Zhanna was almost in tears. She felt like she was in a corner and there was no place to go. What possibly could her grandmother tell her that would get her out of this dilemma?

  “I think you have to go to the place where most of the old witches learned. I think you have to go to the city of the Volkhvy, Blagogarsk. That is where all of the strong witches used to go to be trained. It the only place I can think of that you have a possibility of finding information that will help you train yourself.”

  Zhanna was shocked, totally astounded and taken aback by such an unexpected suggestion. It was as if her grandmother had told her that up was no longer up. Ever since Zhanna had been able to understand spoken language, she had heard that the Volkhvy were dead and that their city was forbidden. Around the fires of late-night gatherings, there have been horror stories of those that had tried to loot the unoccupied city.

  The retribution of the spirits of the Volkhvy was said to be horrendous. The recounting of the imaginative and long-lasting torments that would be visited upon those that were foolish enough to try to steal from the Volkhvy even after death gave thousands of children nightmares all across Russia.

  “You have to be kidding me. It’s a death sentence to go there and try to take anything out of the city. I’ve heard that for my whole life. How can you think to send me there with the idea that I need to take things out of the city?”

  “I have scryed until I have a pounding headache, all to try to find something that will help you. I have seen many options for you and most of them show you succeeding. However, there is very little I can do at this point that will help. It will all have to come from you. It will be your ethics, your honor, that will carry you through. I don’t believe there will be a curse or retribution against you. Just a strong sense that you will survive and triumph.”

  “What is it that I have to do? At least if I know what I have to do, I can make some plans, Then I can take the things I’m going to need and say the right things and…”

  Smiling slightly at a point of inner amusement, the seer continued, “You will know at the right time what to say. You will know what to do because it comes from the essence of you. So you should just get ready to go. It’s as simple as that. Get. Ready. To. Go.”

  “Zhanna jumped to her feet, “This is ridiculous! How can I go all that distance when I haven’t ever been far from our village? How can I possibly know what to do and what to say and even what to eat? This is an impossible thing, and I can’t believe you suggested that I do this!”

  With that, Zhanna stamped off back to her weeding, muttering the entire time. Bolormaa and Dascha could hear her cursing and grumbling as she started once again to pull weeds. The words “stupid” and “impossible” were tossed around randomly in the young witch’s monologue.

  Dascha looked over at the seer and said, <>

  “Check.”

  <>

  “Double check.”

  <>

  “Triple check.”

  <>

  Bolormaa’s nod of agreement was soundless but amused.

  <<<>>>

  It had been a quiet day overall. Zhanna had been lost in her thoughts most of the afternoon. Her grandmother had continued to work on household tasks, creating a dinner that would be comfortable for both of them. She left Zhanna to think things through. She knew from experience that trying to push the young woman was a guaranteed way of making everything more difficult. Especially for her.

  The evening meal had been completed, and the two women were soundlessly cleaning up the kitchen. As if there had been no temper display, no disagreement earlier in the day, Zhanna initiated conversation with a simple statement, “I will go tomorrow.”

  The older woman responded, “Good. Most of the packing is done.”

  <>

  Zhanna looked at her grandmother with a wry twist to her face, “Cats! Can’t live without them, can never get rid of all the fur.”

  <>

  Bolormaa and Zhanna both dissolved into helpless laughter. The tension of the day and the roughness between grandmother and granddaughter had just been diffused.

  Catching their breath after the needed break of amusement, Bolormaa asked Zhanna, “What else do you need for your trip?”

  “Baba, I have no idea what I’m going to need. First of all, I don’t know how long it’s going to take to travel to get there, and I don’t know what’s between here and there to be able to plan. At this point, it is a leap of faith. I’m willing to try, but there are so many things that are unknown that it’s very scary.”

  “I know, sladkiy, my dearest. But if you can trust in the visions of your grandmother, this is what you must do.”

  <<<>>>

  The discussions were done, and the planning was complete. All that remained was for Zhanna to go to bed and rest in preparation for departure on the following morning. Bolormaa was puttering around in the kitchen when she realized that there was a candle lit in their front parlor. Walking quietly to the doorway, she peered in. Zhanna was sitting there, staring at a picture of her mother and father on their wedding day. It brought a tear to Bolormaa’s eye when she looked at the image of her daughter, Fedosia, and that long ago picture.

  She remembered that day. How Fedosia had been so excited and so nervous. Artyr was such a good man. A good mage and an honorable person. He had adored Fedosia, and it showed in everything he had done. Their wedding day had been magical. The joy of that day still set echoes of sadness and joy through the mother who had never stopped grieving for them.

  When first Igor was born and then Zhanna, Fedosia had been full of joy and full of foreboding. While she had never had the training that her mother had, Fedosia had a touch of the seer talent. One that she had obviously passed on to her daughter. Both Artyr and Fedosia had reveled in every new smile, every new skill of their children.

  Whether that was the first time they crawled or the first time they walked, it was a time for rejoicing. Bolormaa hoped that somewhere Artyr and Fedosia were looking down and rejoicing in the daughter that they had birthed. She hoped they were proud of her.

  Making sure that the tears were wiped from her face, Zhanna’s Baba walked into the room. Assuming a smile that she didn’t really feel, she said, “It is late, and you are looking sad. What are you thinking tonight, my dear? You should be in bed, resting up for tomorrow, not sitting up.”

  “I will go to bed soon, Baba. I just wanted to look at Mama and Papa one more time. I think that Igor is with them now, and someday I’ll join them. And no, I’m not sad about that. At least not right now. Instead, I was thinking about Papa and Mama and how they’ve always been described as honorable people. What is honor, Baba? What makes one person honorable and another not?”

  “That is a complicated question, my love. A good part of it is doing what you say you are going to do. That is keeping honor with another person. It is also how people these days measure what little honor they have. The creation of contracts and the adherence to the contract is what they see as honorable. However, there’s another aspect to honor that some out there have forgotten. Perhaps it died with the Volkhvy.”

  “Does that have to do with following the little voice inside of you that says something is right and it must be done? Is that following the path of honor?” Zhanna turned and looked at her grandmother, and Bolormaa was surprised at the seriousness displayed on her face.

  It was not the face of a child anymore. This was a young woman and one that was making decisions that affected not only herself but many others. This was the face of responsibility, of adulthood and maturity.

  “For many, that voice just tells them to do the things that will benefit them. It does not stand for an ideal, for a dream. Their little voices lead them to excess of pride and to prey on others.”

  “So the ideal, the standard, is important. Caring for those weaker and building the greater good can be seen as the path of honor? Is that how my parents were?”

  “Your parents put the good of all over their own personal needs and wants. Only that difficult decision would ever have pulled them away from you. They stayed true to their honor and their faith.”

  Unable to speak any longer, Bolormaa stood up a little unsteadily and walked out of the room. Entering her own bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed that she had shared for years with her beloved husband. She just sat there her hands in her lap as she listened to her granddaughter whisper, “Good night Mama, good night Papa. Please hug Igor and tell him how much I miss him.” Then she heard Zhanna go to bed through the veil of her own tears.

  Chapter 8

  The morning was bright and cheerful, a great day to start a trip. Zhanna had been very efficient in her preparations, so she and Dascha had been on the road before full light. The preparation the night before had been enough to give Zhanna a sketchy map, showing her the roads that had to be taken to get to Blagogarsk, the main city of the Volkhvy. It would be a multiple day trip, perhaps three or four days. She hoped she had good weather because traveling in the mud was always a pain.

  Bolormaa had waved goodbye to her, determinedly cheerful. Zhanna worried about her grandmother being left by herself. Knowing that it would do no good to talk to her Baba, the young witch had asked Stefan and one of his other merc friends to check in on her grandmother every day or so. She also mentioned to Marina that her grandma might need a little bit of help. She had done as much as she could and now was the time to focus on her journey.

  Dascha walked beside her, flipping her tail occasionally and once even dropping her dignity long enough to chase a tempting butterfly. Zhanna smiled and relaxed just the smallest amount as the rhythm of the road, and the soft warmth of the sun cheered her on.

  <>

  <>

  <>

  <>

  Zhanna laughed, letting the crystalline bell sound of her amusement echo through the quiet morning countryside.

  <<<>>>

  Bolormaa smiled as she watched her granddaughter move down the road. The scrying bowl felt heavy this morning, some undefinable weight making it heavy in the seer’s hands. She hadn’t planned on looking for Zhanna this early in the trip, but a sense of foreboding had pushed her to look for her granddaughter within a couple hours of her departure.

  Pleased that the trip was going well, the old woman was going to put the bowl away when suddenly she was caught up in a strong current of dark visions. Only once before had she been trapped in the sight, pulled along helplessly to witness things that she had never wanted to see.

  Dragged into a maelstrom of fragmented images and the sounds of undefinable emotion, Bolormaa prayed that she would not be seeing a massive death this time. She prayed she would see her granddaughter healthy and alive.

  The visions slammed into her one by one, overwhelming impressions of battle and danger. Zhanna wearing the clothes that she was traveling in, in a broken down shelter, trying to pull desperately away from a strange woman. Scattered sparkles of the air, transformed into Zhanna as an older woman holding onto the body of a man, slender of build, and with red hair. Her baby, her grandchild, crying over his corpse.

  The current lessened and became less horrific. Now Bolormaa saw Zhanna meeting up with Stefan and his friend Mikail, looking through large sacks of items. She smiled at that, relieved that Zhanna would survive.

  The visions had just left her when the pain of a massive blow slammed her to the ground. Curling instinctively around her bowl, the seer dropped heavily. A rough hand grabbed the back of her hair and dragged her upright. It was Krava, tinged in a red aura and with the smell of rotting meat around him.

  “See what good your banishment did, you old bitch. You do not have enough power to keep me out when I truly wish to be here. But I didn’t really come for you. Where is that granddaughter of yours? Where is that bitch?”

  Her eyes watering from the pain of the grip on her hair, Bolormaa answered him, refusing to be cowed. “She’s not here.”

  “I can see that. She cost me power! After being so tempting a target, she escaped me. She was just there, ripe for the plucking and somehow she’s escaped. Just for the problems she’s caused me, she will suffer and you will too!”

  The powerful man grabbed the old woman’s arm. Twisting it painfully, he forced her back down to her knees. Shoving his face into hers, he demanded, “Where is she? Tell me now, and perhaps I’ll let you live.”

  Bolormaa stared defiantly back at him and refused to speak. Wrenching the frail old woman to her feet, Krava shook her hard and demanded in a louder voice, “Where is she? She is mine. Mine to use and mine to control.”

  Somehow Bolormaa kept hold of her bowl, pressing it against her chest with the arm that was not being twisted. Years of training had taught her that the bowl was worth more than her life. The seer clutched her lifelong possession against her and bravely defended the most precious thing in her universe. She refused to answer the spitting, frothing man causing her so much pain.

  “I will teach you what your defiance brings. And I will enjoy every second of it!”

  Bolormaa braced herself as she saw Krava pull a knife from his waist. She knew that what would come next would make all the pain that she’d ever suffered seem like a minor problem. In that split second, she saw her own death and accepted it.

  “Hold now! What do you think you’re doing, Krava?”

  It was Stefan, who had come to check on Bolormaa. When Zhanna had requested that he and Mikail would look in on her grandmother while she was gone, Stefan thought he would do it once every few days. But some intuition had told him that perhaps this was a good day to check with her.

  He and Mikail were planning on doing some practice exercises like all off-duty mercs tend to do. They each had their staff and sword with them, on the way to the practice area and thought to swing past the old woman’s cottage to make sure that she was well. The situation that they had interrupted alarmed them and set them into battle mode.

  Krava snarled in fury and threw the old woman into the corner. Spinning to confront the two others from his mercenary band, the mage no longer looked totally sane. The odor of rotting meat was stronger around him, and the body posture was of a berserker about to jump.

  Without a word, Stefan and Mikail spread further apart. Their hands automatically dropped to their weapons, and each drew their sword and staff. It was Mikail who chose to speak next.

  “Krava, what the hell are you doing? This is one of our own, a respected elder. Have you gone mad?”

  Krava snarled at them, more foam appearing on his mouth. “She’s keeping something of mine, and I will have it. She won’t answer, and if she doesn’t answer, she dies.”

  Mikail continued to talk to the maddened mage while Stefan tried to inch his way into a position between the unconscious seer and Krava. Taking a conciliatory tone, Mikail said, “Just calm down, and we can figure what’s going on. I’m sure she didn’t mean to steal anything from you.”

  Maddened by the interruption of his interrogation of Bolormaa, Krava attacked without a word of warning. Diving for Mikail, the blood mage used his large build to slam the smaller man off his feet and onto the ground. Roaring with frustrated rage, Krava ran through the doorway and disappeared.

  Stefan dropped to his knees by Bolormaa and checked her gently for damage. The seer started to regain consciousness, muttering in pain and trembling with reaction. Throwing a protective circle around her, Stefan stood up. He and Mikail checked out the remainder of the small home and the surrounding yard. Krava was nowhere to be seen.

  By the time they came back into the cottage, Bolormaa had managed to sit up and had seated herself at the table, righting the chair that had been dumped during her struggle. Her scrying bowl was once again wrapped carefully in its protective covering but still sat in the middle of the table.

  “What the hell happened, Bolormaa? We have never seen Krava like that.”

  The seer explained what it happened and the demands that Krava had made of her. She told the two mercenaries that she had refused to tell him where her granddaughter was or where she was going. She also told them that she thought that Krava was a blood mage. The two men were shocked. Neither of them had suspected what was going on although thinking back at some of their assignments, previously unexplained occurrences and behaviors made more sense when viewed in this new light.

  “Bolormaa, we need to stand watch here and protect you. He might come back, and you are very vulnerable, isolated this far from the village center.”

  “Stefan, while I appreciate that, it still won’t be safe. The two of you will leave on assignment soon because you have to feed your families. Spending all that effort and time on one old woman is not the best for you.”

  Mikail added, “We have to do something, Bolormaa. It is unconscionable that he would attack someone of our village. This conversion is not something that we want to be known about us nor should we have it known about our troop.”

  While Bolormaa agreed, she did not want them trying to wrap her in protective cotton. Instead, she suggested that they might escort her to a place where she knew she would be safe. If they then still had energy and time, and if they really wanted to do something to make her feel better, they could go after Zhanna and help her along the way.