Chapter 13

Diurnal Tides//laughing and not being normal

“What I see is an idol that was created, used, and then tossed aside once her value was depleted. Assuming that she is an angel or one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse is an easy way to justify her treatment and the rise of a corrupt theocracy. My theory is that she was a normal girl caught up in the wrong regime and that, if nothing has happened to her yet, she’s on the run from something that could happen to her.
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-Idris

“Do you hear this, Ivan? I can’t catch a fucking break, can I? A demon? Rude. An angel? Insane. I could never.”
Ivan chuckles through thin, cracked lips and the wrinkles around his eyes deepen with amusement. He’s aged rapidly since we returned to Russia, months having treated him like decades. The chuckle turns into a dry cough, which he remedies with a long drink of the honey and nettle tea in his hands.
I stand from the dining table and go to heat more water on the kitchen stove. We can’t feel the sway of the cabin as it strides through the forest, but I watch the passing trees through the window as I fill the kettle with a limitless flow of water from the faucet.
Ivan is gazing out the window as well when he finally responds, “You know, this guy seems to grasp your situation quite well for having absolutely no idea what is actually going on.”
“Well he makes me sound pathetic, it’s embarrassing.”
“Are you going to do something, then? Or keep running?”
The trees outside stop moving and I shoot a nasty glare at the old man. “I’m not running, I’m just… waiting…”
“For me to die?”
“What?! No! I’m not-”
Ivan laughs louder than I thought he could.
“I am certainly NOT leaving you to die alone, anyway. You’re the only family I feel like I have left, Ivan.”
He catches his breath and finishes his tea before the coughing can begin. “It’s okay, we can agree you needed the time to adjust. But it won’t be much longer now and you should consider what this Idris is saying and which one you want to be.”
I purse my lips and the kettle begins to whistle. I switch my attention to steeping a fresh batch of tea for Prince Ivan.
“Help me out to the porch, would you?” Ivan begins pushing himself up from his seat before I can stop what I’m doing.
Mug of tea in one hand, I rush to his side and wrap my empty arm around his back and under his arms, supporting him as we take small steps to the door. His blanket is already draped on the back of his chair, where we left it the day before. Ivan settles into the chair and I hand him the tea and wrap the blanket around his frail shoulders.
I don’t yet take a seat in the other chair. “The fire inside is going out, I should go check on it.”
Ivan’s eyelids are heavily draped halfway shut, but I can tell he’s watching a couple of birds, perched in a nearby branch. “Let’s move west.”
I nod and swiftly go to the hearth, where I throw an uncut hunk of coal on the low flames. Once back outside, the house has continued its lumber through the woods and the birds flutter alongside us for several seconds before disappearing into the shadows. “Do you miss being a goose?”
Ivan’s eyes flick towards me after watching the empty space where the birds once were. “Flying was nice, but no. I’m happy to be here now.”
“Ivan, are you scared?”
“No, I think it’ll feel like flying again. Are you?”
I hesitate and then nod, trying to hold back tears.
“Don’t be, you’ve got plenty of time to figure things out.”
“You’re all I have, what will I do?”
“I trust you to figure things out.” Ivan takes a sip to check the temperature of his tea and then, after deeming it safe, takes a longer drink.
I wait patiently for him to say more, but he doesn’t. We sit in silence as the day rapidly comes to an end, the autumn days continuing to grow shorter. There’s a chill in the air that only the farthest ends and highest peaks of the Earth can know these days. For the first time in my life, a flurry of snowflakes drift down from the skies. It’s peaceful. I didn’t know anything could be so peaceful.
The soft flutter of bird wings adds to the atmosphere as a moon-faced owl darts across my vision. Several moments later a sigh of wind brings the cold breath of Death onto the swaying porch. I recognize her before I have the chance to look over and see Ivan’s head sagging against his chest and the still-steaming tea barely clasped in his inter-locked fingers.
“You know, if you want me to not hate you, you should stop showing up at the worst moments of my life.”
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
The woman shrugs, “He seemed to think so.”
I grunt in acknowledgment and she opens her mouth as if to say more and then decides not to. An owl hoots a melancholy note from somewhere in the darkness and I’m left alone at the edge of the world.
I sit and watch the snow through the night, until the sun peaks over the horizon behind the house. Even through the shade of the dense tree canopy, the sun’s warmth melts away the thin layer of snow that had attempted to blanket the forest floor.
The house shambles on for another hour and then stops and settles onto solid ground. I drag myself inside to retrieve the shovel that I know is hidden in the closet and then go back outside to find a small clearing in the sun with a view to the east. The soil is soft and wet from the melted snow, and digging proves to be easier than I expected it to be.
Wrapped in his red, threadbare cloak from centuries past, I lay Ivan’s body into the ground, along with several gray feathers, and then two meters of dirt. Next to the grave, I dig a much smaller hole, in which I bury several iridescent raven feathers. One large tree marks the end of the clearing, on which is carved two names by the time I return to the house and light a fresh fire: “Prince Ivan Tsarevich, folk hero” and “Anastasia Nikolaevna, Baba and soothsayer.”
The house lifts itself back up and continues west as I take a seat at the loom, leaving behind all that remains of Dimitri Tsovetsky.