Mistress of the Solstice

by Anna Kashina

  He knew a woman’s body. His touch drove me to ecstasy, and stopped, and then drove me there again. He knew where to be gentle and where to be strong, how far to go before he stopped and went on again. I was vaguely aware of my screams. Everything else faded, leaving only the sense of touch, the most important, the only important sense in the whole world.

  His insistent fingers slid inside me and I welcomed them with a gasp that almost left me breathless. I wanted him never to stop. I yearned for him like a babe yearns for her mother’s breast. And yet, I wanted more.

  I stretched out my hand and touched him. As my burning fingers closed over his hardened manhood, I felt him shudder and heard him gasp. I used my free hand to draw him on top of me and guided him to where I wanted him most.

  The first moment of his entry was so intense I almost lost myself in it. And then our movements, our senses, our thoughts joined into an unbearable ecstasy and beyond, into darkness.

  Ivan

  Wolf raised his head at a rustling in the brush. It was about time. The moon was high, its silver light pouring down into the glade. It was nearly as bright as daylight.

  When no other sound followed, Wolf almost decided to return to his slumber. Then he saw Ivan.

  The boy sat by the old fir at the far end of the glade, barely visible in the deep shade of the drooping branches. He was still, staring unseeingly into the distance.

  Wolf got to his feet and padded over to Ivan.

  “Well?”

  There was no answer. Wolf sighed, swallowing the rising worry.

  “I’m pretty sure you aren’t kikimora, lad. Care to tell this old beast what happened?”

  Ivan rolled his eyes and opened his clenched fist.

  Wolf nodded. “You got it!”

  The silvery net shimmered in the moonlight. Spread out in the boy’s hand it looked airy, almost insubstantial, gossamer, like a harmlessly unfolded spider web.

  “Why are you just sitting here, boy?” Wolf demanded. “Get up! We have things to do!”

  Ivan didn’t respond.

  “What did Leshy do to you?” Wolf asked, feeling the cold hand of worry grasp his heart again.

  “He showed me where the Net was,” Ivan said. “But I had to get it myself.”

  “And?”

  “It was in a hole of a tree, on an island in the middle of the swamp.” Ivan’s voice was slow, distant. “A kikimora guarded it.”

  “Didn’t I teach you the kikimoras cannot harm you if you come to the swamp by Leshy’s bidding?”

  A pause. “She was…a little girl.” Ivan’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “She’d gone to the swamp to play riddles, to make a wish to save her dying mother. She was five at the time. She still looks five.” He fell silent.

  Wolf fixed the boy with a long stare, his head level with Ivan’s face.

  “So, old Leshy spared your feelings. He didn’t show you all the others—hundreds and thousands of tormented souls who bargained with him over matters of life and death, and ended up his powerless toys. He didn’t show you what it takes to put the madness in their eyes, to make their memories spark that sickening laughter. He didn’t tell you how he makes a kikimora, a task so cruel that even Immortals never speak of it. No, he knew how easy it was to break the spirit of a sensitive lad like you. One little girl child—and you go all mushy and decide to give up.” He turned his back to Ivan and curled up on the fir-covered ground. “Why did I even bother with you?”

  For a while there was no sound.

  “I’m not giving up,” Ivan said.

  Wolf waited.

  “It’s just so…wrong.”

  Wolf turned, so that he could see the boy out of the corner of one eye. “Nobody said this was going to be easy.”

  “I know.”

  Wolf peered into the boy’s face. There was more sense in Ivan’s eyes. Some of his old self shone in their blue depths.

  “We don’t have much time, lad. We have to make it to the glade by the castle before the moon sets, remember?”

  “But—” Ivan jumped to his feet, with the look of someone who has just become aware of the time. “It is late. How are we—”

  “Hop on to my back,” Wolf said.

  He was glad to see the horror in Ivan’s eyes. It looked like he’d managed to teach the boy proper respect after all.

  “But you never—”

  “Get on, boy. If all’s well you can still get there before dawn.”

  Marya

  Kirill was insatiable. As he took me again and again with carnal passion, he drove me to the point where I could not stop either, shaking in climax after climax to his rhythmic moves. I never had such a good lover before. Or perhaps I forgot?

  When he finally rolled off me and fell asleep by my side, I briefly wondered if I should keep him, but dismissed the thought. I tried it before and it never worked. All my love slaves had outlived their use, became shadows of their former selves in a matter of weeks. Perhaps it was my father’s jealous magic that never tolerated any man by my side. Or perhaps it was my own, the magic of the Mistress of the Solstice that drew life and love out of everything living, the magic that taught me the hard way not to keep any mortal bonds.

  Besides, I had better things to do. This night with Kirill was all I needed to draw my thoughts away from men for a while, to satisfy the urges of my flesh, to prepare me for another glorious Solstice.

  I looked at his sleeping form stretched beside me, and let him go.

  I did not bother to collect my dress, still heaped at the foot of his bed. He would wonder when he woke up, but that was not my concern. Let him wonder, and treasure the memory for as long as he chose.

  As a dove I flew away into the night air. In my bird form, I flew through the tall grass fields, bathing in the night dew to wash off his sweat and seed, his smell that I did not want to carry with me into the palace. Then I went home.

  Ivan

  “Here,” Wolf whispered.

  Ivan peered into the moonlit glade. Tall grass shimmered silver in the waning moonlight, blending into the shade of thick firs at the far end. The lake on the other side was barely visible through the tall reed fence that left open only a narrow strip of water, its small black tongues lazily lapping at the muddy bank.

  “Keep to the trees,” Wolf said. “If he sees your tracks, he won’t land.”

  Ivan held his breath as he crept around the glade toward the water. The gnarled old log loomed out of the grass like a sinking ship, raising its twisted finger-like twigs toward the darkening sky. Careful to leave no tracks, Ivan leaned over the log and spread the thin net over its surprisingly smooth surface. Touching it brought to mind another analogy. Old bones. Ivan hastily withdrew his hand, pausing at the edge of the trees to marvel at the way the Net blended with the wood. Even if he looked very hard, he couldn’t see it at all.

  A distant shriek brought him back to reality even before he felt Wolf’s teeth tugging his shirt. Their sharp pull nearly sent him tumbling over. He dove for the cover, forcing his shallow breath out through his nose, so that no sound would escape. Still, when he finally settled in his shelter of drooping fir branches and looked at the glade again, he nearly cried out in surprise.

  The log was no longer empty. A large bird perched on it, so black that its feathers seemed to draw in the moonlight, a pit of darkness from which the dark glistening bead of an eye darted in desperate glances at the lake and the forest ahead. The eye emanated a light of its own—a deep amber glow that reminded Ivan of the pit of a dying fire.

  “Now,” Wolf whispered.

  “But—” Ivan’s voice caught in his throat as he saw Raven glance his way. It seemed impossible that anyone could hear him from this distance. But Raven was an Immortal, and one lesson Ivan had learned well during his travels with Wolf was not to underestimate the Immortals.

  Still, he was supposed to come out of hiding only when Raven was caught in the Net. No matter how hard he tried, he could see no trace of the N
et on the smooth surface of the log. Nor did Raven behave like he imagined a trapped bird would. No agonized beating against the unbreakable magical bonds. No deadly swipes from a razor-sharp beak. He just sat there, calm, as if taking a rest after a long flight. If anything, he looked bored.

  “I said, go,” Wolf growled.

  Startled, Ivan stumbled forward into the opening as if pushed by an invisible hand. He briefly wondered if Wolf had actually used magic, despite his promise never to use it on Ivan. But there was no time, and nothing that Ivan could do as he approached the protruding log through the dew-covered grass.

  “Hello,” he said shakily.

  Raven cocked his head to one side. His bored expression changed to one of amusement.

  “I—I—” Ivan stumbled. He knew it wouldn’t be easy to trap an Immortal and force him to do his bidding, but this absence of resistance was more unnerving than any fight. “I have you in my power,” he said, forcing his voice steady.

  Raven shifted on the log, and only then did Ivan notice how he was shuffling his feet, as if they were tethered to the wood. He also imagined he saw a delicate web-like thread glimmer against Raven’s wing, but he couldn’t be sure. He forced himself not to stare.

  “As far as I understand the rules,” he said, “you must now do what I say.”

  A click of a beak sounded too much like a suppressed chuckle. Or did Ivan imagine it?

  “Ask away, boy,” Raven said. “What is it you want to know?”

  Ivan froze. Was he so easy to read, or did Raven already know what Ivan wanted? And if so, did anyone else know too? Ivan suppressed the thought, glancing back into the fir thicket that he knew hid Wolf, the silent observer. Only one could ask questions. He wished bitterly that he didn’t have to be the one.

  “Why do you think I want information?” he asked cautiously.

  The dry eye glistened with amusement as Raven clicked his beak again. Its edges looked sharp, and more powerful than the teeth of a wild beast. Only now, up close, did Ivan realize how much larger Raven was compared to any other raven he had ever seen.

  “Because,” Raven said, “I know my true worth. I assume you do too, since you went through all this trouble on my account.”

  It would have been so much easier if Raven looked even a little bit unnerved. As far as Ivan understood, the power of the magic net could trap Raven for eternity, far longer than the span of Ivan’s mortal lifetime. But now didn’t seem to be a good moment to bring it up. He threw another helpless glance at Wolf’s hiding place. How did he agree to end up with the task of questioning Raven?

  “Your true worth?” he asked.

  This is your quest, Wolf had said. You’ll know what to do.

  Back then, Ivan had been certain he would. Yet now, under the penetrating stare of his captive, he wasn’t sure anymore.

  This time the sound that escaped Raven’s beak seemed more like a snort.

  “If you’ve gone through all the trouble of capturing me and you don’t know what you want of me, I pity you, boy.”

  Ivan took a breath. “I am told this net will hold you captive until you bargain your way out.”

  Raven gave him a long look. “Those who would bargain must know what they want. Do you?”

  Why was this so difficult? Ivan knew what he wanted. Right? He cleared his throat. “Tell me how to get into the East Tower of the Castle.”

  The amusement in Raven’s eyes veiled with pity. “Are you sure this is truly what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “Easy,” Raven said. “Take the path over there. It leads straight to the tower wall. The stones are so beaten that a sleek boy like you can easily climb it. There’s only one window on that side, at the second storey. It will take you into a circular room, into the heart of the East Tower. Hardly worth the trouble of capturing me, is it?”

  Ivan shook his head. “I’m told there’re traps on the way to the wall.”

  “Oh?” The black eye rolled in its socket. “And who told you that?”

  Ivan sighed. “The same person who told me that to gain your freedom, you have to answer all my questions. And that the Net makes it impossible for you to lie.”

  “A wise person indeed,” Raven said thoughtfully. “I only wonder why the very same person couldn’t tell you what you need to know and save us both the trouble of this spectacle.”

  He sounded so much like a grouchy old man, one of those that sit by the well in every village, endlessly chatting about their neighbors. Except that this old man was so different, Ivan reminded himself. Bird form was only a small part of it. He had to watch himself, or Raven could easily trick him to his doom.

  “Tell me how to avoid the traps,” he said.

  “Who told you they can be avoided?”

  Ivan met the creature’s eyes. “Can they be avoided?”

  Raven’s gaze wavered and lowered to study the specks of moonlight glistening on the drops of dew. The air smelled of night lily, a heady scent that easily went to the head. Ivan inhaled it, wishing that he could be far away from here. If only he could ever find peace.

  “Yes, they can be,” Raven said at length.

  Ivan exhaled slowly, forcing his breath to quiet down. “Then, why didn’t you tell me about them in the first place?”

  Raven shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

  “I thought I did.”

  Raven’s dark eyes met his. “Listen, boy, you captured me. But, don’t expect me to help you as well. Ask your smart tutors, whoever they are, to get you out of the mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” He closed his beak with a snap and turned away.

  Ivan frowned. “I have you in my power! You are bound to answer me.”

  Raven shrugged. “I have answered your every question, haven’t I?”

  A retort froze on Ivan’s lips. True, Raven had answered every one of his questions. Yet, Ivan hadn’t learned anything. Why?

  The answer, when it came, seemed so obvious as it taunted Ivan from the shadows of his own mind that he almost laughed out loud.

  Ask the right questions, you fool. Ask, and he will answer them, each and every one.

  Could it really be this simple?

  “Answer me,” Ivan said firmly. “What is the first trap?”

  There was a pause before the dark shape turned to him again, moving stiffly within the airy bonds of the Net.

  “You’re not as daft as you look, boy. Now, listen.”

  Marya

  I landed on the windowsill of my bedroom 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 normal 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. Kirill would wonder when he woke up and saw my peasant clothes still heaped at the foot of his bed. I smiled at the thought.

  There was one more thing I needed to do before I could sleep.

  Noiselessly, I took the narrow winding stair from my quarters to the kitchens. The damp, salty smell of boiling meat hit my nostrils. My nose twitched. The Mistress of the Solstice did not eat meat. Yet our castle, like any other royal dwelling, had to feed many mouths. Every day the butchers in the back yard slaughtered a cow to feed our household. The meat was cooked throughout the day and all the bones and unwanted cuts were thrown into a giant pot constantly boiling on the stove. The thick soup it became, called ‘varevo’, was the late-night favorite of the tired kitchen staff.

  The meaty smell of varevo made my stomach turn. I hadn’t eaten since morning, before I’d embarked on my journey to the Pine Village. It seemed ages ago. I swayed and clasped the wall until my balance returned, before proceeding deeper into the warm belly of the kitchen, its very stones saturated with the smell of food.

  I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and froze.

  The side door creaked open and torchlight hit my face.

/>   “Mistress?” The voice was more frightened than surprised.

  “Pavel?” I guessed, straining to see against the blaze.

  He lowered the torch and hesitantly stepped forward. Despite his height of almost a sazhen, his fear made him look small.

  The commoners believed I brought bad luck. While understandable in the villages, I thought the superstition surprising for the inhabitants of the palace. Yet, many of them were born in villages and raised by old wives. Solstice legends of the loveless, love-free Mistress who hunted for virgins on Midsummer eve traveled far across the lands. Except for Prazkovia and my handmaids, everyone in the castle took care to keep their distance.

  “I—um—was out late, t’tend to the horses. It’s mighty chilly out there. Klava told me there’s some varevo left. Er—forgive me, Mistress, for disturbin’ you.”

  He edged back into the doorway. He looked so miserable that I almost smiled.

  “Go on, Pavel,” I said. “You won’t disturb me. My business here is short.”

  He nodded. “Should’n ye wan’ that I shine some light for ye, Mistress?” he asked. “It’s mighty dark n’there.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured him. It felt strange to talk to the stableman. I never saw the servants up close. I could smell hay and horse sweat on him, and fancied I saw callouses on his rough hands.

  I found my way into the small storeroom, a heady smell of herbs guiding my way. Moonlight from a narrow window faintly illuminated the rows of jars on the shelves and the bundles hanging from the ceiling.

  Moving by habit rather than by sight, I picked out nine herbs, breaking a bit off each bundle and putting them into the mug I found on the shelf. By the end of it, my head was swimming and I could no longer tell the smell of one herb from another.

  Feeling my way in the dark, I brought my trophies back into the kitchen. At the far table, Pavel loomed over a bowl of varevo. He was dipping a chunk of bread into the thick meat broth and smacking his lips with a dreamy expression. I regretted for a moment that I could not enjoy simple food the way he did.