Читать книгу The Chronicles of the Elders Malefisterium. Volume 1. The Ordeal of Freya - Andrew Ognev - Страница 5

Vlad knew the village well, so he chose the shortest way to the house of old Fedotya. On his way, he turned off into a few alleys and streets, scared off a gaggle of geese that burst out squawking and cackling in indignation. Vlad jumped over a low fence, leaving an old mongrel bewildered with his agility, and knocked on the hand-carved door.

The old lady answered the door almost immediately: She had seen the boy in the window. The boy smelled fresh baked pastries through the open door.

“Come in, honey!” old Fedotya greeted him warmly. “You are just in time, I have just milked the cow and now I am baking griddle cakes.”

The thought of cakes made Vlad’s mouth water (Fedotya’s treats were hard to resist), but he replied in a voice, crisp after the recent running:

“Thank you, but I won’t stay long.”

“Of course, you won’t,” the old lady nodded and let the boy in.

The door closed by itself.

As soon as Vlad stepped over the threshold, he got a feeling he had hopped into another dimension. The air was thick and redolent. He felt like being immersed in warm water; the warmth soaked in, relaxing his body and mind. His train of thoughts slowed down, and his brisk movements acquired smoothness. The need for haste had gone away. With the old woman, Vlad always felt like her well-behaved grandson, mesmerized by her deep throaty voice and loving kindness.

A wide reader, he always gave a good deal of thought to everything and could easily explain such transformations. No magic was involved. The wood stove in Fedotya’s house was always burning hot, even in summertime, and the windows were always closed; no wonder that the air was stuffy. As for the smells, the house was full of dry forest herbs tied in bundles hanging on the walls, fresh spruce branches and clusters of rowan berries.

“I brought you candles from Father Konstantin,” Vlad remembered the purpose of his visit.

“Oh, how nice of him!” the old woman took the candles happily. “I almost gave up thoughts of coming to see you. It’s quite a long walk for my old legs!”

“It is,” Vlad agreed.

“I can still do some chores around the house and milk the cow,” she flung her hands up and turned back to the oven. “My cakes! They are going to burn!”

Vlad helped Fedotya rescue the last of the cakes from the hot hugs of the oven. They smelled wonderful.

“Here you are!” the old woman pushed a hot griddle cake into the boy’s hand. “Go and sit at the table!”

Vlad took a bite of the cake and let out a moan of delight. It tasted even better than it smelled. He was slowly taking one bite after another, and before he knew it, the cake was gone.

“You are a magician!” he thanked the old woman ardently.

“Of course, I am!” she laughed, trying to look guileless.

“Humans can’t cook like that,” the boy reconfirmed, emphasizing every word.

“What are you trying to say?” the old woman turned sharply and fastened her eyes on his face.

“I’m not trying to say anything,” Vlad held her stare. “I’m just stating a fact.”

“So many years of practicing the magic of cooking!” the old woman began to prattle, trying to get off the slippery ground. “Anyone can become a magician after that!” she gave him a glass of freshly drawn milk and moved a plate with cakes closer to him. “Have another one!”

“I can’t stay long!” Vlad tried to refuse, unable to resist the temptation and reaching out for the plate. “Father Konstantin gave me a task.”

“I know,” the old woman nodded. “I know about the task and about many other things. Come on, eat all you can, and I’ll tell you a little tale.”

Vlad knew firsthand that the old woman had a lot of different stories. And each was more fanciful than the previous. He would be happy to listen to her stories, but he had no time: A present was waiting for him at home!

“I don’t have much time,” Vlad said stubbornly, but his actions did not meet words. He wanted to stand up, but instead, he made himself even more comfortable on the bench and was ready to listen.

“I won’t take much of your time,” the old woman assured him. “I’ll be done before you eat your cake…

Once upon a time there lived two brothers. They possessed a great wisdom and a considerable power.

The elder brother, known as the White Sun, had control over fire to burn down the evil and over the light of the sun to enlighten the righteous path. The younger brother was the Great Craftsman. He created all kinds of things for his brother and for common people.

But the Dark Evil came to their land and threatened the human race. The endless power, which was awakened by the Evil, was ensnaring the Earth in its web. The two brothers stood up for the people, but the forces were unequal. And they called for help, and two young maidens lent them a willing hand, the Witch of the Moon and the Maiden of Darkness, and the forces were equal again.

And the Ancient Evil, that held sway over the dead, fell. When the evil spirits were defeated, they became a close-knit family.

And they raised their city up into the sky with their power, to their own glory.

And they lived happily there ever after.”

Old Fedotya stopped to catch her breath.

Vlad took the opportunity to bid goodbye. A basket with cakes had already been waiting for him.

“Oh, no, thank you!” Vlad tried to refuse.

“Well, that’s not for you, my dear child!” the old lady said disarmingly. “That’s for the Father! As a thank-you for the candles.”

“Thank you, Fedotya Andreevna!” Vlad said. “I must go now.”

He took only a few steps from the porch, when he heard old Fedotya talking.

“The city in the clouds… lit up by the sunset and first streaks of dawn…” the old lady closed her eyes and was muttering under her breath.“I can see you in that city!”

Vlad looked over his shoulder, surprised, and gazed at her pale face.

“Ah? What?” the old lady came to herself.

“Are you all right?” the boy asked anxiously.

“Ah? Pay no attention to the old woman,” she waved away. “Oh, wait! Wait! You forgot the milk!

She rushed into the room as fast as legs could carry her and came back with a large bottle.

The boy was holding the basket with cakes in one hand and the milk in the other.

“Fedotya Andreevna,” he asked, “why have you told me this tale?”

“Don’t you know it?” the old lady looked at him with cunning, half-closed eyes.

“No.”

“This is not the place where you should be.”

Vlad was coming back from old Fedotya, perplexed and dismayed.

He had heard a lot of her tales since he was a child. She used to tell them when he stayed at her place once a week or when she came to the church, almost every other day.

Vlad was quite sure that she had come so often to see him, to watch him grow up, to check up on his education, and to tell him another story. She seemed to have known or have felt what was going to happen to him in the days to come and was preparing him for that change with her stories and tales. She always asked him how he was doing, and never was contented with the casual answer “I’m fine”, keeping on questioning, delving into every detail. And he would tell her about his swift-flowing days, hour by hour, eagerly and openly. She seemed to be watching him throughout his whole life.

Vlad remembered the old woman having occasionally a quiet word with Father Konstantin. After their conversations, the priest used to look morose and pensive for a long time.

When Vlad was a little boy, she often looked after him, especially when Father Konstantin or bell-ringer Mark was busy. And she repeatedly told the boy that he was special, not like all the other. Vlad never dared to ask what she meant to imply.

The boy himself didn’t consider himself special. He felt embarrassed and even annoyed when he was praised or admired. For Vlad judged himself by other standards. What he had not done yet was more important for him than what he had already done. And what he had not learnt yet was more important than what he had already learnt.

And then was that strange tale…

Just another story, nothing else. The old woman was very good at telling stories and knew a great deal of them. Yet, that very story stroke a chord with him. Disquieting thoughts crept into his mind. Her last words, “This is not the place where you should be”, got him totally confused.

Is he going to be exiled from the village? But why? What has he done? What is the reason he didn’t fit it? Maybe, it’s better to go back? To ask her?

Uncertainty, and not Fedotya’s words, was what disturbed him most. Vlad understood it clearly. Several times he stopped and nearly went back to old Fedotya to get answers to all the questions preying on his mind, but his legs wouldn’t obey him and kept carrying him home.

“So be it!” he said aloud, as if showing his obedience to an invisible fellow traveler.

Vlad would be glad to talk with Father Konstantin, but he remembered, disappointedly, that the priest would not be at home.

At home, he put the basket with cakes and a bottle of milk on the dining table. A small parcel was lying on a clean rag.

“A present!” he brightened up.

He unwrapped it.

Inside there was a silver chain with a dark-purple diamond-shaped crystal pendant. Vlad touched the crystal and it lit up with soft light, vibrating.

Startled, the boy screamed and dropped the present. Instead of smashing on the floor, the crystal hovered in the air and then slowly went up to Vlad’s face, as if looking into his eyes.

The boy backed up, astounded. The glare around the crystal was growing until it took the shape of a human figure, a figure of a woman. The woman was tall and slender; she was wearing a long embroidered gown flowing down to the floor.

The woman’s body was the same color as the glaring crystal, which was pulsating close to her heart.

She spoke in a pleasant melodious voice:

“How do you do, Mister Viggin?”

At first, Vlad didn’t understand who the woman was talking to, and kept looking at her in astonishment.

“Do you know me?” he asked after a long pause.

“Of course,” the woman replied with a smile.

“May I ask who you are?” the boy asked timidly.

“My name is Freya Altos,” the woman introduced herself. However, she could see by Vlad’s face that her name didn’t ring any bells. Quite the opposite, his face displayed even greater bewilderment. “I am a Master of the Academy of Magical Arts, Malefisterium,” she added.

“The Academy?” Vlad asked, “of Magical Arts? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s time you learn more about it,” Freya came one step closer to Vlad. “The Academy is the place where kids like you live and gain insight into mysteries of the world.”

“Why do they need that?” Vlad asked. He believed (and he was taught) that mysteries must stay uncovered. Otherwise, what kind of mystery it would be, if it was known to many? It would be no mystery any longer; rather, it would be a piece of common knowledge!

“To learn how to change the world for the better.”

“Is it not good enough?”

“No matter how good this world is, there is always room for improvement. You practice to sing better. You read books to learn more.”

“Do we grasp mysteries by doing that?”

“The mystery of a new melody… is the mystery of new knowledge.”

“I see.” Vlad put his mind at ease. “You’ve said there are kinds like me” the boy reminded her. “Where do I come into this?”

“You belong to our world by birth,” Freya said solemnly.

“Your world? What world are you talking about?”

“The magic world.”

Silence hung in the air.

“I don’t think I am allowed,” the boy spoke hesitantly, “to get in touch with the magic world. I was brought up in the Christian faith, which disapproves magic.”

“Why?”

“Magic is a sin!”

“The world is multidimensional,” Freya was not a bit embarrassed. With her answers quick and ready, she seemed to know all the arguments Vlad was going to offer. “It is not split into evil and good, black and white. Looking from above, you will get a full picture.”

“What are you talking about?” Vlad flushed with indignation. “You want to say that the Scripture is a lie?”

“It is a part of the truth,” Freya assured him. “A piece of the jigsaw puzzle.”

“What puzzle?”

“A puzzle called the Universe,” Freya spread her arms, showing its infinity. “Both magic and the Christian faith are just two examples out of many clues to the mystery of Creation. To the knowledge of the meaning of existence and non-existence.

“It means… you are saying that magic is in agreement with religion?”

“More than that,” Freya was happy to see that the boy was interested, “it expands and complements it.”

“But then why does the Scripture argue that magic is evil?”

“The Scripture, which you mention so often, is a book that has been revised and altered many times over the centuries, depending on the education, mindset and needs of those who benefit from it,” Freya explained. “A lot of things that people fail to learn and explain are in no time marked down as evil.”

“But what about magic?” Vlad was confused, but kept questioning.

“Magic is the oldest science that studies the underlying origins of the existence.”

“Even black magic?”

“Depends on what you mean by it.”

“Jinxes, hexes, love spells.”

Freya interrupted him gently.

“It’s a misconception, Vlad. Magic itself is harmless. It doesn’t comprise evil or good. It entirely depends on who practices it and what their intentions are. What you’ve named has a negative effect. But magic goes beyond this list. First of all, it opens up new horizons for understanding the world, both outer and inner.”

Vlad remained silent.

“I can see you still doubt,” the woman gave a wave of her hand to change the setting. “Well… let me give you an example. Imagine that you and your friends are in a thick forest. It is winter, snow is lying all around.”

The wind rose suddenly, and white flakes of snow were dancing in the air.

The boy gave a little shiver at the word “snow.” It brought back unpleasant memories.

“It’s getting dark. You cannot find shelter, and the night is falling fast. There are a few fallen trees around, but you have no matches to make a fire. However, you can use magic instead. But you are a firm supporter of strict dogmas that say: ‘Magic is evil!’ So, all of you will freeze to death before morning. Or you can choose the other option: You start a fire by using magic, and you live through the night. As a result, you will save your life and the lives of your friends with the help of magic.”

Vlad made another feeble attempt to hold the ground.

“But what made you think I belong to you?” the thoughts were whirling around in Vlad’s head. “I am just an ordinary village boy.”

Freya made a gesture with her hand.

Vlad checked himself.

A scene from his past life was brought back to him, the one he had been trying to forget for many years, though with no success.

A forest road, a sledge with firewood, and the three of them: Vlad and Stepa, eight-year-old boys, and bell-ringer Mark as a coachman.

The tired bell-ringer was leading the horse by the bridle, with his head low. Vlad was dragging behind. They had been working hard: Mark chopped firewood, Vlad and Stepa laid it onto the sledge. Once or twice, they had to push the heavy loaded sledge uphill, helping the poor old horse. Stepa seemed to be hit by a giggling fit, he was kidding around, giving Vlad a push or throwing a snowball at him.

“Stepa, stop it!” Vlad asked

“I won’t!” Stepa laughed.

“I’ll get you!”

“Catch me first!”

A deeply rutted narrow road, a stiff slope. And Stepa, running away from Vlad. The feet of the mischievous boy slipped down the ice-covered slope.

Vlad watched his friend fall and slip down under the runners of the firewood sledge; it was all like a slow-motion movie. A cry escaped his lips, and he thrust his arm out as if he wanted to keep the boy from falling.

Something clenched inside of him and then broke forth.

The sledge turned over.

It’s too late.

The boy was lying still, crushed by the heavy sledge.

The sledge burst into silver blue flame, soaring to the sky…

Vlad shook his head, banishing the horrible scene from his mind.

“I was late,” Vlad whispered with tears in his eyes. “Just a second late.”

Vlad and Freya

“You tried to save your friend,” Freya consoled him. “What you did was not black magic, was it? That is why you need the Academy: So that you are not late next time.” Freya placed an emphasis on the last words.

Vlad failed to find objections. Hating the defeat, he had to admit that Freya made a very compelling argument.

He was overwhelmed by conflicting feelings. Joy and excitement were mixed with anxiety and confusion. What awaits him? Will he like the new place? Is he going to find himself? And what about his friends? His choir? What will they do without him?

“Life is a book,” Freya said as if she was able to read his mind. “It’s time for you to turn the page over and get to a new chapter.”

They both relapsed into silence for a while. The boy was watching the play of the purple energy in the woman’s gown. The chain of events of the day was falling into place little by little: The strange words of Father Konstantin, the tale of old Fedotya. Did they know? Were they preparing him for this? He drew a sigh, closed his eyes, and whispered hollowly:

“When should I get going?”

“Today,” she gave a ruthless reply.

“Today?” Vlad looked around the priest’s house that had become his home, his heart sank. “But I must say goodbye to Father Konstantin.”

“He knows about you,” the master said, preventing further questions. “But you can write him a letter.”

“A farewell letter?” Vlad swallowed hard.

“Yes,” Freya nodded, “a farewell letter.”

She knew how he felt.

“When you leave the village,” Freya was giving him instructions, “find a solitary spot and squeeze this stone hard with your hand,” she pointed at the crystal on the chest of the womanlike hologram. “Don’t be afraid of anything, and don’t be surprised. You will not be alone on your way to the Academy.”

“Who is coming with me?”

“Someone who knows the right way! Good luck and see you soon!”

The lines of her body began to fade and, eventually, the woman disappeared. The remaining shapeless glow flowed into the crystal that slowly landed on the table.

Vlad went to his room. It was small but cozy. The daylight easily came through the only window with no curtains and kept the room light even in the early morning and during the evening hours.

There were two icons on a special shelf in the far corner of the room: The Virgin Mary and Nicholas the Wonderworker. There was also a bookshelf to the right from the God’s corner, filled with a dozen of various books. There were three more icons above the bed, including the icon of Saint Vladislav of Serbia, Vlad’s patron saint. A shabby Bible was lying on the bedside table.

Vlad looked around the place, where he had spent most of his life, for the last time.

There was nothing left to do but to write the letter. But how hard it was! Vlad felt such deep sadness that it made his heart shrink.

“All you have to do is say farewell,” the inner voice told him.

“I am scared,” Vlad admitted to himself and felt tears well up in his eyes.

“No wonder that you are scared,” he heard the encouraging inner voice. “And yet you have to do this.”

Vlad was about to ask himself what was going to happen when he left, but he didn’t dare. He felt that he already knew it.

“It will be hard. It will be really hard. But you can make it, Vladislav Viggin,” his inner voice whispered.

Vlad was still looking at a sheet of paper and a pencil in his hand. It all happened right here. The appearance of Freya, the invitation to the Academy, which wasn’t really an invitation, rather a statement of the fact. He realized he just didn’t have any choice, didn’t have any alternative. What was meant to happen would have happened regardless of what he felt or what he wanted.

Everything became clear.

“I don’t want to leave,” he whispered.

Tears flowed from his eyes, first slowly, and then plentifully.

He went on writing. He was writing in his neat handwriting, and the tears he failed to dash away were falling down on the paper.

He wished he could hug loving Father Konstantin, cheerful bell-ringer Mark, caring cook Anna, old Fedotya, and all his friends.

He had a gut feeling that they were going to disengage from his embrace, no matter how tight he would hold them.

“My dear Father Konstantin, I know that what I am going to do will please your heart, but my heart is breaking. Forgive me, father, and do not banish me from your heart, for I will see it as a bad sign discouraging from the journey.”

With his eyes cast down, Vlad walked along the village road unusually fast, almost running. He knew he would give it up and stay, if he spoke to a villager or even cast a glance back. He looked back only when he was outside the village.

Tears were still rolling down his face. But now, when he held the past tight in his heart, he could let it go.