Vengeance In Flames

The heat from the hearth mingled with the smell of roasted pig and sour mead, making my stomach churn. Clutching the fox collar of my cloak closer to my chest, I weaved through the crowded hall to where my husband sat amongst his celebrating warriors, his druzhina. The drunk stares made my skin prickle, raising the desire to rush back to the safety of my quiet chamber. But I needed to speak to Igor. The vision that had roused me from my sleep was too dreadful and I prayed to the gods he would heed my warnings.

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“One, two, three—” the men hollered as my husband, the mighty ruler of Kyiv, sat on a bench, swigging mead, and slapping the table for every gulp. 

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The furs of large forest beasts hung on the walls around us, along with axes, swords, shackles, and chains. In the far-left corner, a bolyar nobleman tossed a dagger at an apple sitting atop another bolyar’s head. I snapped my gaze away from the diversion and caught Bolyar Kazimir’s onyx eyes following me, daring to glint with the edges of hate. I swallowed a sharp knot of discomfort.

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Everything in the room served to remind me of my role. Doting wife, not a warrior—and most certainly not the true ruler. 

To my relief, most of the men continued their counting, not paying me any notice. Igor kept drinking until the chant ended with ten, and he slammed the mug onto the table. 

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Cheers erupted from the retinue of nobles. Igor bolted up with pride like he’d just won a round with a burly forest bear. My eyes fell on the man beside my husband. Bolyar Sveneld, Igor’s closest friend and Kyiv’s troop commander, was someone I could always count on being the mind to Igor’s brawn. 

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Sveneld slapped Igor’s shoulder and my husband met my gaze. The mirth dimmed in his mead-swimming eyes and he plopped down on the bench again. 

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“Have we awakened you, dear?” he drawled, eliciting a few snickers from the noblemen. He leaned forward, the ends of his loose graying hair grazing the table. A rosy hue tinted the tip of his sharp nose and high cheekbones, matching his red embroidered linen tunic. A tunic that was crisp and bright before the feast, though now clung to him in a wrinkled state, stained with alcohol and fat from the half-eaten roasted pig. A powerful warrior when sober, this was the man I trusted to protect my city and son.

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Irritation brewed, covering my worry. I hated how Igor put on a cold demeanor in front of his druzhina. He was a completely different man when we were alone. 

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“I must speak with you,” I said, pushing through the momentary annoyance. I came close enough to touch the edge of the table, hoping my gait conveyed the gravity of my request. 

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“I’m busy,” he slurred the words, pointing to his fellow-warriors. “Planning and… and planning our plans.”

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“This is about your plans.” I pressed my knuckles to the counter, careful to avoid the spills of pork and breadcrumbs. I couldn’t let him carry out his next battle as usual. Volos had shown me a future too devastating if he did. 

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“Really? You have ideas about our next campaign?” 

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Again, chuckles made a round in the room. 

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“This is about my father’s talent.” I leaned lower, hoping my cryptic words would strike illumination in his inebriated mind. 

Igor sat up straighter, the smile dissipating into concern. As if the one phrase was a cold bucket of water over his head, he jumped up and with swift steps tugged me out into the dim corridor. 

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In the safety of the shadows where only a light from a lone metallic oil burner on the oak wall flickered, he let me go. “What have you seen?” he asked, his voice cracking with drunk tension. 

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“Your grave, Knyaz,” I said, shivering as the screams from the foretelling dream gusted across my memory. “Your blood-soaked grave and my plunge into hopelessness.”

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Igor’s jaw muscles bulged as his face tightened into a grimace. The corridor darkness carved into his forehead wrinkles, making him appear older, weary of life. “How accurate is this vision?”

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“How accurate have they been before?” I asked, reminding him of the time I had warned him not to go swimming in the Volga and he nearly drowned from a muscle spasm in the middle of the icy waters. Or the time I had told him not to give our son his knife to play with and the boy cut himself so severely he almost bled to death. That was the last time he didn’t take my visions seriously.

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“I don’t think I can postpone this venture,” Igor said, scratching the back of his head. 

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“This isn’t like your swim in the Volga. You won’t just hurt yourself. I saw death. The end.” I grabbed his shoulders. “Do you want to leave Sviatoslav without a father and Kyiv without a ruler? Do you want to leave me?”

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The tension in his earth-colored eyes softened, and he slipped his rough fingers over mine. “I love how you worry for me. It keeps me breathing.” 

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He kissed the tips of my fingers and the edges of my dread melted, soothing my shivering bones. Still, he hadn’t conceded to changing his plans. 

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“Promise me you won’t go.”

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“I can’t—”

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“Igor—” I jerked my hands out of his.

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“I’ll think about it.”

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I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. 

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“You know how the druzhina is. After they’ve been riled up for adventure, it’s hard to change the course.”
 

“Then replace your battle with another venture. Go hunting. Collect tribute. Anything but fighting.”

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He rubbed his bearded jaw. “Collecting tribute? I suppose that’s a possibility. Sveneld and I haven’t visited any of the neighboring tribes in weeks for their coin. Perhaps it is time some of them pay their dues.”

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I exhaled, in a slow champion’s relief. It was enough for me to relax again, even enough for me to trail my arms over his neck, breathe in his scent of pine and mead and courage. “Thank Perun, you can see reason.”

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The drunken mischief sneaked back into his gaze and he wrapped me into an embrace. His warmth kindled a flicker of desire in my core and I pressed into his body.

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“How about I announce an end to the celebration and we can have this night to ourselves?”

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I allowed myself a seductive smile. “How will your druzhina react to such news?” 

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“Oh, they can—”

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“Knyaz?” Sveneld’s voice cut in. “I hate to interrupt you, but they’re asking about the details of the attack.”

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I pulled away, holding Igor’s gaze until he confided to his most trusted friend there was a change of plans. Sveneld was closer in age to me than to Igor, but according to the stories Igor had brought back from his battles, Sveneld was the bravest of warriors. It was no wonder Igor loved the man like a younger brother and why, even now, he explained the new idea with an eagerness in his tone that revealed his desire for Sveneld’s support.

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Sveneld, however, did not appear very understanding. “What do you mean we’re not going?” He blinked, the usual bright blue in his eyes dimmed with shadows of confusion. 

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“Why have you left us?” the booming voice of Kazimir echoed from behind Sveneld. 

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The strain that had fled, returned, knotting my insides. Kazimir had the demeanor of a raging Perun with all the self-righteousness and none of the brain or right. He had two favorable traits, neither of which impressed me. His father had fought alongside Rurik in many battles, which earned him an honorable seat in Igor’s druzhina and naturally, the wealth acquired from the many battles won. Kazimir, however, was far prouder than any of the Rurikan bolyars. He also seemed to truly detest my presence at court, especially when I oversaw the nobles who stayed in Kyiv while Igor was entangled with battles and raids. I constantly thanked the gods he was too outnumbered to speak out because so many men still honored my father, their last knyaz 

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“Are you surprised, Kazimir, that I prefer the company of my beautiful wife, rather than your ugly mug?” Igor joked, untangling some of the knots in my gut. At least Igor disliked the man just as much as I did.

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Kazimir grumbled a retort that got lost in his unruly facial hair. 

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Sveneld, however, was not affected by the humor. “What do you mean we’re not going?” he repeated. 

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“Not going?” asked Kazimir, his vessel-snaked eyes expanding to perfect round moons. 

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“We’re going to the Drevlians to collect the tribute, instead,” Igor said, sniffing like it was the most natural change of strategies.

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My eyes slid to Sveneld, worry binding my stomach anew. The Drevlian tribute belonged to him, the second richest man in Kyiv, after Igor. Sveneld’s mouth tensed in a line. I didn’t mean for strain to rise between the two friends. Our families were too close, especially after Sveneld’s wife passed. His two sons spent more time at the terem court playing with my son than at home. 

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“But—”

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“My decision is final,” Igor said, his voice strong and steady. The light from the burner behind him haloed above his head, making him appear ethereal like the fierce fire god Svarog. “The men can go hunting for bears after if they want to gratify their blood-lust.”

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Kazimir’s scarred cheek twitched, the way it did when he was holding in rage, an expression he often reserved for me. Whirling on his heels, he stomped down the corridor, sending a fist into an oak column before entering the large hall again. Yet Sveneld stood rooted, pinning me with a concerned stare. He had known of my visions vaguely, and I was certain he expected an explanation from one of us. But exhaustion wrapped around me, weighing me down. The rush that had spurred me from bed and into the middle of the celebration had begun to wear off, leaving me weak and achy. 

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“Don’t worry, Sven,” Igor said, clapping his old friend on the shoulder. “I needed to think of something fast before Kazimir asked too many questions. I’ll make up for your lost portion from my personal coffers.”

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The tightness in Sveneld’s face softened. “That will be a lot of coin,” he said, a half-humorous note playing in his voice. 

I didn’t need to be present when the two friends smoothed out the details. My part was done. I gave Igor a small bow and said, “Make sure to get enough rest before your journey.” 

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Igor didn’t put up a protest and, throwing an arm over Sveneld’s shoulder, rejoined the now singing bolyars.

My walk to my chamber was a lot less frantic than to the main hall. Every hanging oil burner that I passed, every oak floorboard whispered Perun’s promises of a fortunate future. Or perhaps I so yearned for the assurance, I imagined it. 

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Yet, despite my victory in convincing Igor, the queasy knot in my belly hadn’t dispersed. I thought the familiarity of my chamber walls that I had enchanted with Mokosh symbols would help soothe my anxieties, but not even the spinning wheel above my bed or the sheaths of wheat above the adjacent table which held more oil burners could calm me. By the time I crawled into my bed and covered myself with furs, the loop of emotions turned into a new rock of premonition. Eyes growing sore with sleeplessness, I stared at the ceiling beams for the rest of the night wide awake. 

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When morning came, I had a plan. A simple, frail thing, but one that helped me cope with the anxiety of the future. As my personal maid Rada bustled from my armoire to me, helping me get ready to see my husband off, I fidgeted with my garnet necklace. 

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“Rada, which ved would you say has the most potent magic?” I asked, still standing in my white sorochka. Rada signed for me to lift my arms and helped me slip into a red linen navershnik dress, trimmed with intricate embroidery. Patterns of swirling suns sewn with a golden thread and inlaid with garnets decorated my sleeves and collar to match my necklace. The outfit was far too festive for the heaviness that pressed onto my chest, yet I insisted on looking my best every time I said goodbye to Igor. I was convinced he would want to return sooner from his journey upon seeing me in my most beautiful outfit. 

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“It depends what sort of magic, Knyagina.” Rada smoothed the dress over my shoulders and tied a golden belt embellished with rubies around my waist. 

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“I need a spell to protect my husband.” I thought for a minute, sinking into a wooden chair. “And a spell to calm my heart.”

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“I see. I had a cousin who went to the seer at the edge of town. He gave her a ritual that helped protect her sheep from being eaten by wolves. Maybe he will have something for your husband.” Rada turned her attention to my wavy sun-colored hair, braiding it in two halves and pinning the swirling locks up. She finished the look by topping my head with a silver kokoshnik encrusted with red jasper. 

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“I love this color on you, Knyagina. It brings out the rose in your cheeks and lips. You know, they don’t exaggerate when they say you’re the epitome of Slavic beauty.” The girl’s own youthful features stretched into a friendly smile. Though her lips were so thin they might as well have been drawn on with charcoal, she had sincere, large eyes and I knew she meant the compliment. 

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“Before I ever saw you—” she paused, smoothing some hair behind my coronet— "I heard one warrior say that Lada herself carved your face from a perfect oval pearl. I think he was right,” she finished with a twinkle in her eye. 

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Perhaps, I would have let her flattery soothe my worries if I were younger. Or if I hadn’t seen all the visions that I had. Either way, I had long ago stopped paying attention to sweet sayings about my appearance. Growing up as the only, late child of Oleg the Wise, the second Prince of Kyivan Rus, I heard it all too often. Perhaps it was even true. A little part of it had to be anyway since Igor noticed me and he had his pick to wed any beauty he wanted. But I did not care for compliments that morning.

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“Thank you,” I said, moving away from her, massaging my brow, thinking of the next possible steps. With the motion, the pair of temple rings that dangled off the coronet brushed my cheekbones with their rubies as if giving me harsh kisses.

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“Will you be able to take me to the ved?” I asked returning to our previous subject, tossing the garnet strand over my head. 

“I believe so.” 

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“Good.” I jumped up. “We haven’t a second to lose.”

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* * *

 

The sweet scent of black currant leaves and hypericum lingered outside the wooden hut as if the fence of smells magically guarded the seer’s home. Three wooden totem poles, my height, stood before the cottage. Our most powerful gods—Perun, Volos, and Mokosh—god of the sky, god of the underworld, and goddess of women’s destinies. Still, even with all the power of the pillars wrapping the lodge, the birch logs had long ago turned dark with age and the door creaked as we came in. 

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The fragrance that was a thin veil on the outside, churned into a thick fog on the inside. Stifling a cough, I waited for my sight to adjust to the dim lighting. Metallic oil burners sat on two ends of a table, their flame illuminating a small space crammed with dry veniks hanging off the ceiling and ceramic mugs filled to the brim with powders, roots and dry mushrooms. Strands of jasper, pearls, and colorful glass beads hung on the walls, though I couldn’t tell if they were for decoration or meant for various rituals. I guessed the latter. 

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A pale man stood at the table, crushing something in his mortar. With a steady gaze, he scrutinized us as if he were the confidant of Perun himself, even though his rubakha shirt was so old, it was gray, rather than white. Layers of colorful beads and small dangling bells decorated his otherwise pauper appearance. They swayed and chimed as he set his powder aside and hobbled to us. 

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“Ahhh,” he rasped, scanning me with his piercing dark irises. He rolled his eyes back and clasped his hand around a large purple stone dangling over his breastbone. In the quiet of the room, I shifted uncomfortably, realizing something was boiling in a pot sitting over a small oil burner. A bitter scent oozed from the vessel, clashing with the sweet aroma in the room. 

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Should I introduce myself? Tell him what I’m seeking? I exchanged glances with Rada. The girl’s usual rosy-cheeked heart-shaped face appeared even more innocent in the dark magic-drenched room. Rada blinked in confusion at me. The urge to flee took root and only the knot of worry for my husband anchored me to the floor. 

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I cleared my throat and began, “We have come—”

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“I know why you’ve come,” the seer said, turning his face to the flame. 

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Is this a trick? Did he tell everyone the same words, expecting them to divulge their secrets in relief? The thought forced me to lift my chin. “Why?” I asked. 

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The older man rolled his irises back in place, staring at the boiling pot and doing nothing to alleviate its agony. “You seek escape.” 

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Escape? I wasn’t a slave. I was the knyagina of Kyiv. And he was a deceitful fraud. “I should have you executed for lying to people,” I said, the bitterness from the odor seeping into my tone. 

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“Ah, spoken like a true Rurikan.” 

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My internal simmering cooled. So he did know who I was. “Then what can I possibly want to escape from?”

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He limped closer to me, the strands of his thinning gray hair dangling from his shoulders. Even in the dimness of the room, I could see how much soot was smeared on his wrinkled skin though, surprisingly, no unpleasant stench accompanied him. “Your dark future,” he said, his voice low. “And yet, you fear the wrong thing.”

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A trembling rippled over my skin. “What do you know about my fears?”

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“I know only what Volos tells me and he tells me of the graves soon to come.”

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My heart dipped and the cloud of smells suddenly became too dense to breathe in. Only when I heard Rada’s gasp, did I realize, I had tumbled against the table. An ache spread over my hip and thigh where I hit the wood.

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“Knyagina!” Rada cried, fanning me with her hands. She shot a sharp glance at the seer. “How could you scare your knyagina like that?” 

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I tried to concentrate on the swimming images around me, to still my pounding heart. A new aroma entered my senses and, with it, a calming across my chest. I breathed in a slow deep inhale and the room stopped spinning. The seer’s outstretched arm came into focus and the little jar of powder he was holding to my nose. 

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“What is that?” I asked. 

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“A gift for you, Knyagina. One of the gifts.” He raised a finger, skin cracked from dehydration and perhaps some drying herbs.

 

“I’ll put this powder in a leather pouch and you can carry it with you as a calming amulet. Anytime your worries begin to overwhelm you, just breathe in the scent and speak the words: Nine, six, three, soothing return to me.”

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“Nine, six, three, soothing return to me,” I whispered, the last of the fog dispersing from my vision. 

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“Good.” He found a black pouch just as he said and poured the white milled substance into it. 

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“What is the mix made of?” I asked, giving Rada a reassuring nod that I was feeling better. 

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“A little willow herb, a dash of tavolga, some moonlight and a large portion of a maiden’s laughter.” He handed me the pouch. 

A maiden’s laughter? How could he bottle such a thing? I would have asked if another question hadn’t seized my attention. 

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“What can I do to prevent my husband’s death?” I asked, my voice trembling. 

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“Ah.” He scanned the counter strewn with mortars and clay jars, scratching the tip of his chin. “I could give you a ring that grants protection to its wearer.” 

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The ved reached for a bowl and looked inside it. Shaking his head, he flung it aside. He went through several more containers until he opened a box made of straw and smiled. 

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“Here it is.” He plucked from it a piece of jewelry—a silver band with an amber setting that swirled in mesmerizing honey-colored circles. He lifted it to the flame to show off its profound depth. 

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“But he must wear it at all times,” he said, his voice like a crackling firepit, warm yet snapping at the same time.

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The clamp around my heart loosened. “Yes, yes, I’ll make sure he does.” I grasped the ring in my palm. “Thank you, thank you!”

“I have something else for you.” He stretched his arm to the far edge of the table.

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Surprise tore my gaze off the beautiful patterns in the amber. 

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“What else? You’ve already exceeded my expectations.”

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He handed me a small vial. “Keep this next to the calming powder. If you ever need something more than soothing, drink it.”

“More than soothing?” I tilted my head. 

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“Courage,” he answered, turning back to his mortar and pestle. “I call this mixture Sila.”

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Courage. The word flittered in my mind like a lone feather, light and elusive. “Thank you,” I said, clutching the vial tightly. I wouldn’t say no to bravery. “What do I owe you for these wonders?”

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“Your good testimony, for now,” he said, his tone distracted as he chose some red powder to sprinkle into his mixture.

From my pocket I grasped a sachet of coins and placed it on his table. “A good testimony will come only after my husband returns safely home. This, in the meantime, should satisfy you.”

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He clicked his tongue, though in approval or not, I didn’t know. I pulled open the creaky door and the seer said, “One more thing.”

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I paused in the doorframe. 

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“Follow your intuition when it comes to the birds.”

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My brow furrowed. “What birds?”

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“Ah,” he said again as if about to reveal some elusive divine secret. He pointed his pestle up. “The ones in the sky.”

Was he being symbolic? Literal? I exchanged confused glances with Rada. 

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“You will know what that means when the time comes,” he said, focusing back on his muddling, even began humming a song as if stating the conversation was over. I didn’t press him with more questions. I didn’t have the time either way. Igor was about to leave, and I needed to be sure to gift him the protection ring before we said goodbye.