R1 - Rusalka by C. J. Cherryh Read Free Book Online Page A

horse?"
     
    "No."
     
    "You let me devil you too much."
     
    No answer.
     
    "Boy—" Pyetr flexed his grip on Sasha's shoulder, and held his temper. "You go where you want. If you want to go back, go back. If you want to go ahead, go ahead. Make up your own mind. If you don't want to hear about horses, say, Shut your mouth, Pyetr Illitch. Try it. It's good for your stomach."
     
    Sasha twisted away from him. Pyetr held on.
     
    "Say it, boy!"
     
    "I don't want to hear about horses!"
     
    Pyetr let him go. "Then I beg your pardon." With a bow as they walked, the doffing of an imaginary cap—a mistake: it did hurt.
     
    They walked a while more in silence.
     
    "Your uncle is a bully," Pyetr said. "I am a profligate, a gambler, a liar and occasionally a person of bad character, but I do swear to you, I have never been a bully, and you insist to make me one.
Look me in the face, boy
!"
     
    Sasha looked up, stopped, startled as a rabbit.
     
    "Good," Pyetr said. "Say it again, about the horses."
     
    "I don't want to talk about the horses, Pyetr Illitch!"
     
    "Then accept my deep apology, young sir."
     
    Sasha looked as if he feared he had gone mad, and kept looking at him.
     
    "You've got it right," Pyetr said, and slowly, slowly, the boy's face lost its frown. "Go on. You've almost got it. Don't be so glum."
     
    "Why shouldn't I be? We've no blankets, no food, the law wants to kill us—and probably the outlaws will."
     
    "Then what worse can happen to us? Only better. If you could only wish us up a supper—"
     
    "Shut up about the supper, Pyetr Illitch!"
     
    He laughed. The boy glowered, and he laughed until he hurt, holding his side.
     
    "Stop it!" Sasha cried.
     
    So he shrugged and started walking again, shaking his head.
     
    Sasha overtook him. "I'm sorry," Sasha said.
     
    "Of course you are," he said, not kindly.
     
    "I'm not mad," Sasha said.
     
    "Of course you aren't. That's the problem, lad."
     
    "I
can't
be," Sasha said, "don't you see, I
can't
be! I can't—"
     
    "Because your wishes come true," Pyetr said in disgust. "God, boy—
forget
that nonsense.—Or conjure us the horses."
     
    There was an intake of breath, a moment of silence.
     
    "If you're afraid to lose your temper, boy… then laugh. Can it hurt?"
     
    Another deep sigh from the boy. A miserable little try at a laugh.
     
    "More practice," Pyetr said.
     
    It should be absolutely the worst time of year to be out and living off the land, Sasha thought, the winter berries spent, the new growth merely swelling in the bud, the tubers all dug, the insects still in the egg—all of which meant a mouse could not have found a living in The Cockerel's in-town garden in this season, let alone two shivering travelers turned out in the wilderness. But grain had seeded here, gone wild and sparse from a time, perhaps, when this all had been cultivated fields, or it was simply the drift from fields closer to Vojvoda, Sasha had no idea. They could pick remaining heads caught in thickets, up against stones, where the heavy winter snows had not altogether flattened and spoiled it. There were a withered few berries in the center of bushes, food that the birds must have missed, but perhaps they were poison, Sasha had no idea, and Pyetr said he had none, and they were small anyway.
     
    Pyetr did not say, Wish us well-fed. Sasha did it on his own, hoping for food and safety they could find without being found, but he was not sure where that wish might lead, here, in the wilderness. He was sure of nothing that The Cockerel's walls did not contain, he had no experience else, and he kept thinking of bandits and trying most desperately
not
to wish for his own bed and aunt Ilenka's kitchen, or anything else that might bring them more than they wanted.
     
    But there was no food more than the heads of wild grain he could gather; and as they walked, the forest shadow that had been on their left since last night began to spread across the horizon, making