HOW THE SHADOWS FEAST
iv. golden coins and silver knives

the second night

❅          ❅          ❅

Mother Gesa knelt praying in the chapel when Saskia approached her, the fear still cold and heavy in her stomach. In her life, she had barely held any secrets as the only thing worthy of secrecy was the very same she could not hide.

Now, overnight, Saskia had gathered at least five: her being betrothed, that she ventured into the woods, the deadly prophecy, the being at the sanctuary reminding her of that strange hunter, and the ghost in the convent. And they made it impossible for her to share the chaos in her heart with anyone—even Katinka.

She couldn't explain her interest in Prince Anyan and, even less so, her fear of Prince Silvan without confessing. Strangely enough, the only one the princess could turn to was the woman who loathed her even more than Saskia detested her.

"What is it, Daughter?" Mother Gesa asked without turning around.

"I am sorry to interrupt your prayers ..." Saskia swallowed.

Only the slightest movement of Gesa's head betrayed her impatience. "Speak, child. What question brings you here?"

"What do you know about ... soulmates?"

"Soulmates?" Saskia's words clearly caught her by surprise since now the high priestess rose to her feet and turned around. "Why would you want to know?"

"I overheard some women talk at the marketplace who said it's possible to foretell who it is," she replied, perhaps a little too quickly. Gesa didn't have to know that Saskia must have caught this conversation months ago. "They said Perhta can show it."

A line dug into Mother Gesa's forehead. "Well, it is believed so, yes. In the Nights of Smoke, we may be allowed to learn about our future in many ways."

Saskia knew the traditions, but none of them would tell her about this especially.
"And what would be the way to receive this answer?"

The high priestess's frown deepened. "A mirror at night and a candle. When at a crossroad at midnight, you might see him pass by. Things you should not trouble yourself with as they are forbidden."

A crossroad at midnight?

"I know, Mother, of course! I was just curious."

"Curiosity can be dangerous, child. As are soulmates. Some say they hold the power to bring you back from the brink of death and tear your soul in half."

❅

When at eventide, the Daughters of Perhta gathered for the meal, Saskia hoped for the smallest of signs of Perhta—something that would dispel the sorrows gnawing at her guts before Katinka would eventually notice.

The candle-lit was filled with a cheerful chatter that could not have made a harsher contrast to Saskia's own mood. However—despite it seeming strange—for many of the girls in the convent, the Nights of Smoke were not only the most dangerous, they also possessed a captivating magic.

It was the time when, among other work, weaving and spinning were prohibited, lest not interfere with Perhta and the spirits spinning the threads of their fates. Instead, they had the chance for sacred divination, praying, and telling each other tales, while outside the Wild Hunt made the cold air sizzle—close enough to feel the exciting thrill of its horrors, but not as much as having to truly fear anything. The walls of the convent kept them safe.

Besides, those were the nights when the Order of Wolves tended to visit more often.

"Why are you grinning so, Franka?" Sister Philomena asked with a playful jab in her ribs. "You look like you've already found the golden coin in your bread the fourth year in a row—or have met with a certain prince."

In Saskia's mouth, the food turned into ash at the mention of Prince Silvan, and she had to force it down her throat.

Sister Franka rolled her green eyes at that and shook her head. "I certainly will soon. I'm sure he will attend the Fifth's Night Feast as every year."

To many girls in the convent, at least those who didn't wish for a future serving Perhta, the men of the Order were a promising way out of these walls. And the wealth, power, and authority they held made them all the more appealing to those who wished to marry. In their eyes, Prince Silvan was a charming, attractive nobleman and a respectable hero as well for fighting the beasts of winter.

And maybe he was. For those maidens who found the lucky coin. For those who followed all the rules. For those who were not cursed.

With a confident smile, Sister Franka broke her bread as though there could be no other than her who would be granted Perhta's symbol of blessing again—however, the dough was empty.

Philomena giggled. "Well, you can't be this lucky!"

"Now you, Saskia," Katinka demanded, offering her a shy smile; some kind of peace offering after their argument. "You have barely eaten anything."

The other priestesses did not even care to look at Saskia while her fingers crushed the crust and dug into the soft pastry to part it but let their glances sweep over everyone else instead to find the fortunate one among them.

Saskia couldn't even be mad at them: of course, no one expected the cursed girl to find the blessed coin. Not even herself.

"Who is it, Mena?" Franka asked, but her friend just shrugged.
"I can't see—"

"Saskia," Katinka breathed.

"No, she—" Philomena answered, before her eyes widened.

Between the crumbs of bread and Saskia's pale fingers, a golden coin shone. Its metal singed into her skin as if telling her that her hands were not where it belonged.

When they melted lead, poured the shimmering silvery liquid into cold water, and watched them freeze in all shapes and forms, Saskia was sure hers formed the fang-armored muzzle of a wolf. Its shadow danced eerily in the flickering light.

"What does yours show?" Katinka asked.

"Oh. Nothing. It's unreadable." Hastily, Saskia led the lead slide into her habit's pockets. "And yours, srnitsa?"

"I don't know ... It looks like an arrow?"

However, to Saskia, it seemed to form a knife.

❅

"Come on, Sister Saskia. You got the coin's fortune, now it's time to share it," one of her sisters said, reminding her that with this honor there also came an important duty: renewing the white runes that marked the doorway arches and speaking a blessing.

It was said demons and ghosts could not trespass them. Their eyes were blind to the color, often, and when they tried to slip into a sealed house, they would hit the stone and wood that didn't allow them passage.

Perhaps it was silly, but for a second Saskia wondered if that most blessed ritual of sealings—more important than the more casual times the symbols were redrawn—would be as powerful if done by the hands and voice of a cursed girl.

However, looking at the other women's faces, it did not occur to her alone.

Still, Saskia took the white chalk, mumbling a soft "Of course", and started her sacred task. When she was done with the very room, they had all gathered in she almost felt a weight lifted from her, leaving all those watchful eyes behind.

A sigh of relief escaped her lungs.

"May the creatures of the dark stay outside. Bright Mother keep us safe," Saskia whispered with every door blessed. Over and over again, until she had to force her mind and heart to follow with each repetition.

The main gate was the last place to seal, and the most important one. Thinking of the ghost that had crept inside last night, Saskia had no difficulty concentrating now.

"May the ...," she began, drawing a first white line on the wood.
Something scratched at it from outside, instantly interrupting her.

Saskia froze. No, impossible.

From the refectory, the constant chattering and laughing floated through to hallway. Despite that, the convent was silent. She must have imagined it.

But as soon as she opened her mouth, it sounded again—loudly, harshly, and violently in her own ears—even if it couldn't be louder than a hound's paw scraping.

Could it be the demon from last night?

Saskia's heart was drumming so hard, she could feel her pulse hammering in her throat.

"Go away," she whispered, lips nearly touching the wooden door. "There is nothing for you here."

No answer. But how could there be? Most of the dead souls had forgotten how to speak.

"May the creatures of the dark stay outside. Bright Mother keep us safe," Saskia finally said, drawing the lines of the runes over and over again, until the chalk in her hand had dwindled to a small stub, and the noises died.

Drawing a shaky breath, she turned around to hurry back to the others who surely had to wonder why she took so much time. It was then Saskia realized with horror, that behind the windows no candle lit the night.

Just as yesterday.

Usually not even the wind could extinguish a flame sanctified by Perhta easily. However, tonight there was no storm howling outside—and simple ghosts weren't able to break the protecting circle. Katinka had been right: Something was wrong. And it was more than a harmless ghost getting lost in holy walls.

Something dangerous. Something evil.

Saskia hesitated. Never leave the convent at night; that was one of the rules. However, there was one—and only one—minor exception: When the blessed fires, shielding the convent, went out. Then, only then, someone could leave the building, as far as to reach the candle and light it again without having to fear punishment.

With that thought in mind, she took one of the candles in the hallway and leaped at the door. Perhaps, if she was fast enough, no one would notice. Perhaps there was time to cover up the traces that seemed to lead exactly to her crime.

"Perhta protect us. Perhta protect us," Saskia whispered the mantra while stepping out into the night. In front of the door there sat, in fact, a black hound, looking at Saskia calmly as if it had waited for her to come out. As if it had scratched at the door to warn her about the candle.

Confused, Saskia blinked. But she didn't have time to wonder. She had to hurry.

"Perhta protect—"

She had not come far when the beat of a hundred hooves ripped apart the silence of the woods around. It resonated in Saskia's rib cage as if replacing her own fearful heart that recognized it as the sound of her demise.

Either it was the Wild Hunt that would tear her apart or Prince Rogdai and his men, who would take her with them.

Part of her wanted to hide like a child, immerse herself so deep into the shadows that no one would ever find her. Alas, this was impossible. The hunters were too fast to outrun and Rodgai would find her eventually, anyway.

So instead, her feet carried Saskia the other way, deeper into the darkness and closer to the unlit candle, to meet her fate bravely.

Snowflakes danced through the night, whirling with gusts of a sudden wind and tangling in her hair. When out of its veil a silhouette appeared, Saskia had reached her destination. Shielding the tiny flame from the breeze, she hastily held it towards the candlewick.

But instead of reaching for it hungrily, it simply extinguished.

Saskia's breath caught. No. Please. Not now!

However, the fire was gone, and the figure approaching her too quickly gained a distinct shape: It was that of a sable horse running almost as fast as the howling wind. On its back sat a dark rider, that had to drive it to such a terrifying speed.

The Wild Hunt.

The candle slipped from Saskia's finger and landed in the snow, as she expected the swords and axes to hit; the nightmares of her childhood become reality.

But the rider and his horse were alone. No drove of hunters followed.

Impossible.

Could it be in fact, the prince? But he wouldn't be as crazy to travel here alone. In winter, at that! So, who on earth was that?

As it drew closer, Saskia could see the horse's eyes glowed with panic, and hot breath steamed from its snorting nostrils. Seconds before it could trample her, she threw herself to the side onto the frozen ground.

Its foot thumped into the harsh snow inches from her face.

Only after the black animal stopped, waving its head in confusion and fear, did Saskia dare to rise again and slowly approach it. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears almost as loud as the hooves did.

"Lord... Prince Rogdai?" Saskia asked into the night, her treacherous voice betraying her fear.

However, the rider did not answer, not even turn his head. He stayed in the same position, tightly holding on to the reins.

Her hand stretched towards the stranger in his fine coat—her betrothed, most probably. For no other wealthy man in his right mind would venture to the Winter Mountains now. This strange Prince Anyan was the only one crazy enough.

"Prince Rogdai?" she repeated. "Are you—"

With a meek scream, Saskia jumped back the second the pale moonlight touched the man's face. His eyes were staring at her, widened in fear and shrouded with the blind whiteness of death. From his mouth, frozen in a last helpless scream, a thread of dried blood split the white skin down to the chin. It disappeared beneath the collar of his coat, leading Saskia's gaze to what seemed to be a gaping hole in his torso.

Whatever held him on the back of his mare that never tired could solely be some dark magic.

"Saskia, what by the name of Perhta—" Mother Gesa's yell tore through the night, but Saskia barely heard her. Her eyes stayed locked with those of the dead man. Prince Rogdai of Mavropol. Her betrothed.

Hands shoved her almost softly to the side, breaking the strange spell that kept Saskia rooted in place. Mother Gesa stepped towards the black horse and let out a sharp breath.

"He is dead," she said; a statement so painfully obvious it seemed almost ridiculous to Saskia.

Her own prayer, uttered just the night before, suddenly burned like bitter poison on her tongue. She had wanted him gone, didn't she?

But not like this! Not dead!

In her eyes, tears stung, and this time it was not the cold that caused them but sheer horror. Saskia realized she had never known fear—true, unforgiving, painful fear—of her curse. All the years, it had merely worried her. Now it almost scared her to death.

"Do not weep, desetnitsa," a voice seemed to whisper. "There is no use in shedding tears for a corpse."
She could not see the man or demon it belonged to.

_____________

well, rogdai came, saw, and died. so the more important question is: who did it?

march has nearly ended as has round two and i start to get a little nervous if I'll make it in time. there is a bunch of material existing, but the end of the story seems yet so far away, and i still have to edit all of that. how is the onc going for you?

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11 134 words

Milestone 3 ✗