God Within Us

In the dead of night, when darkness and shadows fell upon the White City, the world of dream remained as bright as day. The stars were wheeling about overhead, shining down onto the plains outside Belnopyl. The grasses, vibrant and full of life, were a sea of lashing fiery tongues, and swaying in the invisible breeze they flicked up at a cold, crescent moon whose light was sickly and cold.

The cold - that was what disturbed her the most. The whole world was cold, so dreadfully cold. And though Vasilisa knew she was asleep in her bed, next to a roaring hearth, she felt a shiver run through her body as she looked out onto the black-and-white landscape…and the dizzying fall below. She had never feared heights so much when she was a child - but then again, it seemed there were more things she feared lurking in the darkness now than when she was a mere eight summers old.

Do not be afraid, spoke the voice, high and musical to her ears. She could not see Unukalhai, but their voice echoed seemingly from all around her - a musical note sounding through the deathly silence of the world of dream. Make your reality your own.

She extended her foot out over the edge of the battlements, and swayed perilously over the darkness. Madness, she thought to herself. Madness! Even in a dream, it seems like madness!

If you allow your fears to control your mind, then you have already lost, spoke Unukalhai with a hint of a smile in their tone. Do you recall your own words?

Do not be afraid, she thought in reply. Fear will be your end. Do not let it drown you.

She repeated the words in her head as she allowed herself to lean over the edge. Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid-

And then she fell.

It was an eerie feeling - falling in her dreams. The sea of white flames rushed up to meet her, but there was no howling of wind in her ears, no wild fluttering of her robes or hair lashing against her face. Her spirit cried out in terror into the silent void, but then at the last she forced her mind into focus. Fly, or die, were the sorcerer’s words. They had never rung so true as now.

She grasped the edges of her cloak and flung them out behind her, and dreamed of wings, giant and beautiful wings to catch her fall in the air and let her soar. With a great woosh she felt the tattered cloth twisting and turning, and then a burst of fiery pinions fell about her as her wings took form. But they had formed too late - the ground was rushing up too swiftly for her to fly. She unfolded and beat her wings against the approaching ground, trying to break her fall, and awkwardly she came down upon the grass - more like a pigeon than any noble bird of prey.

Good. You are learning quickly, whispered Unukalhai. Soon, you will not need wings.

Vasilisa swayed on her feet, finding balance on solid earth once more. The grasses about her feet burned with life and vigor, every blade like the wick of a candle, dancing tantalizingly. She reached out to touch the earth, and felt sharp, stinging cold upon her fingertips. She quickly jerked her hand away, and turned her gaze towards the usurpers’ war camp - a giant, glowing beacon of light and life, packed full of men and beasts of burden. In the distance, she could hardly make out man from beast amidst their blurred, flaming forms. At the perimeter of the camp, the soldiers erected a line of great bonfires whose flames were black, and cast long, dark shadows over the grasses. No men lingered around the bonfires for warmth - was it to spoil the night vision of her men, then? But if so, for what purpose?

Let us find out. She felt tingles running up and down her entire body - to fall from the tower was one thing…but to stray from the city, so far from herself? She wondered if there was a cord binding her soul to her body, and if it was being drawn sight, liable to snap at any moment to leave her body soulless - breathing, but never awakening. She moved on her own instinct and power now, not by the help of Chirlan…or whoever had given her Sight last.

You might surpass both of them, in time.

How far could Chirlan cast his Sight? She thought as she walked across the field, passing beneath the shadow of the black flames.

The greatest of the Heralds could cast his Sight beyond the bounds of time, replied Unukalhai. Mere distance is but a trifle.

She walked past the hastily-assembled ringwall set around the war camp. Inside, the array of tents stretched as far as the eye could see: men from Denev kept away from those hailing from Korlen, druzhinniks kept away from the ranks of the common men, and the freerider mercenaries kept away from all - the divisions of rank and provincialism keeping them all at arms-length from one another. And barely away from each others’ throats, she noted as she saw a fistfight break out between an archer from Korlen and a spearman from Rylsk. It seemed only the prospect of an easy victory and plunder kept the peace - for all the usurpers had talked of repairing and reuniting the realm.

Banners waving from tentpoles or atop stuck lances marked the boundaries of each camp - she scanned the horizon, and then caught sight of four clustered together, flapping atop a large pavilion. The usurpers’ war tent. She hurried across the war camp, nearby bumping against a soldier carrying a heap of firewood - only for him to walk through her, sending an icy chill through her entire body. The soldier looked about himself, shivering slightly, and for a brief moment his fiery visage faced her head-on. The moment passed, and the man walked off, his mutterings sounding muffled and distant through the veil between worlds.

She went further, stepping through the lowered tentflap to see three flaming figures leaned over a map. Even in the dead of night, they seemed to be planning their assault down to the last detail, shifting wooden pieces with flags here and there as they spoke in hushed whispers. The fat one could only be Milomir; the one who stood hunched with age must be Vsevolod; and the one who stood at the head of the table must be Zinoviy. At his belt, she saw the Hearteater seemed to be wreathed in shadows, dark and hungry.

His sword…she wondered, stepping gingerly around the tall boyar. It has power - of a different kind from any normal blade. It almost seems-

Blessed? Spoke Unukalhai. Perhaps it is.

She remembered Stribor’s lieutenant - the one called Troyan, who had led the butchering of a prize stallion to the Lord of Lightning and gave its carcass to the flames.

The land runs red all round with sacrifices for the Lightning Lord’s favor, she remembered the druzhinnik’s words. Warriors sacrificed all manner of things to the gods in times of peace - but the choicest sacrifices of all were those of flesh and blood, given in times of war. Hundreds, thousands of burnings across the land - hundreds and thousands of souls being given in sacrifice - the god invoked was Perun, but…

Does fire burn any differently under a different name? she wondered to herself. They are all being given to fire. Gods, how many sacrifices have they made, then?

Wars in your land feed Gandroth well, spoke Unukalhai. The Lord of Flame is a god that your kind have made many masks for, for His real name and visage were long-forgotten. Yet your rituals live on, and even if they do not speak the old words, they still give Him terrible strength.

The shadows twisted and writhed as if alive, sensing her presence. Vasilisa shivered, feeling their cold, unnatural hunger. The Hearteater seemed to stir in her presence - the darkness twisted and coiled about the blade as if it was trying to leap free from the forged steel, but it remained unable to break free from the sword.

Ignoring the cold dread creeping up her spine, Vasilisa turned to look at the map the lords set before them. Her city was clearly marked - she saw the three gates, and rough outlines of the streets, drawn from vague memory. Beyond the walls, the lords shifted about small wooden blocks marked with small banners, deciding the order of battle. She noticed the banner of Boyar Urvan - the red tower - curiously in the middle of the plains between the city and the war camp.

Milomir’s voice rumbled, each word barely audible through the veil of the dream world. “Are we sure this isn’t some sort of trap?”

Zinoviy scoffed in reply, the flames of his face twisting into a flickering smile. “We can be sure of the interest of survival. Not everyone wishes to follow the princess into the grave.”

She strained to hear his voice - it was like she was listening from within the maiden alcove of her father’s court all over again. But before she could hear more, the Hearteater suddenly rattled violently in its sheath, cutting the boyar’s talk short. He looked down, alarmed, and his voice sounded clearly enough then.

“Something is wrong,” he said grimly. “We are not alone.”

Vsevolod’s soft voice called, “Seeing things, Zinoviy? Have your eyes begun to go as well?”

“No, this is different, old man,” Zinoviy muttered. With a hiss of steel, he drew the Hearteater. The roiling darkness twisted with greater fervor, stretching out towards her. Zinoviy pointed the tip of the black sword in her direction, and she stumbled back a few steps as he swung the blade in her direction. Then, he began to step forward.

She scrambled further back as Zinoviy approached, the Hearteater guiding him like a dark compass needle. His expression showed no sign of seeing her, but he continued to push her away. Vasilisa's breaths came in ragged gasps as she desperately tried to distance herself. The oppressive cold of the shadows bit into her, sapping her strength, and before she could move any further back, Zinoviy raised the blade high in the air, and brought it down on her head.

A great shock of cold cleaved through her, splitting apart her head and soul to spill forth her light into the world.

She screamed.

And then her eyes opened.

She shot upright in her bed, grasping for her head, feeling for a bloody gash or the softness of her brain spilling from some wound. When she felt nothing but cold, clammy skin, she sank back onto her bed - her head burning as dots swam before her eyes. Unukalhai loomed over her quietly, a tall, black silhouette against the light of the roaring hearth.

“You’ve done well,” said the Apostle softly. “Too well - I should not have pushed you so.”

“‘s nothing,” she mumbled, swinging her feet out from the bed onto the cold stone floor. The throbbing in her temples quickly faded away, but the terrible cold in her soul remained - a scar dealt by the Hearteater, a cold so terrible that even a thick blanket about her shoulders and a roaring fire could not chase it away.

She sifted through her memories, committing every detail of the map she had seen to her mind before it all faded away, as was the fleeting manner of dreams.

“You have seen their plans as well,” Vasilisa said to Unukalhai. “There is little they can do, except throw themselves against the walls in their full might. Yet that sword…if it is blessed as you say, perhaps two it is the strength of two gods that we’ll see come morning.”

“It's wielder is still only human,” replied the Apostle. “Even if his sword was blessed by happenstance.”

“You do not know the boyar of Denev as I do. And there is some trickery they have planned besides-”

The ringing steel on steel and hoarse voices raised in alarm sounded through her window. Had the battle already begun? No, there were no war horns sounded, and the usurpers’ army was hardly on a footing to attack. She rushed to her window, and saw the glint of steel blades clashing by the Gods’ Gate. The darkness was broken momentarily by a flaming arrow from the gatehouse which showered the fighters below in pale white light, but from a distance she could not make out friend or foe. Vasilisa sped down the stairs, bringing the Kladenets with her on the way down, and Unukalhai plodded after her - yet even at a running pace the battle was over by the time she arrived, and the rest of the city had hardly roused from its sleep.

Four men lay dead beneath the gatehouse, their blood forming silver pools beneath the moonlight. Nearby, she saw several guards crowded around two others who lay propped up against the curtain wall. One of them was a man in a black cloak, his hood pulled back to reveal a garish mask of yellow and blue bruises. The other man was clad in heavy armor, and when he raised his head to the lantern light she saw a familiar face - half-covered in blood from a gash across his brow.

“Kirill.”

She thought the druzhinnik to have been one of the injured…until she saw his hands were bound. From the throng of gatehouse guards Yesugei stepped forward and cast a bloodied longsword before her feet with a grimace.

“They tried to seize the gates,” the nomad princeling said. He gave a nod over to the four dead with a sigh. “Two of them were ours - if they hadn’t come early to change the guard and spooked them…”

In his other hand, Yesugei held up a lantern. One of the glass panes was cracked from the fall, but when a burning brand was thrown into the chamber, Vasilisa saw the flame that burst from the chamber glowed with a deep purple hue.

A signal lantern? What treachery-

“Get him up.” she commanded, nodding to Kirill. With an agonized groan the druzhinnik was helped up to his feet, huffing and puffing from the effort of simply rising. There was shame in his expression, and the warrior did not dare to look upon her face directly. Was it shame for his betrayal, or shame at being caught? She looked over to the dead men as they were dragged away from the gates, trailing silver across the cobblestones.

“Why?” she asked the druzhinnik. “For the sake of your broken oath, do not make me ask a second time. You were my sworn man - you stood by me at Rovetshi…”

“I stood by you when dead men and abominations were rising from the Gravemarsh, aye,” muttered Kirill. “But the men outside our walls aren’t undead - and the only abominations are the ones that we’ve let in our walls with open arms.”

Kirill gave a pointed nod to Unukalhai, not bothering to hide his disgust. “To ally with one of these creatures…it’s madness. And it’s madness more for you to have me stand against boyar Zinoviy. Did you forget so quickly that I hail from Denev? When I left for service with Hrabr, my brothers were training in hopes of joining Zinoviy’s household guard.”

He shook his head, sighing. “Do you think I want to be a kinslayer - or to make one of my brothers into one, if they can be counted in Zinoviy’s shieldwall? The laws of blood are older, more powerful than oaths to petty lords and ladies - even you, Vasilisa.”

That earned him a strike across the face from one of the guards. Vasilisa raised her hand and her voice rang with command. “Let him speak his piece - if I wish to have him struck, I’ve two fine hands of my own.”

Kirill spat a crimson glob upon the cobblestones, then gave a terrible red grin. “Yes, listen to your lady, you fine, brave warriors - beating a man who’s bound is one thing, but we’ll see how brave you all are when they storm the walls. Two thousand, against what, two hundred? They will slaughter every one of you - do you think your pointed sticks will stand for a minute against iron plate and steel battle-axes?

“I wonder how many of you fools will stand by your beloved lady then?” He laughed, looking at each one of the guards in turn - boys with too few summers under their belts, and longbeards with too many. They looked to each other, anger raised as a mask to hide their doubts, but Vasilisa had no illusions of their fears.

Yesugei spoke, his words measured and calm. “They will last longer than you. Perhaps we should cut off your head, and mount it on a pole over the gates so your brothers might try to take it back. We can put you right next to your friend, here.”

Kirill spat at the nomad’s feet, cursing loudly. Vasilisa looked at the other man who sat up against the wall, bleeding badly from a cut to his side that was haphazardly wrapped with the tatters of his cloak. The man was one she did not recognize, but beneath his cloak she saw he wore the common rags of a peasant.

“One of the guards recognized him from among the survivors,” said Yesugei.

“He came in with some others from th’ hinterlands when Stavr was rounding ‘em up,” piped up a spear-carrier. “Must've snuck in to spy on us then.”

“Is this true?” She asked the bruised man. “Did the usurpers send you? Or were you put up to this by Kirill?”

“Mercy, madam,” spoke the man through swollen cheeks. “Give me mercy, please, and I-”

“Give me the truth, and I will be the judge of your mercy,” Vasilisa interrupted. “Now speak, or it’ll be the mercy of my guards you'll face. I'm sure their hearts will be as forgiving as mine.”

“Tell her nothing!” cried Kirill, but his words fell upon deaf ears.

“Lord Zinoviy…” said the man, sucking in air through gritted teeth as his wound continued to weep. “He sent me out to make sure knyaz Igor was dead, as we all thought. Then…a bird, a message - to open the gates, and give them my signal.”

Kirill struggled against his bonds as though he could leap out from them and throttle the smaller man, but it was in vain. The druzhinnik sank back against the curtain wall and sighed, breathing out all of his rage and leaving him only with cold acceptance. He craned his head up to meet her gaze. “It doesn't matter - whether by trickery or not, the lords will take this city. They are many, you are few. Denev at the least has veterans in their ranks, and you have…what? A handful of junior druzhinniks? I can piss in any gutter and soak five of those green boys you call warriors. If you retreated from this city, rallied up other lords in the countryside, we might have had a chance. Now look at you - starving, and alone.”

She had heard enough. Her heart boiled with anger at the druzhinnik as he spoke - who was he to doubt her power, after all he had seen? Yet, for all her anger, she could not condemn him, not in full. The laws of blood were indeed older - those were the bonds that were sworn before the Klyazmites had arrived across the sea with their petty lords, kings, and fealties. Vasilisa looked to Yesugei, who had crossed such vastness as the Baskords plains and the God-Spine to fulfill their blood oath. Would she have done the same, surrendered a city for the sake of a brother, or a sister? For her father, her mother, or Yesugei, perhaps?

“Lock this one in the Night’s Tower,” she commanded the men, nodding to Kirill. “He breaks the law of fealty, but holds up the law of blood. I will deal with him later, once we have won.”

She almost convinced herself of the certainty.

Vasilisa ordered the other man raised up to his feet, and together with Yesugei and Unukalhai she ascended the walls, dragging the spy painfully up the entire way. The nightly breeze sent her braid and cloak whipping violently as she rose to the heights, looking on at the usurpers’ camp from afar. Indeed, the bonfires they had lit spoiled any hope of making sense of what was going on - all there was to see was the uniform red-orange bloom. The field between them seemed pitch-black, yet…

She closed her eyes, and saw the stars wheeling overhead, a myriad of white pinpoints that stared down upon the flickering sea of grass. She cast her gaze far beyond the walls, and went lower into the fields until she was like a snake slithering through the grass - trailing towards the south and the east, recalling the markings upon the lords’ map.

Then she saw them, hiding in the grass. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the overwhelming light, but she could make out the different contours, the silhouettes of men and horses crouched low amidst the tall blades of grass. There were many dozens, their bare souls dancing like candle flames, and she saw their flickering expressions were grim and determined.

The usurpers’ cavalry lay in wait just a short distance outside the walls, where had it not been for the bonfires the usurpers set, one might have been able to make out the silhouettes in the darkness. Instead they were able to hide - a lightning-fast cavalry wedge, brought up to sow havoc and break the spirits of Belnopyl’s people before the usurpers threw the greater bulk of their men against the walls in the morning. There was no doubt that Urvan could be counted among the men - such was his eagerness for battle, and that she knew was not feigned.

Vasilisa opened her eyes, and pointed to the field. “There - Urvan and his men wait for the signal. Shall we set him on a merry ride?”

Yesugei grinned, seeming to know her plan. He left the snuffed lantern by her side, and set about rallying whoever remained in the Gods’ Tower - all torches lining the walls were snuffed, and in an instant it seemed as though a terrible shadow had fallen upon the battlements. Let them imagine the fight below the gatehouse. All good things in their own time.

Vasilisa waited quietly atop the walls for a moment longer, listening to the sound of the breeze and the chirping of crickets in the grass. Then she passed the lantern over to the injured man she had on hand.

“You wish for your liege lady’s mercy?” she asked the spy. “Then go ahead, give them your signal. If I sense any falsehood, I’ll have Unukalhai throw you from these walls. Zinoviy can look upon the failure of his plot being pecked away by the crows in the morning.”

The man looked from her to the towering Apostle behind him, and then back to her. He gulped once, and then uncovered the purple flame, swinging it to and fro. The light was small, but the rest of the city and the tower was dark - yet for a long while, nothing happened. Vasilisa thought there was no doubt of the flame being seen, but as she began to suspect Urvan to be a more suspicious man than she counted him to be, there suddenly blared the sound of a trumpet from the field.

Stood up and mounted, their silhouettes were unmistakable in the darkness - dozens of druzhinniks and freeriders rose up from the high grasses, and with another blast of the trumpet they charged. A great clatter of arms and armor sounded as they rushed on, and Vasilisa heard their distant war cries. They did not bother to canter for long - not at the distance between them and the doors, and not if they wished to hold the element of surprise for long. With a long, loud cry, the horsemen of Rylsk closed in towards the gate - as they neared, she saw the glint of the moonlight against a raised warhammer as Urvan led the charge. The boyar gave a mighty roar as if he meant to shout the battlements to pieces…and then there was a mighty crash.

Vasilisa heard the gates creak slightly as the tide of men and horses slammed and collapsed against the reinforced iron and oak of the Gods’ Gate. War cries turned into shrieks, from men and horses both, and Vasilisa peered out over the walls to see a great pile of crushed druzhinniks and their destriers struggling to their feet before the closed gates. Some men cursed and shouted as they stood up, but she saw several others lay still - killed by the doors, or perhaps by their own steeds and fellow riders.

Then came Yesugei’s cry. “Loose!”

Another cry sounded, this time from the walls as a swarm of archers and crossbowmen leapt out from behind the walls and shot a hail of arrows and bolts against the riders at the gate. She saw Yesugei draw his own bowstring back, and his scarred arm seem to glow brighter with the effort of the pull. When his arrow whistled through the air it seemed to catch fire, burning long and bright as a torch. The dark outlines of another volley followed Yesugei’s flare, and she heard screams and curses sound from the riders, followed by the sound of galloping hooves as those who remained horsed and unharmed took flight. A few armored men on foot struggled to rejoin them, but iron plate and maille counted for little when the arrows fell like rain.

When the last of the riders disappeared into the darkness once again, she counted two dozen men dead - the bulk of Rylsk’s heavy horse, and no doubt their boyar. Cheers and insults rose up from Belnopyl’s walls, as though they had just repelled the whole army of the usurpers, and not merely the least part of their strength. Vasilisa looked out to the usurpers’ camp, and saw the thin ranks of the surviving horsemen dismount and retreat into the camp.

Good. Do you see me, Zinoviy? Do you see what your treachery will cost you? She smiled, then turned to Unukalhai and Yesugei once more.

“At least Rylsk will be short some of its best men come tomorrow,” she mused. Then, turning to Zinoviy’s man, she said, “You’ve done well - and you’ve signed your life over to me. I can’t imagine boyar Zinoviy would look kindly upon the man who just stole away Rylsk’s best riders. What did Zinoviy promise you for your loyalty?”

The man sniffed. “Silver and land, my lady. Two hundred Suzdalian coins, and a plot in Denev.”

Let it not be said the usurpers are cheap, she thought with a smile. “A fine price - I’d wager such is worth the lives of a few dozen druzhinniks, wouldn’t you say?””

At her command, two guards came forth to seize the spy. “Lock him in the Night’s Tower, but keep him well away from Kirill. He shall have his reward once this business is all done - coins, and a plot in Denev. I wonder how his neighbors will look upon such a rich and cunning fellow.”

The spy sputtered incoherently, and dragged his feet all the way down the steps from the battlements. Suddenly she felt tired, and cold like never before. “Yesugei, you have the wall.”

The nomad princeling nodded, already re-stringing his bow and directing the watchers to deal with the dead and dying that lay scattered outside the Gods’ Gate. When the cheers of the guards atop the walls died down she returned to her chambers, hailing every one of the men as she descended the stairs. Unukalhai kept to her side like a shadow, and when the Apostle saw her face they frowned.

“What’s the matter? Do not let the traitor’s words dishearten you, Vasilisa.”

“Is there no room for doubts?” she asked of the Apostle once they returned to her chambers, far from any eavesdroppers. “I have seen what lies ahead - there will be death, no matter what path is to be taken. But those men outside, none of them want to die - and they trust in me to keep them safe.”

“Your life is more valuable.” Unukalhai replied, placing a clawed hand on her shoulder. “And in saving you, they will save many others - perhaps even themselves. Such is their lot.”

Then they are being used. She thought to herself. All in service to a greater design which they will never know. Such is their lot.

She wondered of her own self - how long had the stars planned for her to take up the mantle of the Vessel? Had it been by Chirlan’s choice - or was the decision made even longer ago, when the stars had first spoken to the little girl sitting atop one of the White City’s towers? Or was it her mother’s intention all along - Cirina, Khariija, or what other name she might have kept? Such was her lot to lead, and it seemed, to use. Yet it was not a lot taken up by her choice, so how different were they then - the men who would die for her, and she who would die before the gods’ Question?

We are ants looking down upon even smaller ants, she knew. And we will never know of those who look down upon us.