Dool. Edgars Auziņš

to the last letter? Exactly to the letter, and then it’s too late to go back and convince the Great Power that this is not what I wanted at all. But, honestly, Marius was not ready to see how the dead bay opens his eyes filled with otherworldly light. Yes, demons take it all, calling souls is the exact opposite of raising wights! This simply shouldn't happen!

      It doesn't happen like that!

      “So it happens,” he retorted doomedly to his own panicky thoughts.

      CHAPTER 3. Escape and its consequences

      Before concluding an agreement with the Highest,

      find out the size of the penalty!

      All the troubles of Virita degli Bornio were due to her gentle and refined beauty and too quiet and gentle character. It would seem – what’s bad? A girl should be soft, modest, obedient, so that her wife turns out to be gentle and docile, and beauty is a very pleasant addition to other advantages. But, as they say, too good is also not good. The appearance of an exquisite porcelain doll, childishly plump pink lips, deep pools of eyes shaded by long eyelashes, as if reflecting either the bright blue of the sky or storm clouds… Virita hated mirrors. Girls of the same age and their mothers and aunts could not stand the heiress of Vitor del Bornio, the recognized first bride of the kingdom. Young people drooled, some at her appearance, some at her dowry, tried to arouse interest, but they themselves were not at all interested in what lay behind the doll’s face and in the depths of her heavenly eyes. Flowery compliments, followed by self-interest and lust, which Virita felt even without being an empath. And the line is getting closer and closer, beyond which the father will get tired of hearing “Daddy, I don’t like him,” and he will have to become the wife of the one who is pointed at.

      If only she were a little braver! So that she has the audacity to flirt with those who are interested in her, and the self-control to refuse communication with unpleasant gentlemen. But in the bright bustle of balls and receptions, Virita seemed to be in a stupor; all she could do was answer at random and smile timidly. And, as luck would have it, the most interesting young people, those who might have liked her herself, and not her dowry, pedigree, her father’s connections, found her unbearably boring.

      If only my mother were alive! She would tell you how to let a young man know that you like him and win his attention back. I would teach you. One day Virita dared to ask her father for advice – and received a disastrous rebuke. “You are a worthy girl from a noble family, beautiful, rich and well-educated. Your attention is an honor and happiness for any young man. How did it even occur to you to be interested in the tricks of walking girls?!”

      "Honor and Happiness"? Yes if only! No, Virita had no doubt that they would willingly take her as a wife. For wealth, pedigree, maybe even for beauty. But will they love?

      Virita was angry with herself, tried to change, but nothing worked. She seemed to be living in a suffocating, viscous nightmare. If you tell anyone, they won’t believe you; they’ll say that he doesn’t value his own happiness. Is this really happiness?!

      And then disaster struck: the father announced his imminent engagement. And although this did not come as a surprise to the girl, the groom did! As soon as she heard who was asking for her hand in marriage, Virita froze and sank into a chair without strength – her legs suddenly stopped moving.

      – But father, he…

      “He is a noble man, and he is ready to take care of your well-being.” He even insisted on security for you.

      – Why security?

      “Don’t be scared, these are our adult affairs,” the father said softly. – Noble families have difficult times.

      He said something else, explained that a better party could not be found, that she was being honored, and Virita sat frozen, cursing her too quiet disposition. A single thought was beating in my head like a frightened bird: “What to do?!”

      But in the end this nightmare ended: the father, noticing, apparently that his daughter had withdrawn too much into herself, fell silent, grabbed her arm and led her to her favorite gazebo in the garden. He kissed his forehead, sat him down, and said:

      – We'll talk later if you want. I see you need to get used to the news.

      And left. Virita still heard him sharply:

      – Tea for the young lady! – and then a sleepy silence thickened around, broken only by the rustling of leaves, the hum of bees and the chirping of birds.

      And in this silence she gradually came to her senses.

      Slowly, in small sips, she drank the tea brought to her, sweet, dizzying with the aroma of linden honey and mint. Quietly, with silent steps and almost without breathing, she went to her chambers, changed her light house dress to the thick one in which she usually rode, put some necessary things in her belt bag and just as quietly went down to the backyard, to the stables. She asked, smiling sweetly at the stable boy:

      – Saddle me with Chestnut. I want to clear my head a little.

      There was nothing unusual in her request, Virita loved horseback riding, and her father allowed her this innocent entertainment. And he didn’t even insist on accompaniment if the daughter did not leave the meadows and copses adjacent to the estate and covered with security charms.

      The chestnut accepted the usual offering – a thick round carrot that had withered over the winter – and snorted contentedly in the hostess’s face. The groom lifted him into the saddle, and Virita, as if inadvertently looking back at her father’s windows – no, she’s not looking! – she let her pet go at a light trot. She took a deep breath, catching the wind on her face. It smelled of river mud and meadow grass, young leaves and apple blossoms. Freedom. As soon as you had the strength not to break into a gallop, while the horse and rider could be seen from the windows of your home!

      And only then – I didn’t hold back. There was little time – an hour, maybe two, and they would catch on.

      She was lucky. Or maybe it was the higher power to which the girl hurried for help that helped. Having rushed unnoticed through the lands of del Bornio, leaving aside a large village near the highway and a mill near the river, Virita stopped her horse at the edge of the Deer Log. She sobbed and whispered in a broken voice:

      – Here, Kashtan… I don’t know where to go next. Maybe you know?

      The faithful horse turned around and snorted, as if wanting to say: “Mistress, who have you confused me with? With a professor of geosciences from the capital's university? Or maybe with an elf mercenary?

      – Oh, yes, what’s there! – Virita shook her head, closed her eyes for a moment, deciding to do the unheard of. She took a pouch with wild wheat grains from her purse, shook half of it into her palm and, swinging it wide, threw it to the side of the path. – Accept the gift, Oleniy Log!

      Following this, half a flask of wine was donated to the forest. And finally, the most difficult thing – closing her eyes again, the girl slashed her palm with a dagger. Large drops stained the grass.

      – Accept the gift, Deer Log, show the way to the Altar! – Wrapping her hand in a handkerchief, Virita touched the horse.

      Without a path, at random, but the forest really led me where I asked. The sunset glow gave way to deep twilight, and the light birch and thick hazel trees gave way to gloomy centuries-old spruce trees, when Chestnut, snoring and spinning his ears, stepped into a perfectly round clearing, in the center of which stood a white stone… pedestal untouched by time? Table? Or just a stove? For some reason, the longer Virita looked, the less she understood what exactly she was seeing. A white stone in the purple twilight of the night – there is nothing more to say.

      But, since she has already come, since she has been shown the way, it is stupid to hesitate and hesitate. Jumping off the saddle, Virita shook out the remaining wheat at her feet:

      – Thank you for the journey, Oleniy Log! – and went forward. A step, two, three… a dozen… My heart was fluttering in my chest, about to burst from horror, my fingers were frozen, and my cheeks and ears were glowing with heat. Approaching the stone almost closely,