“What’s going on?” she asked.
Ivan twisted his head and looked out. “We’ve lost the others. Storm must have broken up the convoy.”
The Swede hauled out his tool kit as Olga popped open the hood. She held up a flashlight while the man rummaged around in the grease and steel. He leaned farther in, complaining that Olga wasn’t directing the flashlight properly.
Olga slammed the hood down on him.
He groaned and she did it again, making a hollow, clunking noise. The man’s legs gave out, but he was still conscious. He swung his arms, but Olga stepped back, then struck him across the forehead with the heavy metal flashlight, just to make sure. He hit the ground with a thud.
The rear door opened and Olga addressed Ivan. “Tsarevich, I am going to have to trust you.” Ivan said nothing, but his grim gaze spoke loudly enough. Olga sighed.
“I killed your father, but I meant him no ill will. It is war and that is the way of things. Do you understand?” Billi hadn’t noticed, but Olga wasn’t wearing her tribal outfit anymore; she wore instead a wool tunic and jeans tucked into a pair of stout boots. Her gray hair was loose and swayed in the wind.
“I understand my father is dead.”
“We will all be dead unless you and I can work together.” Olga helped Billi out of the van. “Though we are enemies, there can be respect between us.”
Ivan pulled himself out, never taking his eyes off Olga. Eventually he gave a curt nod.
“We will settle our differences another time,” he said.
Olga and Billi made their way to the front of the van, beside the unconsicous Scandinavian.
“Take his legs,” Olga said, and together they rolled the big man into the verge.
“What made you change your mind?”
Olga watched the man slide through the deep snow and come to a stop at the bottom. “My first duty is to the Polenitsy. I managed to speak to the Spring Child alone after seeing you. She is truly innocent and has no guile in her. If the Spring Child says it is so, that Baba Yaga plans to kill us all with Fimbulwinter, then it is so.”
“Thank you,” said Billi. “What about Vasilisa?”
Olga pointed back down the road behind them. Two weak headlights shone through the snow as a hulking Humvee lumbered toward them, part of the convoy that had fallen behind. Olga went to the glove compartment in the van and pulled out a heavy revolver. The chunky Smith &Wesson’s barrel was over seven inches long, and it looked like it had been built to hunt elephants.
“Ambush?” asked Billi.
“Ambush.”
Billi slid a foot or so down the verge and waited. Olga waved her flashlight at the approaching vehicle.
The car stopped, its engine still running. Peeking over the embankment, Billi saw a man jump out of the backseat and approach Olga, smiling. He was still smiling when she swung the flashlight against his head.
Billi scrambled up the slope and ran to the driver’s half-open window. There was a woman at the wheel, one of the Polenitsy still in human form.
Vasilisa lay in the back, asleep under a shawl. Billi poked the long barrel through the window.
“I’ll take the Spring Child, if you don’t mind,” she said.
Vasilisa woke up as Billi opened the door. She screamed and backed away, frantically wrestling with the door handle.
“No, Vasilisa, don’t!” Billi reached out with her hand slowly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
“You promised before and you lied.” She pressed herself hard against the far door, knees up against her chest and hand still on the door handle. Looking at her, Billi’s heart broke. She had been dressed for sacrifice. Someone had combed out her hair, and it shone like the gold necklaces that hung around her. Small wire armlets studded with gems covered her upper arms. Henna patterns had been applied around her eyes, spirals and delicate feather shapes that seemed to transform her into a fairy princess. Her dress was white and embroidered with gold thread; outlines of prehistoric animals and sorcerers covered the cloth.
Billi nodded; she had no answer. “Please, Vasilisa. I need you to come with me.”
Olga ordered the other Polenitsy out of the car and confiscated their cell phones. Billi put the gun down on the car seat in front of Vasilisa and raised her hands.
Vasilisa snatched up the revolver and pointed it at her.
That would be perfect, Billi thought. If Vasilisa blew my brains out. She smiled at the irony of it. She could take the gun from the girl, but she needed Vasilisa to trust her.
“You’re right to be angry, to not trust me, Vasilisa,” Billi said. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Ivan limping toward them. “But you can either come with me, or go with them to Baba Yaga. The choice is yours.”
With a sob, Vasilisa dropped the gun. “Why, Billi? Why would you want to hurt me?”
There was no answer except that Billi was a Templar and that meant making life-and-death decisions. Maybe, if they survived this, Vasilisa would understand, once she too was a Templar.
Billi took Vasilisa in her arms and helped her out of the car. Ivan grabbed the gun and then shot one bullet through the radio transmitter and one in the radiator.
Billi carried Vasilisa to the van.
They drove on down a side road and away from the forest, trying to put some distance between themselves and the rest of the convoy. Ivan was up front with Olga, Billi in the back with Vasilisa.
“They will come after the Spring Child. The Polenitsy and the goddess,” said Olga.
“That’s what I’m counting on.” Billi got out the statuette and handed it over to Olga. “This is part of the meteor that struck Tunguska in 1908.”
One hand on the steering wheel, Olga inspected the small rock. “Yes. It was from this element that Baba Yaga was sent into a coma.”
“Sowe can use this against her. I just need to turn it into a weapon of some sort. A knife or something.”
Olga stopped the van. “I have something better.” She checked that the road was empty, then got out and climbed onto the roof and began unbuckling the straps holding the luggage on the roof rack.
Ivan and Billi came out and watched her.
“Vasilisa is bait,” said Ivan. “But that’s what you’re counting on, isn’t it?” He glanced back through the window at Vasilisa. The girl was under a blanket, staring out at the snowbound world.
Billi didn’t like the idea of using Vasilisa like that, but it was the only plan she had. “Yes. If anything happened to Vasilisa, Baba Yaga would just turn around. She’d send her Polenitsy after us, for revenge, but she wouldn’t come herself. This way”-she nodded in Vasilisa’s direction-“we force Baba Yaga to make a personal appearance. We want Vasilisa alive.”
Ivan looked up at the sky. “And tonight’s the full moon.”
“Help me,” Olga ordered. Together they lowered a heavy trunk to the ground. Billi and Ivan gathered around it as the old woman lifted it open.
“You like?” asked Olga.
Billi grinned. “Oh yes.”
Weapons lay neatly arranged in the trunk. Not guns or rifles, but swords, a bow and arrow, and suits of chain mail. All beautifully made and lovingly kept. It was like Christmas. Billi’s sort of Christmas.
First she took out the mail armor. The suit was knee length with sleeves that covered her to mid bicep. The links shimmered in the bright white light of the snow. The sword was a single-edged saber, an Ottoman cavalry sword. Billi peered at the Arabic lettering along its mirror-bright blade.
“What does it say?” asked Ivan.
Billi frowned. “Roughly translated, it says, ‘Eat this, you Christian,’ er, ‘seed-spiller.’ Or something.” She cleared her throat and slid the blade in to its scabbard. “It’s a religious reference. Genesis 38, I think.” Then she saw the Mongol bow.
It was black, made of wood and horn, and formed a curved C shape. Olga lifted it up and strung it.