A stocky blue-haired woman hunched over a garden bed and picked strawberries in the hem of her sweeping skirt. The alarming loud chirping of crickets and the scorching sun filled her temples with a nagging pain. Behind a low fence made of flat sandstone, the neighbors were quarreling: Rasil and Anka were chasing the lambs and arguing again about who had forgotten to close the corral.
Tharya straightened her lower back with difficulty, poured the collected berries into a bucket and, gave up, headed along the well-trodden path to a large two-story house with thick white plastered walls. Along the way, she covered the property with a tenacious gaze and quietly grumbled. There used to be so many children, but everything was still overgrown with weeds.
The rooks, having made a feast on an old cherry tree dripping with sticky gum, saw the woman off with an insolent croak, while dragonflies, slicing through the air, flew right in front of her nose.
“Where does this girl go?! Vilka?! Wolves take you away!”
The closer to the house, the more wildly the flowers grew along the path, and Tharya had to wade through the tenacious leaves and carefully move the heads of the peonies away. She had long asked her wife to make a small fence and tie up the bushes, but she, citing another task of the Insurgent, disappeared for a month in the village of Visla on the shore of Lake Ishul.
“Vilka, in the name of the Wolf, where is your irrepressible ass?!” She placed a bucket of strawberries on a rickety table under the overhanging second-floor veranda at the front door. Mavka looked around, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
The lush branches of the old jasmine hung over the well swayed and showered everything around with a milky-white rain of petals. From the dark greenery emerged a skinny, tanned girl, dirty as a miner, her blue-green hair looked like a nest of the notorious rooks. The girl froze, catching her breath, and approached her stepmother, wiped herself with the sleeve, but smeared even more dust on her face.
“Well, where have you been?” Tharya sank heavily onto the frame of a metal bed with a spring bottom that creaked lingeringly under her weight. “As far as I remember, today it’s your turn to help me harvest. What will your mother say when she returns?”
“But… Mother Tharya, there, in front of the temple, are the dryads…” with eyes burning with delight, the girl moved closer, “They returned from the campaign, they say…”
“This is none of your business, girl! You’re still too small for dryad affairs!” Tharya flared up and slammed her fist on the table, the bucket jumped, and several berries rolled on the ground. “Until you start training, you don’t set foot near their headquarters! And don’t talk too much! Is it clear?!”
“Yes, Mother Tharya,” Vilka hung her head and drew in the dust with her bare toe. “But… But Mavka Kat let me hold her bow!”
“By leaf and petal, how did you turn out like this?” Tharya clasped her hands, took a deep breath and, exhaling noisily, forcefully stroked her temples, which were filled with pain. “While your mother is on a mission, you promised to obey me unquestioningly, right?”
“Unkve… Unquie… Yes, mother Tharya,” Vilka shook herself off like a dog from the jasmine petals that had fallen on her and stretched out into a string: “I’ve already watered the tomatoes, cleaned up the rabbits cages and picked cherries,” her thin finger with a nail pink from the juice pointed at a wooden bowl filled to the brim with smooth, blood-black berries. “That’s why I decided to run to the square, Aunt Anka told me about the dryads.And they are so beautiful! And they said that they would take me into training when you allow it.”
Tharya pressed her tired palms to her face, groaned and leaned back against the cool wall of the house. Another battle Mavka in the house! From whom did Vitalina bring this creature into their house, a hurricane, not a girl!
“Okay, well done, but you still should have asked me, and not run away silently,” the Mavka looked more closely at the girl, her skinned knees and grimy face: “Go wash yourself, then we have lunch, and then you can help me peel the seeds from the cherries.”
Beaming, Vilka pressed her thin body against Tharya for a moment, gave her a loud kiss on the cheek and ran into the summer shower, covered with a hazel tree. Until the evening they sat on the porch, splashed with cherry juice, the girl kept running after the pits jumping out of her hands. Tharya relented and in a low voice told the stories of the friendship between the Mavkas and the dryads, about the treachery of men and the human world, which was increasingly intruding into their quiet world in the vicinity of the Unshakable Peak.
“Mother Tharya, but if this Insurgent overthrows the Usurper, then will we be able to communicate with people?”
“We always could, Vilka,” she wiped the cherry stain from the girl’s cheek with her thumb, sighed heavily and stood up to light the candles on the ledges of the well. “But what’s the use of that? You see, there is no benefit from them, they constantly squabble, although there’s barely a reason for it.”
Vila thought for a long time, carefully uprooting the pits from the cherry bodies, with her thoughts flying like dragonflies. In her twelve years she had seen little, but she listened a lot and willingly. How many times did tempered Mavkas drag her home on their heels after they found the girl under the windows of the temple in the center of the village. And the warriors, exhausted, worn out by the hearth, hot food and young wine, told such stories Vilka never stopped rolling her eyes the size of silver coins from the old time of Queen Dalotsa II.
“But we can’t live without people and just… remp… repridice?”
“Reproduce, Vilka,” grinning, Tharya took out a mulberry pie from a small outdoor sandstone oven with a wide graceful move. “But you don’t want to know about it yet. You’ll see more men in your life, and you’ll howl like a wolf. And as for the Insurgent… As for me it’s so suspicious that everyone believed him, there’s something about him… Slimy, you know? It’s like I caught a toad in my hands. Good for health, but still disgusting.”
Mavkas cleaned all the collected cherries and filled them with cane sugar in a large wooden tub. The sun fell below the horizon, and the grasshoppers began their rattling ensemble. Fireflies winked in the raspberry bush and under the jasmine. A white fluffy cat with a torn ear came running from Malia’s homestead and spat out a dead mouse at the feet of the dozing Vilka. The shallow river with marshy banks, which stretched between the hills, smelled of dampness and the rustle of willow.
“Let’s go to bed, little one,” Tharya lit a lamp from a candle on the edge of the well, picked up her daughter and, limping, carried her into the house.
On the ground floor there was a narrow dining room with a large bed on which Tharya slept, a small dark kitchen without windows and behind it a washroom with a cast-iron bathtub. A corridor with a wooden staircase without railings led to the second floor, in its far corner there was a door to the cellar, which occupied most of the first floor. This door, covered with an orange curtain, always frightened Vilka, and she tried to get through this place as quickly as possible, even during the day.
A metal bed frame stood in the corner of the room, and a large, dusty rug with a geometric pattern hung on the wall. A lush feather bed gently hugged the dozing girl. Tharya covered her daughter with a knitted blanket and carefully tucked it in on all sides. After making sure that the girl was fast asleep, the elderly Mavka put the lamp on the table, left the house to check on the animals. Along the house there was a path up the hill to a gate painted blue with white scrollwork. On the right was a one-story building with a chicken coop, barn and summer kitchen.
Behind the house there was a small cherry orchard, gloomy even under the growing moon. The dog Garrett saw Tharya and burst into joyful barking. Having received his portion of affection and the remnants of yesterday’s stew, he made several circles along the entire length of his leash and climbed back into the booth under the northern wall of the summer kitchen.
Tharya slowly opened the door on the gate, but it still creaked disgustingly. She went out onto the street, barely lit by sparse lanterns, she looked around, sighed and went back into the yard. After hesitating, Mavka closed only with the top lock which could be opened from the outside by reaching out between the forged curls, once painted with white paint.
She and Vilka were already fast asleep when the gate door creaked and cautious steps rustled along the gravel path. A small tongrong oil lantern swung at the entrance, and a sharp dagger pressed against Tharya’s bare neck.
“Vitalina!” Mavka hissed, waving her hand: “If you wake up the little one, we won’t be able to calm her down,” she carefully freed herself from the girl’s hot embrace and slowly stood up from the too soft feather bed.
“Hello, dear,” Mavka, smelling of fire and sweat, hugged her wife tightly: “I’m hungry as a wolf, do you have anything to eat?”
“Go wash yourself outside, I got some water, sit down, I’ll take it all out now.”
Tharya closed the window to the courtyard where they sat in the evening, then she quickly threw bread, cheese, ham and the remains of the mulberry pie into the wicker basket. After some thought, she took out two red pot-bellied glasses and a large open bottle from the old sideboard. Then she tucked the blanket on all sides of the sleeping girl, kissed her hot forehead and quietly went outside, leaving the lamp on the table lit.
“Well, tell me,” they sat down on the spring frame in front of a small, lopsided wooden table. “Рere’s to your returning,” Tarya poured homemade liqueur into glasses and, without waiting for Vitalina, drank to the bottom. “I haven’t heard from you for a month.”
Tharya rubbed her aching knee and, turning slightly, put her foot on the bed.
Vitalina, tall, tightly built, as if carved from a whole oak, just shrugged her shoulders, emptied the glass and hugged her drooping wife. Her tanned face with slightly slanted eyes, always calm under long bangs, grimaced subtly. She extended her long arm and placed a pillow stuffed with straw under her wife’s broken knee. The once thick braid has become slightly thinner over the years, the rich blue color of the hair paled and became filled with silver.
“Tharya, you yourself wanted to leave the service, I can’t tell the details.”
“Yes, you can do anything,” Mavka shook off his wife’s hand on her shoulder andand refilled the glasses: “You just don’t want to. And you have a bad influence on Vilka, she keeps running to the temple, eavesdropping on your conversations.”
“It’s high time for her to take up training; I haven’t seen such strength and stubbornness in a long time.” Vitalina took off her scabbard and belt with daggers, unlaced her corset and threw the constricting clothes onto a chipped cabinet near the wall under the house window. The lamp standing on the table in the room flickered faintly and slightly illuminated the round face of the sleeping Vilka. “My beloved, you can’t put off this moment forever: she will have to follow in our footsteps. Is there any other choice?”
Tharja took a deep breath before answering, but stopped at the last moment. Clasping her tired palms, she turned away and hid her face in the June darkness. Vitalina wrapped her long muscular arms around wife, pressed her lips to the hot back of Tharya’s head, and inhaled deeply her favorite scent.
“I’m sorry…” she breathed out, firmly squeezing Tharya’s shoulders. “But I can’t stay long. Yes, I know you don’t approve of the Insurgent, but he asked for help with the Weeping Ridge Pass, they need to get to Wolf Lake. You must understand that they can’t handle it without us.”
“Vita, what did they forget there, you asked?” Having freed herself, Tharya smoothed her blue and gray hair, and grabbed a thin piece of ham from the plate. “How far will he go in his enmity with the Usurper? How many will he sacrifice?”
“My love, have you ever wondered why we even live under the rule of the Usurper? Not a legitimate king or queen, not a council of elders, but a criminal?”
“He is not our ruler, we are separate from…”
“You can draw boundaries in the sand as much as you want, but that won’t stop the tide. We have never lived separately, this is a pernicious illusion. Well, if we’d restored Mavka’s kingdom and liberated our lands… But, for such calls, both the Insurgent and the Usurper will throw us on the rack.”
Vilka’s sensitive ears immediately heard the sound of Tharya’s footsteps and muttering. The girl opened her eyes slightly and began to listen to the conversation under the window. She did not rush to hug her mother who had returned from the campaign, knowing that then she would not be able to eavesdrop on important conversations to which she was not yet allowed.
While the Mavkas were quietly arguing, each trying to prove their point, Vilka crawled out of the heap of blankets, rolled off the soft feather bed and pressed her nose to the window glass.
“…That’s why we need to go to Wolf Lake, now you understand?” Vitalina reached for the tobacco pouch, which laid with the rest of her things next to her on the cabinet. After filling the pipe, she lit the straw from the candle on the table and snorted with laughter. Mavka turned sharply to the window and looked straight into the eyes of her disheveled daughter.
Vilka yelped loudly, jumped away from the window, crashed back into a chair and rolled head over heels on the floor. Tharya, without saying a word, just rapped her knuckles on the window glass. The next second the girl was already standing in front of the mothers, with no sleep in either eye.
“Well, how much did you manage to eavesdrop on?”
“I didn’t… Mother Tharya, I just woke up, saw my mother and…”
“That’s enough, Tharya, my love, you can’t save her from everything,” Vita opened her arms and hugged the girl tightly. Having sat her on her lap, Mavka handed her daughter a piece of pie and, after a pause, a pot-bellied shot glass of the liquor.
“Vita!”
“What? It’s time. So at least she’ll fall asleep sooner. Or what? Do you think she hasn’t drunk before? Kat admitted that Vilka had dined with them more than once, and they treated her to wine.”
Tharya brought another glass, and the scarlet crystal tinkled quietly in the trembling light of the lamp and candles. Looking at the quiet girl in her mother’s arms, slowly chewing a piece of corned beef, Mavka nodded to herself. Time is rushing, you can’t protect children from it.
The family of blackbirds that occupied the cherry orchard in front of the house was still fast asleep; the males hadn’t started their morning singing warm-up. And Vilka had already jumped up, threw the blanket over the rumpled bed and stretched. She slept in a large hall that occupied most of the second floor. The first dawn broke through the numerous windows, covered only by thin lace curtains. Picking up the chamber pot, she walked to the wooden stairs to the first floor. This was the most difficult quest of the whole day: not to fall over on the steps slippery with varnish and not fly into the terrible cellar, doused with your own urine.
Slowly descending, Vilka exhaled triumphantly and opened one of the doors to the main room. Vitalina slept on the edge, on her stomach, with her arms wrapped around a pillow, under which she always held a dagger. But Tharya laid down next to her, throwing her sore leg over the carpeted wall, occasionally snoring.
Vilka tiptoed out of the house, slowly opening the doors, each of which creaked treacherously in the predawn silence. Having poured the contents of the pot into the peonies by the summer shower, the girl rubbed her arms and legs. Having jumped and warmed up, she finally ran along the path to the outdoor toilet, cutting through wisps of icy fog.
An hour later, at dawn, Tрarнa woke up, kissed her wife on the forehead and immediately woke her up:
“You fool, how am I going to climb over you? Come on. Have you forgotten that I’m crippled?” Vita muttered something in response, threw herself over Tarja to the wall with an acrobatic sketch and continued to sleep soundly.
“Vila! It’s time to get up! Vilka!” Tharya went out into the corridor under the stairs and only noticed on the steps, just at eye level, a basket full of still warm goose eggs. “What is this?”
Shaggy, already grimy Vilka appeared in the window, with a large milk can in her hands.
“Well, that’s a miracle. Should Vita give her moonshine more often?” Mavka grumbled but more out of habit. “Come inside and have breakfast. What a little bug!”
“Are you ready?” Smart, clean and combed, Vilka stood on the threshold of the Mavkas temple between Tharya and Vita. “Just remember, I won’t protect you, no one will take pity on you.” On the contrary, you are in greater demand since you are my daughter.” Vita squeezed her small palm tightly and pushed the door.
“Ma Vita, don’t worry, I already know everything here,” without even looking back at her mothers, Vila waved her hand and ran to the young Mavka, who was removing candle stubs from the altar in the center of the round hall.
“I told you that this Kat of yours is a bad influence on her,” Tharya muttered, nervously stroking her gray hair. Looking around, she nodded to her acquaintances.
“My darling, are you jealous? Don’t worry, Kat has other preferences. But in her hands, Vila will grow into an excellent warrior. Come on, I need to discuss something with the dryads, and to introduce you to someone extremely special.”
But Tharya resisted, angry with herself for the sudden tears and reluctance to leave the girl in the care of experienced Mavkas. Vitalina hugged her, and they stayed for a bit in the shadow of the twilight of the columns to watch.
