Moonflower

by Angela J. Townsend

  My cheeks flamed. “Thanks.”

  An excited warmth filled me. Anatoly was right. I had done it. I had fought something that had plagued me for years and I'd won. I’d beaten it. And I’d done what I thought was impossible.

  We arrived at the house just as the sun was rising over the mountains. We crept down the staircase into the catacombs with our torches flickering in the chilly air. A gush of air blew in through the tunnel, then back out again. It was like being inside a pair of giant lungs, squeezing us as we entered the chamber with the mural.

  Nickoli frowned. “This place is growing stronger.”

  “It’s the negative energy from the Mural.” Mila said. “It’s doing everything it can to try to stop us.”

  “It is only useless tricks to scare us away.” Anatoly said. “It cannot defeat us.”

  I glanced at the rock walls, watching them move in and out. My stomach churned. If only I could be as confident as Anatoly. Even though I’d defeated the other creatures I still felt so unsure of how I would handle restoring the last part of the mural—the middle where Koschei lived. First I’d have to deal with his demon brides. I remembered what Mila had said about them slithering their way into people’s minds and driving them crazy. I stood before them, checking them out to see what would have to be done. There were three of them. All with flowing locks of hair in shades of red, raven, and blonde. They wore long corseted dresses with heavy cleavage and hair piled up in fancy hairdos. Their skin was unnaturally pale with ruby red lips and eyes that sparkled. Their faces were still perfect, but the hems of their dresses looked almost worn completely through.

  “That’s strange.”

  “What is?” Mila asked.

  I pointed to the mural. “Look how worn these dresses are at the bottom.”

  Mila nodded. “It’s from drifting around constantly in the painting. Nick and I watch them while we’re guarding the mural. They spin and move about at will like seals, but only at night. They always returned here, to the center near Koschei in the morning.”

  I studied the fancy beadwork and ragged hems. I’d have to use several different colors and shading to get it just right. I started with the woman in the middle—a dark-haired beauty with eyes as blue as her dress. I worked quickly with little problems. I moved on to the next when I heard a voice. “It’s such a sad life for us. Why won’t you let us out? Let us out. Pleaseeee?” I looked up at the blonde who glared down at me. “We promise not to hurt you—at least not right away….”

  My hands trembled. Their voices were invading my head, drilling into my brain like a thousand hissing cats. My vision clouded. I had trouble putting thoughts together. “Join us, Natasha, come play with us in the river, Natasha. You’ll like the water…it's nice and warm. We’ll teach you how to float, Natasha…all the dead eventually float….” The more I ignored them the more they talked, voices stabbing into my ears. The pain was unbearable, like screws slowly being drilled into my ears.

  Mila came to the foot of my ladder. “You hear them, don’t you?”

  I shook my head, covering my ears, the pain causing my eyes to water. “I feel sick and confused. It hurts...”

  “Take out the pouch, hold it. Believe in it Natasha.”

  I grabbed the little leather bag and clutched it in my hand. The pain faded.

  “I know it’s hard,” Mila said. “But you have to keep going. The more you get done the better it will be. They will have less power over you. They want to confuse you, to stop you from sealing them in.”

  I released the bag and the voices broke in again, shrill tones, sharp as pins stabbing at my eardrums, jabbing and twisting into my brain.

  “They are lying to you, Natasha,” one of the demons snarled. “It isn’t us you need protection from. It’s them. They are your enemies. We are your only true friends. ”

  The redhead hissed, “yessss, it's true. Listen to usssss.”

  “We won’t hurt you,” another one purred.

  I clamped my eyes shut, struggling to shut them out as they cackled in unison. My eyes shot open and I practically flew down the ladder. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  Mila held my arm to steady me while Anatoly and Nickoli helped me down. I held the pouch again and took a deep breath. “It’s okay now. The voices have stopped.”

  Mila frowned. “Only for now. The second you let go and return they will be at you again.”

  Nickoli glared up at the women. “They should burn for their crimes.”

  I mixed more paint on my palette dreading the return trip up the ladder and cocked my head at Nickoli. “What do you mean? What crimes?”

  Anatoly stepped between us. “It does no good to know this. You must keep going.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I want to know.”

  Nickoli held me with a cold gaze. “They murdered and burned whole villages. Killed babies in mother’s arms. Butchered animals. Everything. They kill your mother too. Is truth.”

  “Wait,” Mila said. “We don’t know that for sure.”

  My throat felt like I’d swallowed glass. “My mother? I don’t understand. My father killed my mother.”

  “Yes, but some say it was only after he was seduced.” Mila said. “At Koschei’s command.”

  “My father,” Anatoly said. “Guarded the mural the night before you mother was killed. He said your father stood guard with him, except he spent his time staring up at the women. He said he heard him talking and whispering to them,” Anatoly said.

  I tore up the ladder, my heart punching into my ribcage. I clutched the paintbrush and aimed at their faces. “I swear to God I will make all of you the ugliest creatures on earth unless you tell me—which one of you told my father to kill my mother.”

  “Natasha,” Mila yelled. “Don’t threaten them—it’s dangerous.”

  “Answer me!” I demanded.

  They only laughed, spinning in circles, giggling and dancing.

  A surge of fury shot into my veins. I wanted to scratch their ugly faces off, paint over them until they were nothing but giant black blobs. One appeared to clap her hands. While another placed a hand over her mouth in mocked surprise. The redhead threw back her head, letting out a terrible laugh. My stomach sank. They did do it. They were the ones who destroyed my family. My life. Everything. They were the ones who caused my mother to suffer such a horrible death, and for my father to kill himself in his guilt and misery.

  I dipped my brush into the paint. I’d make them look like crones, take away their fancy dresses and put them in rags. I raised the brush but I couldn’t move as a searing pain stabbed into my chest, lifting me up like a meat hook. I grabbed for the ladder, but I could hardly move my hands. I pulled the bag out from around my neck…the water demons shirked back, shrieking and hissing.

  “Don’t do it, Natasha,” Mila pleaded. “It makes you as bad as they are. The best revenge is to seal them in forever. If you change their appearance you could create something even more hideous then before. Something created and fed by your hatred.

  I nodded, clutching the bag to my chest. Everything was so quiet now, all I could hear was the sound of Anatoly and Nickoli speaking softly to one another at the foot of the ladder. Mila looked up at me and gave me an encouraging smile. Mila was right, even though I hated demons for what they had done to my family, for destroying the lives of villagers and for all the destruction they’d caused. Being hateful would only make me as bad as they were.

  With delicate brush strokes, I painted the last hem on the redhead's dress adding a layer of gold paint for trim with dabs of yellow to make sparkling citrine jewels. I leaned back, wiped a thin layer of sweat from my brow and studied the three water demons. Their expressions had changed into hardened frowns, brows furrowed in anger. I smiled, a flutter of triumph coursing through me—I’d beaten them.

  I took a deep breath. Now, I only had Koschei to deal with and it would all be over with, at least for now. I glanced at the spot where I had last seen him. A tidal wave of panic
washed over me.

  Mila frowned up at me. “What’s wrong?”

  My mouth hung open in disbelief.

  “Natasha! What is it?”

  I blinked, searching the mural again. “Koschei's gone!”

  Anatoly sprang into action, hurrying to the mural, his eyes darting over the painting. “There!” Nickoli pointed to the ceiling. “Near crack in ceiling.”

  “Quick, Natasha!” Mila shouted. “You’ll have to fix it before he escapes.”

  Anatoly grabbed the ladder and set it up as I squirted paint onto my palette. Heart punching into my ribcage. I scrambled to the top rung, searching, eyes darting until I spotted the tiny fracture in the ceiling. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Koschei’s skeleton-like form slithering toward it—crawling on his belly beneath the paint.

  I stood on my tiptoes, knees trembling. “I can’t reach it!” My throat jerked tight. “It’s too high!”

  “Come down,” Anatoly commanded. “We will use scaffolding.”

  Anatoly and Nickoli pulled a large wooden platform from a dark corner, sliding it in place as I jumped from the ladder onto the scaffolding with my palette of paints. The scaffolding worn boards creaked, its rusty metal supports barely holding it together. The platform swayed as I stood on the top deck, the ceiling crack inches from my nose.

  I slapped paint into the edge of the fissure, stuffing it full but yet it still wouldn’t seal. A prickly rash broke out across my neck—why wasn’t it working? Koschei crawled closer and closer, slithering, pale and long, like an albino snake. I stabbed my brush into the crack, shoving more paint inside. Koschei was close enough now for me to touch, a slithering lump under the mural. I jerked my attention back to the ceiling littered with water stains. It was probably rotten underneath. No wonder it wouldn’t seal. It was like a wound constantly splitting open from the moisture above it.

  Koschei emerged beneath the crack, inches away. I stood rooted to the spot, helpless like a stone monument, frozen for an eternity. The pale flesh of his skin, slimy and silvery like a salamander covered in ooze made me shiver. I jolted into action, stabbing the largest brush over the fissure, mixing more blue and gold and yellows, the original colors had faded. I wasn’t using bright enough colors. I added another coat of brilliant blue the color of light, the color of the sky. Koschei slid back, away from the crack, but only inches. I swirled my brush into the paint again, working until he slithered to his original place in the painting. I painted one more stroke sealing in the crack.

  Nickoli and Mila hugged each other.

  “You did it!” Mila shrieked.

  Nickoli smiled, his eyes dancing as he gave me a thumbs up. I sighed and surveyed the painting in case I had forgotten something. I frowned. It all seemed so simple, so strangely easy.

  Anatoly reached out to me and grinned. “Come down. We celebrate.”

  “Okay, just give me a second.” A ribbon of sweat trickled across my neck, pooling between my breasts. I set my paints aside, wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, and gathered my hair into a knot at the base of my skull. Beneath my feet, the scaffolding wobbled slightly. I tried to balance, but it only made things worse. Then it wobbled again, swinging back and forth. My palette flipped over the side, spiraling to the ground.

  “Natasha!” Anatoly yelled. “Hold on!”

  I grabbed for the sides of the platform just before it gave way, screaming as it folded in on itself. I leaned the opposite direction as it tried to fall over backward. I slipped off to one side and plunged toward the dirt floor. Anatoly caught me just before I hit the ground, but the scaffolding rocked and then swayed forward, striking the painting dead in the center, causing a huge splintering gap. My eyes shot to Koschei as he slithered at top speed toward the hole.

  “NO!” I screamed.

  Koschei emerged as a dark mist that transformed into a hideously thin man with a long, white beard. He wore a cloak made of dark fog that swirled around him at its own will. Koschei’s face was gaunt and unnaturally pale. On his head he wore a crown made of knives with their blades sticking upright and a suit of armor made of human bones. With each movement rib cages and thigh bones clacked together, making a sickening hollow sound. He came closer, drawing out a long blade. I tried to pull back but Koschei was quicker, stabbing me in the hand holding the palette. I jumped back, clutching my injured limb.

  Anatoly got between us, slashing with his sword. Koschei floated back easily, keeping just out of Anatoly’s reach while making another wide swing at me with his white glowing sword.

  Nickoli unfurled his whip and lashed at Koschei, but it had little effect and Koschei turned quickly on him, advancing fast, his darkness sweeping over the stone floor beneath him. He shot out a boney hand with a gust of wind that sent Nickoli flying backward, striking the wall at the other side of the room. Koschei stood over him like a mountain of obsidian, raised a gleaming blade bringing it down hard. Nickoli rolled away, but not before the blade sliced into his knee. Nickoli screamed in pain and Koschei raised his sword again, cutting into the side of Nickoli's thigh as he struggled to get to his feet. I paused. He could have easily killed Nickoli, but instead Koschei was taking his time, enjoying it—like a cat playing with a mouse.

  Anatoly raced forward and stabbed his broadsword into Koschei’s breastplate, through his chest, and two feet out his of his boney spine. Koschei dropped his sword, his back arched around the weapon. His face twisted in pain as he grabbed the sword by the blade and ripped it out sending it clanging to the floor. He glared at Anatoly. “Fool! You can not kill me. There is no soul in this deathless body.”

  Koschei reached out and kicked Anatoly off his feet and swung his sword upright, cutting off a portion of Anatoly’s ear. He threw back his head and laughed as Anatoly’s hand shot to his injured head.

  “You call yourself a Bogatyr.” Koschei scowled. “Mere boys who fight like old women.” Koschei slammed a fist into his own chest and then pointed at Anatoly. “You are unfit to challenge me, the great and mighty Koschei the Deathless.”

  Anatoly stood strong, his shoulders braced. “It is you who are unfit, demon.” He nodded toward me. “A coward who attacks girls. Stop playing games and see what it’s like to fight a real man—if you dare.”

  Koschei's face contorted into a mask of rage. A deafening war cry carried dirt and dust swirling into the air, creating a massive, blinding sand storm.

  Mila huddled near me, trying to protect me from the storm and working to stop the flow of blood dripping down my fingers.

  “Hold still,” she shouted, squinting against the dirt storm.

  “I’m trying…but it stings.”

  She wrapped a bandage around my palm but all I could focus on were the heads of hideous creatures bobbing and weaving, fighting to push past each other to get out of the mural. Koschei ignored them, his focus on the catacombs outside of the chamber. “Arise, useless dead.” He commanded. “Wake from your rotten beds.”

  Mila gasped. “He’s summoning the monks to use them against us.”

  Seconds later came the sound of the coffin lids sliding open. Bones creaked and snapped in the darkness, but before any of them could emerge, Anatoly rushed forward, grabbed his sword from the floor, and took a giant swing at Koschei’s neck, but the demon easily swirled away in mist only to reappear behind Anatoly and slice into his raised arm. Anatoly yelled a deep cry of pain.

  “Anatoly!” I yelled.

  Koschei turned on me, transforming into solid form. Anatoly sprang into action, sheathing his sword as he ran at Koschei, shoving the creature backward into the mural. Before Koschei disappeared inside, he grabbed onto Anatoly dragging him into the painting with him. All that remained was the dark gaping cavity where they had disappeared.

  I stared at the hole in the mural waiting for Anatoly to reappear until Mila’s shattered cries shook me from my trance. Nickoli grabbed her, smothering her sobs by wrapping himself around her.

  “Hurry,” Nickoli shouted. “You
must seal them in!”

  Horrified, I glared at the two of them. How could I lock Anatoly inside with all those demons?

  “Do it now!” Nickoli yelled. “Before it is too late.”

  “But what about Anatoly…I can’t just….”

  Mila pulled away from Nickoli. She gripped my shoulders, her face streaked with tears. “You have to Natasha. If you don’t seal the opening—all of us will die.”

  I knew they were right. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let Anatoly suffer that kind of fate. I stood staring, helpless, unable to move.

  An odor of decay rose from the hole. Horrific growls and piercing shrieks emanated from the mural, growing louder, and closer.

  “Hurry Natasha,” Mila screamed. “The demons are coming back!”

  Nickoli and Mila struggled to hold both sides of the torn canvas together. I grabbed my paints and swept my brush over the jagged edges, each stroke sending me deeper into despair. It was like nailing a coffin closed on a living person. Somewhere in the depths of the painting Anatoly shouted in Russian, swords clanking, and then came Anatoly’s final scream as I sealed him into hell.

  I slid to the ground, clutching my paintbrush in defeat. My heart sank to new depths of sorrow. Anatoly was gone.

  Gone forever.

  A bitter sense of utter hopelessness and fury twisted inside of me. I leapt to my feet. I wanted to tear the painting apart. To set it on fire and destroy it for once and for all. It had taken everything from me. My parents, Anatoly, my freedom. As long as it existed there would always be the threat of it taking something else from me.

  I stared at the spot where Anatoly had disappeared until my vision blurred.

  Mila gripped my arm, her face pale and streaked with tears. “I’m sorry Natasha.”

  “Don’t be. I’m going after him.”

  Mila stared at me in disbelief. “No, please don’t do this. If you go after him —you’ll die and Anatoly’s death will be in vain. There won’t be anyone to tend the mural and no way to stop the demons from taking over the world.”