Mistress of the Solstice

by Anna Kashina

  The light faded.

  “Aaah,” Leshy sighed. “I could do this all night long. Such fun, these light beasties, don’t you find?” He turned to Ivan and gave him one of his mischievous grins. “Ready yet?”

  Ivan swallowed. He had almost forgotten about the riddle. Wolf had warned him, and yet, it had been so hard—

  Think. Concentrate.

  Was “love” the answer to the last riddle?

  Love was certainly a feeling everyone welcomed and treasured, and certainly one that from time to time brought more pain than happiness. Yet, from all Ivan knew about love, there was never a time for it to slip away. True love was the most permanent thing he knew. Except, perhaps, time itself.

  Of course, there were many ways to look at love, including the sickly sacrifice done in the name of love that dominated this kingdom. But Ivan firmly believed one thing: true love, if one ever had the privilege to experience it, was stronger than anything in the world.

  Even stronger than death.

  And then he knew.

  He turned to Leshy and met the old man’s eyes.

  “Life,” he said.

  There was a pause. A long one.

  “I lied,” Leshy told him. “This wasn’t my hardest riddle. In fact, it was an easy one. Care to try again?”

  Ivan smiled, relief washing over him. He didn’t realize how tense he had been until he felt his hands tremble from the released stress.

  “I suppose not,” Leshy mumbled. “Of course, I didn’t really want you in my swamp, boy. What would I do with such a smart one as you? What would my sweet Nikola think of one who’d cracked the very same riddle that brought about his doom, without as much as a flinch?” He paused, studying Ivan with a strange glint in his eyes. “On the bright side,” he continued, “this way I gets to know what it was that prompted you to come here in the first place. Tell me, boy: what do you seek from Leshy?”

  Ivan took a breath. “There is a net. A net that can capture a certain bird.”

  Leshy’s expression was unreadable. “A bird. That’s what our fool seeks. A bird. And what bird might that be, boy? A dove, perchance?” He broke out in giggles, bouncing up and down on the old log.

  Ivan waited for the laughter to stop.

  “A raven,” he said. “There’s only one such net in existence, and you have it.”

  “Now, now,” Leshy wiped his tears, amber like drops of tree sap. “No need to get impatient. Who told you I have the Net, clever boy?”

  “Someone who knows.”

  “Secrets, eh? ‘Old father’ you called me. Begged me to play. I thought we were friends now. Do friends have secrets from each other?” He looked at Ivan for a long moment.

  Ivan looked back, his face carefully blank.

  “All right,” Leshy nodded. “Fine. Be this way.” He sighed. “As it happens, I do know where the Net is. It isn’t far at all. But you have to go and get it yourself, smart boy.”

  “Where?” Ivan suspected his trial wasn’t over yet.

  Leshy stretched out a hand that looked like a gnarled beresklet branch, warts and all. “You see that blinky light out there?”

  Ivan looked. There was indeed a tiny greenish light shimmering among the swamp vapors. Cold, death-like, it was quite different from the warm firefly glow.

  “It’s a glowing piece of wood,” Leshy said. “A rotten tree stump. One of my kikimoras—Oksana is her name—she likes to carry a light when out in the swamp. She’s guarding a tree with a hole in it. Talk to her. Perchance, you could even learn her nickname. I don’t recall it myself. Then, when you’re done, reach into the hole if you dare, and you’ll find the Net. Or find yourself without a hand.” He giggled again.

  Ivan ignored the last remark. No physical harm was supposed to come to him as a result of winning Leshy’s game. The only thing he had to worry about was keeping his sanity.

  If, of course, Leshy always followed the rules.

  He had so far, hadn’t he?

  “Oh, yes. One more thing. You probably need a guide.” Leshy snapped his fingers and the tormented shape of Nikola the Wise appeared again. The kikimora’s wild eyes burned through Ivan.

  “Nikola will show you a safe path through the swamp. I’m sure he’d love to. Won’t you, dearie?”

  Nikola’s gurgling laugh choked in his throat under Leshy’s heavy gaze.

  “Off you go!” Leshy commanded. “Shoo!”

  He stepped behind the birch log into the shadow of the fir growth. After a moment, it seemed as if there had never been anything else there but bushes, sickly from the swamp water that surrounded their exposed roots. None of them resembled beresklet at all.

  The only reminder of the Forest Man’s presence was the withered brown shape of the little fir tree and the reddish splotch of a squashed firefly on Ivan’s hand. He hastily rubbed it off, and followed Nikola’s ghostly shape.

  At first it was easy to find a dry path. As they moved deeper into the swamp, Nikola jumped from one patch of dry land rising out of the swamp to another, and Ivan took care to copy his movements. Dark water glistened all around, like eyes peering at them through the stiff swamp grass. Nikola had no need to jump, except for Leshy’s orders to show him the way. For once, Ivan appreciated the code of the Immortals and the Forest Man’s care.

  The island appeared from the moonlit mist like a ghostly ship, the tall aspen in its center rising like a mast out of the swamp moss. As Nikola’s feet touched the island, he disappeared into thin air with a last look at his lucky follower. Ivan did his best to ignore the longing in Nikola’s tortured gaze. He could do nothing about the other man’s fate.

  The blue-green swamp light floated toward him, so different from the yellow and red shades of a real fire. It seemed very pale, barely visible against the moonlight. Ivan realized now that it didn’t really flicker. It only appeared flickering when its bearer moved.

  The kikimora approached him, her ghostly shape taking on more substance with each step.

  “Hello,” she said. “I am Oksana. Did you come to play with me?”

  A chill seized Ivan’s chest and held him in a tight grip. Among all the horrors of the swamp, he had never expected to see this. Gods. Gods, no. Dear, dear gods, no. Not this.

  Please, not a child.

  She looked no more than five. Her eyes were so large in her pale face that they took on a life of their own, shifting and glancing around as if afraid of an ambush. There was nothing childish in their depths. They held pain. So much pain—

  “Come,” she beckoned. “I like company. I’m not scary, really.”

  Ivan swallowed.

  “I came for the Net,” he heard himself saying. “Leshy sent me.”

  She pursed her lips. “I thought you would at least like to know my nickname. Everyone else does.”

  Her mouth stretched into a smile, but her eyes held the same torment, the same madness he saw in Nikola’s. It was a thousand times worse, seeing it in the eyes of a child.

  What kind of monster could have made a kikimora out of an innocent little girl?

  “All right,” he said, only vaguely aware of the hoarseness of his voice. “What is your nickname?”

  “Aha!” She jumped a few steps back. Her face twisted into a grimace that might have passed for laughter if not for the expression of her eyes. “I—I don’t have one! I don’t have a nickname!” She threw her head back and wailed, with the sound that Ivan had in the past few hours learned to call laughter. Kikimora’s laughter.

  He waited for her to finish and did his best not to look away.

  “Then,” he said quietly, “why don’t we give you one?”

  She looked at him with wonder. For a moment her eyes became dreamy, almost sane.

  “You? You will give me a nickname?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Why not?”

  She hesitated. “All right. But—why don’t you get your Net first? Uncle Leshy won’t be pleased if I keep you.”

  “In that case,�
�� Ivan suggested, “while I am getting the Net, why don’t you think what kind of a nickname you’d like to have?”

  Her eyes showed doubt. And wonder, which sparkled through the madness like a star in a stormy sky. “All right. Just don’t reach all the way inside. The Net is right near the opening. And deeper inside there’s the—the handcatcher!” She laughed again. This time it lasted shorter than before.

  “The nickname,” Ivan reminded her. “Think of the nickname.”

  He stepped forward and reached into the gaping hole of the tree. Oksana was right. The Net was very close to the entrance. It was soft, like a breath of warm air. So alien to the moldy swamp chill. Was this why Raven chose Leshy as a guardian of his magical bane?

  Was it Raven’s choice? Was he free to choose the keeper of the only item in the world that could truly harm him? Or was it forced on him by some higher powers, to maintain control over the world’s order?

  Did such powers truly exist?

  Ivan forced the thought away as he pulled the Net out and clenched it in his fist. It was woven so finely that it could be folded to the size of a hazelnut. Partially folded, it filled his hand like a puff of warm air.

  Oksana sat on the ground a few paces away, her face blank.

  “Have you thought of a nickname?” he asked.

  “I don’t have a nickname,” she said absently, as if their conversation minutes ago hadn’t happened.

  Ivan lowered to the ground in front of her.

  “What did your mother call you?”

  She looked at him, startled. Then she threw her head back, shaking with a deafening fit of laughter.

  Ivan waited. He didn’t look away.

  Marya

  I followed my savior into warm darkness. After a patient moment I heard a match struck and soft reddish light poured into a lantern on the table.

  It was a cozy room, with a small curtained window, a washbasin in the corner, and a large bed. It even had sheets made of plain, sun-bleached linen, and the pad underneath had wisps of wool mixed in with the usual mattress straw. My new acquaintance obviously liked to travel in style.

  I threw a helpless glance around, pulling the scarf tighter around my savaged dress.

  “You don’t need to be afraid,” he said gently. “Would you like me to leave?”

  “No,” I whispered. “I’d rather you stayed with me…sir.”

  I gave him a long look and noted a spark of new interest in the depth of his dark eyes. It echoed in my chest with growing excitement. The hold was established. All I had to do now was turn the spark into flame.

  And hope he was as good as his looks suggested.

  “My name is Kirill,” he offered.

  I looked at him as if deciding whether or not I could trust him. “I’m Dasha.”

  “Well, Dasha, why don’t you sit on the bed? I’ll take this chair over here.”

  I stepped over to the bed and stopped helplessly, as if realizing for the first time what my next difficulty was going to be. I looked down over my torn dress. Then, I raised my head and met his eyes with a hunted look.

  After a moment, he saw it too.

  “I can offer you my spare shirt to wear,” he said with hesitation. “And, perhaps it would be better if I left you alone after all.”

  “No! Kirill…” I said pleadingly. “These men—they saw where I went. If you leave me alone here, they’ll find me!”

  “These drunkards scared you, poor child.” He shook his head. “Very well. I’ll stay here with you. I’ll just…look away.”

  I held his gaze a bit longer this time, showing him a glimpse of a woman through the mask of innocence. I pitched my voice lower. “Thank you, Kirill. I feel so safe with you.”

  Seduction is the only love-game I am allowed, and I enjoy it very much. Nothing is more exciting than making a man want me more than anything, and then allowing him to court me and win my favor. I especially enjoy the way experienced men do it. They savor the contest itself, sparing no detail. And then, when you finally give in, they take you over completely, inside and out. Your body becomes a pure essence of ecstasy under their skillful hands. They worship you like a goddess who granted her mortal admirer a moment of her presence.

  And then, when all is over, they leave you forever. For they are wanderers, seekers, and a woman is interesting to them only if she is new.

  But I never wait this long. I like to leave first, before the break of dawn, before the memory grows cold on my body. I turn into a dove and fly home to my tower in the Tzar’s palace. I fly above love. I fly free.

  “It is done,” I told Kirill.

  He turned his head to see me sitting on his bed, wearing only his shirt, with the mended dress heaped in my lap in a way that left most of my legs exposed to the warm air of the room.

  “Oh,” he said, turning away. “Sorry. I thought you were ready.”

  “Almost,” I told him. “I just need to put it on. But how can I thank you for all your help?”

  “No need,” he assured me. “I couldn’t let such a beautiful girl as you be treated so badly.”

  “Do you—” I held a pause, letting my breath catch in a small gasp. “Do you really think I am beautiful?”

  He turned back and looked at me again as I sat there, showing no attempt to hide myself. I looked straight at him as he took in all the lines and curves only half-hidden by his loose shirt, the way the skin of my bare legs gave off a soft gleam in the reddish light of the lantern.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “You are very beautiful, Dasha.”

  I blushed, letting the color fill my cheeks and touch seductively on my neck and chest. Yet, I kept his gaze.

  “Nobody ever told me this before,” I said quietly. “Not like this.”

  I kept still, beckoning with my eyes. He shivered as his body urged him on where his mind held him back. I set the mended dress aside and let it slide off the bed to the floor, leaving nothing between me and his hungry gaze but the thin linen of his shirt. He licked his lips as he followed the line of my neck down to where it disappeared into the shirt’s wide opening. Then he tore his gaze away and looked me in the face.

  “We shouldn’t,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

  I almost laughed at such foolish honor, but I kept my face straight. “Isn’t it for me to decide?”

  “But you—I—”

  “Don’t you like me?”

  He swept over to sit next to me on the bed. “I like you very much, Dasha. I think you are exquisite. I just think you are too innocent.”

  Innocent. I almost laughed again, but again I kept a straight face as I reached out and touched his hand. A shudder went through his body and echoed in mine.

  “I am not a virgin,” I whispered, letting my eyelids drop and a new shade of pink rush into my cheeks at this confession.

  I waited. Somehow this simple piece of information often did wonders for loosing a man from his principles. I had counted to five under my breath when I felt his hand on me.

  His fingers lightly traced the outside of my leg from thigh to ankle. This time my gasp wasn’t pretense. I turned to him, my eyes dreamy.

  His hand returned, this time pressing harder against my skin. All the while he kept my gaze, watching for signs that would caution him to stop.

  I bent my head to the side, letting my loose hair slide over my shoulder, its weight caressing my arm and side. I wanted to immerse myself in his touch. But he wasn’t certain yet that he could proceed.

  “It feels like…bliss,” I whispered, closing my eyes briefly and then opening them again to encourage him on.

  He edged closer and ran his hands lightly along my arms, from fingertips to shoulders, reaching inside the wide sleeves of my borrowed shirt. Holding me inside the cloth he drew me closer. My head tipped back to expose the tender skin of my throat to his lips. His hot tongue ran along my neck down to the delightful spot where the collarbones came together.

&n
bsp; My gasp turned into a moan. I wanted to respond, but he held me in such a way that I couldn’t move my arms, couldn’t do anything but submit to his caress. I gave in to it, savoring every moment.

  His lips brushed the opening of my shirt, the hollow of my throat, the tops of my breasts. He shifted my weight in his arms to bring my face level with his, and drew me toward him, his breath hot on my burning skin. His mouth covered mine, his tongue parting my lips. My moan caught in my throat as he slid it inside, filling my mouth. He tasted of musk, hops, and expensive ale, its fumes rising into my head. My mouth fell open in response, my face drawing to his faster than my conscious thought.

  His hands found their way under the shirt, his fingers pressing on the right spots to evoke a response. I shivered as his touch became stronger, a powerful caress that would have seemed rough if it didn’t answer so well the fire that burned inside me. I submerged into it, clinging to him, yielding my body to his fierce hands.

  After a while he drew away and looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time.

  “Gods,” he whispered. “Dasha. I don’t know what came over me. I—”

  I shifted in his arms, drawing my head away just enough to focus on his face.

  “Take off your clothes,” I whispered. “I want you, now.” My voice trembled with urgency, and he responded to it without hesitation.

  I watched his muscles shift under his smooth, hairless skin as I pulled off my shirt, letting it slide off the bed down to the floor. He was more handsome than I imagined. His body was sculpted of muscle, lean and strong like a warrior’s. My eyes moved lower and I blushed, bringing them back up to his face. He knew I wasn’t a virgin, but now was not the time to show my experience.

  “You are so beautiful, Dasha,” he whispered. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  He scooped me up in his arms and lay me down on the bed. Then he eased alongside me, running his fingers over my body in a gentle caress.

  I closed my eyes and let myself float. It was bliss. It was everything I wanted. It was the best thing I’d ever felt, and I immersed myself fully in the sensation.