On the Wings of Legends
“As we rode southwest, the landscape changed. High cypresses towered over us, covered in blue-grey fruits. The mountains rose high above us, green and yellow, with rocky peaks reaching to the blue sky. While the summer air was hot around us, we could see snow gleaming on the highest peaks. We were so far from Pliska and from the Khan’s court. The villages we encountered on our way were predominantly Slavic, with a few Greek families living here and there, but almost none of our people. So close to the border, it was difficult to say where our lands ended and Byzantium began.
“We were now in Thrace, crossing the mountains where the legendary musician Orpheus had played his harp. His music had charmed birds, beasts and even stones, until the day came when his songs touched the hearts of Hades and Persephone themselves. And we were passing through the plains that had given birth to the slave Spartacus, who had once led an uprising against Rome. But the Thracians were gone. Whatever was left of these brave people had been assimilated by the Slavs—a part of the Thracian blood living on, but their culture disappearing.
“Sheer rocks rose out of the pine woods on our left, with deep trapezoid figures carved into the stone. The Thracians had created these centuries ago, and now no one knew what they were for. All secret knowledge these people had possessed had faded out of memory, leaving these strange figures like bare skeletons on the ash-grey rock. I halted my horse and stared at the Thracians’ past. Instead, I saw my people’s future.”
Myra shuddered. Orpheus and Spartacus, Hades and Persephone… the Old World held so much magic, so much history and mythology, and she had only glimpsed the surface, never dived deep into this sea of wonders and knowledge. A part of her wanted to know it all, to listen to Vlad tell her myths and stories all night. But the larger part of her wished to jump ahead and learn the end of his tale. To discover how all these pieces tied together and led to the Nightfall. But if she told him that, he would make fun of her impatience, and so she kept quiet.
“As we approached Rila, the mountain where our destination peak was located,” he went on, “we stopped more often to talk to the people. We asked them all one question—had any wolves been plaguing their herds of late?
“Roxana had insisted that wolf’s blood worked best for predicting the future, but for that, we needed to capture a wolf alive. Our hopes rose when we heard talk of a lone wolf in the mountains—I couldn’t challenge a whole pack by myself, and I was uncertain I would find volunteers to join me. A lone wolf was precisely what we needed.
“We arrived at a village in the mountain outskirts in the afternoon, when it was already too late to start the hike and return by nightfall. We had to spend the night there, and climb Khan Tangra on the following day. But first, we needed to find shelter.
“We received hospitality at the first door we knocked on. Our hosts, Radoslav and Bogdana, lived there with their six children. Bogdana had been preparing a simple dinner of nettle soup and grape leaves stuffed with rice, onions and carrots, but now that we had arrived, she slaughtered a hen to make a richer meal for us. Such was the hospitality of the times—you opened your doors to any traveler who passed by and treated them as honored guests, giving them the best you could provide.
“We sat at the small table, covered in a cloth of crisscrossing red, black, and yellow stripes and plates and bowls of polished and painted clay. Our hosts had picked bright orange calendulas from the garden and placed them in low vases among the rich dishes.
“Bogdana approached me with a clay amphora and poured wine into my goblet. She had the red hair of the Thracians who had once lived in these lands, a round face, and a very small nose pointed upwards. I tore my gaze from her, and my attention turned to the wine. Ruby red and soft, made of the Mavrud grapes that grew only in Thrace. ‘I must thank you for your excellent hospitality,’ I said in Slavonic. ‘After nightfall, when the wolf comes out, I will go to the mountains to hunt it down. Perhaps what is good for us will be good for you too, and the beast will no longer terrorize your sheep. Perhaps in this small way I could repay you.’
“‘Removing the wolf would be good for us all,’ Bogdana said. ‘But it’s not worth the risk. We need no repayment, and if you require a sacrifice, surely a dog or a sheep would do. Don’t throw away your life for this.’
“‘Thank you for your concern,’ I said. ‘But you have no reason to worry. I have hunted many wolves. I have the skills.’
“Radoslav snorted and ran a hand through his straw-blond hair. ‘This is not about skills. I don’t wish to offend you, but you have hunted in the Balkan Mountains, close to your home. This is Rila.’
“‘And the wolves here are bigger?’ I asked, amused. Of course, everyone thought everything was grander in their own lands.
“‘I have no doubt you’ll survive the wolves,’ he said. ‘But will you survive the samodivas?’
“Roxana and I exchanged a glance. I had no desire to offend these people’s beliefs, strange as they were. Did they find our wish to see the future in a wolf’s blood just as strange?
“Bogdana’s daughter, Stanislava, a green-eyed, golden-haired child of five, as lovely as a forest nymph, stood up from the table and walked outside to the summer kitchen. She returned carrying a tray laden with ten bowls. It looked as heavy as the child herself, but she held it securely in her small hands and walked with poise and grace. She reached the table and laid a bowl in front of each of us.
“I looked at my dessert—thick yogurt, drained of its residual water, mixed with walnuts and dark pine honey. I took a spoonful and glanced at Bogdana and Radoslav, amazed at their generosity. It was sheep’s yogurt, harder to produce in large amounts and usually saved for special feasts. But perhaps this was one kindness I could repay—if I did capture the wolf, my hosts would have less trouble keeping their sheep alive.
“I took a second spoonful and savored the taste. It was thicker and creamier than cow’s yogurt, and it had that particular scent. The scent of these lands, of rocky mountains and tall pine trees, of green valleys, vines, and cypresses. So different from the steppe of Asia, which smelled of horses, and freedom, and vast, open plains, and oceans of grass that stretched beyond the horizon. Which land did I belong to? Or did I belong nowhere at all?
“I glanced at Roxana. This wasn’t true. I belonged with her and my family. Whatever world we built for each other under the Eternal Blue Sky, would be ours, no matter where we were.
“I looked at our hosts. ‘You have seen the samodivas?’ I asked.
“‘Of course not,’ Bogdana said. ‘If you see them, you die.’
“‘Then how do you know they live in these mountains?’ Roxana asked.
“Radoslav took a sip from his wine. ‘People have been disappearing for centuries,’ he said and stole a glance at the window. ‘It always happens at night.’
“I could see plenty of reasons for people to disappear in the mountains at night, but I kept silent, out of respect. But then Bogdana leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, ‘Some claim to have glimpsed them, bathing in the mountain lakes under the moonlight, so beautiful that the sight would make a man’s heart burst on the spot.’
“It all sounded like a figment of a man’s imagination, but I said nothing of it. ‘Thank you for the warning,’ I said instead. ‘I will keep an eye out for them, but I will go to the mountains.’ My eyes locked with Roxana’s. ‘We need this wolf.’”
Myra cleared her throat. “Vlad, let me get just one thing straight.”
He looked at her and nodded. Her right hand fisted against the cold, soft snow, and she met his eyes. “You’re telling us that you were trying to decide whether to start a rebellion against your ruler? A rebellion that would likely lead to many deaths and would destabilize your land? And you’re saying you wanted to base your choice entirely on what you saw in some wolf’s blood?”
The corner of his mouth twitched and he raised a single eyebrow. “Precisely.”
His face was so annoyingly serene, his voice so matter-of-fact, as if what he was saying was in any way sensible. Myra felt the snow in her fist and had the sudden desire to throw it into his face and wipe away that calm. Unfortunately, he would probably catch it and throw it back. Vampires were impossible.
She stretched her fingers and raised her palms in front of her. “Look, I’m not judging. I’m really not. But you’re telling us this story because you want to convince us that your decision to stage the Nightfall was rational. Then, maybe, this will also convince us that your plan to destroy the Wizard is also logical and well thought out. I hope you’re not about to reveal that both your plan to destroy the world and your desire to restore it are a product of something you saw in some poor animal’s blood.”
He raised a second eyebrow, but the rest of his face remained still. “Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”
Myra snorted and massaged her temples. “Right. Fine. Then, please, tell us what led you to your very logical decisions.”
“Once night fell,” he spoke, “I prepared to ride out in search of the wolf. I tied a burning lantern to the saddle horn and checked to make sure my quiver was full. I heard soft footsteps at the door and turned around.
“Roxana stood there, with a goblet in her hand. ‘I should come with you, my love.’
“I shook my head. ‘No, my moonshine. You should rest. Tomorrow will be a hard day for you. You will reach out to the skies and ask for guidance. You need all your strength.’
“She sighed and nodded. ‘Be careful. These people are not naïve. If they fear the mountains at night, they have a reason.’
“She handed me the goblet, and I sniffed at the ruby liquid. The Thracian wine was surely an advantage to living south of the Balkan Mountains and was one thing I missed when I was home in Pliska. It was still possible to transport goods along the many roads the Roman Empire had built centuries ago, but bringing loaded carts through the perilous mountain passes was always difficult. I took a sip and savored it slowly—it was no wonder the ancient Greeks believed that Dionysus, the god of wine, hailed from Thrace.
“‘Do you know the legend, my love?’ I asked and handed her back the goblet. ‘Khan Krum believed wine made people slow and lazy and ordered all vineyards destroyed. But then, here in Thrace, a lion escaped from his cage and terrorized the people. A young hero, named Mavrud, confronted the beast and defeated him. Khan Krum heard about this and summoned Mavrud’s mother to ask her about the source of her son’s courage. She admitted she had secretly saved a vine, and the wine from it was what gave Mavrud his strength.’
“Roxana smiled. ‘Yes. And Khan Krum was so impressed that he not only lifted the ban and replanted all the vineyards, but he also named this grape Mavrud, after the hero. And if this man could defeat a lion, surely a mere wolf will be no challenge for you.’
“She kissed me, long and desperate, as if afraid to let go. She feared for me, but I feared for her too. The task she had to undertake on the coming day was no less demanding.
“Roxana pulled back and looked at the door. I followed her gaze and saw Bogdana approaching with something in her hand. The light from inside the house illuminated her fiery hair from behind, making it look like burning flames.
“‘Take this,” she said in Slavonic and handed me a small item.
“I accepted it and looked at the piece in my hand. It was a short, yellowish bone, with a strand of red hair tied around it. ‘It’s an amulet,’ Bogdana said. “Radoslav is sometimes outside the village after dark, though he has never ventured up into the mountains after nightfall. We asked our priestess to make him something to protect him from the samodivas, and she gave us this. I know you don’t believe in our priests and our magic, but perhaps it can help you.”
“‘You should keep it.’ I tried to put it back into her hands. ‘Your husband needs it.’
“‘You’ll bring it back,’ she said. ‘And if you fail to return, then the amulet was no good anyway.’
“I smiled at her pragmatism. ‘Is this your hair?’
“She nodded. ‘Hair has a special meaning to samodivas. If you take it, perhaps the goddess of fate and luck, Dola, will watch over your travels.’
“‘How would I know if she does?’ I asked.
“‘She’s invisible,’ Bogdana said. ‘But if she chooses to come to you, she can take the shape of a woman or a man, a dog, a cat, or a mouse. All the best on your quest, and a safe return.’ She walked back to the house.
“I examined the amulet in my hand, my thumb tracing the red hair around the bone. ‘She has Thracian blood,’ I murmured. ‘The hair shows it. And yet, she speaks Slavonic, has a Slavic name, and believes in samodivas living in the mountains.’
“‘The Thracians are gone now,’ Roxana said.
“‘Yes, but have you thought about how they disappeared?’ I said. ‘The Slavs absorbed them. They were more numerous, so it was their culture, their language, and their beliefs that emerged on top. And while some of these people still have Thracian blood flowing in their veins, their culture is gone forever. This is what will happen to us if the Khan has it his way.’
“‘Stop thinking about this,’ Roxana said. ‘Tomorrow we’ll make the sacrifice and will know for sure.’
“I sighed. ‘You are right. Please, go back inside and go to sleep. Don’t wait for my return. I’ll be safe. I promise.’
“She walked to the house, turning back at the doorstep to give me a long look before she disappeared behind the door. I mounted my horse and rode off into the night.”
“I rode along the paths the wolf was most likely to cross, the roads that would lead from the mountains to the sheep pens in the surrounding villages. Often, I dismounted my horse and crouched down, bringing my lantern close to the ground, but all the wolf tracks I found were days old.
“I mounted my horse once again and rode on, holding my lantern low to light the ground. If I failed to find the wolf tonight, Roxana and I would have to stay for another day, and perhaps another, while our daughters waited for us. I felt uneasy to be away from them in these uncertain times. Perhaps Bogdana was right—another animal would do just as well.
“And then, I saw something. A pure white spot on a tree, almost glistening under the light of the lantern. I rode to it and took it in my hand. A white ribbon, tied to a branch. I traced my fingers over it. So fine and smooth, made of pure silk. Silk was so rare and expensive at the time, imported from Byzantium, where two clever monks had smuggled silk worms from China, hidden in bamboo rods. Who would leave this behind? Was it a sign for someone? Was I not alone in these woods?
“I dismounted and left the lantern on the ground, and suddenly, I froze in shock. There, underneath the tree marked with the white ribbon, were the wolf’s tracks, less than an hour old.
“My heart rose up in my throat, beating so fast that I saw red. Was someone else tracking the wolf? Bogdana had said no one came to the woods at night. No one, apart from the samodivas.
“My hand involuntarily strayed to my pocket and grabbed the amulet. Don’t be a fool, I thought angrily. Perhaps someone from the villages is hunting the wolf and left this to find the way back. Or perhaps some maiden tied it during the day to tell her lover where to meet her, and the tracks are a coincidence.
“But how would a village maiden have silk? I pushed the thought aside and focused on the tracks. I whispered to my stallion, asking him to wait for me. I would not tie him down—if the wolf came this way, he had to be free to escape.
“I took my bow, quiver, knife, and a long roll of rope and walked along the tracks, keeping the lantern low. I was moving against the wind—my scent would not give me away, but the light would. I had been overconfident with Bogdana and Radoslav, telling them I had hunted wolves before. The truth was, I had, but I had always brought eagles and dogs with me. Now, I was on my own.
“The tracks were very fresh now. I put the lantern down, raised my bow and arrow, and howled as a wolf would.
“The return howl came almost immediately. I howled back, matching his. Perhaps he was searching for a pack? A shiver ran down my spine. Lone wolves usually grew bigger, stronger, and more aggressive.
“The howl was very close now. I quickly made a decision and dropped my bow and quiver to the ground, taking my knife instead. An arrow was too risky—I could accidentally kill it, and I needed this wolf alive.
“I stepped behind a large tree and froze. There he was—a male grey wolf, larger than a calf. At his feet lay a half-eaten sheep, and blood, wool, muscles and viscera littered the forest ground. He bared his teeth, white and sharp, a low growl escaping his throat.
“I barely had time to hang my lantern on a low branch before the beast lunged at me. He took a leap, long and powerful, that would have landed him straight on my chest, his teeth around my throat. I sidestepped him, so he fell to the ground, but he regained his footing easily and turned around to bite at me.
“I stabbed with my knife, careful to avoid any vital organs, but the wolf was too fast. He lunged at me again, and I grabbed a thick branch from the forest ground and lifted it in defense. But right then, my mind went blank.
“Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something white. I froze, the breath caught in my throat. A woman’s skirt, long and flowing, brushed over leaves and twigs and disappeared behind the dark trees.”