Lily
In his home, there were tales told of Koschei the Deathless.
There were tales told elsewhere, of course. They told of an immortal sorcerer and his emerald heart, set apart from his body so that he might never die. Some spoke of his death at the hands of a brave and noble hero. Others said he had been trampled by horses. Some, speaking in whispers as if afraid he would hear them, claimed him to still be alive, haunting the woods to this very day. Many called him a man. But none told the story as he did, and so he told it now, as he had been told by his mother, and his grandmother before her. This is the story he told.
A long time ago, when the world was still young, and magic was practiced by the good and evil alike, there lived a beautiful sorceress in a city of wonders. She had golden hair that shone like the stars, and pale skin as white as milk, and eyes as blue as the clear sky. She wore a long-sleeved gown of the purest white silk, and all that looked upon her praised her beauty. There were many young men who asked for her hand, but she loved none of them, and refused their advances.
One of her suitors, who was a powerful enchanter, cut his own shadow from his body and sent it into her chambers while she slept. From her pillow the shadow stole a single strand of hair, which the enchanter worked his magic over. By the time the maiden had awakened, the spell had taken its effect, and she fell madly in love with the enchanter. Within a week the two were wed, and lived happily for several years, though at times the woman felt a great sadness upon her that she could not explain.
But one day a great rival of the enchanter saw the pair. Realizing what had been done, he flew forth to the woman and snatched her away to his tower. There he broke the enchantment upon her, and comforted her, and spoke such honey sweet words of love to her that she gave her heart to him. Together they set about creating the ruin of the enchanter. They unveiled every one of his secrets until his life was in shambles, and no one of any standing would be seen speaking with him. This having been done, the woman confessed her love to the rival, but he rejected her, saying,
“What want would I have for you, who bears the touch of my enemy? Just a month ago you would have given your life for him, and yet I won you away in less than a week. I have no need for a woman who’s heart is so easily swayed.”
At these words the woman wept, and begged him to reconsider, but his heart was hard and cold, and he turned away from her. And so she spat at him, and cursed him as only a woman spurned could, and flew away from him in a great rage. With her magic she wove a dark spell over him, for she was a great master of changing the forms of all things and creatures. His limbs stiffened, and his blood slowed, and in time he had turned to a stone statue, standing for all eternity in his lonely tower.
But this revenge did not sate her grief, nor her burning anger. With a knife of purest darkness the woman carved out her own heart, so that she might never again be led astray by it. Day and night she cast her enchantments over it, until it had become an empty locket of silver. She took it and hid it away on a far away island, placing it within an unlaid egg inside a duck, which she placed inside an great iron chest, which she buried under a tree. Without her heart, the woman forgot her grief and anger, and with it her kindness and joy, and the locket beneath the tree turned black as soot.
And so it was that there was no use in begging to Koschei the Deathless. No tearful plea nor tragic tale could move the heart that was not there. Yet it was said by some that any man who held her locket could command her every move, for she would have no choice but to love them...
The Festival of Lilies
Stranger
He lived in a village far to the north, where the trees were green in the summer, and red as flame in the fall, and black and dead in the winter. The winters were long and cold in that place, with bitter winds that sapped the joy from the air. The land produced little to eat, and had to be worked hard, which made the farmers weary and sullen. The nearby forest was a great one, pristine and majestic, with the singing of birds from the lofty branches, but the village took no pleasure in it. It was whispered that dark and strange things dwelled within it, and even Koschei’s minions dared not enter it.
The village itself was a small one, and the people within it kept to themselves. It was a rare chance to find one laughing or celebrating. They lived in fear, and not a single one would set foot outside after dark, for at night Koschei’s minions moved throughout the village freely, despite the village walls, and it was said Koschei herself would sometimes fly overhead.
Children were rare, and strangers rarer still, so Alexander remembered clearly the day the Doctor had come to town. Even now Alexander marveled at how different that man had appeared. Where the villagers were dark, the Doctor had hair the color of dark honey, where they were tanned and weathered, his skin was pale and smooth. A pair of thin-framed spectacles sat upon his nose, bespeaking wealth and education beyond what any of the townsfolk could ever aspire to. He looked as a man of five and twenty years, though he gave his age at seven and thirty. His clothes were of an unknown fashion, with a strangely cut coat, and silken vest, and a frilled collar at his neck, all made of pure black cloth. The villagers whispered that the color was to hide the blood, and the Doctor, when asked, which was rarely so, would agree with them.
No one had asked his name, and so he had never given it. To them he was simply “the Doctor.” He spoke little of himself, and nothing of his past, and would secret himself away for days at a time, and allowed no one to know what he was doing. And there was something about his gaze and movements that unnerved those who spoke to him, for he always wore a slight smile upon his face, even when gazing upon the most stricken and pitiable of souls. He was an alchemist of some note, and a master at his craft, mending those that all others thought lost. Yet many wondered why one patient under his care might die, and yet another in the same condition would live. Some who visited him were wracked with nightmares for weeks afterwards. It would have been a lie to say that he was trusted, but Alexander knew that many who condemned him in health would secretly visit him in sickness. The village had no priests to turn to for healing, for the harsh land and dark nights had leeched the faith from even the most devout.
It was to the house of the Doctor that Alexander went now. Alexander himself was a younger man, one and twenty, with dark hair and a full mustache. He wore his uncle’s sword at his side, and his uncle’s shield upon his back, and the insignia of the head guardsman upon his tunic. There were few times when Alexander regretted his profession, but he was considering making this one of them. He took the knocker of the front door, dusty and stiff from lack of use, and rapped it three times upon the metal plate. Even without looking Alexander could feel the furtive glances of the townsfolk, watching the man audacious enough to enter the Doctor’s lair in plain sight.
The knock went unanswered. Alexander took the knocker again and had drawn it back when the door opened with an abruptness that startled him. He found that he had pulled his sword free from his sheath, and made no moves to replace it, for now that he was in the presence of the Doctor he found himself unnerved.
“Greetings,” the tall man said in a clear, deep voice. “I apologize for the wait. I do not receive many callers.” Smiling, he gestured for Alexander to enter, and held the door, quite unfazed by the four feet of naked steel that the guard held in his hand. Alexander did as he was bidden, but since the Doctor made no mention of the sword, he left it unsheathed.
“I have come on behalf of the gravedigger,” Alexander said.
“The good Mr. Machitov? I cannot fathom why,” said the Doctor.
“Then he is a dead man,” Alexander replied. He searched the Doctor’s face for any change of expression, but he found none.
“Is he ill, then?” the Doctor asked. “He did not tell me of it when I last visited him.”
“He has been accused of grave robbing and desecration. Quite serious crimes, you must agree. We have witnesses who saw him digging up the graves in broad daylight, and they are quite certain that it was him. Not that I am surprised he would not wish to dig at night.” Alexander paused for a second, then continued, “We also found many gold coins in his possession, far more than he could ever have made with his work as a gravedigger.”
The guard left it unsaid that the coins had borne the strange stampings that had only been seen upon the Doctor’s currency. No one knew where they had come from, but they were gold, and they were plentiful, and so they had bought the doctor some measure of tolerance when he had first arrived. ‘Until now,’ thought the guardsman, as he awaited the Doctor’s response.
He had been hoping for some reaction, and found himself disappointed. “And the penalty for such crimes is death?” the Doctor inquired, still wearing his infuriating smile.
“More than death,” said Alexander, who hoped to impose the graveness of the situation upon the other man. “By the laws of our land, he will be stripped of all his status. He will not even be considered human. He will be dragged to his execution, and buried without rights, like a common beast.”
“This is the fate of all criminals?” asked the Doctor.
“All who commit crimes punishable by death,” Alexander answered.
The Doctor broke out into a broad grin, catching the guardsman completely by surprise. “But that is wonderful!” he said, triumphantly.
At this, Alexander quite lost his temper. “You call such a thing wonderful? You laugh at another man’s misfortune?” he yelled. “We know him to have been selling the bodies to you, and you will burn alongside of him!”
The Doctor chuckled at this, fueling Alexander’s considerable ire. “I hadn’t meant it like that, My apologies if you construed it as such,” he said, not sounding sorry at all to Alexander. “But if what you said is true, there has been no crime committed. I can name the two bodies that the gravedigger exhumed, and they were both criminals that had been just recently put to death. Since they had no rights as humans, there are no laws against what was done to them.”
For a second, Alexander was too shocked to say anything. When he regained his speech he stammered, “But what was it you did with the bodies?”
“I did not say I did anything with the bodies,” the Doctor responded. “And even if I had, I should hardly think it’s any of your business. You would not ask me what I had done with the body of a dog, or a stag.”
“Even though these criminals may not have had human rights, you might still have used them for black magic, or other crimes,” the guardsman countered.
“You are free to examine the bodies, then,” the Doctor said. “You will find no sign of it.”
Alexander responded that he would do just that, and they both went out into the graveyard, along with Mikhail, another guardsman, who was skilled in detecting the signs of black magic. After an hour of digging both bodies were retrieved, encased in fine coffins that the Doctor claimed to have provided them. The coffins were opened, and Alexander grunted in disgust, for he could see the thin lines of scalpel marks across both corpses, and the stretching of skin where it had been pulled back from the muscle. And he knew that it was the Doctor’s handwork, who had cut them open with his slender knives. But search as he might, Mikhail could find no mark of the black arts, and the pair were criminals, as the Doctor had claimed them. The guardsmen had to re-bury the two men, with nothing to show for their efforts.
Alexander turned to the Doctor and, in an attempt to remove the smile from his face, said to him, “If I were to tell the town of this, it would not matter that these men had no rights. You would be hung by sundown, and left out for Koschei to take you.”
“I do not doubt it would be so,” the Doctor said, “if you were willing to so condemn a man outside of the law.”
And it was here that Alexander knew that he was trapped, for the law was everything to him, the only thing that brought order to his life, and he could not break it. For years he had stood against the vigilante justice of his fellow villagers, which had unfairly and irrationally sent many an innocent man to his death. To throw the Doctor to the mob would be undeniably just, and yet to do so would be to deny all that he was, and undo everything that he had worked for.
“You are a monster,” the guardsman spat.
“I? I have done nothing more than dissect a dog, by your own assertion. I even granted them the proper burial rights... for a dog, of course. I knew that old mastiff of yours was treated rather well, when it passed on.” The Doctor’s eyes glinted with humor, and it took all of Alexander’s strength not to strike him.
The Doctor seemed to see his struggle, for he smiled widely and said, “I am glad I could straighten this matter out for you, Mr. Pesovich. You can see that there is no one at all to blame, and I’m sure you must be satisfied with that.”
As it happened, Alexander was not at all satisfied with that, but there was nothing in the world he could do about it.
He lived in a village far to the north, where the trees were green in the summer, and red as flame in the fall, and black and dead in the winter. The winters were long and cold in that place, with bitter winds that sapped the joy from the air. The land produced little to eat, and had to be worked hard, which made the farmers weary and sullen. The nearby forest was a great one, pristine and majestic, with the singing of birds from the lofty branches, but the village took no pleasure in it. It was whispered that dark and strange things dwelled within it, and even Koschei’s minions dared not enter it.
The village itself was a small one, and the people within it kept to themselves. It was a rare chance to find one laughing or celebrating. They lived in fear, and not a single one would set foot outside after dark, for at night Koschei’s minions moved throughout the village freely, despite the village walls, and it was said Koschei herself would sometimes fly overhead.
Children were rare, and strangers rarer still, so Alexander remembered clearly the day the Doctor had come to town. Even now Alexander marveled at how different that man had appeared. Where the villagers were dark, the Doctor had hair the color of dark honey, where they were tanned and weathered, his skin was pale and smooth. A pair of thin-framed spectacles sat upon his nose, bespeaking wealth and education beyond what any of the townsfolk could ever aspire to. He looked as a man of five and twenty years, though he gave his age at seven and thirty. His clothes were of an unknown fashion, with a strangely cut coat, and silken vest, and a frilled collar at his neck, all made of pure black cloth. The villagers whispered that the color was to hide the blood, and the Doctor, when asked, which was rarely so, would agree with them.
No one had asked his name, and so he had never given it. To them he was simply “the Doctor.” He spoke little of himself, and nothing of his past, and would secret himself away for days at a time, and allowed no one to know what he was doing. And there was something about his gaze and movements that unnerved those who spoke to him, for he always wore a slight smile upon his face, even when gazing upon the most stricken and pitiable of souls. He was an alchemist of some note, and a master at his craft, mending those that all others thought lost. Yet many wondered why one patient under his care might die, and yet another in the same condition would live. Some who visited him were wracked with nightmares for weeks afterwards. It would have been a lie to say that he was trusted, but Alexander knew that many who condemned him in health would secretly visit him in sickness. The village had no priests to turn to for healing, for the harsh land and dark nights had leeched the faith from even the most devout.
It was to the house of the Doctor that Alexander went now. Alexander himself was a younger man, one and twenty, with dark hair and a full mustache. He wore his uncle’s sword at his side, and his uncle’s shield upon his back, and the insignia of the head guardsman upon his tunic. There were few times when Alexander regretted his profession, but he was considering making this one of them. He took the knocker of the front door, dusty and stiff from lack of use, and rapped it three times upon the metal plate. Even without looking Alexander could feel the furtive glances of the townsfolk, watching the man audacious enough to enter the Doctor’s lair in plain sight.
The knock went unanswered. Alexander took the knocker again and had drawn it back when the door opened with an abruptness that startled him. He found that he had pulled his sword free from his sheath, and made no moves to replace it, for now that he was in the presence of the Doctor he found himself unnerved.
“Greetings,” the tall man said in a clear, deep voice. “I apologize for the wait. I do not receive many callers.” Smiling, he gestured for Alexander to enter, and held the door, quite unfazed by the four feet of naked steel that the guard held in his hand. Alexander did as he was bidden, but since the Doctor made no mention of the sword, he left it unsheathed.
“I have come on behalf of the gravedigger,” Alexander said.
“The good Mr. Machitov? I cannot fathom why,” said the Doctor.
“Then he is a dead man,” Alexander replied. He searched the Doctor’s face for any change of expression, but he found none.
“Is he ill, then?” the Doctor asked. “He did not tell me of it when I last visited him.”
“He has been accused of grave robbing and desecration. Quite serious crimes, you must agree. We have witnesses who saw him digging up the graves in broad daylight, and they are quite certain that it was him. Not that I am surprised he would not wish to dig at night.” Alexander paused for a second, then continued, “We also found many gold coins in his possession, far more than he could ever have made with his work as a gravedigger.”
The guard left it unsaid that the coins had borne the strange stampings that had only been seen upon the Doctor’s currency. No one knew where they had come from, but they were gold, and they were plentiful, and so they had bought the doctor some measure of tolerance when he had first arrived. ‘Until now,’ thought the guardsman, as he awaited the Doctor’s response.
He had been hoping for some reaction, and found himself disappointed. “And the penalty for such crimes is death?” the Doctor inquired, still wearing his infuriating smile.
“More than death,” said Alexander, who hoped to impose the graveness of the situation upon the other man. “By the laws of our land, he will be stripped of all his status. He will not even be considered human. He will be dragged to his execution, and buried without rights, like a common beast.”
“This is the fate of all criminals?” asked the Doctor.
“All who commit crimes punishable by death,” Alexander answered.
The Doctor broke out into a broad grin, catching the guardsman completely by surprise. “But that is wonderful!” he said, triumphantly.
At this, Alexander quite lost his temper. “You call such a thing wonderful? You laugh at another man’s misfortune?” he yelled. “We know him to have been selling the bodies to you, and you will burn alongside of him!”
The Doctor chuckled at this, fueling Alexander’s considerable ire. “I hadn’t meant it like that, My apologies if you construed it as such,” he said, not sounding sorry at all to Alexander. “But if what you said is true, there has been no crime committed. I can name the two bodies that the gravedigger exhumed, and they were both criminals that had been just recently put to death. Since they had no rights as humans, there are no laws against what was done to them.”
For a second, Alexander was too shocked to say anything. When he regained his speech he stammered, “But what was it you did with the bodies?”
“I did not say I did anything with the bodies,” the Doctor responded. “And even if I had, I should hardly think it’s any of your business. You would not ask me what I had done with the body of a dog, or a stag.”
“Even though these criminals may not have had human rights, you might still have used them for black magic, or other crimes,” the guardsman countered.
“You are free to examine the bodies, then,” the Doctor said. “You will find no sign of it.”
Alexander responded that he would do just that, and they both went out into the graveyard, along with Mikhail, another guardsman, who was skilled in detecting the signs of black magic. After an hour of digging both bodies were retrieved, encased in fine coffins that the Doctor claimed to have provided them. The coffins were opened, and Alexander grunted in disgust, for he could see the thin lines of scalpel marks across both corpses, and the stretching of skin where it had been pulled back from the muscle. And he knew that it was the Doctor’s handwork, who had cut them open with his slender knives. But search as he might, Mikhail could find no mark of the black arts, and the pair were criminals, as the Doctor had claimed them. The guardsmen had to re-bury the two men, with nothing to show for their efforts.
Alexander turned to the Doctor and, in an attempt to remove the smile from his face, said to him, “If I were to tell the town of this, it would not matter that these men had no rights. You would be hung by sundown, and left out for Koschei to take you.”
“I do not doubt it would be so,” the Doctor said, “if you were willing to so condemn a man outside of the law.”
And it was here that Alexander knew that he was trapped, for the law was everything to him, the only thing that brought order to his life, and he could not break it. For years he had stood against the vigilante justice of his fellow villagers, which had unfairly and irrationally sent many an innocent man to his death. To throw the Doctor to the mob would be undeniably just, and yet to do so would be to deny all that he was, and undo everything that he had worked for.
“You are a monster,” the guardsman spat.
“I? I have done nothing more than dissect a dog, by your own assertion. I even granted them the proper burial rights... for a dog, of course. I knew that old mastiff of yours was treated rather well, when it passed on.” The Doctor’s eyes glinted with humor, and it took all of Alexander’s strength not to strike him.
The Doctor seemed to see his struggle, for he smiled widely and said, “I am glad I could straighten this matter out for you, Mr. Pesovich. You can see that there is no one at all to blame, and I’m sure you must be satisfied with that.”
As it happened, Alexander was not at all satisfied with that, but there was nothing in the world he could do about it.
Lost
Children often vanished from his town. In truth, anyone who was too careless would vanish, but children were the most common, for anyone who lived to a certain age would rarely stray far from their home. The townsfolk would take great pains to keep their children safely locked away, but it only fueled their desire to stray, and they would pay little mind to the dire warnings their parents had told to them. Sometimes, even those children who stayed inside would go missing, vanishing from their beds without a trace. There was no laughter or sounds of childish games in that town, and the women would often wear the colors of mourning.
On one day, like many others before it, a child vanished. Her name was Isabella, and she had been loved by all who knew her. It was on that day that Alexander was faced with the embarrassment of learning the goings-on in his own town from the Doctor. The guardsman had taken to the Doctor like a hound to its quarry, for he neither liked nor trusted him, and would constantly follow him, waiting for the other man to break some law that he might be arrested on. The Doctor himself was unperturbed by all of this. Whenever he spied the guardsman upon the street he would invite him in, and treat him as though he were a cherished friend. This behavior only increased Alexander’s dislike of the other man, and so he was quite irate when the Doctor informed him, with no sign of concern, of the child’s unfortunate fate.
“Well then, if you know so much, be useful,” said Alexander, “and tell me what has been done about it.”
“I was told,” said the Doctor, “that you would do something about it.”
“Me?” said Alexander, quite surprised by this.
“So I was told,” replied the Doctor. “For you are, after all, the nephew of the great hero Piotr–“ But here he was interrupted.
“Do not speak his name!” the guardsman shouted, and had he not been so angry he might have been surprised that the Doctor complied.
The two men stood in silence for a time, and then Alexander spoke again. “Tell them that I will go make the rounds,” he said, and turned to leave.
The rounds were little more than a sham, and everyone knew it. The guards would not ride out of sight of the village, so any child that had gotten lost would never be found by them. It was a rare day that a child ever returned to the village, alive or dead. But the rounds were all that anyone expected. Sham that it was, it was a ride that only a brave man could make.
The mastiff at his side whined as they passed by Koschei’s minions, the half-rotted remains of those people who had been lost to the night. The creatures had never been known to attack during the daytime, unless attacked first, but it did little to soften the cold, blank stares that followed them as they rode onward. Alexander pressed on, carefully keeping his gaze straight ahead, for fear that he might recognize someone among that sea of faces. Mikhail rode close beside him, nervously scanning the area.
The guards rarely spoke on those somber journeys, which left Alexander alone with his thoughts. The mention of his uncle burned upon his mind. There had been little love lost between Alexander and his father. His father had been an ill-tempered man, and he had ruled Alexander’s life with an iron fist. He had refused to allow his son to enter the town guard, and became furious at any talk of the old heroes. When he was growing up, Alexander’s uncle Piotr had been his stalwart champion. But Piotr had ridden out to fight the darkness, and had been carried home by his companions.
The village had called Piotr a fool, and Alexander himself could not help but feel some resentment, for he was now all alone in the world. He took his uncle’s sword, and he took his uncle’s shield, and he joined the town guard against the wishes of his father, but he swore that he would never cast away his life so foolishly. Under his watch the villagers huddled behind the village walls, and locked their doors at night, and would not go out even for their own children, and the only people who went missing were the careless and naive. The villagers had praised Alexander for his good sense. And yet he could not help but wonder when it was that cowardice had become more valued than courage.
Simargl, the mastiff, caught wind of a scent, and was half-way to the forest before Alexander called him back. The two guardsmen looked at each other uneasily. The child had gone into the Black Woods, where the guards would not dare go, for even the minions of Koschei the Deathless did not set foot in that dark forest. Mikhail shook his head sadly, and turned his mount around, preparing to return to the village. Alexander was about to do the same when, by accident, he caught the mindless gaze of one of the walking-dead. Shuddering, he turned away, struck with the sudden thought that he might see young Isabella when he next made the rounds, staring out from among that silent throng.
Suddenly making a decision, Alexander spurred his horse forward, galloping into the Black Woods. He could hear Mikhail shouting at him, but knew the other guardsman would do nothing to stop him, for that would involve riding closer to that dread forest, and Mikhail was not that brave a man. Alexander slowed as he approached the tree line, letting his eyes adjust to the murky light. The great trees stretched into the sky, and it seemed to the guard that he could not see the tips of them. The ground crunching beneath the horse’s hooves cut through the unnatural silence. He could not shake the feeling that something was following him, but he could see no sign of his pursuer. The mastiff whined beside him.
Suddenly, the horse reared up, screaming. Alexander only caught a glimpse of what had startled it before his mount pitched backward, sending him to the ground. The horse landed upon him, lashing out wildly with its hooves, before it stumbled to its feet and ran off. Alexander tried to stand and chase after it, but the pain in his chest was too great. He sunk to the forest floor, his breaths coming in short, wheezing gasps.
It was the faithful mastiff, Simargl, that brought Alexander out of those shadowed woods. The guard himself remembered little of the journey, only the pain, and attempting to crawl, and something large pulling at him. He awoke within a familiar home, with Mikhail standing worriedly above him. The other guard seemed shocked to see him stir.
“He’s awake!” Mikhail exclaimed. “He’s alive!”
“Yes, I did say he would be.” Although Alexander could not see him, he recognized the voice of the Doctor.
“The Doctor is a worker of miracles,” Mikhail whispered to Alexander. “For I know of no man who could have blamed him if you had not survived.”
The Doctor, who had not heard this, continued, “He will have to stay here for a while. I do not think it will be too great a bother to him, for he is a frequent visitor to my house.”
And so Alexander found himself under the Doctor’s care. In time, his wounds had healed completely, and he had not become a monster, or a murderer, or compelled to follow the Doctor’s will, as many had claimed he would. Yet he could not help but feel that something that had been burning within him had been snuffed out.
There was one night, the night before he went home, that Alexander asked the Doctor, “Why is it that one as skilled as you has come to such a place as this?”
The Doctor smiled wider and replied, “I will tell you that the day you tell me of your uncle.”
That night Alexander dreamt of children, crying out in fear as the darkness swallowed them.
Children often vanished from his town. In truth, anyone who was too careless would vanish, but children were the most common, for anyone who lived to a certain age would rarely stray far from their home. The townsfolk would take great pains to keep their children safely locked away, but it only fueled their desire to stray, and they would pay little mind to the dire warnings their parents had told to them. Sometimes, even those children who stayed inside would go missing, vanishing from their beds without a trace. There was no laughter or sounds of childish games in that town, and the women would often wear the colors of mourning.
On one day, like many others before it, a child vanished. Her name was Isabella, and she had been loved by all who knew her. It was on that day that Alexander was faced with the embarrassment of learning the goings-on in his own town from the Doctor. The guardsman had taken to the Doctor like a hound to its quarry, for he neither liked nor trusted him, and would constantly follow him, waiting for the other man to break some law that he might be arrested on. The Doctor himself was unperturbed by all of this. Whenever he spied the guardsman upon the street he would invite him in, and treat him as though he were a cherished friend. This behavior only increased Alexander’s dislike of the other man, and so he was quite irate when the Doctor informed him, with no sign of concern, of the child’s unfortunate fate.
“Well then, if you know so much, be useful,” said Alexander, “and tell me what has been done about it.”
“I was told,” said the Doctor, “that you would do something about it.”
“Me?” said Alexander, quite surprised by this.
“So I was told,” replied the Doctor. “For you are, after all, the nephew of the great hero Piotr–“ But here he was interrupted.
“Do not speak his name!” the guardsman shouted, and had he not been so angry he might have been surprised that the Doctor complied.
The two men stood in silence for a time, and then Alexander spoke again. “Tell them that I will go make the rounds,” he said, and turned to leave.
The rounds were little more than a sham, and everyone knew it. The guards would not ride out of sight of the village, so any child that had gotten lost would never be found by them. It was a rare day that a child ever returned to the village, alive or dead. But the rounds were all that anyone expected. Sham that it was, it was a ride that only a brave man could make.
The mastiff at his side whined as they passed by Koschei’s minions, the half-rotted remains of those people who had been lost to the night. The creatures had never been known to attack during the daytime, unless attacked first, but it did little to soften the cold, blank stares that followed them as they rode onward. Alexander pressed on, carefully keeping his gaze straight ahead, for fear that he might recognize someone among that sea of faces. Mikhail rode close beside him, nervously scanning the area.
The guards rarely spoke on those somber journeys, which left Alexander alone with his thoughts. The mention of his uncle burned upon his mind. There had been little love lost between Alexander and his father. His father had been an ill-tempered man, and he had ruled Alexander’s life with an iron fist. He had refused to allow his son to enter the town guard, and became furious at any talk of the old heroes. When he was growing up, Alexander’s uncle Piotr had been his stalwart champion. But Piotr had ridden out to fight the darkness, and had been carried home by his companions.
The village had called Piotr a fool, and Alexander himself could not help but feel some resentment, for he was now all alone in the world. He took his uncle’s sword, and he took his uncle’s shield, and he joined the town guard against the wishes of his father, but he swore that he would never cast away his life so foolishly. Under his watch the villagers huddled behind the village walls, and locked their doors at night, and would not go out even for their own children, and the only people who went missing were the careless and naive. The villagers had praised Alexander for his good sense. And yet he could not help but wonder when it was that cowardice had become more valued than courage.
Simargl, the mastiff, caught wind of a scent, and was half-way to the forest before Alexander called him back. The two guardsmen looked at each other uneasily. The child had gone into the Black Woods, where the guards would not dare go, for even the minions of Koschei the Deathless did not set foot in that dark forest. Mikhail shook his head sadly, and turned his mount around, preparing to return to the village. Alexander was about to do the same when, by accident, he caught the mindless gaze of one of the walking-dead. Shuddering, he turned away, struck with the sudden thought that he might see young Isabella when he next made the rounds, staring out from among that silent throng.
Suddenly making a decision, Alexander spurred his horse forward, galloping into the Black Woods. He could hear Mikhail shouting at him, but knew the other guardsman would do nothing to stop him, for that would involve riding closer to that dread forest, and Mikhail was not that brave a man. Alexander slowed as he approached the tree line, letting his eyes adjust to the murky light. The great trees stretched into the sky, and it seemed to the guard that he could not see the tips of them. The ground crunching beneath the horse’s hooves cut through the unnatural silence. He could not shake the feeling that something was following him, but he could see no sign of his pursuer. The mastiff whined beside him.
Suddenly, the horse reared up, screaming. Alexander only caught a glimpse of what had startled it before his mount pitched backward, sending him to the ground. The horse landed upon him, lashing out wildly with its hooves, before it stumbled to its feet and ran off. Alexander tried to stand and chase after it, but the pain in his chest was too great. He sunk to the forest floor, his breaths coming in short, wheezing gasps.
It was the faithful mastiff, Simargl, that brought Alexander out of those shadowed woods. The guard himself remembered little of the journey, only the pain, and attempting to crawl, and something large pulling at him. He awoke within a familiar home, with Mikhail standing worriedly above him. The other guard seemed shocked to see him stir.
“He’s awake!” Mikhail exclaimed. “He’s alive!”
“Yes, I did say he would be.” Although Alexander could not see him, he recognized the voice of the Doctor.
“The Doctor is a worker of miracles,” Mikhail whispered to Alexander. “For I know of no man who could have blamed him if you had not survived.”
The Doctor, who had not heard this, continued, “He will have to stay here for a while. I do not think it will be too great a bother to him, for he is a frequent visitor to my house.”
And so Alexander found himself under the Doctor’s care. In time, his wounds had healed completely, and he had not become a monster, or a murderer, or compelled to follow the Doctor’s will, as many had claimed he would. Yet he could not help but feel that something that had been burning within him had been snuffed out.
There was one night, the night before he went home, that Alexander asked the Doctor, “Why is it that one as skilled as you has come to such a place as this?”
The Doctor smiled wider and replied, “I will tell you that the day you tell me of your uncle.”
That night Alexander dreamt of children, crying out in fear as the darkness swallowed them.
Lamplight
In that village children were often guarded fiercely by their parents, and so it was rare for many children to go missing at one time. But the young Isabella, who had gone missing before, had a brother, who was rash and headstrong, and said loudly that he would retrieve her, although this got him punished. It was of little surprise when that boy, Dimitri, went missing right before sunset. His parents were greatly bereaved, for they had now lost both their children, and a black shadow hung over the town.
Alexander had been about to order everyone to their houses, for it would be dark soon, when he spied the Doctor slip away from the village, and head out into the fields. Ordering Mikhail to take care of the villagers, Alexander followed him at a distance. When he had gotten far enough out, the doctor pulled from under his coat a small lantern. He took a little bit of tallow, whiter than bleached bones, and placed it in the lamp, and then took a flask of oil to fill it, and finally lit it. The light was stronger than it ought to have been, and it seemed that even from a distance Alexander could smell the oil burning. With these preparations completed, the Doctor began to walk towards the forest, halting only when Alexander called out to him.
“You are a stranger in this town,” the guard said, “but you must have some knowledge of the walking-dead that plague us. When the last light of the sun leaves us they will attack all of those who are not safely locked within their homes. I have no great like of you, but I would be failing in my duty if I allowed you to walk to your death.”
The Doctor was calm, for Alexander had not told him anything he did not already know, and said, “If what you have said is true, then it is all the more reason that I must go now, for the boy will have little time left. But do not fear, for I do not go blindly to my demise. You know me to be an alchemist of some skill, and I have just tonight finished a formula of mine. Look here!”
And as he said it, he swung the lantern forward, so that it cast its light over one of Koschei’s minions. With a great moan, the creature shambled away from the light, seemingly unable to bear it.
“Why, that is wondrous!” Alexander exclaimed. “Give it to me, and I might yet bring the boy back home.”
“I should hardly think so, for it is my lantern, and my oil,” the Doctor said. “But I suppose you may be of some use to me. Fetch that great dog of yours, and we shall go together.”
So Alexander returned to his home, and brought Simargl back with him, and the two men set forth. As the sun slipped below the horizon, the monstrous zombies sprung to life, shambling towards them with murderous intent in their eyes. But the Doctor’s lantern held, and the corpses could do little more than press around the circle of light, unable to approach any closer. So passed an hour for the Doctor and Alexander, surrounded by gleaming eyes in the darkness. There were many times when the light would gutter and dim, and Alexander was sure that it would plunge them into darkness, surrounded by those villagers whom he had abandoned and failed. The Doctor simply walked onward, following Simargl and sheltering his little lamp from the wind, and if he felt any fear he showed no sign of it.
“And now,” said the Doctor, gesturing to the lantern, “you see what it was I did with them.”
“Did with who?” Alexander asked.
“Ah, never mind. It is of no import, if you do not remember.” And they traveled on to the forest.
Alexander felt no little anxiety upon entering that place, for the forest seemed much larger in the darkness, and he remembered keenly the injury it had inflicted upon him. What had been so silent in the day now echoed with strange sounds, and he could again feel the invisible eyes upon his back. Though the minions of Koschei had departed when the pair had reached the tree line, the guard still felt as if he were surrounded, only now by creatures he could not see. He started when he heard the Doctor call out the child’s name.
“Look!” Alexander hissed suddenly, grabbing the Doctor’s arm. He had spotted a figure in the trees. The light was too poor for the guard to see its face, but he could see by the shape of the ears that it was not human. “Elves!” he whispered fearfully, and the Doctor cautiously nodded.
“We have come looking for a child,” the Doctor said to the figure in the trees. “Or perhaps, I might guess, for several children.”
“They are ours, now,” the figure replied. Its voice was soft and melodious, and Alexander could not tell if it was male or female. He wondered how many others were hidden in the shadows, with their bows pulled taunt and knives ready.
“By what right are these children yours?” Alexander asked the figure, covering his great fear with anger.
“They have been abandoned by you, and so they are ours,” the figure replied.
“We have come here in search of the children,” the Doctor said in a patient voice. “So you can see for yourself that we have not abandoned them.”
“You have come in search of one child, and so we will return him to you,” said the elf. “But the others will be left behind.”
“Left behind!” cried Alexander, forgetting his fear. “I bear the scars from that day, when I followed a child into this forest. Do you call it abandoning her, that I could not find her when half-dead?”
There was a long pause at this, and Alexander began to fear that he had said too much, and had called the wrath of the forest down upon his head. But after a while, the figure spoke again.
“Very well,” it said. “The child you seek today, and the child you sought before, one more for the scars you carry, which were unjustly given to you, and the horse you lost in these forests.” With those words, the figure melted back into the shadows, and Alexander could hear the sound of his horse trotting towards him. They found the three children asleep on its saddle– Isabella, Dimitri, and one other, Tanya, who had vanished over a year ago.
“How many more do you think are here?” Alexander whispered.
The Doctor did not answer.
The town did not often celebrate, but it did so the next day, when the weary travelers returned the children to their parents. Though the celebration would have been considered a quiet one by most standards, there had never been as much cheering and laughing among the townsfolk as that night. Many a glass was raised and toasted to Alexander, the brave guardsman who had rescued he children thought lost forever. But Alexander himself took little part of the celebrations, for he thought of other children, still lost within the Black Woods, and he remembered the day that Simargl had pulled him home, when the village had called him the most foolish of men.
Of the Doctor, there was no sign, and no one spoke of him.
In that village children were often guarded fiercely by their parents, and so it was rare for many children to go missing at one time. But the young Isabella, who had gone missing before, had a brother, who was rash and headstrong, and said loudly that he would retrieve her, although this got him punished. It was of little surprise when that boy, Dimitri, went missing right before sunset. His parents were greatly bereaved, for they had now lost both their children, and a black shadow hung over the town.
Alexander had been about to order everyone to their houses, for it would be dark soon, when he spied the Doctor slip away from the village, and head out into the fields. Ordering Mikhail to take care of the villagers, Alexander followed him at a distance. When he had gotten far enough out, the doctor pulled from under his coat a small lantern. He took a little bit of tallow, whiter than bleached bones, and placed it in the lamp, and then took a flask of oil to fill it, and finally lit it. The light was stronger than it ought to have been, and it seemed that even from a distance Alexander could smell the oil burning. With these preparations completed, the Doctor began to walk towards the forest, halting only when Alexander called out to him.
“You are a stranger in this town,” the guard said, “but you must have some knowledge of the walking-dead that plague us. When the last light of the sun leaves us they will attack all of those who are not safely locked within their homes. I have no great like of you, but I would be failing in my duty if I allowed you to walk to your death.”
The Doctor was calm, for Alexander had not told him anything he did not already know, and said, “If what you have said is true, then it is all the more reason that I must go now, for the boy will have little time left. But do not fear, for I do not go blindly to my demise. You know me to be an alchemist of some skill, and I have just tonight finished a formula of mine. Look here!”
And as he said it, he swung the lantern forward, so that it cast its light over one of Koschei’s minions. With a great moan, the creature shambled away from the light, seemingly unable to bear it.
“Why, that is wondrous!” Alexander exclaimed. “Give it to me, and I might yet bring the boy back home.”
“I should hardly think so, for it is my lantern, and my oil,” the Doctor said. “But I suppose you may be of some use to me. Fetch that great dog of yours, and we shall go together.”
So Alexander returned to his home, and brought Simargl back with him, and the two men set forth. As the sun slipped below the horizon, the monstrous zombies sprung to life, shambling towards them with murderous intent in their eyes. But the Doctor’s lantern held, and the corpses could do little more than press around the circle of light, unable to approach any closer. So passed an hour for the Doctor and Alexander, surrounded by gleaming eyes in the darkness. There were many times when the light would gutter and dim, and Alexander was sure that it would plunge them into darkness, surrounded by those villagers whom he had abandoned and failed. The Doctor simply walked onward, following Simargl and sheltering his little lamp from the wind, and if he felt any fear he showed no sign of it.
“And now,” said the Doctor, gesturing to the lantern, “you see what it was I did with them.”
“Did with who?” Alexander asked.
“Ah, never mind. It is of no import, if you do not remember.” And they traveled on to the forest.
Alexander felt no little anxiety upon entering that place, for the forest seemed much larger in the darkness, and he remembered keenly the injury it had inflicted upon him. What had been so silent in the day now echoed with strange sounds, and he could again feel the invisible eyes upon his back. Though the minions of Koschei had departed when the pair had reached the tree line, the guard still felt as if he were surrounded, only now by creatures he could not see. He started when he heard the Doctor call out the child’s name.
“Look!” Alexander hissed suddenly, grabbing the Doctor’s arm. He had spotted a figure in the trees. The light was too poor for the guard to see its face, but he could see by the shape of the ears that it was not human. “Elves!” he whispered fearfully, and the Doctor cautiously nodded.
“We have come looking for a child,” the Doctor said to the figure in the trees. “Or perhaps, I might guess, for several children.”
“They are ours, now,” the figure replied. Its voice was soft and melodious, and Alexander could not tell if it was male or female. He wondered how many others were hidden in the shadows, with their bows pulled taunt and knives ready.
“By what right are these children yours?” Alexander asked the figure, covering his great fear with anger.
“They have been abandoned by you, and so they are ours,” the figure replied.
“We have come here in search of the children,” the Doctor said in a patient voice. “So you can see for yourself that we have not abandoned them.”
“You have come in search of one child, and so we will return him to you,” said the elf. “But the others will be left behind.”
“Left behind!” cried Alexander, forgetting his fear. “I bear the scars from that day, when I followed a child into this forest. Do you call it abandoning her, that I could not find her when half-dead?”
There was a long pause at this, and Alexander began to fear that he had said too much, and had called the wrath of the forest down upon his head. But after a while, the figure spoke again.
“Very well,” it said. “The child you seek today, and the child you sought before, one more for the scars you carry, which were unjustly given to you, and the horse you lost in these forests.” With those words, the figure melted back into the shadows, and Alexander could hear the sound of his horse trotting towards him. They found the three children asleep on its saddle– Isabella, Dimitri, and one other, Tanya, who had vanished over a year ago.
“How many more do you think are here?” Alexander whispered.
The Doctor did not answer.
The town did not often celebrate, but it did so the next day, when the weary travelers returned the children to their parents. Though the celebration would have been considered a quiet one by most standards, there had never been as much cheering and laughing among the townsfolk as that night. Many a glass was raised and toasted to Alexander, the brave guardsman who had rescued he children thought lost forever. But Alexander himself took little part of the celebrations, for he thought of other children, still lost within the Black Woods, and he remembered the day that Simargl had pulled him home, when the village had called him the most foolish of men.
Of the Doctor, there was no sign, and no one spoke of him.
Snowfall
In a land far from his village there had once been a young man of power, wealth, and learning, and all the world had been laid out before him. Had he just asked for it, he could have had anything he had desired. And yet he threw away all that he had known, and traveled to a far off land, where he was neither wanted nor loved. It was something Alexander could not understand, despite the time he had spent with the Doctor. Where he once watched the Doctor in hopes of bringing about his downfall, he now watched him in hopes of understanding.
The snow fell softly about him as he entered the Doctor’s house, closing the door behind him as he brushed the ice from his coat. He found the Doctor sitting at a table in the back, with a silver locket in his hands, that he had carefully cleaned and polished until it shone in the candlelight. At the sight of it Alexander gasped, for he had been told the tales of Koschei the Deathless by his mother, and his grandmother before her, and though he did not know how he knew it to be her silver heart. He turned to the Doctor, his eyes filled with wonder, and a thousand questions upon his lips.
The Doctor spoke, seemingly to no one, and said, “Now that I hold it in my hands, I know everything that I have done to have been worth it.”
“It is the silver heart, then,” Alexander said. “Think of the good you could do with it! Koschei would obey your every command, and you could make this village a prosperous one.”
But the Doctor shook his head.
“Then you must destroy it!” Alexander said. “You must rid the land of Koschei and her minions, and let the village live at last without fear.”
But the Doctor shook his head again.
“Then you must give it to me,” Alexander said, now angry. “For I will not let you use it for ill, and if you will not destroy it, that I shall.” And with that he snatched up the silver pendant.
The Doctor said to him, “I am sorry, for you were a fine companion, but for that pendant I paid thirteen years of my life, and most of my fortune, and all of my prospects in society. And I will not let you interfere.”
At these words Alexander realized that he had taken his eyes off the other man. He reached for his sword too late, for the Doctor suddenly clasped a rag over the guard’s face. Alexander’s legs fell out from under him, feeling as if the bones within them had turned to jelly. Blackness welled up around him, and he could not fight free of it.
Now his horse thundered across the snow, following the crisp tracks that the Doctor had left behind, and he cared little at how low the sun was in the sky, or what he intended to do when he reached his quarry. He followed the footprints to a great tower of white marble, with iron gates that hung open. Cautiously, he ventured inside.
The entrance hall was thin and cold, and Alexander hurried across it, climbing up the black stairs.
On the first floor he found a hall lined with stone statues, each with an expression of terrible agony, and Alexander turned his gaze away from them, for he thought he could recognize some of their faces.
On the second floor the hall was lined with skeletons, and it seemed out of the corner of his eye that they would turn to watch him as he walked by, but when he looked straight at them he found they had not moved.
On the third floor the hall was lined with books, and fine red tapestries, and other regalia that could make a man rich, but Alexander did not touch them, for he knew their owner to be a powerful enchantress.
On the fourth floor there was nothing, save the Doctor and Koschei herself.
Alexander stopped in the doorway, unable to move, for no tale told by his grandmother could prepare him for her beauty. Her golden hair shone like the stars, and her pale skin was as white as milk, and her eyes were as blue as the clear sky. He likened her to a lily, a thing of great beauty, but a harbinger of death. She wept a thousand bitter tears, for with her heart so close by she remembered her grief, and her loneliness, and the many evil deeds she had committed, and every tear that fell from her cheek threatened to shatter Alexander’s heart with sadness.
She said to the Doctor, “Who are you, who so easily found what I had hidden away so long ago?”
For once, the Doctor did not smile, and he said, “I am no one, just the spoiled child of a rich noble. When I was young I went forth into the world, for I had no fear of the darkness, as I knew that the light of reason could overcome it. In my travels I came across a village ruled by three witches, who hated me for the knowledge and hope I brought to their subjects. They told me to leave, but I refused them. The first witch turned herself into horrible monster, but I soaked my cloak in the most bitter herbs I could find, and when it set upon me it could not swallow me, for it was seized by retching. The second witch turned herself into a plague, but I am a skilled physician, and I found an antidote for even her black presence. But the third witch gave me your picture, and told me your story, and left without another word. From that day on I could not close my eyes without seeing you.
It took me five years and one-third of my fortune to find the iron key. It took me another five years and another third of my fortune to find the island. I dug the iron chest from beneath the great tree, and opened it with the iron key. There was a duck inside that flew away, and I chased it for weeks before I caught it. Inside it I found an egg, and inside that I found a little locket, black as soot. I cleaned the tarnish from it until it gleamed silver, and then traveled for three more years, searching for its owner.”
“You have found me,” said she, “and since you hold my heart I love you with all of it, and whatever you desire you shall have.”
But the Doctor just shook his head. “I desire you to have this,” he said, and stepped forward, placing the locket within her hands. Then he turned and left, without another word.
Alexander shook himself free from his spell as the other man passed by him, and caught him on the stairs, drawing his sword. “What have you done?” he cried. “You have thrown away our only chance to destroy her, and rid the village of her presence! Or you could have held on to her heart, and prevented her from doing harm. No one could have blamed you for doing so.”
“When I became a doctor I swore an oath to give what aid I could, and never to do harm,” the Doctor. “Even to those such as her. Especially to those such as her.”
“You are a fool if you think such monsters can be helped,” Alexander said.
“Perhaps they cannot,” the Doctor replied. “But I have found it takes far more strength to try.”
“It is not you who will pay for your delusions!” Alexander yelled. He shoved the other man to the floor and raised his sword, but his conscience stayed his hand. He thought of his uncle, who had died saving those who scorned him, and the tears that had streamed down Koschei’s face. He wanted to ask the Doctor if he realized the risk he had taken, and if he understood the damage he might have caused, and most of all if he loved that women. But he said nothing, for he could read all the answers in the Doctor’s sad smile.
“Well,” said Alexander gruffly, “I do owe you my life, and so I guess can’t kill you.” He helped the Doctor back to his feet, and the two walked home. Although it was well past sunset, the dead did not bother them on the way back.
In a land far from his village there had once been a young man of power, wealth, and learning, and all the world had been laid out before him. Had he just asked for it, he could have had anything he had desired. And yet he threw away all that he had known, and traveled to a far off land, where he was neither wanted nor loved. It was something Alexander could not understand, despite the time he had spent with the Doctor. Where he once watched the Doctor in hopes of bringing about his downfall, he now watched him in hopes of understanding.
The snow fell softly about him as he entered the Doctor’s house, closing the door behind him as he brushed the ice from his coat. He found the Doctor sitting at a table in the back, with a silver locket in his hands, that he had carefully cleaned and polished until it shone in the candlelight. At the sight of it Alexander gasped, for he had been told the tales of Koschei the Deathless by his mother, and his grandmother before her, and though he did not know how he knew it to be her silver heart. He turned to the Doctor, his eyes filled with wonder, and a thousand questions upon his lips.
The Doctor spoke, seemingly to no one, and said, “Now that I hold it in my hands, I know everything that I have done to have been worth it.”
“It is the silver heart, then,” Alexander said. “Think of the good you could do with it! Koschei would obey your every command, and you could make this village a prosperous one.”
But the Doctor shook his head.
“Then you must destroy it!” Alexander said. “You must rid the land of Koschei and her minions, and let the village live at last without fear.”
But the Doctor shook his head again.
“Then you must give it to me,” Alexander said, now angry. “For I will not let you use it for ill, and if you will not destroy it, that I shall.” And with that he snatched up the silver pendant.
The Doctor said to him, “I am sorry, for you were a fine companion, but for that pendant I paid thirteen years of my life, and most of my fortune, and all of my prospects in society. And I will not let you interfere.”
At these words Alexander realized that he had taken his eyes off the other man. He reached for his sword too late, for the Doctor suddenly clasped a rag over the guard’s face. Alexander’s legs fell out from under him, feeling as if the bones within them had turned to jelly. Blackness welled up around him, and he could not fight free of it.
Now his horse thundered across the snow, following the crisp tracks that the Doctor had left behind, and he cared little at how low the sun was in the sky, or what he intended to do when he reached his quarry. He followed the footprints to a great tower of white marble, with iron gates that hung open. Cautiously, he ventured inside.
The entrance hall was thin and cold, and Alexander hurried across it, climbing up the black stairs.
On the first floor he found a hall lined with stone statues, each with an expression of terrible agony, and Alexander turned his gaze away from them, for he thought he could recognize some of their faces.
On the second floor the hall was lined with skeletons, and it seemed out of the corner of his eye that they would turn to watch him as he walked by, but when he looked straight at them he found they had not moved.
On the third floor the hall was lined with books, and fine red tapestries, and other regalia that could make a man rich, but Alexander did not touch them, for he knew their owner to be a powerful enchantress.
On the fourth floor there was nothing, save the Doctor and Koschei herself.
Alexander stopped in the doorway, unable to move, for no tale told by his grandmother could prepare him for her beauty. Her golden hair shone like the stars, and her pale skin was as white as milk, and her eyes were as blue as the clear sky. He likened her to a lily, a thing of great beauty, but a harbinger of death. She wept a thousand bitter tears, for with her heart so close by she remembered her grief, and her loneliness, and the many evil deeds she had committed, and every tear that fell from her cheek threatened to shatter Alexander’s heart with sadness.
She said to the Doctor, “Who are you, who so easily found what I had hidden away so long ago?”
For once, the Doctor did not smile, and he said, “I am no one, just the spoiled child of a rich noble. When I was young I went forth into the world, for I had no fear of the darkness, as I knew that the light of reason could overcome it. In my travels I came across a village ruled by three witches, who hated me for the knowledge and hope I brought to their subjects. They told me to leave, but I refused them. The first witch turned herself into horrible monster, but I soaked my cloak in the most bitter herbs I could find, and when it set upon me it could not swallow me, for it was seized by retching. The second witch turned herself into a plague, but I am a skilled physician, and I found an antidote for even her black presence. But the third witch gave me your picture, and told me your story, and left without another word. From that day on I could not close my eyes without seeing you.
It took me five years and one-third of my fortune to find the iron key. It took me another five years and another third of my fortune to find the island. I dug the iron chest from beneath the great tree, and opened it with the iron key. There was a duck inside that flew away, and I chased it for weeks before I caught it. Inside it I found an egg, and inside that I found a little locket, black as soot. I cleaned the tarnish from it until it gleamed silver, and then traveled for three more years, searching for its owner.”
“You have found me,” said she, “and since you hold my heart I love you with all of it, and whatever you desire you shall have.”
But the Doctor just shook his head. “I desire you to have this,” he said, and stepped forward, placing the locket within her hands. Then he turned and left, without another word.
Alexander shook himself free from his spell as the other man passed by him, and caught him on the stairs, drawing his sword. “What have you done?” he cried. “You have thrown away our only chance to destroy her, and rid the village of her presence! Or you could have held on to her heart, and prevented her from doing harm. No one could have blamed you for doing so.”
“When I became a doctor I swore an oath to give what aid I could, and never to do harm,” the Doctor. “Even to those such as her. Especially to those such as her.”
“You are a fool if you think such monsters can be helped,” Alexander said.
“Perhaps they cannot,” the Doctor replied. “But I have found it takes far more strength to try.”
“It is not you who will pay for your delusions!” Alexander yelled. He shoved the other man to the floor and raised his sword, but his conscience stayed his hand. He thought of his uncle, who had died saving those who scorned him, and the tears that had streamed down Koschei’s face. He wanted to ask the Doctor if he realized the risk he had taken, and if he understood the damage he might have caused, and most of all if he loved that women. But he said nothing, for he could read all the answers in the Doctor’s sad smile.
“Well,” said Alexander gruffly, “I do owe you my life, and so I guess can’t kill you.” He helped the Doctor back to his feet, and the two walked home. Although it was well past sunset, the dead did not bother them on the way back.
Beginnings
On the first day, the restless dead walked into town. Shambling into the graveyard, the corpses clawed their way into the ground, burying themselves in the cold earth.
On the second day, a throng of people returned to the village, claiming to have lived there many years ago. It seemed to Alexander that he recognized some of their faces, but he said nothing.
On the third day, there was a sudden crack, like rolling thunder, and Alexander rode out to find the marble tower shattered.
On the fourth day there was a great festival in the town, and for once the people celebrated without fear. But though Alexander searched, he could not find the Doctor among the crowd. The guardsman found him within his house, paying little heed to the revelry outside.
“The festival is in honor of your deeds,” Alexander said. “Would you not take part in it?”
“You know of the great risk I took,” replied the Doctor. “Had it not turned out so well, I would be cursed as the greatest of fools by the very people who celebrate now.”
“Perhaps,” said Alexander. “But that is not what happened.”
“It was not my actions that made that so,” said the Doctor. “So I am hardly to be celebrated for it.”
“A festival of lilies, then?” Alexander suggested. The Doctor did not smile.
On the fifth day Alexander rode out from his small town, determined to bring light and hope to the land, as his uncle had sought to do before him. In his many travels he became a great hero, and his name was praised throughout the land, and he met many other great people, all who fought against the darkness. And every year, on the Festival of Lilies, he returns home to visit the friend he honors most, the stranger who defeated Koschei the deathless, not with fire or sword, but with a great act of kindness.
And it is whispered by a few that sometimes a woman in all white would knock upon the Doctor’s door, but the Doctor, when asked, which was rarely so, would just smile, and not answer.
On the first day, the restless dead walked into town. Shambling into the graveyard, the corpses clawed their way into the ground, burying themselves in the cold earth.
On the second day, a throng of people returned to the village, claiming to have lived there many years ago. It seemed to Alexander that he recognized some of their faces, but he said nothing.
On the third day, there was a sudden crack, like rolling thunder, and Alexander rode out to find the marble tower shattered.
On the fourth day there was a great festival in the town, and for once the people celebrated without fear. But though Alexander searched, he could not find the Doctor among the crowd. The guardsman found him within his house, paying little heed to the revelry outside.
“The festival is in honor of your deeds,” Alexander said. “Would you not take part in it?”
“You know of the great risk I took,” replied the Doctor. “Had it not turned out so well, I would be cursed as the greatest of fools by the very people who celebrate now.”
“Perhaps,” said Alexander. “But that is not what happened.”
“It was not my actions that made that so,” said the Doctor. “So I am hardly to be celebrated for it.”
“A festival of lilies, then?” Alexander suggested. The Doctor did not smile.
On the fifth day Alexander rode out from his small town, determined to bring light and hope to the land, as his uncle had sought to do before him. In his many travels he became a great hero, and his name was praised throughout the land, and he met many other great people, all who fought against the darkness. And every year, on the Festival of Lilies, he returns home to visit the friend he honors most, the stranger who defeated Koschei the deathless, not with fire or sword, but with a great act of kindness.
And it is whispered by a few that sometimes a woman in all white would knock upon the Doctor’s door, but the Doctor, when asked, which was rarely so, would just smile, and not answer.
Author's Notes
Once again, the story is done, so there's no need for another thread.
This is going to blow my credibility out of the water when I say I don't write often, isn't it? I don't, honest! It's just that the Fiction boards are so... desolate. I feel compelled to help them out. It's obsession, after all, not quality, that creates these things. =P
I'm not sure if I'm happy with the story, and the ending in particular. It certainly doesn't seem as good as my other tale. In the tradition of most Ravenloft tales, Koschei should have thrown her chance of redemption back in the faces of her benefactors. But to tell the truth, I hate it when every tale ends like that. I recall a friend in a Ravenloft game who complained to me that there was no situation where they wouldn't have been better off just slaughtering every antagonist they met. So I wanted to tell something with a happier ending, where the greatest weapon was a simple act of kindness (which is harder than it sounds, especially when you've been hurt before). I just hope it's "gothy" enough as it stands.
I think there was something else I wanted to say, but I forgot it.
Once again, the story is done, so there's no need for another thread.
This is going to blow my credibility out of the water when I say I don't write often, isn't it? I don't, honest! It's just that the Fiction boards are so... desolate. I feel compelled to help them out. It's obsession, after all, not quality, that creates these things. =P
I'm not sure if I'm happy with the story, and the ending in particular. It certainly doesn't seem as good as my other tale. In the tradition of most Ravenloft tales, Koschei should have thrown her chance of redemption back in the faces of her benefactors. But to tell the truth, I hate it when every tale ends like that. I recall a friend in a Ravenloft game who complained to me that there was no situation where they wouldn't have been better off just slaughtering every antagonist they met. So I wanted to tell something with a happier ending, where the greatest weapon was a simple act of kindness (which is harder than it sounds, especially when you've been hurt before). I just hope it's "gothy" enough as it stands.
I think there was something else I wanted to say, but I forgot it.
"No, but evil is still being — Is having reason — Being reasonable! Mousie understands? Is always being reason. Is punishing world for not being... Like in head. Is always reason. World should be different, is reason."
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Guardian of Twilight
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 423
- Joined: Sun Oct 02, 2005 2:34 pm
- Location: Mordent
I for one am very grateful to see someone caring a great deal for the boards here and doing their best to keep them full of tales. You are right about the Fiction boards being desolate at present, but remember that they are still new. I am still spinning my own story (which I am working on in my free time), and I hope to have something new up in a day or two for you and the other members to read. I look forward to further literary works and delights from you, ma'am.Isabella wrote:This is going to blow my credibility out of the water when I say I don't write often, isn't it? I don't, honest! It's just that the Fiction boards are so... desolate. I feel compelled to help them out. It's obsession, after all, not quality, that creates these things. =P
[i]Seek not in the shadows, for there ye shall find secrets too terrible for mortal man to bear. [/i]
-Mordentish proverb
-Mordentish proverb
Actually, that's a significant point. In the traditional "dungeon crawl" adventure in an RPG, a special ops team of mercenaries identifies a location (archaeological ruin, lair of evil, what have you), enters by stealth or force, and exterminates everything in site.Isabella wrote:Author's Notes
I'm not sure if I'm happy with the story, and the ending in particular. It certainly doesn't seem as good as my other tale. In the tradition of most Ravenloft tales, Koschei should have thrown her chance of redemption back in the faces of her benefactors. But to tell the truth, I hate it when every tale ends like that. I recall a friend in a Ravenloft game who complained to me that there was no situation where they wouldn't have been better off just slaughtering every antagonist they met. So I wanted to tell something with a happier ending, where the greatest weapon was a simple act of kindness (which is harder than it sounds, especially when you've been hurt before). I just hope it's "gothy" enough as it stands.
In the traditional bad Ravenloft adventure, the special ops team of mercenaries is forced to act like a group of people from a 17th-19th century European society to conform to a plot structure inappropriate for their characters and attitudes, but the most efficient resolution of the problem would be "kill it by force."
It's nice to see a story in which there's an ending other than "the darklord is irredemably evil and the tiny sparks of goodness and/or decency in his/her character exist only to tease and torment the reader with the promise of hope."
I like this story! There are hints of Vorostokov in the isolation of the village, and also a quaint, lilting type of fairy-tale-gone-wrong in the background with the legends of the duck, egg, box, and key.
The little story in the end of the Doctor's meeting with the three witches fits in well, which is quite a feat given the tension and possible risk of losing a climax at that point in the storytelling.
At a few points, the flow of the sentences struck me as being quite convoluted. This may have been intentional. I found myself lost in one fairly lengthy sentence after another, occasionally having to stop and go back to re-read it to make sure I didn't miss anything. Of course, I don't want to take away from the good work you've done here in crafting the story. But also bear in mind that thick people like me go "Oog!" and glaze over when the sentence structure gets too intricate.
One other thing I must dutifully mention (because every writing coach will do it, eventually) is to point out the use of the passive tense. That's something to try to avoid if possible, because the very structure of a sentence written passively will disrupt the "subject verb object" structure that the English-language brain is used to.
This doesn't mean to avoid it altogether. It serves its purpose elegantly in special situations. But from a purely stylistic viewpoint it can confuse and distract a poor reader. For that reason it's worth finding another way to rewrite the sentence, even if it would make technically better sense in the passive. In using the S-V-O structure, try for more evocative action verbs - those are the ones that will help pull your readers in with the story.
Either way, these are all just minor stylistic points - and water under the bridge compared to your well-drawn plot and pacing. Your ideas are creative and the "happy" ending is still just tenuous enough that Ravenloft's high-risk, high-threat ideals are still lurking nicely in the background. (Whatever did happen to those pesky forest elves, anyway? Steal any more kids? Does the reformed witch ever find happiness after all if she still loves the Doctor? It's all good, unresolved "stay tuned...!" material.)
Thanks for posting this story, and I hope to see more short fiction from you on this board! And as for an altruistic poster like yourself - that's a rare breed indeed. We need more of you!
Edit: For the mods - is there a way to separate the comments on this thread into a separate thread of their own? I know the original poster was too modest to create one, but given how the other stories are developing, can we give this excellent story a Comments thread too, just for consistency's sake?
The little story in the end of the Doctor's meeting with the three witches fits in well, which is quite a feat given the tension and possible risk of losing a climax at that point in the storytelling.
At a few points, the flow of the sentences struck me as being quite convoluted. This may have been intentional. I found myself lost in one fairly lengthy sentence after another, occasionally having to stop and go back to re-read it to make sure I didn't miss anything. Of course, I don't want to take away from the good work you've done here in crafting the story. But also bear in mind that thick people like me go "Oog!" and glaze over when the sentence structure gets too intricate.
One other thing I must dutifully mention (because every writing coach will do it, eventually) is to point out the use of the passive tense. That's something to try to avoid if possible, because the very structure of a sentence written passively will disrupt the "subject verb object" structure that the English-language brain is used to.
This doesn't mean to avoid it altogether. It serves its purpose elegantly in special situations. But from a purely stylistic viewpoint it can confuse and distract a poor reader. For that reason it's worth finding another way to rewrite the sentence, even if it would make technically better sense in the passive. In using the S-V-O structure, try for more evocative action verbs - those are the ones that will help pull your readers in with the story.
Either way, these are all just minor stylistic points - and water under the bridge compared to your well-drawn plot and pacing. Your ideas are creative and the "happy" ending is still just tenuous enough that Ravenloft's high-risk, high-threat ideals are still lurking nicely in the background. (Whatever did happen to those pesky forest elves, anyway? Steal any more kids? Does the reformed witch ever find happiness after all if she still loves the Doctor? It's all good, unresolved "stay tuned...!" material.)
Thanks for posting this story, and I hope to see more short fiction from you on this board! And as for an altruistic poster like yourself - that's a rare breed indeed. We need more of you!
Edit: For the mods - is there a way to separate the comments on this thread into a separate thread of their own? I know the original poster was too modest to create one, but given how the other stories are developing, can we give this excellent story a Comments thread too, just for consistency's sake?
Not that this isn't a bad idea, especially given the number of stories amassing here, but I believe Isabella didn't use the story/comments dual threads because the story was posted in its entirety at once. The separate-threads idea was more of a way to keep a bunch of comments from getting interspersed with story chapters, IIRC. (I did the same thing with "Ill Met at the Station"; since the story was one chapter long with no future additions, it didn't need a separate thread.)HuManBing wrote:
Edit: For the mods - is there a way to separate the comments on this thread into a separate thread of their own? I know the original poster was too modest to create one, but given how the other stories are developing, can we give this excellent story a Comments thread too, just for consistency's sake?
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NeoTiamat
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 4119
- Joined: Tue Sep 12, 2006 5:00 pm
- Gender: Male
- Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA
Hrmmm.... knowing Koschei as the more classic, cackling evil villain of Russian myth and later Russian sci-fi, this is a novel interpretation. I like it though.
The Doctor strikes me as a mysterious old man in the great tradition of mysterious old men. Very romantic, and the true hero of the story. Also an anatomist, which is an interesting touch.
And kudos on the happy ending. Ravenloft is Gothic and all, but still, the reason for true gothic feeling is that you can hope that success is *almost* within reach, but never quite reach it, but without these successes from time to time, what point hope? And without hope, what point torment?
Very nice.
The Doctor strikes me as a mysterious old man in the great tradition of mysterious old men. Very romantic, and the true hero of the story. Also an anatomist, which is an interesting touch.
And kudos on the happy ending. Ravenloft is Gothic and all, but still, the reason for true gothic feeling is that you can hope that success is *almost* within reach, but never quite reach it, but without these successes from time to time, what point hope? And without hope, what point torment?
Very nice.
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing