Nen and Anani Read online

  My thoughts are interrupted by the sight of his cottage, standing at the edge of a large clearing. My friend continues toward the house, happily purring, with tail flicking high in the air as if he’s finally home, but I stop and take it in.

  It’s a modest, two-story stone cottage with two chimneys and a steep roof with two rounded rooftop windows, looking a little like eyes with protruding eyelids. The windows on the first floor are small—more like narrow slits than actual windows. They can’t let in much light. How is the Vasilieu able to read under such conditions? By the fire? Or does he have lanterns burning through the day as well as night?

  A second building is partly hidden behind the cottage. From this distance, it looks like a barn in bad shape and in need of repair. Why haven’t the Vasilieu’s valet seen to it?

  Trees and bushes surround the buildings, but I can’t detect any intentional plantings. A few chickens roam free. Somewhere a brook babbles. Birds chatter everywhere.

  It’s as if I’ve stepped right into one of the fairy tales from the old days, like the ones the Vasilieu was so fond of reading in his youth.

  Darkness falls quickly. A light flicker from inside, beckoning me. Or is it perhaps his presence?

  I can feel him. Faint. Muted.

  I scrunch my eyebrows together and scratch my beard. What does that mean? I’ve always been able to sense him, pick him out in a crowd, even from afar. Out here where he is alone—I can’t sense his valet—he should be like the first brilliant light appearing in the night sky. But the bright burning emotions he used to project at me are now more like glowing embers. There, but not illuminating the darkness and overpowering every other light around them.

  Is the Vasilieu sick?

  My heart clenches in my chest and my feet start moving of their own volition. Soon, I stand by his door.

  I raise my hand.

  Hesitate. My breathing falters.

  His vague presence pulls at me.

  I knock. No turning back now.

  Chapter 2

  The moments tick by at a snail’s pace until I feel as time is dragged through a sea of molasses. My furry friend is nowhere to be seen, so I have no one to voice my concerns to while I wait.

  I knock a second time, and everything grows quiet. The sounds so abundant just a heartbeat ago are replaced by an eerie silence. No rustling in the undergrowth. No birds singing or chirping. Even the chickens stopped clucking. Nothing. It’s as if the forest holds its breath. Waits for what is to come.

  Why doesn’t he answer the door? I know he’s there; his presence might be muted, but it’s still clear enough to penetrate my skin and settle in my core. It winds itself around my spine as though intending to stay forever.

  I welcome it. I’ve missed it.

  A third knock hushes the forest even more. Not a single insect can be heard. Is the wildlife waiting for me to leave? Is he? Would he answer if I call out to him? Or will the sound of my voice make him even more resolved to stay behind the closed door?

  Before I have time to come to a decision, the door is yanked open and he appears in the opening.

  The Vasilieu.

  Oh, Great Spirit, still my heart!

  He is magnificent!

  He is willowy tall and has grown so much these last fifteen rotations, reaching me to my nose, standing over a head taller than any other member of his family. He’s dressed like a commoner in a tunic and pants even plainer than my own—where’s his kaftan? The clothes hug his body and reveal every long sinewy muscle in his legs and arms.

  Hair as white as newly fallen snow is parted in the middle and hangs straight to his waist. His nose, slightly upturned, gives him a mischievous look. His pale lips, imperceptibly darker than his skin color, are pillowy but set in a severe line.

  But it’s his eyes that draw my attention. Pale blue eyes staring at me as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. After a few heartbeats, they widen, and he lets out a gasp.

  A wave of emotions hit me square in the chest. What was muted just moments before grows into an avalanche as though he let them loose, or lost control of them. They overwhelm me; I physically feel them, poking and prodding my breast, invading my heart. I stagger a few steps backward and sink to my knees without hesitation. I don’t avert my gaze. “Vasilieu.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Do not call me that. You know my name. Use it.”

  The barrage of his emotions intensifies, making it hard to breathe but easy for me to identify them. Disbelief. Uncertainty. Hope.

  Happiness?

  Yes, definitely happiness.

  “Anani,” I whisper. Never before have I uttered his name, not even alone in the night. Saying it now is terrifying and freeing all at once. And it feels right, as though my lips are meant to say it. Whisper it in his ear as our limbs are entwined and sweaty.

  He surges forward and throws himself on his knees before me. Cups my cheeks and lets his thumbs caress my beard. His gaze flits over my face as if he’s trying to take in all the changes that have happened since we saw each other last. The crow’s feet by my eyes. The corners of my mouth that are downturned from the lack of smiling. The first gray at my temples in a sea of black, bristly hair.

  I’m an older, more tired-looking version of the man who watched him walk away all those rotations ago, while he’s more breathtaking than ever.

  “Vasilieu. Don’t kneel before me. It’s not proper.”

  “Nen. Oh, Nen. Is it really you?” he asks as if he didn’t hear my plea. His hands explore my face; the fingertips linger in my wrinkles and lines, sending sparkles through my body. He tugs lightly on my beard and gazes into my eyes. I wonder what he sees.

  “Vasilieu. Anani.” The second time I use his name is even more momentous. “Stand, I beg you.”

  He sits back on his heels. His disbelief melts away. Clearly, he trusts his own eyes and what he can see before him. Confusion takes its place. “What are you doing here?” With grace, he rises to his feet, grabs my hands, and pulls me to standing with little help from me. Spirit, he is strong!

  He doesn’t let go.

  “The Vasilissa sent me.”

  His black eyebrows—the only splash of color in his face—shoot up. “Maman?”

  I nod.

  He lets go of me and steps back. His emotions shift. Irritation appears. He spins on his heel—hair whipping around his narrow frame—and walks inside.

  “Please enter,” he calls over his shoulder.

  I do as asked and step over the high threshold into his home.

  The inside is a complete surprise. Woven tapestries cover every wall, keeping out the chill and making his cottage warm and homey. It’s one big room with cooking and living space all in one. A wooden ladder leads to a loft, where I assume he sleeps, since I see no bed. Lanterns light the room and cast a warm glow over his furniture. The dining table with four chairs is chunky yet elegant. Several seating areas are sprinkled throughout the cottage. A long wooden bench—clearly crafted by the same artist that made the table—stands along one of the outer walls. A reclined daybed full of soft-looking pillows and beautifully crafted blankets has its back toward the cooking area, separating it from the living space. A huge nest of pillows is spread out in front of the unlit fire. I can easily imagine him sprawled on them, reading a book by firelight.

  Speaking of…I let my gaze sweep over his home again. “Where are all your books, Vasilieu?”

  “I do not own any.”

  My mouth falls open. That’s as unimaginable as if the Vasilissa would ask me to address her by her given name. “Why not?”

  “They fill young heads with stupid ideas and are nothing more than a waste of time.” His tone tells me he doesn’t wish to discuss the subject further. “Would you like some tea? An evening meal?”

  I nod as I try to process what he has told me. He, who loved stories more than anything, considers books a waste of time?

  Hit by a flash of anger, I clench my teeth. I shouldn’t be surprised over
his disillusionment; surely anyone driven away from home and family at such a young age would feel the same. I just wish he could have kept his innocence longer.

  His tumultuous emotions penetrate my thoughts. I turn to look at him. With outwardly calm movements, he prepares the tea by pouring steaming water into a pot. He puts thick slices of bread on the table with a completely smooth face, not a single wrinkle to betray his feelings. He moves silently and smoothly and would seem perfectly calm to any other observer.

  Anyone without my powers.

  He doesn’t know about it. I never told him; I planned to when he got older, but he was forced to leave before I ever got the opportunity.

  If he knew, would he fight this hard to keep up his façade? He could just…let go. But it seems the Vasilieu has worked as hard as I have to try to learn to hide his feelings.

  I need to tell him. I can’t go on deceiving him like this.

  “Please take a seat.” He gestures toward the table with a polite smile as a storm brews inside him. All I want is to gather him into my arms, hold him close, and try to calm his poor racing heart. Tell him everything is all right, even if I don’t know that for certain.

  I do none of these things. I just nod and sit on the chair next to his seat.

  As he joins me, the first raindrop falls. The Vasilieu looks through a nearby window with his head cocked, as if it’s an unexpected event. The first drop is followed by several more, and before I even pick up my mug, the rain hammers the cottage from every direction.

  He straightens his back and returns his gaze to the table, grabs the basket overflowing with rustic bread, and holds it out to me.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the objection over him waiting on me from slipping out of my mouth. Every fiber in my being screams that I should serve him, but I can tell this isn’t the time to bring it up.

  “Thank you, Vasilieu.” I bow my head.

  “Anani,” he insists.

  “My apologies…Anani.”

  He gives a slight nod and I detect a glint of satisfaction in his eyes before he averts his gaze. “What brings you to my door? What does Maman want?” He picks up the huge ceramic mug of tea and blows on it. The familiar routine makes me smile. He used to do that exact thing when he was younger, and my heart makes a little leap. Not everything about him has changed.

  I take a deep breath to fortify myself. “It’s time to walk the bridges.”

  His cup thumps on the table and hot tea sloshes over its rim. For the first time since I entered his home, he lets his carefully crafted mask slip, and he stares at me with eyes as round as Lady Luna when she’s full. He presses a long-fingered hand against his chest. “Maman is not old. Is she ill?”

  “I…don’t know. She was vague on the subject when I asked her.”

  “That sounds like her.”

  “She did say, however, that there’s something she needs to do and that she has accepted her fate.”

  The Vasilieu leans back in his chair, and his shoulders slump. The storm inside him increases in strength as he buries his face in his hands. The smattering against the windows grow louder and more intense, so much I fear the glass will break. I stand to check when I realize what’s happening outside.

  Hail? Now?

  I look at the Vasilieu. His upper body trembles. His hair dances around him as if caught in a stiff wind. He hides his face against his shoulder and wrings his hands.

  I take two quick steps across the floor, and after hesitating for a heartbeat, I lay my palm between his shoulder blades. At first, he stiffens, but immediately melts into my hand.

  All I want is to help him regain his calm, so he can rein in the emotions that war in his chest. The rain could be a natural occurrence, expected even after eight days of continuous heat. But hail? That must be the Vasilieu’s doing.

  “I cannot make it stop, Nen. I thought I had…I cannot make it stop.” The vulnerability in his voice pierces my heart. I fling my arms around his shoulders and hug him tight, crouching so I can press my chest against his back and ground him with my presence.

  “I have you, Anani.” This time his name slips out as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  He stiffens, straightens his back, and wiggles out of my grip. He steps out of my reach before he turns to look at me. His hair whips around him as he hugs his chest.

  “For how long?” he snarls, whirls around, and marches toward the ladder leading to the loft. “I will retire. Sleep wherever you like. We will leave first thing tomorrow.”

  Chapter 3

  I wake up shuddering and with chattering teeth in the middle of the night. I lie curled up in the Vasilieu’s pillow nest in front of the fireplace, but it wasn’t lit when I arrived yesterday. The smaller one in the cooking area was burning to keep the kettle warm, but most likely needs to be stoked now as the wind hollers and roars outside the little cottage. I don’t need to look out the window to know what I’ll see.

  Snow.

  I jump to my feet, grab a blanket, and wrap it around myself. A few quick steps lead me to the nearest window and I peer out.

  The night is saturated with huge whirling snowflakes. I can’t see beyond a couple meters, and the entire forest is hidden behind a wall of snow.

  “Oh, Anani,” I breathe and lean my forehead against the frigid glass.

  I’ve never seen anything like it, not even during The Terrible Snow Rotation when the Vasilieu’s out-of-control emotions caused an entire rotation of ice and snow in Elemiis. It began during the starting season when the Vasilieu turned sixteen, and the cold and frost destroyed that rotation’s crops. The Vasilissa tried everything in her powers to help her only son—the only male child of a Vasilissa in recorded history—but the one thing he needed was the one thing she wouldn’t give him.

  He was desperately in love with me and the feelings have always been mutual. More than that; since the first time I laid eyes on him, I knew he was my destiny and I his.

  But the ancient laws of Elemiis don’t permit two men to join together in companionship, so the realization for a young sensitive boy like Anani that he would never be allowed to spend his life with the man he loved was too much for him.

  His heart cracked, and his despair grew as time passed. At first, I tried to stay out of his sight, to spare him, to spare us both. But the snow only increased in intensity and the Vasilissa ordered me to stay close to him since I didn’t have a job to do when her gardens were covered under a meter of snow.

  It was cruel. We spent every waking moment together, not being allowed to touch or indulge in our feelings. I joined the Vasilieu when he met with the energy healers who were supposed to cure his “ailment.” I followed him to the sessions with the Spirit elders who tried to teach him how to be a true guardian of water and control his powers. To endless meetings with councilmembers lecturing him on the laws, and the exercise lessons meant to tire his body and his mind.

  At first, he went through everything determined to take control of his runaway emotions, but little by little, his confidence chipped away. His efforts grew warier and he closed himself off.

  His sisters were concerned, and the eldest tried to help by using her element to melt the snow, but all she accomplished was setting fire to several trees in the Vasilissa’s orchard. Eventually, the sisters were told to stay away.

  As time passed, everyone grew anxious. The Elemians started to rumble. Why didn’t the Vasilissa intervene? She was responsible for maintaining the balance in Elemiis and the surrounding lands and was the one with the ultimate power over the elements. So why didn’t she stop her son, reverse the effects of his emotional state, and make the snow stop?

  The grumbling grew louder the longer the cold lasted. The Vasilissa ordered the food reserves open for everyone, but it didn’t help; people had more energy to complain when they were well fed and started voicing their discontent. Asking uncomfortable questions.

  If the Vasilissa wasn’t strong enough to control the outburst
of someone as young as the Vasilieu—and a man at that—what else couldn’t she control? Had she lost the ability to maintain the balance altogether?

  When delegations from the surrounding lands started to arrive, it became clear the situation was dire. The outlanders always kept a respectful distance from Elemiis. Never approached unless to deliver their offerings to the Vasilissa and the Elemians.

  Or if something catastrophic happened, like an entire rotation of ice and snow when nothing could grow, and the animals starved.

  I still haven’t figured out why the Vasilissa was unable to stop the snow; I’ve never doubted that she tried and would have kept trying if the outlanders hadn’t braved the mountains and descended on Elemiis. That made everyone desperate.

  That made the Vasilissa desperate.

  Normally, I couldn’t sense her emotions. These days, I believe she’s shielding them from me because she’s knows of my ability, but at the time, I thought it was because of who she is and that was just the way of things.

  But as she proclaimed the young Vasilieu banished from the court, I felt her heart breaking. It was truly an act of desperation; driving her son away was the last thing that she wanted.

  Yet her heartbreak was nothing compared to my own.

  Or Anani’s.

  Or what’s coming now from upstairs.

  Turning my back to the whirling snow, I glance up the ladder. It’s pitch black up there, but even though Anani’s body is sleeping, his soul is not.

  I knit my eyebrows together and listen. Sounds float down, almost completely drowned out by the howling wind, but if I listen intently, I can make them out. Something squeaks repeatedly, as if he’s tossing and turning in bed.

  The thought of him in bed makes heat creep up my cheeks, and I hide my eyes behind my hand, but the deprivation of my sight increases the pressure on my chest caused by the avalanche of his emotions and heightens my other senses enough for me to catch a whimper. I stiffen. Hold my breath and focus my attention on any sound other than the raging blizzard. After a few heartbeats, I hear it again. A pained moan, full of sorrow.