OLGA WALKED BESIDE BILLI AS THEY EVENTUALLY made their way back to the camp. Ivan had fallen a few paces behind with the other escorts; it wasn’t easy getting through the snow with his injured leg.
“I suppose I should thank you. For saving our lives,” said Billi. She didn’t get it, though. With all that had happened, why had the old woman protected them?
“I was honoring a debt, nothing more.”
“A debt? You owe us nothing.”
“You saved two lives. Natasha and Maria. You helped them escape the Bogatyrs in Moscow.”
The paisley woman and the young werewolf girl. “They were friends of yours?”
“They were Polenitsy.”
“But the woman’s dead. Koshchey killed her.”
Olga nodded. “But Maria lives. For her life I saved yours.” She slowed down, pressing her boot tip into the snow. “And you are now one of us. We protect our own.”
Billi shook her head savagely. “I’ll never join you. Even if I transform, why would I want to be part of this?”
Olga grabbed Billi’s arm and swung her around. “Then where will you go? Do you think the Templars will welcome you? You that are Unholy in their eyes? You will join us and live a life you could not have dreamed of. What is better than this freedom?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. With Fimbulwinter to be unleashed tomorrow, we’ll all be dead soon enough.”
“Fimbulwinter so you say. Who told you about Fimbulwinter?”
“Vasilisa. You must know that Baba Yaga has been sharing her mind. Vasilisa learned about Fimbulwinter from the goddess herself.”
“No…that cannot be true,” said Olga, her voice wavering.
“I don’t know who’s worse,” said Billi to the old woman. “That mad witch, or you, for worshipping her.”
If she’d wanted a reaction, she got it. Olga knocked her off her feet with a single swipe. She stood over Billi, flexing her fingers. The nails were normal, human. She didn’t need claws to tear Billi apart.
“Get up, Templar,” Olga said. “Why do you provoke me?”
Billi got up and dusted the snow off her coat. “Provoke?
You don’t think kidnapping children and planning the apocalypse is provocation?”
“You should have stayed in London.”
“Why? Because it’s safer? Baba Yaga wants to use Vasilisa’s powers to blow Yellowstone, a supervolcano. When that goes there won’t be a place on the planet that’s safe.” Billi thought about the devastation Vesuvius had caused. That eruption would be a puff of smoke compared to what was going to happen tomorrow unless she found a way to stop it. “Ash and sulphur dioxide will fill the sky and block out the sun. The world will freeze. We’ll all starve, human and wolf.”
“No. The Great Mother has promised to protect us.” Olga shook her head. “She would not unleash such devastation on us. If what you say is true, all the world’s population would suffer near extinction. Baba Yaga only wishes to protect the natural world.”
“She’s lying, Olga.” Billi met the old woman’s gaze. “She wants to wipe the slate clean and start over. She only needs a few to survive. Even if it takes another thousand years for the world to repopulate, Baba Yaga can wait.”
“Baba Yaga has promised us a spring like no other, after the Spring Child’s sacrifice.”
“Yes. But it’s going to be a long hard winter before it arrives, and you won’t be around to enjoy it. None of us will.”
This was a dangerous game. But she’d seen Olga defy Baba Yaga, so there was some doubt in the old werewolf’s mind. If Billi could exploit that, might they not gain an ally and a chance to stop Baba Yaga? Maybe not all the Polenitsy blindly believed in their Dark Goddess. They’d seen the indiscriminate devastation of Vesuvius. There hadn’t been any allowances made there-the volcano had wiped out everything.
“How, Olga? How is Baba Yaga going to save the Polenitsy?”
Olga glanced back toward the cave, then at Billi. She shook her head. “It is not my place to question the wisdom of the Great Mother.”
“That’s convenient. For her.”
“Does your god answer your questions?” Olga retorted. “I think not.”
“Then we must find our own answers.” Billi stopped close to Olga. “Or we are all going to die.”
Olga huffed and pointed toward the camp. “Move faster.” She didn’t want to discuss this anymore.
A guard waited outside the tent. The man, a bulky sword-armed Mongolian, pulled the flap back.
“Make sure they do not leave,” Olga ordered before departing.
“What exactly was that all about?” said Ivan.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Ivan limped up to the fire in the center of the tent. He rubbed his hands and warmed them over the flames. “What are we going to do?” He stared at the fire, and his eyes shone with amber flames.
“If you’ve got a cunning plan, now would be the time to enlighten me.”
“Plan? We’re trapped, Billi.” He slapped the side of his leg in frustration. “I’m going nowhere with this.”
“Just let me think.” Billi searched the room. Couple of stools, a bed, and some pots and pans. Not much. She needed to move fast, before she changed her mind.
The stool.
“We need to get out of here now.” She smiled at Ivan, picked up the stool, and smashed it on the ground. “Fight me.”
“What?” Billi kicked the table over, sending the tray and cups clattering. “Fight!” Ivan grabbed the bed, shouting incoherently, and tossed it into the flames, sending burning embers across the carpet.
The tent flap swung open as the guard stormed in. Ivan screamed and threw his crutch at Billi, who caught it. She pointed at Ivan as the smoke began to rise.
“He started it!”
The guard glanced at Ivan, and Billi swung the crutch into the back of his legs. He dropped to his knees. His hand went to his sword, while Billi spun the wooden stick around and whipped herself behind him. With the staff across his throat, she buried her knee into his upper back and pulled.
“Grab his hands! His hands!” Billi ordered.
Ivan lurched forward and did so. The guard hissed and locked his neck muscles as stiff as he could, but Billi had the staff under his Adam’s apple, and pulled it toward her while pushing her knee further into his back, steadily strangling him. Ivan held the man’s hands out in front of him.
The man coughed, then choked. He turned his head, trying to free himself from the suffocating trap Billi had him in. He twisted, but Ivan wouldn’t let go. The struggles diminished in vigor, and after what seemed like a century, his body slumped.
Billi dropped the stick, and the man fell face-first onto the carpet. Ivan tipped a jug of water over the smoking edges of the carpet. He used the discarded blankets to smother the small fire.
“Thanks,” she said. “It would help if you told me what you were planning in advance.”
“No time.” Billi checked the man’s pulse. Still alive. “He’ll be out for ten minutes. Gag him and tie him to that.” She pointed at one of the two central tent supports. The post was about twenty inches thick, solid pine and dug in deep.
Billi unbuckled the man’s weapon’s belt. The saber was an old Cossack blade, sharply curved with a single edge tapering into a stiff dagger point. It was old and certainly sharp enough to shave a few hairs off a werewolf. As well as the saber, there was a plain stabbing dagger. Ideal for slipping between the ribs.
“I’m going after Vasilisa,” she said.
Ivan didn’t ask what she was going to do with her: Billi’s cold tone was explanation enough.
“And then?” he asked as he tied up the unconscious man. He stood and smiled sadly, then leaned on the support column, worn out.
Billi shook her head. “There won’t be any ‘then,’ Ivan.” She could run, but how far would she get? The Polenitsy would be on her before she’d gone a mile. They would not treat her well for having killed the Spring Child. But whatever the werewolves did would be quick; Baba Yaga would want her to suffer a longer, crueler death.
“There has to be another way.” Ivan came up to her and put his hands on her arms.
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess.” Billi tried to laugh. “I seem to have a fatal effect on boys.” But maybe they’d let Ivan live if she did the deed alone. It was a fool’s hope, but at this point any hope was foolish.
Hope that Arthur and the Knights Templar would arrive and save the day.
Hope that the Polenitsy would defy Baba Yaga.
Hope that she could save everyone without killing a little girl.
Foolish, foolish, foolish.
Billi looked up at him. There was warmth in what Billi had once thought was a cold and guarded gaze, which matched the emotion behind his sad smile. Billi laced her fingers with his.
I am going to die. The thought hit her like a spear. Billi squeezed her fingers tighter around Ivan’s. Once she let go, that was it. She took a deep breath to quell the fear mounting inside. At least she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of murdering Vasilisa. Not for long, anyway.
“Let’s think for just a minute,” said Ivan desperately. “Maybe your father-”
Billi pulled herself free. Time to get it finished. “We can’t wait.” She wrapped the belt around her waist, buckling it on the very last hole and checking her weapons again. The scabbard was worn smooth and the sword came free easily.
“Get the guard’s coat and hat and stand out here; they’ll notice if he’s missing.” Billi went to the door flap. “Wish me luck, Ivan.”
“I wish…” He stopped. The time for wishes had run out. He straightened his clothes; if this was good-bye, he’d do it properly. He started to smooth the creases, but faltered. He touched her face gently before letting his hand fall away.
“Deus vult, Billi SanGreal.”
Billi left.
She looked into the darkening sky. To the west the sun’s dying light covered the clouds with deep crimson smears, the shades turning to dark purple and black in the east. The moon had vanished behind the dense clouds, giving her some reprieve. She felt the feathery kisses of snowflakes on her cheeks. The icy wind whipped at her tattered red coat, and she pulled up the collar to protect her neck, but the cold air ruffled her hair and stung her ears.
She was fifteen years old. Funny, she felt older. She’d been shadowed by death and now it had caught up with her. The warm air of the ger warmed her back, and for a moment Billi could have turned and rushed into Ivan’s arms, but that was a foolish fantasy. She was a Templar. Duty always came first.
You shall keep the company of martyrs.
Billi closed her eyes and searched the air, seeking out a scent that she recognized. The air was filled with emotions-hers, the Polenitsys’. They rolled like a melange of sharp spices. Fear was peppery, eye-watering. Chili-powder rage stung her lips. Musky love swam through her nostrils.
The world of the werewolf overpowered her senses.
Humans lived in such a dull, lifeless world.
I’m human.
Her eyes snapped open.
People waded through the dense snow, their vision limited by the flurries. Nobody paid her any attention. Billi peered into the snowy veil and saw a shock of red against the white field.
Svetlana.
Well, here I come, ready or not.
She was among the trees, twenty yards away. A smaller figure followed a few paces behind. Billi tightened her grip on the sword hilt. This was it. In a few minutes it would all be over.
Billi made her way directly toward them. Step by step she pushed, never taking her eyes off of them. They’d come out of a tent on the opposite side of the clearing and moved onward, oblivious to her. Svetlana held out her hand and helped Vasilisa through the whiteness. The girl still wore only a smock. At times she was invisible; at others she shone brighter than the icicles dangling off the branches. She’d been given even more jewelery, multicolored armlets, rings, necklaces, and small crowns of woven twigs and winter flowers.
Billi clambered over a huge boulder, hauling herself by the net of vines that ran over the gray rock like veins. She reached the top and stood, her scarlet coat flapping in the icy winds. She pulled out the saber in her right hand and settled the dagger in her left.
“Vasilisa,” she said.
Vasilisa looked up and stared. She tried to pull free of Svetlana, but the red-haired girl was too strong. “Billi…” Vasilisa pleaded. “Help me.” But the young Polenitsy understood that Billi wasn’t here to save Vasilisa, and pushed the small girl onto the ground behind her. She smiled, revealing her long canines.
“Death in red,” Svetlana said. “My favorite color.”