Moonflower

by Angela J. Townsend

  “The hag has escaped,” Anatoly yelled.

  Nickoli reached for a coiled whip at his side, then slashed and whipped at the figure. The mist formed a long tunnel, spinning and churning up dirt along the floor. Anatoly drew a fist and hit it hard in the center. The mist separated and faded, then formed again. Nickoli drove it backwards while Anatoly pulled a dagger from his pack and hurled it into the center of the windstorm. A shriek echoed across the walls as the mist separated into thin strands and fell to the floor only to rise again.

  The grip tightened around my neck. I dropped to my knees. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t do anything but hold my neck and try to pry invisible fingers off. Mila walked almost directly into the mist. She pulled a vial of holy water from her pocket, opened the lid, and splashed the mist with water . “Blessed water to bind you. May God’s wrath be upon you.” The swirling vapors solidified. The Nocnistsa was even more hideous looking then in the painting. Her skin was white and wrinkled, her nose long and pointed. Her hateful eyes pinned to me as I searched for the rock. She screamed in fury as I gripped the stone in my hand, squeezing it in my palm. I picked up my brush and finished painting the last stroke. The Nocnistsa sucked back into the painting and disappeared so quickly it was like she had never even been there.

  Anatoly helped me to the car. I couldn’t believe how bad my neck and throat ached. I flipped down the visor and peered into the mirror. I expected to see long, red claw marks and bruises circling my windpipe, but there was nothing there. I strained to look at Mila in the back seat. “You were incredible in there. Everyone was. I really owe all of you guys for helping me.”

  “That is our duty.” Anatoly said.

  Duty. Right. I really wished he’d stop saying that.

  Nickoli leaned forward from the backseat, his face beaming. “Mila has gift from God. Her grandfather was famous priest.”

  Mila blushed. “More like my great, great, great, grandfather. Some say his powers came directly from the right hand of God. And others, like my mother, said just the opposite; that it was a form of witchcraft. She hated the fact I had inherited special gifts from my father’s side of the family. My mother condemned me as a freak and that is one of the reasons she let me go. I’d become an embarrassment to her fellow socialites.” Mila frowned. “Can you tell me how the hag escaped? It’s weird because I thought she’d be one of the last ones to get out. I mean she only had a few minor details that needed touching up.”

  I shook my head. “It all happened so fast. I had just used my finger to blot a bit of the paint that was dripping when I felt her hands on my neck.”

  Mila’s eyes widened. “Ohhhh, I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

  “Told me what?

  “Never touch the paint before it dries. When it’s wet the seal isn’t in full effect yet. That means the demons can slip out by using your energy.”

  I rested my head against the seat rest. “You know, I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to do it tomorrow. I think I should finish everything around Koschei and then tackle him last.”

  “That would be a good idea. He’s extremely cunning and he has immense power and control over all the others.”

  I closed my eyes and pushed away the terrible images. Hopefully, soon, it would all be over.

  All the next day and the day after, I worked on the mural. Each brush stroke more draining then the next. There were so many creatures, each one just as horrific and frightening as the last. All the while, Anatoly stayed close by my side, watching and waiting. I got used to his company. It was nice having someone there. I’d been so alone my whole life. It was comforting just to be able to glance out the corner of my eye and see him there, or catch him smiling at me when I’d completed an especially challenging piece.

  By the end of the week all I had left to restore was a small section before I started on the center that held Koschei. I stood for the entire day, moving very little, keeping my palette arm immobile and all my attention nailed to the canvas just a few feet away. My vision blurred and my arm and wrist fell asleep from the stiffness, tingling and burning. I worked until my legs cramped and my neck grew sore.

  No matter what, I had to get the mural finished as soon as I could. It’s energy was so draining, so depressing. I kept thinking of my mother, spending all those years down here. Working in the dark, pregnant with me. She must have worried how the darkness might be affecting her growing child. I thought of my father and how horrible it must have been for her to deal with the creatures in the mural and then the monster she lived with. The most evil creature of them all who would eventually take her life.

  I moved over to a patch of birds. I started painting the left wing of a magpie when it started to flap. It continued flapping so hard that paint flew, splattered other parts of the mural. The more I tried to seal it in the harder it fought back, flapping and pulling away from the canvas. One of the bird’s beady eyes swiveled around, staring at me. The beak opened and a long, skinny tongue hissed. It jerked hard, pulling away from the painting—trying to loosen itself. I added more paint and yet the thing still struggled. Panic rioted within me as I slapped on another layer. The bird flapped again nearly pulling itself free this time, paint splattering everywhere. What was I doing wrong?

  I stared at my palette of colors. My throat pulled tight. I had been using a lighter blue instead of a blue black for its wings and I’d used white instead of cream for the tips of the feathers. My vision blurred, my stomach dropped—I was so tired, I was making mistakes. I dipped my brush into the right color, making wide sweeps. The bird froze, let out a final hiss, and settled flat into the painting. The eye glared at me, dull and lifeless.

  I gathered my things and climbed down from the ladder.

  Anatoly came to my side. “You have made great progress. Are you finished for the day?”

  I eyed the painting, double checking that the bird was still. “I think so.”

  “Good. Then we go. Now that you are gaining on Koschei he is desperate for escape. We must leave before dark. Is not good to work on painting at night when his evil is at its strongest.”

  I cleaned it all up and arranged it so I could easily get back to work in the morning.

  “Please,” Nickoli said. “We go now.”

  We hurried down the long tunnel. To my right, a strange grating noise echoed to the side of us. “What is that?”

  Mila shook his head. “Just ignore it and keep going.”

  We hurried up the steps and burst into the dark kitchen. I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late. Nickoli shut and locked the door behind us. Anatoly took a flashlight off the counter and switched it on, sending a beam sweeping out in front of us.

  The basement door thumped as if something were on the other side trying to get out. I jumped and Anatoly ushered me out of the house and down the path to the car.

  I climbed inside and locked the door. “What was that?”

  “It is negative energy. Koschei has some control over his environment outside of painting when it is nighttime. He can create lots of noise and trouble. Best to take it serious. You never know what dark energy is capable of.”

  I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. Anatoly steered out of the driveway and down the road, not bothering to stop and lock the gate. “Slide over here. I will keep you warm.” He extended his arm, driving with the other. I was freezing cold for some reason. Maybe I was coming down with the flu or maybe it was something else—either way, every muscle ached.

  “Come,” he said again. “You will lean against me, I will keep you warm until we get to house.” I slid next to him, while he wrapped an arm over me. So happy for his warmth and protection, I inhaled his spicy exotic scent and closed my eyes. In his arms there were no nightmares. Only the pure safety that I had longed for--for so long. Finally peace would be mine in his arms. If only it could last a lifetime. Or forever.

  Anatoly parked in front of his house. I made a move to take off my seatbelt when
he touched my shoulder. “Please. There is something I want to show you.”

  He turned and spoke to Mila and Nickoli in Russian as they got out of the car. Mila tapped on my window and grinned. “Have fun!”

  Anatoly waited until they disappeared into the house before pulling out of the driveway. We drove into the village, it was so eerie how silent it was. As if everyone had just left everything and walked away. We continued on until the road widened into an open field that rose into a high knoll with a large statue overlooking the village. Anatoly took my hand. “Come. I want to show you something. He flipped a switch near the base of the statue and the most beautiful burst of water flowed straight up into the air and then down into the base again. A generator kicked on and blue and pink lights spun around the sides and top of the statue, illuminating the marvelous deep greens of the trees and reverberating in the droplets of water spurting from the fountain.

  “This will renew your positive energy. Give you strength.” Anatoly pointed to the fountain. “I wanted to show you there is beauty here in village as well as darkness.”

  “It’s spectacular. I never imagined something like this would be here.”

  We sat side by side in the grass, enjoying the fresh air. I wished that things could have been different between Anatoly and me. That he could break whatever oath it was that he took to not fall in love with me.

  “What is it?” he said softly.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” he got to his feet. “Now we dance.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you know how to dance?”

  “Yes, I mean, no.” I shook my head. “Let me start over. I can dance, but I’m dangerous. If you want to keep all your toes, I’d advise against it.”

  “Nonsense.” He went to the car and rolled the windows down, letting classical music flow from the car stereo.

  “You like Rachmaninoff? I thought I was the only teenager in the universe that did.”

  “Russia is home to many great composers. Without music you have no heart. Music is life force.” He held out his arms. “You will dance with me now. Come.”

  “But I don’t know how.”

  “Come. Now. I will show you.”

  I stood, wiping grass from the back of my jeans, and grasped his hand. He slid one behind my back and intertwined the other with mine.

  For someone so large, he moved with grace. Light on his toes, spinning me in elegant circles. We danced until the pink of the sky turned gray. Until we could no longer stand. He pulled me against him hard. I lifted my chin to look deep into his eyes as he leaned down, inches from my face.

  For a long moment, with the moonlight streaking the air and the faint sweet strains of Rachmaninoff waltzing around us, I stared into Anatoly’s dark eyes, knowing this moment would be ours, always, sending its own echo down through the rest of our lives.

  Anatoly held me closer, his breathing shallow. I leaned into him and suddenly he pushed me away.

  “We go home now. Is late.”

  I stared up at him, his eye hard and dark. I was stunned at his abruptness. Why couldn't he let himself go, even if only for a few minutes? What would one kiss hurt?

  As we drove home, weaving through the peaceful village, my mind was lost in the music, still dancing on that beautiful grassy knoll. Still encased in Anatoly’s arms dreaming of the kiss…we almost shared.

  When we got home, I found Mila curled up next to the fireplace, the book of Temnota in her lap.

  “Hey, you’re back just in time.”

  She set the book on the table, stood and poured me a cup of cocoa from a kettle over the fire. The rich liquid splashed into the ceramic mug, filling it to the brim. She set it on the table in front of me. “Careful, it’s super hot.”

  I sat down. “Thanks.” I cradled the steaming cup with both hands.

  Mila took a sip of her cocoa and ran her hand over the front cover of the book. “Are you ready to see what awaits us tomorrow?”

  I brought the cup to my lips, savoring every sip of the steaming liquid. “I guess so. Not that I haven’t had my fill of demons for one day.”

  Mila flipped open the book and shuffled through several pages and then stopped. “Tomorrow you’ll be dealing with these….”

  I leaned in closer. Three women with great masses of raven hair and eyes like pale sapphires danced in dresses. All three were laughing. Their brilliant white teeth shone like pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips.

  These are Rusalkas—Koschei’s brides.

  I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Wow they’re beautiful.”

  “No they aren’t. They’re water demons. They come on shore at night. They look and appear like beautiful maidens but in reality their sole purpose is to lure victims into watery graves. This is how they sustain themselves, by killing and draining the life force of others. They have powerful mind control because of their intimate connection with Koschei. They will do anything to protect him.” Mila paused. “You have to work fast when you’re near them. If they whisper to you—ignore them and keep going. They’ve been known to drive people crazy by invading their minds. Don’t let them fool you, they will say anything you want to hear. It’s all a trick. They only speak lies.”

  “Is there any way to block them out?

  Mila nodded. “They have a weakness to certain plants and herbs.” She reached down beside her and pulled a pouch with a leather chain from a tote bag. She looped it around my neck. “This bag contains a lock of hair from Saint Anya—a holy woman. She had the power to drive Koschei’s brides back into the marshes and bogs. It was only after her death they were able to return again at Koschei’s command. Inside is a lock of her hair circled by Ramsthorn—or Christ’s Crown as some call it. Keep it close to your heart at all times. It's a powerful tool against them. They will try to fool you and take possession of your soul to do their bidding. You must resist them at all times. They are sneaky and crafty and can swiftly take you over.

  Outside, the clash of steel rattled the windows. I nearly jumped out of my seat, sending a splash of cocoa onto my lap. “What was that?”

  Mila laughed and handed me a napkin. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  I dabbed at a spot on my jeans, set the book on the table, and followed her onto the front steps. In the glow of the porch light, Anatoly raised a massive broadsword over his head swiping slashes at Nickoli who danced around him with a long leather whip and brass shield.

  “This is what Bogatyrs’ do for fun.”

  Anatoly raised the sword over and over, clamoring down on Nickoli’s shield while Nickoli brought the whip down, cracking it inches from Anatoly’s head and shoulders.

  “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone fight like this.”

  “They’re just practicing. They do it once a week, if they do it more than that they get way too aggressive.” Mila lowered her voice. “Anatoly is a powerful fighter but one thing he has never learned is Broadswords are heavy, they can wear you down. But for him, it’s an ego thing.” She rolled her eyes. “Guess he likes everyone to know he wields a big sword.”

  I looked at Mila and burst out laughing. We laughed so loud we had to return inside, collapsing on our chairs near the fireplace. “Nickoli on the other hand,” Mila said. “Is totally different than Anatoly. He’s extremely agile and moves quickly on the battlefront. His weapon of choice has always been a whip, like his ancestors before him. For him, it’s about keeping on his toes and not getting too tired.” Mila paused. “I much prefer to fight with the power of God. I could never handle anything physical. It’s just too brutal.”

  “Seems like I’ve been fighting my whole life for something. Guess that’s what made me so independent and strong.” I picked up my cup of cocoa and went to the window to finish watching the guys practice in the moonlight. Mila came to my side and Nickoli spotted us. He grinned and gave us a bow.

  Mila smiled and blew Nickoli a ki
ss through the window. “We better get some sleep,” she said. She looped her arm in mine. “Come on.”

  We went upstairs, changed quickly, and climbed into bed. As exhausted as I was, I knew as soon as I settled into peaceful sleep, a dream would come to shake me awake and jar my nerves until I sat up in bed. But dawn arrived and no dreams came. I sat up and pulled the covers off of me. I couldn’t remember a single night without a nightmare or two. My heart jolted. It must have had something to do with the night hag. She had been the one causing all the trouble and now that I’d sealed her in maybe I’d never suffer those dreams again. She no longer had power over me.

  The next morning, I headed downstairs. Inside my shirt I felt the comforting thump against my chest of the leather pouch Mila had made for me. As I came down the stairs, Anatoly looked up at me wide-eyed in surprise.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I didn’t expect to see you smiling,” he said. “Why are you so happy this morning?”

  “Because last night, for the first time ever, I didn’t dream. Not one single ounce of anything!”

  Anatoly smiled. “That is good sign, then. You are conquering fear.”

  “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have that same nightmare. And now it just suddenly vanished. Do you think it was the Nocnistsa that had been haunting me? And now that I sealed her into the mural she has no more power over me?”

  Anatoly nodded. “Yes. I’m sure. She haunts in dreams. Terrorizes people when they are most vulnerable. I’ve learned to never underestimate Kochei’s demons.” Anatoly paused. “Did you know there was reason you were sent across ocean?”

  “Your dad said something about distance. To keep me safe.”

  Anatoly nodded. “Yes but there was other reason.”

  I frowned. “Why? Tell me.”

  “It is because most evil spirits cannot cross body of water. But somehow the Nocnistsa managed to get to you. It is because Koschei’s demons are formidable.” Anatoly held me with his eyes. “But you, Natasha, have defeated her. You have won. I am proud to know you.”