the new chronology for two longer tales. At the time I really thought I was only writing a single chapter one-shot…
(3) OK. So I'm retconning people into the original story.
(4) Sighs, deeply. Again, retcon.
(5) for details, go to The Price of Flight, first chapter.
(6) Rebecka Smith-Rhodes is an Assassin's daughter. Her mother kept a full professional library including a lot of more specialised anatomy texts. Rebecka has always been an avid reader.
(7) Another snippet of backstory. Olga later reflected that Natalia, as local Witch, had in all probability been the midwife at her father's birth, and would have had some sort of influence on him as he grew up. That sort of thing makes a difference. Olga's Third Thoughts had then prompted her with Natalia would have also been Witch here in the time of my grandparents. That makes a very big difference. It takes a long time to become a Babayaga. Natalia had selected them as trainee Witches. Miss Tick had got Olga and Irena to Lancre. Sometimes these things have to be done discreetly and under cover of dark.
(8) I know. More retconning. It had been Irena, aware Miss Tick was in town, who had made a helpful suggestion to Vetinari as to who else might be travelling to Rodinia, if the Pegasus Service was unable to fly, who could be trusted to deliver a message by a more conventional route. Totally worth it.
(9) Any non-Russian politician who hears about the very Russian thing called vranyo might hand in their MP's privileges and walk away, knowing they can never, ever, hope to play in the same league. To horribly oversimply. At one end of the scale is Pravda, truth. At the opposite end is lokh, falsehood. Vranyo manages to be everything else in between and somehow transcends both. Doestoevsky said something about vranyo being the blood coursing in Russia's veins. And he should know.
(10) Olga Romanoff was a Witch. Of course she'd edge closer to the door and strain her ears so as to listen.
(11) Skipping a bit. Might expand some bits later. It's about this point where Eddie is told he is now a Baron and given the Title deeds. Much to his discomfort.
Damn. Bloody autopredict seems set on correcting every instance of "Syren" to "siren". Also it's got it into its head that when I type "from" I really mean "form". Also capital letter "Pravda", thinking I mean the Russian newspaper, as opposed to small-case "pravda", meaning "truth". And getting it to recognise Russian words and names transliterated into Latin forms is… aaargh.
"Также. Ножницы. Остерегайтесь ножниц. Also. Scissors. Beware of scissors." – Xenia to Rebecka.
The Going Away –
Borrow lots of dialogue and expand on episodes from TPOF.
Natalya has Last Words with each Witch present as a sort of going-away present.
e.
The Funeral;
Xenia Galena, as Shamanka, glares the village priest to one side and opens the gateway to the Domovila, where the old witch is buried alongside those who have gone before. Vasilisa follows on, discreetly, and seeds the grave with the poppyseed-and-earth mix.
Pallbearers will be the village headman, the Cossack hetman, and Grand Duke Nikolas alongside three Witches (Olga, Irena, plus possibly Nadezhda) as this is Symbolic. The other Witches fall in behind.
Later, Bekki gets to discuss the Hartebeeste Problem. Nadezhda and Perspicacia Tick, who arrived by means of her own, will advise on what looks like a Class One Poltergeist. Or else an escapee from Somewhere Else that has latched onto a receptive mind. What they are and where they come from. And how to deal with it. Also aftercare for the Receptive Mind.
The Notes Dump:-
I needed to get a visual impression of what it is like to fly over Russian landscapes. Just, you know, aerial photography or else video footage taken from planes. I had an idea that the sort of landscape I wanted to see would be at least 60% trees with occasional villages and cultivated bits punctuated by rivers and water features. But before writing about it I wanted to see it for myself.
Could I find it? Search terms like "Russia from the air" or "aerial views of Russia" brought up page after page of "how the mighty Russian Air Force will crush everybody" , or "how the USAF will knock the Hell out of those goddam Russians" or "Puny western Air Forces no match for mother Russia" or "Russian air force bombs targets in Syria".
I mean. All I want to do is, in a virtual sense, fly over European, or at a pinch Siberian, Russian landscapes at a thousand feet. And not to look at the country through a bombsight. Just to write it better. And can I find it…
Amusingly. Looking for aerial footage of the Donbas and the river Don region in Russia. YouTube directed me to the River Don in Scotland and then to the River Don in Yorkshire, England.
"Nah then, lad. I see t'Cossacks are out in force today, tha knows."
"Aye, bloody Sheffield Host givin' thisselves all airs and graces purely because Sheffield steel makes t'best shashkas."
"And them bloody buggers from t'Wakefield oblast."
Useful notes;
Starozolotovsky - in Rostov Oblast on the Don, preserved as a working Cossack stanitsa. Typical Russian village (Khutor) with a period feel.
Veshenskaya Stanitsa
Sobrage – opening a bottle of sparkling wine with a sword
Clay floors, large stove with beds built above
Barnaula, Komi, Vorchuta, Pechora – towns in Siberia where winters get to 47 degrees below
Yakutia, a town in Siberia where the local street market still operates at forty below in a blizzard, both shoppers and stall holders go "meh" and deal with it, and Siberian people STILL go without scarves or face-coverings. Apparently the trick is to keep moving.
Verkhoyansk, Siberia – fifty-two below and the attitude of the people is to shrug and get on with it.
I understand Nadezhda better, now.
And... I swear to any gods out there that I did not know this.
There is a Russian folk-legend about Vasilisa the Beautiful, the Firebird and the Horse of Power, in which she has to enlist help from a phoenix and a magical horse to overcome the wiles of the wicked Babayaga...
Xenia Galena grinned, one of her primary tasks having been completed. The Cossacks would be waiting outside, reverentially, not making noise or throwing their weight around. And the people they'd escorted, who were tactfully not asking entrance to the isba. Or, worse, demanding it.