Chapter Thirty-Five
Former Transellia
Illarion Glazkov
From a distant hillside, they watched the gas factory burn.
The camp that Natalya had scouted all those months ago had been abandoned. Those had been the troops who had escorted this poison to the front, only to be murdered by their own creation. But there had still been at least a company-sized element around the factory. Most of them had died horribly when the first shells had fallen, unable to get into their protective gear in time. The rest had perished when one of the cannon rounds had ignited a large tank full of chemicals. The resulting explosion had flattened most of the buildings and set everything ablaze.
As Illarion watched the devastation, he was thankful the artillery shells filled with the flesh-melting gas hadn’t been deployed at the front. The small grenades had been bad enough. These shells may have ended the war then and there.
They had looted the artillery battery’s weapons, food, clothing, and first aid supplies, stolen their wagons and teams to carry their wounded, then retreated what they thought would be a safe distance away. Then they went further just to be sure.
The valley below was covered in a lethal yellow haze. Everything down there was dead. Illarion thought he should have felt some emotion about that, but he was too weary. The mission was complete. The Almacians responsible for the deaths of their comrades had been made to pay, and this place would never produce poison again.
Illarion had parked 12 and gotten out to watch. He left his spectacles in their leather bag. He’d prefer not to see this morning clearly. Some memories were better blurry.
“They never knew what hit them.” Darus was sitting in the back of the wagon, suffering from several broken ribs. “Hopefully, they’ll never even know we were here. They’ll think it was an accident. And between this and what happened to them at the front, they’ll decide this stuff is too dangerous to mess with and give up trying to use it.”
“I hope so, brother.” Chankov was also in the wounded wagon. The tendrils of evil had sliced several deep lacerations into his chest and abdomen. His ghoul tattoo was covered in bandages. “From your lips to the Sister’s ears.”
“You still pray to her, even after seeing her?” Illarion asked.
Chankov was silent for a long time. “I do not know what I saw.”
Illarion felt someone standing next to him. It was Natalya. She said nothing, but while everyone else’s eyes were on the fire, she took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She was still there for him. He gently squeezed back.
“Good work, everyone.” Kristoph walked around in front of the battered group, stopping so that the fire was directly behind him. “You have done a great service to the empire. The Tsar will be pleased. Every one of you will be up for commendations and promotions.”
No one so much as cracked a smile. They were all covered in dried blood and monster filth, so tired they could barely stand, and they just stared at Kristoph blankly. Surely a few of them were trying to remember if there was any reason the Oprichnik couldn’t have an accident. They were, after all, still a long way from home.
“We have had great losses, and many of us have been wounded. I, myself, have given an eye to the cause.” Kristoph gestured toward the bandage. Considering how much pain he had to be in, he was doing rather well keeping it hidden. “Unfortunately, my bodyguard Vasily became deranged during the expedition and had to be put down. Doubtless an unfortunate byproduct of a Cursed being exposed to the magic of the other realm. You may be worried that we will be spotted by an Almacian patrol before we can make it across the border. Luckily for you, I have arranged transport home by river. You know that we will be going to a place called Dalhmun, but I alone know where to meet the riverboat and how to signal them in code so they’ll come to shore.”
“Of course he does,” Natalya whispered.
“That is plan A. If anything unfortunate happens to me, then I’m afraid plan B will be for you to walk across all of Transellia and then try to cross the Almacian lines. Is that understood?”
There was a chorus of muttered affirmations.
“Excellent. Then let us continue on until our scout finds us a place to rest and service the Object. Preferably someplace with a stream so we can bathe ourselves. After we rest, there will be one small diversion I must attend to in Dalhmun before we meet the boat.”
“What kind of diversion?” Darus asked.
“It is a minor errand that should pose no significant danger. Do any of you besides me speak any Almacian?” A couple of the trenchers grudgingly stepped forward. “Excellent. I will call upon you tomorrow. Ms. Baston, if you would take the lead from here?”
“Whatever you say, boss.” She quickly let go of Illarion’s hand before anyone noticed she had been holding it and moved to the front of the column.
“Hey, Glazkov.” Chankov signaled for him to come to the side of the wagon.
“Yeah?”
“Good work back there.”
“I’d still be there if it wasn’t for the crew.”
“They don’t know when to quit. And it looks like 12’s still charged up from being on the other side. If the magic keeps working like that, see if you can get it to work that way for the rest of them too. It’d be nice to have more than one driver who can get that level of performance.” Chankov winced as he tried to move. “Ah, I need to get some rest. I’m not feeling so great.”
“You’re going to be fine. It’s just some cuts.”
“Sure . . . But while I’m out, you’re in acting command of the Wall.”
“Wallen and Zoltov are the same rank as I am, and they’ve both been in longer than I have.”
“I’ll tell them you’re in charge. After the things they’ve seen you do, nobody is going to complain about seniority.”
“It’s not that—”
Chankov reached out and grabbed Illarion by the shoulder. There was a tremor in his hand. “The best leaders never ask for leadership. Now you’re up. I’m going to tell you the same thing Spartok told me. Lead from the front. Listen to your men. Always try to do right by them, and they’ll never let you down. Got it?”
“Got it.” Illarion was worried about Chankov. He was sweating profusely, and despite being one of the strongest men Illarion had ever met, in so much pain that he couldn’t even hide it. What if that wound had brought with it some contagion from the other realm? “I’m going to tell Natalya to hurry up and find us some running water, so we can get your wounds properly cleaned.”
“Heh . . . You need to set loftier goals, Glazkov. Forget the water. Tell that scout to find us some vodka.”
Former Transellia
Illarion Glazkov
Had the stars ever looked so beautiful? Illarion sat a good distance away from the camp, staring up into the darkness, marveling at the clarity arrayed above him through his spectacles. It was his first time seeing the stars like this, away from the civilization’s lights which diminished the heavens. He’d always found the sky calming in Ilyushka, but he’d never appreciated the blanket of bright lights there as much as he did now. Their light seemed to swirl in the darkness. It made him think of—
“Looking for other worlds, Illarion?”
Natalya sat down next to him. He hadn’t even been aware of her approach. She sat down close, shoulder brushing his own. He made to move to give her extra space, but she quickly looped her arm through his and pulled herself closer, leaning into him. He should have been nervous, but instead her touch caused all the tension to drain away.
Illarion nodded, and said, “I keep staring up there wondering if the Dead Sister’s realm is one of those dots of light. If the place the church says we came from is out there.”
“So you no longer believe Hell to be literally below us?”
He could feel her smile as she spoke and smiled along with her. “I’m not sure I ever believed that, but no. I’d be a fool to believe something so literal now. What do the Rolmani believe?”
“Man came from elsewhere. That our gods wanted us to escape the old world where no one wanted us. Some of our old stories even say our gods made pacts with others, and it was decided we should come here. Through the mists.”
“So your gods wished for a better life for your ancestors?”
“I believe so.”
“I think I like your gods better than the ones of this world. Ours treat us like poorly tended puppets, with frayed strings and worn lacquer.”
“What should we do about your goddess problem, Illarion?”
“At this point maybe I should go find the Sister of Logic and spit in her eye. Then all three Sisters would have to fight over the privilege of ending my existence.”
“You joke, but I certainly can’t think of a better solution at the moment.”
He didn’t speak for a while. He liked the feel of Natalya next to him. How many times had he walked with Hana under a sky like this? But that sky, like his memories of her, was blurry and fading. He imagined he could have been happy with Hana, but that happiness would not have been the same happiness he found with Natalya right here and now.
The words of the Dead Sister floated to the front of his mind.
I can tell you feel strongly for that one. More so than you ever did for the farm girl.
He’d been furious with the Sister of Vengeance for manipulating his feeling and perceptions in that fake Ilyushka within his mind, but now, looking up at the stars, he knew she was right. He did care for Natalya. No. No he could feel in his heart—in his soul—she meant more to him than . . . than anything.
He opened his mouth to tell her, but his nerves failed him. Instead he said, “How, uh . . . how are the others.”
Natalya chuckled and rested her head on his shoulder. “Is that really what you wanted to say, farm boy? Well, I think every man will sleep well tonight. In fact I doubt artillery shells could wake them now.”
“Is everyone else asleep?”
“Unconscious is a better description, but yes. I gave Darus a tea made from local herbs. It should dull his pain, and completely knock him out.”
“Will he survive?”
“I don’t know . . . but . . . Illarion, I don’t want to talk about the wounded and the lost right now.”
“That’s fine. What do you want to talk about? Or we can just sit here if you’d rather. It’s nice. With you, I mean.”
She laughed again, but quietly. The sound was the most beautiful thing he’d heard since before coming to Cobetsnya. He pulled his arm free from hers and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her in. She was all mean muscle, but not as slight of build as her oversized poncho made her out to be. Her hair smelled like wildflowers and the stream they had all bathed in.
He didn’t know what to say to her. How to tell her what he felt. Directness had always worked with her before.
“Natalya . . . back in the Dead Sister’s realm, she told me something. In the vision she transported me to . . . well . . . she offered me a place as her servant. She said she would bring all the dead I had lost back to me. My mother. The girl I was to marry. She showed them to me.”
“What was the girl’s name?” No jealously touched her voice. It was just a sincere question.
“Hana.”
“Did you want to accept her offer?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Not even to have your loved ones back? That’s an offer few would refuse, and none would fault you for accepting.”
“That world—that life—is gone. Even if they were all brought back, I’m still different. I’ve changed, and I don’t think I would fit there anymore. Besides . . . I have other family now. Others I love.”
“I think I understand. Wait!” She dug around in a pocket and pulled out a clutched fist. “I completely forgot. I found something in the Dead Sister’s realm. I know the whole place was made up just to torture you, but I found something in there that was real. Or at least I think it was. I took it for you. Maybe it will help you remember the good of your village before the bad won out.”
She opened her fist and, there, nestled in the center of her palm was a medallion on a delicate chain. He gasped when he saw the image engraved in the center of the piece of jewelry. A tundra lily. This was the necklace he had given Hana.
“How is this possible? Where did you find it?”
“When the illusion of your village was collapsing, I was inside one of the nicer homes. I saw it there on a bed, and it was the only thing not vanishing. Something real in a place filled with lies. I just . . . I knew you would want it.”
“You were right.”
“What is it?”
“I had this made by a silversmith in a nearby village for Hana. When I got it, I thought I understood what love was. I gave it to her as a token of my affection.”
“It was a beautiful gift.”
“It was, wasn’t it? I thought I’d lost everything from then. All good from that village was gone. But then you find this, reminding me that not all was bad. That not all will remain bad. Does that sound absurd?”
“Not at all.”
Illarion reached for the medallion, then stopped. Instead he closed her hand over it. Did she still feel like she did before, when she had said she loved him? “I think . . . I wonder if maybe fate brought the necklace to you. Maybe you were meant to have it all along. To find the one piece of good in that terrible place. Because that is who you are—the one who brings the best out in people. People like . . . well like me, I guess.” He took a deep breath. “Before all this, you said something . . . ”
“Are you thinking about before the gas battle? That I thought I was in love with you?”
“Maybe. Is that . . . well, do you still wonder if you are?”
“No”
“Oh.” His heart sank. He’d hoped she’d still felt the same, but of course that sort of wishful thinking was foolish—
“I know I am, Illarion Glazkov. I know I love you. More than anything.”
“Oh,” he said again, feeling a huge, stupid smile split his face. “Well that’s a relief.”
Natalya got to her knees and swung a leg around him so she was sitting on his lap facing him. She reached up and curled her hands around the back of his neck. Illarion stared down into her dark eyes. She was more perfect to him than the stars he had just been staring at.
“Do you remember when you had me try on all the pair of spectacles?”
She looked confused for a moment and nodded. “Of course.”
“You held up a piece of paper—it had my name on it. When I put on these spectacles I could see clearly outside of the Object for the first time. I looked up, saw the words . . . and you. I said—”
“Perfect.”
“But I wasn’t talking about the words on the paper. I was talking about you.”
Natalya smiled. It was the kind of smile every man hoped to be on the receiving end of just once in a lifetime. Illarion wanted to be here, with her, just like this forever. A single tear shone in the starlight and spilled down Natalya’s cheek.
He dipped his head down and kissed her. Her lips were still dry and burned from the red glare of the Dead Sister’s realm, but he was sure his were the same. She wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders, pressing into him.
After a long while—but not nearly long enough—Natalya broke the kiss. She put her forehead against Illarion’s. “There will never be another like you. From now, until the days we each pass on into the next life, know that no matter how bad things get, I will always find the good in you, and in us.”
She kissed him again, then pushed him onto his back and grinned down at him. She pulled her poncho up over her head and began working at the buttons of her shirt.
“Try not to be too loud, farm boy.”