Into the Deep Wood

Val enjoyed the traditions of the festivities. The women were jovial and talkative while in the bathhouse. Suddenly finding that she was shy, Val was afraid that there would be questions - perhaps some regarding where she had come from. But the conversations flowed easily.

She looked for Marat when she left the bathhouse, but it was a rule that the men and women were not to socialize until the feast.

For Marat, the bathhouse experience was a different one. He was used to the noble's version of the solstice celebration. The farmers boasted about a prize bull and the amount they’d gotten for a wagon full of winter wheat. But they were good-natured and slapped each other on the backs, laughing with the whole of their chest. There were no calculated words and no deals discussed in hushed tones while wine flowed into crystal glasses.

Once the time came for the ice baths outside, he separated from the others and pulled the white linen pants over his wooden crafted leg. He did not wish for them to see him that way. He was not for their pity, and he was not for their stares.

With each different drink, a different part of the year was celebrated.

The rich wine was the spring as aged caskets would be broken open. Then, various cold dishes made of eggs, fish, and vegetables.

The compote was passed around next. It was the cherries and apples of the summer. Then came the hot spiced meats - the smell of which was bewitching to their wine-riled hunger.

When everyone was good and full, the younger people stood and circled the fire. They would jump over it and see who could get furthest across.

Some of the people began to play instruments that Val had never seen. String instruments vibrated through their bones, asking them to get up and join in their song. The small drums held on their laps set the rhythm for the following dances. Others began to sing folksongs that Val did not recognize.

Next came the sweets and tea. The water was boiled in metal pots with spouts, the herbs tied together with cord and thrown in to give off a rich, vibrant aroma. The host family would pour the tea for their guests, welcoming them. No man or woman was to touch a bite of cake until Aimak Sein spoke his word and gave them the blessing to drink tea and finish out the feast with their desserts; after, they would dance long into the short summer night and sing until the morning.

Val eagerly filled each cup with tea, handing them to old and young.

A hush fell across the yard as Aimak Sein stood at the head of the table.

“I thank each and every one of you for honoring us with your presence. Today is the day Midsommer Mother blesses us with her warm embrace and gifts us all another night and day! May your health last long and wealth last longer, my friends, and may we not end the feast until morning comes to our step!”

And at that, they all drank - and all the young kids immediately reached over their plates to grab the candied roosters and syrup-drenched sugared dough.

Val laughed as a small girl next to her dipped both her long braids in her forgotten soup as she reached for something on the other side.

At that moment, Val’s heart felt full.

Marat had seen her happiness; although she sat far from him, and they had not exchanged a word since that morning. He watched her with curiosity but kept his thoughts to himself.

The farmer’s wife had interrupted them, coming by with a kettle of tea. She stopped and filled his empty cup.

“I would have never thought I would see a smile that wide on your face, Marat!” she laughed, “But tonight, I have seen more than I bet you’ve smiled in the whole past year.”

“It is all thanks to your efforts, Mother. The food and drink were worthy of a king’s court.” He said, slightly embarrassed that she’d commented.

“Were it not for Valeria picking the apples and cherries, I would have never been able to make the compote, my dear. Were it not for my husband bringing me eggs and milk I would have never made the cheese and pastries. Were it not for you and Amir, there would be no pork or mutton.” She assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder lovingly. “I am a blessed woman this day and next. Have you tried the cakes?”

“I have not, but I would love to.” He smiled at her, something in him choking up - a memory of his mother’s tea parties with the ladies when he was young—and stealing cakes right off their stands, then eating them in secret with his brother.

She smiled back warmly and walked on to fill the other’s tea.

He took a cake and hurried to take a bite before the syrup dripped on the cloth. Coughing a bit as the dry vanilla-scented dough broke up in his mouth, he took a drink of his second cup of tea. It smelled so sweet, so intoxicating.

So woody, almost powdery, inviting, floral…

Amir watched the farmer’s wife fill Marat’s cup. Watched him drink it down. And then pulled what remained of the tightly bound bundle of blue iris out of the boiling pot.

He was unsure when or why, but every sound at the table and the surrounding courtyard became vividly distinct. It was as if, for a brief moment in time, everything slowed down.

All he could hear was the wine sloshing in glasses, tea pouring into a stranger’s cup, and the boiling of water. The only thing louder was the thump of his own heart.

Marat felt the tingle at the back of his skull, the itch that had wedged and wormed its way the second he had not paid it attention. In that same moment, he became very aware of the blood pulsing in his head - was it the wine?

It was as if something cold had reached out from the depths of his mind and gripped so hard that his head snapped back.

And that is when he heard her. From every direction, voice louder than those who had been in lively conversations and jovial laughter a moment ago. She had hushed them. Instead, like rushing water, it filled his headspace and whispered at him all around. Calling, beckoning.

“No…” Marat breathed out, “No, All-Father, forgive me, no…”

Panicked, he looked around frantically. Nothing stood out, no change, no newcomers in the crowd. He scanned the food and the drink. Near knocking over the cup, he brought the tea to his nose and breathed deeply. Underneath the chamomile and rosebay willow herb - it was there—a scent he was unprepared for. But now, knowing what it was, he could tell it’s every fragrant note.

Like a beast trapped, his movements fast and desperate, Marat got up and disappeared beyond the celebratory crowds.

Val kept looking around—still no Marat. If anything, she only wished to know that this evening had been as much of a delight to him as it was to her. At least, that is what she told herself as a wisp of worry fluttered in her stomach.

She excused herself and stood from the table, continuing to scan the burning heap that was the effigy of the Midsommar Mother, the long dinner table, and the circle of wagons just past the courtyard. There were tents where their visitors would stay, the empty caskets from the wine already drunk…

Her gut cried out before she felt the cold settle in - it was night, and he’d been alone.

She’d allowed herself to be distracted, to lose contact with him for too long. Val all but ran to the barn. The door was slightly ajar and it was dark inside. No one was there.

He’d told her he needed her, that he could not do this without her, and she let him down.

She let him down, and he was going to pay for it…

Val started off, but before she could even take the corner, Amir stepped forward and grabbed her arm.

“Where are you going?” His tone, his question, and the force with which he held on to her was strange. Different.

Without an answer, she looked at him, trying to find what had been so different in his face, but it was far too dark to see.

“There is still more to the celebration. You’ll miss the big ending. Aimak wants us all there,” His words had warmed up to almost being friendly, but he hadn’t dropped her arm.

Val recalled how he put a hand on her while she carried a basin, and she flinched so hard she dropped it - how sorry he was, how much he apologized and hurried to help her. How later on he checked if she was okay. His hand's grip on her… was that of a different person.

“I need you to let go of me.” It was not a request; maybe it was that she was boldened by the wine, but she spun and hit him in the chest with a flat palm, pulling her other away –unsuccessfully. She had never, ever hit anyone.

“I need you,” he said slowly, “to let him go.”

Her mouth fell open in disbelief. Everything came to her at once. She did not know how he knew or how much, but he was talking about Marat… and the lake.

“What did you do, Amir..?” She almost whispered.

A single thought rose in her mind. Stop him, don’t let him reach the docks.

“You do not understand, but we cannot let him. We cannot wait. We have to go!”

“I understand more than you know, Val!” He said, pulling at her arm. “And I am not going to let that parasite feed off you anymore! Do you want us to go? Do you want us to go?? Then we will go!”

He pushed her forward, twisting her arm behind her.