Keesa Renée Dupré

         My heart pounded, and my throat was dry.  I pressed clammy hands against the rough fabric of my dress and took deep breaths, trying to be brave.  The air up here was thin, making it that much harder to catch my breath and slow my racing heart.  Behind me, a crystal stair stretched down toward the earth.  It was perfectly clear, invisible; I only knew it was there because I had just climbed up it.

         Ahead of me, velvet-black space hung like a curtain, and set into it, familiar stars traced the outline of the Great Sky Hall, the home of the Zorya.  The thought of coming face to face with the three Sister Goddesses made my hands start shaking.  But a glance at the northern sky steeled my resolve; a stretch of sky lay empty.  The Little Bear had fled; Boris, the Great Sky Dog, was loose.  For a time, he had chased the Little Bear in circles, seemingly suspended in air above my head; at my approach, they had taken off.  My eyes, more accustomed to the sunlit earth below, could barely make out the Little Bear's pale shimmer, disappearing into the distance, and I couldn't see the dark shadow following hard on its heels—but I knew it was there.

         I caught another wheezing gasp of too-thin air and, before I had time to lose my nerve, ran across the remaining distance and flung open the doors of the Sky Hall.

         None of the legends had prepared me for the beauty of the Zorya.  Polunochnaya, Goddess of Midnight, with her ebony hair flung with stars and her skin as pale as moonlight; Vechemaya, Goddess of Evening, auburn hair like a thousand flaming sunsets flowing down her back; Utrennaya, Goddess of Morning, with pale blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, and Dawn's chaste blush on her cheeks.  The three sisters were lovely beyond words.

         Nor had the legends prepared me for the sight of sultry Zorya Polunochnaya screeching at the top of her lungs like a common fishmonger's wife.

         "Khors dies in my arms at night, not yours!" she screamed, her long, dark hair billowing around her as she paced.  Vechemaya had her arms folded impassively across her chest.

         "Did you think he could wait all night?" she demanded.  "While you primped your hair and pinched your cheeks to make them red!"

         I saw, now, how Boris had gotten loose; the argument had clearly gone on for some time, and the two sisters were too furious to notice much else.  Utrennaya looked from one to the other, concern on her delicate face.  None of them had seen me yet.

         "Zorya," I shouted, and although I had intended it to be a bellow, it came out a timid squeak.  It did, however, get their attention, for it was the voice of a mortal where never a mortal had walked before, if the legends were true.  I imagine they were; my stomach was still twisted into a knot from looking down on the crystal staircase and seeing nothing but air beneath my feet.

         I think they were amazed to see me; there was a long silence, one which I dared not break.  Utrennaya was the first to speak.

         "What are you doing here, child?" she asked, glancing at her sisters, then back to me.  My throat was still dry, and I had to force the words through it.  Still, none of them had blasted me yet, so that was some consolation.

         "Zorya, Boris, the great sky dog, is loose," I said.  The expressions on their faces changed from shock to disbelief to fear.  "Even now, he is chasing the Little Bear across the sky," I continued, as they rushed to the door, where a broken chain proved the truth of my words.  Vechemaya's brilliant complexion lost its color; Polunochnaya's pale face turned paler still.

         "How did you learn this?" she demanded.  "How did you come here?"  An answer flashed into my mind, one of twelve years spent stargazing and daydreaming, of knowing every constellation, nay, knowing every visible star and its position intimately, of a longstanding friendship with an ordinary woodsman named Misha; of Misha finding me, earlier that night, frightened and sobbing in the forest because I had been stargazing, I had seen Boris break free and the Little Bear flee, and because I knew that if Boris devoured the Little Bear, the world would end.  It was an answer of Misha's compassion in whispering to me the secret of the invisible stair, and it was an answer of my journey, one terrified step after another up a stair I could not see.  But it was the long answer, and there was no time for it.  Boris was free.

         "I saw Boris break free, and I climbed the crystal stair," I said.  "Misha showed me."

         "The Guardian?" Vechemaya asked, startled.  I nodded.  "But how—"

         "No time for that, Vechemaya," Polunochnaya said.  "Boris is free."  She held out her hand.  "Truce?"  Vechemaya hesitated, then nodded, and took it.  "Truce."

         "Which way did they go?" Utrennaya asked, bending and lifting me into her arms as though I were a babe and weighed nothing, although I am twelve now, and tall for my age.  The Goddess of the Dawn smelled like dew and roses and the mist over the lake in the morning.

         "That way," I said, pointing; direction had no meaning for me here in the sky world, without the sun.  For a moment I wondered why it was still night—surely my journey here had taken the rest of the dark hours?—but then I remembered; Khors, the sun, would kiss Zorya Vechemaya good night each evening and die in Zorya Polunochnaya's arms.  He would not wake again until Zorya Utrennaya kissed him awake—and Zorya Utrennaya was skimming through the sky world in pursuit of Boris, with her sisters on either side of her and me in her arms.  No wonder Khors still slept.

         I had heard tales of the sky world before, but never dared to dream that I would see it for myself—and there are few things I will not dare to dream.  What seemed like black velvet from a distance was really a forest of colored fronds, purples and blues and greens, so dark that even up close they seemed almost black.  Stars sparkled merrily between them.  Now and again one would slap my face as we brushed past, for we were moving at a speed that would have been impossible on earth.  I suppose I should have been frightened, to travel so fast so far above the ground, but I wasn't.  There was something wonderfully comforting about Zorya Utrennaya's embrace, rather like my mother's.  But it couldn't make me forget why I was here.

         "Goddess, is it true that the world will end if Boris catches the Little Bear?" I asked.

         "Goddess!" Utrennaya exclaimed.  "I am no goddess."

         "But the priests say—" I started.  Utrennaya silenced me with a frown.

         "Men have always believed foolish things about God's creations," she said, still scowling.  "Listen to me, child.  There is one God and one Creator, and He alone is worthy to be worshipped.  We are but His servants—servants, no less, who have failed shamefully in their appointed task," she added, peering ahead.  "There, I see them."  I could not even make out a glimmer of the Little Bear, but I have no doubt her eyes were sharper than mine.

         "It's true, then?" I asked.  "The world will end if Boris catches the Little Bear?"  I hadn't meant to sound so small and frightened, but I am afraid I did.  I could feel Utrennaya shrug as she answered me, trying to dismiss my words.

         "I don't know," she admitted.  "Surely not ... I only know that we were responsible for him, and we let him escape."  Her voice seemed almost vulnerable.  "I do know that we must catch him before he can devour the Little Bear."  She looked down at me, anxious to change the subject.  "What of you?  What is your name, where did you come from, and how did you convince the Guardian to tell you of the crystal stair?"

         "My name is Catharine," I said.  "But everyone calls me Irina."  And I told her, then, of stargazing and daydreaming, of how I had always been good friends with Misha, but had only realized he was the Guardian of the stair after he told me its secret.

         "'Find the Zorya,' he said.  'They must catch Boris before it is too late.'"  Utrennaya nodded.

         "Yes, we must," she said.  By now, I could see what she had seen many minutes ago; the silver sheen of the Little Bear.  Like the Zorya, the Little Bear moved faster than any mortal ever could, but we were gaining—and so was Boris.

         The Zorya zipped forward faster than I thought they could have.  My heart thudded into my throat, and stayed there.  The unthinkable happened.  The Little Bear lost his footing, tumbled off an invisible ledge.  He fell, hit another invisible floor, bounced, and fell again.  Boris followed, pushing himself off the ledge.  The freefall equalized them.  Boris was only a foot or two away from the Little Bear.

         "Drop me!" I cried, twisting around to face Utrennaya.  She opened her mouth, perhaps to voice a question, perhaps to raise an objection.  "Drop me!" I screamed again.  I wriggled from her grasp and flung myself out after the pair.

         Off the edge of the crystal floor there were no colored fronds and no stars; only a dizzying plummet straight down.  I longed to squeeze my eyes shut—I was half afraid they would close of their own accord—but I dared not.  I had to be able to see my goal.

         I was halfway afraid that the three of us would keep falling forever.  But no.  The Little Bear hit another ledge, bounced, scrambled onto unsteady feet.  Boris landed next to him.  And I, perhaps by the grace of the One God Utrennaya had spoken of, landed squarely on the wolfhound's back.  His attention left the Little Bear instantly.  He snarled, whirled, trying to dislodge me.  It was a game I had played as a child, when I was small enough—stupid enough—to do it.  I had been good at it.  But none of the wolfhounds in my little village could compare with Boris.  I clung to great handfuls of his fur and prayed that the Zorya would rescue the Little Bear before the snapping jaws found their mark at my throat.

         Strong, soft hands that smelled of roses and mist lifted me away, while Polunochnaya and Vechemaya grasped Boris's collar and struggled to restrain him.

         "Wake Khors," Vechemaya ordered.  Utrennaya nodded, and turned back to the Sky Hall.  Once the sun was up, the Little Bear would disappear, and Boris would be unable to chase him.  Perhaps then they would be able to chain him once again.

         It seemed to take an eternity to reach the Sky Hall.  Once inside, Utrennaya set me down gently and moved towards a curtain at the back of the Hall.  I followed her, although my legs were still shaky from the fall.  I wanted to see what the Sun God—just the sun, really, I supposed, remembering Utrennaya's words—looked like at night.

         He looked very dead.  His skin was an ashy grey; his chest didn't rise or fall.  I would have quite despaired of ever waking him.  But Utrennaya knelt beside the bed where he lay and stared at him for a moment, a fond smile playing at the corner of her mouth.  Then she bent and kissed him, tenderly, chastely.  Color bled back into his face; his chest rose and fell rhythmically.  His eyes opened, gazing up at Utrennaya, and they were the impossibly rich blue of a clear autumn sky.

         Already light was shining from him; it intensified as he sat up and smiled at the Zorya.  I think perhaps it should have blinded me, but I was different, somehow, and bright as Khors was, his light didn't hurt my eyes.  He exchanged a warm glance with Utrennaya, rose to his feet, and kissed her on the cheek.  Then he bounded out the door and up, higher into the sky.  Utrennaya and I pressed to the north window of the Sky Hall, watching the stars.  Sure enough, one by one the stars of the Little Bear winked back into place, then faded and vanished as Khors rose higher into the sky.  Utrennaya turned back to me.

         "That was brave of you, child, but foolish," she said.  A relieved laugh bubbled up in my throat.

         "In history, it's always the foolish ones who are called brave, and the cautious ones who are forgotten," I said, the laugh spilling out with the words.  She started to say something, then stopped.

         I felt it, too—felt Him too—and I dropped to the floor as a lifetime of ignorance flashed into my mind.  A lifetime of worshipping Khors and the Zorya.  Idolatry.  I'm so sorry, my Lord.  I didn't understand.

         "I know," He said, and His voice was at once more terrifying than plunging through the sky, warmer than Utrennaya's arms, more delightful than Khors's boyish grin.  I trembled, but I don't know whether it was from fear or happiness.  Perhaps it was both.

         "My Lord," Utrennaya said.  "I'm sorry.  Boris—I should have watched him more closely.  Forgive me."

         "I already have," He said.  "I knew of this moment when I first placed you and your sisters here."

         "If Boris had devoured the Little Bear, would the world really have ended?" Utrennaya asked, twisting her hands together.

         "You have come to believe the tales men tell of you," God chided gently.  "No, the world would not have ended."

         "But then why put us here?" she asked.

         "For Irina's sake," He said, and I started at the sound of my name.  "You have found a courage and a truth, my child, and you will need the one to share the other."  A delicious sense of purpose bubbled up inside me; I could have leapt for joy at that moment.  I am sure my face outshone Khors.

         "What of us, my Lord?" Utrennaya asked.  "If Boris does not need us—have we no purpose?"

         "I give you a new purpose," He said, warmth and humor in His voice.  "As Michael guards my chosen people, so you three shall guard Irina's people."

         "And what of Khors, my Lord?" Utrennaya asked, a delicate blush spreading over her cheeks.

         "You shall still kiss him awake every morning," He said.  "And Vechemaya shall kiss him good night, and he will die in Polunochnaya's arms.  And his death each evening and rebirth each morning shall be a symbol of my Son to any who will see it."  The Presence faded then, and I looked around the hall again.  Polunochnaya and Vechemaya had entered the Sky Hall, and knelt to one side.  Boris lay beside Vechemaya, his tongue lolling out and a doggy grin on his face.

         The sisters rose and embraced each other wordlessly.  Utrennaya hugged me, and Boris came over and licked my hand.  The Zorya, I think, will remember this night, and the folly of their argument.

         And I?  I will return to my people, and share the truth I have learned.  I will never forget this night, and I will take comfort in knowing that the Zorya are watching us and guarding us.

         And perhaps, someday, I will climb the crystal stairway again.  But when I do, I shall leave my body behind; it was never meant for the sky world.  Nor shall I stop at the Sky Hall; I will keep climbing until the sky itself is below me, for I will be answering a higher call.

 

 

Copyright 2006, Keesa Renée Dupré

Keesa has known that she wanted to be a writer ever since she was six years old.  Her stories center on the beauty of God's handiwork, whether in nature or human relationships.

Homeschooled all her life, Keesa is currently homeschooling herself through college.  She lives in rural Alabama with her mother, her sister, and her dog.  She enjoys reading and is working towards a sustainable lifestyle.

To keep up with her writing life, visit her blog:

< www.theswordreview.com/Forum/weblog.php?w=3 >.

 

 

Cover: "Fiery Crash" 

On a rugged outpost planet, the incoming shuttle experiences problems. Will anyone survive?

L. S. King shares her Bryce original creation with us, hinting at stories that might be found in The Sword Review or sister publication, Ray Gun Revival < www.raygunrevival.com >, where King is on the editorial team. 

Copyright 2006, L. S. King