Mistress of the Solstice (32 page)
Ivan-and-Marya.
I never needed that plant in my brew. As far as I knew, it had never
grown in that spot before, in the deep grass under the low fir
branches. What kind of strange power had made me stumble upon it now,
at this sacred moment? What power drove me not only to notice it in the
grass, but to mistakenly pick it up?
I threw the purple-and-yellow flower as far away as I could. I sank down
into the grass to collect the sacred herbs I’d 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 some light crowning
the tops of the trees surrounding the glade from the west, but it would
soon fade, dimmed by the giant bonfire in the center of the open space.
I walked slowly, straight to the fire, where a huge boiling kettle was
set aside for me to make my brew. I walked, barely noticing the people
circling 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 sounding in my
head.
Praskovia stepped forward and led me through, into the circle formed by
my serving women around the kettle. They hid me from view, providing a
lonely spot in the midst of chaos 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.
Herbs of the magic brew, six and six,
Blend at my will into potent mix.
I counted bluebells, crushing them with my hands as I threw them into
the pot, one by one. The water, could I have seen it clearly in that
light, turned a light pink. I added chamomile flowers, snipping them
off their long leathery stems. Chamomile added a strong flavor, and the
boiling gave off a tart smell. My head cleared as I submerged myself
into the realm of heady fumes emanating from the kettle. This was my
world. I felt strong in it.
Six herbs of darkness, six herbs of light,
Grant me the power, grant me the sight.
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.
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.
Catnip plants sank into the thickening depths of the
kettle, followed by fragrant heads of honeyed clover, bright spots of
lychnis, and armfuls of rose-bay. My pile of herbs was getting small as
the brew became fuller, gradually acquiring the rich, sweet smell that
would make my head swim if I inhaled it too deeply.
But the brew was only half-finished, and the smell had not yet acquired
its special heady touch.
I watched the brew grow dark, swirling as the last of the rose-bay
blossoms disappeared into its dark depths. And then the color of the
brew began to fade, so that in the wavering light of the bonfire, it
looked almost the color of light amethyst. Amethyst, the stone of
soberness.
It was time for the dark ingredients, only a few of them, but necessary
for that special final touch, signaled by the heady smell that made one
feel lightheaded when the drink came into its full, magic power.
To do this right, I had to be detached, concentrating fully on the task
at hand, and yet, secretly, at this time of all others, I was most
vulnerable to the influence of emotions.
Dark herbs that seal the brew’s potent taste
Cannot be named, or your work is a waste.
I felt a little disoriented as I threw in the last ingredient and spoke
in my head the last line of the incantation.
The Drink of Love was ready.
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. My kiss shone on her forehead like a five-pointed star.
Her eyes were closed and my father, walking behind, carefully guided
her steps, extending his calming magic to keep her in check.
A fine gift to the Solstice. Just like the ones that came before, just
like the ones who would come after, for ages to be.
As the procession stopped before me, I swallowed a mouthful of the rich,
bittersweet brew and, fighting to suppress 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 support her as
she took a sip with trembling lips.
At least, she isn’t crying
anymore,
I thought.
I
hope she holds together until the end.
As she swallowed the bittersweet drink, she trembled from head to toe,
and, with a small shudder, moved on like a sleepwalker, guided by the
women’s hands.
I served the drink to my father, briefly meeting his dark impenetrable
gaze, and continued to hold out the ladle for each and every one of my
subjects, trying to distance myself from the power of the brew until
the giant kettle was almost empty, and there were no more people
waiting to receive their share.
By now everyone crowded at the edge of the Sacrifice Pool, carrying tiny
candles they would later put into their flower-wreaths before they sent
them floating on the waters of the lake. It was the Solstice way of
fortune-telling. If a wreath floated for a long time, its
owner’s fortune was good. If it sank straight to the
bottom, it meant death. Tiny dots of candles reflected in the dark,
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. She may have been imperfect as a
common village girl, but the aura of the Solstice made her look like an
immortal spirit of the river. Everyone stepped aside as I approached
her and laid my hands on her shoulders. Then I spoke, for the first
time since the beginning of the evening.
“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.”
I kissed her on the forehead again, and this time the star faded; she
opened her eyes as if awakening, and looked at me with terror,
shivering from head to foot.
“Go,” I whispered to her, turning
her around and pushing her gently toward the water.
Her legs trembled, but she managed to take those few necessary steps
forward before they gave way. Luckily, it was enough. With the last
step she sank into the whirlpool.
She disappeared from sight almost instantly, without struggle. As the
water covered the top of her head, her lily wreath came loose, floated
a little way, then sank beside her.
I let out a barely perceptible sigh. It was done. Another season.
Another Solstice.
I shut my eyes as I sensed my father step up beside me.
“Marya,” he whispered.
“Well done. Now, bring her to
me.”
I felt his shiver, sensed his anticipation as it echoed through me. I
stretched out my thoughts, searching—
—a movement in the bushes invaded on my concentration, approaching,
morphing into loud cracking as somebody pushed his way through the
thicket to the shore by the Sacrifice Pool.
I opened my eyes.
The boy, Ivan, stood in front of me. His shirt was torn at the shoulder
and bits of branches stuck out of his hair. And, he was smiling with
that foolish smile of his. I felt a rush of warmth as I met his gaze
and resisted an urge to smile back as I lowered my eyes to his
outstretched hand.
He held—
A vial of glowing liquid.
“I’m back, Marya,”
he said. “I fulfilled your task. I brought it to
you.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
It simply couldn’t be.
Not
now
.
“What is this?” I demanded.
Ivan’s smiled widened. He looked like a proud child
bringing his mama a prize.
“Water of Life,” he said.
“From the Hidden Stream. Just like you asked. And, it
is still Solstice night. So, I have fulfilled your task, beautiful
Marya. And now—”
“This can’t
be,” I whispered. “I
don’t believe you. You
couldn’t
have done it. I gave you a task impossible to
fulfill.”
My father stepped between us. “Begone, boy!
we’ll deal with you later.”
Ivan’s gaze hardened. “You
haven’t devoured the virgin soul yet, Kashchey, And I
won’t let you. Not this time.”
“Oh, yes? And you can stop me?”
A low growl came from the darkness, and my father froze.
A great shape stepped from behind Ivan.
“I can,” Wolf said.
He looked exactly like a wolf, but his head came up
almost to Ivan’s shoulder. A giant wolf. A beast of
great magic. I suddenly realized that the space around us was empty.
With the Sacrifice over, all the people had already returned to the
glade and the bonfire to partake in the food and merrymaking. It was
just the four of us by the water. Me and my father. Ivan and the Gray
Wolf.
“I will stop you, Kashchey,” Wolf
said. “Now, boy—”
But Ivan wasn’t listening. He stood by the edge of the
water, a glowing vial in his hand.
“I can bring her
back,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
“She—she doesn’t deserve to die.
Not like this.”
“Don’t you dare,”
Wolf warned him.
Ivan raised his eyes and looked at all of us. His gaze softened as it
slid over me, and I felt a warmth flow through me again, as if I was
touched by a passing beam of sun. Then, he pulled off his shirt and I
finally saw it live. A birthmark shaped exactly like an arrow. It
marked his left shoulder, tilted to point more of less straight at his
heart, and in the light of the candles now floating on the lake in
their boats of flower wreaths, it glistened almost like gold.
On the night of the Solstice, a hero of legend
cometh marked by an arrow through turmoil and
gloom
. How could I remember these words so well
when I only heard them once?
“Forgive me,” Ivan said.
“But I can’t do it any other
way.”
He jumped into the Sacrifice Pool and disappeared underwater.
I felt the air swish around me, as if the forest itself exhaled a breath
it was holding. My heart quivered as I looked at the water that rippled
briefly and closed over his head. So quickly.
“Good,” my father said.
“He saved us the trouble.”
Wolf’s muttered curse made the grass around his feet
wither and turn yellow.
I stepped closer to the water, my eyes straining to make out shapes in
the turmoil under its dark surface.
I could see no movement down there.
There was no escape from the Sacrifice Pool.
