Once Upon a Curse

by Peter Beagle

  I knew what I had to do.

  I cannot be bonded by love. Even a fleeting attraction is dangerous and must be stopped before it could flourish out of control. I cannot let my thoughts dwell on one man.

  When it happens, I know a perfect remedy.

  I share my bed with another.

  I chose my favorite disguise: an adventurous village girl who ran 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 for wandering knights, and easy prey for passionate men.

  I changed my black hair into reddish brown and tinted my eyes brown at the edges, aiming for the subtle look of adventurous inexperience. Big, strong men fall for this kind of thing.

  A brown dress over a green undergarment, its neckline low enough to show a bit of cleavage, completed the disguise. Enough to provoke, but not to reveal. Inspecting my appearance, I added some fullness and color to the cheeks and decided that this would do.

  The tavern across the palace plaza was full. Its common room was alit with packs of lanterns and drowned in ale vapor and the smell of cheap stew hanging over the crowd like a thick curtain. The background hum exploded here and there with roars of thunderous laughter. Waves of smells and sounds enfolded me as I paused in the doorway, adjusting my assaulted senses to a new level of tolerance.

  Gazes followed me like thick, oiled fingers as I walked down to the counter, scanning the crowd from the corners of my downcast eyes. The lust in their gazes brought inadvertent color to my cheeks.

  And then I saw my man. Lean, muscular, not too young. Handsome enough to be pleasing, but not overly so. His alert dark eyes followed me with genuine interest and I returned his gaze, holding it with as much promise as a shy young maid would dare. Making sure he was firmly caught, I blushed and looked away.

  A group of rogues dominated the bar, the redness of their faces suggesting that they had been here for a while. I chose a lonely chair nearby, in good view of my future hero. Then, I beckoned the servers with a hopeless gesture they were bound to miss. Sure enough, the thin, nervous lad pouring ale two tables over turned his back to me and disappeared behind the bar.

  I raised my hand higher and finally got the attention of my noisy neighbors. One of them, a tall man with a red, boar-like face and beady eyes, turned and winked to me, then raised his huge hand.

  “Barman!” he bellowed. “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. “Join us for some ale.” He slurred, too drunk to speak clearly.

  It’s not going to work. They’re all too drunk. But I wasn’t about to give up. I pushed away in my chair, moving as awkwardly as I could, so that my scarf slid off the 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 that this type of man finds 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 pretended to struggle as he tore at my dress, leaving a gaping hole. The comb that held my hair slid out, freeing my curls to fall loosely down to the waist. I didn’t resist as he savaged my carefully prepared outfit. 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 that the man I had picked for myself was such a good fighter. He jumped out of his corner, swift as a lightning, and struck down my attacker with a single blow. Three rogues came to the aid of the fallen man, and he knocked down each of them with quick punches, aimed so expertly that 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, holding my scarf loosely over my torn blouse.

  “You shouldn’t be alone in such a place. 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 the 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—”

  He hesitated. “I am staying in this tavern. Would you consider using my room? I promise you’ll be safe.”

  I looked into his eyes and smiled. A smile of trust. 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 enjoy it very much. Nothing is more exciting than making a man want me more than anything, and then allowing him to court me and win my favor. I especially enjoy the way experienced men do it. They savor the contest itself, sparing no detail. And then, as you finally give in, they take over completely, inside and outside. 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 the lovemaking 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 grows cold on my body. I turn into 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. My head still swam with memories as I stood before my Mirror, changing back into my human form. My darkening hair, growing to its normal length. My cheeks, losing their fullness and rosy color. My long black dress, its silky folds caressing my skin, enfolding me down to my bare feet. My chance lover would wonder when he wakes up and sees my peasant clothes still heaped at the foot of his bed. I smiled at the thought.

  And then I froze as I saw a shape behind me, by the window.

  A man.

  He stepped from the shadows toward 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 that my heart nearly stopped beating in fear of scaring it away. The boy from the plaza.

  “Hello, Marya Tzarevna,” he said, his gentle voice sending chills through my spine.

  His clothes looked different, more appropriate for an audience with the Tzar’s daughter. His pants were still baggy, but at least they looked new. His fine linen shirt was embroidered at the neck with an elaborate red pattern. As my eyes traced it, they inadverently slid down to his muscular neck, 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.

  “Who are you?” I demanded. “How did you get here?”

  “My name’s 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?

  He reached into his shirt and pulled out a slightly crumpled bouquet of purple and yellow flowers.

  “I brought this for you,” he said.

  In my daze, I reached out to take it before realizing what it was.

  The purple and yellow that caught my eye weren’t two kinds of wild flowers, as it first seemed. They actually belonged to a single plant, one of the most common found in the nearby forests. In this strange plant, the purple leaves on top contrasted with 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 waver
ed and the flowers cascaded onto the floor.

  He didn’t seem to notice and continued to look at me, the warmth of his gaze sending shivers down my spine. “See? There’s a flower named after us. You and me.”

  I must call the guards. This is going too far. “If you don’t leave this instant—”

  His eyes were dreamy. Clearly, he wasn’t listening at all. “You’re beautiful beyond belief.”

  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.

  Blessed Kupalo, give me strength.

  I saw a movement out of the corner of my eyes. Ivan’s gaze wavered as he saw it too. He dropped his hand away from mine and spun around to face 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 strides.

  My father, Kashchey the Immortal.

  His eyes burned like coals in his pale face, framed by the dark, long hair. “Stand back, Marya.”

  I wanted to step aside, but a strange power pinned me to the spot. 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.

  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?

  Only an Immortal could know this. A chill ran down my spine. Who is this boy? Who is helping him?…

  “Stay where you are, Kashchey,” Ivan said. “Or, I’ll kill you.” His voice was quiet, almost friendly.

  My father frowned. “I doubt it. 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, 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 as he glanced my way. “I’m sorry, Marya. I know you love 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. “It would seem that you’ve come here to play with things you don’t understand, boy. Why don’t you hand the needle back? I’d hate for it to get messy with your blood and all.” He glared.

  I’d known this look to send people into nervous fits. Yet, Ivan 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.

  Who was he?

  “I’ll give it back,” Ivan said. “If you promise to give up the Solstice Sacrifice.”

  A smile creased my father’s pale lips. “You’re not an Immortal, I’m 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 virgins’ souls to feed your power, Kashchey. I’m here to put a stop to it.”

  I stepped forward. “You’re mistaken. People say all kinds of 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 me feel weak in my knees. But I knew the rumors were wrong. The sacrifice was necessary to protect our lands, to prevent hunger and ensure good crops. People didn’t know what they were talking about when they spread those foolish rumors.

  Did they?

  “Fine,” Kashchey 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. My skin crept as I heard his quiet voice:

  “I challenge you, Kashchey.”

  My father lifted his chin, his stunned expression dissolving into disbelief, then a smile. “Challenge me?”

  “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’s smile widened. “Very well, if you insist. In fact, I usually ask my daughter, Marya, to invent the challenges. She does it so well.”

  Both men turned to me. Eyes on my father, I stood up straight, feeling lightheaded.

  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 travel 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. He just smiled, the innocent vigor in his eyes making my heart ache.

  “Very well. See you in three days.” His face became gentle as he looked my way. 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,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” I mumbled under my father’s sarcastic gaze.

  With slow, deliberate movements, Ivan wrapped the needle in a piece of leather and stuck it into a pouch at his belt. Then he jumped over the window sill and disappeared.

  “It wasn’t true what he said about the sacrifice,” I said. “Was it?”

  My father shrugged. “Come now, Marya, you’ve never been the one to listen to silly rumors.”

  “No.”

  Kashchey nodded, then glanced out the window. “Someone’s helping the boy. Someone powerful enough to challenge me.”

  “Powerful enough to fulfill my task?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  The surface of the lake was still as a mirror, reflecting the light blue and pink of the sunset sky. Flat wisps of evening mist spread low over the water. Thickets of tall reeds rose over them, concealing the real banks of the lake. Tiny swirls of current circled under the smooth surface, creating gleaming patterns. Further upstream, these currents merged into a standing whirlpool—the Sacrifice Pool. Treacherously calm on the surface, its waters pulled you down to the swaying locks of green slimy weeds on the bottom, which caught you and held you underwater in their net of death. That was the place where the Sacrifice Maiden had to go. Where Alyona would disappear today, as many girls did before her.

  I slipped out of my dress and stepped into the water, warm like milk fresh from a cow. Gentle currents caressed my body, pulling me into their flow, letting me float in the cradle of their supporting hands. I watched the smooth spears of the reeds piercing dark amber water, visibl
e all the way to the bottom where the green weeds wavered like long strands of hair.

  Once ashore, I submitted to the hands of my servants, who dried my body and hair with a long soft cloth and clad me in my white ritual dress. The only words I could say before I finished gathering the herbs and brewing the Solstice Drink of Love 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 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, bittersweet smell. Elegant lychnis—its fluffy pink flowers resembling tiny campfires—villagers called it goritsvet, 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. As I held it to my eyes, I froze, the pile of freshly collected herbs pouring down from my arms.

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

  Ivan-and-Marya.

  I threw the purple-and-yellow flower as far away as I could, and slowly sat down in the grass to collect the pile I dropped, and to regain the concentration I needed to finish my task. I could gather the sacred herbs in my sleep. How could I possibly make such a mistake?

  Did this boy, Ivan, put a spell over me?

  I forced the thought away and finished my task, taking the heap of heady smelling herbs to the Solstice glade.

  The last beams of the setting sun crowned the tops of the trees in the west, leaving the glade deep in shadow. The only light here came from the tall bonfire and a smaller cooking fire behind it. I approached it, my arms full of herbs, my servants in a ring around me. People in the glade hastily parted to make way for us. I walked, the incantation with its slow rhythm pounding in my head.