The Pagan Heart
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December 2004 Issue
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Inspiration Speaks Dedt Moroz and the Peasant Girl
There once was a hard working woodcutter by the name of Yuriy. A tall man with broad shoulders, he spent his days deep in the heart of the forest felling trees. Each evening, as the sun slipped behind the high mountains to the west, Yuriy would stride through the darkening forest to the edge. There, barely the length of a tree's shadow away, squatted a small but study home, built from logs cut and shaped by Yuriy in his youth. Smoke curled from the chimney as he neared - a sign that dinner awaited within. The door would open and Klara, his beloved wife, would stand there, a smile upon her broad face. Her eyes so blue they seemed borrowed from the noonday summer skies, shone with love as she held out her hand to draw him inside. Inside, crouched beside his fine leather chair near the crackling fire, his daughter waited, quivering in place as she watched him carefully place his axe upon the ledge above the mantle. Her eyes, mirror-images of Klara's, remained fixed upon him as he sat and tugged his heavy boots off, darting aside to follow each one as he tossed it back towards the door. The tsking Klara made at this ritual would be drowned in Alina's squeals as she launched herself upon him. "Poppa! Poppa. You're home." Light and warm, she smelt of sunshine and fresh bread. Yuriy closed his eyes and breathed in. The chilly air laden with the scent of pine brought him back to the present with a slap. He glanced about - noone seemed to have noticed his lapse. Trees thumped to the ground deeper inside the forest. His companions, sweating despite the early onslaught of winter, bent over the pine-corpses, stripping them of their branches in preparation for the journey downriver. With the first snow fresh upon the ground, the men worked quickly, desperate to get the last logs on their way before the river began to freeze. A few slivers of the late afternoon sun picked out motes of dust as they danced above the frenzy of activity, and Yuriy sighed. Almost time to leave for the house....Dasha would be furious if he was late again. The house lay silent, waiting, as he neared. Yuriy heaved his axe higher on his shoulder and reached out to open the door. "Yuriy! Yuriy, is that you?" Dasha sounded angry, and Yuriy flinched. "Don't you come in here with those filthy boots again. Alina's just finished cleaning the floors and I won't have them all muddy. You hear me?" "Yes, wife," he responded and sank down onto the stairs to remove them. Placing them neatly beside the door, Yuriy went inside. Dasha, perched upon the leather chair, looked up from her embroidery. Her narrow face seemed pinched and sallow - moreso than usual. Beside her his step-daughter Marina waited, pursed mouth insolent. "You need to do something about that child of yours. She is rude and lazy, and I won't have it," snapped his new wife. A strange note of authority deepened her voice and her eyes glowed. "What has Alina done?" "Are you questioning me? You take her side against me every time." "No. I am sure you are right." The unexpected words trickled from him as he attempted to stem the encroaching flood of acrimony. At their escape he felt a twinge of guilt - his child betrayed again - and drew breath to speak. "Of course I am, and it's nice to hear you finally behaving as my husband ought. Now you must do something about her." His mouth stayed closed, despite his intentions. Dasha glanced down at her work and he found his gaze drawn to the embroidery. The gleaming needle flashed and sank into the creamy linen, drawing the ruby thread behind it. In and out, mesmerising in its monotonous motion. Strange letters shimmered on the cloth. Yuriy's mind slowed and trembled with a lost impulse before he knew no more. Struggling up from the darkness, Yuriy opened his eyes. He stood in the forest, surrounded by sleeping trees. Moonlight glimmered through the gaps overhead, sparkling off the snow, and Yuriy's heart froze within his chest. Before him the path led out of the woods, towards his house. Fearful, he jerked into motion and ran towards it, struggling through the thick drifts. As he thrust the door open, letting it slam into the wall, Dasha and Malina jumped. They sat by the fire, his wife in the chair and her daughter upon the footstool, just as he remembered. "Did you do it?" asked Dasha, her eyes glittering. "Did you?" "Do what?" "Of course he did, Mother,"interrupted Malina. And she got up and came to the door. As she neared him, Yuriy flinched aside, the hair on his arms lifting. A slight smile acknowledged his reaction, and then Malina peered outside. "No one out there. He's alone." Malina pulled the door closed and dropped the bar into place. Patting Yuriy's arm, she added, "Such an obedient man you married, Mother. So obedient." "What have I done?" asked Yuriy, a terrible fear surging through him. But the two women did not answer.
Alina drew her feet closer beneath her hem, shivering as the cold wrapped about her. It had been only a few minutes since her father left, but the warmth stolen from him as he carried her through the trees had leached away. Desperately she struggled again to free herself, but the rope binding her wrists to the tree remained firm. A dollop of snow, loosened from the branches above, splattered against her cheek, numbing her face. Faint chimes drifted through the air and Alina strained to listen. Bells...sleigh bells. "Help," she screamed. "Help me." Crying out again and again, she tugged at her bonds, shaking the tree further, until at last she fell silent, exhausted, wet and cold. The bells no longer sounded. "Help me, please." Her whisper barely broke the silence. "Why are you crying?" The voice, old and crackly as rotten ice on the river, shocked her. Behind her, in a silver sleigh, sat an elderly man, curiosity creasing his gaunt face. Two grey wolves lay panting in the traces, their eyes glowing redly at her. "Well, child?" He shifted in his seat, pushing aside the mountain of furs. "Sir," she started, her breath catching as she shivered, "I am chilled to the marrow and wet as well. There is snow melting about me, and these hemp cords chafe my wrists. And I am hungered. This is why I weep." The man shrugged aside his thick furs, revealing a thin cotton robe, and stepped from his sleigh. Noticing his bare feet, Alina stared in suprise. Thin and gnarled, yet straight as the haft of her father's axe, he was unaffected by the cold. His feet barely touched the snow, and as he came towards her he seemed to glide. Snowflakes fell from his long white hair, sparkling in the moonlight. Dedt Moroz, she realised...Grandfather Frost. Kneeling beside her, he reached out and stroked the rope with one gnarled finger. The cord shivered and fell away, leaving her free. "Come, child. Warm yourself in my sleigh." Taking her arm, he helped her to stand. "I have sweet bread and cheese and some warm tea." Alina sank into the soft furs, trembling as the cold fled her limbs. Tears flowed down her face as she picked at a bread roll, eatibng a few crumbs. "Child, still you weep. Why is this?" "Dedt Moroz, I am grateful for your aid, but my heart aches. My father left me here to die, and this is more than I can bear." Sobs shook her frame as she recounted the spell placed upon Yuriy by her step-mother. "Why does this woman seek your death?" asked Dedt Moroz. "My father is not a rich man, but what he has will be mine when he dies. The house and the land - and these are things Mother Dasha would have, and thus she seeks my death." He placed a cup in her hands, curling her fingers about the warm china. The strong aroma of spiced tea washed over her face, and she closed her eyes and breathed it in. "Alina." The sound of her father's voice startled her and she almost dropped her tea. Opening her eyes, Alina saw Yuriy crouched beside her, fear and worry staining his face grey. Faint sunlight washed the snow about her, gleaming on the soft brown furs draped over her legs. Confused, she stared at him, her empty fingers clutching at the air. "I am so sorry," he offered, before collapsing across her feet in tears. "My child, my sweet child. How could I do this to you?" Shrugging aside the furs, Alina reached out and took his hand. "Poppa, it is not your fault. Dasha did this with her spellwork. Come, let us go home..." As she spoke, the thought of what awaited them at home choked her, and she stuttered into silence. Yuriy raised his head and met her eyes. She saw her fears mirrored there. "We can't return," he said. "We have to, Poppa. We have no clothes, no food. Without those we will freeze or starve. There is noone out here to turn to. We must go home and get our things." She thought a moment. "If we keep our eyes turned away, we may be alright." "Yes. It was when I looked at her that I felt strange, lost," he agreed, squeezing her fingers. "Very well, we will try it," and he stood up, pulling her up with him. As the furs fell away, Alina felt something dripping onto her feet and she heard what sounded like raindrops in the snow. Looking down she saw glittering droplets of ice scattered about her. "How pretty," she murmured and bent to pick up one. Cold and hard, the ice sparkled in the light as she rolled it in her palm. "Look, Poppa." Yuriy stared at the droplet and then gently took it from her. Holding it up, he peered into the brilliant rainbow of colour shimmering in its heart. "This is a diamond, Alina. Where did you get it?" "Diamond?" She spun about, staring at the ice lying around her feet. "These are all diamonds? Oh, Poppa, we're rich." Crouching down to gather them up, she heard a soft whisper echoing from deep in the forest - bells. "Oh. Dedt Moroz. Thank you, Grandfather," she called out. "Thank you for your kindness." Yuriy wrapped the fur about her and picked her up and set off for home. Content to be with him, she snuggled into his chest and tried not to think about what awaited them. Lulled into a dreamy state, she kept hearing bells ringing in the distance. Her father seemed to follow the noise, but when she stirred and asked him, he replied that there were no bells, and told her to back to sleep. As she did, she heard an old voice muttering. "Ice for one, ice for the other." When they got to the house, Yuriy set her down on the step. "Remember, Alina, don't look at them." She nodded and pushed the door open. Frost crackled out along the floorboards and snowflakes danced before her. Puzzled, she glanced at Yuriy and together they edged inside. The room glistened with ice - white and silent. There by the fireplace, in the great leather chair, Dasha waited. Her narrow face frozen in fear, her eyes no longer glowing, she clutched a scrap of linen in one curled claw of a hand. Beside her Malina sat in permanent recoil, arms flung up before her to fend off some unknown assailant. Alina smiled, recalling the voice. "Ice for one, ice for the other." |
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