Fortune's Fool - Mercedes Lackey [34]
All those things were the signs that something nasty was trying to get established in Led Belarus by stealth.
Ha. You do not know who you are dealing with, whatever you are.
He would neither say nor think, “You’re welcome to try,” because whatever it was, it most assuredly was not welcome in his Kingdom, but when a thing was attempting to get in, thus far, he had been able to seize it by the metaphorical ear and throw it out again.
He went on foot to the “troubled place” as the locals were calling it, waiting until they were all at their dinners so that no one would notice where he was going. Very often locals took a dim view of someone meddling with such places, and wisely, too. Meddling could stir up things best left alone, when said meddling was done by someone who had no idea what he was doing.
But Sasha had written the song.
With his balalaika slung on his back, he made his way afoot. The road moved into the forest itself, trees arching over it, making a green tunnel that was very pleasant to walk inside. This was the part of the job he relished, the parts where everything was lovely and normal, but where he knew he was about to face an unknown foe of unknown strength, which made all the peace that much sweeter.
Sometimes the transition from “normal forest” to “possessed forest” was subtle. This time, it was not.
On one side of the path, the last light of early evening lingered pleasantly on the land, sending mellow beams of light slanting down through the leaves. The forest floor was cushioned by leaf litter aged to a warm gold. Birds were coming in to roost, twittering softly to each other as they settled in for the night. In the far distance, he caught a glimpse of a stag slipping warily between the trees.
On the other side of the path—
The last light of early evening was swallowed by shadows that were just a little too dark, just a trifle too cold. The air was damp and chill, and felt like the air of the last days of dying autumn. The forest floor was covered in the blackened skeletons of leaves, scabrous grey and charcoal, that shattered like ancient bones when walked on. There were no birds, no animals in sight, and the air smelled of rot and mildew.
So the battle lines were drawn.
Sasha pulled his balalaika around to the front and began to strum it.
The first song he sang was for his own benefit; it was a riddle-song that was designed to tell him exactly what sort of creature it was that he faced. Was it some evil thing out of legend, was it a demon, or was it a very powerful ghost? He sang the riddles and read the answer in the rattle of the dry branches, the sighing of the wind, and a glimpse here and there through the trees of something moving.
Rusalka came the answer, and he sighed. This would be both easy and hard. Easy, because the Rusalkas were quite single-minded and at the same time, not very tenacious. Hard, because the Rusalkas, whether they were ghosts or water-spirits, by and large were born of the anger and despair of young women who had drowned themselves, usually over a young man. And he, of course, was a young man. The Rusalka would try to seduce him in order to do him the same favor, and when she could not…
Well, now, this was where he had to be clever, persuasive, and if need be, ruthless.
But first he had to find her pond. Because a Rusalka always lived in a body of still water.
To do that, however, he would first have to get through the forest. The forest knew what he was, even if the Rusalka was not aware that he was here.
This could be very tricky.
Sasha stood on the bank of the Rusalka’s pond, picking twigs out of his hair. The forest had not wanted him to get through. It hadn’t been strong enough to actually prevent his