The Shining Falcon

«Oh, it is, it is! Look, I've brought honey to sweeten it… There. Is that better?»

She looked so concerned that Maria could only sigh and drain the goblet. «There, now. Finish yours, and we'll… I'll…»

«Maria?»

«Odd… Suddenly I'm so sleepy! I… can't seem to…»

«Hush, dear.» Vasilissa was moving around her, helping her out of her clothing and into bed. «Sleep, Maria, sleep well.»

«This—this is… silly… I…»

But she couldn't fight the heavy tide a moment longer. Her eyes closed, and Maria let the dark ocean sweep over her…

For a long while, Vasilissa stood frozen, staring, heart pounding. Dear Heaven, was Maria all right? Was she breathing regularly?

«Yes…»

It was a sigh of relief. She'd never prepared a sleeping potion before; that sort of thing was usually Maria's task. She hadn't been quite sure the dosage had been correct. Yes, and then, when Maria had questioned the taste of the drugged milk… Vasilissa had been all but ready to confess, to beg her sister's pardon. But somehow she'd managed to hold out.

Of course she had: Maria's soul was at stake. And for Maria's sake, she would be brave. Suddenly obsessed with a need for haste, Vasilissa let her goblet fall and snatched up the bundle she'd brought. Oh, but the angel would be so proud of her! The angel had wanted her to use simple nails set in wood, barely enough to tear at the demon's skin. She'd sworn the bite of cold iron would be enough to confuse his mind and magic, and make him flee back to his demonic home.

Vasilissa smiled. How much more effective would the demon-trap be since she'd used, instead of petty little furniture nails, good, strong spikes, horseshoe nails, stolen from the estate's stables? With one last glance at her deeply sleeping sister, the young woman hurried to the window and began to prepare. Maria's window was the exact same size as the one in her own bedroom; she had been able to work out the precise measurements she needed, and had even had a chance to try this out once there already.

There. It was done. The window was barred by a crisscross of wood, laths studded with horseshoe nails and jammed crosswise into the frame, the iron spikes pointing out into the night, invisible in the darkness. Vasilissa gathered up all traces of her visit, took one last, lingering glance at Maria, then stole quietly out of the room. Soon she would know if she'd succeeded. Soon she'd know if Maria was safe and the demon banished—forever.

It was a strange time to come visiting, Finist admitted to himself, past the midnight hour, nearer to morning than tonight. But Maria just might still be awake… At any rate, he didn't think he could bear to wait a whole day through till the next nightfall to straighten out things between them.

Danilo's estate crouched like some vaguely seen sleeping beast in the moonless darkness, and even with his falcon-keen vision, Finist had to strain to pick out the shape of Maria's window. But there it was, and he wasn't going to waste a moment more! Finist soared silently towards the window on outspread wings, planning a smooth swoop that would—

No, something was wrong! He sensed a wave of hatred, the cruel, cold blaze of iron. Frantically, Finist tried to pull out of his dive, but it was already too late. He cried out his pain as iron tore into him. For a terrible moment, he thought he'd been fatally impaled; then, desperate, he managed to wrench himself free. Wild with agony, bright feathers stained and torn, Finist fought to stay airborne. The iron, the cold, burning iron, beat at his mind, driving away clear thought, driving away humanity. No longer rational, the falcon gave one last, despairing mental cry:

Maria! Maria, save me! Kirtesk— Seek Me‑My love! Save me!

And then he lost all hold on his human self. The wounded falcon flew wildly away, lashed by pain, knowing only that it must reach safety, it must reach home, home!

Chapter XXX

The Falcon

Ljuba sprang to her feet, frantic and confused. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but her magic-weary body had betrayed her. God, how long had she been unconscious, while who knew what had been happening in Stargorod? The potion— No, only a gummy residue was left, nothing that could be frozen into a mirror. Ljuba began a frantic search, hurling aside clothing, jewelry, everything, hunting for anything with a reflective surface, anything that would let her know about Finist. What if something had gone wrong? What if he was—

Ah! She straightened, holding an elegant brooch set with a clear crystal, a small thing but perhaps large enough… Someone was beating at her barred door, Ljuba was dimly aware of that—evidently she'd been asleep long enough to worry people—but right now the mirror-spell was more important than setting some fool's mind at ease.