Mistress of the Solstice (7 page)
When my father created the Needle with his death at its tip, he wanted
to present it as a bane, so that he can be talked of as a true Immortal
like the others. But his secret leaked out, just like all of them do.
His Needle is no bane, for it cannot render him helpless or force him
to do anyone’s bidding. Nor is my father a true
Immortal, for breaking the Needle would kill him. He had tried to keep
this secret too, and failed.
H
e recalled bits of his earlier conversation with Gleb.
“Rendering Raven helpless is only part of the
task,” Gleb had said. “You must
force him to reveal the information to you, and that could be harder
than Leshy’s games.”
“Wouldn’t he be bound to do what I
ask?” Ivan had frowned as Wolf snorted on his mat by
the fire, hiding his muzzle in his folded paws. “Did
I say something funny?”
Ivan had been so tired of this conversation, where Gleb and Wolf
seemed to bounce inaudible jokes back and forth, making Ivan feel
more and more clueless as the old herb man revealed more and more
information to him.
“Couldn’t Wolf question Raven once we
catch him?” he had asked.
“This is your quest, boy,” Wolf had
said, even as Gleb shook his head. “Rules are rules,
sorry.”
Back then, Ivan had left it at that, knowing that he
wouldn’t learn anything more this time. In any case,
capturing Raven seemed like a distant, unattainable goal. No one he
knew of had ever bested Leshy at his riddle game. Most likely Ivan
would be a kikimora by morning and none of this would be necessary.
And if he did succeed, if he managed to render Raven helpless and bound
to do Ivan’s bidding, surely he could get what he
wanted out of the old bird.
He would have all the time in the world to do it.
“
I
t is your time to hunt,” I told
Raven.
He nodded, his dry, glistening eye piercing me from its feathered frame.
Then he spread his wings and floated out of the window.
I knew he would fly through the night forest without touching a
single branch on his way. He would hunt, and eat his fill. And then,
he would go to the lake and float over its mirror waters to the edge
of the swamp and back, until the first light of dawn touched the sky in
the east. As I watched his black winged shape melt into the moonlit air
outside the window, I briefly wondered what bonded him to these waters,
forcing him into this nightly ritual. But I knew he’d
never tell me.
When I was little, I used to question and plead with him until my voice
grew hoarse. Now, I didn’t bother anymore.
Especially not tonight, when I had a more important task on my hands.
I turned to the Mirror and straightened out my dress.
“Show me my reflection.”
I cannot be bonded by love. All my life is devoted to staying detached
from its destructive power. When I find myself dangerously concerned
with thoughts of a man, I know a perfect remedy.
I go and share my bed with another.
I know my enemy enough to understand this. Love is sensual, but its
sensuality has nothing to do with feelings, with a true bonding of two
souls meant to be together for eternity. While many mistake sensuality
for love, I, Mistress of the Solstice, know better. To keep myself free
from falling in love, I have long learned to divide the desires of my
body and mind, to separate them so that they would be weaker and easier
to defeat. If my mind is set on one man, my body must find a different
one to satisfy its urges.
The act throws you off for a while, giving you an odd sense of duality.
It makes you float between earth and sky, blown back and forth by
emotions, like winds on all sides. You lose the subject of your love in
a blur that is all men in the world, a blur of arms, bodies,
caresses. Love is pain, and this simple recipe allows you to numb it
until you sort things out.
In the end, it works like a charm.
I needed somebody different. Somebody I had never met before, an
outsider who wouldn’t be intimidated by my station.
Somebody strong and experienced, who would make me forget my unnatural
fancy. This close to the Solstice I couldn’t afford to
take any risks.