Sleeping Beast Ch. 11

Troi wondered at the depth of spite required to spend decades pursuing such a goal, deciding that only true evil could explain it.

She worried at the question of the wolves while she collected supper ingredients from the spring room and pantry, but allowed her attention to be turned when she returned to the main part of the kitchen, since mulling it over was getting her nowhere.

Her men were discussing a related topic-- the white wolf-- and Troi was only half-listening until Argus switched to what she assumed was Finnish for the final portion of one long sentence. Nivid snorted half a laugh, too, which was also unusual. She flicked a smiling eye to the group at the table and asked to be let in on their little joke.

"That white wolf reminded Nivid of Täti Pilvi's dog, Kirsi. It was a horrid animal, hated everyone but Pilvi."

Nivid added, "Bite Mother many times." He used Äiti rather than Mother, but Troi didn't ask: Äiti was one Finnish word she did know.

Argus grinned. "Probably angry about the name."

Troi interrupted to ask for confirmation. "Kirsi is a girl's name?"

Argus nodded. "Da. Short for Kirsikka."

Nivid's lazy nod stopped, the lack of motion catching everyone's eye. It was only a momentary pause, after which he murmured another unfamiliar Finnish word.

Argus' eyebrows lifted and he exclaimed happily, "Da! That's right!"

Troi and Talgut waited while he drifted into nostalgic reverie. For once, Talgut was the more patient of the two. Troi cleared her throat, hinting for him to continue.

Argus and Nivid looked up. No one spoke.

Troi rolled her eyes. Men were so obtuse.

"The dog?" she reminded them. She'd like to hear the rest of the story.

Argus lifted a shoulder. "Kirsi can be short for Kirsikka, which is a girl's name, but Nivid is right-- I'd forgotten-- the word also means 'frost', which was the actual name of that heinous little rat."

Nivid added another post script, again in what Troi took to be their mother's native tongue; the only word she recognized was Pilvi, their aunt's name. She earned her explanation this time with an overly-dramatic stare. Nivid made the sonorous snort indicating a snicker from the big bovine nose and-- surprisingly-- he was the one who answered.

"Pilvi hate name-- Kirsikka sound like her name."

Troi's hands stilled above the surface of the small work-table. The small itch which had been plucking at the back of her neck since she left the spring room had become a tingling vice around her spine, whispering frantically that she'd forgotten something important, something dangerous.

Her mind skittered in circles, hunting for clues. She didn't have a large number of objects or people to worry about. Her family was all here. Ofsa and Ozu were safe in the company of the other wolves. She and Talgut had done all they could for the garden today. Her chickens were roosting in or on the old wood shed at the back of the building, and the wolves had shown surprisingly little interest in the half-grown birds. And, until a good rain came to provide the living water she needed for her rituals, Troi's work of warding and cleansing was complete.

Nyet.

There was nothing specific, no reason for the itch, no explanation for the pain which began to burn the sockets of her eyes.

The men were still talking, but two recent words from Nivid's dark, dexterous mouth had hold of Troi's imagination.

"What?" she interrupted.

All three looked at her.

She'd heard him use the Russian word for "genuine" in the same sentence with his aunt's name, and knew the accent he'd placed on "Pilvi" was significant in some way.

The weird itch spread to her shoulders.

"What was that about the name?"

She'd been staring blankly for so long that Argus answered with more than a tinge of sarcasm, "You do know the dog was white?"

It wasn't Frost who had captured her imagination, but as though fed by Argus' voice, the strange sensation began to flutter more quickly over the surface of her body. She must have paled, because everyone stilled, Nivid's body tensing visibly as he readied himself to stand.

Troi's voice was clear. "Not Kirsi-- Pilvi."

"Ahh." Argus nodded. "Pilvi was not our aunt's name at birth; she was named Ulrika for our great-grandfather, but she hated the name and called herself Pilvi, wouldn't answer if you used her real name. So, Ulrika . . . Kirsikka . . . . Pilvi hated when Äiti-- Mother-- called the dog 'Kirsikka' instead of 'Frost'."

Argus went on speaking, but Nivid's eyes stayed on Troi, who cursed creatively in Russian, turned, and sprinted from the room.

They followed, of course, but Troi had a head‑start, and she was more agile than either Talgut or Nivid, especially on the stairs. Argus didn't even try this time, simply closing his eyes to stay with Nivid as he ran. He kept her in sight, but when Nivid and Talgut arrived in the old master suite, Troi was already across the room, staring at the tiny portraits arrayed on the marble mantle.

Troi's lips moved as her eyes burned, but she didn't touch the miniatures.

She'd often thought that neither of her Denovas looked at all like their parents-- Suvi and Arvid were both dark, appearing more Slavic than Scandinavian-- but she'd never really noticed the dog. She should have noticed the dog, since she'd been interrogating the brothers about just such information after she learned about the curse.

Studying their faces now, she noted that Suvi and her sister didn't favor one another, either. In fact, the strongest resemblance in the group of tiny portraits was between Pilvi, whose pointed features were framed by a cascade of pale‑blonde hair, and the rat‑like white dog in Suvi's lap. Frost.

She should have noticed the dog.

Troi finally spoke. "Your mother brought that dog with her from home?"

Nivid grunted in response, but when she went on, asking for longer, more detailed replies, he led her back to the castle kitchen, ignoring the questions, which never let up, for all that her words went unanswered.

Troi didn't seem to notice the change in venue, and Argus smoothly took over.

Your aunt did not wish to accompany her sister when she married? To an exciting new land?

Pilvi was angry at Mother, too . . . not like their grandfather. . . . but Pilvi had been on the verge of being betrothed to some wealthy nobleman, and the scandal our parents wrought negated the preliminary arrangements which had already been made. Äiti said she cried for days.

She was not very old at the time?

No, seventeen.

A perfect age for fertility and spite to beget powerful evil, Troi thought to herself.

What happened to her after your parents left?

The brothers shrugged.

With a verbal nudge from Troi, they did their best, but there simply weren't many answers to give: Abo was a port city: it was involved in the war from the beginning. Their mother stopped getting letters from home after a year and a half. She sent many of her own, questioning local officials, who answered only that the house was empty. She never heard from any member of her family again.

"She was always kind of sad," Argus added, drifting off.

Slowly, in the silence that fell over the kitchen, their gazes sharpened.

"Trishta?"

"What are you thinking, Troi?"

They spoke at the same time, as they'd been doing rather consistently, and her imagination was diverted by the thought. "If you're in each other's head, why do you speak so? Over one another, instead of just delegating one of you . . . . "

Surprisingly, it wasn't just Argus who was annoyed with her this time: Nivid growled, his eyes narrowing.

Troi's own eyes widened, but Argus must have felt it coming, because he displayed no surprise at his brother's reaction. His face began to darken as she looked at them, and she pulled herself away from thoughts of the fascinating changes taking place in the Denova brothers as they renewed their bond.

Why was she so easily distracted from this topic? She could ill afford this addle-headed thinking when there was so much-- and suddenly, Troi was furious with herself.

"The dog," she bit out. "Frost. Pilvi used him to transport herself here. Or she followed at a later date and inhabited him then."

"What--?"'

"Why would--?" Typically, Argus managed to use more words than Nivid.

This time, Troi didn't allowed her mind be diverted by the errant observation. "She could observe. Either for her pleasure, or to make sure all went as planned."

She turned the questioning around. "When did the dog die?"

"Not--" Nivid began, stopping when Argus spoke, too. "It disappeared a few weeks before our parents died. Äiti thought a wolf must have taken it."

Troi shook her head slowly, sneering. "More likely the other way around."

The long pause while the brothers worked through the information reminded Troi yet again how drastically their religious upbringing had differed from what she and Talgut experienced. They'd been born into different tribes, but the Kazakh and Bashkir shared similar rites and beliefs about the spiritual world---beliefs new to the Denovas.

Nivid got it first, but it was Argus who announced the realization. "The white wolf."

Troi nodded in response even as her mind moved on.

"It doesn't make sense, though," she mused, her eyes turning toward the window. "The rest of the pack is here at least half the time."

Lifting her chin, she gestured at the field they couldn't quite see from where they were seated, and finished, "I haven't seen the white one for a couple of months."

Talgut nodded and grunted in agreement, the first sound he'd made in quite some time.

It was a minute before Troi noticed the quiet and turned back to the table. The Denovas were absolutely silent, frozen in place on the other side of the table, staring, evidently shocked, at Troi and Talgut in turn.

"What?" Talgut snapped loudly.

Nivid's ambiguous expression was now one of a pair; Argus looked to be somewhere between panic and anger. Nivid, on the other hand, feel somewhere between fury and . . . lust? No, that couldn't be right . . . .

With effort, Troi took control of her inconstant thoughts. What was the matter with her?? This was important!

"What?" she repeated, her voice as sharp as Talgut's had been.

Argus answered, "Uhmm, Troitsa, the wolf-- the white wolf-- was here today."

Troi's brows drew down and together. "While we were outside? Just now?"

The brothers nodded in unison.

"Every day," Nivid added.

"In the taiga, you mean?"

In unison again, and displaying the same jerky hesitation, they shook their heads.

No?

Troi glanced at Talgut in confusion, but he was staring at the Denovas, too, wearing the same feeling on his face which was rapidly filled her chest with ice, leaving little room for bravery or optimism. She swallowed. "Somewhere else?"

Nivid shook his big head, his expression stern, and grunted, lifting his hands to show them a space slightly wider than the broad brown shoulders. "Near me."

After a horror-filled moment of dawning clarity, Troi jumped to her feet, panting, swallowing, and sweating as she stared into the dark reassurring pools of Nivid's eyes, feeling his love reaching out to her as she struggled. Her thoughts had skittered from the kitchen to the tower stairs and back before she wrangled them under control, ordering events.

Ofsa, Ozu. The pack. The women. Frost. The white wolf. Pilvi.

Kirsikka. Ulrika.

Troi's own unfocused, ungovernable mind, so eager to abandon this topic and move on to another.

"Son of a goat-sucking whore."

Her whispered Bashkir curse was less creative and more violent than those she'd used earlier.

She and Talgut had been blinded by malice and magic.

For endless seconds which felt like hours, Troi's chest refused to move. Cool air swirled in futile circles at the back of her throat, strangling her with fear. It wasn't simply the daunting, dirty feeling of having been so thoroughly ignorant of the witch's proximity: Pilvi had claimed the body of a creature which could turn Troi into tiny bits of Bashkir-meat with a mere snap of its ivory teeth and powerful jaw.

All those times she'd felt she was being watched . . . how many hours had she spent in the witch's company? How close had she been? Had she walked by Troi's side as she wandered the taiga, crying for her parents? Had she followed along when Troi frolicked with Ofsa and Ozu?

She clenched her lips together, dug her fingernails into her palms, and took a few deep breaths, ridding herself of the urge to run screaming into the taiga, wielding the largest axe she could carry. It was only then Troi noticed Talgut's equally violent reaction: he was standing near the winter stove, almost all the way across the kitchen, his hands fisted like hers, tendons rippling beneath the dark brown skin of his neck.

Ten minutes later, both were still angry and agitated, but Troi's voice was steady as the family conferred. Questions and answers flowed in both directions as she and Talgut learned how blind they'd been, and the Denovas learned more about sorcery than they'd been prepared to hear.

"Your aunt--" She spat the word. "-- is the wolf. The witch, that is," she added, making the accusation perfectly clear.

Between deliberately spoken sentences, her mouth worked itself in ugly pursed circles.

"Which I should have recognized months ago."

The sound of Troi grinding her teeth was easily audible to the Denovas in spite of Talgut's constant string of curses and threats of retribution.

Troi continued, "She cast a spell to hide herself-- hide the wolf-- so I wouldn't be reminded."

"But—" Argus frowned as he chose his words. "what about the warding wands and the amulets you gave--"

She shook her head. "It's not a spell on us, exactly, it's more like a cloak she hides behind. She probably specified Talgut and I in particular, but it might work on anyone who doesn't know her name, as long as she recognizes their presence.

"Besides--" She gestured at Talgut. "This was done months ago, well before the wards. Mayhap more in Talgut's case."

Argus was still frowning, and Troi sighed.

During the hours she'd spent on preparations, she'd come to realize how completely foreign most of her beliefs sounded to the Denova brothers. She was forever amazed that they, so gravely affected by the existence of magic, knew so little of its workings.

But Argus and Nivid had been born into the Christian faith, which was sorely lacking when it came to handling most non-material aspects of life. Their religion had no response for something as simple as a neighbor's hex, much less offering any solid, tangible protection from demons, witches, curses, and the like. Christians weren't even encouraged to speak directly to their god, but forced to pay a priest to intervene. And from what Argus told Troi, mentioning demons to a priest was definitely not wise.

She'd shaken her head in disbelief many times as she tried to educate them about the rituals ahead. Even spiritual doctrines shared by Russian and nomad alike-- the most basic facts about life and death-- were ill-formed, or missing some vital piece. For instance, they knew enough to keep anyone from outside the family away from a new baby for the first forty days of its life, but had no problem with allowing visitors into the house, as long as no one saw the infant. In fact, both Denovas completely overlooked the importance of the threshold in that-- or any other-- dictate. After one discussion about the warding wands outside each room, Talgut had stormed away in frustration, muttering that he was surprised they even bothered to put up doors, with such a lackadaisical attitude.

The Christian church had reduced their concept of death to the knowledge one must simply be christened and forgiven. All notions of good and bad deaths had been stolen from them. Considering what Talgut suspected about their parents sudden passing-- and the multiple deaths of Argus himself-- it was no wonder the curse clung to the brothers with such tenacity.

They'd stolen souls from their gods. It was a wonder their punishment hadn't been death, rather than a curse which held back death and destiny alike.

She tried to explain the witch's current spell, but struggled to form a simple explanation. "Talgut and I didn't know her true name, and so we weren't . . . couldn't . . .."

When she faltered, Talgut jumped in to help. "Not knowing a person's true name is like not knowing of her existence."

Troi nodded sharply. "Da."

"Since we didn't know she lived, it was easy for her to blind us to her presence," he finished.

Troi nodded, impressed by his erudition.

"A simple enchantment would do," she concluded, exchanging another bitter glance with the man at her side.

A rumble from Nivid called to her. He was shaking his head, and his expression-- that was definitely a frown. He made a motion toward Argus. "Us?"

Troi knew what he was asking and shook her head, sighing. "You know her true name, so your aunt can't hide herself so easily from your eyes. The curse has likely blinded you to the significance of her presence, though, and her-- the wolf's-- identity."

She shook her head slowly, frowning as her fists rose to perch on her hips. She barely noticed the resultant smiles which appeared on the faces of her men. Her eyes pinned to the scarred wooden surface of the table, Troi began planning.

-- o --

In under an hour, she'd assembled the tools she needed to rid herself and Talgut of the spell they'd borne so heedlessly. Luckily, everything she required to break this small enchantment was already at hand, since she'd been so industriously preparing anything and everything she thought she might need for the more daunting rituals to come.

Between fetching supplies at Troi's behest, her men speculated on reasons for this behavior or that, human, canine, and witch, until she set Argus to task writing his aunt's true name on a piece of birch bark she'd ironed weeks ago. In the meantime, she and Talgut said the entire name repeatedly, practicing its foreign pronunciation. She considered asking Talgut to sketch a portrait of Pilvi on another piece of bark, but it was a simple sight enchantment, and she didn't think they needed anything so elaborate: the name alone should do.

After moving the everyday lamp and salt cellar aside and asking Nivid to clear away their teacups and napkins, Troi seated herself next to Talgut. On the table between the four of them, she placed the miniature painting of Pilvi, face-up like a small, ornate silver tray. Onto it went a tiny crystal dish bearing a stumpy, oddly-shaped white candle which Troi had first heated, then rolled in a mixture of charcoal and iron shavings scraped from the bottom of her most-oft used cooking pot.

In the hollow around the wick, she'd sprinkled more charcoal, plus some ground dried nettle leaves.

The scrap of paper birch bearing Pilvi's true name was rolled around wormwood and rosemary, and the whole of it bound with a sturdy red thread.

Troi had used similar woolen strands many times as she crafted amulets and other magical items, and every time she thanked the gods for her mother's habit of thrift. Anyone else would probably have discarded the moth-eaten wall-hanging she'd found in the soldier's chapel, but after salvaging two larger bits to make pot-holders, Troi had rolled the remainder and saved it in her sewing box to pull apart if she found herself needing red thread.