This is a fan translation of Wrong Time for Dragons (Не время для драконов) by the Russian science fiction and fantasy authors Sergei Lukyanenko and Nick Perumov.
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Note: Footnotes can be found at the end of the chapter.
Chapter 11
Loy had been to the territory of the Water Clan only once before. She'd been brought for a visit when she was just a little girl. Back then, right after the war, the clans were very, very friendly towards one another. It was fashionable to exchange visits, embassies, occasionally someone transferred from one clan to another, there were even interclan marriages… But all she remembered from that distant time were the ringing of the fountains, the glinting of the sun, and the sullen boy attached to guard and entertain the little Cat. Loy had been truly bored, having just started suffering from a growing up crisis, when all future capabilities began to awaken. With a vengeful satisfaction she tormented the poor guy with whims, complains, slight coquetry, and finally demanded him to prove his loyalty by demonstrating magic that was beyond him. To be honest, that was how enmity between clans sometimes started.
She didn't need to demonstrate her capabilities at the moment. And she wasn't burning with a desire to see someone else's magic. There was plenty in Torn's palace already.
Naturally, there were fountains, water floors, flowing living mirrors, rainbows suspended under the ceiling — the invariable assortment meant to amaze the people. But true Power was far more important. Even Loy's weak abilities (or maybe she was being helped in sensing it) were enough to discover an entire series of frightening things. For example, the fact that Hundred Fields was literally located on water — an enormous freshwater lake, pulled in by the mages, was present twenty meters underground. It would be a nasty surprise for any possible aggressor if the raging element opened up underfoot.
Loy also noticed a wave. A kilometer from the shore, hiding right above the sea floor, an unborn tsunami was slumbering. Intricate strands stretched from it to the palace, ready to awaken the monstrous wall of water at a moment's notice and send it crashing down upon the shore or approaching ships.
The Watery ones were powerful. Very powerful.
Finally, her trip through the hallways and enfilades was over. The combat mages stopped, and so did the third-rank mage. Loy found herself in front of an arch covered by a waterfall curtain. She could see nothing through the sparkling rain of droplets.
Smiling to her escorts, Loy stepped forward.
She'd been expecting something unpleasant, a malicious joke, like an entire stream that would pour down her bosom, or for the thin dress to get wet and cling to her body, forcing her to stand before Torn almost as if naked.
But no, the mage didn't lower himself to such pettiness. The sparkling waterfall parted, allowing her through. Loy found herself standing in front of the head of the Water Clan.
The room was furnished without ostentatious luxury. This meant it was Torn's true abode, not a hall meant for obfuscation. The floor water transparent, illuminated, with colorful fishes frozen in the depth. The water running along the walls was likely a form of defense. The mosaic under the flowing streams seemed to have been just formed, even though it was probably many years old. The images primarily showed the first ships approaching the Middle World, the Watery ones mastering their side of Power, the palaces being erected and gardens planted. Nothing grim or warlike. Hypocrites…
The mage was awaiting her standing up. Two chairs were standing to the side, but Loy knew full well that there was little chance they were going to sit down for a friendly chat.
"Yes, I'm surprised," Torn started.
Loy nodded without looking away. Cold pleasantness and icy fury were not the best start to a conversation. She'd have preferred to listen to threats, show weakness… and provoke Torn to violence.
But things were unfolding differently.
"I'm also surprised, Torn."
"By what, o wise Loy?" The word "wise" was full of mockery. "The lack of musicians and cheering throngs?"
"No, Torn. I'm surprised that you've yet to forgive me. And… that you're not asking for forgiveness yourself."
Torn twitched in anger. He started raising his hand…
"Yes!" Loy's shout was slightly deliberately tragic, but the important part was stopping the mage, and it worked. "Yes, I'm at fault! When a weak woman tricks a powerful man into canceling his plans, it's insulting! Very insulting! And I understand that you're offended. I admit my fault! But you, you…" Tears glinted in the Cat's eyes. "For once, Torn, the leader of the Water Clan, comes to my ball…" She took a step towards the mage. "And why? To talk to me…" a bitter smile. "Or…" lenient contempt quivered in her voice, "to take a look at young Pussycats… Fine, I would understand that. But, it turns out, even within the walls of my home you just want one thing! Revenge! Power! A showdown with the Airy ones! And here I am, the complacent fool, thinking that you're attracted to me…"
Torn was listening to her without interruption. Loy kept getting closer.
"Or the fact that the Airy ones wouldn't have pondered who to exact vengeance on: you or the clan on whose ground Ritor was killed…"
"Soon vengeance will be the last thing on the Airy ones' minds…"
"Really? You've decided to exterminate them all? Why? Fine, you have the strength for it, no one is arguing it, but how did they displease you? That old argument about the Bbhchi border lands?"
"It's not about them, it's about their plans…" Torn hadn't noticed their roles start to change. "Don't think of me as a madman, filled with bloodthirst and the desire for revenge!"
"I'd like not to…" Loy sighed and touched the mage's shoulder. "But then why pick my ball as a meeting place?"
"Listen," Torn said reluctantly. "We were chasing Ritor and didn't want to let him escape. I would've ensured your protection from the Airy ones… they're not that powerful without Ritor…"
"Then why not tell me that right away? Why not ask for permission? You knew that our lands were peaceful territory!"
"There's too much at stake…" Torn glanced at her hand that was nervously gripping his shoulder. His gaze slid along the arm to her half-bare shoulder, to her cleavage. "I really… really didn't want to do harm to your clan… But your actions!"
With a start, Loy realized that fury was awakening in Torn's eyes. That wouldn't do! Not at all!
"I know! And I came to you, alone, without guards. I came, so that you… you, mage Torn… could punish me. Anyway you choose." Too much! Too obvious! "No one knows where I am. You could kill me, Torn, and the Cat Clan won't seek vengeance. My life is in your hands."
"I don't need your miserable life!" Torn tried to fuel his resentment, not understanding that the moment had passed.
"Then what do you need from me?" Loy asked bitterly. She turned away, looking at the sparkling water canopy over the entrance.
She wasn't even acting now, having convinced herself that she was simply a scorned woman. Torn would've sensed any falsehood or an attempt to influence him.
"What do I need from you?" Torn repeated thoughtfully. "I don't know, Loy. I don't need your clan's loyalty. You know full well that we're stronger. I don't need your life either. I've even forgiven your dirty trick… maybe we really had gotten too drunk on the chase…"
Loy was crying silently. Then she waved her hand and started moving towards the exit. She could leave now. The truce had been established.
"Loy!"
The woman paused.
"I very much regret that everything happened so… so foolishly." Torn was having trouble uttering those words. "We can retain our mutual respect. Even sympathy. Someday I'll visit your ball again… when everything calms down."
Loy turned sharply and spat out, "You're such a fool, mighty Torn! Do you really believe that a woman comes to you just to make peace? I, Loy Iver, have come to you! The Cat Iver… not a clan leader or a mage equal to you in rank!"
She waved her hand, and the stunned Torn felt the cloak on his chest being ripped apart by invisible claws. But there wasn't a scratch on his skin.
"I've snuck away from my clan. I've come… and heard… a promise to stop by one day…"
"Loy…"
Torn walked up to her with unexpected speed. He grabbed her by the shoulders, threw his head back, and peered into her eyes.
"What do you need from a weary mage who is trying hard to save our fragile world?" he whispered. "What's on your mind… you foolish Cat…"
"I'll remove your weariness, Torn…" Loy's hands touched his bare chest. "I… I didn't scratch you, did I? Torn, just for a moment, be a man… not a mage, not a clan ruler… forget about everything with me… the way I have forgotten…"
Torn dug into her lips with a kiss that had more impatience in it than experience. How long had it been since he was with a woman? Loy really was starting to get aroused…
"Torn, do with me whatever you want…"
And Torn accepted her offer.
Laughing happily, Loy helped him get undressed. She slipped out of her dress and forced the mage chase her for several seconds. There was no particular need for such mockery, but she wanted to make him pay for her recent fear.
Then, no longer able to speak, Torn caught her by the hand, brought her down onto her back, and entered her, roughly and impatiently, with the passion of a young man and with almost the same result.
Loy moaned, embracing the weakened mage and arching her back.
"Oh… Torn… Torn!"
Huh, that office ceiling is no good. That's from the constant dampness. Time for a whitewash.
Standing near one of the walls, Loy was brushing her hair, after the water there had grown muddy and turned reflective at Torn's casual gesture. The mage himself was soaking in a pool — the floor at the center of the office had "thawed" and formed a recess. A school of fish was swimming around the mage. Loy was watching Torn out of the corner of her eye — like a kid in a bathtub, he was catching the fishes with his hand and smiling dumbly. But Loy's primary concern was her own body. She stretched, watching the hard muscles play under her matte white skin. Attractive. Still very attractive. Staying young was difficult, even for a mage, even for a mage of the Cat Clan. But it was worth it…
"Did you enjoy it, Loy?" Torn asked seemingly casually.
"Yes, honey," the Cat replied, studying a fold on her abdomen. Was it… treacherous fat? Cellulite?
But Torn continued to look at her suspiciously, and Loy added, as if in passing, "I wanted you so much… it was truly magical…"
The mage calmed down.
"I wanted you too."
Loy smiled mentally. Poor Torn. It seemed that in this respect, his development had paused at the level of a teenager. Maybe that was why all those Elemental mages were always so aggressive and concerned with the fate of the world. Because they didn't have time for a normal sex life.
Stretching the fold, Loy decided that it was fine. Just an extra slice of cake in the company of her girlfriends. Some exercise would get rid of it.
"I want you again, honey!" Loy shouted. She took a running start and jumped into the water. There was momentary horror in Torn's eyes, but Loy's skills did their part, and they were intertwined in an embrace one again…
A minute later—oh, Torn—Loy, playfully twirling the mage's hard hair and humming a song, said, "If we could meet like this every day, Torn…" The mage looked petrified. "We'd have marvelous swimming kittens, Torn. The girls would look like me, and the boys… well, probably like me too."
The mage was near despair. It wouldn't do for him to drown her in his pool!
"Too bad the clans won't allow that."
Torn started breathing more evenly and said, "It's not just the laws, Loy. Difficult times are coming for the Middle World."
"Why?" Loy expressed surprise with her entire being. "Are the people revolting? Has the Gray Limit turned into smoke? Are the Naturalborn—"
"Yes."
"Preparing an invasion?" Loy tried not to show her true feelings. There was anxiety and fury in her voice, just the right amount. "The Cat Clan is ready to meet them! The boys are getting anxious…"
Torn was silent. He wanted to say something, but caution was getting the upper hand.
"Honey…"
Loy's hand playfully dove underwater, and the mage shrieked in fright, "It's very serious, Loy! We need to talk not as a man and a woman… but as those responsible for the fate of their clans, as mages!"
"Then what's the matter, Torn?"
"That Ritor… that crazy Ritor… he's certain that a Dragon is coming."
Loy was silent for a long time. The mask she was wearing was growing far too tight.
"Are you sure, Torn?"
"Yes. I can sense it too. Not as strongly as Ritor. You know very well that our Power has always been more of a prisoner of the overlords than a loyal foundation…"
"We've dealt with them very rarely," Loy whispered. "They didn't want our women… you understand…"
"Why not?"
Loy gave Torn a surprised look. So much for the mighty all-knowing mage…
"They were monogamous," she informed him. "They treated life very differently."
"Bastards…" Torn whispered. "Those… pederasts."
Loy decided not to ask whether it had been a serious conclusion or just Torn taking the opportunity to kick the defeated masters.
"Torn, how can someone whose clan has been wiped out come?"
"Not the entire clan! It seems that Ritor didn't do his duty all the way!"
"This is serious," Loy agreed after a pause. If he let at least one Dragon go… Is that why you went for each other's throats?"
"No," the mage was getting his confidence back, now that political intrigue was the subject matter. "I'd assumed something like that might happen. It's not a problem, no one could ever guarantee that all the Dragons would be killed in the fight. The problem is that Ritor is prepared to offer them support. And so is his entire clan."
"What about the Fiery ones?"
Torn frowned, "They worry me most of all. They're hiding… the fire always grows quiet before flaring even brighter. They haven't even officially declared war."
"What about unofficially?"
"Three of my castles burned down yesterday," the mage admitted reluctantly. "Like candles. Two remote ones, in the snowy lands, and one in the Zivash Marshes."
"And your magic didn't extinguish the fire?"
"I wasn't there!"
"Torn, what's the harm of a single Dragon? Even without creating a Slayer, we can try to defeat him! Especially before he comes into his power."
"What do you suggest?"
"First of all, we need to find him."
Torn smiled mysteriously.
"Second, we need to prepare a Slayer."
"For that we need the power of all the Elemental Clans…" Torn sighed. "But… we're trying. We're doing everything we can. In both directions."
"Then there's no reason—"
"The Naturalborn."
"Oh, right… What about them?"
"The invasion."
"Torn, stop speaking in riddles! It's as if you're being paid for every unspoken word! Will we really not be able to fight them off?"
"They're creating a Dragon too."
Loy climbed out of the hated water and sat on the edge of the pool, kicking her bare feet.
"Then we definitely need a Slayer. Or, maybe let the Dragon come like Ritor wants. Let him fight the Naturalborn. Let him die in the fight… or weaken. And then we can decide what to do."
"There are different options, Loy." Torn moved his hand in the water. "Life is like a current. It keeps going, sometimes slowing down, and sometimes speeding up. It can fall to the bottom or rise to the surface. What happens a moment later is known only to the one whose hand is causing the water to move…"
"I've heard the same words about the wind. And fire. The Earth Clan has its own opinion about life being eternal and unchanging. Don't be offended, Torn! But it's best not to leave things adrift! What options are there?"
"I've already told you more than I should have." Torn frowned. "Loy! Are you on my side now?"
"I swear, I'll do everything to protect our world!"
Torn nodded in satisfaction.
Why did men always look for confirmation of their own desires in any words? Only then did they look for the speaker's will and opinion.
There wasn't an untouched spot left on him. Bending over a backwater, Victor looked over his worn-out body and shook his head. Either he'd gotten lucky… it was a twisted smile, but even the ability to still smile was a good thing, or… Victor touched the hematoma that had spread over his entire biceps and pulled the hand away with a yelp. The bone should've been broken from the force of such an impact. But no! All he had were bruises and minor injuries!
Either he was tougher than he'd always thought, or his endurance had been miraculously increased in the Middle World.
For some reason, he wanted to get into the ice-cold water and lie there, letting the gentle currents massage his body…
Victor shook himself. That was ridiculous. Even a trivial pneumonia… not even pneumonia, common bronchitis would reduce his chances for survival by a factor of ten. Even if it was warmer here than at the Gray Limit, but there was no need to take the risk.
Pulling his trusty lighter out of the jacket, he lit a fire. Strange, the branches he'd gathered along the bank were damp. And the campfire he'd put together was made poorly. And yet the fire was burning well. What had the dwarves suggested, that he go to the Fiery ones? Why not? Nothing else to do…
The firewood was steaming: the water was evaporating in an instant, leaving nearly dry branches for the fire's consumption. The breeze that suddenly appeared helpfully fanned the flame. Ten minutes later, the fire was burning so hotly that Victor had to step back and move his drying clothes.
Good. He could warm up and get some rest. But first, grimacing in pain, Victor climbed the slope and looked around. A forest in the distance… The Middle World had nice ecology, with the river snaking its way between hills. The city—he wondered what was happening there now after all that chaos—was far away. It was unlikely that the crazed group of mages was currently capable of giving chase. The fire was burning almost without smoke, so noticing it would be difficult.
Climbing down, Victor picked a place on the grass, next to the fire but under the protection of the trees. He really didn't want to wake up under the mercilessly burning sun. It was still cool, but the day was promising to be a hot one.
He really did fall asleep quickly, almost right after finding the position that made his body more ache like after vigorous exercise than hurt. The light breeze was stroking his skin gently, and Victor lost himself in the sensation…
He was barely surprised at finding himself on the white sand next to the splashing black water. His dreams had their own internal logic: he was stark naked, just like in reality, and even had the same bruises.
Past the prickly sedge strip—he shuddered at the thought of walking on it barefoot—he saw ashes. Two or three charred pillars were sticking out from the ground, there were piles of blackened but not burned objects. Probably those same "models"…
What had the stocky freak told him? "Go check out the woods"? It was time to accept the invitation.
Victor walked on the trail that hadn't straightened after the previous time. His feet felt the prickles, but he did his best to ignore the scratches. It was a dream, just a dream. Nothing bad was going to happen. It would be better to just enjoy the surroundings… no, that didn't work, they was way too unnatural. Like a painting of an insane surrealist done in the brightest colors available.
The translucent mountains alone were something to be noted. If he looked closer, he could make out the outlines of some distant expanse through their hazy thickness. Or was that something else? Ore veins, enormous gold nuggets… It seemed there was gold in the grey mountains after all. [Footnote 1]
Meanwhile, the blue-purple forest was getting closer. He could already make out the shape of the leaves: thin, sharp, unnaturally similar, as if these trees never experienced any seasons, leaf falls, or renewals.
"Hey!" Victor shouted. Since the fat man hadn't thought to introduce himself, he decided to maintain at least a modicum of politeness. "Expecting any guests?"
There was no answer. He had no doubt that the shorty would show himself. Maybe he was watching him this very second. Waiting for something, choosing the right moment…
The sedge ended, and normal, soft grass was now underfoot. Victor picked up the pace and stepped under the forest's purple canopy.
Nothing unusual. Just a forest. Only it was purple. Other than that… even the air was alive, fresh, and the silence…
No. The silence felt deliberate. Excessive. There were always sounds, rustles, movement in a living forest. This one seemed to be sleeping.
Victor kept going. He wasn't afraid to get lost, that would be ridiculous in a dream. And yet… Something was beginning to press him. Still unnoticeably, he could barely feel it. As if a tiny piece was missing, without which the world grew dull and turned into a nightmarish decoration, like in those dreams where one's hand felt for the light switch, and the lights turned on, but extremely dully, not chasing the darkness away but only making it thicker and difficult to see through…
He shook it off. What was going on?! There was no sun, but it was still bright! And no monsters, no mages. So where was the dreary fear coming from?
He thought he heard rustling behind him several times. But each time he turned around, the purple forest remained devoid of people. It seemed he really was just hearing things… And when the trees parted, revealing a clearing, he could help but breathe a sigh of relief.
A house stood in the clearing. Not like the shed on the shore, but a normal wooden house with a slate-covered roof, a veranda painted in peeling green paint, and white curtains on the windows.
Victor burst into laughter at just how out of place the house looked in this purple forest, and, at the same time, its presence was echoed by relief in his heart. It was unlikely that the stocky alchemist would live here. Thank God! He didn't want anymore freaks! He was sick and tired of them!
Approaching the door, Victor thoroughly wiped his feet on the door mat and knocked. No answer. He pushed the unlocked door, and it creaked quietly. The veranda was empty, only a hammock stretched between the walls was swaying.
"Anybody home?"
This was becoming his favorite question…
Silence.
This was becoming his favorite answer…
Victor stepped onto the veranda. He opened the second door and looked inside. A large, clean room. A burning stove, short, like the ones typically built in dachas [Footnote 2]. A table covered in a colorful tablecloth. A frying pan on a wooden coaster, with fried potatoes and mushrooms smoking in it. A jug, glasses with milk. Thickly sliced bread. It felt as the owner had just stepped out.
But where? Victor found another room in the house, which contained two neatly made beds and a window that was locked from the inside. Just in case, he looked under the beds and even peered into wardrobes, finding nothing there besides simple clothing and clean linens.
"Where is everyone?" he asked, still hoping to get an answer. "Hey! I'm not a bandit and not a thief! Hello!"
Silence. The food on the table continued steaming, the hammock on the veranda kept on swaying. It was idyllic. Just move in and live. There was nobody else there.
And there wouldn't be.
Victor suddenly sensed that the house was dead. Killed. An empty shell, whose life had been carelessly scraped out. It was the same in the forest. And beyond the glass mountains. This world was dead, turned into an endless desert. Into a place of exile — for him alone. He wouldn't wake up again. His body would wither away on the riverbank, and he would remain here. Alone, forever.
"No," he whispered. "I don't want to!"
He dashed to the door and nearly ran into the entering "alchemist." His joy at seeing that red-faced freak was so great that Victor barely kept himself from doing something ridiculous like hugging him.
"So there you are," he said, throwing a tenacious gaze across the room. "You hot potato… make some room…"
Pushing Victor aside, the stocky man walked to the table. He sat on a plaintively squeaking chair and started to eat straight from the huffing frying pan, dumping the mushrooms and potatoes straight into his sizable mouth.
"Um…on… oin in…"
"What?"
"Come on! Join in!" the "alchemist" repeated after chewing his food. There was steam coming from his mouth. "This is the sweet life! Right?"
Victor said nothing.
"Why is it that you humans don't like solitude so much? Eh?"
A new handful of food went into his mouth. The frying pan was now empty.
"What's your name?" Victor asked.
"What use is my name to you? Call me however you want…"
Grabbing the pitcher, the fatty was gulping down the milk hungrily. White streams were flowing down his vein-covered face and staining his already dirty shirt.
"I'm going to call you Glutton."
The fatty bust out laughing, gurgling the rest of the milk. He tossed the pitcher aside, which miraculously didn't shatter, but a puddle spread out from it on the floor.
"Sure, why not? I really do like to eat."
"Why isn't there anyone here?"
Glutton laughed, "No, I really don't! I don't get you, humans!"
"Then what are you?"
But Glutton continued laughing, "When you're falling in a tin can onto the ground, that I understand. It makes sense to get your pants wet before the end. When you drive one such tin can into another and burn down, again, nothing pleasant. I really do understand that! But what's there to fear here? You're walking through a forest, looking at leaves, come to a house, everything is ready… just sit, eat, sleep… And there you nearly leapt on my neck! Strange, strange…"
"What does all this mean?"
"What, you're demanding answers here?"
"What's going on here?" Victor raised his voice. Tossing his chair aside, the fatty got to his feet and stared at Victor grimly. But Victor was already filled with a wave of fury, "I'm asking you!"
"Why don't you beg?" Glutton drawled, crouching in a mocking bow. "Beg…"
"Buffoon!" Victor raised his hand and wasn't surprised when a gleaming blue lash flew of out it, like the water whips. But, unlike the whips, it struck like an arrow, punching clear through Glutton and splattered against the wall behind him as bloody sprays.
"Oh… oh…" Glutton groaned, grabbing his punctured chest with his hands. "Killed… You've killed me…"
His voice was growing weaker, and he began to sway, ready to fall either onto the table or into the puddle of milk.
"I didn't mean to…" All of Victor's ardor was now gone. The sensation that Glutton was going to die, and the world was again turn into a motionless decoration was far too clear. "I…"
He ran over to the shorty, ready to not only render aid, but even die next to him…
"Hah-hah-hah!" Glutton burst into a fit of laughter. "Excellent!"
Running into the palms facing him, Victor froze. There was no wound on Glutton's chest. Even the dirty shirt was intact.
"Bastard…"
"That was fun!" Not taken aback at all, the shorty was ecstatic. "You don't disappoint, pal!"
A large hand patted Victor's shoulder, even though Glutton had to stand on his toes to reach it.
"You're just walking slowly," the fatty informed him. No, I get it, it's not fun for you over there, and once you closer you eyes, you don't get any rest here either… But keep it mind. Time never stands still. The brew is brewing. Just… move your feet faster. Next time…"
Everything was covered in a haze. For the first time, Victor felt the moment of awakening not as a jerk, not as a rapid transition from dreams to reality, but as some gradual process. As if he was being pulled… from one world to another through thick molasses…
"Victor…"
He opened his eyes.
The sun was already high up. But he'd picked a good place, and only scattered light was able to get through the foliage. The fire had burned out, only a smoke from the embers still reminded him of it. His body was longer aching.
Telle was crouching next to him. In a short white skirt and a white blouse. With neatly combed hair. Fresh golden polish was gleaming on her fingernails. Where did she find the time to change and clean up?
Wordlessly, Victor reached out and grabbed her hand. He realized that the situation was highly ambiguous… actually, no, it was pretty straightforward, even more so than chasing one another around the campfire or faking moans in a train compartment. He was stark naked at the moment. Still, there was not a shred of eroticism in him touching her hand. He simply wanted to feel the presence of another person near him.
"How bad was it?" Telle asked quietly and with clear remorse in her voice.
"Don't you see?"
"No."
Victor glanced at his shoulder and didn't see a single trace of a bruise.
"I saw a dream again. It was vile."
Telle nodded, as if in understanding.
"Turn away, I'm going to get dressed," Victor asked. Telle turned away obediently. Victor rose, somewhat in surprise realizing that there was no weariness in his body, and all his bruises were now gone. Who knew that sleeping outdoors was so beneficial?
Pulling on his jeans, Victor felt that he had a right to give her another lecture. Or at least express a complaint.
"Was this necessary too?"
"What?" Telle asked without turning.
"Leaving me to be torn apart by a mob of crazed mages? First there, in the river…" Victor started heating up. "Do you know what happened there? How I got out? Why did you start all this, Telle? So that I died in an ecologically clean environment? I'd rather live in a dirty city! You think that I'm a toy? A spring-wound teddy bear? Play with me, then leave me in the middle of an intersection. Huh? Why are you silent, girl?"
"I was carried away by the current, Victor. I couldn't fight it. I gave you all my strength."
Victor fell silent.
"It's a stage. An initiation. Mastering the forces. If you're unworthy, it might turn out deadly. But even someone worthy might face danger that's too great. I helped you any way I could…"
Telle was absentmindedly moving her finger in the sand, drawing patterns of some kind.
"I'd never been afraid of swimming. But there I nearly drowns… I had to have enough time to feel the power of the Watery ones, accept it into you, and bend it to your will. Not just reflect it back at your enemies, even I can do that… you were supposed to take the very essence of their magic. The foundation itself. The swiftness of the flow that fell from a tall mountain, the desperate flight of a raindrop towards hot sand, the calm weight of the ocean depths, the strength of a storm wave… And you did it, all on your own. But first you had to survive. Survive. Barely having anything of your own. And so I gave you all I had… all of my stamina. All I could. Some power over Fire…"
She fell silent.
"Sorry." Victor sat down next to her. "Telle…"
The girl wasn't crying. She was looking forward with empty eyes and drawing intricate runes in the obedient sand.
"It's hard for me too…" she either complained or admitted. "You can't possibly understand just how hard. At least you have the right not to know anything. I believed that you'd survive. Back then, after the transition… I tested you. You responded to all the Powers, maybe weakly, but you did. So you have to be able to handle them. But I still can't not interfere. It's dumb…"
"Telle…" Victor held her face in his hands, gently, the way the Limit guards would hold a dead flower. "No need to get upset. I'm a stupid and confused person from the Underside. Everything I hadn't believed in turned out to be true. Everything I had believed in is utterly useless…"
"Don't say that!" Telle said sternly. "Never say that! Your world is no worse than ours, and ours is no better than the world o the Naturalborn! If you… if you start thinking that way… then you're only going to have one path!"
"All right, all right." Victor covered her lips with his hand. "I won't. No need to get upset. I'm confused, tired, and scared. So I'm talking nonsense. Looking for someone to blame. I won't."
He fell silent. He and Telle were looking into each other's eyes. It seemed that something else needed to be said… no, not said… he just needed to keep looking… peering into that bottomless transparent blueness…
"You must be very hungry, right?" Telle asked quietly, slipping out from under his hand. "I brought food… a little…"
The delusion had passed.
Victor laughed in relief, "You're a prudent one. Right now, I'm ready to eat anyone!"
"I'm not tasty!" Telle protested, jumping to her feet. "Don't eat mt! I have a basket full of pies!"
"I don't see a red hood on you."
Telle didn't seem to understand and bent over the basket standing next to the extinguished fire. Victor suddenly found the opposite riverbank very interesting.
"I've got pies with potatoes, meat, cabbage…"
"Great. I was already thinking whether I should catch a fish or try eating the mire."
"I've heard of a guy who spent two years eating silt… but we're not going to eat such nasty things… Food's ready!"
Vitor put on his shirt and sat next to the basket. Telle had laid out the pies on a clean white cloth, awaiting his reaction with a proud look. Besides the pies, there was also a bottle of wine, two small glasses, a chunk of fried meat wrapped in thick paper, and several boiled eggs, as a friendly "hello" from the Railway Ministry.
"Wine is great," Victor agreed. "Well done. But why are there two glasses?"
His attempt at a strict father's tone was a failure.
"Because I want a sip too."
"Fine, I'll allow it," Victor agreed hurriedly, feeling himself as a prudent king from some book. "I clearly need it. After that train station…"
"What train station?"
"Another pack of killers attacked me. At the station in the city of Horsk. I have no idea how I managed to get away…"
Telle's hand, already reaching for the glasses, twitched.
"Tell me."
"Don't you know?"
Victor was so used to Telle always being aware of all events that he was momentarily at a loss.
"Well… after the river…"
"I know what happened there. I talked to the dwarves."
"Then I boarded the train White Eagle…"
Victor told her what happened to him over the past day, while Telle was listening silently, her eyes lowering more and more. He described the madness that had gripped the train car and gave him a chance to escape, as well as the furious battle when the Water mages fought the new bandits, probably unwilling to share the spoils… him. And about him swimming underwater, suddenly discovering that he was capable of holding his breath for a long time, about getting out onto the riverbank… He just decided to omit his dream.
"That's where you found me…"
"What have I done? What have I done?" Victor realized with surprise and fear that the girl was crying. "I'm such an idiot…"
"Telle!"
Victor embraced her, pressing her to his chest, "Come on, come on… there's no need for that, girl… I'm alive! Everything's fine!"
She was sobbing, gripping Victor, and shook her head, "No… it's not about that… You now only have one path… probably…"
"What are you talking about, Telle?"
"You said the people in the train car seemed to have gone mad?"
"Yeah… What does it mean?"
Telle was silent.
"There's no need for that, please…" Victor repeated with desperation in his voice. "You're the closest, most human person in this world to me!"
"Are you sure I'm human at all?" Telle was already on the verge of hysterics.
"I'm not even sure about myself anymore. Telle, don't cry…"
The girl was silent for a moment.
"All right. I won't cry, Victor. I'll think of something…"
Pulling herself away with a jerk, she walked up to the edge of the water and started to wash her face. Then she ordered, "And pour me some wine, finally!"
Footnotes
1) A reference to the essay "No Gold in the Grey Mountains" by the Polish writer Andrzej Sapkowski.
2) A dacha is a seasonal or second home usually located in the suburbs of former Soviet countries.