Epilogue: Mother Russia
When a man finds himself in motion, he always devises some purpose for that motion. In order to walk a thousand versts a man must believe that something good awaits him at the end of those thousand versts. He must have the prospect of a promised land to give him the strength to go on.
-from War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.
Revelation 21:4
Great nations built from the bones of the dead with mud and straw, blood and sweat, you know your worth when your enemies praise your architecture of aggression.
-from Architecture of Aggression by Megadeth, written by Mustaine/Ellefson
The Church of the Ascension had seen the crowning of the usurper and now, by the grace of God, it was the site of the transference of power to the rightful heir of the legendary Rurik. Metropolitan Gerasim, his wrinkled hands beginning to show the ravages of age, raised his arms in a blessing as the power to rule Moscow and the lands loyal to her was bestowed on Andrei, the strongest living son of Ivan I.
The young man struggled with mixed emotions. Only a week before he had been in this same church to bury his brothers. Semyon had died a hero in battle while Ivan II had shared the fate of a common murderer under the blades of castle guards. Now only Andrei remained as a male heir.
As Gerasim finished the blessing the Man of God felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had been largely powerless during the seizure of power that had occurred, but the guilt still tore at him. The gnawing feeling of personal failure to stand up to the sins of the world was partially assuaged, but he already had plans to fully cleanse himself. He had started writing a new chronicle, a secret history of the reign of Ivan I and II.
The truth would be told.
With the blessing completed, Andrei turned to leave the church, his eyes sweeping over the gathered throng of nobles and religious leaders. Many were only nominally loyal and could not be trusted, but there were those he did trust, and was already forming into a ruling council.
There was the Tartar, Qasim. He would replace Lidiia as the Steward of Moscow. He had already advised the new Grand Duke to adopt a policy of tolerance to the Easterners now under his rule and Andrei planned to heed his advice. The One True Faith would gradually spread to them. Qasim himself had already converted.
His sister Maria and Ivan's widow Rogneda would join the former Muslim as his most trusted advisors. Both women had proved their worth many times and their knowledge of diplomacy and intrigue would be invaluable in the turbulent days that lay ahead.
Finally, there was Anastasia, Semyon's widow. There was still an icy chill in the Lithuanian woman, but there were also hints of a coming spring. She was still mourning her husband, but it remained to be seen if she would recover fully from the tragedies that had visited her over the past few years. Andrei thought that it was likely that she would.
Leaving the church the new Grand Duke was greeted by the brisk winter air. Ringing church bells echoed in his ears as he greeted the people of Moscow for the first time. The mood was one of optimism, of a new beginning after so many false starts.
That night the chosen council met for the first time. The news was mixed, but generally surprisingly favorable. In the east Lithuania had decided to renounce their pagan errors and follow the Bishop of Rome in order to secure a friendship with mighty Poland. For now their focus would be in the west. Elsewhere, the Merchant Republic of Novgorod was seeing her lands in the east slip out of her weakening grasp. It would be a simple matter for Moscow to harvest these lands, hopefully without bloodshed.
By the end of the meeting Andrei was full of confidence for the future. As long as power remained centralized in Moscow the Grand Duchy would gradually grow in strength. One day, perhaps within Andrei's lifetime, they would truly become the rulers of all the Rus.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Dmitri, the village elder of Nilkino, was on his death bed. The old man had survived multiple outbreaks of plague and war, but was no more able to fight off the steady decay of time than any other man. He knew his time was almost up.
"You still have some color." Stanislav, a former priest and longtime friend of the elder, had come to visit, perhaps for the final time.
The older man suppressed a painful cough, his eyes watering. Recovering somewhat he turned his head toward the much younger man. His voice was barely a whisper "I am weak. It will not be long before I see the next world, old friend."
Stanislav involuntarily crossed himself and then set a hand on his friend's arm. "You might still recover."
"No, this is my time. You can feel it when it is. None of us are eternal, but the land is. It will always be there, just like our souls." A drop of blood slid from his cracked lips as he managed a smile.
"I think I understand." The former priest had found meaning for himself in the life of a farmer, after unsuccessfully chasing his purpose first as a priest and then in a religious cult.
Dmitri continued to smile as his eyes closed, never to open again.
He would be returned to the soil, but the truth was he had never truly left it.
--------------------------------------------------------
Feodosia had to laugh. It was a sweet sound, carefree. The ideas children had!
"I am the real man of Russia!" Oleg, her first child, clutched a toy sword in his tiny hands and attempted to draw himself up to attention only to fall on his bottom. As tears poured down his plump face his mother engulfed him in her arms.
Her husband, Fyodor, watched the scene with satisfaction. He had seen his wife emerge from the bitterness of her early life as the "Devil Child" to become a loving wife and mother. Seeing her warmth now it was hard to believe how shy and distant she was when they had first met.
"It looks like the soldier has fallen, but there will be other battles." His eyes locked with hers as she looked up and he felt the same excitement he had experienced on that first night so long ago.
Fyodor joined the embrace, holding both his wife and child close. He rubbed Oleg's head. "There will be time for you to be a man soon enough. Do not rush toward it."
Fyodor almost wished this moment would never end, but its inevitable conclusion was tempered by the news his wife had for him shortly afterward.
She was expecting another child.
----------------------------------------------------------
Anastasia, widow of Semyon, rested her hands on her expanding stomach. As she hummed to herself, feeling the movements of the new life growing inside her, her mind traveled back to the one night she had spent with Semyon, before he had fallen in battle.
She allowed herself a smile at the memory.
What she did not know was the child she was carrying, who would also be named Ivan, would one day rule. Andrei would never father an heir and the succession would fall on Semyon's only male child. This Ivan would take the name of Ivan III and would one day be know as Ivan the Great.
He would complete the annexation of Novgorod and create the Kingdom of Russia.
For now, however, Ivan simply gave Anastasia a reason to have hope and even joy.
She continued to hum silently, feeling the movements of the unborn child, the child that would finally achieve the dream of Moscow.
The End
