Sarah Ash – fantasy author

Song for a Naming Day

This story takes place a little while after the end of ‘Children of the Serpent Gate.’

 

Steamy waters bubble and fizz. Clouds of mist, tinged with the acrid scent of minerals, rise to blot out the stars. And through the rising steam, eyes gleam, green as jade. A soft, sibilant voice whispers, “I can see you, Kiukirilya. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I shall be watching you, watching and waiting.”

Kiukiu sat bolt upright, staring into the darkened bedchamber.

 “Do not forget your promise.”  

“What’s wrong?” a sleepy voice asked from beneath the rumpled blankets beside her.

“How can she be here?” Kiukiu whispered, trying to steady her fast-thudding heart.

“Who’s here?” The bedclothes heaved as her husband turned over, surfacing from deep slumber.

His question jolted her fully awake.  “I – I  must have been dreaming again.”

“Another nightmare?”

She nodded.

“It’s all right.” Gavril reached out in the darkness and pulled her to him. “I still dream of the Serpent Gate too.”

She snuggled closer, absorbing the warmth of his body, the comforting strength of his arms. She wanted to lose herself in that human warmth and forget the insistent, sibilant voice that had penetrated her dreams every night since she discovered that she was bearing his child. But the nightmare was never about Serpent Gate, it was one of her own making. She could not tell him. Not until she had figured out a way to undo the secret bond she had entered into with Anagini, the Guardian of the Jade Springs, a bond sealed by the touch of a snake tongue on her ankle.

  ‘Give me your firstborn child, be it boy or girl, to tend my shrine… And you must never tell anyone what passed between us here today or you will find yourself an old woman again.’

*

“What will the clansmen say?” Kiukiu felt the tears pricking at the corners of her eyelids. “She’s just a girl. They were expecting a boy. An heir to Kastel Drakhaon.”

“She’s perfect.” Gavril gazed at his newborn child. He was holding her so carefully, almost as if afraid she might break. But the look in his eyes had softened to one of such tenderness that it made her heart melt. “Let the druzhina say what they will. She’s my daughter – and they’ll learn to love and respect her. They’ll get their heir next time.”

“Next time! Who said there was going to be a next time?” Exhausted, Kiukiu flopped back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

“Look at her hair; it’s coppery in the candlelight,” she heard him say. “What there is of it, that is…”

These moments were so precious that she wanted to remember every second so she could treasure them when the time came to give up her precious firstborn…

No. She stopped herself. There must be a way to annul her contract with the Guardian.

“What’s wrong?” Gavril leaned across, still cradling the baby in one arm, and stroked her face. “Are you in pain? Should I send for Sosia?” The gentleness of his touch only made the tears well up and spill down her cheeks.

“I’m all right,” she said, forcing a smile as she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She was annoyed at herself for being so weak. “Just a little… overwhelmed.” She reached out to tousle the baby’s soft wisps of hair. “Auburn, just like your mother. Should we call her Elysia?”

“What about Malusha, for your grandmother?”

She shook her head vehemently. “An Arkhel name for a Nagarian child? The druzhina would never allow it.”

“The druzhina will do as I tell them.” For a moment, the sea-blue eyes darkened and she glimpsed again the stern, ruthless man who had undergone so many ordeals to win back his kingdom. Then he said, less harshly, “But you’re right, love; there’s no point creating bad feeling when this little one is the first of a new generation of Nagarians, and our hope for a better future.”

His words made her laugh – and then stop as her aching muscles protested.

“I’ve always liked the name Larisa,” he said after a while. “It comes from an old song my nanny Palmyre used to sing…”

“Larisa? I like it too,” she said. “And I don’t think there’s ever been anyone of that name in either clan, Arkhel or Nagarian.”

*

The Great Hall of Kastel Drakhaon was bustling with servants and druzhina, busily hanging garlands of ivy and rowan berries from the beams, kindling a fire of pine logs in the cavernous fireplace, and setting out the tables for Larisa’s Naming Day feast. Sosia was marshalling her forces in the kitchen with the ferocity of a general in mid-campaign. Kiukiu retreated to the quiet of the bedchamber and stood at the oriel window with Larisa in her arms, looking down at the torchlit courtyard as the guests began to arrive.

“All these grand visitors coming to celebrate your Naming Day.” Larisa did not seem much interested, nuzzling her little nose against her mother’s shoulder, on which Kiukiu had placed a piece of linen to protect her best gown. “Aren’t we lucky that the first snows are late this year?”

A group of grey-robed monks had entered the courtyard; Gavril appeared below, hurrying across the cobbles to greet them.

“There’s your daddy!” Kiukiu cried delightedly. “Doesn’t he look handsome? And that’s Abbot Yephimy; you’ve got to promise me you won’t cry when he marks you with the holy water from Saint Sergius’s shrine.”

A horse-drawn coach turned in under the archway; the footman leapt down to open the door and help the occupants out.

“My lady, are you ready to receive your guests?” Sosia was calling her from downstairs.

Larisa gave a little burp as Kiukiu turned away from the window. “Larisa, don’t you dare be sick on your lovely lace dress. Auntie Sosia spent a long time sewing it for you.” Kiukiu hastily checked her shoulder to make sure that there was no stain of regurgitated milk on the blue sheen of the silk. Trying to quell a sudden unwelcome flutter of nerves, she set out for the Great Hall.

*

It was not so long since Kiukiu had been one of the kastel serving maids, and she felt awkward, more used to waiting on the guests than greeting them as their hostess. She hoped that her welcoming smile was not beginning to look strained.

“All you have to do is be the proud mother,” Gavril had reassured her when she admitted her anxieties the night before. “That’s all that anyone will expect. They’ll be too busy cooing over Larisa – and enjoying the feast.”

“You have a lovely daughter, my lady.”

Kiukiu started and found herself gazing at a slender woman, modestly veiled. “Thank you,” she began. “I don’t think we’ve – ”

“I come from Khitari,” said the stranger, letting her veils drop away, revealing a face of exquisite beauty: almond eyes of a liquid, honey brown, fringed by long, black lashes, set in a heart-shaped face. “My name is Khulan. I bring gifts from your friend, Chinua. He sends his deepest apologies that he cannot be here with you for this special occasion.”

“You’re a friend of Chinua’s?” Forgetting all decorum, Kiukiu reached out and shook Khulan’s hand warmly. “Is he well? How is he faring?”

“This is for you, my lady: a special blend of tea that your grandmother was fond of.” She handed Kiukiu a little caddy of black and scarlet lacquer. “And I am the other half of his gift.”

“You are – ?” Kiukiu began, puzzled.

“I am one of Khan Vachir’s court singers; if it pleases you and Lord Gavril, I will entertain your guests after the feast.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Kiukiu turned to Gavril. “Songs from such an illustrious Khitari singer? We’d be honoured, wouldn’t we?” When she had been travelling across the steppes of Khitari with Chinua, she had been entranced by the wild, throbbing lilt of the ballads sung around the fireside at night.

“Of course.” Gavril, distracted, nodded his agreement; Lord Stoyan, the governor of Azhgorod, had already engaged him in a discussion of some weighty matter of state.

*

Kiukiu stole a quick glance at the cradle. Larisa was sound asleep, one little hand clutching the crumpled sheet tightly to her cheek. She had yelled loudly enough when Abbot Yephimy had performed the Naming Ceremony, much to the approval of the druzhina, and her mother’s acute embarrassment.

And look at you now, sleeping so peacefully in the middle of your feast.

A sudden lull in the babble of voices made Kiukiu glance up. Khulan, smiling, had settled herself, cross-legged, on the floor in the centre of the hall, her slender-necked dombra balanced on her lap. The guests fell silent.

After a few moments’ tuning, Khulan announced, “A song in praise of Gavril, Lord of Azhkendir, and his wife, Lady Kiukirilya, who is much honoured in Khitari for her service to the khan.”

A roar of approval erupted from the druzhina, raising their glasses in a toast to their lord and lady.

Blushing, Kiukiu sat back in her chair, as Khulan struck the first notes on the sonorous strings of the dombra. Yet soon her embarrassment melted into a feeling of warm contentment as she surveyed the firelit hall.

 “Praise to the Dragon of Azhkendir and praise to his brave warriors…”

The druzhina began to sing along with the stirring refrain, stamping their feet enthusiastically in time to the music until the hall was filled with their lusty voices.

“She’s no fool, this Khulan,” Gavril murmured in Kiukiu’s ear. “She’s won the druzhina over – and that’s no mean feat.”

Disturbed by the rowdy singing, Larisa stirred restlessly in her cradle and let out a wail of protest. Kiukiu put her foot on the rocker of the cradle and began to press vigorously. “Hush, Larisa, not now.”

“Idiots!” cried Semyon, clambering up on his bench to try to quiet his fellow druzhina and sloshing ale on his friend Dunai beside him. “You’ve woken the baby!”

Khulan’s agile fingers instantly switched to a gentle rocking motive on the dombra. As soon as she began to sing, in a voice as sweet and cooing as a forest dove, Kiukiu realized that she had chosen a Khitari lullaby. And to her amazement, Larisa’s protests subsided and one tiny thumb found its way into her mouth as the soothing melody cast its spell over the hall.

“That was magical,” Kiukiu whispered to Khulan. “You must teach me that song before you leave.”

Khulan nodded, then turned back to the audience. “And now, a ballad from my homeland, the touching tale of a water witch and a young girl.”

This time there was a dark, ominous quality to the notes she drew from the dombra’s deepest strings.

 “She can grant your wish, the jade-haired witch of the springs. But take care. For nothing comes without a price. She never gives without taking something in return. Something you value more than life itself…”

Kiukiu shivered. Shadows like mountain mist were seeping into the hall, blotting out the rapt faces of the guests until all she could see was the singer, head bent intently over the strings of her instrument. The sacred snake-mark on Kiukiu’s ankle began to throb.

“‘If I grant your wish, you must give me your firstborn child,’” sang Khulan in a low, foreboding tone. “But the foolish girl didn’t heed the witch’s warning…” 

The singer slowly raised her head. To Kiukiu’s horror, she saw that Khulan’s eyes were no longer brown but the piercing green of Anagini, Guardian of the Jade Springs. And the shadowy mists swirling around them both had taken on the viridian tinge of the steam that rose from the hidden healing waters.

 “Have you forgotten, Kiukirilya? One year has passed since you made me that promise.” Her words, softly sibilant, made Kiukiu’s heart stop with fear.

“S – seven years,” Kiukiu stammered. “You said seven years. She’s only three months old.”

 “And if you tell a single soul of our bargain, the cure wrought by my Jade Springs will be undone, and you will become an old woman again.”

“Won’t you take me instead?” Kiukiu burst out. “At least let Larisa stay with her father. Let me come serve you in her place.”

 “The child of a Spirit Singer and a Lord Drakhaon is a unique and special being. She was conceived when your lord was still possessed by the Drakhaoul Khezef, wasn’t she? There will be others who come to seek her out, Kiukirilya, others who will seek to use her for their own ends. Others who are not so kind as I.”

“To use her?” Kiukiu had never thought of such a possibility. “Are you saying that she has powers? How can that be? The Drakhaouls are gone from the world – and the Serpent Gate is sealed.”

“I can protect her. I can train her to use her powers. But left unprotected, untrained, she may never live beyond her seventh birthday.”

“Is her life in danger? Tell me!”

“The bargain was broken,” floated the singer’s voice through the mists, “and the beloved child disappeared, never to be seen again. So beware the jade-haired witch of the springs…she never gives without taking something in return.”

“No!” Kiukiu cried, snatching Larisa out of her cradle and clutching her close. The song halted abruptly. To Kiukiu’s surprise she saw that everyone was staring at her. There was no trace of green mist swirling around the hall.

“Kiukiu?” Gavril said as Larisa began to wail. He stood up and put his arms around them both. “Khulan; could you sing us something more cheerful?”

“I apologize, my lord.” Khulan bowed, and instantly began to play a lively dance melody. Semyon leapt to his feet and began clapping in time to the beat. “Come on, lads!” he shouted. “Let’s show the girls our best moves!” He made a somersaulting leap from his bench into the centre of the hall and launched into one of the traditional Azhkendi warriors’ dances, arms crossed, stamping and kicking with muscular agility.

Thank you, Sem, Kiukiu thought gratefully as the youngest druzhina’s prowess drew others to join him and the guests’ enthusiastic clapping urged them to try wilder leaps and turns.

Gavril eased Kiukiu back down into her chair. “What was that about, love?” he murmured into her ear.

So he had sensed nothing of Anagini’s presence?

“Forgive me,” she said. “That song just made me sad…”

*

Even here, in Azhkendir, Anagini is watching me. Kiukiu sat in front of the mirror, listlessly removing the pins from her hair. Her shadowy reflection, gilded by the trembling candle flames, stared back as one golden lock after another was released. Would it be so terrible to see my youth fade away again if it meant little Risa could stay here with us? She began to pull a comb through her hair, remembering that time a year ago when it had turned grey. But what use would I be to her as a mother? The time I spent wandering in the Realm of Shadows drained so much of my lifeforce. It wasn’t vanity that drove me to beg for Anagini’s help. I was dying.

Chinua’s lacquer caddy caught her eye; Khulan had said it contained her grandmother’s favourite blend. Kiukiu removed the lid and sniffed, hoping that the aromatic fragrance would bring back happier memories. Then she noticed a little piece of paper tucked inside. Unfolding it, she read:

 ‘I will come if you ever have need of me. Leave a message at the tea merchant’s shop in Azhgorod.’

“Thank you, Chinua,” she whispered.

The bedchamber door opened. She stuffed the note back into the caddy and turned round to see Gavril on the threshold.

“I thought Lord Stoyan would never stop talking.” He threw himself onto the bed, stretching his arms above his head. “He wants me to preside over the boyars’ council in the spring. Azhkendi politics. I agreed, just to make him turn in for the night…” He patted the mattress beside him. “Come here, Kiukiu.”

She snuffed out the candles and went to lie beside him in the darkness.

“And yet a year ago, it seemed as if there might be no future for us at all,” he said, putting his arms around her.

“Is it exactly a year ago?” She nestled closer to him.

“To the day. I found you by the shores of Lake Taigal…and Khezef took us to the ruined temple on the island, remember?”

“How could I forget?” she said. She had cherished the memory of their passionate love-making, made all the more poignant by the fear that they might never see each other again. But now Anagini’s warning had tarnished even that precious memory. Her heart heavy with guilt, she turned away from Gavril, feigning sleep.

*

The snow had been falling on Kastel Drakhaon for three days and nights, covering the russet bracken on the moors with its chill, white purity.

Kiukiu stood at the bedroom window, gazing out at the falling flakes.

If only you were still alive, Grandma, you’d tell me what to do…

“What’s the matter, Kiukiu?”

She started, turning around to see Gavril standing watching her. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even heard him come in.

“Ever since that singer came, you’ve been so…quiet.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, gazing searchingly into her eyes. “Did something happen in Khitari last year that you haven’t told me about? Does Khulan have some hold over you?”

She had never hidden anything from him before. It made her heart ache to know that she could never share this burden. She must lie and go on lying until she could fathom out a way to save Larisa from Anagini. And she hated to deceive the one she loved so dearly.

“No hold,” she said, forcing herself to smile.

“Or was it the song? You never did tell me exactly what happened at the Jade Springs.”

“The Guardian healed me. She restored my lost youth.” Kiukiu couldn’t look at him directly. She would have to dissemble better than this if she were to allay his suspicions.

“Yet in Khulan’s song, the refrain said that the witch never gives without taking something in return. What did you have to give her, Kiukiu?” His grip tightened.

“It’s just an old song, a fanciful superstition.” She tried to make light of it. What do I say if he guesses correctly? I daren’t tell him the truth. “I think she had a grudge of her own against Prince Nagazdiel. She wanted us to make sure he was never set free from the Realm of Shadows. She knew that if my powers as a Spirit Singer were restored, that I could help…” There was a grain of truth in the explanation.

His grip loosened but he did not let go of her. “So that was the bargain?”

“Why? What did you think?”

“Oh, all kind of crazed jealous stuff. The product of an overheated imagination.”

“Such as?”

Now he was the one to look away. “You’re the last of the Spirit Singers. I thought maybe that Khan Vachir had slept with you to infuse his bloodline with your powers. Or – ”

Kiukiu let out a snort of derision. “Do you remember how old and hideous I was then? The Khan was surrounded by women, each one as beautiful as Khulan. He hardly even noticed me.” Then, as the full impact of his words sank in, she cried, “Now wait a moment! Were you suggesting that Larisa isn’t your child, my lord? That I deceived you?”

He retreated, hands raised appeasingly. “I should never have said it. I – ”

Larisa, woken by the angry voices, let out a wail of distress from her crib. Kiukiu shot Gavril a resentful look and went to pick the baby up. When she turned around, Gavril had left the room.

*

The last snows of the bitter Azhkendi winter had thawed and there was a sweet tang of whitethorn on the fresh breeze. The Nagarian coach trundled across the moors toward Azhgorod; Kiukiu and Larisa sat inside, well wrapped in furs, whilst Gavril and his bodyguard rode alongside in escort. State business brought them to the capital; the first meeting of the boyars’ council necessitated the High Steward of Azhkendir’s presence.

No sooner had they arrived in the city, than Lord Stoyan insisted that Gavril meet with him to discuss an urgent matter concerning the Rossiyan Empire, so Kiukiu was left with the servants to supervise the lighting of fires to warm the cold mansion.

With Larisa mercifully asleep after the long journey, Kiukiu busied herself with the unpacking.

Fragments of melody whispered at the back of her mind. She began to hum aloud as she opened the trunk and took out the neatly folded linen.

Words began to attach themselves to the notes.

 She can grant your wish, the jade-haired witch of the springs.

Khulan’s ballad. Kiukiu shuddered at the memory – and yet still the song refrain insisted on replaying itself until she was desperate for a means of exorcising it.

Why now, of all times? She lifted her gusly from the bottom of the trunk. A swift test of the strings confirmed that they needed tightening to correct the pitches. She took out the tuning key and set to work, plucking softly so as not to disturb the sleeping baby, until she was satisfied.

The gusly was a Spirit Singer’s pathway to the Ways Beyond. As Kiukiu began to play the notes of Khulan’s ballad, she began to shiver uncontrollably. Each sonorous pitch of the melody was creating a portal into that shadowy aethyrial dimension where even the most skilled shamans trod the paths of the dead at considerable risk.

The way that was opening up before her was mountainous, hazed in ever-shifting mists.

 Suppose I get trapped again?

Kiukiu’s fingers slowed and instantly the pathway began to disintegrate.

 But this isn’t the Realm of Shadows. And now that I’ve come this far, I have to see it through.

She picked up the broken thread of the melody and continued to play, sending her spirit out along the mist-wreathed path. And the further she went, the more familiar the mountainous landscape became. Passing beneath a rocky archway, she saw the bubbling waters of the Jade Springs.

“Lady Anagini!” she called into the mists. “Why have you brought me back here?”

“Look,” breathed a woman’s voice behind her. “Look into the waters. But don’t stop playing. The instant you stop, the image will disappear and you’ll never be able to recapture it.”

Kiukiu nodded. The bubbles stilled as she gazed down into the pool and the waters became glassy clear. A distant murmur of voices superimposed themselves over the notes of the melody. It was hard to listen to what was being said without losing the sense of the tune but she forced herself to concentrate.

Two radiant figures appeared, their faces so bright that she could hardly distinguish their features. She had glimpsed such radiance once before when she and Malusha had travelled deep into the Forbidden Ways in search of Saint Serzhei – and the same light had emanated from the gilded wings of the Heavenly Warriors despatched to drive them from the saint’s garden.

“Angels?” she whispered.

“So it’s happened again. The forbidden union. Just as it did with Nagazdiel.” The speaker was a tall, powerfully built warrior with a long mane of golden hair. “The Drakhaoul Khezef has sired a mortal child.”

“But can you be sure that the child has inherited any of Khezef’s powers?” asked his companion in gentler tones.

“This child is a girl, Sehibiel.”

Kiukiu struck a wrong note. Was he referring to Larisa?

“Even if she’s inherited a fraction of her father’s abilities, she’ll prove a threat to the balance between the worlds. So I’m sending Taliahad to take care of it.”

Take care of it? Kiukiu’s fingers began to shake tremble. She forced herself to keep playing, even though Galizur’s words had shaken her to the core.

The air trembled as a third winged warrior alighted and went down on one knee before the other two; his eyes and hair shimmered with the wintry blue of the icy waters off Azhkendir’s shores.

“You summoned me, Prince Galizur.” His voice sounded young and fervent. “What is your will?”

“I’m sending you to the mortal world. I want you to find a child with Drakhaoul blood in her veins – and destroy her.”

Kiukiu’s hands flew up to her face in shock. Too late she realized that she had broken the thread of melody – and the dazzling image shattered into a thousand ripples.

“What shall I do?” She turned to Anagini. “They want to kill Larisa. How can I save her? Tell me what to do. I’ll do anything. Anything!”

“You already know what you must do.” The Guardian’s voice soothed her. “Bring her to me. I will protect her.”

“But what do I tell Gavril?”

“Nothing. No one must know where she is.”

“It’ll break his heart.” Kiukiu could hardly speak. “He adores her. How can I take her away from her father?” Only then did the full import of Galizur’s words hit her. The forbidden union. Khezef was as much Larisa’s true father as Gavril; the Drakhaoul had used them both as his mortal surrogates to ensure the continuation of his line.

*

Kiukiu pushed open the door to the tea shop, hearing the little bell tinkle overhead. Inside, the dusty, aromatic smell tickled her nostrils.

“Is anyone there?” she called. Larisa, snugly wrapped in her shawl, let out a little sneeze. The Khitari rug at the back of the shop was raised and a man appeared, smiling and nodding as he beckoned her into the back room.

“Chinua!” Kiukiu cried, hurrying toward him. “I need to go to the Jade Springs. Can you take us there?”

“The Guardian warned me that you would need my help. Hullo there, little one – aren’t you pretty?”

Larisa beamed and stretched out her chubby hands to him, gurgling a greeting in return.

“When can we leave?”

“As soon as you like. But did anyone see you come in here?”

Kiukiu shook her head. “I made sure the coast was clear.”

 “Then I’ll just shutter up the shop and we’ll be on our way.”

*

Gavril would not return home till late from the boyars’ council. By then the gates of Azhgorod would be shut till morning and the tea merchant’s little cart would be trundling towards the border with Khitari. No guard would think to question Chinua, the tea merchant, about his passengers; he often gave lifts to villagers on his way back through the mountains. But as Kiukiu huddled under a hooded cloak in the back of Chinua’s cart, she felt an aching void in her heart as she imagined her husband running from room to room, searching the empty mansion for her, interrogating the servants, the druzhina, all in vain…

Why had she been forced to choose between the two she loved most dearly in the whole world? And the notes of Khulan’s ballad returned to torment her, echoing through her mind as each jolt of the tea merchant’s cart took them further away from Azhkendir.

Beware the jade-haired witch of the springs…she never gives without taking something in return. Something you value more than life itself.

 * * *