Was he lying?

She found herself, horribly, wondering how it would be, to agree, to let the rage inside her loose in a spasm of violence. She could feel the impulse echoed in the scarred figure before her. He understood her guilt, her sorrow, the fury that had come down on Ded Grib’s head.

“Yes,” he whispered. “We understand each other. We cannot make a new world without first breaking the old.”

“Breaking?” said Vasya. She hardly recognized her own voice. “What will you break in the making of this new world?”

“Nothing that cannot be repaired. Think of it. Think of the girl-children that will not face the fire.”

She wanted to go to Moscow in power and throw the city down. His wildness called to her, and the sorrow of his long imprisonment. The golden mare stood very still.

“I would have my vengeance?” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said. “In full measure.”

“Would Konstantin Nikonovich die screaming?”

She thought he hesitated before answering. “He would die.”

“And who else would die, Medved?”

“Men and women die every day.”

“They die according to God’s will; they do not die for me,” said Vasya. The nails of her free hand tore into her palm. “Not one life lost is worth the price of my grief. Do you think that I’m a fool, that you can drip words like sweet poison in my ear? I am not your ally, monster, nor will I ever be.”

She thought that a murmur rose from the forest all around, but she couldn’t tell if it was a sound of delight or disappointment.

“Ah,” said the Bear. The regret in his voice seemed real. “So wise in some ways, little Vasilisa Petrovna, and yet so foolish in others. For of course if you do not join me, you cannot remain alive.”

“My life was the price of your freedom,” Vasya said. The lake was a cold presence at her back, the golden mare still stood warm and trembling beside her. “You cannot kill me.”

“I offered you your life,” said the Bear. “It is not my fault you are a stubborn fool and did not take it. My debt is paid. Besides, I am not going to kill you. You can join me alive. Or you can be my servant.” His mouth quirked irrepressibly. “Less alive.”

VASYA HEARD A SOFT, shuffling footstep. Another. Vasya’s pulse sounded loud in her ears; in her mind echoed an old warning. The Bear is loose. Beware the dead.

“I am going to enjoy this,” said Medved. “Tell me what you decide.” He stepped back. “Either way, I will give my brother your regrets.”

To her left, a dead man with red eyes and a filthy visage slunk into the light. To her right, a woman grinned, blood on her lips, a few locks of rotten hair still clinging to her bone-white skull. The dead things’ eyes were pits of hell: scarlet and black. When their mouths opened, the points of their teeth dazzled, sharp, in the last of the firelight. Vasya and the mare were surrounded by a shrinking half-circle.