by Anna Kashina
Don’t stop. Not when you are so close.
His feet carried him forward, first slowly, then faster as he finally saw the roughly hewn wall looming ahead. It was so close he could see the cracks in the moss-covered stones, perfect footholds for someone trying to climb up. Nothing to it, just like Raven said.
A dark winged shape swept overhead. Ivan dropped to the ground and rolled over, barely avoiding the sweep of the razor-sharp claws. Focus, you fool. The last trap.
Too late, he remember Raven’s warning. “Stop, as soon as you see the wall. Don’t take another step before you see the creature.”
Had he messed it up?
His silent attacker circled and returned for another pass. Crouching, Ivan reached for his dagger. “Don’t fight it,” Raven had said. “Don’t even try. You cannot possibly win. Above all, don’t look at it.” The warning echoed in Ivan’s ears just in time as he was about to turn his head. If only the damned thing would make more sound. How was he supposed to resist if he couldn’t even look at it?
How could he possibly survive its attack if he couldn’t fight back?
The sweep of air at the back of his neck was his only warning. He was too slow this time. A sharp claw grazed his shoulder, biting deep into the skin. He forced back a cry as he rolled over the ground again, this time in the right direction. Toward the water. Here.
The dark gleaming swamp puddle at the foot of the castle reflected the moonless sky, the tower at his back looming over it like a cliff. He could see the movement over it as the creature swept down again. Dear gods. So huge. It could probably kill him with a single strike. And now that it drew blood—
He held still, bracing for his next move. He could see the creature at his back growing in size as it advanced, impossibly fast. Claws, bigger than Wolf’s, gleamed on its paws, raised for a strike. Silver-white eyes focused on him with cold precision. Dear gods.
The creature’s face was that of a woman, beautiful and calm, like the treacherous swamp waters. It had breasts, naked and full, their skin gleaming white as they swelled at the base of her long, slender neck. The rest of the body was covered with fur, the creature’s bear limbs and bat-like wings a terrifying contrast with the cold beauty of its face.
Frozen in fascination, Ivan nearly forgot to move in time. At the last minute, he dove out of the creature’s way.
It recovered, beating its enormous wings, raising the wind in their wake. But this small delay was enough. Ivan was ready this time as he shot out his hand and splashed water from his flask over the flying creature.
He expected more, a hiss, or perhaps a scream. Instead, the creature just dissipated, like a wisp of black smoke from a dying stove.
Once again, the air was clear, the night cold and still, as if nothing had happened here before.
Trembling, Ivan sank to the grass. He did it. He had bested all of the Mistress’s traps. Now all he had to do was climb up and claim his prize.
He looked up the rough, moss-covered stone wall.
He was not sure he had enough strength left to do it.
Marya
That night, I had the dream again. I was walking through the forest, clenching something in my hand. Something oval and warm to the touch. I wanted to open my hand and look, but the force of the dream drew me forward to the hedge that glistened with sunlight from beyond the distant tree trunks.
It was hard to reach the hedge. My feet sunk deep into the forest floor. Raspberry brambles grabbed at my clothes, holding me back with their sticky hands. Hazelnut bushes slapped me in the face. Young fir trees tried to prick me through the thin cloth of my dress. But I was persistent. I knew I had to reach the hedge and step out into the sunlight.
As always in my dream, as I finally tore free from the forest’s clutches, I found myself in the glade next to the Sacrifice Pool. In the very same place where each year a chosen maiden submerged into the water to be swallowed forever by Kupalo’s love and my father’s need.
A man was waiting for me in the glade. A dark man crouching by the water. As I stepped out of the forest and saw him, fear engulfed me. I knew the man was about to turn his head and I was desperately afraid to see his face. As I saw his muscles tense and his head begin to turn, I screamed.
And woke up.
I sat up in bed, my heart beating, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness from the bright sunlight of the glade in my dream. I was alone in my room. It was night. There was no strange man. Everything was well.
And then I saw a shape by the window.
A man.
Horrified, I watched him step from the shadows toward me, slowly coming into view. In the dim light I watched his face, his straw hair, his eyes smiling at me with such gentleness that my heart nearly stopped beating in fear of scaring it away. He stopped in front of me, looking straight into my eyes.
“Hello, Marya Tzarevna,” he said, and the sound of his voice made me shiver.
Except, strangely, my fear was gone.
Holding my gaze, he stepped forward and lowered to a crouch beside my bed, so that his face was level with mine. Warmth tingled in my awakening body. I suddenly felt easy, as if the sun has come out from behind a cloud. He smiled and I suppressed the urge to smile back.
“You are even more beautiful than I remember,” he said quietly. It was a statement, not a question or an invitation to speak. So I continued to look at him, feeling my body slowly warm under his gaze.
I should have called the guards. There was an intruder in my bedroom at night. Yet, I could not imagine any danger coming from this harmless looking boy. After the terror of my nightmare I wanted to enjoy the feeling of calm he emanated, if only for a moment.
I suddenly became aware that I was naked under the covers and pulled my blanket up to my neck. He drew back and, searching around with his eyes, found my dress, thrown over the back of the chair. He picked it up and handed it to me. It seemed natural, like a child’s game. I pulled the dress over my head and stood up, straightening it out.
And came to my full senses.
I was alone with a man, who had obviously overcome all my deadly traps to come to my bedroom at night.
“How did you get here?” I demanded.
“I climbed up the wall,” he said. “It isn’t all that hard.”
Trying to appear calm, I lit a candle in a sconce on the wall and in its reddish flickering light I looked him up and down. He hadn’t been killed by my traps, which in itself seemed unbelievable, but he should at least look badly beaten. My father and I believed the traps impossible to avoid.
I could see no significant signs of hardship in his neat clothing. He still wore a peasant’s garb, but it was different from what he’d worn on the palace plaza. His fine linen shirt was embroidered with a thread at the neck. It was ripped below the shoulder, a dark splotch spreading around the gash. Blood? My skin tingled at this new evidence that he was speaking the truth. He did encounter, and apparently overcome, my traps. But how?…
I continued my inspection. His dark baggy pants and the lapti on his feet looked new, perhaps a bit grass-stained. I could see the strong line of his neck running into the wide opening of the shirt, the muscle of his arms, the width of his shoulders under the bleached fabric. He bore no visible weapon, only a short dagger on his belt, but his body was lean and fit like a warrior’s.
I forced thoughts of his body away. They hardly seemed to fit the occasion.
“Listen,” I said. “I don’t know who you are…”
“I am Ivan, the youngest son of Tzar Erofei of the Twelfth Kingdom,” he answered readily. Then he paused and added with a quick smile: “I’m also known as Ivan the Fool.”
His smile was so hard to resist. I lowered my eyes to suppress an unseemly desire to giggle. He made me feel carefree, the way I hadn’t felt in years.
“The fool,” I said. “Indeed.”
Names. How did it happen that he told me his name?
Names were like bonds. They made things personal. T
hey made people feel as if they knew each other.
They made people care.
They made it so much harder to do what was right.
I shook the feeling off. There would be time to deal with it later, or so I hoped.
His gaze held me. The blue of his eyes was like a lure, a promise of a life I could never have, the call of a distant heavenly land. If I had been born a simple village maiden, if I didn’t bear my gruesome duty of conducting an annual sacrifice, if I was free to love—
I forced myself back to my senses.
Love. One did not speak of the enemy on the verge of the Solstice. This word had no place in my thoughts. It was not only forbidden for me, but more, I never desired it. There wasn’t a man born who could possibly be my match. Was there?
This boy must be a sorcerer, for no regular mortal could ever make me feel this way.
I drew myself up. “I will give you exactly three seconds to get out of here, Ivan the Fool. If you are not out by then—”
I expected him to spring into action. At the very least, to show some reaction to my words. Instead, he reached into his shirt and pulled out a slightly crumpled purple-and-yellow flower.
“I brought this for you,” he said, his face shining with the mischief of a child letting his playmate in on a secret.
In my surprise, I reached out to take it before the realization of what it was hit me full in the face.
These were not two flowers, a purple and yellow, as I’d first thought. This was a single plant, one of the most common in the nearby forests.
Ivan-and-Marya.
My outstretched hand wavered and the flower slipped to the floor.
“Do you believe in destiny, Marya?” he asked softly.
Destiny. Perhaps I was still dreaming, and all this was a figment of my imagination? Perhaps if I indulged in this, just a moment longer, there would be no harm? Wasn’t I allowed to have a pleasant dream every once in a while?
I slowly looked up to meet his eyes.
“There’s no such thing as destiny,” I said.
He reached over and took my hand.
I melted into his touch like cream melts into hot bread, like a drop of ice melts into a patch of spring sunlight. The warmth of his skin, the brush of his fingers against mine echoed through my body with a shudder so strong it shook me to my very soul.
I had known the touch of many men. I didn’t even care to remember how many. But not like this.
I felt naked under his gentle gaze. I swayed with the slightest movement of the night air. The soles of my feet were burned by the smooth stone floor. I was transparent to the warmth of his gaze, the sunlight of his smile.
His touch.
And then he spoke, his soft voice caressing me like a breath of warm wind.
“I am the happiest man in the world to be able to see you so close. You are beautiful beyond belief.”
I forced a smile. “Don’t you know? I am the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“You are, indeed!” he exclaimed. “And, yet, no legend could do you justice.” He stepped closer, and I inhaled his smell, sun-baked grass and fresh river water. It made my head spin.
No man I had known ever smelled like this. I allowed myself a moment to revel in his smell, resisting the urge to step forward and sink into his arms.
If I wanted to remain sane, I had to stop this right now.
It was time to wake up.
I pulled my hand out of his hold and drew away. A breath of the cool night air with the familiar smells of stone and dry wood settled over my confused senses.
“If you don’t leave this instant—”
“I need to talk to you, Marya,” he said. “That’s why I am here.”
“Talk to me? What about?”
“The Solstice.”
Now that I kept my distance from him it was easier to stay sane. In the dim light I could no longer see his eyes, shrouded in deep shadow, nor catch his scent, carried away by the draft at my back. It was easier to concentrate.
“What in particular do you wish to know about the Solstice?”
His neck became tense, a barely perceptible change that made me instantly alert.
“Do you know why your father, Kashchey, demands Solstice sacrifice?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, since you’re obviously an outsider,” I said, “but if you must know, it feeds his power to keep our kingdom safe,”
Ivan shook his head, stepping around me so I was forced to turn toward the light.
“It does feed his power,” he said. “But this has nothing to do with the good of the kingdom. Those poor girls die to keep him young. They give their lives for his enjoyment. And you have the power to stop this.”
I felt my skin tingle as my magic power awoke inside me. “You know nothing about this, Fool. Leave, before I smash you where you stand!”
He didn’t move, but I saw the shadows shift on his face as his gaze softened. “You’re wrong, Marya,” he said quietly. “Deep inside, you know it. Your father keeps you in his power. He controls you. I can help you break free.”
A surge of power rushed to my fingertips as I raised my hands, palms out. “Be gone!”
He shook his head and took a step forward.
I lifted my chin. “Since you obviously don’t understand words—” Fire crackled in my hands. “Good bye, Fool.”
He leapt out of the way of the blast, his movement so quick and fluid that I couldn’t help but gape. Had he been tricking me all this time? Was he a great warrior after all?
“Please, Marya,” he pleaded. “All I want is talk.”
“You’ve talked enough.”
The lack of fear on his face was hypnotizing, but not nearly as unsettling as the touch of pity as he continued to look at me. He showed no move to run away. He just stood there, waiting for my next blast. And it was then, as I gathered all my energy to smite him to dust, that I realized that this act would kill me too, that I simply could not bear the thought of putting out the sunlight that emanated from his eyes. Not like this.
I lowered my hands.
“Leave.”
“No.” He took another step toward me.
My voice sank to a whisper. “Please. I am letting you go. Run, before I change my mind.”
“Come with me.” He reached over, and I felt my head spin as I realized that he would touch me again, and that if I felt again the warmth of his hand, his smell, I would not be able to resist him anymore. I shrank away from him as if he was a snake.
He took another step. I stared at him, mesmerized. His eyes. His touch—
And then his muscles went tense again as he spun around even before I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye.
Relief and regret washed over me as the stately, black-clad figure crossed the room in a few surefooted strides. His eyes burned like coals in a pale face framed by long dark hair.
My father, Kashchey the Immortal.
Ivan
Once he saw her up close, there was no going back. He was doomed, and he knew it. Or perhaps the same doom had engulfed both of them, throwing them into a turmoil from which there could be no escape.
She was so much more beautiful up close. And more. She was his soul mate, a true part of him whose closeness was the only thing that could make him feel complete. And she was trapped, helpless and powerful all at the same time, an impossible combination that made him want to stay by her side for the rest of his life, to look into her eyes, to cherish and protect her as she deserved, as she was born to be.
Not to use her, like her father had been. She was so much more than an exquisite tool to quench his dark, vile need.
And then Ivan realized it. His true quest was not to save this year’s virgin, and every other virgin to come in her wake. His true quest was to save Marya, Mistress of the Solstice.
When he came to this kingdom, he had been committed to fulfill his quest or die. But now he knew: his soul would not rest until his quest was accomp
lished.
If he failed, death would not absolve him.
His soul would be destroyed too.
Marya
My father strode into the room keeping his eyes on Ivan, who stood so still that he seemed like an exquisitely carved statue. I hurried over to Father’s side, trembling with the released tension.
I had no idea how much this encounter had drained me.
“Who is this?” my father demanded.
“He calls himself Ivan, Father. A tzar’s son from the Twelfth Kingdom. He seems daft, and he is nicknamed a fool. Or so he told me.”
“He is a fool,” my father agreed. “Only fools allow themselves to get tangled in matters they don’t understand. Tell me, who is pulling your strings, puppet boy?”
A question formed on my lips, but I didn’t have time to voice it, because at that moment Ivan the Fool darted sideways, to the place on the shelf where stood my sewing box and inside it—
The Needle. My father’s Death.
As if dreaming, I saw a long narrow streak of silver gleam in the boy’s fingers.
“Stay where you are, Kashchey!” Ivan’s words rang like a bell through the deadly- still room.
My father turned to me slowly, pale like moonlight. “You told him, Marya! You betrayed me!”
The unfairness of it made me gasp. “I didn’t.”
It didn’t matter now. This was my fault. Because of me. Because I hesitated when I should have killed this intruder on the spot. And now, he threatened my father, my world, everything I held dear.
Through the weakness that enfolded me, I continued to watch the scene unfold
“I could kill you right now, Kashchey.” Ivan’s voice was quiet, almost friendly.
“I doubt it,” my father said calmly. “Only an Immortal can break the Needle. You don’t look like an Immortal to me. But in a moment we’ll know for sure.” He raised his hands.
Ivan held the Needle out in front of his body, in the way of the upcoming blast.
My father hesitated. “It would seem, boy, that you have come here to play with things you don’t understand. Why don’t you hand the Needle back? I’d hate for it to get lost in what’s left of you when I’m done.”
