The Mother of The Sun


Part V of V.

“Huh?” I say, staring at The Sun’s mother, my pride diminishing.

She is looking down at the girl.

“I didn’t even recognize her,” she sighs. “she’s gotten so old.”

She turns and looks at me, sad-eyed. “You must understand. My son is a very temperamental man. He goes out, he comes home, he stays out all night then spends seven months cooped up in here, moping. But, when his daughter was here, he spent all his days inside. You’ve condemned Russia to eternal darkness.”

I put it together, slowly. “So you? The Leshy?”

The Sun’s mother sighs. “Yes, yes, he took her on my request. And now he is dead.”

I bite my lip. “Not exactly.”

She turns to me and raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I kinda wished him back to life.”


The Sun skips back into the room carrying a tray.

“Is she awake?” he asks.

“Not yet dear,” his mother tells him. “Why don’t you go lay down and I’ll wake you when she comes around. You know you need your rest.”

The Sun shakes his head.

“I’m not leaving her side.”

He places down the tray of teas. His mother sighs. “Very well.”

She walks behind her son. Then, motions for me to follow. The Sun sits, staring at his daughter. As soon as I find myself behind him, The Sun’s Mother pulls a Taser from her pocket and shoves it into her sons neck. He falls face first into his daughter’s lap.

“What the hell!” I cry. The old woman turns the taser to me.

“Give me your damn phone,” she growls. I hand it over. She says something soft and sweet into it, without dialing. Then, places it to her ear.

She begins speaking very fast Russian. All I catch of it is “idiot,” and “peanuts?”

She hangs up and tosses the phone at me.

“You better go, when he wakes and she is gone, you’ll be the first to die.”

I back toward the door.

“You’re giving her back to the Leshy?”

“I’m doing what has to be done,” she says, advancing on me, taser first.

“Okay, okay.”

I open the door and step out.

“And don’t go outside for a few months, when he wakes, I will blame all of this on you. Can’t have a boy blaming his mother for such nonsense, I hope you understand,” she says, slamming the door.

Out in the stairwell I pull a cigarette from my pack. Half way down, a man with long dirty green hair is making his way up. As we pass one another, not a glimmer of recognition flashes in his eyes. He grabs my arm.

“Food?” he mumbles.

I pull my arm away.

“Not a chance,” I snap, nearly falling as I dash down the stairs, out into the darkness.


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