The Pond - Part 37

It was just starting to become light when Izolda awoke. She levered herself up from the ground and blinked in confusion, feeling physically weak as though recovering from a long illness. What was she doing outside? She frowned, unable to remember anything after returning home from the mill with Nikolai.

The mill! She moaned and clutched her knees to her chest. Her sweet Dmitri, gone. She allowed herself to mourn, rocking back and forth as silent tears tracked down her cheeks. Once again the rusalka had torn away a piece her heart. Now it was only her and Nikolai left. Who would she take next?

After a time she swiped a hand across her face and climbed to her feet. Brushing herself off she frowned. Her clothes were tattered and her skin itched with hundreds of tiny cuts. Had she been warding off a magical attack?

Izolda looked back towards her magic circle. It was charred in the center and the protective herbs she’d planted so carefully around it were withered and brown. She reached out with her power to try to determine what had happened.

“What is this?” she wondered aloud. “What has happened to my magic?”

It was not just her body that was weak, the magic she was so proud of was almost entirely gone from her. But how, and why? Obviously she’d been working magic, but what kind of spell would cause her to lose consciousness, or to take her memory from her?

She shivered in the cool morning air. Something untoward had happened here. If only she could remember! Making her way slowly back to the house she wondered if the rusalka had attacked her. But why would she need to, so soon after taking Dmitri from her?

Slipping into the house, she saw that Nikolai was sleeping in his chair by the fire. The sight stopped her cold. Had he been waiting up for her? Would he believe her if she told she did not remember what happened?

Quietly she went into the bedroom to wash up and change her clothing. The dress she had been wearing had a stink about it, and she bundled it up, taking it with her to her workroom and shoving it into a basket. Her workroom showed signs of activity, bottles left unstoppered, the spellbook holding Varnya’s blackest spells open on the table. She glanced down at it.

The right hand page was blank. Whatever spell had been written there was gone. Only the most powerful spells disappeared after being used. What had she been doing, and why?

Shaking her head, she went back into the main room and started a fire in the stove. Tying on an apron, she rattled the pot she was making porridge in loud enough to waken Nikolai. He woke with a frown, but accepted the cup of strong tea she brought him with a grunt of thanks.

Breakfast made, they sat at the table to eat, for once having nothing to say to each other. It made for a quick meal and when they were done, Nikolai pushed back from the table.

“I must go to see how bad the damage was to the mill,” he said gruffly.

Izolda nodded, but said nothing in reply.

As she was cleaning up the breakfast things she felt a pull. Leaving the dishes half done, she went outside to determine where the pull was coming from. Her head turned this way and that. It appeared to be coming from the direction of the pond. It was a summoning spell.

Had she had all of her power she might have been able to resist it, but she was defenseless. Reluctantly she made her way to the pond where the rusalka waited.

“What do you want of me now,” she asked wearily. “Is it not enough that you have taken both of my children? Can you not at least allow me to mourn for my son in peace?”

The rusalka rose to its full height and glided towards her. It circled her, sniffing. “What have you been up to? Your power is greatly diminished. You were not foolish enough to try and bring your son back to life, were you? Even you must realize such a thing is not possible, although I would have enjoyed taking him from you again.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Izolda said irritably.

“Whatever magic you were working, it was dark magic. Do not think to deceive me.”

“I am not deceiving you.” At least she didn’t think she was.

“Just remember,” the rusalka warned. “I am not done with you yet.”