Today's Reading
But to where? Liska hesitates. She knows too well the tales of beautiful demons, of golden-haired poludnica wielding blood-smeared sickles and rusalka with their enchanted song, showing men their deepest desires to seduce them to watery graves. This could be a trick—is likely a trick. But it is the best option she has.
She follows the stag's prints. They fade as soon as she passes them, leaving light ahead and darkness behind. Slowly the wood loosens its chokehold, trunks straightening primly and haze lifting to reveal a tapestry of feathery moss. The stag's trail disappears abruptly, abandoning Liska at the lip of a river, a seething ink-black thing spilling from between twin crooked conifers. Moonlight shines in great beams around her, and the light is a relief, even if the stag's absence makes her anxious.
"What is this place?" Liska whispers—she dares not speak louder. "Why bring me here?"
She kneels hesitantly by the river, pine needles sharp against her palms as she leans forward to catch her breath. Thoughts of home come creeping in; by now, the villagers have likely gathered in the main square, dancing joyously as a fiddle croons. Perhaps Father Pawel is saying blessings, or young couples are holding hands and leaping over the bonfire. Oh, how she wishes to be among them.
Before longing can find her, a melody does.
It is unmistakable. Someone is singing nearby, a haunting tune that flows and eddies. The notes caress Liska, guiding her to her feet. They are comforting, warm as a kind embrace or a blazing hearth in midwinter. 'Come home, Liska Radost,' they say. 'Your quest is over. You have found your place.'
Liska blinks. There is a person standing upriver, as if they have been there all along. A beautiful woman, naked, flaxen curls clinging to her breasts, and arms outstretched in welcome. 'Come, Liska, come,' she sings.
Liska nods, lightheaded. She is smiling, though she does not remember why. She also does not remember when she started walking, but she is now close enough to count the joints of the woman's overlong fingers.
A pang in her chest draws her up short. The feeling is dreadfully familiar, like butterflies trapped in the brittle cage of her ribs. A warning. Her magic is awake, and it is warning her.
Suddenly the woman's image flickers. Her flesh sinks against her bones, stringy hair dripping rivulets onto the scabby skin where her lips should be. When Liska recoils, the woman's glassy eyes widen, and her shape changes again. In her place stands Mama, with her spotless apron and severe expression. She approaches Liska, steely eyes softening, and reaches out to take her hands.
"Come home, Liska."
This time Liska ignores the warning in her chest. She wants nothing more than to take those hands, to feel the firm certainty of their grip. And that smile& how long has it been since she last saw her mother smile?
"You've done it, sloneczko," Mama repeats, gentler now. "It's over. Come home with me."
Liska blinks. 'Sloneczko'—that was Tata's nickname for her, but never Mama's.
Blunt, pragmatic Dobrawa Radost is not one for endearments.
Her mother is not here.
Liska flinches away, pressing her palms to her eyes. When she opens them again, Mama's face warps, her smile stretching wider and wider, impossibly wide, showing glimpses of needle-like teeth and a pale, thin tongue.
"You're wrong," Liska whispers to the creature. "Mama wants to send me away."
She runs for the river.
The woman—no, 'rusalka'—dives. She melts into the murky waters, vanishing in the current. Refusing to turn back, Liska leaps off the river's bank and lands on the opposite side, knees buckling from the impact. She slips in the mud just as the rusalka emerges behind her, lipless mouth gaping in a screech and bony fingers scrabbling for Liska's skirts.
Liska gasps. She grips a fallen log and anchors herself, kicking with all her might. Her heel strikes something brittle that cracks like an eggshell—the accompanying shriek tells her that she has kicked the rusalka. The demon releases her. After a heartbeat, the water grows still and silent. Liska exhales shakily, braving a glance over her shoulder.
The rusalka leaps out of the water and seizes the straps of her gorset.
Liska does not have the time to scream. The world tilts as she is yanked off her feet and slammed backward into the glacial torrent, bubbles filling her vision.
Slimy fingers close around her throat.
...
