Cygnet Czarinas

by Jon Jacks

  The fisherman’s beautiful daughter, Undine, was even more enthralled by their appearance: she had always been warned by her parents that she should never enter the forest. (Naturally, it was an instruction she would have undoubtedly rebelled against if it hadn’t been common knowledge throughout the village that evil spirits lived in the trees and pools.)

  Besides, she had never before seen a knight and his squire, even though she had obviously heard of their existence.

  The two men were obviously exhausted by their journey through the forest. They asked if they could stay awhile at the fisherman’s home, offering to pay him well for their lodging.

  As the two ravenous men settled down to the evening meal prepared by the fisherman’s wife, an excited Undine rudely and mischievously asked the knight what it was like in the forest: only for her father to immediately forbid that there should be any such talk, for it was well known that it wasn’t wise to talk of angry spirits at night.

  Affronted and upset by her father’s admonishment in front of this handsome knight, a peeved Undine rushed from the table – running out into the night, out into the darkened Forest of The Rusalki.

  Everyone called out after her; but their voices were lost in the howls of a swiftly growing wind and an increasingly heavy rain. And so when she failed to return, they all forlornly realised they would have to follow after her into the forest.

  The knight, Sir Grace, hadn’t liked this forest even throughout the day – but on a night, of course, it was even more eerie and intimidating.

  The birds in the trees called out like infants crying for their mothers: but then, wasn’t it said that each one was actually a lost spirit of either a drowned or suffocated child, or a young wife who had died in childbirth – at the very least, someone who had never experienced motherly love? The spirits dwelling deep down in the pools and lakes were even worse, their soft endearments dragging even the wariest traveller into their cold embrace.

  In the swiftly worsening storm, travelling through this dreadful forest of spirits was even more dangerous than ever. The rain was now so heavy that it was almost like wading through a turbulent river, while the trees were lashing at Sir Grace more fiercely than any number of human foes.

  He began to fear that he would ever find such a delicately beautiful creature like Undine alive in this chaotic landscape. Yet, unable to admit he might have failed, he heedlessly plunged through the whirling forest, now more obsessed than ever with bringing her home safely.

  Through the angry drumming of the rain ferociously pummelling the leaves and ground, he caught the whispers of calls for help – fearful murmurs that thankfully led him to a leafy riverside bower, where Undine had taken shelter against the storm.

  Joyfully, Sir Grace took her up into his arms: and realised with a start that he was in love with this elfinly beautiful girl.

  *

  It was indeed fortunate that Sir Grace had found Undine and taken her back to the safety of her parent’s house: for, rather than abating, the vehemence of the storm abruptly increased, until it was raging so furiously that the whole village was soon cut off from the rest of the world by encircling floods.

  Not, of course, that Sir Grace minded being held up from returning to his old life.

  He enjoyed the chance to be able to spend more time with the gloriously wonderful Undine.

  She listened wide-eyed and enraptured as he related his adventures within the forest, particularly now she herself had also experienced the terror instilled by the innumerable wayward spirits inhabiting the woodlands.

  The wailing birds she had heard were the Navki, ‘the embodiment of death’, who endlessly comb the woods in their fruitless search for their mothers or babies, jealously attacking women close to the time of childbirth. They have just seven years to find a willing soul to take pity on them; for if they fail, they become the Rusalki, spinners of fate who live at the bottom of ponds, or under the turbulence of rapids, and hang their embroidered rusniki from the trees on any nearby bank.

  Regulators of the moon and the seasons, it is the Rusalki who determine who dies and who’s reborn, who prospers, who marries, and who will be barren; therefore the wise young woman wishing to have a child should strew the trees with her own ribbons and woven cloth as an offering. Similarly, the magical waters of these secret wells can cure all ills, even bring about enlightenment.

  But if the mood takes them, the Rusalki may also appear as beautiful maidens who cast neither reflection nor shadow, while their tumbling hair veils the fact they have no backs, for otherwise their insides would be plainly on view. And meeting these irresistible girls, with their bewitching songs – their voices so amazingly beautiful that those who hear them forget everything they know, and want nothing more ever again – a poor man can find himself entranced, willingly, even joyfully, drawn down into the Rusalka’s watery boudoir, from where he will never return.

  Listening to Sir Grace’s tales (for that, of course, is all they really were), Undine was relieved that he had come safely through the Forest of The Rusalki without succumbing to such a dreadful fate. But then, he was also relieved that Undine hadn’t suffered an equally terrible fate after her own inadvisable disappearance into the forest.

  ‘But I’d heard only good things of what we call the Sirins,’ Undine said in an attempt to reassure Sir Grace that she had never felt threatened, ‘that they will later be transformed into Archangels in Paradise, for they bring world harmony, eternal joy and heavenly happiness. It is only happy people who ever hear their bewitching songs, which is like God's word entering the soul; while few are lucky enough to catch sight of them, for they are as elusive as human happiness.’

  Sir Grace was completely entranced by Undine’s delightful innocence, her trusting nature. They would be married, they decided, as soon as the floodwaters had receded enough for them to fetch a priest to the village.

  But then, as if by magic, a priest who had lost his way in his boat upon the swirling waters fetched upon their island, seeking refuge there.

  It was the perfect opportunity, everyone agreed.

  The joyful couple would be married that night.

  *

  It was as the wedding procession made its way up to the chapel, where the priest waited alone for them, that a farmer appeared before the knight’s squire, his face full of foreboding.

  The real daughter of the fisherman and his wife had been kidnapped as soon as she had been born, the farmer morosely told the squire; kidnapped by Kühleborn, the Prince of the Water Spirits. Undine is Kühleborn’s creation, and therefore has no soul.

  Appalled and fearful for the wellbeing of his master, the squire urgently looked towards the front of the procession, where Sir Grace and Undine were already nearing the chapel’s door. He glanced back, looking for the farmer once more, realising he would need the man to relate his tale to his master; but the farmer had disappeared into the slowly winding procession of villagers following on behind the happy couple, vanishing as completely as if he had never really existed.

  As Sir Grace and his bride-to-be passed through the chapel’s doors, the squire realised with a heavy heart that it was too late to put a stop to their marriage. He had no choice but to hope that the farmer was mistaken – a naively superstitious peasant, propagating nothing but ill-founded rumours and gossip – determining instead that he would keep a close eye on his new mistress.

  If she was indeed a mischievous little water sprite who had cleverly entrapped his master, then surely she would soon unintentionally reveal that she lacked a soul.

  *

  Almost as soon as the marriage of Sir Grace and Undine was happily concluded, the raging storm began to calm, the squalls blowing themselves farther afield to plague some other unfortunate area. With the abrupt ceasing of the torrents of rain, the surrounding land at last began to recover, the burst banks of the rivers re-establishing themselves once more and at last directing the floodwaters off towards the sea.

&nbs
p; The squire watched all this with foreboding, while Sir Grace observed this apparently miraculous intervention with a bliss almost approaching ecstasy, seeing it all as a blessing on his marriage: for he could now return to his own lands with his beautiful new bride.

  As they travelled, Undine did indeed gradually reveal her true nature, but in no way reflecting the untamed creature the squire had feared; rather, she blossomed into the finest lady he had ever come across, someone who was kind and considerate to everyone they met on their journey. She even displayed genuine affection for him, too, her conversation surprisingly delightful and full of good humour, while towards Sir Grace she was both attentive and deeply loving.

  If that idiot farmer had been even remotely right, the squire silently scoffed one night as Undine tenderly fed their horses, then at some point his wonderful mistress had acquired a soul.

  *

  The real test for Undine’s remarkable improvement, of course, would come when she was introduced to ladies of high standing, of noble birth.

  This was to come far earlier than anyone might have originally expected, and be the most arduous trial of all; for Sir Grace decided to pay his respects to his own lord the duke as they made their way through his lands. Even as they entered the busy courtyard of the palace, where the duke’s courtiers gathered around a chuckling fountain, they were immediately approached by the elegantly majestic Beregina, the duke’s daughter.

  Surprising them all, Beregina was instantly entranced by the grace and beauty of Undine. Linking arms with her as if they were dear sisters, Beregina took Undine aside, insisting that the young girl tell her everything there was to know about her.

  Poor, innocent Undine: she wasn’t to know, of course, that it had been the haughty Beregina who had sent Sir Grace and his squire out on their fool’s errand to the Forest of The Rusalki as a means of proving his love for her. So as soon as Undine unwittingly revealed that she and Sir Grace were married, Beregina’s love was instantly transformed into hate.

  ‘You’ve married the daughter of poor fisherfolk?’ Beregina imperiously sneered at Sir Grace as, letting Undine’s arm hang limp, she irately strode over towards him.

  For yes, poor, innocent Undine had also naively informed Beregina of her lowly upbringing in the village.

  Overhearing Beregina’s contemptuous insult and observing its effect on the distraught Undine, a count from Naples gallantly stepped forward, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

  ‘Yet I’d heard,’ he declared assuredly, ‘that it is the Lady Beregina herself who is the real child of fisherfolk: for it’s claimed in my lands that Prince Kühleborn kidnapped her and entrusted her to the duke.’

  Naturally, everyone who heard this inflammatory accusation was aghast at the man’s impertinence. Beregina in particular, of course, was outraged.

  ‘Is this the necklace of a fisherman’s daughter?’ she stormed, lifting up for all to see the string of sparkling jewels draped around her neck.

  It was indeed the most remarkable of necklaces, one made of the richest gems of every colour: and everyone knew Beregina had worn it since she had been the tiniest baby, with some people even making the ridiculous claim that she might have been born wearing it.

  Undeterred, the count insolently stepped forward to lift up a number of the glistening stones in his own hand.

  He had the ecstatic look of the priest about him, thought Sir Grace, but his squire would disagree with him, seeing in this discourteous count the ruddiness of the farmer who had spoken to him on the island.

  Within the count’s palm, the jewels began to shiver, to become fluid; trickling through his fingers, as if the gems were nothing more than frozen water that had now warmed in the heat of his hand.

  Within the wondrously coloured streams, the sparkling, refracted light cast out images of past events.

  The sapphire blue was the lake from which Kühleborn himself arose, a prince formed of the waters, flowing swiftly and silently towards the fisherfolk’s home.

  The ruby red was the blood of the new-born babe, ignored ever so briefly as the fisherman tends to his exhausted wife.

  The amber yellow was the flash as Kühleborn snatched up the child, slipping her beneath his cloak of moss.

  The emerald green was the sprite slipped into the babe’s place, the glitter of diamond the magic transforming her skin into the milky white of a human’s.

  And as the necklace dissolved within the count’s grip, Beregina crumpled in a faint to the floor.

  *

  Sir Grace was the first to rush to the dazed Beregina’s side, but Undine was only a short step behind.

  ‘I’ll fetch some water–’

  Beregina’s eyes flickered open once more, blazing with hate and perhaps terror as Undine attempted to help her.

  She shrugged back from Undine fearfully.

  ‘At least I don’t have demons for parents!’ she snapped.

  She clung onto Sir Grace, as if seeking safety in his arms.

  ‘What have you brought amongst us?’ she demanded angrily.

  Aware of the flaming fear in Beregina’s eyes, Sir Grace stretched out a powerful arm to hold Undine back, to push her back.

  ‘You’ve done enough,’ he snarled with barely controlled anger at Undine. ‘You fooled me – entranced me – into a false marriage: a trick to prevent me marrying Beregina!’

  Undine was horrified by her husband’s furious accusation.

  ‘No no, please,’ she pleaded tearfully, ‘I swear I didn’t use magic–’

  Whether it was true or not that she had or hadn’t used magic, magic was now definitely taking place around her.

  Just as the priceless jewels of the necklace had dissolved into nothing but stained streams of sparkling water, now the count himself was quivering, liquefying, vanishing as completely as if he had never really existed as he flowed into another form: Kühleborn, Prince of the Water Spirits.

  ‘Are those who benefit from a soul morally superior to the supposedly soulless spirits who live in my waters?’ he asked sternly, his voice crackling like a river rippling over stones. ‘That is what I wanted to discover!’

  His disapproving grimace at Beregina served as his sign that he had his answer.

  He reached out towards Undine, grasping a hand in his as he cast over her the feathered veil he had kept hidden from her: and like him, she was instantly transformed into a glorious swan that rushed into the air, swirled around the court – and vanished into the pool at the base of the fountain.

  *

  Despite the fountain’s pool being remarkably shallow, there was no sign of either Kühleborn or Undine.

  They had thankfully returned to the watery depths where they belonged, Beregina declared with satisfaction, lovingly taking Sir Grace’s hand in hers.

  ‘Which means Sir Grace has also thankfully been released from his demonic entrapment!’ she added brightly.

  It was the perfect opportunity, everyone agreed.

  The joyful couple would be married that week.

  *

  Sir Grace lay in his bed, drenched in the fears and anxieties he constantly sweated out whenever he tried to sleep.

  Despite this, at some point he must have at last thankfully fallen asleep, for he sensed he was being lifted up by the wings of swans, and carried out across the lands, across a great, endless ocean.

  The swans sang, a song he took to be a foreboding of death.

  As a storm gathered, as the sea became darker, endlessly black, an equally darkened swan took him down into the whirling waters.

  A light glowed white and pure deep down in the blackness.

  Undine.

  Her tears were white, as milkily perfect as pearls. Flowing upwards, past him, reaching for the surface.

  Through the angry drumming of the ferociously pummelling water, he caught the whispers of calls for help; but they were his own calls of obsession, drowned out until they were only whispers.

  *

 
It was during the marriage celebration itself, at midnight, that every light in the palace was abruptly snuffed out.

  No candle or brand would light again. Every wick, every piece of kindling, was soaked, as if they had been left out in a heavy rain.

  In the darkness, people wept with fear, reached for their swords, their daggers.

  In the courtyard, the previously darkened pool surrounding the fountain glittered, mercurial in its brightness, as the moon cast her silvery veil into its waters.

  And as the moon can draw up the waters of even the great ocean, she now drew up the deeper, darker waters lying hidden beneath the pool, moulding them, reshaping them.

  Undine rose from the waters draped in the milky veil, silent, but assured in her purpose.

 

  *

  Her tears were priceless pearls, left behind her in a stream tracking her course through the darkened palace.

  She wept, it is said, as if weeping out her very soul.

  She moved as if through flowing waters, unhindered by the lack of light, the useless flailing of the blinded people cavorting around her.

  Despite the brightness of her veil, only Sir Grace could see her.

  He fell onto his knees before her.

  Bending low, she kissed him.

  And all around the blissful couple, the irresistible waves of the great, dark ocean struck, taking everything and everyone else with them.

  *

  Chapter 36

  The girl was her soul.

  The girl on the card: the girl Sandy had seen on the very top of the mountain, of Alatyr.

  How was that possible?

  She was alive; surely she had a soul!

  But no; she hadn’t, not really.

  She didn’t possess her own swan veil, like her sisters, her brother.