The Shining Falcon

«Vodyankoi, hear my call. Vodyankoi, Lord of Water, hear my call.»

Slowly she poured out the water.

«Vodyankoi, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this water falls, so shall this iron pin drown Finist's will. In your name, be it!»

Akh, the air was heavy, making her head ache, making her lungs labor, making it difficult to remember the next step… How she longed for sleep. She wanted nothing so much in all the world as to sleep… but she dared not. If the charm were left unfinished, if the Power was roused but not controlled, she might as well slit her throat here and now and be done with it. Grimly determined, Ljuba reached out to the last item, the northern item, one shining feather lost by Finist in falcon-form.

«Perun, hear my call. Perun, Lord of Sky and Wind and Storm, hear my call.»

With a sharp Word, she hurled the feather from her. It whirled about and about as though caught in the heart of the wind.

«Perun, once I call you, twice I call you, thrice I call you: as this feather is conquered by the wind, so shall this iron pin conquer Finist's will! In your name, be it!»

Hot, it was so hot, stifling, dry heat—the iron! The power of the iron was aroused. She must bind it—now.

«By Fire, Earth, Water, Air I bind you! By the Power of Day and Night I bind you! By—by the — " She couldn't think. There was wild, terrible pressure on her mind, on her body, crushing her.

Savage with determination, with pain, Ljuba shouted,

«By the Power of Light and Dark I bind you! By the power of my will you must yield to me! By the Power of my will—you are mine!»

The force of magic, the force of iron, whirled up in one great, silent explosion. Ljuba had time for a sharp, anguished scream-Then she knew nothing more.

Aching, groaning, Ljuba forced her heavy eyelids open, forced an unresponsive body to its knees. The circle had burst wide open in the explosion of raw Power: Shreds of her scrolls and splinters of the table littered the floor, and the walls were darkened with scorching. Shaking, she glanced down at herself, half expecting some hideous, dying ruin. But she seemed whole; the magic she'd conjured had flung itself out and away from her. And the iron pin? Ljuba reached out for it with a trembling hand, seeing it glowing red with heat. But as she gingerly touched it, the heat drained away.

She had done it. The magic was complete—and now Finist would be hers.

Shaking with exhaustion, Ljuba struggled to her feet, wearily pulling her caftan about herself. Soon the pin would be in place. Soon she'd be able to sleep.

Finist stirred as she approached him. Amber eyes opened, too bright, too mocking. «You… don't give up… do you?» It was a painful whisper of sound. «Poor cousin… never have real power, never… Never break my binding…»

«I shall," she hissed.

«Shall you?» he taunted with feverish glee. «Have you washed the bloodstains from my caftan? No? Then you shall never wed me, cousin! Never have the throne of Kirtesk!»

Enough of this! Ljuba stabbed the iron pin into the shining locks of his hair, feeling him tense with the shock, then collapse into deep, mindless slumber.

«So, cousin.» Ljuba smoothed his hair back to hide the pin. «No more defiance. No more taunts. No more disturbing my dreams!»

She managed to reach her own bed before collapsing, sinking immediately into a well of sleep.

But…

Eyes were watching her in her slumber‑mocking, inhuman eyes. A voice, the whisper of wind on leaves, laughed softly.

«Did you think to escape so easily? You have roused the forest's wrath, oh woman! You have harmed a forest-friend and threatened the forest—you shall never know peace again! Sleep well, oh woman! Sleep while yet you can!»

And Ljuba awoke with a start, head pounding, aching for sleep, alone and afraid and at last despairing.

Chapter XLVl

Kirtesk

Maria clung frantically to the smooth-feathered back as the golden eagle plummeted helplessly, wild wind pulling the air from her lungs. Seeing the fields once so far below them seeming to rush up at them, she tried to pray, but the only thing that came to mind was an anguished memory of Finist's face, eyes warm with love…

Just when she was sure she was dead, the eagle, with a very human groan of effort, managed to drag open his wings and began backwatering fiercely, braking with all his might. Those wide wings swept out sharply, throwing her forward onto his neck, struggling to keep her seat. Then their fall was levelling out into a long, sweeping glide. But we're already so close to the ground‑is there room for him to land safely?