The Shining Falcon

Finist fought a battle that was no less fierce for being of the mind alone, fought to master his will, fought to wake— But the iron bound him, cruel as any chains. Despairing, he felt himself sliding, bit by bit, over the edge of consciousness once more… felt himself drowning in the sea of sleep, the endless, peaceful, mindless sea of sleep…

Maria could feel the Power gathering about Ljuba, the death‑magic that was going to strike her down, and there wasn't anything she could do about it. Ljuba had her in a corner of the room, there was nowhere to run, to hide, to even try to dodge! Frantic, Maria thrust her hand into her pouch, trying to find something, anything, that could be used as a weapon. And she came up with—

The little wooden egg the lisunka had given her.

What good could such a toy be against sorcery? But Maria refused to doubt forest‑magic, especially now, and fiercely held the little thing up.

* * *

Ljuba froze, staring, as the wooden egg cracked open on the girl's outstretched palm.

No, she cried in silent terror, it can't be!

For the forest was flowing out of that little egg, the forest was all about her—the terrible darkness, the Power that was so much greater than anything she could hope to wield! The forest was crushing her—the demons were mocking her, reaching for her to tear away her soul and leave her trapped in avian form, forever a mindless crow-

Bewildered, Maria stood watching as Ljuba, her eyes wild, turned and ran, screaming.

What could she have seen? Maria didn't see anything at all. It must have been illusion—and it must have been a masterpiece!

But Ljuba's panic wouldn't last forever, and as soon as she regained composure, she would return twice as deadly.

Maria hurried anxiously through the maze of rooms that was the princely suite, expecting at every moment to be stopped by palace guards. But there didn't seem to be any guards. Ljuba must be very confident in her ability to guard Finist.

Finist, Finist, where are you? Maria worried. Desperate, she flung open a door, and found herself at last in the royal bed‑chamber. There lay her love in the great canopied bed. At his side sat a plainly clad young woman, who turned at Maria's entrance to stare at her with dull, bovine eyes.

«Come here!» Maria ordered. «Hurry!»

«You—you aren't the mistress. How did you — "

«Of course I'm not! She sent me to get you!»

«Where is she?»

«Come here and I'll show you! She's waiting for you, right through this door!»

«I dunno. I'm not supposed to leave my post.»

Maria bit back a scream of impatience. «Do you want the mistress angry at you? Well?»

That did it! With a fearful look around, the servant got to her feet and hurried forward. A little closer, thought Maria, come just a little closer to me… Yes!

«I don't see — " began the servant, peeking warily around the half-opened door.

But she got no further. With a mighty shove, Maria pushed her out of the bed‑chamber and bolted the door.

She was bound to yell for help, but at least Maria had bought a few moments alone with Finist.

But for all the need for haste, Maria could only stand by the bedside, looking at the sleeping Finist, quite overwhelmed by the force of her love, and her shock, too. Even knowing how desperately ill he'd been, she hadn't really been prepared for this:

Oh, my dear, my poor dear! So wan, so painfully thin!

But all would be well now. As soon as he woke, and saw her, all would be well. She didn't dare let herself think otherwise.

«Finist? Finist, love, it's me.»

There wasn't the slightest response. Maria continued, a bit more intensely:

«Finist! Come now, wake up!»

He didn't so much as stir, and Maria, staring at the wan, peaceful face, felt the first stirrings of alarm.

«You really are asleep, aren't you? I'm sorry to have to disturb you, but‑come, wake up! Finist! Wake up!»

But he slept on, composed and still as death.

«Finist!» Maria shook him, gently at first, then with increasing frenzy. «Oh, please, please, wake up! Finist!»

Dear God, it was useless! He wasn't going to awaken, no matter what she did. Ljuba wasn't going to let her prize escape, not so easily—she must have bespelled Finist while he was weak and defenseless from illness. And that meant…

A little sob of despair escaped Maria. She certainly didn't know how to fight sorcery.

Akh, but Finist… Aching with love, Maria reached out a gentle hand to caress his face, tenderly brushing back the wild locks of bright hair from his forehead.

But what was this? Something sharp was tangled in his hair.

Carefully she worked it free.

A pin? Maria held the ugly little thing gingerly between thumb and forefinger. It looked like iron—a very odd metal for a magician to be wearing.

Unless this was part of Ljuba's charm? With a sharp cry of disgust, Maria hurled the pin from her, then, shaking, turned to Finist—