Marina found the painkillers and Damir dry-swallowed a couple of pills. Then he tossed on the dirt floor until his body assumed the least painful position. Marina cradled his head in her lap, withdrawing into a sort of stupor. Only her hand moved to stroke Damir's hair.
"I envy her," Volya confessed to Nadezhda. "She seems completely unbothered by our sorry reality."
Maybe if he had Liam with him, he wouldn't mind the uncertainty, boulders under his ass and stuff. Unfortunately, he was here, Liam was miles away and he couldn't even text his excuses.
Nadezhda stirred. "Don't worry. I'll get you out of here in time. Once Kramola cools down, I'll go talk to her."
Her words poured balm on Volya's aching soul. The strain on his lower back eased—to put it mildly. Actually, his spine collapsed with relief, his head drooped. He found Nadezhda's hand. She squeezed his fingers firmly, infusing him with confidence.
His sister would take care of Kramola and he could get to L.A. in time to see Liam off. If anyone could set things right, it was Nadezhda. She was a shaman. She knew Kramola far better than anyone, not that it was that hard to figure Kramola out. The things that made her tick were pretty simple, same as him. Same as him...
With a sigh, Volya straightened. "It has to be me."
"Don't be such a drama queen."
"You wish." Volya pushed to his feet, keeping a hold of her hand, so he ended up taking the knee. Somehow it felt appropriate. "But that's what you have foreseen, haven't you?"
Nadezhda lifted her eyes at him. "What's Hope without Will to advance it? What's Will if it's not tried by Dissent?"
These rhetoric questions would look really good on a mug. "Precisely."
"Good luck then," Nadezhda said.
Volya nodded and stood up. He glanced at the two humans. Damir was fast asleep. Marina had perceived their exchange on some level of consciousness though, because she offered him a tight nod. "Good luck, Volya."
"Yeah." He had an inkling that his sheepish grin profaned the solemnity of the moment. "Could you do me a favor and hide the gun? Just in case?"
Marina ruffled Damir's hair absently, sending a needle of longing through Volya's chest. Liam used to do the same to him all the time. "I'll bury it with the bones for all eternity."
"Okay." He shoved his hands into his pockets and wiggled his toes for a good measure.
Nadezhda's gaze swiveled to his feet. "Great. Now you're properly psyched up."
"Abso-frigging-lutely."
Volya walked down the narrow windy passage, wondering what to say.
Greeting, kin-sisters! I come in peace. The mist-wolf offered with his typical willingness to help.
That advice was the reason why Volya had a moronic grin on his face when the sentinels by the entrance stepped in front of him. One of them had less success than the three others in hiding her distaste.
"What do you want?" she asked sharply.
"Greeting, kin-sis—" Volya sputtered and nearly self-immolated from embarrassment, while the mist-wolf howled with laughter. "Ah. I need to talk to Kramola."
The sentry sounded almost disappointed. "Surrendering so soon?"
White-hot anger flashed through Volya. He suppressed his growl, curled fingers inward so if his talons sprouted, they would pierce his palms instead of someone's jugular.
"I will be waiting for her at the midpoint of the passage," he said in a tightly controlled voice, then ventured back into the passage. It was dark and damp there, but he didn't trust himself to stay calm if the women baited him.
***
Kramola took her sweet time, but finally her footsteps crunched on the rubble.
"I'm glad you're not sneaking up on me." Volya extended his hand for a handshake. The humans used this gesture for hundreds of years to show they came unarmed. He was unarmed too. He needed her trust. "I ordered Damir's gun to be hidden. He has broken ribs, I think."
"If you surrender, we'll take him and his mate to Baksan."
Volya counted down from ten. "Thank you, but we're not surrendering."
She turned to leave.
"I understand where you're coming from better than you imagine. The world sucks. Our place in it is ridiculously low."
She stopped. "Go on, tell me that things would be so much worse, if I take Yasuwa bones and call for blood."
There goes his first choice....
He tried a different tack. "Why take Yasuwa's bones at all? Do you believe there is magic hidden within?" He remembered the shadow snakes weaving in and out of the bones. There was magic there, alright, but maybe Kramola couldn't see it.
"It's a symbol," Kramola said. "The last victory for our people was to deny Yasuwa the legacy he wanted. But Yasuwa and his followers were the minor portion of our enemies. It's time to curtail the rest. Yasuwa's bones will remind us that we can do it."
"And then what?"
"Better world for us."
"I have Memory, and I saw things destroyed, lots of things. Good things, bad things, all kinds of things."
Volya had never thought he was going to tell anyone about it. His structured visions were about the Walkwe. But there were others, fragmented and terrifying. Like, there must have been happy days in the past 20,000 years, however, his Memory always hit upon the really bad ones. "I also saw what happened afterward, and I'm not keen on the sadness of a world being built in the ruins."
"You're such a coward, brother."
"I don't think I am. It's just... I have the Memory."
She gave him a long stare from under a furrowed brow. "So righteous. That American cleaned you up, fed you, petted you—and you forgot how you were treated by humans? How the other kids smelled it on you that you were different? How they cut into you? Do you think the human kids mellow out when they grow up?"
Volya startled. She spoke with a passionate conviction that didn't come from guessing. "How... how do you know how I was treated?"
Kramola shrugged uncomfortably. "I might have checked up on you at some point. When Nadezhda told me about my son."
Maybe he should have brought Nadezhda with him. She could have clarified once and for all about the stupid prophecy that messed with Kramola's head.
"Nadezhda, ahem... she isn't exactly sure about your son."
A bitter chuckle met his words. "I thought a hundred times that she was just twisting my arm. A thousand. And you know what I had decided in the end?"
"No. What?"
"That it doesn't matter."
Why wasn't he surprised?
He dug in the pocket of his sweatpants. His fingers felt only the soft fabric and the stitch at the bottom of the pocket. Empty... He must have dropped the list Damir had given him. Fortunately, he knew it by heart, plus he had scanned it into his phone the first thing. Because, you know, bookkeeping was his calling.
"Ivan Sirota," he cited from memory, "aged 45, Saransk Prison. Sila Wolkov, aged 5, orphanage, Rostov. Neljub Dikoy, aged 19, location unknown. Bronya Wolkov, 28 to 30 years of age, mental patient."
He could go on, but his breath locked in his throat with anger. He cleared the obstruction and glowered at Kramola. "Do you think they don't matter, because they're men?"
Kramola's face hardened too. "Once we set things right, nobody would have to hide. We'll end this insanity once and for all. Even if we lose the magic eventually, wouldn't it be worth it in exchange for keeping our children?"
Volya leaned against the wall, because he needed support, even if it came from an inanimate rock. The weight of Kramola's will crushed against his own. He closed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths. "At least... you want me to agree with you bad enough to try the compulsion."
The pressure on his temples lessened. Kramola gritted her teeth in frustration. "Why don't you agree? We want the same thing!"
"Because my name is Volya Wolkov, the Will of the Wolves." Honestly, did he just say that? It was something his mist-wolf might have said.
Kramola chuckled, but without merriment. "That must be it."
"Yeah." He echoed her chuckle. "You are right though—we want the same thing, for this unbearable situation to change. But... could you, perhaps, give me a few years to go about it in my way? Then, if I fail—"
"Your way? Which way is that? Organizing summer camp Buyan and singing kumbaya with your human mate?"
He got up at dawn, he carried stones for hours, he had a pressing deadline. The exhaustion started to set in. His nerves were at the point of breaking. He wanted to scream, but kept his voice calm in spite of his innards broiling.
"I don't know yet. But I'll start by giving them what we took from Yasuwa. Memory. Legacy. Identity. Yasuwa didn't get it, but we should."
"We?"
He gripped her shoulder. "Yes. Let's close the tomb for now and walk away. We all know what's inside, what can be retrieved if all else fails... any Walkwe can come back here, touch the stones, think on our history, remember that we had survived despite the sacrifices..."
"And then what?"
"We go on like we always had, only we reach to each-other through the mist."
His breath caught in his chest. He was venturing into territory so unfamiliar, so fragile, so alien to him... "Then you can start your own legacy, give birth to a child and head your own tribe. Nadezhda and you will receive the gift of another Buyan Isle... and so will I."
She jerked her shoulder, but not strongly enough to shake his hand off.
He held on. "And should you have a son—"
An anguished cry erupted from her.
Volya's head spun, but he didn't shut up. "Do you think I would ever leave my nephew on the mercy of the system that treated me like garbage? If I have to, I would claim paternity. Our genetic make-up would be within range, but I'd rather... I'd rather you trusted me to take the child."
He looked at her with wild eyes, because in that moment he had finally realized what it meant to love.
"For so many years, I struggled alone. For so many years, I thought, if only someone loved me, I would be happy. Not until Liam loved me, did I realize that being loved is not enough... Not nearly enough. You must be capable of bestowing love without expecting anything in return."
Not in a thousand years Volya would have imagined that this meeting would end the way it did.
Kramola, his bitch-sister, the woman who spied on him and didn't lift a finger to help him; who had poisoned him; who had tried to kill him in single combat... this Kramola hugged him to her chest so tightly that he gasped for air.
Her ribs screamed in duet with his when he hugged her back. They might have even cried a little. Or more than a little.
"I promise, he'll be loved," Volya said.
What a moment to blow his nose! But sniffling would have spoiled this perfect moment. So, he blew his nose and wished for the time to stop, so they could savor the familial harmony for a little bit longer.
Then a pang of anxiety tugged on his stomach. He didn't just pledge his love to his family, he also had promised it to Liam. And the world was still of inconveniently large and had peculiar customs, like national borders.
"Ah, Kramola? Could you do me a favor?"
"Huh?" She dabbed her eyes with an unpracticed hand.
"Can you guys close the tomb without me? Otherwise I won't make it to America in time to see Liam off. I promised it to him." He hoped his gaze had more in common with puppy eyes than a wolfish glare.
"You make lots of promises, brother." Kramola laughed through tears and flicked his nose. "See that you keep them."