| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Anna Kashina / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti |
| Make a donation to this writer |
| Marya |
The crowd by the village well watched in silence as my guards and I rode up to them along the muddy
track. I signaled the wagon driver to wait, and walked my horse in the direction indicated by the hesitant
glances, on to the people lining the street and eventually to an izba at the end of the lane.
It was an old, crooked house. The chipped, moss-covered logs composing its walls were laid unevenly, as
if placed by a drunken builder. The man and woman standing in the doorway looked sullen. As I rode up
and stopped my horse in front of their broken fence, there was a moment's silence that made me
wonder if force was going to be necessary after all. Then the man turned and pulled somebody from the
darkness beyond the doorway. A girl.
"Mistress," he said in a cracked voice. "This is my youngest daughter."
I nodded, surveying my quarry.
She was wearing a plain linen dress that looked baggy on her. Her head was lowered, her hair covered by
a dirt-gray knitted scarf. Her pale face was swollen from tears.
"Remove your scarf," I ordered.
Her fingers trembled as she hastened to obey, revealing a mass of dark blond hair, of the most common
color one could find in villages. She had pulled it all back into a tight braid, and tucked it into her dress—a
hairstyle that came in handy during housework. What showed of her braid, though, looked thick enough
to be pleasing. I leaned forward in the saddle to take a closer look at her face. Her features were regular
and would have been pretty if her face wasn't so puffed up from crying. Instinct told me she was a
virgin, as the villagers must believe about her. Everyone knew for the Sacrifice Maiden virginity was an
absolute must.
I straightened in the saddle, turning to look at the frightened faces all around me. The silence was almost
palpable. I could feel their anxiety upon me, and I couldn't afford to feel.
"Very well," I told my guards. "Bring her along."
Amidst the suppressed sighs of relief, I turned my horse and left the village.
***
I have no idea why he caught my eye. He looked like an ordinary villager, complete with straw-colored
hair, cornflower eyes, and a smile of wonder on his freckled face. He pushed through the rapidly parting
crowd on the main city plaza and stopped right in front of me, forcing our entire procession to halt in my
wake.
"You're in my way," I told him.
He smiled like a child who had been offered a candy.
"You're so beautiful!" His clear voice rang through the deadly quiet plaza.
I had been told this many times by men much more impressive than him. And yet, these words had
never meant anything to me beyond a plain acknowledgement of a well-known fact. They never made me
feel like this.
They never made me feel.
"What's your name?" he asked.
It was his eyes, I realized. Their cornflower blue held such warmth, such mischievous vigor as I had never
seen before.
I forced my gaze away, over the frozen crowd of onlookers, toward my guards.
"Get him out of my way," I ordered, urging my horse forward toward the castle.
There was a whiplash and gasps behind me, but I never turned to look.
***
I am Marya Tzarevna, Mistress of the Solstice, daughter of Tzar Kashchey the Immortal.
People call him Kashchey the Undead. Not true. He does have a Death, and his Death does dwell on the
tip of the Needle, just as the legends say. Breaking the Needle is the only thing that could kill my father,
but he'd taken precautions to make sure it would ever happen. He made the Needle sturdy, so no mortal
hands could possibly break it. And, he made it look ordinary, like other sewing needles. No mortal could
possibly tell them apart. The Needle is quite safe, sitting among the others in my sewing box, right in my
room. My father trusts me, his only living daughter, with his own Death.
Legends depict Kashchey as a withered old man, a walking corpse, but what is the fun of being immortal
if you have to spend eternity in such a miserable form? He looks young and handsome, a dark man
whose charms cannot leave any woman unfeeling. Not until he is tired of playing with them.
It is rumored my mother had been one of them, the most beautiful woman in the world, a victim of his
dark passions. It is rumored she loved him more than life and he betrayed her. I don't know and I don't
care. I am the Mistress of the Solstice and I know no love. We are two of a kind, my father and I.
***
My room greeted me with the soothing calmness of its bare stone walls. My Raven was asleep on his
perch. Stepping quietly not to wake the old bird, I walked straight to my Mirror.
Its surface was misty-gray, reflecting nothing until a question was asked. As always, I started with the
question I had been asking the Mirror ever since I was twelve.
"Show me the most beautiful woman in the world."
The gray mist thinned and disappeared, revealing my own face. I knew I would see myself, and I could
have simply asked the Mirror to show my reflection, but I always found this simple ritual soothing to my
pride. I met the reflection of my green eyes and smiled. My face in the Mirror smiled back at me, pale and
powerful.
It was the next question that made everything wrong.
"Show me my thoughts."
My face disappeared. The gray mist wavered beneath the smooth surface of the glass, and then…
I was staring into a pair of shiny eyes, blue like cornflowers, innocent like the eyes of a newborn baby.
His freckled face was smiling, his straw hair standing on end just the way it had back in the plaza. And a
sparkle in the blue depths of his eyes pierced me to my very soul.
I drew back, nearly falling over. I shouted: "Stop!" to the Mirror, and his face was immediately replaced
by the grayish mist. Raven awoke on his perch and shrieked hoarsely, trying to get my attention. But I
could see nothing except the cornflower eyes, could hear nothing except those words, which he had
uttered so stupidly back on the palace plaza. You're so beautiful…
"How dare he!" I whispered. "How dare he tell me I am beautiful!"
"Because you are, Marya," the Raven said quietly. "You're the most beautiful maiden in the world."
"I am not a maiden!" I retorted, the sound of the Raven's voice somewhat calming me down. Maidens are
virgins, and by my father's Death I was not a virgin! I will not be caught in these bonds!
I knew what I had to do.
***
I cannot be bonded by love. All my life is devoted to keeping me detached from its destructive power.
When I find myself dangerously concerned with thoughts of a man, I know a perfect remedy.
I go and share my bed with another.
I know my enemy enough to understand this. Love is sensual. When you fall in love, what bonds you
most is the dependence of your mind and body on the sense of touch. You desire a man physically more
than mentally, and more so than anyone cares to admit. Therefore, to fight love, all you have to do is
divide the desires of your body and mind. And the first step is to sleep with a different man.
It throws you off for a while, giving you an odd sense of duality. It makes you float between earth and
sky, blown back and forth by emotions, like winds, on all sides. You lose the subject of your love in a
blur that are all men in the world, a blur of arms, bodies, caresses. Love is pain, and this simple recipe
allows you to numb it until you sort things out. And in the end it works like a charm.
***
To seek a man outside the palace I had to look like a commoner. Best of all, like a village girl who was
adventurous enough to run away from her parents to attend her first Solstice. Such maidens act under a
perception that the coming Solstice breaks all boundaries, and they are common objects of protection by
wandering knights and easy prey for passionate men.
I decided to change my black hair into reddish brown, making it shorter, about waist-long, and curly
instead of wavy. I kept my eyes green, giving them a touch of brown at the edges. I shaped my
eyelashes shorter and lighter, aiming for the subtle look of adventurous inexperience. Big, strong men
fall for this kind of thing.
My long black dress was replaced by an ordinary peasant outfit, with the neckline low enough in front to
show a tiny bit of cleavage. Enough to provoke, but not to reveal. Looking over my final appearance, I
added some fullness and color to the cheeks and decided this would do.
The best place to find a man adequate to my needs was the tavern adjoining the palace plaza, and that
was where I went. The tavern was full at this hour. The huge common room was alit with packs of
lanterns swarming over the counter, leaving the corners in deep shadow. Thick vapors of ale, sweat, and
cheap stew hung in the air like a curtain. The background hum exploded here and there with roars of
thunderous laughter. Waves of smells and sounds carried through to enfold each newcomer into a
breathtaking cocoon. I paused in the doorway, adjusting my assaulted senses to a new level of tolerance.
As I made my way inside, gazes slid over me like thick, oiled fingers, reaching as far inside as my outfit
would allow. The force of the sensation made me shudder. I walked between the tables, running my gaze
through row after row of the worst our kingdom had to offer. One good lover was all I needed. I forced
my eyes not to turn away from anyone, even as the plain filth of their gazes brought inadvertent color to
my cheeks.
I ran another hopeless glance around the room. And then I saw him. Late twenties, dark, lean, muscular.
A ladies' man for sure. I met his eyes, then blushed and looked away, making sure the contact was
established. His eyes studied me with a burning intensity that made my heart race with anticipation.
There was a group of rogues at the counter, the redness of their faces suggesting they had been here
for a while. They seemed suitable. I made my way toward them, and chose a lonely spot in good view of
my future hero.
It wasn't long before one of the rogues turned his boar-like face to me. His beady eyes, clouded with ale,
seemed to have no expression at all.
"Barman!" he thundered. "This beauty here needs a drink!"
I blushed, putting on a look of unease, turning around as if searching for possible help. I saw my hero in
the corner watching, and I did my best not to show my awareness of him.
"Come here, wench!" the man continued, waving to me and struggling to get up.
It is not going to work, I thought. He's too drunk. They are all too drunk.
But I wasn't about to give up. I waved my hands in pretended agitation, making awkward attempts to
move away with my chair and in the struggle letting my scarf slide off my shoulders to the floor. As I
bent to pick it up, I made sure to reveal a glimpse of my breasts to the rogue, looking up at him with the
helplessness this type of men find inviting.
This finally gave him the necessary boost. He fought his way out of his chair and rushed toward me,
bumping into tables, causing his drunken companions to laugh at his back. I backed off, pressing against
the wall, leaving myself open for him to do his worst.
Nothing is more stimulating to heroes than a maiden in distress, and I wasn't going to miss my chance
to look like one. He tore at my dress, leaving holes big enough to allow glimpses of my bare body. He
reached for my hair, grabbing the comb that held it in place, freeing my reddish-brown curls to fall
loosely all the way down to the waist. The only thing I didn't let him do was leave any marks on me. I had
to look my best for later.
I hadn't realized the man I had picked for myself was such a good fighter. He jumped from his corner,
swift as a lightning, and struck down my attacker with a single blow. There were at least three rogues
who came to the aid of the fallen man, and he knocked down each of them with quick and final strokes,
aimed so expertly none of his opponents even let out a sound. Not bothering to see if any of them
would rise, he turned to me as I was standing against the wall trembling, tears running down my face.
"You are so brave…sir," I whispered, reaching for my scarf and holding it over my torn blouse.
"You shouldn't be alone in such a place," he said with concern. "Let me walk you home."
"Thank you, sir." I reached out for his offered hand and drew back again, as one of the holes in my dress
opened wider from my movement.
"I suppose you are in no shape to go outside," he said in a fatherly tone.
"I have my needlework with me," I whispered. "If I could only find a place to repair my dress…"
"I am staying in this tavern," he said. "Would you consider going to my room? I promise you'll be safe in
there."
I looked into his eyes and smiled. A smile of trust. Of truce. Of hidden promise.
"You are my savior," I said. "I trust you with my life and honor."
***
Seduction is the only love-game I am allowed, and I savor it. There is nothing more exciting than playing
on the man's weaknesses to make him want me more than anything, and then to allow him to court me
and slowly win my favor. I especially enjoy the way ladies' men do it. They take you over completely,
inside and outside. They take you into a faraway place where your body becomes a pure essence of
ecstasy under their skillful hands. They worship you like a goddess who granted her mortal admirer a
moment of her presence.
And then, when all is over, they leave you forever. For they are the wanderers, the seekers, and a
woman is interesting to them only if she is new.
But I never wait this long. I like to leave first, before the break of dawn, before the memory of the
ecstasy grows cold on my naked body, until next time. I turn into a dove, my bird form, and fly home, to
my tower in the Tzar's palace. I fly as a dove, above love. I fly free.
***
I landed on the windowsill and folded my dove wings, shaking off the dampness of the night air outside.
My head still swam with the memories.
I flew to the floor in front of the Mirror and devoted my full attention to changing my shape back to its
human form. I watched my hair in the Mirror grow down to its normal length, turning from brown to its
usual raven-black. My face, losing its rosy cheeks to become thin and pale again. I pulled my long black
dress over my head, its silky folds sliding down my body, hiding it from view. The adventurous peasant
girl disappearing, the Mistress of the Solstice coming back in her full might.
And then I saw a shape behind me, by the window.
A man.
He stepped from the shadows towards me, slowly coming into view. I watched as if in a dream his
freckled face, his straw hair, his cornflower eyes smiling at me with such gentleness my heart nearly
stopped beating in fear of scaring it away.
"Hello, Marya Tzarevna," he said.
His clothes looked different, more appropriate for the audience with the Tzar's daughter than the one he
had on back at the palace plaza. The fine linen shirt was embroidered at the neck with an elaborate red
pattern. His dark baggy pants and the straw lapti on his feet looked new. I could see the strong line of
his neck running into the wide opening of the shirt, the muscle of his arms, the width of his shoulders
under the bleached linen. He bore no visible weapon, but his body was lean and fit like that of a warrior.
I forced the thoughts of his body away.
"Who are you?" I demanded. "How did you get here?"
"I'm Ivan."
His smile was hard to resist. I lowered my eyes not to get caught in it. Names. Why did I let him tell me
his name? How did he trick me into this bond?
He reached into his shirt and pulled out a slightly crumpled bouquet of purple and yellow flowers.
"I brought this for you," he said.
I looked. In my dazed state, I even reached out to take it before realizing what it was.
The purple and yellow that caught my eye weren't the two kinds of wild flowers, as it first seemed. They
actually belonged to a single plant, one of the most common ones found in the nearby forests. In this
strange plant the top leaves turned purple to conceal the bright yellow flowers underneath, which made
them look like flowers of two kinds, gathered into a single inflorescence.
To reflect this duality, people gave the plant a double name.
Ivan-and-Marya.
My outstretched hand wavered and the flowers cascaded down onto the floor.
He continued to look at me, the warmth of his gaze sending shivers through my body.
"See?" he said. "There's a flower named after us. You and me."
I must call the guards, I thought. This is going too far.
"If you don't leave this instant…" I began. But he still didn't hear me.
"You are beautiful beyond belief," he said.
I shrugged, struggling to keep my sanity.
"Of course I am. Don't you know I'm the most beautiful woman in the world?"
"You are, indeed! And, yet, no legends could possibly do you justice."
He reached over and took my hand.
It felt like a surge of fire. My hand melted into his touch like a drop of ice into a patch of spring sunlight.
The warmth of his skin, the brush of his fingers against mine echoed through my body.
I had known the touch of many men. I didn't even care to remember how many. But now it seemed like
the first time. I felt helpless, vulnerable. I stood unprotected, feeling naked under his gentle gaze.
His touch.
I saw a movement out of the corner of my eyes. His gaze wavered and his hand dropped away from mine
as he stepped back to look at the newcomer. His body tensed up, graceful like a wolf posing for a leap.
A strange mix of relief and regret washed over me as I watched the tall, stately figure clad in black cross
the room in a few surefooted strides.
My father, Kashchey the Immortal.
His eyes burned like coals in his pale face, framed by the dark, long hair.
"Stand back, Marya," he said calmly.
I wanted to step aside. But a strange power seemed to control me. It opened my lips and shaped them
into words I hadn't meant to say.
"But, father…"
He looked at me in surprise. His gaze hardened as he saw me the way I was—shivering, dazed. Lost.
"What will you do?" I whispered.
"Only what's necessary, Marya," my father assured me.
Step aside, foolish girl. Step aside, Marya Tzarevna. Let your father release you. Let him set things right
for you before he suspects that you, Mistress of the Solstice, are so close to the feeling that must never
touch your soul.
I ordered my feet to move, to leave the space open for my father's deadly powers. But Ivan didn't waste
any time. He rushed straight to my sewing box and brought out a Needle.
The Needle. My father's Death.
"How did you know…" my breath caught in my throat. How did he pick the right one?
"Stay where you are, Kashchey!" Ivan said. "Or, I'll kill you." His voice was quiet, almost friendly.
"I doubt it," my father said calmly. "Only an Immortal can break this Needle. And, you don't look
Immortal to me. But in a moment we'll know for sure." He raised his hands.
Ivan held the Needle in front of him, in the way of the upcoming blast.
"You can break it, Kashchey," he said. "Can't you?"
My father hesitated.
"You fool! Put the Needle back!" I exclaimed. I meant it to sound threatening. It came out as a plea.
Ivan's gaze softened.
"I'm sorry, Marya," he said. "I know that you care for your father. I don't want to do anything to hurt
you. It's just that…"
My father lowered his hands and crossed his arms on his chest. He looked amused.
"It would seem," he said, "you've come here to play with things you don't understand, boy. Why don't
you hand the Needle back first? I'd hate for it to get messy with your blood and all."
He paused looking straight at Ivan. I knew this look could send people into nervous fits. Yet, Ivan the
Fool simply stared back. He showed no emotion, and his very calmness screamed caution at the back of
my mind. Despite his youth, despite his mellow looks and plain clothes, he looked almost like a worthy
foe.
What was he?
"I'll give it back," Ivan said after a pause. "If you promise to give up the Solstice Sacrifice."
A smile creased my father's pale lips.
"You're not an Immortal, boy," he said, "I am sure of it. From your simple looks, I also assume you don't
know what you're dealing with. Who put you up to this?"
"Everyone knows what the Solstice Sacrifice is really for," Ivan said quietly. "You use the virgin's souls to
feed your power, Kaschey. I'm here to put a stop to this."
I stepped forward.
"You are mistaken," I told Ivan. "People say all things about the sacrifice, but you shouldn't listen to
rumors. The sacrifice is necessary to…"
My father's look stopped me. Something in his face made my knees suddenly go weak. It couldn't
possibly be true. The rumors were wrong. People didn't know what they were talking about.
Did they?
"Fine," Kaschey said with bloodcurdling quietness. "Be a good boy, tell me who put you up to this, give
me back the Needle, and I'll let you go. Just this once."
Ivan met his gaze. He still looked calm, too calm for someone facing my father's fury.
"I challenge you, Kashchey," Ivan said.
"Challenge me?" The chill in my father's voice sent shivers through my skin.
"I know the rules, Kashchey," Ivan said. "You must now give me a task, and if I fulfill it before the
Solstice, you must do what I ask."
My father stood back, his face becoming sarcastic.
"Very well, boy," he said. "If you insist. I always ask my daughter, Marya, to invent the challenges. She
does it really well."
Both men turned to me. Keeping my gaze on my father, I stood up straight, feeling so lightheaded that
the floor swayed under my feet.
I didn't want this boy to die. And yet, his foolishness left me no choice.
"The Solstice is in three days," I said. "Bring us the Water of Life from the Hidden Stream by that time.
Then, my father will consider your claim."
I let out a breath, catching approval in my father's face. We both knew this was an impossible task to
fulfill. To walk to the Hidden Stream from our kingdom took months. No one could make it in three days,
even if he had my Midnight horse, the fastest horse in the world. And, even if by some miracle Ivan
found himself in the right place at the right time, the Hidden Stream would never reveal itself to a mortal.
I was leaving Ivan no chance at all. He was going to die, like many before him. But he didn't seem to care.
"Very well, Kashchey," he said with a smile. "See you in three days." He turned to me, his face becoming
gentle. Warmth washed over me, but I forced it away. Whatever this boy made me feel didn't matter
anymore.
"I'll see you soon, Marya," Ivan said.
"I don't think so," I mumbled under my father's sarcastic gaze.
A shadow ran over his face. He put the Needle away into a pouch at his belt. Then he jumped over the
windowsill and disappeared.
My father and I stood for a long time looking at each other.
"It wasn't true what he said about the sacrifice," I said. "Was it?"
"Come now, Marya, you've never been the one to listen to silly rumors."
"No."
Father's gaze became thoughtful.
"Someone's helping the boy," he said. "Someone powerful enough to challenge me."
"Powerful enough to fulfill my task?"
"Let's hope not."
***
The girl's dark blond braid was now visible to its full length, reaching down almost to her knees. I wasn't
mistaken about her hair when I thought it was thick enough to look pleasing when let loose. In fact, very
few girls had hair strong enough to grow this long. Her face was still swollen with tears. Her shy, grayish-
blue eyes studied me with fear.
"What's your name?" I asked, watching her walk to the indicated place in the middle of the room.
"I am Alyona, mistress," she answered in half-whisper.
"How old are you, Alyona?"
"Sixteen, mistress." Her voice faded and two large tears rolled down her cheeks.
I took the girl by the hands, sending some calm into her, just as my father taught me to do.
"You understand, Alyona, that it's a great honor to be chosen for the Solstice. You'll be sacrificed for the
good of our land and help all the villages in the kingdom to survive another season. Only the most
beautiful and worthy maidens ever get this honor."
"I am very honored, mistress." Another tear ran down her face. I tried to ignore it, looking instead at her
lowered eyelashes, the soft curve of her profile, the slender neck. The rest was concealed by the baggy
dress she was still wearing, but my serving women assured me her body looked good all the way down.
"Are you a virgin, Alyona?" I asked.
She blushed so deeply even her neck turned crimson, and slightly nodded her head.
"Good," I said, smiling at her, making her feel more at ease. "I think you will be perfect for your
important role. You won't betray our trust, will you, Alyona?"
"I will not, mistress," she said firmly, biting her lip.
"Good. My servants will see to your needs and help you get ready." I waved to my maids to lead her
away.
***
The surface of the lake was still as a mirror, reflecting the light blue and pink of the sunset sky. The
evening mist was already floating over the water, its flat wisps spreading lower than the tall reeds, whose
thickets concealed the real banks of the lake. Tiny swirls of current circled under the smooth surface. I
knew the lake like a horse knows its stead, I knew exactly where it was best to come to the shore
through the hidden paths among the reeds, I knew where one could enter the water safely, and where
the treacherous current pulled you right down, into the weeds that would hold you underwater to your
death.
The water was warm, like milk fresh from a cow. I felt the currents caress my body, gently pulling me into
their whirling flow, letting me float easily in their supporting hands. I watched the smooth spears of the
reeds going down through the dark amber water, clear all the way to the bottom where the green weeds
wavered like long strands of hair. Further upstream was a wide, deep place where the turmoil of the
water created a standing whirlpool—the Sacrifice Pool. Treacherously calm on the surface, the waters in
that place pulled you right in, towards the wavering locks of green slimy weeds on the bottom, which
caught you in their net of death. That was a place where the Sacrifice Maiden had to go. Where Alyona
would disappear today, as many girls had before her.
My servants were waiting on the shore. I stood still while they dried my body and my hair with a long
soft cloth, while they clad me in my white ritual dress. The only words I could say before the Drink of
Love was ready were the words of the sacred chant of the herbs, passed from one Mistress of the
Solstice to another.
I enjoyed the quiet evening hour all by myself in the slumbering forest. I walked among the trees,
through the glades, along the riverbanks. I was seeking out the herbs, collecting them, counting them to
the slow rhythm of the incantation. Thick, fresh-smelling catnip stems crowned by their umbrella-like
inflorescence of tiny blossoms. Cozy, yellow-and white chamomiles with their faint medicinal smell.
Elegant lychnis its flowers of fluffy pink resembling tiny campfires—villagers called it goritsvet, the fire-
flower. Fleshy honeyed balls of red clover, and long and fragile stems of bluebells. In the shade of the
forest hedge, I searched for the deep purple flowers of nightshade. Just a pinch.
A glimpse of purple caught my eye. I stuck my free hand into the tall grass and pulled out a flower.
Panic-stricken, I held it before my eyes. The pile of freshly collected herbs poured down from my arms, a
rain of smells and colors. I froze, looking at the flower in my hand.
Purple leaves on top almost hid from eye the delicate yellow flowers underneath.
Ivan-and-Marya.
I threw the purple-and-yellow flower as far away as I could, and slowly sank down into the grass to
collect the pile I dropped, and to regain the concentration I needed to finish my task.
When I finally entered the glade where the Solstice celebration was to take place, it was almost dark. One
could still see the last evening light crowning the tops of the trees in the west. But this light was soon
going to fade, dimmed by the tall bonfire in the center of the large open space. I slowly walked across,
straight to the fire, where a huge boiling kettle was set aside for me to make my brew. I walked, barely
noticing people circling in the glade, people wearing wreaths of wild flowers around their heads, people
hastily moving aside to make way for me. I walked, my arms full of herbs, the incantation with its slow
rhythm pounding in my head.
Herbs of the magic brew, six and six,
Blend at my will into potent mix…
My serving women formed a circle around the kettle, hiding it from view, producing a lonely spot for me
to do my magic. I settled on the grass, chanting, sorting out the herbs, counting their stems to make
the exact amount needed for the Drink of Love. Through the air of detachment surrounding me I could
hear the voices outside my magic circle—people singing as they circled in a dance around the glade. But I
paid no heed to them.
Six herbs of darkness, six herbs of light…
My pile of herbs was getting smaller as the brew became thicker, gradually acquiring its rich, sweet smell.
I watched the brew grow dark-blue, almost black, swirling as the dark herbs, speck after speck,
disappeared in its dark depths. The smell was so dizzying a carelessly taken breath could easily cloud an
unprepared mind.
…Grant me the power, grant me the sight.
I threw in the last ingredient and spoke in my head the last line of the incantation. The Drink of Love was
ready. I turned to my servants and gave them a nod.
***
Alyona was beautiful in her ceremonial garb that mirrored mine—a long white dress, a wreath of lilies
crowning her long, loose hair. She looked ghostly, almost transparent, as she was led through the glade
by a procession of men and women from the palace, each holding a candle in their hands. Her eyes were
closed and my father, walking behind, carefully guided her steps.
A fine gift to the Solstice she is, I thought. Her death will ensure the gods' favor and the prosperity of
our kingdom, as has been the tradition for years past, for ages to be.
As the procession stopped before me, I took a mouthful of the rich, bittersweet brew and, fighting the
feeling of lightheadedness it gave me, held out the ladle for Alyona to drink. My father and two serving
women had to guide her to me and to support her as she took a sip with trembling lips.
As she swallowed the bittersweet drink, she shuddered from head to toe and moved on like a
sleepwalker, guided by the women's hands. I served the drink to my father, briefly meeting his gaze.
Trying to distance myself from the power of the brew, I continued to hold out the ladle for each and
every one of my subjects, until the giant kettle was almost empty, and there were no more people
waiting to receive their share.
Everyone was by now crowded at the Sacrifice Pool, carrying candles. Tiny dots of light reflected in the
still waters of the lake like stars, flickering in the slight movement of the night air.
Two women at Alyona's sides pulled off her white dress, leaving her naked. She was to be given to
Kupalo as a bride, and her white garments had to fall for their wedding night. I admired her beauty in the
wavering candlelight. The aura of the Solstice made this common village girl look like an immortal spirit of
the river. Everyone stepped aside as I approached her and laid my hands on her shoulders.
"Great God Kupalo," I said. "Accept this maiden as our gift to your powers and a token of the coming
season. May love stay with your subjects, may our fields be fertile and our cattle be aplenty, may you
take what you need and leave us what you will."
"Go," I whispered to her gently, turning her around and pushing her towards the water.
She walked forward on trembling legs, straight into the Sacrifice Pool. The waiting waters reached out to
her like welcoming arms. She swayed and disappeared from sight almost instantly, without any struggle.
As the water covered the top of her head, her lily wreath came loose, floated a little way and sank beside
her.
There was a silence. Then, one by one, the people around us set their wreaths afloat in the glimmering
candlelit waters and turned to leave the lakeside.
"You did it, Marya," my father whispered at my side as the last of them walked through the line of
bushes onto the distant glade.
There was a crackle in the bushes and a shape emerged into the moonlight. It was a man, carrying a flat
rectangular shape that let off a gleam as he set it into the grass.
Ivan.
I was certain I'd never see him again. And now, his mere presence made me shiver. Entranced, I watched
him step forward, holding out a hand.
There was a small vial in his open palm that emanated faint glow.
"This is the Water of Life," he said. "I brought it. I did what you asked."
"I don't believe you," my father whispered. "It was a task impossible to fulfill."
A row of silent shadows emerged from the darkness along the edge of the glade.
The Immortals. My breath caught in my throat as I watched my father with sudden fear. Could the
rumors about the sacrifice be true?
"It was impossible for a mortal," Ivan agreed. "But I had help."
My father's face lost a shade of confidence as he ran his eyes around the glade.
"This is a hoax," he said. "Even with the help of the Immortals, you couldn't have done it in three days!"
"It is the Water of Life," Ivan said. "If you don't believe me, Kashchey, I'll show you how it works,"
He tucked away the vial, pulled off his shirt, and jumped straight into the Sacrifice Pool.
"Good," my father said. "He saved us the trouble."
There was a sound of flapping wings and Raven flew out of the darkness and settled on a branch above
our heads.
"The Immortals are gathering," he croaked. "I must join in."
There was a rustle as the shapes around the edge of the glade nodded their heads. They were all here, I
realized. The hag, Yaga, and her cousins, the spirits of the forest, water, and swamps. The ancient and
powerful beasts, the Wolf, the Bear, and the Cat. And, my Raven.
"What do you all want?" my father demanded.
The silent shapes remained still. After a long moment there was splashing behind the bushes, followed
by rustling of the reeds and sounds of something heavy crushing through the forest undergrowth. A
silhouette outlined itself against the moonlit waters of the lake. A man carrying something heavy in his
arms.
A naked woman's body.
"Alyona?"
Entranced, I watched Ivan come up to us and lay her gently on the ground.
She was quite dead, as far as I could tell. The green weeds covered her arms and legs and tangled in her
long wet hair. She was paler than the moon, now shining brightly in the sky, and her half-opened eyes
didn't have a single spark of life in them. A grimace of agony twisted her once-pretty face into an ugly
snarl.
I sank to the ground, my legs suddenly unable to support my own weight. Tears flooded my eyes as I
took her cold stiff hand.
"Don't cry, Marya," Ivan said to me gently. "I brought life to her."
He opened the faintly glowing vial and sprinkled water over Alyona's body.
Her grimace gradually smoothened out into a peaceful expression. Color flowed back into her cheeks. Her
eyes closed and then reopened, filled with new life.
"Mistress," she whispered, seeing me bend over her.
I took her into my arms and sobbed until I couldn't cry anymore.
"Here're your clothes," Ivan said to her, reappearing with her white ceremonial dress in his hands.
We helped her back into the dress. She straightened out, throwing her wet hair behind her back and
looking around the glade with a dazed expression. Then she turned and walked away on unsteady legs.
"She'll be lost," I made the move to go after her.
"Don't worry," Ivan told me. "The Immortals will guide her."
"Give me back the Needle," my father demanded.
"Do you uphold your end of it, Kashchey? Do you give up the Solstice sacrifice?"
"Give me back the Needle!"
Ivan reached down into the grass and picked up the rectangular object he had put there earlier.
My Mirror.
"How did you…" I whispered.
Ivan turned to me, the guarded expression on his face melting into a smile.
"It's for you, Marya," he said. "I brought it here so you could see your past."
"My past? But…"
He reached over and held the Mirror in front of me.
There was a glimmer, the surface of the glass giving way to a gray mist. Light flashed and faded back to
reveal a forest meadow, with a cozy little house cradled in a curve of a quietly tinkling brook.
A young woman ran into sight. She was laughing. A wreath of wild asters crowned her head and she was
carrying a large bunch of forest bluebells. She sank onto the grass by the brook and dropped the
flowers, breathing heavily and looking with expectation in the direction where she came from.
She was so beautiful that my breath caught with the longing to watch the perfect movements of her
slender fingers rummaging through the flowers, her hands, absently running along the waves of her long
black hair, the elegant line of her neck. She had clear green eyes, glowing like two emeralds on her warm,
lively face. She could have been the image of me, had she not been so warm, so happy, so full of love
that made our incredible likeness almost unrecognizable.
Who was she?
The girl didn't have to wait long. Another shape emerged from behind the bushes at the edge of the
glade. A man. Pale, dark-haired, with dreamy eyes and a beaky nose. There was something strangely
familiar about him.
He settled on the grass next to her. They looked into each other's eyes and laughed. Then she fell into
his arms and, after a lifetime of embraces and kisses, settled with her head on his lap. He looked down at
her with such feeling that my heart ached for him.
It was so real. I could smell the flowers in her hands, the fragrance of her skin that resembled a fresh
smell of water in a clear forest spring.
The love in the man's eyes was unbearable to watch.
'I have to go, Elena,' he said. His voice was low and deep, more so than I expected from his slight form.
And it was so familiar I could almost sense his presence, somewhere just out of my reach.
'Will you be long?' she asked, much too busy weaving together two bluebell stems to return the man's
look.
Such anguish in his eyes! Such pain at leaving her! Why was I forced to watch this?
'No, my love,' his voice was almost a whisper. 'I'll be back soon.'
He gently moved her head from his lap onto a soft patch of grass and got up to his feet. From her lying
position she watched him like a playful kitten.
The man bent down and his form had suddenly shrunk into a small black shape. In the place where a
man had stood a moment ago there was now a raven.
Raven?
He spread his wings and flew out of sight.
I drew away, breathing hard.
"What did you see in there?" my father demanded.
For the first time in my life, I ignored him. I turned to watch Raven's still form, perched on a low tree
branch.
"You had a human form?" I whispered.
He didn't reply. He merely shut his eyes against my gaze.
"It's not the end of the story," Ivan told me. "Watch."
I looked.
The maiden, Elena, was now alone. She spent some more time with her bluebells and then walked off,
forgetting the blue heap in the grass beside the brook. She entered the house and came out again,
throwing frequent glances into the sky.
And then she froze as a new figure appeared in the glade beside her.
As I caught sight of the familiar form, I felt my heart leap and stand still in my chest.
He walked towards the girl in confident, springy steps of a born charmer. A conqueror, who had just
spotted a prey worth his full attention.
My father, Kashchey the Immortal.
I didn't need to watch further to know what happened next.
It was as I suspected. The maiden fell head over heels for the charms of my father. She told Raven
Kashchey was her true love, and the silly bird-man let her go. He even gave her his blessing, instead of
beating some sense into her pretty little head.
His grief was hard to watch. He was so heartbroken he gave up his human form for eternity. This was
why I never knew he had it, I realized.
But there was still more to see.
I looked into a clearing at the side of the lake, the very same one in which we now stood. I could see the
mirror gleam of the Sacrifice Pool with its treacherous currents churning underneath the smooth surface.
My father and Elena came out of the trees from the direction of the large glade where the Solstice
celebrations usually took place and stopped to admire the view.
I could see Elena cradling something in her hands.
'This is a good place to swim,' my father said. 'The best one in the whole lake.'
Don't listen to him! I prayed silently. I didn't care what my father did to his women once he was tired of
them, but to watch him kill the one who was Raven's whole life was too much.
I didn't want to see it.
I couldn't look away.
'I'd love to go for a swim,' she said, her face glowing with happiness. 'But I can't leave my baby. She'll
freeze.'
'Give her to me,' my father said. 'I'll keep her warm for you. For us.' He gave her an affectionate look
that I knew was a lie.
Elena hesitated for a moment. Then she opened her palm and handed the thing she held to my father.
It was an egg. A spotted bird's egg.
'I wish she could grow up to be human,' Elena whispered, looking fondly at the egg.
'She will,' my father said. 'After all, her father had a human form once. After she hatches, I'll teach her to
change shape like he used to. Now, go, swim, my love, we'll be waiting for you right here.'
Elena was as gullible as I suspected. Without hesitation she pulled off her dress and jumped straight into
the Sacrifice Pool. As soon as she did, my father turned and walked back into the forest.
It took her a long time to die. She struggled with force I didn't suspect in her slender body. As the air
filled with her screams, a black bird flew out of the woods and darted straight to the Sacrifice Pool.
Raven.
He circled low over the water, trying to pull her up with his claws, trying to fetch something big enough
for her to hold onto. He got so dangerously close her gripping hands almost pulled him underwater with
her.
He would have given his life for her. But in his bird form he could do nothing to help her. If only he
hadn't forsaken his human form!
His eyes were two ponds of despair as he watched her agony, drenched and exhausted almost to death,
unwilling to give up and yet powerless to do anything for his love except to die with her. In the end, he
chose life. Perhaps it was for the sake of the egg, his unborn child, now safely in Kashchey's possession.
As her screams finally ceased, as the water closed over her head one last time, he dropped in fatigue on
the bank of the lake and lay there for a long time.
I had never known before that birds could cry.
Numb, I stumbled away from the Mirror and sank onto the grass.
"What did you do to her?" my father demanded.
"I showed her the true story of her birth," Ivan said. "And, the story of the first Solstice sacrifice in this
kingdom."
"The first sacrifice?" I whispered, trying to make sense of his words.
"You killed her and devoured her soul," Ivan said. "Her love for you was so great it made you immortal.
Or, rather, Undead. This ritual kept you young all these years. But you've done enough harm. It's time
to put a stop to it."
"Who are you?" my father whispered.
"A man with nothing to lose," Ivan smiled. "The Immortals saved my life. In return, I promised to carry
this through."
Dazed, I turned to Kashchey and met his dark gaze.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why did you kill my mother?"
The Raven's eyes opened in a flash.
"You killed her, Kashchey?" he shrieked, and the air trembled from the sound. "You killed her?"
He shot down from the branch like a black arrow and grabbed the Needle from Ivan's hand. Rising high in
the air, he bit it into halves, letting it drop straight into the whirling waters of the Sacrifice Pool.
The ground shook with a thunder. Kashchey twisted in a terrifyingly slow motion, losing his normal
shape, turning from a dark, handsome man, into a misshapen corpse, and then, through a series of
twisted forms, to dust. A gust of wind rose from the ground and blew it away, until nothing remained on
the spot where he just stood.
As the rustle settled above the tree crowns, the dark shapes of the Immortals turned and disappeared
into the forest.
***
I woke up to the feeling of a hand running down my cheek, arms holding me, supporting my lifeless
body. I was blind and unfeeling. I was dead. I was a dove, the daughter of a Raven who had given up his
human form, and a beautiful maiden who was betrayed by her love. I had been the Mistress of Kupalo,
but everything I did, everything I believed in, turned out to be wrong.
A voice, gentle like the rustle of grass in the fields of wheat and cornflowers on a bright summer
afternoon, whispered into my ear. It was this voice that made me aware of my body, limp against a lively
form that supported it and kept it from collapsing on the ground. It was this voice that slowly made my
senses return to me one by one—the chill of the morning breeze, the soft murmur of the flowing water.
But I still couldn't see. My eyes were shut forever, unable to bear the sight of someone I thought to be
my father, someone who was my whole world, turning to be an evil devourer of souls, blown to dust.
"Marya," the voice called to me. A soothing voice, gentle like the hands that caressed me, taking away
the pain.
I stirred and opened my eyes.
The new day was already dawning. In front of me was the lake, bathed in the soft eastern glow. A low
branch clearly outlined against the mirror-still water, a bird's shape perched upon it so black it seemed to
absorb the light.
As he saw me looking, he turned and met my gaze.
"Father," I called out softly.
"Be happy, Marya," Raven said gently.
I turned to Ivan, so infinitely close as he held me in his arms I could never tell the two of us apart
anymore. I felt as if coming home, as if a part of me that was missing for the longest time found its way
back to its rightful place, making me feel, for the first time in my life, complete. Like the yellow flowers of
a small forest plant, I found my way into the shelter of the purple leaves, which together make a
complete living thing, a single inflorescence.
Ivan-and-Marya.
track. I signaled the wagon driver to wait, and walked my horse in the direction indicated by the hesitant
glances, on to the people lining the street and eventually to an izba at the end of the lane.
It was an old, crooked house. The chipped, moss-covered logs composing its walls were laid unevenly, as
if placed by a drunken builder. The man and woman standing in the doorway looked sullen. As I rode up
and stopped my horse in front of their broken fence, there was a moment's silence that made me
wonder if force was going to be necessary after all. Then the man turned and pulled somebody from the
darkness beyond the doorway. A girl.
"Mistress," he said in a cracked voice. "This is my youngest daughter."
I nodded, surveying my quarry.
She was wearing a plain linen dress that looked baggy on her. Her head was lowered, her hair covered by
a dirt-gray knitted scarf. Her pale face was swollen from tears.
"Remove your scarf," I ordered.
Her fingers trembled as she hastened to obey, revealing a mass of dark blond hair, of the most common
color one could find in villages. She had pulled it all back into a tight braid, and tucked it into her dress—a
hairstyle that came in handy during housework. What showed of her braid, though, looked thick enough
to be pleasing. I leaned forward in the saddle to take a closer look at her face. Her features were regular
and would have been pretty if her face wasn't so puffed up from crying. Instinct told me she was a
virgin, as the villagers must believe about her. Everyone knew for the Sacrifice Maiden virginity was an
absolute must.
I straightened in the saddle, turning to look at the frightened faces all around me. The silence was almost
palpable. I could feel their anxiety upon me, and I couldn't afford to feel.
"Very well," I told my guards. "Bring her along."
Amidst the suppressed sighs of relief, I turned my horse and left the village.
***
I have no idea why he caught my eye. He looked like an ordinary villager, complete with straw-colored
hair, cornflower eyes, and a smile of wonder on his freckled face. He pushed through the rapidly parting
crowd on the main city plaza and stopped right in front of me, forcing our entire procession to halt in my
wake.
"You're in my way," I told him.
He smiled like a child who had been offered a candy.
"You're so beautiful!" His clear voice rang through the deadly quiet plaza.
I had been told this many times by men much more impressive than him. And yet, these words had
never meant anything to me beyond a plain acknowledgement of a well-known fact. They never made me
feel like this.
They never made me feel.
"What's your name?" he asked.
It was his eyes, I realized. Their cornflower blue held such warmth, such mischievous vigor as I had never
seen before.
I forced my gaze away, over the frozen crowd of onlookers, toward my guards.
"Get him out of my way," I ordered, urging my horse forward toward the castle.
There was a whiplash and gasps behind me, but I never turned to look.
***
I am Marya Tzarevna, Mistress of the Solstice, daughter of Tzar Kashchey the Immortal.
People call him Kashchey the Undead. Not true. He does have a Death, and his Death does dwell on the
tip of the Needle, just as the legends say. Breaking the Needle is the only thing that could kill my father,
but he'd taken precautions to make sure it would ever happen. He made the Needle sturdy, so no mortal
hands could possibly break it. And, he made it look ordinary, like other sewing needles. No mortal could
possibly tell them apart. The Needle is quite safe, sitting among the others in my sewing box, right in my
room. My father trusts me, his only living daughter, with his own Death.
Legends depict Kashchey as a withered old man, a walking corpse, but what is the fun of being immortal
if you have to spend eternity in such a miserable form? He looks young and handsome, a dark man
whose charms cannot leave any woman unfeeling. Not until he is tired of playing with them.
It is rumored my mother had been one of them, the most beautiful woman in the world, a victim of his
dark passions. It is rumored she loved him more than life and he betrayed her. I don't know and I don't
care. I am the Mistress of the Solstice and I know no love. We are two of a kind, my father and I.
***
My room greeted me with the soothing calmness of its bare stone walls. My Raven was asleep on his
perch. Stepping quietly not to wake the old bird, I walked straight to my Mirror.
Its surface was misty-gray, reflecting nothing until a question was asked. As always, I started with the
question I had been asking the Mirror ever since I was twelve.
"Show me the most beautiful woman in the world."
The gray mist thinned and disappeared, revealing my own face. I knew I would see myself, and I could
have simply asked the Mirror to show my reflection, but I always found this simple ritual soothing to my
pride. I met the reflection of my green eyes and smiled. My face in the Mirror smiled back at me, pale and
powerful.
It was the next question that made everything wrong.
"Show me my thoughts."
My face disappeared. The gray mist wavered beneath the smooth surface of the glass, and then…
I was staring into a pair of shiny eyes, blue like cornflowers, innocent like the eyes of a newborn baby.
His freckled face was smiling, his straw hair standing on end just the way it had back in the plaza. And a
sparkle in the blue depths of his eyes pierced me to my very soul.
I drew back, nearly falling over. I shouted: "Stop!" to the Mirror, and his face was immediately replaced
by the grayish mist. Raven awoke on his perch and shrieked hoarsely, trying to get my attention. But I
could see nothing except the cornflower eyes, could hear nothing except those words, which he had
uttered so stupidly back on the palace plaza. You're so beautiful…
"How dare he!" I whispered. "How dare he tell me I am beautiful!"
"Because you are, Marya," the Raven said quietly. "You're the most beautiful maiden in the world."
"I am not a maiden!" I retorted, the sound of the Raven's voice somewhat calming me down. Maidens are
virgins, and by my father's Death I was not a virgin! I will not be caught in these bonds!
I knew what I had to do.
***
I cannot be bonded by love. All my life is devoted to keeping me detached from its destructive power.
When I find myself dangerously concerned with thoughts of a man, I know a perfect remedy.
I go and share my bed with another.
I know my enemy enough to understand this. Love is sensual. When you fall in love, what bonds you
most is the dependence of your mind and body on the sense of touch. You desire a man physically more
than mentally, and more so than anyone cares to admit. Therefore, to fight love, all you have to do is
divide the desires of your body and mind. And the first step is to sleep with a different man.
It throws you off for a while, giving you an odd sense of duality. It makes you float between earth and
sky, blown back and forth by emotions, like winds, on all sides. You lose the subject of your love in a
blur that are all men in the world, a blur of arms, bodies, caresses. Love is pain, and this simple recipe
allows you to numb it until you sort things out. And in the end it works like a charm.
***
To seek a man outside the palace I had to look like a commoner. Best of all, like a village girl who was
adventurous enough to run away from her parents to attend her first Solstice. Such maidens act under a
perception that the coming Solstice breaks all boundaries, and they are common objects of protection by
wandering knights and easy prey for passionate men.
I decided to change my black hair into reddish brown, making it shorter, about waist-long, and curly
instead of wavy. I kept my eyes green, giving them a touch of brown at the edges. I shaped my
eyelashes shorter and lighter, aiming for the subtle look of adventurous inexperience. Big, strong men
fall for this kind of thing.
My long black dress was replaced by an ordinary peasant outfit, with the neckline low enough in front to
show a tiny bit of cleavage. Enough to provoke, but not to reveal. Looking over my final appearance, I
added some fullness and color to the cheeks and decided this would do.
The best place to find a man adequate to my needs was the tavern adjoining the palace plaza, and that
was where I went. The tavern was full at this hour. The huge common room was alit with packs of
lanterns swarming over the counter, leaving the corners in deep shadow. Thick vapors of ale, sweat, and
cheap stew hung in the air like a curtain. The background hum exploded here and there with roars of
thunderous laughter. Waves of smells and sounds carried through to enfold each newcomer into a
breathtaking cocoon. I paused in the doorway, adjusting my assaulted senses to a new level of tolerance.
As I made my way inside, gazes slid over me like thick, oiled fingers, reaching as far inside as my outfit
would allow. The force of the sensation made me shudder. I walked between the tables, running my gaze
through row after row of the worst our kingdom had to offer. One good lover was all I needed. I forced
my eyes not to turn away from anyone, even as the plain filth of their gazes brought inadvertent color to
my cheeks.
I ran another hopeless glance around the room. And then I saw him. Late twenties, dark, lean, muscular.
A ladies' man for sure. I met his eyes, then blushed and looked away, making sure the contact was
established. His eyes studied me with a burning intensity that made my heart race with anticipation.
There was a group of rogues at the counter, the redness of their faces suggesting they had been here
for a while. They seemed suitable. I made my way toward them, and chose a lonely spot in good view of
my future hero.
It wasn't long before one of the rogues turned his boar-like face to me. His beady eyes, clouded with ale,
seemed to have no expression at all.
"Barman!" he thundered. "This beauty here needs a drink!"
I blushed, putting on a look of unease, turning around as if searching for possible help. I saw my hero in
the corner watching, and I did my best not to show my awareness of him.
"Come here, wench!" the man continued, waving to me and struggling to get up.
It is not going to work, I thought. He's too drunk. They are all too drunk.
But I wasn't about to give up. I waved my hands in pretended agitation, making awkward attempts to
move away with my chair and in the struggle letting my scarf slide off my shoulders to the floor. As I
bent to pick it up, I made sure to reveal a glimpse of my breasts to the rogue, looking up at him with the
helplessness this type of men find inviting.
This finally gave him the necessary boost. He fought his way out of his chair and rushed toward me,
bumping into tables, causing his drunken companions to laugh at his back. I backed off, pressing against
the wall, leaving myself open for him to do his worst.
Nothing is more stimulating to heroes than a maiden in distress, and I wasn't going to miss my chance
to look like one. He tore at my dress, leaving holes big enough to allow glimpses of my bare body. He
reached for my hair, grabbing the comb that held it in place, freeing my reddish-brown curls to fall
loosely all the way down to the waist. The only thing I didn't let him do was leave any marks on me. I had
to look my best for later.
I hadn't realized the man I had picked for myself was such a good fighter. He jumped from his corner,
swift as a lightning, and struck down my attacker with a single blow. There were at least three rogues
who came to the aid of the fallen man, and he knocked down each of them with quick and final strokes,
aimed so expertly none of his opponents even let out a sound. Not bothering to see if any of them
would rise, he turned to me as I was standing against the wall trembling, tears running down my face.
"You are so brave…sir," I whispered, reaching for my scarf and holding it over my torn blouse.
"You shouldn't be alone in such a place," he said with concern. "Let me walk you home."
"Thank you, sir." I reached out for his offered hand and drew back again, as one of the holes in my dress
opened wider from my movement.
"I suppose you are in no shape to go outside," he said in a fatherly tone.
"I have my needlework with me," I whispered. "If I could only find a place to repair my dress…"
"I am staying in this tavern," he said. "Would you consider going to my room? I promise you'll be safe in
there."
I looked into his eyes and smiled. A smile of trust. Of truce. Of hidden promise.
"You are my savior," I said. "I trust you with my life and honor."
***
Seduction is the only love-game I am allowed, and I savor it. There is nothing more exciting than playing
on the man's weaknesses to make him want me more than anything, and then to allow him to court me
and slowly win my favor. I especially enjoy the way ladies' men do it. They take you over completely,
inside and outside. They take you into a faraway place where your body becomes a pure essence of
ecstasy under their skillful hands. They worship you like a goddess who granted her mortal admirer a
moment of her presence.
And then, when all is over, they leave you forever. For they are the wanderers, the seekers, and a
woman is interesting to them only if she is new.
But I never wait this long. I like to leave first, before the break of dawn, before the memory of the
ecstasy grows cold on my naked body, until next time. I turn into a dove, my bird form, and fly home, to
my tower in the Tzar's palace. I fly as a dove, above love. I fly free.
***
I landed on the windowsill and folded my dove wings, shaking off the dampness of the night air outside.
My head still swam with the memories.
I flew to the floor in front of the Mirror and devoted my full attention to changing my shape back to its
human form. I watched my hair in the Mirror grow down to its normal length, turning from brown to its
usual raven-black. My face, losing its rosy cheeks to become thin and pale again. I pulled my long black
dress over my head, its silky folds sliding down my body, hiding it from view. The adventurous peasant
girl disappearing, the Mistress of the Solstice coming back in her full might.
And then I saw a shape behind me, by the window.
A man.
He stepped from the shadows towards me, slowly coming into view. I watched as if in a dream his
freckled face, his straw hair, his cornflower eyes smiling at me with such gentleness my heart nearly
stopped beating in fear of scaring it away.
"Hello, Marya Tzarevna," he said.
His clothes looked different, more appropriate for the audience with the Tzar's daughter than the one he
had on back at the palace plaza. The fine linen shirt was embroidered at the neck with an elaborate red
pattern. His dark baggy pants and the straw lapti on his feet looked new. I could see the strong line of
his neck running into the wide opening of the shirt, the muscle of his arms, the width of his shoulders
under the bleached linen. He bore no visible weapon, but his body was lean and fit like that of a warrior.
I forced the thoughts of his body away.
"Who are you?" I demanded. "How did you get here?"
"I'm Ivan."
His smile was hard to resist. I lowered my eyes not to get caught in it. Names. Why did I let him tell me
his name? How did he trick me into this bond?
He reached into his shirt and pulled out a slightly crumpled bouquet of purple and yellow flowers.
"I brought this for you," he said.
I looked. In my dazed state, I even reached out to take it before realizing what it was.
The purple and yellow that caught my eye weren't the two kinds of wild flowers, as it first seemed. They
actually belonged to a single plant, one of the most common ones found in the nearby forests. In this
strange plant the top leaves turned purple to conceal the bright yellow flowers underneath, which made
them look like flowers of two kinds, gathered into a single inflorescence.
To reflect this duality, people gave the plant a double name.
Ivan-and-Marya.
My outstretched hand wavered and the flowers cascaded down onto the floor.
He continued to look at me, the warmth of his gaze sending shivers through my body.
"See?" he said. "There's a flower named after us. You and me."
I must call the guards, I thought. This is going too far.
"If you don't leave this instant…" I began. But he still didn't hear me.
"You are beautiful beyond belief," he said.
I shrugged, struggling to keep my sanity.
"Of course I am. Don't you know I'm the most beautiful woman in the world?"
"You are, indeed! And, yet, no legends could possibly do you justice."
He reached over and took my hand.
It felt like a surge of fire. My hand melted into his touch like a drop of ice into a patch of spring sunlight.
The warmth of his skin, the brush of his fingers against mine echoed through my body.
I had known the touch of many men. I didn't even care to remember how many. But now it seemed like
the first time. I felt helpless, vulnerable. I stood unprotected, feeling naked under his gentle gaze.
His touch.
I saw a movement out of the corner of my eyes. His gaze wavered and his hand dropped away from mine
as he stepped back to look at the newcomer. His body tensed up, graceful like a wolf posing for a leap.
A strange mix of relief and regret washed over me as I watched the tall, stately figure clad in black cross
the room in a few surefooted strides.
My father, Kashchey the Immortal.
His eyes burned like coals in his pale face, framed by the dark, long hair.
"Stand back, Marya," he said calmly.
I wanted to step aside. But a strange power seemed to control me. It opened my lips and shaped them
into words I hadn't meant to say.
"But, father…"
He looked at me in surprise. His gaze hardened as he saw me the way I was—shivering, dazed. Lost.
"What will you do?" I whispered.
"Only what's necessary, Marya," my father assured me.
Step aside, foolish girl. Step aside, Marya Tzarevna. Let your father release you. Let him set things right
for you before he suspects that you, Mistress of the Solstice, are so close to the feeling that must never
touch your soul.
I ordered my feet to move, to leave the space open for my father's deadly powers. But Ivan didn't waste
any time. He rushed straight to my sewing box and brought out a Needle.
The Needle. My father's Death.
"How did you know…" my breath caught in my throat. How did he pick the right one?
"Stay where you are, Kashchey!" Ivan said. "Or, I'll kill you." His voice was quiet, almost friendly.
"I doubt it," my father said calmly. "Only an Immortal can break this Needle. And, you don't look
Immortal to me. But in a moment we'll know for sure." He raised his hands.
Ivan held the Needle in front of him, in the way of the upcoming blast.
"You can break it, Kashchey," he said. "Can't you?"
My father hesitated.
"You fool! Put the Needle back!" I exclaimed. I meant it to sound threatening. It came out as a plea.
Ivan's gaze softened.
"I'm sorry, Marya," he said. "I know that you care for your father. I don't want to do anything to hurt
you. It's just that…"
My father lowered his hands and crossed his arms on his chest. He looked amused.
"It would seem," he said, "you've come here to play with things you don't understand, boy. Why don't
you hand the Needle back first? I'd hate for it to get messy with your blood and all."
He paused looking straight at Ivan. I knew this look could send people into nervous fits. Yet, Ivan the
Fool simply stared back. He showed no emotion, and his very calmness screamed caution at the back of
my mind. Despite his youth, despite his mellow looks and plain clothes, he looked almost like a worthy
foe.
What was he?
"I'll give it back," Ivan said after a pause. "If you promise to give up the Solstice Sacrifice."
A smile creased my father's pale lips.
"You're not an Immortal, boy," he said, "I am sure of it. From your simple looks, I also assume you don't
know what you're dealing with. Who put you up to this?"
"Everyone knows what the Solstice Sacrifice is really for," Ivan said quietly. "You use the virgin's souls to
feed your power, Kaschey. I'm here to put a stop to this."
I stepped forward.
"You are mistaken," I told Ivan. "People say all things about the sacrifice, but you shouldn't listen to
rumors. The sacrifice is necessary to…"
My father's look stopped me. Something in his face made my knees suddenly go weak. It couldn't
possibly be true. The rumors were wrong. People didn't know what they were talking about.
Did they?
"Fine," Kaschey said with bloodcurdling quietness. "Be a good boy, tell me who put you up to this, give
me back the Needle, and I'll let you go. Just this once."
Ivan met his gaze. He still looked calm, too calm for someone facing my father's fury.
"I challenge you, Kashchey," Ivan said.
"Challenge me?" The chill in my father's voice sent shivers through my skin.
"I know the rules, Kashchey," Ivan said. "You must now give me a task, and if I fulfill it before the
Solstice, you must do what I ask."
My father stood back, his face becoming sarcastic.
"Very well, boy," he said. "If you insist. I always ask my daughter, Marya, to invent the challenges. She
does it really well."
Both men turned to me. Keeping my gaze on my father, I stood up straight, feeling so lightheaded that
the floor swayed under my feet.
I didn't want this boy to die. And yet, his foolishness left me no choice.
"The Solstice is in three days," I said. "Bring us the Water of Life from the Hidden Stream by that time.
Then, my father will consider your claim."
I let out a breath, catching approval in my father's face. We both knew this was an impossible task to
fulfill. To walk to the Hidden Stream from our kingdom took months. No one could make it in three days,
even if he had my Midnight horse, the fastest horse in the world. And, even if by some miracle Ivan
found himself in the right place at the right time, the Hidden Stream would never reveal itself to a mortal.
I was leaving Ivan no chance at all. He was going to die, like many before him. But he didn't seem to care.
"Very well, Kashchey," he said with a smile. "See you in three days." He turned to me, his face becoming
gentle. Warmth washed over me, but I forced it away. Whatever this boy made me feel didn't matter
anymore.
"I'll see you soon, Marya," Ivan said.
"I don't think so," I mumbled under my father's sarcastic gaze.
A shadow ran over his face. He put the Needle away into a pouch at his belt. Then he jumped over the
windowsill and disappeared.
My father and I stood for a long time looking at each other.
"It wasn't true what he said about the sacrifice," I said. "Was it?"
"Come now, Marya, you've never been the one to listen to silly rumors."
"No."
Father's gaze became thoughtful.
"Someone's helping the boy," he said. "Someone powerful enough to challenge me."
"Powerful enough to fulfill my task?"
"Let's hope not."
***
The girl's dark blond braid was now visible to its full length, reaching down almost to her knees. I wasn't
mistaken about her hair when I thought it was thick enough to look pleasing when let loose. In fact, very
few girls had hair strong enough to grow this long. Her face was still swollen with tears. Her shy, grayish-
blue eyes studied me with fear.
"What's your name?" I asked, watching her walk to the indicated place in the middle of the room.
"I am Alyona, mistress," she answered in half-whisper.
"How old are you, Alyona?"
"Sixteen, mistress." Her voice faded and two large tears rolled down her cheeks.
I took the girl by the hands, sending some calm into her, just as my father taught me to do.
"You understand, Alyona, that it's a great honor to be chosen for the Solstice. You'll be sacrificed for the
good of our land and help all the villages in the kingdom to survive another season. Only the most
beautiful and worthy maidens ever get this honor."
"I am very honored, mistress." Another tear ran down her face. I tried to ignore it, looking instead at her
lowered eyelashes, the soft curve of her profile, the slender neck. The rest was concealed by the baggy
dress she was still wearing, but my serving women assured me her body looked good all the way down.
"Are you a virgin, Alyona?" I asked.
She blushed so deeply even her neck turned crimson, and slightly nodded her head.
"Good," I said, smiling at her, making her feel more at ease. "I think you will be perfect for your
important role. You won't betray our trust, will you, Alyona?"
"I will not, mistress," she said firmly, biting her lip.
"Good. My servants will see to your needs and help you get ready." I waved to my maids to lead her
away.
***
The surface of the lake was still as a mirror, reflecting the light blue and pink of the sunset sky. The
evening mist was already floating over the water, its flat wisps spreading lower than the tall reeds, whose
thickets concealed the real banks of the lake. Tiny swirls of current circled under the smooth surface. I
knew the lake like a horse knows its stead, I knew exactly where it was best to come to the shore
through the hidden paths among the reeds, I knew where one could enter the water safely, and where
the treacherous current pulled you right down, into the weeds that would hold you underwater to your
death.
The water was warm, like milk fresh from a cow. I felt the currents caress my body, gently pulling me into
their whirling flow, letting me float easily in their supporting hands. I watched the smooth spears of the
reeds going down through the dark amber water, clear all the way to the bottom where the green weeds
wavered like long strands of hair. Further upstream was a wide, deep place where the turmoil of the
water created a standing whirlpool—the Sacrifice Pool. Treacherously calm on the surface, the waters in
that place pulled you right in, towards the wavering locks of green slimy weeds on the bottom, which
caught you in their net of death. That was a place where the Sacrifice Maiden had to go. Where Alyona
would disappear today, as many girls had before her.
My servants were waiting on the shore. I stood still while they dried my body and my hair with a long
soft cloth, while they clad me in my white ritual dress. The only words I could say before the Drink of
Love was ready were the words of the sacred chant of the herbs, passed from one Mistress of the
Solstice to another.
I enjoyed the quiet evening hour all by myself in the slumbering forest. I walked among the trees,
through the glades, along the riverbanks. I was seeking out the herbs, collecting them, counting them to
the slow rhythm of the incantation. Thick, fresh-smelling catnip stems crowned by their umbrella-like
inflorescence of tiny blossoms. Cozy, yellow-and white chamomiles with their faint medicinal smell.
Elegant lychnis its flowers of fluffy pink resembling tiny campfires—villagers called it goritsvet, the fire-
flower. Fleshy honeyed balls of red clover, and long and fragile stems of bluebells. In the shade of the
forest hedge, I searched for the deep purple flowers of nightshade. Just a pinch.
A glimpse of purple caught my eye. I stuck my free hand into the tall grass and pulled out a flower.
Panic-stricken, I held it before my eyes. The pile of freshly collected herbs poured down from my arms, a
rain of smells and colors. I froze, looking at the flower in my hand.
Purple leaves on top almost hid from eye the delicate yellow flowers underneath.
Ivan-and-Marya.
I threw the purple-and-yellow flower as far away as I could, and slowly sank down into the grass to
collect the pile I dropped, and to regain the concentration I needed to finish my task.
When I finally entered the glade where the Solstice celebration was to take place, it was almost dark. One
could still see the last evening light crowning the tops of the trees in the west. But this light was soon
going to fade, dimmed by the tall bonfire in the center of the large open space. I slowly walked across,
straight to the fire, where a huge boiling kettle was set aside for me to make my brew. I walked, barely
noticing people circling in the glade, people wearing wreaths of wild flowers around their heads, people
hastily moving aside to make way for me. I walked, my arms full of herbs, the incantation with its slow
rhythm pounding in my head.
Herbs of the magic brew, six and six,
Blend at my will into potent mix…
My serving women formed a circle around the kettle, hiding it from view, producing a lonely spot for me
to do my magic. I settled on the grass, chanting, sorting out the herbs, counting their stems to make
the exact amount needed for the Drink of Love. Through the air of detachment surrounding me I could
hear the voices outside my magic circle—people singing as they circled in a dance around the glade. But I
paid no heed to them.
Six herbs of darkness, six herbs of light…
My pile of herbs was getting smaller as the brew became thicker, gradually acquiring its rich, sweet smell.
I watched the brew grow dark-blue, almost black, swirling as the dark herbs, speck after speck,
disappeared in its dark depths. The smell was so dizzying a carelessly taken breath could easily cloud an
unprepared mind.
…Grant me the power, grant me the sight.
I threw in the last ingredient and spoke in my head the last line of the incantation. The Drink of Love was
ready. I turned to my servants and gave them a nod.
***
Alyona was beautiful in her ceremonial garb that mirrored mine—a long white dress, a wreath of lilies
crowning her long, loose hair. She looked ghostly, almost transparent, as she was led through the glade
by a procession of men and women from the palace, each holding a candle in their hands. Her eyes were
closed and my father, walking behind, carefully guided her steps.
A fine gift to the Solstice she is, I thought. Her death will ensure the gods' favor and the prosperity of
our kingdom, as has been the tradition for years past, for ages to be.
As the procession stopped before me, I took a mouthful of the rich, bittersweet brew and, fighting the
feeling of lightheadedness it gave me, held out the ladle for Alyona to drink. My father and two serving
women had to guide her to me and to support her as she took a sip with trembling lips.
As she swallowed the bittersweet drink, she shuddered from head to toe and moved on like a
sleepwalker, guided by the women's hands. I served the drink to my father, briefly meeting his gaze.
Trying to distance myself from the power of the brew, I continued to hold out the ladle for each and
every one of my subjects, until the giant kettle was almost empty, and there were no more people
waiting to receive their share.
Everyone was by now crowded at the Sacrifice Pool, carrying candles. Tiny dots of light reflected in the
still waters of the lake like stars, flickering in the slight movement of the night air.
Two women at Alyona's sides pulled off her white dress, leaving her naked. She was to be given to
Kupalo as a bride, and her white garments had to fall for their wedding night. I admired her beauty in the
wavering candlelight. The aura of the Solstice made this common village girl look like an immortal spirit of
the river. Everyone stepped aside as I approached her and laid my hands on her shoulders.
"Great God Kupalo," I said. "Accept this maiden as our gift to your powers and a token of the coming
season. May love stay with your subjects, may our fields be fertile and our cattle be aplenty, may you
take what you need and leave us what you will."
"Go," I whispered to her gently, turning her around and pushing her towards the water.
She walked forward on trembling legs, straight into the Sacrifice Pool. The waiting waters reached out to
her like welcoming arms. She swayed and disappeared from sight almost instantly, without any struggle.
As the water covered the top of her head, her lily wreath came loose, floated a little way and sank beside
her.
There was a silence. Then, one by one, the people around us set their wreaths afloat in the glimmering
candlelit waters and turned to leave the lakeside.
"You did it, Marya," my father whispered at my side as the last of them walked through the line of
bushes onto the distant glade.
There was a crackle in the bushes and a shape emerged into the moonlight. It was a man, carrying a flat
rectangular shape that let off a gleam as he set it into the grass.
Ivan.
I was certain I'd never see him again. And now, his mere presence made me shiver. Entranced, I watched
him step forward, holding out a hand.
There was a small vial in his open palm that emanated faint glow.
"This is the Water of Life," he said. "I brought it. I did what you asked."
"I don't believe you," my father whispered. "It was a task impossible to fulfill."
A row of silent shadows emerged from the darkness along the edge of the glade.
The Immortals. My breath caught in my throat as I watched my father with sudden fear. Could the
rumors about the sacrifice be true?
"It was impossible for a mortal," Ivan agreed. "But I had help."
My father's face lost a shade of confidence as he ran his eyes around the glade.
"This is a hoax," he said. "Even with the help of the Immortals, you couldn't have done it in three days!"
"It is the Water of Life," Ivan said. "If you don't believe me, Kashchey, I'll show you how it works,"
He tucked away the vial, pulled off his shirt, and jumped straight into the Sacrifice Pool.
"Good," my father said. "He saved us the trouble."
There was a sound of flapping wings and Raven flew out of the darkness and settled on a branch above
our heads.
"The Immortals are gathering," he croaked. "I must join in."
There was a rustle as the shapes around the edge of the glade nodded their heads. They were all here, I
realized. The hag, Yaga, and her cousins, the spirits of the forest, water, and swamps. The ancient and
powerful beasts, the Wolf, the Bear, and the Cat. And, my Raven.
"What do you all want?" my father demanded.
The silent shapes remained still. After a long moment there was splashing behind the bushes, followed
by rustling of the reeds and sounds of something heavy crushing through the forest undergrowth. A
silhouette outlined itself against the moonlit waters of the lake. A man carrying something heavy in his
arms.
A naked woman's body.
"Alyona?"
Entranced, I watched Ivan come up to us and lay her gently on the ground.
She was quite dead, as far as I could tell. The green weeds covered her arms and legs and tangled in her
long wet hair. She was paler than the moon, now shining brightly in the sky, and her half-opened eyes
didn't have a single spark of life in them. A grimace of agony twisted her once-pretty face into an ugly
snarl.
I sank to the ground, my legs suddenly unable to support my own weight. Tears flooded my eyes as I
took her cold stiff hand.
"Don't cry, Marya," Ivan said to me gently. "I brought life to her."
He opened the faintly glowing vial and sprinkled water over Alyona's body.
Her grimace gradually smoothened out into a peaceful expression. Color flowed back into her cheeks. Her
eyes closed and then reopened, filled with new life.
"Mistress," she whispered, seeing me bend over her.
I took her into my arms and sobbed until I couldn't cry anymore.
"Here're your clothes," Ivan said to her, reappearing with her white ceremonial dress in his hands.
We helped her back into the dress. She straightened out, throwing her wet hair behind her back and
looking around the glade with a dazed expression. Then she turned and walked away on unsteady legs.
"She'll be lost," I made the move to go after her.
"Don't worry," Ivan told me. "The Immortals will guide her."
"Give me back the Needle," my father demanded.
"Do you uphold your end of it, Kashchey? Do you give up the Solstice sacrifice?"
"Give me back the Needle!"
Ivan reached down into the grass and picked up the rectangular object he had put there earlier.
My Mirror.
"How did you…" I whispered.
Ivan turned to me, the guarded expression on his face melting into a smile.
"It's for you, Marya," he said. "I brought it here so you could see your past."
"My past? But…"
He reached over and held the Mirror in front of me.
There was a glimmer, the surface of the glass giving way to a gray mist. Light flashed and faded back to
reveal a forest meadow, with a cozy little house cradled in a curve of a quietly tinkling brook.
A young woman ran into sight. She was laughing. A wreath of wild asters crowned her head and she was
carrying a large bunch of forest bluebells. She sank onto the grass by the brook and dropped the
flowers, breathing heavily and looking with expectation in the direction where she came from.
She was so beautiful that my breath caught with the longing to watch the perfect movements of her
slender fingers rummaging through the flowers, her hands, absently running along the waves of her long
black hair, the elegant line of her neck. She had clear green eyes, glowing like two emeralds on her warm,
lively face. She could have been the image of me, had she not been so warm, so happy, so full of love
that made our incredible likeness almost unrecognizable.
Who was she?
The girl didn't have to wait long. Another shape emerged from behind the bushes at the edge of the
glade. A man. Pale, dark-haired, with dreamy eyes and a beaky nose. There was something strangely
familiar about him.
He settled on the grass next to her. They looked into each other's eyes and laughed. Then she fell into
his arms and, after a lifetime of embraces and kisses, settled with her head on his lap. He looked down at
her with such feeling that my heart ached for him.
It was so real. I could smell the flowers in her hands, the fragrance of her skin that resembled a fresh
smell of water in a clear forest spring.
The love in the man's eyes was unbearable to watch.
'I have to go, Elena,' he said. His voice was low and deep, more so than I expected from his slight form.
And it was so familiar I could almost sense his presence, somewhere just out of my reach.
'Will you be long?' she asked, much too busy weaving together two bluebell stems to return the man's
look.
Such anguish in his eyes! Such pain at leaving her! Why was I forced to watch this?
'No, my love,' his voice was almost a whisper. 'I'll be back soon.'
He gently moved her head from his lap onto a soft patch of grass and got up to his feet. From her lying
position she watched him like a playful kitten.
The man bent down and his form had suddenly shrunk into a small black shape. In the place where a
man had stood a moment ago there was now a raven.
Raven?
He spread his wings and flew out of sight.
I drew away, breathing hard.
"What did you see in there?" my father demanded.
For the first time in my life, I ignored him. I turned to watch Raven's still form, perched on a low tree
branch.
"You had a human form?" I whispered.
He didn't reply. He merely shut his eyes against my gaze.
"It's not the end of the story," Ivan told me. "Watch."
I looked.
The maiden, Elena, was now alone. She spent some more time with her bluebells and then walked off,
forgetting the blue heap in the grass beside the brook. She entered the house and came out again,
throwing frequent glances into the sky.
And then she froze as a new figure appeared in the glade beside her.
As I caught sight of the familiar form, I felt my heart leap and stand still in my chest.
He walked towards the girl in confident, springy steps of a born charmer. A conqueror, who had just
spotted a prey worth his full attention.
My father, Kashchey the Immortal.
I didn't need to watch further to know what happened next.
It was as I suspected. The maiden fell head over heels for the charms of my father. She told Raven
Kashchey was her true love, and the silly bird-man let her go. He even gave her his blessing, instead of
beating some sense into her pretty little head.
His grief was hard to watch. He was so heartbroken he gave up his human form for eternity. This was
why I never knew he had it, I realized.
But there was still more to see.
I looked into a clearing at the side of the lake, the very same one in which we now stood. I could see the
mirror gleam of the Sacrifice Pool with its treacherous currents churning underneath the smooth surface.
My father and Elena came out of the trees from the direction of the large glade where the Solstice
celebrations usually took place and stopped to admire the view.
I could see Elena cradling something in her hands.
'This is a good place to swim,' my father said. 'The best one in the whole lake.'
Don't listen to him! I prayed silently. I didn't care what my father did to his women once he was tired of
them, but to watch him kill the one who was Raven's whole life was too much.
I didn't want to see it.
I couldn't look away.
'I'd love to go for a swim,' she said, her face glowing with happiness. 'But I can't leave my baby. She'll
freeze.'
'Give her to me,' my father said. 'I'll keep her warm for you. For us.' He gave her an affectionate look
that I knew was a lie.
Elena hesitated for a moment. Then she opened her palm and handed the thing she held to my father.
It was an egg. A spotted bird's egg.
'I wish she could grow up to be human,' Elena whispered, looking fondly at the egg.
'She will,' my father said. 'After all, her father had a human form once. After she hatches, I'll teach her to
change shape like he used to. Now, go, swim, my love, we'll be waiting for you right here.'
Elena was as gullible as I suspected. Without hesitation she pulled off her dress and jumped straight into
the Sacrifice Pool. As soon as she did, my father turned and walked back into the forest.
It took her a long time to die. She struggled with force I didn't suspect in her slender body. As the air
filled with her screams, a black bird flew out of the woods and darted straight to the Sacrifice Pool.
Raven.
He circled low over the water, trying to pull her up with his claws, trying to fetch something big enough
for her to hold onto. He got so dangerously close her gripping hands almost pulled him underwater with
her.
He would have given his life for her. But in his bird form he could do nothing to help her. If only he
hadn't forsaken his human form!
His eyes were two ponds of despair as he watched her agony, drenched and exhausted almost to death,
unwilling to give up and yet powerless to do anything for his love except to die with her. In the end, he
chose life. Perhaps it was for the sake of the egg, his unborn child, now safely in Kashchey's possession.
As her screams finally ceased, as the water closed over her head one last time, he dropped in fatigue on
the bank of the lake and lay there for a long time.
I had never known before that birds could cry.
Numb, I stumbled away from the Mirror and sank onto the grass.
"What did you do to her?" my father demanded.
"I showed her the true story of her birth," Ivan said. "And, the story of the first Solstice sacrifice in this
kingdom."
"The first sacrifice?" I whispered, trying to make sense of his words.
"You killed her and devoured her soul," Ivan said. "Her love for you was so great it made you immortal.
Or, rather, Undead. This ritual kept you young all these years. But you've done enough harm. It's time
to put a stop to it."
"Who are you?" my father whispered.
"A man with nothing to lose," Ivan smiled. "The Immortals saved my life. In return, I promised to carry
this through."
Dazed, I turned to Kashchey and met his dark gaze.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why did you kill my mother?"
The Raven's eyes opened in a flash.
"You killed her, Kashchey?" he shrieked, and the air trembled from the sound. "You killed her?"
He shot down from the branch like a black arrow and grabbed the Needle from Ivan's hand. Rising high in
the air, he bit it into halves, letting it drop straight into the whirling waters of the Sacrifice Pool.
The ground shook with a thunder. Kashchey twisted in a terrifyingly slow motion, losing his normal
shape, turning from a dark, handsome man, into a misshapen corpse, and then, through a series of
twisted forms, to dust. A gust of wind rose from the ground and blew it away, until nothing remained on
the spot where he just stood.
As the rustle settled above the tree crowns, the dark shapes of the Immortals turned and disappeared
into the forest.
***
I woke up to the feeling of a hand running down my cheek, arms holding me, supporting my lifeless
body. I was blind and unfeeling. I was dead. I was a dove, the daughter of a Raven who had given up his
human form, and a beautiful maiden who was betrayed by her love. I had been the Mistress of Kupalo,
but everything I did, everything I believed in, turned out to be wrong.
A voice, gentle like the rustle of grass in the fields of wheat and cornflowers on a bright summer
afternoon, whispered into my ear. It was this voice that made me aware of my body, limp against a lively
form that supported it and kept it from collapsing on the ground. It was this voice that slowly made my
senses return to me one by one—the chill of the morning breeze, the soft murmur of the flowing water.
But I still couldn't see. My eyes were shut forever, unable to bear the sight of someone I thought to be
my father, someone who was my whole world, turning to be an evil devourer of souls, blown to dust.
"Marya," the voice called to me. A soothing voice, gentle like the hands that caressed me, taking away
the pain.
I stirred and opened my eyes.
The new day was already dawning. In front of me was the lake, bathed in the soft eastern glow. A low
branch clearly outlined against the mirror-still water, a bird's shape perched upon it so black it seemed to
absorb the light.
As he saw me looking, he turned and met my gaze.
"Father," I called out softly.
"Be happy, Marya," Raven said gently.
I turned to Ivan, so infinitely close as he held me in his arms I could never tell the two of us apart
anymore. I felt as if coming home, as if a part of me that was missing for the longest time found its way
back to its rightful place, making me feel, for the first time in my life, complete. Like the yellow flowers of
a small forest plant, I found my way into the shelter of the purple leaves, which together make a
complete living thing, a single inflorescence.
Ivan-and-Marya.
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Herbs of the magic brew, six and six,
Blend at my will into potent mix.
Six herbs of darkness, six herbs of light,
Grant me the power, grant me the sight.
On the night of the Solstice Love is the rule
Granted to all who tastes the brew.
Great God Kupalo, bless our crops,
Save us from evil, lift our hopes.
We all are consumed by love, lust, and glee,
Save for the Mistress, who must remain free,
If the seed of Love in her heart doeth bloom,
Our land will fall to the powers of doom.
Solstice Rhyme
Blend at my will into potent mix.
Six herbs of darkness, six herbs of light,
Grant me the power, grant me the sight.
On the night of the Solstice Love is the rule
Granted to all who tastes the brew.
Great God Kupalo, bless our crops,
Save us from evil, lift our hopes.
We all are consumed by love, lust, and glee,
Save for the Mistress, who must remain free,
If the seed of Love in her heart doeth bloom,
Our land will fall to the powers of doom.
Solstice Rhyme