Where once the name Nikolai Antonovich had been synonymous with good fortune, now it was being whispered, behind his back, that he and all who dealt with him were cursed. The damage to the mill was not as extensive as it was first believed, all that it would take to get it working again was to replace the grinding wheel, but Nikolai had no interest in repairing it.
“Let it rot,” he said.
“But husband, it was to be your legacy,” Izolda pointed out. “And others depend upon it for their livelihood.”
“Then let these others see to the repairs. It was meant to be a legacy for our son. Our son is gone. My legacy ends here.”
Nothing Izolda said, no plea from those who once worked for him made any difference. He had given up.
For a time some of the men tried to form a kind of co-op, doing the sawing by hand as they had during the drought. But they quickly learned they could not compete with the steam driven mills and gave up.
The workers, friends, who had come to this new land with Nikolai, supporting him through the drought and the accidents had had enough. They took their families and left, seeking work elsewhere. Many of the others followed suit until the village all but dried up. Only a few hardy souls, those who had no where else to go, remained.
Despite the loss of the sawmill Izolda and Nikolai did not suffer greatly financially. They still owned the vast tract of land, and collected rents from the few farms on it. They lived quietly, Nikolai taking comfort in the bottle, and Izolda leading a mundane life. Her magic never returned.
The years passed, they both grew older. Izolda no longer tried to convince Nikolai to leave this place. Without her magic there was no where they could go that the rusalka could not find them. In her own way, she was also broken. This was her punishment for her past misdeeds.
Her mother had warned her years ago that dark magic came with unseen costs, but like so much of what her mother tried to instill in her, she had ignored it. Her children had been gone long enough that she no longer felt the pain of their passing. All she felt was numbness. It was only a matter of time before the rusalka came for her.
She could not stand waiting any longer. The day was hot as she made her way along the overgrown path towards the pond.
“You have won,” she shouted when she reached the edge. “Here I am. You have taken everything else from me, now here I am, for you to take my life.”
“So willing to die.” The rusalka’s voice was a whisper over the water but she did not appear in corporeal form. “But there is still one more thing to take from you yet. There is one who is as guilty as you of betrayal.”
Izolda stood frozen on the pond’s edge. “Nikolai,” she whispered. Turning, she raced towards home.
She knew, before she reached the house, that she would be too late. Nikolai lay sprawled in his chair, a look of surprise on his face, but no fear. There was water spilled on the floor around him and she knew there would be water in his lungs as well.
“Oh, Nikolai,” she said sadly. “How I wish things could have been different.”
Izolda kissed him on the forehead and went slowly up the stairs. There was nothing left inside her. She was empty. Wrapping herself in the quilt her aunts Anya and Polina had given her before she left for her new life she lay down on her marriage bed.
In the pond, the rusalka felt the passing of her mortal enemy, but felt no satisfaction. That came when the life altering spell Izolda cast after Dmitri’s death was broken.
“How deceptive you were, my old friend. What a shame you had not considered that with the release of your spirit your spell would be broken. And such a clever spell at that. It seems my revenge is not complete after all.”
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