Vasilisa (Hearth and Bard Tales Book 1) Read online

He watched a moment, then stood with a peaceful glow in his face.

  I laid my hand on a pine bow. “I’ve never seen a wild animal come like that.”

  He shrugged. “I’m quieter than most. Don’t tell the other boys that I feed rabbits. They think I’m a weakling as it is.”

  “Do you think you can charm the otters as you did the rabbit?”

  “It’s no magic. Just—”

  “Do you?”

  He scratched at the hair at the back of his neck. “Maybe. I can try.”

  I led him along the stream, stepping hunter-quiet. He matched my silence.

  The chirps and squeals of otters chattered over the stream’s chuckling.

  I pulled Staver to crouch beside me. We slipped forward in a low almost-crawl, though only our feet touched the ground. I stopped behind a currant bush and pointed through its foliage.

  The stream opened into a pond. Two otters slid down a muddy bank, while a third chased a fourth in a race through the water. One otter caught the tail of the other and they tumbled into a muddy wrestle.

  Staver’s gaze darted from otter to otter. I nudged his arm. Could he charm the otters or not?

  He nudged me back and held a finger to his lips. I was being quiet!

  He stood and walked from behind the bush with a peaceful ease, as if he belonged by the pond as much as the otters did.

  The otters paused in their play and studied him with black eyes.

  He bent by the pond edge, scooped up a handful of water, and drank. He didn’t look at them, or even seem aware of them.

  They watched him a moment longer, then took up their play on the far side of the pond.

  He scooped another drink, then lay back in the grass and closed his eyes.

  Gnats whined around me. What was he waiting for? I swatted a gnat on my neck.

  Staver whispered a hush, then tilted his head toward the pond.

  An otter swam toward him. It chattered, sniffed at Staver’s feet, clambered over his legs, and settled on his chest.

  Staver did have magic. I held in my breath and movement, letting the bugs dine. I’d not break the charm.

  Another otter swam over and sniffed Staver, then wrestled the resting otter back into the water. The two swam off in a game of tag and dunk.

  Staver scooped two river stones, set them in his pocket, then walked back to me. “Do we still have time to see the shrike nest?”

  “Can you teach me how to charm the animals?”

  He fumbled with the edge of his tunic. “I don’t know. I’m just doing what I wish others would do for me—I give them space and let them come on their own terms.”

  I’d wager his father was pushing him to take up swordsmanship again.

  He glanced back at the otters and then ahead along the path. The evening sun stretched shadows across it. “Do you think we can see the shrike nest?”

  “Come on. We can still make it for their evening song if we run.”

  We dashed through the woods. I slowed when his panting grew louder than his footfall.

  The forest thinned into a meadow. Westward trees cast their shadows across most of it. In the one band of light left along the meadow’s eastern edge, a shrike’s shrill song cut the air. Another shrike answered the evening call. The two battled their voices in an intricate weaving of notes. As darkness closed over the last band of ground, then climbed the shrikes’ tree, they sang more fiercely. Perhaps they challenged nighttime’s encroachment on their home. Then darkness pushed sunlight from their nest and they fell silent.

  Staver touched the bark of the shrikes’ tree. “Thank you.”

  A wind wove through the trees, chasing away the day’s warmth. I pulled off my belted shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders. “We’d better get back.”

  He glanced up at the sky. “The stars will be out soon. But it was worth it, even for the words my mother will have with me.”

  And worth it to see him with the otters, even for the extra chores I’d be punished with.

  We jogged steadily homeward. I let Staver set the pace, and I led the way through the dimness. The trees turned to black pillars, and the undergrowth grew in grey catchings for our feet. A blackness moved along our left—a large blackness that growled and lumbered into our path about five strides ahead.

  An ogre! The laundress had whispered one had been roaming our woods. I froze. If we moved, the ogre would see us.

  The shape shifted into the moonlight. It was just a bear. I let go of my held breath.

  “Bear!” Staver pushed himself in front of me, then brought back his arm.

  “Don’t throw it,” I hissed, grabbing his hand—and the stone gripped in it.

  The bear huffed and stepped towards us.

  Staver’s hand tightened around the stone.

  “Don’t throw it!” I let go of his hand and held out my shawl like wings. It had worked before. It had to work this time too. I flicked the shawl, snapping it like a dusty rug.

  The bear stepped back and huffed again.

  “Yell like the house is on fire!”

  Staver yelled, his voice cracking. I added my hawk cry.

  The bear shook its head and growled.

  Staver whipped his hand back and flung the stone. It struck the bear near its ear and bounced off.

  “No!” I screamed.

  The bear lunged forward, its movements angry.

  He’ll rip us apart. I broke off a branch and ran, yelling, at the bear, slapping him across the nose.

  He bellowed, splattering me with spittle, then rose to his hind legs. I dodged back as he swiped where my head had been. Air from his paw whooshed across my face.

  “Vasilisa!” Staver darted forward, flinging another stone. The bear turned.

  No! He’ll kill Staver! I dashed around the bear and slapped his ear. He swiveled, stepping clumsily on hind legs to follow me.

  Around we danced. Staver flung stones. I darted, slapping the bear wherever I could, on his face as often as possible.

  Finally, with a moan and a grumble, he fell to all fours and lumbered from the path. His crashing through the undergrowth died away.

  Staver clutched my hand—our skin gripped clammy. “Let’s get home.”

  We sprinted till we tumbled from the forest and entered the open farmland. The newly starred sky spread above us. Lanterns wove along the road and out in the fields. “Staver! Master Staver!” His name echoed from many voices.

  “I’m here,” he called back.

  The lanterns converged on us.

  A large man with frost-lined hair was first to reach us. He grabbed Staver by the shoulders. “Son, are you hurt?”

  “No, Papa.” Staver’s voice trembled more than his father’s.

  His father turned to me and raised a leather-gloved hand. I braced myself for the blow. “How dare you take my son into the woods! How dare you—”

  Staver shoved between me and his father. “Papa, stop! She—she saved my life.”

  He lowered his hand, and his voice dropped to a rumble. “You’ll never lead him into the woods again.”

  “Never again, my lord.” I attempted a curtsy.

  He wasn’t looking anymore. He wrapped his arm about Staver’s shoulder. “Come. Your mother is ill with worry for you.” The other lantern bearers—the stable master, the smith, and basically every manservant from the estate, including the old coachman—gathered around and lit the way back to the manor.

  Darkness closed in as the lights drew away. I’d be paying for our jaunt into the woods for months.

  I stood at the door of one of the manor rooms. Books lined the walls. A large desk dominated one corner. A fire crackled. Heavy drapes blocked out the night stars. Leather, polished oak, and the mistress's perfume tickled my nose. The mistress stood by a desk, a head taller than me, her square face stern, her broad shoulders tense under her brown-and-gold brocade gown. Dark blonde hair coiled in a thick braid on the top of her head, adding to her height.

  A stoop-shoulde
red man sat at the desk writing on a sheet of parchment. He glanced at me as I entered. His eyes filled with pity—I think. It was only a moment, and then he kept his gaze downward. What punishment had the mistress planned for me this time? And why did her clerk need to be here? I should have been comforted that someone else was there, except his pitying glance gave little hope that he'd stand against her actions. The last time I'd been in this room, when I'd worn a hole in the mistress's dress trying to get a stain out, it had been just her, and she could leave bruises.

  She motioned me forward. “Vasilisa. Today you almost killed my son.”

  “I didn't,” I shot back. “It was just a bear. I kept him safe.”

  Her face reddened. “A bear could have easily killed him, despite your strength! What if it had been an ogre? Even the tsar's knight could do little against one!”

  I should have kept quiet. Now my punishment would be much greater. I bowed my head. “I'm sorry, mistress. I’ll work hard in recompense.”

  Her mouth hardened. “That's not enough. You should be whipped and cast off for your willful endangerment of him.”

  I shuddered. I'd seen the whip scars on the back of one of the field hands when he worked half-bare through the hot summer. They caught at his movements and hampered the swing of his scythe. Though if she cast me off I could return to the forest and I'd be free. The whipping would be worth it.

  She continued. “But you are a strong girl and work hard. I'd be a fool to lose your labor. I have decided to fine you a thousand rubles. You are indentured to me. You will abide by my every order until your debt is repaid.”

  “A thousand rubles! I only get one a week. And there are only four weeks in a month, and twelve months in a year. It would take me...” I tried to add together the numbers.

  Her mouth turned up in a cold smile. “Twenty years if you save every single ruble—though you will have to buy fabric for new clothes from time to time, and you'll not eat free with the other servants anymore.”

  My fingers closed in fists. She was always cold, but this was a new cruelty.

  “Come here.” She picked up the parchment the clerk had written on. Squiggles filled it. Words that I'd never learned and—as a servant—never would.

  I kept to my spot by the wall.

  She pursed her lips. “You'll only bring more punishment for your defiance. If you don't mark the indenture agreement, then I'll brand you instead, and that mark you'll bear even after you've repaid your debt.”

  Branding! Two servants on the Orlov estate bore a black eagle mark on their forearm. They were shunned even more than me. But I couldn't put my mark on something I couldn't read. I'd take the branding first.

  I turned to the clerk. “Please, sir clerk. What does it say?”

  He glanced between me and the mistress. Anger mixed with his pity, and then his jaw hardened. “Vasilisa, servant of the Orlov manor, is indentured to Lady Devora Orlov for the amount of two thousand rubles—a fine for endangering the life of Staver Orlov, Lady Devora's son and future master of the Orlov manor. While indentured Vasilisa will not leave to other employment and she will not marry. If she refuses to put her mark to the paper, she is to be branded with the eagle.” He stopped and kept his eyes on the parchment. “That is the extent of it.”

  Anger flared up in the kindling of his words. I clutched my hands together to keep from striking the mistress. Two thousand rubles! She lied! I'll never be able to repay it! Cruel trickster, Mistress! A cooling thought flowed over the flames and my hands steadied. I can be a trickster too. I'll leave. Not to a town or another manor, where she can hunt me down, but to the forest. She’ll never find me there. Ruska's forests could hide whole villages, maybe even cities. I'll put my mark to the document. I'll work at every task the mistress gives. I'll never let her suspect. All the while I'll prepare to live in the forest. And I'll finally be free.

  I dipped my thumb in the inkwell and pressed it to the bottom of the parchment.

  The deep shadows of forest twilight made every tree a fortress column, strong and protecting. No manor walls stood as sturdy. I walked between them, safe from the orders and spite of the mistress.

  A low grumble warned me before a shadow detached from the trees. A bulky shape shuffled forward on four legs. Bear? But it wasn't quite. It reared to two legs and stepped from the shadows—a huge man with a craggy face stared at me.

  Ogre!

  My blood thudded like the blacksmith's hammer, pulsing iron-hot through my limbs.

  His black-eyed gaze darted over my hair and face.

  I wouldn't let him eat me. I grabbed a fallen branch and braced my legs to fend off his attack.

  He followed my movement with his gaze, then growled in a rolling, bounding, rumble—something almost like laughter. His form thickened and covered with black fur, and he fell to four legs, a black bear.

  I gripped my branch in white-knuckled fists as he shuffled forward and snuffed the ground near my feet. My breath came in shallow pants.

  He looked into my face, and his eyes seemed bemused. He huffed then walked by me, his broad side brushing against me and almost knocking me over. His musky scent stung my nose.

  I turned and watched the ogre lumber out of my dream. My arms shook with the branch that I still gripped. When I returned to the forest, I'd have to be better prepared than in my dreams. I had to be able to defend against animal and ogre.

  But even with those dangers, the freedom was worth it.

  3

  I sanded the old paint from the pigsty. The paint and splinters of wood caught in my hair and dropped down the neck of my faded clay-brown dress. Soon I would paint it bright white, probably so the mistress could point out that it was dirty again and needed my cleaning.

  The mistress sat weaving on the back porch of the manor house. She thumped the shuttle down on the loom. “When you have finished, you will empty the privies into the pull wagon and drag it to the field.”

  Staver came out on the porch and laid his hand on his mother’s arm. “Please Matushka, she doesn’t deserve this. She saved my life. She should be rewarded.”

  “Rewarded for taking you into the woods? Rewarded for keeping you out after dark? Rewarded for endangering my only son and delight of my heart!”

  “I ask—ordered her to take me. It’s my fault.”

  I frowned. It was his fault I was indentured. Though he’d not ordered me.

  The mistress brushed the hair away from Staver’s eyes. “You must use your authority more wisely.”

  “I’ll learn to. Please stop punishing her for my mistake. If you could have only seen the otters or heard the shrike, you’d have found it hard to leave. It was more beautiful than the painting hanging over our mantel or the music that my teacher creates. Please.”

  He was pleading for me? It was too late for that. The damage was done. But—I paused in sanding for a moment to brush the paint flakes from my face—if I continued this level of labor I'd never have time to prepare to live in the forest.

  Maybe she’d listen to him. I wouldn't say anything. I must show myself a submissive and obedient servant, so she didn't suspect. I sanded harder, so as not to let them know I was listening.

  Her shoulders rose and then slumped. “Only if you promise me never to enter those woods again without a proper escort.”

  He wrapped her in a hug. “I promise.”

  She sat down at her loom and kept her face turned from me.

  Staver glanced over and smiled an apologetic smile.

  I didn't need his pity. I turned my head away from him.

  Then he was at my side, picking up another sanding block.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  He grinned at me, shook his head, and rubbed the sanding block across the wood. It skipped over the ridged and warped wood. Tiny flakes of paint fell on his tooled leather boots. He put his weight into the sanding block on the upward stroke. Paint flicked onto his face. Again and again he scraped the sanding block over the wood.
Sweat darkened his white linen tunic and the embroidered flowers at the neckline.

  “Staver.” The mistress stepped down from the porch. “You will not do a servant’s work.”

  He kept sanding.

  “Staver. Stop.”

  “I will, when Vasilisa may stop. It was my fault. I’ll bear the punishment too.”

  “She’s a servant. It’s not a punishment, but her duty.”

  “Then I’ll endure the same duty.”

  Why was he doing this? I didn’t like the work, but I could do it. He didn't know I was indentured—unless his mother had told him. I never would. He already gave me too much pity. I could make my own way against his mother's spite.

  His slender fingers that often danced over the balalaika string were darkened with grime and red with splinters.

  I pulled at the sanding block in his hand. “The mistress is right.”

  He tugged it back. “I’ll work beside you until this is finished, and then I’ll help empty the privies -” he wrinkled his nose “- and drag the wagon to the field.”

  The mistress laid her hand over Staver’s, and her fingers brushed against mine, smooth fingers that only knew the work of thread. “You have your father’s kindness. I’ll release this girl back to her regular duties.” She turned to me. “Get cleaned up and then help the cook prepare the midday meal.”

  My mouth fell open in surprise. Staver convinced her?

  “Thank you, mistress.” I glanced at Staver and mouthed the thanks I dared not say in front of his mother.

  The servant bath was a shed built over a bit of stream than ran swift and cold even in the summer. I shivered through a scrub and rubbed out as much of the dirt as I could from my dress, then draped my shawl over my shoulders and wet dress and ran to the kitchens, which stood separate from the manor house.

  I rushed through the door, and the cook rapped me on the head with a wooden spoon. “There you are, girl! Clean the breakfast dishes and then peel a sack of potatoes. I’m all sorts of behind today, and you’ll work hard to make up for it.”

  The constantly busy ovens warmed and dried me as I scrubbed dishes. My thoughts wandered.