Mistress of the Solstice (31 page)

Ivan hadn’t realized how familiar the forest had become
until they were back in the sickly swamps of the Thirty Ninth Kingdom.
Old, gnarled trees hung out their lichen beards, like village matrons
hanging sheets out to dry in the sun.

It was late afternoon, but the sun was still high in the sky.
Thankfully, it was the longest day of the year and sunset
wasn’t due for least several hours.

They stopped under a bearded tree.

“Now I must tell you what to
do,” Wolf said. “Or, more
importantly, what
not
to
do.”

“I think I know what to
do,” Ivan said. He immediately regretted his words,
but it was too late.

“Oh, do you now? I can only
imagine.”

Ivan thought it best to stand his ground.
“We have the Needle, so Kashchey cannot harm us,
right? And Marya—doesn’t she have to consent to marry
me after I give her the Water?”

“Do you want her to?”

Ivan forced away the warmth that spread through his body at the mere
thought of seeing her again. He longed to touch her again, to hold her
hand, to look into her eyes. To see—maybe—that look of a trapped
animal in her eyes melt away. To hear her laugh, just once?

He couldn’t afford such thoughts. Not now.

He shook his head. “Not against her will. I would
never force such a thing.”

“I suppose you should have thought of that before
invoking a sacred ritual by asking for her hand.”

“Will she have to?”

“Before the Sacrifice is made, she
doesn’t
have
to
do anything. It’s the Solstice.
She’s the Mistress. She rules the
night.”

Ivan’s expression changed to uncertainty.
“But I thought—”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You thought that she’d fall into your
arms the minute she sees you, right? How could she, a powerful
sorceress, the most beautiful woman in the world, resist such a charmer
as you?”

Ivan raised his head and looked into the distance with
unfocused eyes. “You’re right, of
course. But ritual or not, I will never marry her against her will. She
deserves a choice. She deserves a
life
, like any other
young girl. She deserves a man she would love with all her heart.
I’d rather die than force her.”

Wolf looked at him sideways. “It would seem that you
have plenty of opportunities to die without inventing more. Why
don’t we talk of important things instead, shall
we?”

Ivan turned his head. There was a new expression in his eyes, their
cornflower blue shaded by an overcast sky. “Of
course. We should talk about important things
instead.”

“Just after the girl disappears under the water,
step forward and make your claim.”

“Right.”

“
After
the sacrifice is over—not before. And, no foolish deeds. No jumping
into the water to rescue the girl, do you hear? It’s
deadly in there. Vodyanoy himself is at work, and he never lets anyone
slip his grasp.”

“But—we can’t just
let the girl die,” Ivan protested.
“If I came in right before the
Sacrifice—”

“Then Marya will do whatever she
wants with you. On the night of the Solstice, she is all-powerful.
After the Sacrifice is done, the power goes to her father. Yet, while
he is devouring the girl’s soul, he’s
vulnerable. That’s when we make our
move.”

“We can’t just stand there and let the
girl drown.”

“We can. We must, if you truly want to put a stop to
it. Don’t even think of jumping into the water, Ivan
the Fool. You’ll have your chance to die if you miss
the right moment with Kashchey. Or, with your lovely bride to be. Do
you understand?”

“Yes.” Ivan sighed.

“Good. Now, remember: you talk to Marya and
I’ll handle Kashchey. Promise me you
won’t try to interfere.”

“I promise.”

Wolf nodded. “Remember, boy, No one has ever come this
close. No one, in all the history of this kingdom. It’s
all up to you. Don’t ruin it.”

“I won’t.”

 

Marya

T
he surface of the lake was still as a mirror, reflecting the blue and
pink of the sunset sky. The evening mist floated over the water, its
flat wisps spreading through the tall reeds whose thickets
treacherously 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 to come to the shore, through the
invisible 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 air was still and sweet-smelling. Even the birds were silent in that
sacred hour when the Mistress of the Solstice took her lonely bath in
the clear waters of the lake. I had to be clean like a newborn child
when I went to collect the twelve secret herbs for the Drink of Love
that would then be distributed to everyone attending the ritual. My
servants in the glade were already starting the fire and boiling the
water in a huge kettle, getting everything ready for me to do my part.

The water felt warm, like milk fresh from a cow. I felt the currents
caressing my body, gently pulling me into their flow. I floated easily
in their supporting hands, admiring the smooth spears of the reeds
going down through the dark amber water, clear all the way to the
bottom where green weeds waved 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 to the wavering
locks of green slimy weeds on the bottom, weeds that caught you in
their net of death. That was the place where the maiden was sacrificed.
Where Alyona would disappear today, as many girls had before her.

I tried to relax and enjoy my swim. I turned onto my back in the slow
wide stream, letting the lake carry me, letting my hair lie loose on
the surface, wavering in the current just like the green weeds wavered
along the bottom in the amber depths beneath me. My body took on a
faintly yellow tint where the amber waters covered it. I watched the
clear sky above gradually change from light blue and pink to deeper
blue and crimson, before finally acquiring the sapphire tones of the
early evening.

A lonely star shimmered just above the horizon. The air outside started
feeling cooler than the water. Time to go.

With slight movements of my arms I used the current to take me to the
shore, where my servants waited with my ritual dress. Unlike my usual
black garment, this dress was white, and the wreath that covered my
head, unlike any other flower-wreath of tonight, was made of white
water-lilies, the kind that usually faded almost immediately after you
picked them, but that always stayed fresh when they crowned my hair on
the night of the Solstice.

I stood still while the servants dried my body and hair with a long soft
cloth and clad me in my ritual outfit. The only words I could say
before the Drink of Love was ready were the words of the enchanted
rhyme of the twelve herbs, and I could only even say the rhyme to
myself. Nobody else in the whole kingdom knew that rhyme, an ancient
incantation that could only be passed from one Mistress of the Solstice
to another.

When my servants were done, I passed dreamily out of their hands to
wander the forest in search of the twelve herbs.

I enjoyed that quiet evening hour all by myself in the slumbering
forest, where no sounds could be heard. I walked among the trees,
through the glades, along the riverbanks. I sought out the twelve
sacred herbs, collecting them, counting them by the slow rhythm of the
incantation.

Thick, fleshy catnip stems crowned by their umbrella-like inflorescence
of tiny blossoms.

Cozy, yellow-and-white chamomiles with their bitter medicinal smell.

Elegant lychnis with its small flowers of fluffy
pink, resembling tiny campfires—the villagers actually called it
goritsvet
, fire-flower.

I collected the sweet plump balls of heady wild clover, and the long and
fragile stems of pretty bluebells. From open glades I walked closer to
the water to seek out the tall rose-bay plants with their pink,
brush-like tips covered with flowers. Rose-bay added substance to the
brew. Villagers called it
“tea-plant”, and it was the one
that gave the potion its special tartness, fragrant with the herbs and
rich with the magic of Kupalo.

All the time I was reciting to myself:

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.

 

Light herbs are easy—pick them and toss
them:

Color of bluebell, chamomile blossom,

Freshness of catnip, honey of clover,

Fire of lychnis, rose-bay flower.

It was now time to pick the six herbs of the dark, so I changed my
rhyme:

Herbs of the dark are heady and strong,

Pick them is silence, sing them no song.

Dark herbs that seal the brew’s potent taste

Cannot be named, or your work is a waste.

I moved to the drier places, away from the water, where the fir trees
clumped together guarding the darker part of the woods. Inhaling deeply
the fresh smells of fir and earth, I tossed my damp hair behind my back
and bent closer to the grass, trying to spot the deep purple flowers of
nightshade. I only needed a few, and this was the perfect spot to find
them.

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 like a rain of smells and colors. I
froze with terror, looking at the flower in my hand.

Purple leaves on top almost hid from my eye the delicate yellow flowers
underneath.