Your friendly greeting, it would seem, didn't work
, quipped Goryvlad.
It isn't over until . . .
All the wild movement above the clearing suddenly stopped. The rusalkas grew silent, bowed their heads, and drew to the sides. Rogan and Goryvlad looked on with curiosity. Another phantom emerged from behind the trees. She also had the form of a naked woman, but she lacked the ferocity and hostility of her companions. She carried her dazzling beauty with grace and elegance and her dark eyes were full of wisdom. It wasn't, however, the kind of wisdom you see in the face of people. This one reflected the presence of things that were older than mortal memory itself. It was the spirit of these woods.
It entered the circle and stopped a few paces in front of Rogan.
“Welcome, Diva,” said the sorcerer, bowing his head.
Only by careful observation was he able to discern that the eyes of the queen of the water nymphs were open wide with surprise.
“You know my name,” she spoke in a voice that penetrated the body and rushed through the veins like hot mead. “And yet you are a stranger to me even though I sense some power in you that binds you to the world of gods.”
“I am Rogan from the Temple of Blood-Red Fire.”
Her surprise was now even more pronounced. “Ah. Yes. I have already heard about you. You are the mortal of the Blood of the Chernobog, the elected of Morena, goddess of death, bearer of the sword of Radhost. Voices borne in by the east wind have sung of your deeds. And this must be Goryvlad, head of the black pack in service of the Chernobog, who took your soul from Náv, the Kingdom of the Dead. What brings such honored guests to such a remote place?”
“I have come to ward off disaster.”
Diva quietly stared at him for a long time with her dark eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice overflowed with such sadness that it made Rogan shudder. “I am afraid it is too late. Evil has been freed from its chains. They are clear-cutting our forest, burning our native land, ripping our roots out of the ground. We have been cruelly hurled about by this tempest of a new era and even though we have fought it off furiously, it will soon be strong enough to break us like a twig. What do you hope to do about it, Rogan?”
“You mustn't confront the tempest, Queen. You must withdraw before it; remove yourselves deeper into the woods. There are places there untouched by the hand of humans and will remain so for a long time. Find yourselves another home. Otherwise you are threatened with ruin.”
“New home?” Diva smiled sadly. “Such a place doesn't exist for us. This is our only home. We are bound to these woods, since of old and forever. Come with me and you will understand. I will show you something never before seen by someone of mortal woman born.”
Rogan looked around at the nearby rusalkas.
“You needn't be afraid,” Diva beckoned him. “Neither I nor my sisters will attempt to do you any harm. We know how much power you have. You belong to the same bygone world as we do and in a certain sense the same blood flows through our veins.”
The sorcerer rose and pulled his sword out of the ground. The red light around him and Goryvlad faded, but the blade remained covered in bloodshine. With weapon in hand, Rogan followed Diva into the woods.
“Come and behold. This is the heart of the forest.”
It was well after midnight when Rogan and Goryvlad accompanied the nymphs to a ground never before trodden on by the feet of man. Trees and underbrush were intertwined here to form lush vegetation, with the fallen, aromatic remains of decomposing tree trunks creating a mysterious bulwark of defenses. The ferns grew waist high and the blackberry bushes were so thick and thorny that a man could be ensnarled in them forever. Oddly enough, these remote parts, where no beaten path or animal trail had ever led, were home to the rusalkas. They were able to glide through the thickest part of the growth without touching a single leaf. The two dark pilgrims had to do everything in their power to keep up with them and not fall too far behind.
At last they reached their destination. The primeval forest opened up just enough to reveal a small lake, not too wide but very deep. It was fed by a pure water spring gushing forth from a crevice in the moss-covered rocks. The rippling water emitted a magic glow similar to that of the circle of nymphs or each of the rusalkas individually, and luminous waves of blue continuously caressed the surrounding trees and boulders. Rogan was overcome by the feeling that he was standing in the middle of a magnificent shrine. He immediately sheathed his sword.
“The heart of the forest,” he repeated Diva's spellbinding words. “The sacred lake.”
“The source of our life force,” added the nymph queen. “The existence of the rusalkas is bound to water. We bear our children in this lake. Each of us leaves our mother's body in this water and it bestows us with magical power at the moment of birth.”
The sorcerer looked at it, unable to utter a single word.
“Now do you understand why we cannot leave this place?” Diva addressed him with another one of her grief-laden smiles.
Rogan's throat began to fill with bitterness. “Prince Moymir has sent a punitive expedition against you. You have spilled the blood of innocents and the Moravians want you to pay for it.”
“We killed because they gave us no choice.” Diva's smile had disappeared from her face. “We have no other place to go.”
“The expedition will be heading into the woods in the morning,” said Rogan, lowering his voice. “Men in steel with swords and axes in hand. You cannot stop them. They will annihilate you, trample your sacred places underfoot, and after them will come dozens more who will chop down your forest without pity. Don't let this happen, O queen. I beg you. You still have a chance to save yourselves and your race.”
Diva sighed and shook her head. “I know that you mean well and I feel desperation in your plea, Rogan. But our decisions are immutable. If these sacred woods are indeed condemned to destruction, we shall perish with them.”
Rogan looked long at her and then looked around at the faces of the other rusalkas. He could see in them the same dreadful resolution. He glanced at a group of younger nymphs. Small girls, some of them still children, who returned his gaze with firmness and courage.
Rogan cast his eyes to the ground and shook his head. “In this case, I must return immediately to the camp. I will try to stop the expedition.”
“No,” said Diva, placing an arm on his shoulder. “Nothing would come of it. Even if you could hold them back, it would only be for a while. Why delay the inevitable? We are prepared. Let it come to battle today if it must. You will stay here with your companion and give us strength. Divine power flows in your blood. It will help us in battle.”
Rogan knit his thick, black eyebrows. “Don't ask that of me, O queen. I cannot take part in this battle. I will not take up arms against Moymir's people.”
“I don't want you to. I'm only asking for your magical power. You have enough even for us.”
Diva embraced Rogan with her naked body. Even through his clothes the sorcerer could feel the heat that was literally radiating from her. The queen bared her sharp teeth. Rogan instinctively began to feel for his weapon. Diva, however, grabbed him by the forearm, removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and placed it on her breast.
“We shall do it like the rusalkas have always done it,” she whispered.
The sorcerer looked at his companion out of the corner of his eye.
We're trapped, brother
, Goryvlad heard his voice call out in his head.
Perhaps now is the time to summon the blood fire.
Diva's look was a signal for her companions. Three of them dropped to their knees, then on all fours and instantly changed their shapes. Where their tiny palms had been touching the ground were now the paws of wolves. Gorya froze in his tracks and his eyes distended.
Or perhaps not . . .
A magic blue light, pulsating in rhythm with a throbbing, agitated heart.
A charming, intoxicating song, the background to which at first was silence, but gradually grew louder with gasps and groans.
The touch of naked, rippling bodies, with beads of sweat and excitement.
The glowing countenance of predatory desire in eyes alternating rapidly between distended and blissfully closed.
Small teeth, sharp as needles, sunk into the forearm, thigh, chest and throat.
Heat, flowing through the arteries and veins to a thirsty mouth eager for every drop.
Movements growing faster and faster.
And pleasure, bursting forth in a loud shriek.
Darkness. Sweet, weary darkness.
“Rogan! Do you hear me, brother?
The sun. Irritating beams of light seeping through cracks between the leaves in the treetops.
By Morena´s Bones!
Rogan quickly sat up and threw off the black smock somebody had put on him. His naked body was covered with goose pimples. He looked around in a daze. He was lying on a bed made of moss and the silent woods hovered all about him. His clothes, shoes and sword were lying next to him.
Gorya?
he inquired, testing his surroundings for a response. He hastily started getting dressed.
Finally!
Goryvlad's thoughts had to cover such a distance to reach him that he could barely make out their meaning.
I woke up somewhere in the middle of the forest and no one is here.
The same here
, said Rogan, pulling his shirt over his head. He touched his neck. He could feel a tiny wound under his fingers. There was even a bit of dry blood on his wrists. He concentrated. The power of blood fire had rushed through his veins and out of the miraculously fast-healing wounds. The scabs that covered them had already withered and fallen away.
These accursed rusalkas tricked us nicely.
Even you feel victimized? Not that it wasn't pleasant, but . . .
Concentrate! Svarog's disk is well high. Vlchan's party has already entered the forest by now. Can you find the way to the sacred lake?
Are you kidding? I found my way from the underworld to the mortal world.
Good. Hurry. Let's hope it's still not too late.
Suddenly the silence of the forest was interrupted by the sound of a horn blowing from afar. Rogan lifted his head and concentrated all his wizardly skills in a flash. He tried to pinpoint the exact cardinal points where the portentous sound originated.
Did you hear it?
Goryvlad asked excitedly.
I heard
, said Rogan, flinging his sheathed sword around to his back so it wouldn't obstruct film in flight.
The signal to attack. It has already started. Quickly!
And what shall we do when we get there?
No idea.
It looked as if the forest itself would hinder his way, as though all the fallen trees and all the thickest shrubbery were lying in front of him as he ran along. The branches clawed at him like they were alive and ripped the fabric of his clothes and cloak and scratched his skin. Completely out of breath, Rogan stopped, reached around to his back and unsheathed his sword in one jolt.
“Chernobog!“ he called out, lashing about with his sword. A swirl of rippling, glowing red energy radiated throughout the forest. The thickets began to part. The sorcerer put his sword back into its scabbard and with renewed energy pulsating throughout his veins, took off down the path that had just been shown to him.
Gorya!
I'm running like the wind!
The ground in front of Rogan sharply fell away and he was half running, half sliding down the steep slope towards a burbling creek. He stopped and bent down towards the water. He could still feel a weak magical field emanating from it. The creek no doubt flowed into the magic lake.
He then noticed a red slick in the water and pinkish foam around the stones next to the bank. He didn't need to think twice where it had come from.
He took off upstream.
The first thing he saw was a horse. A saddled horse was standing above the creek with its snout in the water. The moment Rogan appeared, the animal raised its head, jerked in fright and took a pair of steps backwards. Only then did the sorcerer notice the horse was pulling a dead man behind him whose feet were still caught in the stirrups. His throat had been ripped open with sharp teeth, his face and weapon still covered with fresh blood.
Several fathoms on Rogan found the first rusalka. Her naked body was lying face down in the creek, her insides still spilling out with the flow of the current from horrible gashes in her side. Not a trace of magical power could be felt around the corpse, the blue shine had been extinguished forever. What was lying here was just a pathetic bit of cold flesh.
He ran on. He grit his teeth so hard his jaws were hurting. Here and there he found other remains of the horrible slaughter. Moymir's warriors had slashes all about their throats, arms and thighs, all of them were bathed in blood, for the rusalkas knew very well which part of the body to strike at, which artery to sink their teeth into to make their opponent beyond all hope. Of course, there were dead rusalkas, at least five for every fallen Moravian, their bodies horribly mutilated by sharp blades, punctured by arrows and trampled beneath iron horse shoes.
Rogan's blood was boiling. When he saw a rusalka girl of about seven, her body cut in two at the waist from the blow of a sword, the ruthless part of his nature burst forward from his subconscious, filled him with bloodthirsty rage and gave his face the twisted look of a terrifying predator.
He ran into the darkest part of the forest. The treetops over the creek joined together to form an impenetrable canopy. He could hear the clangor of metal coming from the gloom in front of him. He grit his teeth, threw back his cape, and raised his sword above his shoulders.
“No!” cried out Bolerad as he grabbed the axe in Vlchan's arm. “We need at least one alive! We'll take her to the fortress as a symbol of our triumph over the heathen devils. We'll burn her at the stake before the eyes of everyone to show the power of Jesus Christ and the determination of us, his servants, to mercilessly root out all satanic weeds from his earthly garden!”