Authors: Tymber Dalton
Chapter Two
Then
Two as one, halves of a whole.
Two different minds, one mingled soul.
Love in every life, in every heart, forever,
Until finding of twin love does sever.
Death impermanent, after battle won
With love renewed under future sun.
The lovers three will sisters call
At Goddess’ lead at risk of all.
Etched in stone by sacred well
Her powers scribed in triad spell.
Dark Gods in vain bring forth the fight
Only to fall to Lovers’ might.
Pride and ego and power sought
By Dark Gods for evil purpose comes to naught.
The lovers three will vanquish all
Although two, then one, certainly fall.
Last to sleep, the Watcher lay,
To rejoin his love soon another day.
Life and life and life again,
The two as one always begin.
When two return and Dark Gods wake
With evil intent and lives to take
The two shall find her, in prophecy new
And Watcher again shall step from view.
Until then in every life
Watcher faithful shall claim his wife
After thirty-five years have come and gone
And together, two once more joined as one
Will have their joy, Goddess unaware
That Watcher alone their past keeps care.
—Ancient Slavic Prophecy
The woman held her baby close to her breast as her husband helped her climb the treacherous stone steps. Nine days’ journey on foot had brought them here.
To their destiny. To their son’s destiny.
To, hopefully, their people’s destiny. This was what their Seer had told them. They could not in good conscience refuse the journey.
Thick stands of fragrant pine trees shielded their view of what lay ahead. When they finally crested the valley wall, they found themselves in a clearing. The cottage, primitive, small, and dingy, sat in the middle as they’d been told. Foul grey smoke billowed from the chimney. As they walked toward the white fence surrounding the yard, they realized with chilling fear that the pickets were human bones. Bleached human skulls lit from within by an eerie supernatural flame topped the fence every so often.
The cottage’s rough-hewn wooden door opened, and an old crone tottered out. She wore a black robe of coarse material. The smile on her face sent tendrils of fear through the wife’s heart.
“Ah, good. You arrived on time,” the crone said, smiling. Unfortunately, the gesture didn’t impart any joy or good humor to her features. “That is very good. Is this the little one?”
The wife nodded.
The crone met them at the gate and held out her arms. “Let me see him.”
When the woman hesitated, the crone cackled. “I swear to you I will not eat him. I wish to see if he is as special as I believe him to be.”
After her husband nodded to her, she carefully handed their son over.
The crone softly mumbled something in a strange language to the baby. The baby smiled and reached for one of her fingers.
“Very good. He is the one.” She looked at the couple. “You understand the destiny of your line?”
The couple nodded.
“Excellent. I need to borrow him for a few minutes. I promise you, he will not be harmed. Wait here.” The crone carried the baby inside her house and shut the door behind her. She closed her eyes and transformed into her matron form, appearing to be a beautiful middle-aged woman. Then she disappeared, reappearing inside a room in a castle.
A nursemaid sat dozing in a shaft of sunlight by the open window while dust motes danced on the beams. The woman smiled at the baby boy in her arms as she walked over to the ornately hand-carved cradle in the other corner of the room.
Inside the cradle lay a beautiful, chubby, red-haired baby girl. The girl smiled when she spotted the woman holding the baby boy.
The woman lifted her finger to her lips and smiled. “Hush, little one,” she whispered. “Do not wake your nurse.”
From a pocket in her gown, she withdrew a silver dagger and carefully laid the baby boy in the cradle next to the baby girl. She traced a finger over the girl’s left palm in an intricate pattern as she muttered under her breath. She repeated it with the boy’s right palm then used the dagger to duplicate the pattern in their flesh that her finger had just traced.
Both babies watched her, but because of the spell, neither felt the blade’s bite.
She pressed their palms together and held them in place. “Together forever, little ones,” she whispered. “Eternity. You’ll love each other in every life, in every heart. Forever. Goddess Zaria and your Watcher. You have many prophecies to fulfill together, starting with this life.”
When she parted their hands, the little girl looked like she wanted to sniffle when she realized she was losing her new friend.
“Shh, Zaria, do not fret. You will get him back soon enough. He is your very special friend and he always will be.” She pulled a small stoppered vial of charmed water from another pocket. Using a clean, white linen rag, she wiped their hands free of blood. Only a faint line remained behind on their palms, proof of their joining.
She picked up the baby boy. “Come now, Zachary. Let us return you to your mother before she worries herself to death.”
She returned to her cottage, shifted into her crone form once again, and walked outside to the parents where she handed the baby boy to his relieved mother. “Bring him back here in five years. Meanwhile, go to the
flagyer
stronghold in Abruzzia. Ask for Donatello Capricci, their leader. Do you know how to get there?”
The father nodded.
“Good. Take him there, and live there with them, tell them Baba Yaga said they are to offer you sanctuary and protection and to escort you back here at the appointed time.”
“He is the one? The Watcher of the Goddess?”
She shifted into her matronly form again because it tended to frighten people less, although people usually took the crone’s words more carefully to heart. “Absolutely. Your little boy will help fulfill not just the most important prophecy, but many others. He will save your people. Not only in this life, but in every life to come.” She reached out and stroked the boy’s arm. He smiled at her.
Baba Yaga felt her heart twist at the sight of his toothless smile. She wanted to cry, but steeled herself.
The mother anxiously nodded and nervously smiled. “He’s a good baby. He never fusses, never cries.”
Baba Yaga forced a smile. “Of course he is a good baby. He is the protector of a Goddess. No mere colic can darken his temperament.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now go. Straight to Abruzzia. You may never return home or his life might be in peril.”
The parents solemnly nodded and hurried off. As they disappeared down the path, she straightened and shifted into her youngest form, of the maiden. It was most comfortable, a twenty-something body she by all rights should have lost claim to countless millennia earlier.
Perk of eternal life.
As Baba Yaga turned toward her home, she started at the sight of a woman standing behind her. “What was that all about, eh?” the woman asked.
“None of your business, Cailleach,” Baba Yaga angrily said, pushing the other woman aside and striding toward her home. “Why aren’t you busy shagging some poor guy senseless? Last I heard, you and Brighde had some sort of wager. Wasn’t it to see how many men you could use to death before winter solstice?” She had no use for either of her two younger sisters. Neither were sensible nor helpful.
Cailleach followed her into the cabin, which was actually much nicer and larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. “That sounds intriguing, sister.” She tossed a long, blonde lock away from her forehead. Sometimes the woman preferred to take on the appearance of a ginger-headed beauty to look like a local in the lands she ruled.
Sometimes she just liked to show off her gorgeous looks, like today.
“You have your work to do,” Baba Yaga snarled. “So do me the courtesy to leave me to mine. I have people I tend to and care for. They and their business are no concern of yours.”
Cailleach flopped down into a soft chair and twirled another unruly flaxen lock around her finger. “The more you push me away, the more it interests me. Come on, tell me what’s going on, Babs.”
Baba Yaga spun around, a ball of flame forming in her palm. “Do not call me that,” she said with a growl.
Cailleach’s eyes narrowed as a smile split her face. “It’s got to be about a man, isn’t it? You don’t really care about these people at all. Someone finally breached that damned rocky heart of yours, didn’t he?”
With a howl of rage, Baba Yaga flung the fireball at her younger sister. Cailleach didn’t even flinch as she waved her hand in front of her. The fireball harmlessly dissipated across an icy mist before Cailleach also waved that away.
She stood, her green eyes sparking as she advanced on her older sister. “You can’t fool me, Old One. Just because you are the eldest by quite a lot and then some, it doesn’t mean I don’t know more than you in some things. Who is he?”
With a cry, Baba Yaga burst into tears and crumpled to the floor. After overcoming her momentary shock, Cailleach stooped beside her older sister and gathered her into her arms. No matter what their differences in opinion or temperament, they were still sisters.
“Tell me,” she softly entreated.
Unable to speak his name, Baba Yaga could do nothing but sob her agony against her sister’s shoulder. So many ages of loneliness just to find love and have it snatched away so quickly that even her powers could do nothing to save him. If only she’d been able to reach him sooner.
Finally, she could tell the story. “He was of the dragon line.”
“When did he die?” Cailleach gently asked.
“Over a hundred years ago.”
“You lost him that long ago and never summoned us?”
“To do what? Look at a rocky cairn and talk about a man you never met?”
“Why is that child so important?”
Baba Yaga sat back and wiped her eyes on her skirt. “I made a promise as I buried him. I told him I would not let his line die out. We met when he came to me, entreating me for help to save his people. Willing to sacrifice himself to me to do it. I couldn’t harm him. I fell in love with him.”
Her face darkened. “Those damned cockatrice killed him. Before I realized what had happened, they’d…they’d…” She began crying again, the memory of the horror of the discovery of her lover drawn and quartered too much to bear even this many years past. A drop of time ago in her long life despite outliving many mortals time and again.