"She is here! She is here! We have found her! Starosta! Come quickly!"
"Where is she? Oh…Snegurochka…my dear…"
Strong, but gentle arms lifted her, and despite their tenderness she whimpered in agony. She couldn't open her eyes, it felt as if great weights had been pressed down upon them. It felt as if every square inch of her body carried bruises and abrasions, jagged cuts and tears.
"There is so much blood, starosta…is it possible she will survive?"
"But what happened to her? I have heard of someone's hair turning white from a great shock before, but this?"
"Hush now, Avelya."
"Ilya…" she mewled.
"Starosta! She said something!"
"My poor Snegurochka, hush now. We will take you to where it is safe and warm. You will never have to see this place again."
She tried to protest, but her struggles were lost as she fell once more into oblivion.
"Ilya!"
"Ssh, Snegurochka, be still. You are still very unwell." The quavery voice brought her to herself with a start. The concern and relief it contained momentarily overwhelmed her.
A strangled gasp escaped her as the wracking agony of suddenly bolting upright caught up with her. Fortunately the starosta was there, and with his always unexpected hardiness, was able to help ease her shaking body back down onto the pillows.
"Starosta…where am I?" she croaked.
"Just look, child, and be comforted."
Blearily, she looked around her from amidst her pillows. She was in the starosta's house, but not on her pallet. Instead she was in the old man's own bed, which was large, it having been the one he had once shared with his wife.
Everything she saw was so intimately known to her, and yet so strangely foreign. It felt like she had not seen the inside of his home in many years.
"But…what about…"
"Drink first, then you should sleep more. It is the best balm for your wounds." He held a mug to her lips and she obediently drank, grimacing as the cold liquid hit the splits and gashes in her skin. It was only water, but it went down like no ambrosia ever could, soothing her dry and sore throat and reaching into extremities with refreshing coolness.
However, after a few moments, she began to squirm.
"Very well, Snegurochka," the starosta said with a sigh, placing the mug of water on a table to one side. "I will allow you a few questions. It is not a fair trade, you know. We have so many of our own."
"Ilya," she rasped, throat raw. It seemed they had not bothered to heal her injuries when they remade her form. Desperately she hoped the tenets of her punishment would not manifest with the starosta so nearby. "Where is Ilya?"
"We do not know, we were hoping this was something you could tell us. But who did this to you? Who burned down the chapel?"
"Burned…down…?"
"It seems you did not even know that…Six days have passed since you left the gathering so suddenly, to return to your Popiy. Four days after that we saw black smoke rising from that direction and hurried to see what happened. We found the chapel devastated by fire, and you some distance away in the wood."
"A demon," she whispered. "A demon came to the chapel."
"Perhaps it truly was," the old man mused. "I am sure that the spirits do not appreciate the Popiy's attempts to make them part of his Christian world. Do you think it stole the Popiy away?"
"Yes," she breathed, bowing her head. "I think it did." How much to tell him? That the demon now wore the cherished face of her precious Father Gavril? No…that would merely lead to superstitious paranoia. Czernobog was undoubtedly long gone from this place, busy with his plans for Ilya's body.
"Do you know where they could have taken him?"
"No," she realized with a sob. "I have…I have no clue as to his whereabouts. I do not even know where or how to start looking!"
"Ssh, Snegurochka. It will be right. You don't need to find him. We have several out now looking for him."
"No," she repeated, voice now even more distorted with tears. "No, I must be the one to find him. Only I can free him."
There was a long moment of silence as the starosta thought over her words. It was plainly evident he thought her raving.
"I am sure it is so," he finally told her soothingly. "But you will do no good to anyone in the state you are in. Forgive me, my child, but I took the liberty of slipping a few things into the water you drank, and you will be sleeping soon. Do not fear, it will be without dreams. The best medicine right now is rest."
Brokenly she nodded and closed her eyes, willing the herbs to do their merciful work quickly.