Mistress of the Solstice

• Prelude
  
• Chapter 1. Marya
  
• Chapter 2. Ivan
  
• Chapter 3. Marya
  
• Chapter 4. Ivan
  
• Chapter 5. Marya
  
• Chapter 6. Ivan
  
• Chapter 7. Marya
  
• Chapter 8. Ivan
  
• Chapter 9. Marya
  
• Chapter 10. Ivan
  
• Chapter 11. Marya
  
• Chapter 12. Ivan
  
• Chapter 13. Marya
  
• Chapter 14. Ivan
  
• Chapter 15. Marya
  
• Chapter 16. Ivan
  
• Chapter 17. Marya
  
• Chapter 18. Ivan
  
• Chapter 19. Marya
  
• Chapter 20. Ivan
  
• Chapter 21. Marya
  
• Chapter 22. Ivan
  
• Chapter 23. Marya
  
• Chapter 24. Ivan
  
• Chapter 25. Marya
  
• Chapter 26. Ivan
  
• Chapter 27. Marya
  
• Chapter 28. Ivan
  
• Chapter 29. Marya
  
• Chapter 30. Ivan
  
• Chapter 31. Marya
  
• Chapter 32. Ivan
  
• Chapter 33. Marya
  
• Acknowledgements
  
• About the Author
  

Herbs of the magic brew, six and six,

Blend at my will into potent mix.

Six herbs of darkness, six herbs of light,

Grant me the power, grant me the sight.

 

Light herbs are easy—pick them and toss them:

Color of bluebell, chamomile blossom,

Freshness of catnip, honey of clover,

Fire of lychnis, rose-bay flower.

 

Herbs of the dark are heady and strong,

Pick them is silence, sing them no song.

Dark herbs that seal the
brew’s potent taste

Cannot be named, or your work is a waste.

On the night of the Solstice, Love is the rule

Granted to all who tastes the brew.

Great God Kupalo, bless our crops,

Save us from evil, lift our hopes.

 

We all are consumed by love, lust, and glee,

Save for the Mistress, who must remain free,

For if the seed of Love in her heart doth bloom,

Our land will fall to the powers of doom.

The power of Kupalo goeth forth into ages,

Yet rule of immortal doth carry its doom.

On the night of the Solstice, a hero of legend,

Cometh marked by an arrow through turmoil and gloom.

 

His guides are the creatures of magic and wisdom,

His strength is no weapon, but fire in his eyes.

He carrieth death for the rule of the kingdom,

He bringeth new life for the new sacrifice.

 

Marya

I
stood beside my father and watched the girl drown. She was a strong
one. Her hands continued to reach out long after her face had
disappeared from view. The splashing she made could have soaked a flock
of wild geese to the bone. She wanted to live, but there was no escape
from the waters of the Sacrifice Pool.

I looked at my father’s handsome profile. His pale face,
awash with moonlight, looked magnificent. The power of the Solstice
enfolded him. It made me proud to be at his side, his daughter, his
head priestess. He was the one who mattered. The only one.

The girl’s struggle ceased. The
rippling water of the lake stilled, glittering in the silvery light of
the near-full moon. We watched the flicker of the glowing candles set
in the flower wreaths as they floated downstream. A few of the wreaths
had already sunk—bad luck for their owners, who would most likely die
before the next Solstice. Maybe one of them belonged to the next
Sacrifice Maiden?

I felt my father stir next to me, as he too peered
into the amber depths of the lake.

“A fine sacrifice, Marya,” he said.
“You did well.”

“Yes.” I closed my eyes to feel the
familiar calmness wash over me. I was detached. I
didn’t care.