Page 71 of Tiger's Trek
“Which is why, in my version of the tale, the duck wins. Every duck has his day, you know. Didn’t deserve to get eaten, in my opinion. Are you ready for the story?”
Zima nodded, her eyes wide, and the father began. “A long, long time ago, there lived a very poor family. The papa named Abrosim, a mama named Fetinia, and a young man named Ivan. When their last crust of bread was stolen by a sorrowing spirit living behind their stove, they begged her to return it. She refused, but instead promised to send them a very special bird...”
Stacia could feel her eyes drifting shut as she listened to the story. She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but it was dawn when she woke. The fire had burned down to just embers, and she realized it was her trembling body that had woken her. Zakhar was still sleeping nearby, snoring lightly, so she glanced over at the place where the wagon and the family had been the night before, only to find them gone.
Throwing off her thin blanket, she stood, wobbling as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The only sign that the wagon had been there at all was a blanket left in the snow, covered by a thin layer of white powder on top. Stacia dashed over to it and saw neither footprints, horse prints, nor even a trail of wagon marks. It was as if the family had never existed at all.
Crouching down, she dusted the snow from the blanket and felt a form underneath it. Gasping, tears filling her eyes and panic making her choke, she hurried to lift the edge of the blanket, thinking she’d find Zima’s lifeless body. Then, when she saw the little girl suck on her thumb and take a breath, the steam coming out from around her thumb, the relief was so palpable that her hands began to shake and the tears spilled out, blurring her vision completely.
Stacia cupped her arms beneath the child and lifted her up, carrying her back to the fire, and got it going hot again, then began cooking their breakfast. The smell of hot food, even if it was barley and rye, roused Zakhar. It took him a moment to realize the wagon was missing. Stacia put a finger to her lips to shush him, pointing to a still-sleeping Zima.
He spoke in low tones. “Only a snool would leave in such a way.”
“A snool?” Stacia couldn’t help but grin. “The old man left in the same fashion, and you didn’t suspect him.”
“That’s right. I normally welcome strangers. But twice in a row is becoming suspicious. What did they steal? I fear we are being taken for fools. We are carrying magical tokens. We must be more careful.”
Stacia didn’t like to admit she hadn’t even thought about what they might have stolen. She’d only cared that Zima was safe. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “You’re right though. We need to be more wary of strangers.”
Just then a sleepy Zima rolled to a sitting position. “They didn’t steal anything. They were nice to me,” she insisted.
“I know you liked them, sweeting. We just want to understand why or how they disappeared.”
“They didn’t need to be here anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“The test was finished. They gave me my gift.”
“Gift?” Stacia said. “What gift?”
“This.”
Zima held out what looked like an hourglass, but it was more intricate and elaborate than anything Stacia had ever seen. Whorls of silver, gold, and brass flowers adorned each side, and on the top was a sort of clock or compass, but the handles were spinning of their own accord. The very strange thing was, there was sand on both ends—white on one side and dark as ebony on the other—and neither one flowed into the other. It looked like they were trapped on either side of the glass and couldn’t mix, and yet both of them flowed.
“What is it?” asked Stacia, handing it back to Zima. The little girl shrugged. “Mama said I had to be careful with it. She called it the Glass of Death.”
Chapter19
A CLEAR CONSCIENCE MAKES A SOFT PILLOW
“Though I suppose saying ‘appearance’ is giving you a bit too much credit,” Nik said to the invisible specter.
The other two men at the table gave Nikolai a horrified look, and Eldar mouthed, “What are you doing?” While Andrey whimpered and said softly, “Please don’t make him mad.”
But Yuri, the ghost, didn’t seem to be mad. In fact, he laughed again. “Oh, I plan on appearing a great deal more after this, young man, especially now that you’ve discovered the key. I suppose I should thank you for that.”
“Oh?” Nik said, sorting his cards. “And why does that have anything to do with your ability to”—he screwed up his face as if searching for the right word—“transmew?”
“Because, as my pravnuk here likely knows, that little tin box doesn’t hold the title to this dilapidated old house or the directions to any hidden treasure. No. He already owns the land, and if there were any money to be found, he would have already discovered it. My great-grandson, you see, is after something more. Something bigger.”
“Is that right?” Nik said, turning over a card. “Trump is diamonds. I attack first. Your move, Pravnuk.”
Eldar stuck out a trembling hand and swallowed, a visible lump in his throat bobbing up and down. He gathered his cards and played one to defend the attack. Nik attacked again. Soon it was Andrey’s turn to attack. The poor man was sweating profusely. He put down a card, and the ghost to his left defended. He put down a second, and no card was played.
Nik took that opportunity to ask, “I know the stakeswewere playing for. I’m assuming you’d also like to play for the right to open the tin box?”
“Not at all,” replied the ghost. “I cannot open it. I rely on human hands to do that bit for me. All I care for are the contents.”
