Page 18 of The Bone Doll
“But you are here already.” The woman pointed to the other side. “And it’s not so far to cross.”
“We don’t want to bother–”
“I am trying to help you.” The woman’s face twisted with rage as she surged to her feet. Her nails were so long that they curled back on themselves, cracking at the edges. She stepped forward, her ankles twisting inhumanly beneath her. “Let me help you.”
Syra unsheathed her knife and sliced into the woman’s fingers, before she could think. Viktor was pulling her backwards, away from the woman –thing– and telling her to run. The creature’s blonde hair turned green and dripping like kelp, her eyes turning to gaping sockets in her skull. On all fours like an animal, she charged them. Syra slashed again as she ran. The woman-creature wrapped her thin fingers around Syra’s ankle. Syra fell. Her lip splitting, she tasted blood. Her knife flew from her fingers. She kicked at the woman-creature’s head, but the monster only snarled and started dragging her towards the river.
All the while, the woman-creature cooed, “It’s not so far to cross. Let me help you. It’s not so far to cross.”
Viktor was running back for her. Falling to his knees, he grabbed Syra’s arms and pulled. But the woman-creature was stronger, and Syra slipped from his grasp inch by inch.
When she was only holding on by the tips of her fingers, she remembered the strange red spirit in the forest and how it had retreated from her grandfather’s chant. As fast as she could, she recited the words in Sarnok:
The world is ash, our hearts are stone.
Go! Return to your rightful home.
The Bone Doll pulsed like a second heartbeat against her belly, and Syra felt a bloom of power as she chanted. When she blinked, she saw the constellations behind her eyelids.
And then the moment was gone.
The woman-creature screeched and dropped Syra’s ankle.
Viktor pulled Syra to her feet, and they ran. Away from the river. Into the forest. They stopped only when they couldn’t hear the woman-creature screaming, nor the rushing of the river.
Syra bent forward, her hands on her knees, gasping for air. “What was that?”
“Arusalka,” Viktor said, holding onto a tree for support. “A water spirit that tries to drown people.”
She shuddered. It wasn’t unheard of for Sarnok hunters, taking their umiaks onto the Silver Sea, to be caught in sudden storms and drown. For a Sarnok, it was the worst way to die – cold, painful suffocation. And there was no hope of making it to the underworld if you drowned because the sea took your soul instead. She assumed thisrusalkahad meant to keep her soul, too.
“Are you all right?” Viktor stepped closer. “Did she hurt your ankle?”
She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing pulse. “I’m fine.”
“Your incantation, it scared off therusalka.” He cupped her face. “Can you do that for theleshy?”
“I-I don’t know.” She had never experienced power like she had just wielded. It wasn’t hers, but the Bone Doll’s. And she didn’t understand why it helped her.
Slowly, he let her go, the absence of his touch leaving a deep ache inside her. A curl of his orangebush-colored hair fellin front of his eyes. When she reached up to brush it away, he caught her hand. “You saved us.”
“I wasn’t going to fall prey to that creature.”
“I’m lucky you’re so stubborn,” he said with a twisted smile and then kissed her knuckles. “Now, let’s head south again. Wedoneed to find Dorazdel and that ferry.”
Can’t we stay in the forest? Just a little longer?Syra didn’t voice what she felt. Instead, she nodded and gestured for Viktor to lead the way.
Chapter 12
Beluvod
Beluvod – meaning “white water,” according to Viktor – held more people than Syra knew existed in the entire world. And if she thought that the people of Kholm were wealthy and well-fed, it was nothing compared to the Beluvodians in their velvet and silver, their hair braided into elaborate but elegant styles. And not only Ruthenians lived here. Syra saw Parmians, Karelians, and Skanians, as well as other peoples she did not recognize. The buildings here were multi-storey and made of stone and wood, elaborately carved and painted with scenes from nature.
Just like the gray building on whose stairs she stood as Viktor fumbled in his belt purse.
“...is Goldenhome,” Viktor was saying. “The steward, Yefrem Danilovich, has been my friend for a long time.”
He produced a small, rusted key which he pressed into the lock. Syra scowled. Who had unrestricted access to their friend’s home? “I had expected an inn.”
