anyone. He played a few harmless pranks, things guaranteed to make sober and nervous people comfortable.
Then, as the afternoon passed into evening, he returned to the Palace long enough to pack a saddlebag and get his horse. It was time to make his rounds of the Kingdom and for that he would need several days. He told Yasha where he was going; that was enough warning. It wasn’t as if anyone at the Palace needed him specifically.
Whenever he decided to make a round of the Kingdom, it was always like this—on impulse.
By the time he finished packing and carried his bags out to the stable, his horse was waiting, saddled and bridled. This was a solid, calm beast of the North Wind get; the gelding had none of the North Wind horses’ good looks, but a great deal of sense and an unflappable nature. Sasha needed that…just in case.
Because he wasn’t just singing prosperity into the land. As soon as the sun went down, Sasha went hunting when he made his rounds.
The signs that evil was trying to make its way into Led Belarus were obvious. And they should be, as Sasha had specified in his songs exactly what evil-doers said and did the moment they entered his Kingdom and started on their own nefarious plans. They might think they were acting on their own, but The Tradition, directed by Sasha, was making them give telltale signs. All Sasha had to do was look for them….
And on his third day out, he found them, too.
There it was. A stretch along the border where the woods suddenly turned…dark. Haunted. Where the trees looked as if they might actually snatch you up and use you as fertilizer, and where every path seemed to close in on you the moment you set foot on it.
Sasha smiled to see it. This was precisely as he wanted it.
He turned back on the road to the village he had just passed through. And he knew without even asking that the villagers would tell him not to go there. So he didn’t trouble them with what he was going to do. After all, he knew what he was doing; he’d written the song.
Sasha left his horse at the inn and walked about the village, making a few inquiries about that place in the forest that the locals were starting to avoid. The answers he got gave him some relief. It wasn’t bad yet. No children had gone missing. No travelers had vanished, or at least, none that anyone was aware of. But horses didn’t want to go in there, mules flatly refused to, the birds avoided it except for ravens—
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
Then, as the afternoon passed into evening, he returned to the Palace long enough to pack a saddlebag and get his horse. It was time to make his rounds of the Kingdom and for that he would need several days. He told Yasha where he was going; that was enough warning. It wasn’t as if anyone at the Palace needed him specifically.
Whenever he decided to make a round of the Kingdom, it was always like this—on impulse.
By the time he finished packing and carried his bags out to the stable, his horse was waiting, saddled and bridled. This was a solid, calm beast of the North Wind get; the gelding had none of the North Wind horses’ good looks, but a great deal of sense and an unflappable nature. Sasha needed that…just in case.
Because he wasn’t just singing prosperity into the land. As soon as the sun went down, Sasha went hunting when he made his rounds.
The signs that evil was trying to make its way into Led Belarus were obvious. And they should be, as Sasha had specified in his songs exactly what evil-doers said and did the moment they entered his Kingdom and started on their own nefarious plans. They might think they were acting on their own, but The Tradition, directed by Sasha, was making them give telltale signs. All Sasha had to do was look for them….
And on his third day out, he found them, too.
There it was. A stretch along the border where the woods suddenly turned…dark. Haunted. Where the trees looked as if they might actually snatch you up and use you as fertilizer, and where every path seemed to close in on you the moment you set foot on it.
Sasha smiled to see it. This was precisely as he wanted it.
He turned back on the road to the village he had just passed through. And he knew without even asking that the villagers would tell him not to go there. So he didn’t trouble them with what he was going to do. After all, he knew what he was doing; he’d written the song.
Sasha left his horse at the inn and walked about the village, making a few inquiries about that place in the forest that the locals were starting to avoid. The answers he got gave him some relief. It wasn’t bad yet. No children had gone missing. No travelers had vanished, or at least, none that anyone was aware of. But horses didn’t want to go in there, mules flatly refused to, the birds avoided it except for ravens—
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
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