The Pond Part 22

For the first time in her life, Izolda wished for another woman to talk to. But not just any woman, a woman with power. She cast the bones, both the bones she had gathered herself and the bones that had once belonged to the witch Varnya, but the bones told her nothing.

Something was not right and she could not figure out what it was. It was not an impending attack, not a reversal of fortune, not trouble in her marriage. She was not sure what it was, but there was something . . . something . . .

She loaded Mikhail and Nikolai with charms of protection. She set up wardings around the house and the saw mill. She invoked every guardian spirit she could think of, but whatever was causing her feelings of foreboding lingered.

A year later, when Izolda became pregnant with her second child, the nightmares returned. Once again they began with a nameless darkness, but this time it wasn’t just approaching, it was settling in. Again, there was the vague shape of trees and a pond but this time instead of a figure standing on the shore, it appeared to be rising from the water.

This time the dreams ended with the birth of her second son, Dmitri. The relief she felt made it easier to ignore the feeling of dread that followed in their wake, but it was still present. Izolda tried to voice her concerns to Nikolai, but he brushed them aside.

“You worry overmuch, my wife,” he said with an indulgent smile. “Women tend to do so, new mothers worry most of all. Be happy! We have two fine sons.”

“You think I am just being moody?”

“The midwife has said it is to be expected,” he assured her, not noticing her narrow-eyed stare.

But Izolda was not to be placated. “I know you have little faith in my foresight,” she began, it being one of the few skills she felt safe to share with her husband.

“In business, your foresight is invaluable,” Nikolai said.

“But not when it comes to the welfare of my family,” she said, temper simmering. She could cast a small spell, easily changing his mind, but pride prevented her from doing so.

“I think you worry overmuch,” he said, bending over and kissing the top of her head. “It is because you care so much, and that is an admirable thing. But everything is well within our kingdom. The sawmill has more business than ever, the village prospers, and our family is healthy and flourishing.”

“Yes, but—”

“You must let go of your fears. It is not healthy for you or our sons. Now get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

Izolda sighed and let go of her anger as he left to return to the mill. He had no magic, indeed, no one in his village had magic, unless they kept it hidden. He could not understand. If they’d been in her old village she would have only had to mention the negative feelings and everyone with the sight would be interpreting them for her.

She sighed deeply. But they were not in her old village, and as far as she knew she was the only one for miles with any kind of magic. She needed to get to the bottom of this feeling of foreboding.

The negative feelings seemed to be an extension of the dreams she’d been having. Thinking about them now, she thought of the images – trees, water, a figure. As soon as she was able, she’d investigate the pond set back in the trees.

It was a quiet, peaceful place. The water was deep enough for swimming, but shallow enough that it was warm. It was a place where lovers would meet for a secret rendezvous and children would go skinny dipping in the summer.

But before she had a chance to explore, word came to them of a tragedy.