Mistress of the Solstice (24 page)

A chicken wearing a house on its body.

“One thing,” Wolf whispered into
Ivan’s ear. “You’ll
have to do all the talking.”

“Why?”

Wolf looked away. For a moment he almost seemed embarrassed.

“Because I said so,” he snarled.
“This is your mess we’re fixing,
remember?”

Ivan shrugged and focused on the chicken-legged house. It wandered a
short distance toward them and stopped, as if noticing the intruders
for the first time. The murky window watched them like a wary eye.

Ivan stepped forward.

“Um,” he began.
“Would you be so kind as to, um, turn your door to
me, little house?”

The contraption appeared to hesitate. Then, slowly, it turned around,
revealing a coarse wooden door, swinging open. In fact, Ivan noticed,
it had a broken hinge.

He carefully approached the gaping doorway.

“Anyone home?” he called out.

A rustle echoed in the gloom inside. Then a voice said:

“Do I smell fresh meat? Has young human flesh brought
itself to the old woman’s door?”

Ivan hesitated. The voice didn’t sound old at all. It
could have belonged to a healthy matron, one of those responsible for
all the opinions formed at the village well. Yet,
Bayun’s tale depicted Baba Yaga as an old hag. An
ancient woman, old as the trees.

How should he address her? If she was indeed ancient, he should
respectfully call her
“grandmother”. And yet, if she was
young, he should call her
“mother”, or even
“sister”. If he did it wrong, the
whole visit might prove useless.

Ivan took a breath.

“Can I come in, old mother?” he
called out.

There was a pause. Then, more rustling and a chuckle.

“Fresh meat that insults a woman he cannot even see by
calling her old,” she said. “Well,
I don’t mind. Rude boys taste the same as polite ones.
At least, he found his own way to my kettle. Fine by me. Mayhap you
would be good enough to bring along some wood to feed the
fire?”

Ivan stepped forward and peered inside. It was a small
and very dirty room. The entire left wall was occupied by a stove of
the usual village type. Its flat top,
lezhanka
, the warmest
place in the house, served as a bed, wide enough for two people to lie
on.

An old woman, ancient as the trees, stretched on top
of the
lezhanka,
her
skin dark and wrinkled like tree bark. Her hair was disheveled, her
face stained with soot, but her eyes gleamed brightly as she surveyed
the visitor.

It was obvious from her looks that he had chosen the right address, not
making her seem ancient by calling her
“grandmother” and yet respecting
her age by adding “old”.

“A pretty one,” she said.
“Come closer, boy, I want to feel how tender you are.
My teeth aren’t what they used to be, you know. The
last lad that ended up here was much too bony for this old
hag.”

She brought out a hand from under the blanket and Ivan saw a large bone
clenched in the gnarled fingers. He couldn’t tell for
sure, but by the size of it, the bone could well be human.

Ivan shivered. “Why would you want to eat me, old
mother?”

“Why not?” she asked with what
seemed like genuine interest.

“Because—” He struggled for the
right words. Put like this, the question did make sense.
“I may be more useful alive.”

“Useful?” She chuckled again.
“For what?”

Ivan threw another glance around the room. The floor was barely visible
under a thick layer of dust and dirt that rolled on the floor as the
hut stepped from leg to leg, probably tired of standing still. The
window was so soiled it barely let through any light. The kettle on the
stove was covered with so much soot and grease it seemed shapeless. The
smells of dirt, old age, and stagnation hung in the room. It
wasn’t overwhelming, but after the freshness of the
forest outside, it was too much to ignore.

“I could help you tidy up your house. It seems like no
one has done it for a while. I could also fix your door. And maybe put
new grass into your mattress. It looks like it might need
some.”

“A sweet-spoken one.” She appeared
to consider his offer. “Very nice of you, boy, but
you said nothing of cooking me any food. And if I starve,
I’ll have no use for a tidy house,
eh?”

“I could catch you some wild
rabbits,” Ivan suggested.

“Rabbits.” She smacked her lips.
“They’re not as good as human flesh,
you know. Not sweet enough. Yet, they’re tender, and if
you add beetroot to the stew, it might just make it sweet enough for
the old woman’s teeth. But—” she
shook her head, “—you’re just like
all the other silly boys. Trying to outsmart the old woman. You think
I’ll let you go rabbit-huntin’ and
you’ll run away. No, boy, the kettle it is for
you!”

“I’ll stay,” Ivan
promised. “I won’t go anywhere. My
friend will catch the rabbits for you while I clean up. How many would
you like?”

“Your friend?” She clambered off
the stove bed to peer out the door, and for the first time Ivan had a
good look at her eyes. They were yellow, with vertical pupils. Just
like a wolf’s.

“Where?” she asked.

Ivan turned. Wolf was nowhere to be seen.

 

Marya

T
he girl’s dark blond hair, loose from its braid,
reached down almost to her knees. I hadn’t been
mistaken. It was thick enough to look pleasing when let loose. Very few
girls had hair strong enough to grow to that length.

Her face was still swollen with tears and her pale-blue eyes studied
me shyly and with fear.

“What is your
name?” I asked as she walked for me to the center of
the room. She moved in a smooth, sliding gait that made her appear as
if she glided above the floor, her head and shoulders floating
straight, never bouncing with a step. Village girls acquired this walk
carrying a
koromyslo
on
their shoulders, a long board with a bucket of water attached to each
end, the most efficient device to fetch water from the well. During a
sometimes long walk, smooth, gliding steps made water splash much less.
And mastering this skill certainly made some peasant women look more
elegant and majestic than noble ladies.

“I am Alyona, mistress,” the girl
answered in a half-whisper.

She was afraid of me, no doubt, and of what awaited her on the Solstice
night. I had to make sure she was suitable in every way.

“How old are you, Alyona?” I asked,
making my voice soft and gentle.

“I will be seventeen next week, mistress. I mean…I
am sixteen.” Two large tears rolled down her
cheeks.

I took the girl by the hands, sending some calm into her, making her
shivers quiet down, just as my father had taught me to do. Who else but
my father would know how to quieten a frightened girl with magic?

“You understand, Alyona, that it is a great honor to
be chosen for the Solstice. You will be sacrificed for the good of our
land. You will help all the villages in the kingdom survive another
season. Only the most beautiful and worthy maidens receive this
honor.”

“I am very honored, mistress.”
Another, smaller tear ran down her face.

I tried to ignore her tears, looking instead at her
lowered eyelashes, the soft curve of her profile, the slender neck. The
rest was concealed by the baggy dress she was still wearing, but my
serving women assured me her body looked good all the way down.
Sadness becomes her,
I
thought.
Her looks will do.

“Are you a virgin, Alyona?” I
asked.

She blushed so deeply that even her neck turned crimson, and she gave a
slight nod of her head.

I knew she was, but I wanted her to say it.

“Are you?” I pressed.
“Answer me!”

“I am, mistress, I swear I am!”
Another tear slipped down her cheek.

“Good.” I smiled at her.
“I think you will be perfect for your important role.
You won’t betray our trust, will you,
Alyona?”

“I will not, mistress,” she said
firmly, biting her pretty lower lip.

That was the secret of dealing with peasants. Say the right words and
they will serve you for the rest of their lives. However long that
might be.

“From now on, you are named the Chosen One, the Sacred
Maiden of the Summer Solstice. May you serve our land
well.”

I stepped forward, placed my hands on her cheeks, and kissed her on the
forehead. My kiss was the official seal on this pact of death. It left
a star-shaped mark on her forehead, visible only on the night of the
Solstice.

“My servants will see to your needs and help you get
ready,” I said and waved to my maids to lead her
away.

As I approached my father’s quarters, I heard muffled
screams coming from the inner room. I hesitated. I
didn’t like to disturb my father when he was with one
of his women. Especially not when he was in a mood to be rough, but
time was precious and there were questions I needed to ask him.

I pushed open the heavy door and the hinges squealed. My father liked to
be warned of visitors. I was glad, as it meant I was spared from
catching him unawares.