“It’s done now, Ivan.” Billi held out her hand. Ivan glanced at it. Silently, he slipped his fingers into hers.
“It has been an honor to fight beside you, Billi SanGreal.” He smiled, and Billi helped him up.
“What are you going to do now?”
Ivan shrugged. “Get adopted.”
“What?” She must have misheard. She tapped her head; perhaps she was still delirious with all that had just happened. It sounded like he’d said “get adopted.”
Ivan smiled slyly. “England’s royal family. We’re related, you know. I may decide to come to London and impose on my cousins’ hospitality.”
Billi laughed. “Well, if you have no luck at Buckingham Palace, we might be able to find some space for you at the Temple.” They began walking back to the building, supporting each other. Billi clung close to Ivan as he limped along, and he had his arm around her waist, holding her tightly.
A plaintive howl made them both look up.
Amangy gray wolf, its pelt bloody and torn, licked the still face of Big Red, of Svetlana. Its green eyes searched the girl’s body for some sign of life, whimpering softly as it sniffed the deep chest wounds. It licked the girl’s cheek, but she did not stir.
“Olga,” Billi said. The wolf lifted its head in her direction, and Billi raised her hand. She wanted to thank her. The old werewolf, more than anyone, had saved the world from Fimbulwinter.
The old gray wolf watched them, blinking. Then it touched its nose against Svetlana’s still lips and jumped down. With what could have been a nod or a bow, it turned and disappeared.
“Sister SanGreal,” said a voice from behind them. A woman with scars and tattoos waited a few yards away. “The goddess wishes to speak with you.” Goddess? Billi looked at the Polenitsy gathered in the distance. She saw Vasilisa sitting among them.
Ivan turned to go with her, but the woman’s hand shot up. “Not you.”
Billi smiled at Ivan. “It’ll be fine. Vasilisa and I are friends.” But as she turned to the werewolves and the young girl, she wasn’t so sure. The spirits of all the other Spring Children were in the small pale body of the nine-year-old girl. There was no knowing who was in charge.
Vasilisa sat on the wreck of an old car with the Polenitsy around her. They’d found a plain white dress for her. The material was brittle and threadbare, but still elegant. Around her head she wore a crown made of bound twigs. Her face was spotless and her hair had been cleaned and woven with small white flowers: snowdrops. Vasilisa seemed to glow under the moon. Some of the Polenitsy had changed back into human form, but most, about twenty or so, still kept their beast form as wolves or half-humans.
“DON’T BE AFRAID,” said Vasilisa to her. The group of women parted to let Billi through.
“We’re going home now, Vasilisa.” Billi met the black eyes of the small girl, and a chill fear grew in her heart. She was afraid. “If you still are Vasilisa.”
“OH YES, I AM STILL HER. AND MANY OTHERS. ALL THE OTHER SPRING CHILDREN.” Vasilisa smiled. “THEY ARE AT PEACE, BILLI. IN TIME THEY WILL ALL FADE.”
“Then what’s next?” Billi asked.
“FOR YOU, BILLI SANGREAL, A SAFE JOURNEY.”
Vasilisa held out her hand and touched Billi’s fingertips. “UNLESS YOU WISH TO STAY HERE, WITH YOUR SISTERS.”
The Beast Within. It would prowl the cage of her soul forever, and she could hear its call echoing deep inside. It had tasted freedom, and Billi had fought it down. She checked the bandages on her arm, praying they would cure her, praying it wasn’t too late.
Vasilisa smiled slyly, understanding. “DO NOT FRET. THE BEAST IS CAGED.” She raised her fingers to touch Billi’s heart. “BUT THE WOLF WILL ALWAYS BE WITHIN YOU. COME TO US, AND WE WILL FREE IT.”
Billi shook her head and stepped back. “I’m sorry, but I know where I belong.” She frowned. “Did I do right, Vasilisa? In saving you?” She’d thought she would defeat Baba Yaga and save an innocent life. Instead she had replaced the old goddess with a new one. Would this one be friend to humanity, or side against it?
Vasilisa took off her crown. She held it lightly, and green buds swelled along the twigs, rapidly growing into ripe, round cases that cracked open, unfurling petals of yellow and soft orange and red.
“NATURE WILL ALWAYS WIN.” Vasilisa put the crown back on. “CHERNOBYL IS PROOF OF THAT.”
“So you’re saying Baba Yaga was right? That mankind is best out of the picture?”
“I AM SAYING WHATEVER HUMANITY DOES, NATURE ALWAYS TRIUMPHS.”
“And Fimbulwinter? Is Yellowstone going to erupt?”
“FOR NOW, THE VOLCANO SLEEPS.” The girl climbed off the car. “ONE DAY IT WILL AWAKEN, THEN EVEN I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO STOP IT. THAT IS HOW NATURE IS.”
The Polenitsy began to wander away, disappearing into the birch tree woods surrounding the town. Like sylvan spirits they melted in among the branches and trunks and snow-layered earth. Vasilisa walked with them, then paused at the line of trees, on the edge of the darkness.
“WHEN YOU WEARY OF YOUR WORLD, COME TO US, BILLI. WE WILL BE WAITING.”
“What about Baba Yaga? What did you do with her?” Billi shouted. The girl was a white shadow now, barely visible in the snow, as though she were already melting into the elements.
Vasilisa lifted a finger to her endlessly dark eyes. “CAN’T YOU TELL?” Then she laughed, and among the multitude of voices, Billi heard the brittle cackle of the witch, Baba Yaga.
Sarwat Chadda
***
