Mistress of the Solstice
Page 19
“You killed her, Kashchey?” The air trembled from the power in his voice. “You killed her?”
He was faster than anything I’d ever seen. Faster than the Gray Wolf himself, and much faster than Kashchey could ever be. He darted down from the branch and stripped the Needle from Wolf’s mouth. Rising high into the air, he bit it with his deadly sharp beak.
A snap echoed loudly over the water. The Needle broke, its pieces dropping in a terrifyingly slow motion, straight into the whirling waters of the Sacrifice Pool.
The ground shook with thunder. My father, Kashchey, as if struck by lightning, began to twist into impossible shapes as he burned from within, with a cold fire visible only through his eyes. His face contorted in agony, morphing his dark, handsome shape, into an old, gnarled one, and then on to a distorted corpse, and worse, an inhuman monster.
I couldn’t draw my eyes away from the horror I knew I would never forget, no matter how hard I tried. His screams seemed to go on forever. They still echoed after his body finally crumbled into pieces, and then into dust.
And then a wind blew, carrying away what was left of my father, my entire life, my world…
I woke to the feeling of someone’s hand gently stroking my cheek, someone holding me in his arms and supporting my lifeless body.
I was blind and unfeeling.
I was dead.
I was a bird that flies above love, forever out of reach.
I was a dove, the daughter of a prophetic Raven and the beautiful maiden who betrayed him, and was betrayed in turn.
I was the Mistress of Kupalo, and I could never feel.
A voice whispered in my ear, like the whispering of grass in the fields of wheat and cornflowers on a bright summer afternoon.
It was that voice that made me slowly remember my body, limp against the lively form that supported it and kept it from collapsing on the ground.
It was that voice that made my senses slowly return, one by one, so that I could feel the chilly morning breeze on my face and hear the rustling of leaves and the soft murmur of the flowing water.
I still couldn’t see, but I realized then that my eyes were shut, that they were closed forever, that I was unable to bear the loss of my father, my world, the man who made my weaning into new life feel like death.
“Marya,” the whispering voice called to me, and it was not my father’s voice that said it, it was not my father’s hands that caressed me, taking away my pain.
I was alive, I realized. I actually existed.
Ivan spoke. I heard his words as if from a great distance.
“Marya, it’s all right now. You’re free.”
He was talking to me.
Free. How could I ever be free from the horror I just witnessed, from the emptiness it left behind? How could I ever be free from the deeds of my past? I had been used and taken advantage of by the man who was my whole world, by the man I believed to be my father. He had forced me to do despicable things. And now, he was gone. Forever.
“Marya,” Ivan said.
I clung to him, inhaling his natural scent of freshness and sunlight. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I felt his hand gently wipe them away. He held me to his chest and I buried my face in it, shaking with sobs.
He stroked my hair, words flowing over my limp form in his arms. “I know this is not the time to talk about such things, but I just wanted you to know. Ritual or not, I didn’t—didn’t mean to force you to marry me. You don’t have to. I will never do anything to hurt you again. And—I’m sorry. I truly am. I never wanted to bring you pain.”
Part of me understood the words. The other part wanted nothing more than to be soothed by the sound of his voice, his caressing hands, his arms cradling me as if I were a child. I heard his words, but my mind couldn’t follow them.
There would be time for this later, to think, to decide, to regret. Perhaps there would be time to get to know him better, this boy of age-long wisdom who cut his way into my heart like a spring sunbeam cuts its way through winter ice.
Free. I am free.
I opened my eyes.
The new day was dawning. Alyona was gone, but the rest of the participants were all present.
Except Kashchey.
The Gray Wolf sat at the very edge of the water, the halo of rising sun shining at his back. He watched us with an expression I hadn’t yet learned to read. Raven sat beside him. Sunlight bathed his feathers, making him gleam as if covered with molten gold. I couldn’t make out the expression on his face at all.
“Father.”
“Marya,” Raven said gently.
“I—”
“You are free now,” he said. “And I hope, from now on, you will be happy.”
I nodded, feeling the warmth spread through me at his gentle expression. And then, I turned my head to look at Ivan. The warmth of his smile washed over me and I felt as if coming home, as if a part of me that had been missing for the longest time had finally found its way back to its rightful place.
I belonged here, in his arms, I realized. And it was all up to me now. I did not have to leave him again. If I wanted to, I could be with him for as long as we both lived.
For the first time in my life I felt complete.
Like the yellow flowers of the small forest plant, I’d found my way into the shelter of the purple leaves, which together make a complete living thing, a single inflorescence.
Ivan-and-Marya.
Acknowledgements
This book roots in some very personal experiences in my life, and it took many years to bring it to its present state. I have so many people to thank for the inspiration, as well as for working with me on bringing this book to completion. First of all, my high school teacher, Galina A. Sokolova, for introducing me to the Russian tradition of the Solstice celebration. My family and friends, for sharing my fascination with the Russian folklore and for patiently reading earlier versions of this book. Members of the Online Writing Workshop for Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror, especially Rhonda Garcia, Clover Autrey, Mike Blumer, John Borneman, and Larry West, who were so great in spotting the gaps in the story and encouraging me to flesh out the essential details.
Last but not least, I thank my editor, Edwina Harvey, for bringing in the final touches that clicked everything into place.
About the Author
Anna Kashina grew up in Russia and moved to the United States in 1994. She has a Ph. D. in molecular biology and is a published author of fantasy and historical fiction in Russia, Germany, and the United States. She lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where she combines her successful career as a scientist and her passion for writing.
Learn more about this author by visiting Anna Kashina's web page (www.annakashina.com).
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The Loathly Lady by John Lawson, a medieval adventure fantasy.
Wishes and Sorrows by Cindy Lynn Speer, a collection of stories and novellas.
Dragonwell Publishing
www.dragonwellpublishing.com
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