Plain Kate

“So,” she said. Linay said nothing. Kate looked around. Taggle was nowhere in sight. She could hear him in the distance, singing his courting song. Bats swarmed in the pale sky, and swallows darted above the river, and she thought of him. Linay sat down on the roof of the cabin. Standing, she was as tall as he was seated on the low roof. She could see the sunburn, pink in the part of his white hair. It made him look almost human.

Looking out toward the gathering fog, he asked, “Have you ever been hungry?”

She shrugged.

“Of course you have,” he muttered. “Of course.”

“What do you want, Linay?” It was the first time she’d said his name. It tasted powerful.

“The dead, you know, are hungry. Those that do not rest. They are hungry all the time and cannot even eat grass.” He was halfway to singing again. He seemed to stop himself. “They have mouths the size of needles’ eyes and stomachs the size of mountains. It is a terrible fate.”

“I know that,” she said. “Everyone knows that.” Though in truth the way he had said it was making her skin prickle.

He stopped talking again. His silence swelled up between them like insect song in the summer night. “My sister,” he said at last, his voice little and broken. He swallowed and tried again. “My sister is one of them. One of the hungry dead.”

“I saw her.” Kate guessed, knew it, all at once, and her hair stood up with the realization. “A white woman. A—”

“Rusalka,” he said, lingering over the bitter taste of the word. “The ghost of a woman drowned. Of a witch wrongly driven into the river. Such creatures are called rusalka. There are not many. True witchcraft is a rare gift, and the gadje prefer fire when they kill us.”

He said gadje the way Stivo had, and Kate saw that, beneath the way he wore his own witch-white skin like a mask, Linay had the narrow bones, full mouth, and uptilted eyes of a Roamer. A Roamer man, alone.

He stood up. “You have seen her before?”

She nodded.

“You will see her again.” He brushed past her, and stood at the edge of the boat, looking down into the water. Plain Kate turned and looked too. There was a skim of fog wavering there: The edge of the fog bank was catching up to them. “Soon,” said Linay. He unwrapped his bandaged arm; it was covered with long, deep cuts. Plain Kate stared. Suddenly there was a knife in Linay’s other hand. It flashed and Kate jerked away, but the knife was gone, swept back into some hidden pocket in Linay’s swirling coat.

Linay had cut himself. He held out his arm and blood ran down it and dripped off his fingertips. The night was very still, and they could hear the tiny sound of the blood drops falling into the river.

Linay sagged and sat down on the cabin’s roof as if his knees had given way. “She’ll come. Blood calls. She’ll come.”

Kate stood staring down at the fog. It had grown thicker, but the holes created by the blood drops remained, tunneling down.

Linay spoke behind her. “What will you do, Plain Kate? If she touches you, just touches you, you will fall into a gray sleep and never wake. They are calling it the ‘sleeping death.’ There is no way to save yourself.” Still Kate would not turn. The holes in the fog were opening like a mouth. Linay said, “She is coming.”

Kate said nothing.

“I can save you,” he said. “I can stop her. There is a spell, with blood. If you give me blood, I can use it to stop her from killing you. I don’t want her to kill you.”

“You’re lying.”

Linay gave a heartbroken bark of a laugh. “I can’t!” His voice was wild. “It would kill me, even to try. I can’t lie, and I can’t give her more blood, not much. I am taking her up the river, to Lov. A month that is, maybe. I don’t need much blood to do it. A cup a day, perhaps. Two.” Now he was wheedling. His panic frightened her.

He looked past her. His eyes locked on something. He closed them. “Decide.”

Plain Kate turned around. Rising from the well of darkness was the ghost.

¶

Plain Kate had to summon all her will to turn her back on the ghost and face Linay. She could feel the thing behind her. It was like standing by a cave mouth: The stilled breath chilled her neck. Her own breath was tight with terror. But she didn’t turn around. “I want something,” she said.

Linay snorted, almost a laugh. “What?”

“My shadow.”

“I’m not done with it, though.” He really did seem close to laughter, about to boil away in giggling, like the last bit of water in a pot. “And I might as well keep it, because you’ll have no use for it in a minute. They don’t wear shadows, you know, in the land of the dead. It’s just not done.”

Kate ignored this. “I can’t live without it. So I might as well die now. We’ll both die, won’t we? She’ll take us both.”

His gaze flickered for a moment: behind her, up. “Yes.”

“So,” she said. At the edge of her hearing, music: A voice like a cold chimney was singing.

Linay sat still, biting the tip of his tongue, staining his white lips with blood. Then he nodded, sudden and sharp. “Not yet. I will need your shadow. In Lov. But in Lov, I will set it loose.”