Alchemy of Blood. Olga Shakirovna Isyanova

of fallen leaves underfoot, Selene glided silently along a forest path. The full moon cast a dim light, illuminating her path. The thick fog obscured her presence like a faithful companion, but she pulled the hood of her dark cloak even deeper.

      Despite the lateness of the hour, Selene had not given up hope of encountering a lost traveler, or at least finding a human settlement where she could satisfy her hunger. The thought of fresh blood made her mouth water and her throat tighten. She fought down her thirst, concentrating on the sounds coming from the depths of the forest. There seemed to be no end to this gloomy realm. Almost in desperation, Selene caught the sound of voices.

      She froze in place and listened. Even though the fog absorbed most of the sounds, Selene realized that the source of them was in the distance, much further away than the average human could hear. And with the same inhuman speed, she rushed to the call of these voices. Her dark form rushed through the fog, causing the nocturnal inhabitants of the forest to fall silent and hide.

      She stopped not far from where the sounds were coming from and took a deep breath, sniffing the air. It was imbued with magical energy and vibrated slightly. Selene immediately felt the tart taste of magic. Another breath confirmed her guess: the magical effect was coming from people nearby. Selene counted five or six of them by their fervent heart beats, which blended with their voices. They chanted a chant in unison, creating an enchanting rhythm. But one voice was very different from the others. Someone was screaming in pain.

      Selene wanted to leave immediately, but a second scream froze her in place. There was so much pain in that cry that it made her heart ache, and old memories were reawakened. After a moment’s hesitation, curiosity overcame caution. The girl hid among the trees and thorny bushes.

      Ahead, in a small circular clearing, a mighty oak tree was silhouetted, its crown stretching out over the ground. The clearing was bathed in the soft light of a full moon and torches held by five figures clad in dark green cloaks. Their hoods were pulled down to hide their faces, revealing only their pupil-less eyes, which flickered eerily like fireflies in the night. At the foot of a majestic oak tree, a young man writhed and screamed, chained to its mighty trunk. With each sound of his voice, he seemed to grow into the tree, becoming one with it, the bark trying to swallow him up, crawling on his skin. A spotted lynx thumped at his feet, whining and meowing piteously.

      The scene that unfolded in front of Selene filled her with horror. Not knowing who these people were or what the unfortunate youth had done, she felt an overwhelming urge to help him. She herself had once found herself in a position where one naively cherished the hope of salvation.

      Closing her eyes, Selene focused on the magic in the air. Its pulsation and fluctuation indicated who was the source of it. For a moment, nothing happened, but then the chant stopped, and with it the young man’s screams. There were confused exclamations coming to Selene’s ears, and under the hoods, puzzled glances shone at each other. They tried to renew the spell, but their attempts were unsuccessful. The angry voices grew louder. Taking advantage of their confusion, Selene rushed forward.

      Running fast like lightning, Selene stunned the four men in the back of the head, instantly knocking them unconscious. Torches fell from their limp hands, plunging the clearing into darkness, which was only occasionally illuminated by flashes of flame.

      The only remaining conscious person – a very young, inexperienced mage – froze in place, watching his fallen comrades with horror. After unsuccessfully trying to attack Selene with magic, he stepped back, tripped over the tree roots, and fell. The girl hovered over him, baring her sharp fangs threateningly and hissing.

      He struggled to his feet and ran into the woods in a panic, stumbling and tangling in his long cloak. Finally, it was the prisoner’s turn, who had remained silent all this time. Selene picked up the nearly extinguished torch and approached him. Pushing back her hood, she met the prisoner’s gaze. His green eyes were startled and wary.

      A menacing growl pierced the air. The spotted lynx arched its back and growled menacingly, ready to pounce on the stranger. But the iron collar held the cat. The young man stared intently at Selene, not knowing what to expect.

      “Why did they treat you like this?” she asked in the local language.

      Selene spoke many languages, her father had taken care of her education, and at least for this she could be grateful to him.

      The prisoner seemed to let out a sigh of relief. Maybe he thought there was a chance to negotiate.

      “For mercy,” he said simply.

      “Well, someone kills for less,” Selene said.

      She stuck the torch in the ground, twirled her wrists, and the sai daggers materialized in her hands, glinting silver. They glittered ominously in the light of the flames, and the hieroglyphs engraved on them looked black. The guy stiffened again at the sight of the weapon.

      “Please don’t eat me,” he said nervously.

      Selene, stretching her full lips in a slight smile, came closer and with a sharp movement cut the chains that held the young man. He almost fell, but managed to keep his balance. Straightening to full height, he dusted his brown leather trousers and a green woolen cloak pinned at the right shoulder with a copper brooch with three lunar phases on it.

      Then he hurried over to the lynx, which was still bound by the collar. To Selene’s surprise, the young man practically mimicked her gesture, twirling his wrist with a wide leather bracelet on it. A wooden double-edged spear with copper tips appeared in his hand. With a flourish, he cut the chain, and the collar opened, freeing the unfortunate animal.

      The lynx rubbed against its owner’s legs with a loud purr and sat down next to him, looking at Selene curiously.

      “There you go, Sylva,” the mage cooed, then turned and looked back at the scene of his failed death. “There’s no worse punishment for a druid.”

      Suddenly, a young woman landed on the ground like a hawk from the sky, sending up a swirl of dried leaves. Her lean, wiry figure was clad in green patterns that resembled bare branches, covering her bare skin from shoulders to wrists. A vertical scar ran across her left eye. Selene and her new acquaintance raised their weapons with alacrity. However, the druid who recognized the woman immediately lowered his spear. Selene, on the other hand, kept her daggers carefully ready. The stranger’s swamp-green eyes, devoid of pupils and flickering like will-o’-the-wisps, glittered menacingly across the clearing where her people lay unconscious.

      As the witch made a threatening move toward Selene, she was stopped by her son, who exclaimed, “Mom, stop! She helped me!”

      Selene knew that witches endowed with immortality could acquire not only a youthful appearance, but also a state of mature wisdom or venerable old age. This depended on which phase of their life cycle their age was fixed by their Triune Goddess. Still, she couldn’t help but be surprised to find a blood relationship between a mother and son who seemed to be about the same age. The witch studied Selene with an appraising gaze and, after making sure that there was no threat, calmed down. The green eyes dimmed, pupils appearing in them, floating out like the dark pool. Selene lowered the weapon, twirled her wrists again, and it disappeared. Approaching her son, the woman took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead.

      “Thank the Dark Mother, you’re safe!” she exclaimed, squeezing him in her arms. “I ran as fast as I could!”

      “It’s all right, my savior arrived in time,” the druid said, gesturing at Selene.

      “The gods sent you!” the woman turned to her. “Thank you, Daughter of the Desert.”

      Selene couldn’t think of anything to say, just nodded at her in embarrassment.

      “Son, you can’t stay here,” the witch said, her eyes filling with tears. “I managed to talk my sister into sparing your life, but you know Devona, she’s not easy. You have a geis5

5

In Celtic mythology, it is a taboo prohibition, the violation of which entails death on the night of Samhain.