Nota bene: the chapter features mature content!
The witch walks quickly, jumping over invisible to me obstacles under her feet. We are both silent. I try to digest all the information, getting back inside myself. Maybe she is doing the same, but it seems to me that I will never know about it. Just like the witch I want to give a lot to find out what is on her mind now; I want to understand if I can trust her; I want to understand whether the sphere vision was just some fake magical haze that was sent for me by one of the witches on the hill.
I am dozing, leaning against her, my hand slowly slides from her silky neck to her breasts. I don't even notice it until she chuckles. The sound of her voice brings me out of slumber. I gasp, embarrassedly returning my hand back.
"You can leave it. Bad girl, do you want to steal my maidenhood?" Hebe laughs and squeezes my legs tighter.
"Not at all! It’s an accident!" It's good that no one can see me now: my face is like frying on fire, and my lower lip is shaking from embarrassment and offense. I’m not in a mood for her jokes. Insane fatigue has fallen on me, and I want to have some rest. Her society has just lost one of the precious Pythias! Why is she so unbearable... or maybe witches do not grieve when anything happens to other witches?
The forest greets us with coolness and impenetrable darkness; we are immediately surrounded by the pleasant smell of pine needles, moss, damp bark and long-fallen rotting windbreak tree trunks. A mosquito is ringing somewhere nearby, but it does not dare to fly up to us.
I would never have found the forester's hut. It modestly hides between the furry paws of ancient fir trees and fluffy shrubs.
"Watch your head," Hebe warns me just in time when she carefully opens an old, small door with a creaking sound, and we get inside. The seni** and the whole house emits pleasant wooden smell, as if the dwelling was built a couple of days ago.
The witch snaps her fingers, and several thick candles, which are barely living out their days, light up obediently. Their light is enough to reveal the decoration of a classic izba***: two low wooden benches, a massive table, a carved wardrobe. Someone managed to put an old soccer ball and a small rubber toy resembling a character from Maya the Bee on its top. By the shuttered window there is a bed covered with a soft blue satin blanket; a snow-white pillow is placed in the manner of a cocked hat. The most remarkable thing about the house is, of course, a classic Russian stove with a stove bench for sleeping. The stove bench itself is covered with a motley patchwork quilt on which sits a huge hare half a meter long. He’s threateningly squinting at me with his orange-brown eye.
Hebe notices him, but says nothing and gently dumps me onto a soft bed by the window.
"Well, hello, Filya!" sings the witch, straightening up. "Why are you sticking out here and not warming my mother's bed in anticipation of her return? Or did she order you to stalk me?"
"Is this your mama’s pet?" I ask naively, thinking that she is just chatting with the animal as many pet owners like doing.
"Did you hear, Filyusha? Home pet!" Hebe laughs. "From the mouths of babes shall come the truth! Velia, this is Filimon. He fucks my mama."
I coughed, choking on my saliva. The hare just twitched his huge ears.
"Why are you silent? Are you shy, lil wabbit?"
"You should be at the sabbath now, but you are arranging a love nest for you and your new pet," the fluff sighs. "Every time they are younger and younger (Jeeez, the hare is talking! I probably did not hit my foot, but my head!).
"And you, rabbit meat, prefer older ones... like my ma, mmm?" the witch does not concede. Her every word is saturated with irritation to him.
"Come to your senses, Hebe! Your time will come soon! You need a daughter to procreate. You cannot run away forever from this responsibility that is placed on you. And a familiar! You need a faithful familiar you can trust, but definitely not this human misery. Your behavior dishonors the entire coven!"
Hebe clenches her fists; the muscles on her neck and cheekbones are tightening. The snake-streaks on her body are becoming brighter, and they seem to move!
The hare jumps from the stove bench, hits the floor and turns into a young man (Just like Finest the Brave Falcon in front of Vasilisa the Wise****! Maybe he was also her familiar? But in fairytales it was not said whether he appeared naked before Vasilisa...).
I do not take my eyes off him: he is naked and handsome by all the traditional canons: an athletic slender body with a golden tan and no less golden curls that casually fall on his forehead. His features are correct: high cheekbones, dark eyebrows, a straight nose and beautifully shaped lips. He stands straight and does not cover himself. Now it is clear why Hebe's mother prefers him... ahem, prefers him in bed.
I involuntarily curl my lips. My gazing him is not because I am fascinated by his appearance, but it’s rather the opposite. His appearance is repelling me. And it's not even his ostentatious masculinity, but the way he looks at me. His gaze, his posture, even his uncovered penis seem to be created to exaggerate his dominance. Neither Danya nor papa ever look at me in the same way as he is looking at me now; they always protect me, it’s true, but I know that for them I am always equal... As if they feel, probably, that I am not like Dasha or my mother...
Anger is boiling inside me, and I am getting out of bed, putting all my body weight on my good leg, "It's none of your business whether or when she wants to have a child! This is her body, and it is up to her to decide what to do with it!" I growl at the man. "Everyone has the right to choose for themselves!"
Hebe looks at me with a half-open mouth.
"If you speak to Hebe again in a similar tone, I will cook an excellent, easily digestible dietary soup out of you!"
"You don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into, child. You are just a toy for her until she gets bored. Trust me, she breaks her dolls quickly. You will not be an exception. Hebe is a forest fire, and you are a little dry twig on her way. She will burn you from the inside, and after a couple of days she will not remember your name," the man says calmly to me.
The girl stands silently, as if he slapped her in the face. I stand between him and the witch in a protective pose, "Get out!" I speak with the same impenetrable tone as he was speaking to me.
He bows politely to me and Hebe and hides in the darkness of the seni.
I sit down on the bed feeling the exhaustion. Hebe looks at me with her head slightly bowed; then she sits down next to me.
"You didn't have to do it. I could have done it myself," she whispers softly.
"Perhaps you could have done it better: I really don't know how to cook hare soups..."
The witch laughs, but her eyes are sad.
***
Hebe brings me a wooden bucket of warm water. I wash my face and hands, and later I put my feet in the water while looking at the witch who is rummaging in the wardrobe.
"Put it on!" She tosses me clean pants and a long sleeve T-shirt. I only manage to catch my pants; they hang sluggishly on my arm.
"He shouldn't have told you that." I can't get away from what the hare said to her. I am simply devastated imagining a random man who is fucking her, imagining her being impregnated by this man.
"You need to change your clothes. Your shirt is dirty with blood and grass stains."
She grabs the edges of my T-shirt and pulls it off. She did it so fast, giving me no chance to react. I shut my eyes tightly, covering my bare breasts with my hands. Is it possible to be scared of her and to want her almost to the pain?"
Nothing happens. I open my eyes: she is patiently standing beside me. Hebe is handing me clean clothes, modestly turning her head away from me.
"Why are you still sitting?" Hebe asks me when I finally changed.
I hesitate, putting my chin on my knees. It's hard to tell from her expression if she wants me now or not.
"Hebe, I..."
"Lie down, and I'll cover you with the blanket."
I obeyed her, turning my face to the wall. Finally, the bed that stands against the wall! Hebe tucks the blanket and joins me, but I feel her back against mine. I sigh heavily. Deep inside I hoped she would be my big spoon, "Will you be here when I wake up?"
"No."
* F. Tyutchev “I love spring storms – the rain, the lightning...” (tr. by I.Shambat)
** an entryway of izba
*** a traditional Slavic countryside dwelling
**** Slavic fairytale characters
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