Unwanted Advances
The next morning, nothing had changed with the man. Waking up, I called out for the ghost and, hearing no reply, felt a surge of panic. What if Wald had died? I mean, what if his body had died? I mean… I was getting all muddled. It was hard to reconcile the chatty, irritating ghost with the silent, near-dead body of the man lying at my feet.
“Hey, Wald, where are you?” I asked loudly, staring at the exhausted face of the naga. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and died, and now I’ve got to drag you somewhere to bury you before trouble finds me!”
“I’ll bury you first!” I heard the ghost’s annoyed voice from the other room. “Look at what she’s dreaming up! You wish!”
I felt a wave of relief that the ghost was still here, which meant the man was alive too. Maybe he’d even pull through whatever mess he was in.
“Why aren’t you in here?” I asked, pulling on my dress.
“You told me not to peek,” I heard the ghost’s voice right by my ear, and as usual, I jumped in surprise.
“I’m not even dressed yet!” I exclaimed indignantly, tugging the hem of my dress down from where it had caught at my waist.
“I thought you were done!” the ghost drawled slyly. “And those legs really are something!”
“You’re such a dolt,” I snapped back, though not with much venom. Truth be told, I was a bit flattered by the ghost’s compliment. “A shameless oaf, that’s what you are!”
Trading barbs and silly remarks with the ghost, I went through my usual morning routine: fed the chickens and Marty, cooked breakfast, ate, tidied up the house a bit, and started getting ready to head to town. I had an idea I wanted to put into action today because time was slipping away, and Wald needed urgent help.
After locking up the house, I set off down the street toward the village center. Our village isn’t very big, just under a hundred households. It’s got a typical name—Woodside—because, of course, it’s right by the woods. Around here, they also call it the Cursed Woods since all sorts of nasties creep out of there sometimes: half-wraiths, swamp lurkers, bog blight, moss fiends. Once, even a shrieker showed up, and we barely dealt with it. Every yard has protective charms to guard homes and properties from unwanted forest visitors. In the village center stands the headman’s house, belonging to Havrylo Tzut—a large, sturdy place that screams “important person” rather than “simple farmer.” Nearby, there’s the tavern—where would we be without one! There’s also the postal windmill, a fixture in every settlement across the kingdom. These windmills aren’t really windmills; they’re small buildings set up by the state for sending letters or packages, contacting relatives or anyone across the kingdom, and even teleporting short distances to other similar windmill stations. They’re all linked in a vast network, like honeycomb in a hive. They’re called windmills because each has a large magical energy accumulator on the roof that looks like a windmill. Teleporting via windmill costs a bit more than taking the stagecoach, which runs twice a day between Woodside and the nearby town of Nineteenth Circle. But I like getting things done quickly, so I always use the windmill. Unlike Granny Hal, for instance, who pinches every penny and always opts for the stagecoach when she needs to go to town.
I was just approaching the windmill when I heard:
“Vasylina, good morning! Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Just my luck—exactly what I didn’t need. Coming toward me was Kolya Tzut, the headman’s son, a tall, stocky lad who’d been making no secret of his interest in me lately.
“Morning to you too, Kolya. Don’t crow at me—there are enough roosters in this village already!” I shot back, trying to figure out how to slip past him to the coveted door of the postal windmill.
The guy stood in my path like a mountain, one eye squinting toward the tavern, where cheerful songs were already spilling out despite the early hour. He’d probably just stumbled out of there himself, spotting me through the window as I walked down the street.
“Hold up a minute, little hen,” he snorted through his piggish nose. “I’ve got something to say to you.”
“I don’t have time,” I cut him off. “I’m in a rush.”
“Well, I’m in no hurry,” he chuckled, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward him. “I’ve fallen for you, Vaska, head over heels!”
And then he tried to wrap his meaty paws around me.
“Let go of me right now, or you’ll regret it,” I hissed through gritted teeth.
Struggling was pointless; a brute like him could overpower me in a second. But I had a few tricks up my sleeve for dealing with types like him.
“Why are you playing hard to get, Vaska? You know you’d like to go out with me. You just haven’t realized your luck yet, silly girl. I’ll buy you anything you want—how about a flowery scarf with tassels that’ll dazzle your eyes, or maybe amber beads, three strands of them?”
“What did you just say? You think you can buy me with a scarf and some beads? Use that thick head of yours for once and think about who you’re talking to! Sounds like all you do with it is eat and drink!”
“What do you mean, where?” Kolya asked, confused.
“In that sheep brain of yours! Let go of me now!”
“Vaska, I can even send matchmakers!” the guy threw out his trump card. “If you play your cards right with me. Come to the big haystack outside the village—you know the one. I’ll be waiting there tonight!”
“Oh, sure!” I laughed. “You’ll be waiting a long time, then! Hands off me!”
But this idiot didn’t listen—he leaned in to kiss me with his doughy, dumpling-like lips. Fine, Kolya, I tried to be nice, but since you don’t understand plain words, we’ll do this the hard way.
I reached into my pocket for the ground red pepper I always kept there for emergencies like this and flung it right into the face of this pushy headman’s son.
What a commotion it caused! He bellowed like a bull, running around the street, howling in pain! He rubbed at his eyes, cursing up a storm. Amidst the coarse language, I caught the gist of his rant:
“I’ll make sure you never get a moment’s peace, you wretch! You’ll be mine one way or another! If you didn’t want to settle this nicely, it’ll be on my terms now!” Kolya shouted.
But since his hands were busy clawing at his eyes, he let go of me. I took the chance to bolt, dashing into the windmill and catching my breath. Phew, I hoped that would be the end of it.
Folks started poking their heads out of the tavern and nearby houses, drawn by the headman’s son’s cries and wails.
I quickly paid for the trip to town to old Khoma, who was dozing behind the counter, and grabbed one of the small tin medallions from a box beside him. I walked over to the wide white wall and pressed the medallion into the transfer slot. A few seconds later, instead of a wall, I saw the room of the postal windmill in town. I stepped through, and the wall behind me turned solid again. I’d arrived in Nineteenth Circle.
Uncle Severyn
The capital of the kingdom of Amritam sat at the center of its vast territory. When the naga first arrived on these lands, they began building towns and villages, expanding their influence through peaceful annexation or conquest, which they called “circles.” Since the naga’s magic and essence are tied to the power of water, everything related to it became ingrained in their language. They closely resembled humans but differed in that they could take on multiple forms, with their human shape being neither mandatory nor primary. In naga terminology, conquests rippled out like circles on water from a thrown pebble. The First Circle was the name of the capital, the first to be taken. The Second Circle was a large city, the closest to the capital, and so on. Our town, located in the north, was the Nineteenth Circle, the last to be conquered because there was nothing left to take beyond it—just impassable forests that the naga didn’t much care for. Other beings and peoples lived there, preferring peace and treaties with the naga.
That’s why Nineteenth Circle was essentially a border town of Amritam, near the territories of the forest folk. And our little village of Woodside was right on the very edge. For that reason, not many people were eager to settle there; the questionable neighbors posed a threat to both life and livelihood. But it had been a long time since anyone waged war against Amritam. Everyone feared the powerful and ruthless naga, so the kingdom prospered.
I stepped out of the postal windmill in our town and hurried to the magic shop nearby. I knew the owner well and often bought various magical trinkets there for alchemical experiments, my garden, and protection from the unfriendly creatures of the Cursed Woods.
“Hmm,” the long-bearded, gray-haired man said with concern after hearing my request. “Are you unwell, Vasylina?”
Uncle Severyn had known my father, with whom I often came to buy magical ingredients and energy accumulators when we still lived in Nineteenth Circle. After Father passed away, I had to buy a little house in Woodside and move there. But I hadn’t forgotten the old master, visiting him often both for business and just to chat.
“Oh, Uncle Severyn, I’ve been getting these awful headaches lately,” I lied, avoiding his gaze. “And my calves ache. And there’s a sharp pain in my lower back…”
The man hummed again, peering at me over the small round glasses that kept sliding down to the tip of his nose. But he said nothing more and went to fetch the magical healer doll I’d asked for.
Magical healer dolls, for one thing, are incredibly expensive, and for another, they’re notoriously finicky. It’s much cheaper to pay a doctor or a healer and be reasonably sure they’ll at least roughly diagnose your ailment and suggest treatment. Healer dolls, which were once all the rage, didn’t live up to the hype, so people quickly abandoned them. In some regions of the kingdom, they were even deemed harmful and destroyed en masse. But Uncle Severyn had everything. I didn’t doubt for a second that he’d have one of these dolls lying around, purely by chance. Since I didn’t want to go to a doctor or healer about the stranger I’d found in my garden, I figured a healer doll would be the best option: it could tell me what was wrong with my find and recommend how to treat him.
It was a small doll imbued with magical knowledge about the human body, various illnesses, and spells to cure them. Magical healer dolls were deliberately made to resemble humans so they could not only diagnose an illness but also, so to speak, explain it to the patient and offer treatment, leaving the patient to decide whether to accept help or not.
But there was a catch… The dolls often broke down. It turned out that some magical circuits were frequently misaligned, and these pseudo-healers might prescribe a laxative for the flu or recommend a compress for a broken bone.
“Here,” Uncle Severyn placed a cute doll with blue eyes and a colorful dress on the counter. “No need for money. This is the last one I’ve got, and I think it’s broken. I hope, Vasylina, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and will think twice before following any treatment this magical doll suggests.”
“Yes, of course!” I exclaimed, eagerly snatching up the doll. “But I’ll pay anyway! It’s only right!”
I placed a few ducats on the counter.
“I hope this will be enough.”
“Ah, Vasylina, you’re a fine girl in every way, but so careless and inattentive!” Uncle Severyn muttered, pointing at the ducats. “Forgot that the caduceus* should be in the right hand, not the left.”
I froze. I quickly glanced at the coins and mentally slapped myself. Oh no, no, no! Sure enough, when minting the ducats, I’d mixed up right and left. I’d recently taken up a terrible secret that no one—absolutely no one—could know: I was a counterfeiter. I’d only started recently because the money left to me by my father had run out. And I had a knack for alchemy. In my cellar, instead of jars, vegetables, or preserves, I had a secret alchemical lab. So I thought…
The ducats were almost identical to the royal ones. The gold was pure, indistinguishable from the real thing. And yet, here we were! Of course, Uncle Severyn, a master of his craft who’d dealt with magical items for decades, spotted my mistake right away. He knew my father and I dabbled in magical experiments.
“Take them back, and I beg you, destroy these ducats and any others you ‘accidentally’ have lying around…” the master said sternly. “The naga are very unforgiving of such things. Prison is guaranteed.”
I blushed, scooped up the ducats, and mumbled:
“Thank you, Uncle Severyn. I won’t do it again. And…”
“I won’t tell a soul. My lips are sealed. Your father helped me in many ways. Before he passed, he asked me to look out for you,” the master said, then paused before asking, “Are you sure everything’s alright? This doll…”
“Yes,” I said firmly, “everything’s fine.”
At least, at that moment, I believed it. I thought I had no problems I couldn’t handle on my own.
A "Performance" in the Square
“There she is, grab her, boys!” I heard a familiar voice.
Near the entrance to the postal windmill in the central square, a crowd of Woodside residents had gathered. Mostly men, though there were a few women too, sharp-tongued and insatiably curious about any scandal in our small village. Clearly, they’d been waiting for me for a while and were well-prepared: empty bottles of strong and not-so-strong drinks littered the ground, and a blanket was spread out by the windmill entrance with snacks laid out—lard, onions, garlic, boiled eggs, bread—everything you’d need for such an impromptu gathering.
At the front of the crowd stood Kolya Tzut. His puffy eyes were still red and teary, but despite his bitter tears, he was determined, shouting and pointing at me:
“Forest viper! Filthy creature! Good people, I’m sure she’s put a love spell on me! Last week at the tavern dance, I was drinking beer, and she was hovering near my mug! Then she laughed, asking if I liked such nasty swill, the kind tavern-keeper Hundiy waters down three times over! And I thought, yeah, the beer does taste off! She must’ve slipped a love potion in there, good people! A witch, trained by forest fiends! She’s in league with them, flying off to their sabbaths!”
“Could be! Could be!” chimed in the tavern-keeper standing nearby, clearly unhappy that his beer—and the fact he’d been trying to hide its dilution—had been brought up.
Well, Kolya had decided to get his revenge. A big scandal was brewing, a real “show” for the gawkers.
“Kolya,” I called out from the doorstep, “don’t get so worked up, don’t lose your temper! Good people, I turned down Kolya’s advances, and now he’s taken offense! It’s all lies,” I started defending myself, knowing that if this went on much longer, I’d be in real trouble.
Folks around here are superstitious; they haven’t read scholarly works and don’t know that love spells, in principle, don’t exist. Unless some mage cast a charm of attraction, then you’re in for it. But such spells, like all others, cost a fortune since human mages don’t waste their magic on trifles—they save and store it for more important matters. And the naga, for their part, are far removed from human squabbles and daily life.
Besides, in a village, it’s like this: whoever barks loudest owns the truth! So I played by the rules of the offended headman’s son and started laying out my own arguments:
“You, Kolya, have been courting me for a while now, but you don’t even know that…” I hesitated.
I needed an ironclad argument, one that would convince everyone I was the victim of this lad’s harassment and that he was completely wrong in his accusations and demands.
“That I’ve been… married for ages!”
The crowd gasped in unison! Women started whispering excitedly, some men shut their mouths, while others gaped in shock. And Kolya, who was leaning against a fence, was so stunned by the news that he pressed his back against it. The fence couldn’t hold his considerable weight and collapsed with a loud crack. The lad fell flat on his back, legs flying up in the air. While he scrambled to his feet, cursing up a storm, while those who found his fall hilarious had their laugh, and while he stomped over to me to get the details, the tension among my fellow villagers eased a bit.
“What do you mean by that?” Kolya asked suspiciously. “How come I don’t know about this? I mean, how come none of us know?” he corrected himself. “How are you married? And you’ve got a husband?”
“Just like everyone else. Of course I’ve got a husband! Have for a long time. Even before I moved to Woodside! My husband and I had a falling out, so I’ve been living here on my own. We’ve been… writing letters to each other!” I was on a roll.
Only my father, who could sense my lies instinctively, could stop me at the early stages of any fib and snap:
“Daughter, stop! Channel that imagination into something useful!”
But my dear villagers didn’t know about my knack for lying so convincingly, with flair, and backing it up with “facts.” Oh, I’d read plenty of scholarly works in my time. I knew how to start a sentence, how to end it, and how to make everything in between sound smooth, so by the end, you wouldn’t even realize it was all just empty talk.
“Letters?” Kolya echoed, floored by such an airtight argument.
“That’s right! We wrote and wrote until we finally made up, and he came back to me for good. He’s been here, let’s see…” I frantically calculated how long my “husband” could have been in Woodside, “pretty much three days now, living together, side by side! Right after that dance at the tavern, Kolya, he came back the very next day. Did you think I’d betray my own dear husband with you? I love him, my sweet man! I’m an honest, decent, hardworking woman, not some floozy! Isn’t that right?”
I looked questioningly at the crowd. No one objected to my last words. I’d lived quietly and discreetly in my house, never visiting anyone, and no one visited me. If I went to the tavern, it was only to watch traveling performers who occasionally passed through our backwater. Just a few days ago, there was a show at the tavern, so I went to see it. There was dancing afterward, and I was about to leave, but Kolya wouldn’t let me go. Somehow, I managed to slip away.
“And how did he get here without a single soul seeing him?” Kolya shouted again.
The villagers’ gazes shifted from him back to me.
“Because a friend brought him in his own carriage. He was just passing through our village at night while everyone was still asleep. If we’d known, Kolya, that you were so curious about him, we would’ve made a special stop at your house to say hello.”
A few people started to laugh. Kolya, seemingly resigned to his fate, asked one last question for the sake of appearances:
“Then why didn’t you say so right away? You should’ve explained everything!”
“I’ve been telling you this for three days now, but you just don’t listen!” I said indignantly. “Don’t you remember how we ran into each other on Thursday near Havrylivna’s house, and I explained it all to you?”
Kolya paused to think. On Thursday, near Havrylivna’s house, he’d been passed out drunk by the fence—I remember it well because I walked right by him.
“Well…” he drawled. “Alright. If that’s how it is, then so be it. But you didn’t have to throw pepper in my eyes. I don’t appreciate that.”
The crowd began to disperse slowly. The impromptu “performance” in the square was over, and everyone had their gardens and chores to tend to: pigs, cows, horses, chickens… There’d be gossip about this for a week at least.
And then, just when it seemed Kolya had accepted that I was married and would drop his advances, he suddenly turned around and asked:
“Hey, Vasylina, you’re not lying, are you? Why don’t you show us this husband of yours? Maybe he doesn’t even exist, huh?”
And everyone who was still lingering nearby quickly grouped around the headman’s son, demanding that I show them my husband to prove I was really married.
Proof of a Husband
Well, this was a fine mess! I’d just started to relax, thinking I’d pulled it off and could go on with my life without Kolya Tzut’s persistent courting.
Alright, I’d started this whole charade, so now I had to find a way out of it.
“Ha! You’re all so skeptical! He’s not some museum exhibit for everyone to gawk at! No way! I’m not showing him. You’ll meet him some other time!” I tried to dodge.
“Oh no, Vasylina! You’ve said one thing, now say the rest! Either show us your husband, or we’ll tie you up and throw you in the river as a witch who’s in league with forest fiends!” Kolya yelled. “And a liar to boot, you shameless fibber!”
“Why assume I’m lying right off the bat?!” I exclaimed. “Fine! Come with me! I’ll show you my husband. Only, the poor dear is probably sleeping right now because last night, um… He’s exhausted, let’s just say! He’s asleep!”
The crowd stirred, chattered, swayed, and somehow subtly pushed me forward to lead the way to my house to show them my husband. The lads grabbed the blanket from the doorstep so no one would steal it, snatched up the bread, onions, lard… Somehow, Kolya ended up carrying the eggs and a jar of pickled cucumbers. People in our village are thrifty, stingy, and frugal**. Nothing goes to waste with them. If there was any food or drink left after this unexpected celebration of waiting for me to return from town, it wouldn’t be wasted—they’d finish it off properly, as is right and fitting.
Well, I had no choice. Off we went. And we got there so quickly that I hadn’t come up with anything solid, just a few lines and half-baked ideas. But I knew my strength was improvisation. We’d see—maybe once I was at my own house, my tongue would loosen up.
As we neared my house, Granny Hal peeked out from behind her fence, her eyes wide, before darting out through her gate:
“What’s all this commotion about?” she asked me and Kolya Tzut, since we were at the front. “Have you two decided to get married? Are you here to propose, Kolya?”
“No!” Kolya and I barked in unison, making Granny Hal flinch.
“Vasylina’s husband has come to town, and we’re going to meet him,” the headman’s son explained.
“If he’s not still asleep,” I added.
Granny Hal’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.
“Husband? And… why do you need to meet him?” she asked, glancing at Kolya’s hands.
As I’d mentioned, he was holding eggs and a jar of pickles. Granny Hal’s already curious round eyes widened even more, making her look like an owl.
“Kolya wants to be absolutely sure everything’s fine, that my husband is at home… uh… tired and resting from last night…”
“And what are the eggs for?” Granny Hal asked, adding, “And the pickles?”
“We were waiting for Vasylina because she put a spell on me, so I wanted to check everything,” Kolya explained vaguely, leaving the neighbor even more puzzled.
Meanwhile, the crowd started grumbling impatiently in a chorus of voices:
“Come on, let’s get moving already! My cow’s not milked yet! My wife’s waiting for me at home, and I still haven’t finished planting the beets! The bottle’s getting warm, Kolya, hurry up!”
We reached my house, where Marty was barking his head off behind the fence. I hushed him, and we approached the porch.
“Alright, listen up!” I said, planting my hands on my hips. “I’m not having this whole mob traipsing through my house! You’ll track in mud, and I’ll be scrubbing for a week! One person, or two at most, can come inside to see my dear husband! Who, by the way, is probably still asleep!” I emphasized again. “Everyone else waits for the verdict of the dual commission!”
“The what now?” Kolya asked, spooked by the unfamiliar term.
“I mean, two people go in, take a look, come out, and confirm that yes, Vasylina’s husband is home and asleep… That’s it!” I explained the plan of action.
I have this silly habit—when I’m nervous, I start using scientific or confusing words and terms that others don’t understand.
“Ah! Got it!” Kolya agreed. “I’ll go!”
“Me too, me too!” Granny Hal suddenly shouted, having joined the crowd and now eyeing Wald’s embroidered shirt, which was hanging on the line to dry in the middle of the yard.
I didn’t like her nosiness one bit.
The crowd unanimously agreed to send Granny Hal and Kolya Tzut to verify the presence of my husband. I sighed in resignation, unlocked the door, and let them inside.
“Who are these people?” I suddenly heard the indignant voice of the ghost, whom I’d completely forgotten about.
“Quiet, I’ll explain later!” I hissed at him.
“What did you say, Vasylina?” Kolya asked as he moved from the hallway into the first room.
“Hush, keep it down,” I hissed at him too. “You’ll wake my husband! He’s still asleep!”
The visitors quieted down.
I stepped into the second room first and breathed a sigh of relief: Wald was lying on the floor on his back, just as I’d left him, carefully covered with a blanket up to his chin.
“There, see?” I whispered, turning to Kolya and Granny Hal. “He’s asleep, the poor thing, exhausted from yesterday!” I added a touch of tenderness to my voice. “Oh, he’s so tired, let him rest. Come on, let’s not disturb him.”
And we left the room. I shut the door tightly behind me and ushered the uninvited guests outside.
“Why’s he sleeping on the floor?” Kolya suddenly asked as we reached the porch.
“Didn’t you see that my bed is narrow and there’s not enough room for two?” I snapped at him. “We both sleep on the floor now! You know, for comfort!”
“Ohhh!” Kolya drawled, blushing.
In the yard, the crowd looked at Kolya expectantly. He nodded, and suddenly everyone seemed busy, hurrying off home. A smaller group, led by the headman’s son, went off to finish eating and drinking what was left—couldn’t let good food go to waste. They were probably celebrating meeting my husband now.
I was left alone in the yard. Well, not quite alone. Marty was running around barking, the flustered chickens were clucking, the angry rooster was crowing, and the irritated ghost was lecturing me in my ear—thankfully, no one else could hear him but me… And then there was Granny Hal, lingering around. She hadn’t left with the others through the gate but was hovering near Wald’s shirt again.
“Vasylina,” she suddenly asked, turning to me with suspiciously narrowed eyes, “is your husband some kind of royal guard?”
______________________
*Caduceus (Latin: caduceus) - a symbol of royal authority in Amritam. In our world, among the Greeks and Romans, it is the staff of heralds proclaiming the will of the gods. On the ducat, the naga queen is depicted holding the caduceus in her right hand. The caduceus is shaped like a staff entwined by two serpents.
**Frugal - thrifty, careful with resources.