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.Chernevog wished him utterly helpless."I have the books, Pyetr Ilyitch.You know there's little I can't find out from them.I'll find the answers.""Given time," he said, tasting blood.He had this thing slithering about inside him, it was scared and angry, and in his own foolishness he thought about Eveshka's writing in that book, and Sasha telling him not even another wizard could change what was written there.I know you 'II follow me.It began to mean something more than ominous.She had written it in Sasha's book.not talking to him at all.To Sasha.I know you 'II follow me.Like the bannik's visions—that Sasha said were coming true.He bit his lip hard, looked at the trees, trying not to think about all the things that might mean.But he went on giving away what, except for him, Chernevog had had no time to find out—maybe no way to understand the way he understood it until he gave it to him."Has she spoken to you at all?" Chernevog asked him."She came north.Why? What do you suppose she was looking for, if not me? You expected her across the river.But I wasn't her purpose.What would it be?""Wonder," he said though he had no idea either.Chernevog said, distant voice against the sighing of the trees, the sound of Volkhi's moving:"Sasha's to follow her.To what?""I don't know.I've no idea."I know you'll follow me.I beg you don't.Something had separated them.She had packed quite purposefully, taken the boat—something, the god only knew what, had held her asleep on the river, unable to talk to them."That much I’ve gathered," Chernevog said.He wondered how much else Chernevog had gathered, how much he had told Chernevog in his lapses from reason.He bit his lip to distract himself, and thought, amazingly clear-headed for a moment, Sasha won't leave me.No matter where he is, no matter if he doesn't come back, he won't have left me.The woods went curiously blurred.There was a pain in his chest.He thought, That damned well made him mad.I wonder why.After which he knew nothing clearly.Chernevog held him on the horse, and the cold spot was wider and stronger.Chernevog said against his ear, "Pyetr Ilyitch, for entirely different reasons, I do hope you're right.""You might eat something," Chernevog said to him—and Pyetr found himself lying on his back on the ground, firelight on the young leaves overhead.He had come up abruptly, he fell back again, mumping his head on the ground, and by the feel of it he had done that before.He looked again and saw Chernevog calmly reading by firelight, Volkhi browsing on the undergrowth.He really should have done better than this, he thought.Sasha would expect him to have done better than this.His sword, the books, everything."Supper," Chernevog said, and waved a hand toward the baggage, lying the other side of the fire.He had no choice about that either.He got up, walked over where the baggage was lying, then bent and started to get the pack with their food in it.But something was sitting on the brush just beyond his shadow, something that stared at him with red-gold eyes.He froze in mid-reach.Chernevog moved suddenly, casting his standing shadow beside his.The bannik, the fragment, whatever it was—hissed; Pyetr scrambled backward, stood up, while the cold spot in the middle of him—grew colder and colder.It wanted him.He watched it slowly fade.He took another step back for good measure before he looked at Chernevog—found him nothing but a shadow against the fire; and himself trembling from head to foot, for no reason he could say, except it was him, dammit, it was what he was carrying that the creature wanted.Volkhi snorted, snuffed the wind, made a small uneasy sound."A piece of you," Pyetr said when he got a breath."Piece, is it? Dammit, it wants what you gave me!"Chernevog said nothing, faceless shadow against the fire-but of a sudden Pyetr thought of the house that had burned, the bathhouse outside.He hid there by night, he barred the door—he tried to summon up a magic against Draga—by whatever creature would answer him.God."It didn't work," Chernevog said
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