"Only a dream, Granddaughter," said the old woman. "Say you will help me and you will soon wake to your lover."

"No!" cried Avanasy, starting forward. He stopped short, as if something blocked his way. "Ingrid, promise her nothing until she tells you her name."

"Name?" The world swam again. Avanasy drew further away, although he did not move. The doorway tipped and tilted, and Ingrid gripped the frame to steady herself, but the rocking would not cease.

"You go too far, sorcerer," said the old woman behind her, her voice suddenly stern and hard as stone, as bone. "Leave her now and you will have her again when I am finished."

"She has not told you her name, has she?" said Avanasy doggedly, oblivious to the distress he caused. "Shall I tell you what it is?"

"Take care, sorcerer." The Grandmother's voice grew shrill and strange, and Ingrid shivered to hear it. "Your flesh and your iron are far away. You may be compelled to stay here."

"Then you will deal with me, Baba Yaga."

At those words, the world split in two. The stone house and its gardens fell away on either side of Ingrid, leaving behind a room built of bones. Skulls and skeletons of a hundred different animals hung from rafter beams that curved like gigantic ribs. Human skulls framed the fireplace, gaping and grinning. Even the loom in the corner was built of the gruesome ivory. Where the Grandmother had stood so tall and strong now hunched a withered crone who was little more than a skeleton herself under her tattered black robe. Her lips drew back in a grimace of anger, exposing teeth of black iron, and she leaned on a stained and begrimed pestle.

Ingrid opened her mouth to scream but no sound came. Baba Yaga pointed one bony finger at her, and Ingrid felt the touch of it as if it pressed against her heart.

"Ingrid! Come to me!" cried Avanasy. "Wish it so! Ingrid!"

Ingrid backed away even as Baba Yaga's hand curled shut. Ingrid knew the ancient witch meant to cradle her heart in that hand. As impossible as that was, it was also true, and fervently, desperately, she wished she was on Avanasy's boat, standing beside him, looking out across the banks.

And she knew the way. She felt it in her fingertips, a faint but certain tugging, and all she had to do was follow. Now she cried out as she turned and ran, and in a minute she was flying. All the world around her was a blur of blacks, browns and greens. She felt a pain in her side as if claws raked her, but it was brief, and she ran on, flying and running all at once.

And she saw herself, lying limp and corpse white in the little wooden bunk, and then there was darkness, and then she opened her eyes.

The boat rocked hard underneath her and, for a dizzying moment, Ingrid thought she was still in the bone-framed house. But her hand gripped honest wood on the side of her bunk. Her stomach heaved hard with the motion of the vessel for the first time since she was a tiny child, and she had to swallow hard to keep it from spilling out.

What happened? Strange dreams. No, not dreams. Avanasy.

That thought rallied her sea legs and Ingrid threw back the blanket and ran to the ladder. Brisk wind smacked her face as soon as she emerged onto the deck. She had the vague impression of an iron-gray sea and a horizon that might have been the hazy coast or a bank of clouds.

Avanasy slouched beside the rudder, slack-jawed and staring. Ingrid hurried to his side and saw the cord binding his hand to the tiller.

"Avanasy?" she called, but his eyes did not blink. She reached immediately for the cord, but hesitated. What if this was one of his spells? What would happen to him if she broke it? He had saved her from the bony-legged witch, whether that had been a strange dream or a stranger reality, but what would she do if she now had to save him?

Ingrid sat back on her heels. Only the rise and fall of Avanasy's chest told her he still lived. She could not hear his breathing over the sounds of the wind and water. She brushed back her hair where it whipped into her face. The wind was rising. The ropes creaked.

That she could do. She could trim the sails. She could keep the boat upright. She could pray.

The rigging was unfamiliar to her, but it was all neatly done, and it did not take her much looking to understand how the lines ran. She left the mainsail alone, but brought in the stemsail, lashing it tightly. The horizon had darkened. There was land out there, growing closer. That meant shoals, and coves and currents, none of which she knew. Ingrid bit her lip.

Here I am in this new world, and I am useless. Tears stung her eyes. What do I do, Avanasy?

She yearned hard for her answer, and in response came an unaccountable sensation of floating, of drifting far too free, like a boat without mooring. There was danger in this, she knew that too, but still she reached. There was so much out there, the answers, Avanasy.

No, Ingrid.

Ingrid's eyes snapped open. She had not even realized she had closed them. She had leaned out over the gunwale, and she did not remember that either.

Had that been Avanasy? Or the wind? What was happening?

She wanted to reach out again, but realized that in another moment she would have fallen right over the side.

She remembered the last time she had seen Avanasy so incapacitated. He'd asked her to sit by him, to sing, to bring him back into the world.

Ingrid pushed aside all thought of feeling foolish and steeled herself. She put her arms around him, laying her hands over his slack hands.

"Here I sit on Buttermilk hill Who could blame me cry my fill?

Every tear would turn a mill, Johnny's gone for a soldier ..."

She sang of loss, and of sorrow, of a woman who had given everything and was left alone, and she felt whole, rooted impossibly through the deck to the surging ocean, and she felt Avanasy stir.

"Oh my baby, oh my love, Gone the rainbow, gone the dove, Your father was my only love ..."

"Ah!" Avanasy cried out. His head snapped up and for a terrible instant his whole body went rigid with pain. His spasm swung the tiller wildly and Ingrid tightened her hands over his automatically to bring it around again.

Avanasy cried out again, but Ingrid could make nothing of his words. She could only hold him close. In a moment he subsided, and blinked slowly.

"Ingrid?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, but before she could speak, he seized her face with his free hand, bringing her forward to kiss her hard and desperately on the mouth.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he released her. "I'm so sorry, Ingrid. I didn't know."

"Know what, Avanasy? What happened?"

"I can't tell you. Not yet. We need earth and stone under us for those words, not shifting water."

"What ..."

"Trust me in this, Ingrid. Please."

Ingrid closed her mouth, her spine stiffening. Avanasy did not look at her. He instead lifted his knife from where it lay and cut himself free. In another moment, he was busy with line, canvas and tiller. Ingrid sat on the stern bench, scant inches from him, but she felt as if she were suddenly miles away.

The wind blew through her shawl and dress, and she shivered from the cold. She did not clearly know what had happened, but this much she did know. In the space of this moment, all had somehow changed.

The house of bones that bore the name Ishbushka turned on its great, scarred legs. Its windows opened like blank and bleary eyes on the shifting world around it. Beyond the ragged fence of bones that marked its territory, the Vixen sat on her haunches and watched.

"So, you will send another to do your work for you?" The Vixen's tail swished back and forth. She spoke softly, but she knew Ishbushka's mistress heard every word. "She is an unnatural thing, to be sure, but did you really think you could hide her from me?"

The house stopped its restless motion and bent its monstrous legs to kneel on the ground. The rotted door fell open toward the Vixen, who did not even blink. In the doorway stood Baba Yaga, leaning on her pestle, her tattered black robes clinging to her bony frame.

"You have stolen what is mine," rasped the Old Witch. "I will have it back."

The Vixen yawned. "Prove that I have stolen it then. Call me out according to the law." She let her mouth hang open in a wide grin. "But then, you would have to leave your house, wouldn't you?"

Baba Yaga bared her iron teeth. "You think you've won this game. You do not even see the next move, let alone the end of it. You have no idea how far my power reaches."

"At the moment, I'd say it reaches to the edge of your charming yard." The Vixen flicked her tail again. "As I'm sitting here quite undisturbed."

"Think that, then," sneered Baba Yaga. "You've thought many a more foolish thing."

Ishbushka's door shut and the house heaved itself back to its taloned feet to resume its alert and watchful turning. The Vixen gazed at it awhile longer, her own lips drawn back to show just a gleam of her sharp, yellow teeth.

You think I do not see the end of this? she thought. Are you certain you know which game I am playing?

And she was gone.

Chapter Ten.

Avanasy would not look at her.

For her own part, Ingrid found herself remaining determinedly silent. She wrapped her arms around herself and concentrated on the approaching shoreline. It was a rocky coast, as gray as the ocean and about as inviting. A thin border of stunted and twisted trees surmounted the cliffs. As they sailed closer, Ingrid could see the shore was ragged, with countless tiny coves and points. An excellent place for catching shellfish, or for smuggling, but an awful place for boats.

Still, Avanasy seemed to know the shore well. He adjusted the sails with precision for the erratic wind and was an expert hand with the tiller. No wonder Papa had found him such a good sailor, if these were the waters he learned on.

But he still would not look at her.

The land curved around to the port side. Gradually, Ingrid saw that one of the broader cliffs was topped with a mass of stone that had a more regular shape than the tumbled boulders they had been seeing. It was a fortress, squat and massive, with fat turrets obviously meant for keeping watch over the ocean.

"That is Fortress Dalemar," said Avanasy, shouting to be heard over the wind of the water. "When we have landed, I hope to gain us news from there."

Ingrid did not answer him, and she found herself wondering what reason there could be for her own black mood. A whole new world spread out before her. Avanasy sat beside her and she once again wore his ring on her finger. Whatever had happened during their strange crossing, it was over. They were safe on a sea that was obviously familiar to Avanasy, who was an excellent sailor. He had promised her an expianation soon enough. Where was her patience? What was the matter with her?

The truth was, she felt torn. Not between excitement and fear, or any other two emotions she could name. Rather, she felt as if some physical force was literally tugging at her insides, separating out some vitality from the core of her, and it was wrong, this feeling. She knew it. Yet, who was she to say that it was not just the sensation of being taken to a new world? There was no way to tell, until she could ask Avanasy, and Avanasy would not answer until they reached land, and he showed no signs of steering them to harbor just yet.

They sailed around another sharp point, close enough for Ingrid to see the breakers rolling against the rocky beach. In the tiny cove sheltered by the point worked a cluster of people. Some sorted through heaps of seaweed, some cast nets into pools, confirming her thoughts about shellfish. The workers all straightened up as the boat came into view, raising their hands.

"Do they know you?" asked Ingrid.

"I hope not," answered Avanasy. "It is custom, and good luck, to bless any sail that is sighted."

"Ah."

They lapsed into silence again.

At last, Avanasy sailed them through a channel between the rocky shore and, judging from the way the waves broke against them, what must have been some ragged shallows. The cove here was wider than the other, and some sand actually showed between the stones, but the cliffs behind it were high and unbroken, and the way in was narrow. The piles of seaweed on the beach told Ingrid that this was low tide. Yet, this inviting cove was deserted, probably because of the risky entry.

Avanasy sailed them up close to the shore, and finally tossed out the anchor. Without being asked, Ingrid took in the mainsail and lashed it down. Avanasy climbed out into the shallows and gave her his hand. Ingrid pulled off shoes and stockings, knotted the laces so they could be slung about her neck, stuffed the stockings into the shoes, hiked her skirts up around her knees and took his hand. Together they waded to shore.

"I am sorry this is all the welcome I can give you to my home," said Avanasy.

Ingrid looked about her. Now at least somewhat sheltered from the driving wind, Ingrid felt the warm sun on her face and shoulders. Seabirds wheeled overhead, giving calls to each other that were as familiar to her as the feel of the sand under her boots and the bright summer blue of the sky overhead. Unaccountably, the feeling of being pulled apart vanished, and Ingrid found herself able to smile.

"I like the view," she said. "But I believe you must speak to your carpenter about that draft."

Solemnly, Avanasy bowed to her, stretching out one leg and folding his hands over his breast. "As my lady wishes."

They laughed together then, and that laugh was as welcome as the warmth of the sun on her shoulders.

"Can you tell me what happened now?" she asked.

Avanasy sighed and rested his foot against a stone. "Yes, and no."

Ingrid swallowed another burst of impatience. "How is that?"

He stared over the gray waters for a moment, ordering his thoughts. "One of the dangers of the passage through the Land of Death and Spirit is that the powers that live there may take ... notice. They may have use for mortal life, or they may simply desire trouble or blessing. I had thought, asleep as you were, you were safe from interference. A sleeping mind moves more swiftly and more lightly than a waking one, and is far less likely to be noticed, or to be of interest if it is noticed." He ran one hand through his dark gold hair. "But perhaps you did not sleep deeply enough, or, perhaps the Old Witch was looking for someone ..." He shook his head, anger creasing his brow. "I cannot say more clearly, and I wish I could. Whatever the case, she was able to lure you from the safety of the boat." His frown grew sharper. "What I do not understand is how she was able to make you walk as spirit. She should not have been able to separate soul from flesh."

"I should hope not," said Ingrid, growing chill despite the warm sun.

"There exists natural law, even in the Silent Lands. There are things which cannot be done."

"And you know all those laws?"

"No, Ingrid. I don't."

"Ah."

He knelt in front of her, taking her left hand in his. "Should I have turned you away, Ingrid? Left you on the shores of your own world?"

She touched his lovely cheek. "No. I would not have let you in any case." She squared her shoulders. "Assuming there is no more immediate danger from that witch, what do we do now?"

"We secure the boat more firmly and walk to the nearest village. There I should be able to barter for news from the fortress. I may even still have friends there."

"A sensible plan," said Ingrid, getting to her feet. "Shall we begin?"

"You are not tired? Or hungry?"

"No. I feel remarkably well."

Again, Avanasy frowned.

"I should not feel so well, should I?"

"In truth, Ingrid, I do not know."

His words sent a thrill of fear through Ingrid, but she pushed it aside. What would come would come. She was past caution now. Her decision had been made back on Sand Island, a whole wide world away.

So, Ingrid knotted her skirts into her waistband and together they returned to the boat, unshipped the mast, gathered their belongings, such as they were, into bundles that could be slung over their shoulders. Finally, they drew a canvas over the hatch. As he tightened the lashings, Avanasy breathed out some words Ingrid could not understand and spat on the last knot. For a moment, he closed his eyes, and Ingrid saw a look of peace steal over him. When he opened his eyes and saw her staring, he actually blushed.