by Taki Drake
Zhanna was too familiar with bargaining in the marketplace not to hear that note in the spirit’s voice. Settling down to what she hoped would be an interesting haggling session, Zhanna responded with, “What exactly would this exchange of favors be? Without an understanding of what it was before, I cannot say if I am willing to try to renew or repair that agreement.” She could feel her familiar’s amusement sitting in the back of her brain. Inwardly, she smiled. What a surprise that even the spirits haggle.
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The bargaining session had been long and filled with the usual emotion and playacting. Each of the negotiators had threatened to walk away at several points. Each of them had been adamant about maintaining important rights and requirements.
It all boiled down to the fact that the Volkhvy had built up a network of intertwined obligations with the hidden folk of the land. In exchange for services that were difficult for those folk to perform, the Volkhvy had the right to call on them as needed.
When the Volkhvy were killed in the demon battle sacrifice, the impact of that spell had been felt around the land, but there had been no one to tell the hidden folk exactly what had happened.
The Rusalka was amazed and disturbed that those she had dealt with for decades were no more. Her upset and the need to not leave another sentient being in distress drove Zhanna to relate all the information she had about the battle and its aftermath once their negotiations were complete.
Zhanna had agreed to take on the obligation of the Volkhvy for the Rusalka’s stream. The spirit pledged to assist Zhanna should the need arise, and her capabilities suffice. Both parties had ended the negotiation sessions pleased with what they had won. Then Zhanna started to tell her all about the happenings of the last few years.
As she told her story, she noticed that there were other eyes peering from the bushes. After a while, some of those beings crept out to be closer to the storytelling. There were all sorts of hidden folk come to visit.
The shy faces and slender limbs of the tree folk were represented, as were the glistening heads of the river nymphs peering from the banks. Some of the little sprites of the forest and even the household ones were sitting close to the fire staring with open eyes at Zhanna she told her story.
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Thinking about it, she said in return <>
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The Rusalka stood up settling her tattered skirts around her. Gazing challengingly at Zhanna, the spirit woman said, “It is time, witchy woman, to demonstrate that you understand the obligations.”
“What is it that needs my assistance?” responded Zhanna.
The Rusalka explained that one of the small feeder creeks was blocked and needed clearing. Since that was far less onerous than Zhanna had thought that she would be called on to provide, she agreed to look at it immediately, and even though the dark of night had fallen.
Traveling to the blockage in the dark was an experience of which Zhanna wasn’t terribly fond. She kept stumbling and barking her shins on rocks and branches but kept up a cheerful chatter to the silent Rusalka at her side.
It was either that or fall into uncontrollable giggles. Dascha’s comments were coming through loud and clear, the acerbic wit of her familiar making it very difficult for her to stay respectful and coherent.
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Zhanna asked warily, <
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Zhanna was forced to stop and bend over coughing as if she had inhaled something that was causing a problem. It was the only thing she could think of to conceal the outright laughter that bubbled up into her throat. Recovering, she vowed not to listen to her familiar for the next few minutes.
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When they got to the blockage, Zhanna was relieved to see that it was a smaller problem than she thought it would be. A small portion of the bank had caved in dropping enough rock and other debris into the stream to cause a dam. The stream by itself was not very large, but the Rusalka was quite concerned about it.
Hiking her skirt up and pulling her shoes and socks off, Zhanna waded into the stream. It was icy cold, and she could feel her toes and feet starting to go numb. Quickly, she started to move the rocks.
The Rusalka was stammering, incoherent. So Zhanna ignored her in favor of quickly moving the rocks. She did not want to be standing in that stream when she lost all feeling in her lower limbs. That would be just asking for a more severe accident.
As she moved the last blocking piece of stone, the pent-up power of the stream was released. What had looked like a small stream was suddenly a much bigger one, rushing and roaring down the hillside. Zhanna was pulled down by the force of the water, her skirt weighted with enough liquid to have drowned her. As she started to go under the water a cold but strong hand grabbed her forearm and yanked hard. It was the Rusalka, looking surprised and somehow strangely satisfied.
Lifting Zhanna to the bank without any apparent effort, the Rusalka continued to stare at the witch’s face as Zhanna tried to wring out some of the water from her skirt.
Finally, the Rusalka spoke, “I expected you to use magic. Why did you not?
“Sometimes the best answer is not magic. And I said that I would help you, I just didn’t say I would only help you if it involved magic.”
“What if it had been beyond your strength to do this? What would you have done then?”
“I would’ve done my best. And I would’ve kept trying. I had promised on my honor to help you, and that effort, that dedication to your wellbeing is as binding on me as any family oath would be. It touches on my honor. My personal honor.”
The Rusalka kept staring at the young witch. She seemed to be thinking about something that was very important. Zhanna left her to her thoughts, continuing to wring the water out. One of the very shy hidden folk, a small figure about a foot high, crept out and held out a small towel to her. Her murmur of thanks sent the little creature darting back into the underbrush, a pleased little bounce to its step.
Her attention was drawn back to the Rusalka by the motion of the spirit’s arm. The cold hand was holding something toward Zhanna. With a quizzical lift of her eyebrow, the witch put out her hand in response, palm up. Then almost dropped the object that landed in her hand with amazement. It was an intricately braided token of hair. Braided of the same hair that the Rusalka kept flowing down her body, and further crafted into a knot.
“Here. This is for you. I have never met a human with honor. Not the way you define it. How can I do less than you offer me, bargain or no bargain. This is my token. It is no longer a simple bargain between us. Now we have a shared honor, and this will allow you to call me should you have a need.”
Zhanna could feel the power of the charm and knew
that it was a personal gift from the spirit. She was stunned. Of all the possible outcomes, this was not anywhere close to what she had expected. She looked at the Rusalka, and said, “You did not have to do this. I would’ve come to your aid anywhere, at any time. I thank you for it, and I will guard it carefully.”
The Rusalka slipped into the rushing stream, her voice echoing in the air even after Zhanna and Dascha could not see her any longer.
“My name is, Lyuba.”
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Clutching the Rusalka’s token, Dascha and Zhanna made their way back to the camp. It no longer seemed so dark to Zhanna. Her tripping and crashing were almost nonexistent, and her bruises thanked her for it. It seemed as if there was more illumination, lighting the ground at her feet so she could see where she was walking.
She caught whispers in the wind, little voices that were muttering her name. It was a strange experience. The feel of the Rusalka’s hair, of Lyuba’s hair, gave Zhanna a feeling of aliveness from the spirit that hadn’t been there when she looked at her. The appearance of the Rusalka was of a dead and drowned woman. Not terribly beautiful but attractive in a macabre way.
The feel of the hair, however, carried a different impression. Sparkles of light on the outside of her vision were distracting Zhanna. She kept having flashes of a woman of the Rusalka’s height and general appearance but with a smiling face and dancing eyes. Flashes of the woman dancing and shopping and preparing meals.
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Chapter 10
Zhanna and Dascha left early the next morning. Zhanna had a troubled sleep, threaded with a vague sense of danger and flashing images of her grandmother in the village. The previous day had been traumatic for Zhanna. Alone overnight for the first time ever, she was also away from her normal shelter and support system. She’d never camped out, never spent a night anywhere but her own bed.
Dascha thought that her witch was doing particularly well considering how inexperienced she was. Zhanna was one of the bravest people that Dascha had ever encountered. Even though the cat knew that the woman was terrified at many points, the young witch never let that stop her. When the familiar bond had snapped tight, pulling her to a witch, Dascha was at first angry and resentful. She was long past that and had grown to not only respect but love the young woman that had chosen to walk such a difficult path. Their life together would be interesting, no matter how long it was. The waves of resentment and anger had drained away, leaving behind it a bond that was so strong that at times Dascha could see it. She could feel the power humming along the tether, waiting to be unleashed. She hoped that their will and their focus were up to it.
Zhanna knew that this was not going to be a day where she would walk as long as she had the day before. She hurt in all sorts of different places. Places she didn’t even know she had.
The traveling of the day before was bad enough, but now she was just one big collection of bruises. Every root she had tripped over, every bush she got tangled with the night before had left their mark on her. Her skin was scratched, and her bruises ached abominably. At times, all she wanted to do was just cry. But…but... She had decided on the traveling the path. No one had made her, it was all her own doing. Once decided, she would stick with that path until the end. She could do no less.
It was midmorning, and her dark thoughts were interrupted by the caws of a large bird. Looking up she saw three big blackbirds at the top of a tree. They seem to be looking at her and making rude jokes. Actually, how was she supposed to know that they weren’t making weird jokes? It seemed like every animal, and its mate could talk. Just a matter of her not understanding the language. She greeted them politely, “Good day to you feathered ones. May your day be full of bright and shiny things and good food to eat.”
Neither Dascha nor Zhanna expected the birds to answer so when a voice suddenly responded both of them jumped and spun around looking for another person.
At first, neither of the travelers saw him. He was standing close to the edge of the forest, just inside the tree line. He was magnificent. A tall man, large chest glistening with sweat, brawny arms and massive thighs. A male designed to make any woman feel petite.
Zhanna stopped, her jaw dropping open unnoticed. He was so astounding that she didn’t even recognize him as a person. He was simply male personified. She was so stunned that even when Dascha reached a paw up and patted the witch’s mouth closed, Zhanna didn’t object.
Finally, the primal rumble of his voice started making sense as words rather than some sort of bizarre mating music. He was asking her, for apparently not the first time, a question. “Are you the new witch that walks in honor?” he asked, “Are you the witch, Zhanna?”
Zhanna shook her head slightly to reorder wits trying to get them back in their proper place. Deciding not to address part of his speech she instead said, “I am Zhanna, and yes I am a witch. How can I help you, Sir?”
He glanced appraisingly at her for a moment before he said, “The others have said that you are trying to repair the bargains and contracts that have been let lapse in the land. Is that your intention?”
Zhanna opened her mouth to speak when her familiar’s urgent thought slammed into her brain, <
Nodding her head so that her familiar would know that she had heard, Zhanna answered the man, “I am on my way to Blagogarsk. It is my hope to learn more of the Volkhvy and to find something that will help me train my talent. As best I can, I am willing to try to redress the lapsed agreements. However, I am not very powerful at this time, and I don’t truly know how powerful I will ever become. If you are willing to accept me and my abilities as they are and will be, I will endeavor to reestablish the agreements that held the land together and made it strong.”
The man threw his head up, exposing the large column of his throat. An intriguing path of chest hair traced his bones and disappeared down below his open shirt.
Zhanna’s flushed face and trembling hands told her that thinking rationally was going to be increasingly difficult. She never felt like this before, and it confused her. Made her unsure of herself and made her long for things that she didn’t know a thing about. Danger signals all, but oh what a sweet danger.
He smiled like he knew what he was doing to her, as if he could feel the blood pounding in her veins and the heat of her cheeks. Goosebumps began to rise on her arms, and she could feel them elsewhere too. It was a strange feeling for an otherwise chaste young woman.
“Ow! That hurt!” Seeing the danger to her witch, Dascha had bitten her. The cat had picked the fleshy part of the woman’s thigh and nipped it. Holding her hand to the stinging wound, Zhanna glared at her familiar, <
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The snarky voice of her familiar pierced the rest of the pheromone-induced fog and cleared Zhanna’s mind. <>
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Once Zhanna had calmed down a little bit, she sat down and talked with the man, who said his name was Volos. He seemed more than a little amused with Dascha’s insistence on sitting between her witch and him but didn’t seem inclined to do anything about it.
He spoke with Zhanna for a while about the problems that had arisen when the Volkhvy had died. They had been responsible for rituals in the fields to increase the fertility of the animals and to increase the yield of the crops. Without that ceremony, each year the crops were little worse, the food a little less.
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was much easier to talk to him than the Rusalka. Zhanna retained enough of her reasoning power to know this made him more dangerous, not less so. Therefore, she was extra careful to get an understanding from him of what the field blessing ceremony involved.
She’d been worried that the ceremony for the fields would involve dancing around skyclad and possibly ritual mating. When she heard that it was something far less involved, she was relieved. Yes, definitely relieved. Absolutely. Maybe.
Volos insisted on bringing her lunch, saying that it was the least he could do. While he was gone for a short while, Zhanna and Dascha speculated on who he possibly could be. Dascha said she had not heard of anyone like him, but there were many spirits of the forest and fields that none of them knew anything about. Zhanna carefully avoided making any comments about Volos’ physical appearance or how easy he was to talk to. She knew that Dascha was just waiting for her to say something before unleashing a truly horrendous amount of teasing. The witch just didn’t want to give her familiar a chance to elaborate.
