From the Ashes of Victory: The Complete Series, page 58
part #0 of From the Ashes of Victory Series
"How you stop tank?" Inga asked, pulling Millie to her feet for the fifth time.
"You don't, as far as I know. That's why they're tanks."
Inga laughed, a big barrel of a sound Millie had never heard before. "You stop tank. Attack weak place." Inga slapped her knees, but if Millie had had her eyes closed, she would have said concrete.
"I did! You pulled me in and broke two of my ribs."
"Don't grab. Tank take you. Dig hole, tank fall in."
Millie looked down at the concrete dubiously.
"No, no," Inga said, and lightly tapped her foot against the front of Millie's shin, before firmly pressing against her ankle. Then she mimed a tree falling with her arms.
"I should trip you?"
"Da. Yes."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"War not fair. Win or die."
When entire generations were chewed up and spit out as their nations were destroyed, leaving people like Elise with nowhere to return to even if France technically 'won,' Millie wasn't sure she could agree completely, but she understood the sentiment and nodded.
This time, when Inga rushed at her, Millie not only dodged out of the way, she slung her scales at Inga's feet, detaching them the instant she pitched forward, spilling the huge Russian into a rolling dervish that allowed Millie a smile that lasted the split-second it took for Inga to pop back up again.
Several repetitions later, they were both sweating and smiling when Svetlana came in bearing a pair of canteens full of water.
"Why you fight?" Inga asked, draining hers all at once.
"To protect us. People have always wanted to hurt witches, and I don't think we'll be any different once they find out about us."
"Victoria very strong."
"Aye, but not in the right way. And I don't want her to have blood on her hands when I can do it instead. I know my path for us, for EVE."
"Inga too," she said with a note of melancholy.
Millie looked up at the towering Russian, something she never thought she would ever do to another woman, and considered the lines on her face, the stoicism that made her dark eyes so disconcerting. But in them, Millie saw traces of what she saw in her own eyes when she looked in the mirror. Whatever EVE's ultimate destination, it was clear that they would be taking the journey side-by-side.
"So we should probably learn to work together, eh?" Millie said.
Inga nodded. "Our job."
Svetlana looked between them and smiled. "I am happy to see you getting along."
"She's very convincing," Millie said.
Inga looked to Svetlana, who translated.
"She says that in the army, they never had time to take it slowly. You had to learn quickly."
Millie stared up at Inga. "You were a soldier?" It made so much sense, and yet none at all. There were no female soldiers.
"Yes," Inga said. There was no pride in her voice, just a simple statement of fact. "All girls."
"What? Russia had female soldiers," Millie said. It wasn't a question so much as a desperate request for confirmation she was hearing correctly what she was being told.
"One battle," Inga said. "Very hard." Her black eyes looked down and away, and Millie knew exactly what kind of 'very hard' she meant.
"Just getting in was brutal," Svetlana supplied. "They had very high standards."
"I can imagine," Millie said. "Did you… kill people? Germans?"
Inga looked straight down into Millie's eyes. "Yes. Protect my home. Men not go anymore."
"One of the biggest factors in the revolution was the war. The waste of life. Soldiers were refusing to fight, so the government put together units of women to motivate them. To shame them," Svetlana said.
We handed out white feathers to shame them, but the Russians would have just put a gun in Vickie's hand instead. It was beyond belief. "Did it work?" Millie asked, knowing the answer, since the Tsar and his entire family were dead.
"When they came back, 20 of them were hanged by the male soldiers for continuing the war. And for shaming them in the process," Svetlana said, looking up at Inga sadly. "They were branded as traitors to the cause of peace for being brave enough to go to war."
Inga nodded. "Not my home now."
Shock kept Millie from reacting, even breathing. Those soldiers were so desperate for the war to be over they hanged their own for continuing the fight? It turned Millie's insides to water. It had gone from the most inspirational thing Millie had ever heard to one of the most tragic in only a few seconds.
Executed for bravery. Millie had thought herself done with being surprised by the horrors that had gone on during the war, yet here was one more.
Of all the reasons Millie feared for violence against them, she shouldn't have been surprised at this one. It was, in a way, exactly what she feared. Taking things into their own hands was going to be looked down upon no matter what they did other than go into hiding, like every other witch had. And maybe that was safer, more prudent, but it wasn't right. Inga and her fellow female soldiers were braver and stronger than Millie would ever hope to be, but had survived actual combat only to be murdered after they got home.
It didn't matter what they did, Millie realised. Selene and Ivy had been completely peaceful, yet they'd been rounded up, tortured and nearly executed. Inga had gone to war, only to be nearly executed. There was no right answer.
Except to do what's right, Millie thought. If the consequences were coming anyway, they could leave something positive behind.
"Inga, I'm sorry. I had no idea what you've been through."
"Thank you. Millie strong, too. Good partner." Inga held out her hand.
Millie took it. Seeing her own hand dwarfed by Inga's, she no longer thought of them as the size of a bear's. They were the size of her heart.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed in a LAC infirmary examination room, Katya took in the antiseptic, sterile smell of the immaculately-clean sheets and countertops. There wasn't so much as a speck of dust anywhere, and even the flowers were arranged perfectly in their vase.
Even though she felt better, she knew she couldn't ignore what had happened last night. If she did it could happen again, and she would give anything to avoid that. It had been crippling, not just embarrassing. After being sick, she had managed to keep her wits together, and Victoria's nightmare had been sobering, but after so little sleep and such chaotic, unsettling emotional swings, Katya knew she needed actual medical advice.
It was intimidating. She'd never seen a doctor in either her second or third language, and she suddenly felt anxious about it. Business, magic, she was comfortable in those topics. But when it came to her own health, she rued not studying medical English or French more. For something so important, it was quite the oversight, she chided herself.
But sooner than Katya had expected, the door opened and Elise walked through.
In her uniform, her hair pinned up under her white hat and carrying a clipboard, she looked completely different. She carried herself differently, as well. The witch that Katya saw around the residence was no longer in evidence—it was clearly Nurse Cotillard who had swept into the room.
"What seems to be the problem, Miss Gurevich?" Elise asked as she closed the door. Once it was shut and locked, she turned back. "Are you all right, Yekaterina?"
"I don't know," Katya said in French.
While the rest of Elise's features relaxed at the sound of her mother tongue, her eyes kept their concern. "What do you mean? Did something happen in London?"
"I got very sick. I…" Katya flushed red in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I don't actually know how to say it in French."
Elise didn't smile, but her eyes were reassuring. "That's all right. Use English."
Katya gratefully switched to English, and described what had happened. "Is it serious?"
Walking back to the door, Elise drew the shade and set her clipboard down on the counter. Setting a glowing hand on Katya's neck, she closed her eyes.
This time, Katya didn't feel anything. In The Shed, the surge of Elise's magic had been much more obvious, like what she imagined being mildly electrocuted would feel like. Now, it was just the warmth of her fingers.
"I should have said something before," Elise said when she re-opened her eyes.
"What?" Katya asked, her heart racing to get out ahead of the answer.
"You are still malnourished," Elise said. "Though you have been eating while here, it is simple food. Eating so much rich food last night, combined with alcohol and stress, made you sick. Your body had forgotten how to deal with it."
"What?" Katya repeated. That didn't make any sense. You don't just… forget how to eat. Do you?
"I read of the food shortages in Russia during the war. When was the last time you ate like you did last night?" Elise made a few marks on her clipboard.
Katya hung her head. Not just for herself, she was ashamed for her country to have to admit it. "Three years ago."
But Elise kept her cool, professional demeanour and made another mark. "It is not only you. The war stole from the mouths of everyone."
On a visceral level, Katya knew it was true. She'd seen it. But to admit that it had started while she was still safe in St. Petersburg hurt in a way she hadn't been prepared for.
It's why revolutions happen, she told herself.
"But after a period of starving, the body must re-adjust to having food again. The instinct is to eat as much as possible, but it is dangerous. I should have helped you more in The Shed, I am sorry."
Katya looked up. "Don't be. You didn't know how I would react. You made the right choice."
"I could have said something in private," Elise said. "It is my job."
"No," Katya said, shaking her head. "I gave you no reason to want to help me after how I acted to Victoria. I didn't earn it."
Elise considered her. "I am a nurse, Yekaterina. No-one has to earn my help."
"I didn't mean to offend you, I'm sorry."
"I am not offended. You are being honest. I guess you said something similar to Victoria?"
"Yes," Katya said. "We had a long talk last night."
This brightened Elise considerably, and the witch peeked out through the nurse's eyes. "I am very happy to hear that."
"We're making up," Katya said. "She told me… a lot."
"Good. Victoria… needs help," Elise said. Katya didn't need elaboration. "She and Millie are my Coven. My life. All I ask it that you be honest with her, and us."
Katya looked down at her emaciated hands. "I will."
"Good. I… cannot help Victoria the way she needs. If you can help her, I would be very grateful."
"I will try. And I'm sorry I ever gave you reason to think otherwise."
Elise nodded in appreciation. "As for you, please have a nap this afternoon, and avoid heavy foods. I will give you a list of what you should eat for now."
"Thank you, Elise."
"You are welcome."
The warmth in Elise's voice told Katya she meant it in more ways than one.
After her prescribed nap, Katya felt refreshed, and strong enough to face both the truth that Elise had laid out to her and the one she had dug up from within herself.
For the first time since the before revolution, Katya stood before a mirror and took in what she saw.
She was gaunt, her ribs clearly visible beneath her skin. Turning, she pulled her hair aside to see her spine was a clear chain of prominent nodules running all the way from the base of her skull to her waist, hemmed in by the perfect outline of sharp shoulder blades. Her hips were practically pointed; her legs, when she looked at them from the side, made her wonder how they could even support her.
It was better, she knew. Her fingers, her arms, she was putting on weight, but seeing herself in total in such a transformed state, it was hard to believe. This is what she had become. The only daughter of a well-to-do merchant, fawned over and never wanting for anything, reduced to the wastrel before her—to the point eating was dangerous.
It was precisely why it had been nearly three years since the last time. Mirrors were for putting on make-up and taming her hair, nothing more. Standing before herself wearing only sunlight was something she had consciously avoided, to avoid confirming what her body had been telling her was true, and the shame that came with it.
The malnutrition, the endless walking, poor sleep, constant fear and the cold had exacted their toll. The physical, visible effects on her body were like a record of all that had happened to her since the last time she'd looked upon herself like this.
But more than any of that, it was her captivity that made looking at herself the hardest. There was the shame of starvation and privation, but more so, with nothing to hide—even from herself—was the shame of what had been done to her. Taken from her. It might have been the first time Katya had looked at herself this way since, but she wasn't the last person to have seen it.
Hunger, fatigue and cold were nothing compared to pain, helplessness and humiliation. It was those memories that made her put her dressing gown back on and fall into her chair.
Every morning, she looked at her own face to apply her black mask. She told herself it was to hide her sunken eyes, and maybe it was. Eventually. But now, in light of the revelations of the last 24 hours, she could admit that it had really been so that she could stand to look at herself.
Victoria was the first person Katya had been able to mention her captivity to without breaking down, and only now, looking at herself in a completely raw state, did she remember that she'd even done it. It had been a confession, just as much as Victoria's.
It was real, and had happened to her.
The horrors she had endured as the price for her life had taken their toll as well, and Katya forced herself to look into her own eyes. To hold the gaze of the one who had made that bargain, only to take the most extreme action possible when she'd come to think it a mistake.
A throbbing began in her left arm, and she gently placed her right hand over her wrist to soothe it. That was part of her, too.
The woman staring back at her with those ice-blue eyes was the sum total of the memories and experiences swirling within the mind behind them. Everything those eyes had seen were still in that mind, burned there forever. They were who she was.
Or had been.
No more. She was a different person now.
On the train, it had been simple to decide that that was true, but now, looking herself in the eye, she knew it. To stay as she was was to let others dictate her own identity to her, and that was something she could no longer allow.
The woman in the mirror was Yekaterina Konstantinovna Gurevich, refugee. Exile. Victim.
The woman staring at her was Yekaterina Konstantinovna Gurevich, witch. Immigrant. Survivor.
She was the total of her experiences and her memories, but also her choices. And who she would be when she stepped out of her room was also a choice.
Standing once more, she let her dressing gown fall away and she looked at herself again. Really looked. She appeared this way for specific, terrible reasons, and she had to admit it before she could do anything about it.
This shape was the result of what had happened to her, but the shape she took from this moment on would be the one she wanted. This time, this place, the people around her, they were an opportunity to forge that shape. Last night she had felt the world hammering her back into the old one she'd thought herself rid of, but looking at herself now, she knew it was really the shape she had been holding all along.
She had been abused. Broken. Starved. Violated. Changed.
Well, she would change again. She was a witch of fire, and like the phoenix, she would return from the ashes brighter and stronger.
She looked over at her wardrobe, the long white coat hanging there like a ghost. The armour to hide her true shape.
Black mascara and eyeliner sat before the mirror, so much of it already gone. The mask to hide her true face.
Today would be the day she donned neither. Without her armour and without her mask, she would greet the world as the actual Yekaterina Gurevich. She would appear as she truly was before the others and leave them to judge what they saw. For herself as much as them, she owed them the chance to decide for themselves, rather than dictate what they should think.
Let them see me, Katya decided. It's who she was. It's what life had done to her, and if she was no longer going to hide who she was, then that meant sharing the whole of her, good and bad. Vulnerability had a power of its own.
Feeling Victoria twitch and tremor in her sleep had been the ultimate in vulnerability. It wasn't possible to feign anything in the depths of sleep, and what Katya had felt, combined with the nightmares, had left her with the burning remnants of shame still stuck to her.
She'd seen Victoria at her weakest, her most honest. What had they seen of her? A fabrication. A lie.
What had Katya seen of herself? A fabrication. A lie.
Who was she to hide anymore?
"King." Millie threw her card on top of Inga's jack. "I win again!" Sweeping up the pile of cards, she began to shuffle them once more. War was the simplest game Millie knew how to explain, as Svetlana was out with Ivy in her greenhouse.
"Next time we play Russian game," Inga said.
"Complete chance. No fooling," Millie said, crossing her heart. As she flicked cards between them, Inga took a long draught of Ivy's infamous black tea.
"And your heart isn't about to explode?" Millie asked.
"Good for heart. Remember I am alive," Inga said with a cheerful thump on her chest.
Millie smiled, but shook her head. "Not for long, the way you drink it."
Inga laughed, and Millie would have sworn the windows rattled. Suddenly, Inga's black eyes flicked up and she jutted her chiseled chin up the stairs. "She is awake."
Expecting to see Vickie, Millie turned to see a woman with white hair descending the stairs instead, one exposed hand sliding along the bannister. She wore a dress of blue shot with gold, a matching shawl draped over her thin shoulders. She wore no make-up, her blue eyes no longer peering out from behind thick rings of black. Without her gloves, it was plain how thin her fingers were, long and skeletal as they glided over the polished wood.
