Priestess
“Piercing pain brought me back to the present. The wolf had sunk his sharp fangs into my thigh, but before he could pull them out, my knife found his shoulder blade and then his hind leg. He pulled back and tried to lunge at me again, biting and scratching, but I kicked him in the chest and hit his head with a large branch. I kicked him again and sat on top of him, pressing him to the ground, pushing the branch against his throat. I held his forelegs and tied the rope around them. Then I did the same with his hind legs, and finally I tied a piece of rope around his mouth like a muzzle.
“He was still struggling, and with effort, I managed to lift him up on my shoulder. I reached out to retrieve the lantern and limped towards my horse, every step an agony of fire as I put weight on my wounded leg. I whistled softly and smiled in relief as I heard my loyal steed approaching. Not tying him up had been a better idea than I had imagined.
“Once my horse reached me, I laid the wolf on the ground, gently and slowly, making sure I would not aggravate his injuries any further. My own leg screamed as I crouched to the ground, but this would have to wait. I reached into my saddlebags and took out a pouch full of bandages. Before I could pay any attention to my own wounds, I had to take care of the wolf’s.
“He kept moving and struggling as I bandaged the cuts I had inflicted, trying to stop the flow of blood. Once I was sure the beast was patched up, I turned my attention to myself.
“I had scratches all over my arms and legs, but the most pressing problem was the bite. With a resigned sigh, I cut the cloth around the wound, opened the lantern, and held my blade over the flame until it turned red hot.
“I bent down to take a thick stick from the ground and placed it between my teeth. I sat on a large stone, threw the glowing red blade one last glance, and pressed it firmly against my wound.
“The pain shot through me like fire. The stench of burning flesh entered my nostrils, but I held the blade in place, pressing it firmly against my leg with a shaking hand. The stick between my teeth snapped, and I threw the blade away, gasping for air. I slid down to the ground, momentarily closing my eyes.
“Someone touched my temple, the fingers cool and soft and light as a feather. My eyes snapped open.
“It was impossible. Only a moment ago, there had been no one nearby, and now she stood in front of me, this forest spirit in her flowing snow-white gown. Her hair was black—not the bluish black of Roxana’s hair and mine, but a soft, warm black, as if the very darkest brown. It curled into beautiful ringlets around her perfectly oval face. Her deep-set eyes were dark and warm and kind, her face like a marble statue of an ancient Greek goddess. Her skin glowed like pale gold under the soft light of the lantern.
“I couldn’t draw breath. My hand flew to the amulet Bogdana had given me, and I squeezed the small bone until my knuckles turned white, but I knew it was useless. I had seen her. I had seen a samodiva. And the legends said that everyone who saw them died.
“She laughed and disappeared behind the trees, covering an impossible distance within the blink of an eye. I lay there, leaning against the stone and trying to catch my breath. Finally, shaking, I rose up, lifted the wolf on my horse and climbed behind it. I rode away, never once looking back.”
“When I arrived at the house where we were staying, I found Roxana standing outside, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the night chill. She rushed to me and embraced me as I slid down my horse. ‘You took so long,’ she whispered and pulled back with a soft cry. ‘You’re hurt!’
“I silently cursed myself. In my horror, I had forgotten to clean and bind the scratches on my arms and legs, and now my sleeves were drenched in blood. ‘Have you slept at all?’ I asked.
“She frowned. ‘Don’t change the topic. Come inside, and let me look at your injuries.’
“I took the bound wolf off the horse and tied it to a tree. Out of the darkness emerged a charcoal-black cat with green eyes. It brushed against my leg, and my breath caught in my throat. Was this Dola, the Slavic goddess of fate and luck? It’s just a cat, my mind tried to tell me, but after what I had seen, I was ready to believe anything.
“Shaking, I followed Roxana into the house. ‘My love, something happened,’ I said. ‘I think I saw a samodiva. Her hair was dark, not golden, but everything else fit. Do you think I am losing my mind?’
“She took a handful of rags and bandages and a basin filled with water. ‘Not at all. Whether samodivas truly exist or not, I believe there is something in these mountains. The Slavs tell these tales, and they’ve been living here for centuries before we came. If they say there is something out there, I’m willing to trust them. Come now, tell me everything.’
“I sighed. Once again, I was reminded of how much this was the Slavs’ land and not ours. Would we ever truly know all of its secrets and wonders?
“I told Roxana everything, and she watched me, wide-eyed, as she cleaned my wounds. ‘Your forest spirit sounds benevolent,’ she said at the end. ‘Perhaps she wished to help you but left when she saw you were scared. Some tales claim that samodivas are knowledgeable in the art of healing. In some stories, their leader, the veela samodiva, befriends the hero and even helps him in his quest.’
“‘So, I am a hero on a quest now?’ I said.
“She smiled. ‘You certainly succeeded. We have a wolf, and we can make the sacrifice the right way.’ Her face darkened. ‘But there is something you should keep in mind, my love. The world of prophecies is often murky. There is only one rule that everyone seems to know but nevertheless falls into the trap—whenever you try to change the foreseen course of the future, by your actions, you cause the prophecy to come to pass.’
“I nodded. ‘Of course. I won’t try to change the future, but simply to understand the will of Tangra. And if his will is for me to stand back and let history run its course, then this is what I will do.’”
“We started our hike at first light. We would need about seven hours to reach the peak, and almost as long to return. In this time of year, the sunlight would be enough to see us to our return, but not if we lingered anywhere. Roxana carried a small backpack with our supplies, and I carried the very much alive and rebellious wolf.
“I couldn’t get out of the village fast enough. In every cat on the street—yellow, spotted, or white—in every small grey mouse it played with, in every shepherd dog, in every woman and every man, I saw the face of the goddess Dola, come to bring us luck or to take it all away. But this was the worst time possible to accept the Slavic religion, and so I breathed a sigh of relief once we were in the mountains, and Roxana and I were the only people I saw for as far as my eyes could reach.
“We walked over low juniper bushes, feeling roots and sharp stones through the thick soles of our riding boots. We hopped over streams and climbed huge moraine rocks covered in yellow and green moss. I wished we had more time to enjoy the beauty around us—the glacial lakes, nested in between rocky peaks, the mountain goats prancing about the rocks as if they had wings, the fresh scent of pine that filled my lungs. Occasionally, we stopped to pick handfuls of blueberries—these wild mountain blueberries, smaller than the nail on a child’s little finger, so dark inside that they turned our lips and fingertips a deep, saturated purple.
“A sound came from the shrubs, and we froze, watching as the branches slowly moved away to reveal a large, round face. A brown bear, as big as a cow, walked towards us. I stood, ready to drop the wolf and reach for my knife, hoping it wouldn’t be needed. Indeed, most bears in these mountains were harmless, eating berries and honey and never meat. But if a bear tasted flesh once, it never gave it up. Usually, it happened in winter, whenever something awoke a bear from its deep slumber, and it rose hungry and desperate. It would eat anything then, rodents or goats, and it would never forget the taste of flesh.
“We watched as the bear approached, and Roxana took a slow step closer to me. But then, the bear looked away and buried its face in the low blueberry shrub. We laughed. Was this a good omen? Had this great beast come here to meet us and bless our quest?
“‘My love,’ Roxana said. ‘We need to get some firewood. Once we are higher up, there will be no more trees.’
“I gave her a sharp look. I had thought we would simply sacrifice the wolf and see the message in the blood, but we wouldn’t need a fire for that. ‘You mean to summon Tangra?’ I asked. ‘You plan to ask for a vision?’
“She nodded. ‘He hasn’t come to me since I turned away from my priestesshood, but perhaps, if this is truly important, he will not abandon us.’
“We collected enough wood for a large fire. She insisted on carrying it all, unwilling to add to my already significant burden.
“I had so much on my mind—the blood, the visions. Perhaps they would give us some guidance as to what to do, or perhaps they would confuse us even more. But once I stepped onto Khan Tangra, all my worries flew away.
“My breath caught in my throat. The sun was shining high above us, not a single cloud on the perfectly blue sky. Mountains stretched around us, some rocky and some green, bright blue lakes nested in deep circular valleys among high peaks. There, far to the north, I glimpsed the Balkan Mountains, beyond which our daughters awaited our return. And there, in the far south, I caught the slightest glimpse of the white waters of the Aegean Sea. Byzantium. So close, as if I could reach out and touch it.
“‘We have no time to lose,’ Roxana said. ‘We have to start with the sacrifice.’
“I nodded. A stone altar stood on the very peak, used by others before us who had also sought answers to their questions. I emptied the contents of our backpack on the ground and arranged small offerings around the sacred place—apples, wine, chamomile, white yarrow, walnuts, hazelnuts, and sunflower seeds. Then I placed the wolf on the stone, untying its legs and tying them once again to the sides of the altar, so they were spread out. I undid the rope around its mouth, and it growled with rage.
“While I was securing the beast, Roxana changed from her leather hiking clothes into a robe of white silk. Cold wind whipped at our faces, but she showed no signs of discomfort. She approached me, holding a large sacrificial dagger. She raised it to the sky and said the words.
“She brought the dagger down, cutting the wolf open from throat to stomach with a single move. The blood gushed out spraying our arms and faces, and flowing down the altar in many rivulets.
“‘See this small rivulet, flowing into the bigger one?’ said Roxana. ‘It’s of a slightly different color, the blood lighter, but when they unite and mix, it all becomes one, and it is lost inside the bigger river.’
“‘So this is us?’ I asked. ‘Disappearing among the Slavs?’
“‘Look,’ she said. ‘The big river makes many twists and turns, and at a few points it stops, but then flows again.’
“‘So it’s not even a bright future,’ I said. ‘It’s all for nothing. This cannot be the will of Tangra.’
“Roxana stared at the blood, her brow furrowed. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t believe it is.’
“‘Should we light the fire and try to find out for sure?’ I asked.
“Roxana was silent for a while. ‘I’m seeing something strange,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how to interpret it, but I see no way it can possibly be good.’ She shuddered. ‘Light the fire.’
“I did, and once the flames rose high, reaching towards the sun high above, Roxana retrieved a butcher’s knife and a wineskin from her backpack and stood before the fire.
“She poured the wine into the fire, and the flames rose, high and angry. She then dropped the wineskin and dipped her hand into the wolf’s blood, soaking it thoroughly, and sprinkled the blood with her fingers into the flames. It sizzled and burned before reaching the ground.
“‘Father of the sky!’ she called, loud and clear, her voice carried easily above the mountains. ‘Father of the rivers and stones, of the flowers and trees! Father of the bees and butterflies, of birds and beasts! Father of us all!’
“She turned back to the wolf and raised her knife, and with a few hacks, she carved out its heart. She raised it high up, the blood flowing down her arm. ‘Accept this heart and give me the courage to receive your wisdom!’ She threw it into the fire. The heart blackened and burned, and dark smoke rose high above.
“Roxana raised her knife once again and cut out the wolf’s guts and stomach. ‘Accept this stomach,’ she cried again, raising it up in the air, ‘and give me the sustenance I need to endure your strength!’ She tossed the guts and stomach into the fire and watched them burn.
“She then raised the butcher’s knife high above her head, holding it with two hands, her arms shaking under the strain. She brought it down and in a single stroke separated the wolf’s head from the body. Roxana dropped the knife, took the severed head in her hands, and raised it up. Blood dripped over her hair and flowed down her face.
“‘Accept this head,’ she shouted, ‘and give me the knowledge I seek!’ She hurled the head into the flames. The hair burned almost instantly, and the flesh underneath started to blacken.
“With a cry, Roxana fell to her knees. I reached out to her, but she held up her hand to stop me. She stared at the fire, her eyes wide. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the blood. ‘He’s here,’ she whispered, shaking. ‘Tangra is speaking to me.’”