An urban fantasy story about the foxgirl embarking on a spiritual and physical journey on her motorcycle. Set in the alternate world Russia.
Fox Lies (Urban Fantasy Foxgirl Road Trip)
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Chapter 1
- Location
- Moscow, Russia
Chapter 1. Who does the fox call?
Ethereal feather-shaped clouds drifted across the sky of southern Russia, forewarning the impending storm. Sun-dazzled grass shimmered, the green blades quivering slightly in the breeze. Tall emerald-green trees stood along the riverbank as the waters gently ran along the stones, carrying along the dead leaves and small, fallen branches. A warm breeze rustled leaves overhead, carrying a hint of earthiness and the sweet scent of wildflowers growing along the trail. It stirred a girl's thick, auburn hair and tickled her neck. Her blue jeans and black leather jacket clung to her skin, and the brown combat boots were caked with mud. The girl was called Liza, and this was her story.
As her bike flew down the dirt road, the helmet, which she should have donned before setting off, was hanging off the side. Drunk on the feeling of freedom, Liza did not want to put it on and smother her ears, for the helmet had been ill-fitting since its purchase. She had been saving to buy another, but that would take time.
She hummed in tune with the soft rumble of the engine, ears moving rhythmically to the music in her head. There was no one in the world she trusted more than the old Jawa bike. This motorcycle — Liza's pride and joy — was a gift from her older brother. In fact, there wasn't much left of the original bike at all, after the years it had spent in Liza's hands. It became a ship of Theseus, with only the frame remaining unscathed.
At first, she had found out that the spark plugs needed replacing; the oil filter needed cleaning; the brake pads were worn out. Then, she had taken the motorcycle apart and decided to repaint it. And so, with an ancient can of cherry-red lacquer and a paintbrush she had found in the garage, Liza had set about redoing the motorcycle's bodywork. After it had dried, she had added a chrome finish to the handlebars and levers. Over the years, she'd replaced most of the other components. In her eyes, this machine became an extension of herself; something she imbued life in.
With a trusty steed at her side and a free spirit in her heart, she set off to explore the roads and byways of the vast, open world. It was a perfect day, and nothing could mar her adventure. An uncontrollable smile crept over her face as she rode faster and faster. A sound of exhilaration escaped her open mouth, she couldn't help but laugh aloud and exclaim in joy.
Caught up in the ecstasy of the moment, she missed a tiny speck whizzing past her eyesight. The mosquito landed right into her mouth, causing her to gasp and swerve off the course.
With the change in speed, the back wheel slid and the front wheel lifted, throwing her off balance. She lost control of her motorcycle and fell off, rolling across the ground and sliding to a stop on the muddy bank. The force of the fall was enough to dislodge the mosquito, which shot out of her mouth.
A coughing fit broke loose as her throat protested the intrusion and her eyes filled with watery tears. Pain shot through her, a sharp ache throbbed in her skull, and her vision blurred. Mud splattered her face and dripped from her clothes. She groaned, trying to regain her breath and wiping away some of the muck from her face.
Liza looked back at her motorcycle, lying on its side in the middle of the road. The damage was minimal. A few scratches on the paint and a few dents in the body, but nothing she couldn't fix. With a deep sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, shaking her head and laughing through her coughing.
At the most inopportune moment, her Nokia cellphone went off, with the distinct ringtone of her mother. Instinctively, she reached out for it, only to be shocked to find it missing from her pocket. Tracing the sound, she found it coming from a cattail near her foot. She picked the phone up gingerly, still wincing from her fall. The display screen read: "Mum"
Her mother's voice, always calm, yet commanding, came from the tiny speaker. "Liska, hello! How are you?"
Liza took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure and clear her head. "Everything's fine. I'm fine," she lied, hoping like hell she didn't sound too shaken.
"Liska, is everything alright? You sound rather distressed," sharpened her mother's tone. There was no mistaking the concern lurking behind her words.
"It's alright, Mom, I just had a small accident. I'm fine. I just scraped up my hands a bit," Liza tried to sound unconcerned, knowing full well that her mother would pick up on her deception like an expert tracker. Having heard her mother's tone of voice, she knew better than to lie anymore.
"Elizaveta, please tell me what happened," with each word, her mother's voice grew tenser.
"Nothing happened, everything's alright," she replied, feigning indifference. She could hear her mother breathing heavily, probably worried sick. The last thing she wanted was to upset her again.
"We haven't heard from you in days, Elizaveta. Why haven't you called us? Where are you? Are you hurt?" Her mother's voice was full of panic now. The sound of it sent shivers up Liza's spine. She knew the full wrath of her mother's temper and was careful never to incur it.
"Please calm down, Mum. Nothing serious happened," Liza desperately tried to cook up some kind of story without lying, "I went camping, tripped and fell face-first into mud", she carefully omitted any mention of the bike.
There was silence on the other end of the line. Liza waited patiently, wondering if her mother believed her or not. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and gentle. "You know, sweetie, we're very concerned about you. Your father and I miss you so much. We can't bear to think of anything happening to you. You're the only one left", a pointed silence hung between them.
"Mum, I promise to call you tomorrow. I love you, bye!" she ended the call abruptly, not wanting to prolong the agony. As soon as she hung up, she let out a sob, burying her face in her muddy hands.
"Come on, Liza! Keep strong!", she berated herself, pulling her shoulders back and forcing a smile. She needed a distraction; with her keen senses, she easily spotted the movement of a squirrel scampering up a nearby tree. She squinted to follow it as it dashed along the branches. A small vole scurried through the grass, oblivious to the danger.
Liza's predatory instincts kicked in, and her heartbeat sped up. She felt the bloodlust, the need to run and pounce, to sink fangs in their throats and tear them apart. For a second, she forgot all about the pain, and the burning sensation in her skull. All thoughts were gone, leaving only the primal instinct to hunt and kill. She was on the hunt.
The vixen fixed her eyes upon the gray vole, skittering across the ground. It wasn't far, less than ten meters away. Just enough distance for her to reach it. She jumped into the air, the muscles in her legs tensing. Liza leapt across the space with lightning speed and sank her teeth into the neck of the unsuspecting rodent. With the triumphant cry of victory, she raised her head high, feeling the warm blood flow down her chin.
"What the hell have I just done?" she asked herself, confused. Her fox ears stood on full display, no longer hidden by the Veil.
PSA. Please wear helmets when riding on a motorcycle.
Ethereal feather-shaped clouds drifted across the sky of southern Russia, forewarning the impending storm. Sun-dazzled grass shimmered, the green blades quivering slightly in the breeze. Tall emerald-green trees stood along the riverbank as the waters gently ran along the stones, carrying along the dead leaves and small, fallen branches. A warm breeze rustled leaves overhead, carrying a hint of earthiness and the sweet scent of wildflowers growing along the trail. It stirred a girl's thick, auburn hair and tickled her neck. Her blue jeans and black leather jacket clung to her skin, and the brown combat boots were caked with mud. The girl was called Liza, and this was her story.
As her bike flew down the dirt road, the helmet, which she should have donned before setting off, was hanging off the side. Drunk on the feeling of freedom, Liza did not want to put it on and smother her ears, for the helmet had been ill-fitting since its purchase. She had been saving to buy another, but that would take time.
She hummed in tune with the soft rumble of the engine, ears moving rhythmically to the music in her head. There was no one in the world she trusted more than the old Jawa bike. This motorcycle — Liza's pride and joy — was a gift from her older brother. In fact, there wasn't much left of the original bike at all, after the years it had spent in Liza's hands. It became a ship of Theseus, with only the frame remaining unscathed.
At first, she had found out that the spark plugs needed replacing; the oil filter needed cleaning; the brake pads were worn out. Then, she had taken the motorcycle apart and decided to repaint it. And so, with an ancient can of cherry-red lacquer and a paintbrush she had found in the garage, Liza had set about redoing the motorcycle's bodywork. After it had dried, she had added a chrome finish to the handlebars and levers. Over the years, she'd replaced most of the other components. In her eyes, this machine became an extension of herself; something she imbued life in.
With a trusty steed at her side and a free spirit in her heart, she set off to explore the roads and byways of the vast, open world. It was a perfect day, and nothing could mar her adventure. An uncontrollable smile crept over her face as she rode faster and faster. A sound of exhilaration escaped her open mouth, she couldn't help but laugh aloud and exclaim in joy.
Caught up in the ecstasy of the moment, she missed a tiny speck whizzing past her eyesight. The mosquito landed right into her mouth, causing her to gasp and swerve off the course.
With the change in speed, the back wheel slid and the front wheel lifted, throwing her off balance. She lost control of her motorcycle and fell off, rolling across the ground and sliding to a stop on the muddy bank. The force of the fall was enough to dislodge the mosquito, which shot out of her mouth.
A coughing fit broke loose as her throat protested the intrusion and her eyes filled with watery tears. Pain shot through her, a sharp ache throbbed in her skull, and her vision blurred. Mud splattered her face and dripped from her clothes. She groaned, trying to regain her breath and wiping away some of the muck from her face.
Liza looked back at her motorcycle, lying on its side in the middle of the road. The damage was minimal. A few scratches on the paint and a few dents in the body, but nothing she couldn't fix. With a deep sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, shaking her head and laughing through her coughing.
At the most inopportune moment, her Nokia cellphone went off, with the distinct ringtone of her mother. Instinctively, she reached out for it, only to be shocked to find it missing from her pocket. Tracing the sound, she found it coming from a cattail near her foot. She picked the phone up gingerly, still wincing from her fall. The display screen read: "Mum"
Her mother's voice, always calm, yet commanding, came from the tiny speaker. "Liska, hello! How are you?"
Liza took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure and clear her head. "Everything's fine. I'm fine," she lied, hoping like hell she didn't sound too shaken.
"Liska, is everything alright? You sound rather distressed," sharpened her mother's tone. There was no mistaking the concern lurking behind her words.
"It's alright, Mom, I just had a small accident. I'm fine. I just scraped up my hands a bit," Liza tried to sound unconcerned, knowing full well that her mother would pick up on her deception like an expert tracker. Having heard her mother's tone of voice, she knew better than to lie anymore.
"Elizaveta, please tell me what happened," with each word, her mother's voice grew tenser.
"Nothing happened, everything's alright," she replied, feigning indifference. She could hear her mother breathing heavily, probably worried sick. The last thing she wanted was to upset her again.
"We haven't heard from you in days, Elizaveta. Why haven't you called us? Where are you? Are you hurt?" Her mother's voice was full of panic now. The sound of it sent shivers up Liza's spine. She knew the full wrath of her mother's temper and was careful never to incur it.
"Please calm down, Mum. Nothing serious happened," Liza desperately tried to cook up some kind of story without lying, "I went camping, tripped and fell face-first into mud", she carefully omitted any mention of the bike.
There was silence on the other end of the line. Liza waited patiently, wondering if her mother believed her or not. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and gentle. "You know, sweetie, we're very concerned about you. Your father and I miss you so much. We can't bear to think of anything happening to you. You're the only one left", a pointed silence hung between them.
"Mum, I promise to call you tomorrow. I love you, bye!" she ended the call abruptly, not wanting to prolong the agony. As soon as she hung up, she let out a sob, burying her face in her muddy hands.
"Come on, Liza! Keep strong!", she berated herself, pulling her shoulders back and forcing a smile. She needed a distraction; with her keen senses, she easily spotted the movement of a squirrel scampering up a nearby tree. She squinted to follow it as it dashed along the branches. A small vole scurried through the grass, oblivious to the danger.
Liza's predatory instincts kicked in, and her heartbeat sped up. She felt the bloodlust, the need to run and pounce, to sink fangs in their throats and tear them apart. For a second, she forgot all about the pain, and the burning sensation in her skull. All thoughts were gone, leaving only the primal instinct to hunt and kill. She was on the hunt.
The vixen fixed her eyes upon the gray vole, skittering across the ground. It wasn't far, less than ten meters away. Just enough distance for her to reach it. She jumped into the air, the muscles in her legs tensing. Liza leapt across the space with lightning speed and sank her teeth into the neck of the unsuspecting rodent. With the triumphant cry of victory, she raised her head high, feeling the warm blood flow down her chin.
"What the hell have I just done?" she asked herself, confused. Her fox ears stood on full display, no longer hidden by the Veil.
PSA. Please wear helmets when riding on a motorcycle.
I am writing it on the NaNoWriMo challenge. I hope to churn out thousand words per day (empty hopes, I know).
Liska and Liza are diminutive forms of the name Elizaveta.
Liska and Liza are diminutive forms of the name Elizaveta.
Chapter 2
- Location
- Moscow, Russia
Zagovor — a form of verbal folk magic (c) Wikipedia
Buyan Island — a legendary island, featured a lot in folktales, zagovors, etc.
Buyan Island — a legendary island, featured a lot in folktales, zagovors, etc.
Chapter 2. What does the fox hide?
Disbelief washed over Liza's face as she stared at her rippling reflection in shimmering water, tinted blue and green from the algal bloom. Her tall, pointy fox-like ears, adorned with beautiful dark-brown markings, pricked up in alert. Liza took a deep breath and splashed water on her face, trying to clear her mind.
"What's wrong with you?" Liza questioned, feeling dizzy. Her stomach churned with the realization that she had succumbed to primeval instincts, committing an act she would have never thought herself capable of, "You aren't a wild animal on the loose!"
A vague feeling of unease nagged at her, and a sickening feeling crept up her throat. The Veil shrouding her true appearance had fallen. With nothing to shield her from the prying eyes of the world, Liza felt vulnerable and exposed, like a hapless mouse caught in the open. She clenched her fists, nails digging into the flesh of her palm, as she struggled to regain control of her emotions.
Ransacking her mind for a solution to the predicament, Liza remembered a zagovor her old granny taught her. The memory, once buried in the cobwebs of her subconscious, flooded back. As vividly as if it happened yesterday, Liza recalled Granny's raspy voice.
"Liska, the Veil isn't good or bad, it simply hides your true nature from the eyes of man. Don't let it falter for no good reason, but never forget who you are. Always be honest to yourself, the Veil doesn't make you what you are, only what people perceive you to be."
For the ritual, Liza needed to stick a knife into a tree stump and three times somersault over it. An old hiking knife with a chipped wooden handle would do just fine if only she could find where the backpack had landed. Her eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight, scanned the shoreline, searching for traces of red fabric. There! At a sandy patch that laid behind some reeds lining the bank, the backpack rested unspoiled, undisturbed and in one piece.
However, an olive-green snake with a yellow collar lay sprawled out on top of it, sunning itself. Its dull black eyes gazed lazily at Liza, seemingly unconcerned with her presence. Liza scowled and walked closer to the reptile, which in response lifted its head and hissed as menacingly as a tiny animal could. Without a second thought, she hissed back, baring her teeth. A few tense seconds passed before the snake conceded and slunk into the reeds.
With a sigh of relief, Liza picked up the bag and headed toward the large oak stump, overgrown with buff-tinted shelf fungi; its bark peeling off in long, black strips. Liza knelt at the stump, placed the backpack on the ground and unzipped it, fishing the knife out of the side pocket. The dull blade sank into decaying wood, the creaking noise jarring her sensitive ears, triggering another bout of sharp pain.
Willing away the dizziness creeping over her brain, Liza quickly began reading the zagovor, reciting the magical incantation and carefully enunciating each syllable. The words, spoken in a deep, resonating voice, seemed to roll off her tongue, and they were as comforting as a mother's lullaby.
"On Buyan island amid the swirling twilight sea, the Moon beams brightly on the ancient aspen stump,
The fox, so coy and still, sneaks, crouching low. Moon, o Moon, my friend. Gold of horn and round of head, you bring us light when darkness falls. Hide me, o Moon, under thy silvery wings! Let not the eyes of men see what lies within"
The rhythmical chanting soothed her ragged nerves as the diaphanous Veil, like a soft, comforting blanket, slowly settled over her body, filling her mind with warmth and confidence. But its form had yet to solidify. At one moment, Liza looked like a normal, run-of-the-mill person, but at the next, her sharp canines and slit pupils peeked out from the illusion.
As the last word faded from Liza's lips, she took a running start and leapt high into the air, twisting midair before landing gracefully on all fours. Liza's back arched and her tail swished back and forth as she somersaulted. Swiftly, she leapt up, spun on the balls of her feet and, with a great heave, launched herself backwards. In her haste to complete the ritual, Liza misjudged the distance and grazed the knife with her left sole. Struggling to maintain her balance, she slammed the sandy soil with a thump, the air whooshing out of her lungs. Beads of sweat rolled down her temples and dripped off her nose into the ground.
A barely perceptible glow, resembling one of an incandescent ember, began to emanate from the blade buried deep in the stump's core. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Liza inched closer, fixing her eyes on the hypnotic, sparkling light. A tingling sensation spread across her chest, and every nerve ending seemed to vibrate with anticipation. Her heart pounding erratically, Liza reached out and placed her palm on the shimmering blade. The warm, welcoming glow caressed her fingers, sending pleasant shivers up her arm and spine. In no time, the magic within the blade flared brightly, bursting out in a dazzling display of red, like a small sun coming briefly into existence.
Liza gasped at the sudden surge of energy, which coursed through her veins like a river of molten lava. And then, with a deafening crack, the Veil, rippling like a curtain of a million translucent crystals, coalesced into an immaterial form, wrapping her in its thick, comforting cocoon. In a blink of an eye, the knife crumbled into smoulder and ash, leaving behind only a single ashberry embedded in the stump.
Giddy with excitement and curiosity, Liza bent and sniffed the berry, finding it surprisingly fragrant. Suddenly ravenous, she popped it into her mouth and chewed vigorously. A burst of sweet juice rolled down her throat, bringing instant comfort.
"I did it!" Liza whooped a high-pitched cry, jumping up and down with joy, wagging her now invisible tail. Peace and contentment flooded her mind. Now, she could safely venture into the mortal world without hiding her fox tail, fangs or ears... Wait, her ears? With a gnawing foreboding, Liza rushed back to the river and looked at her reflection. Two flaming red ears with orange markings stuck out of her head as if mocking all her efforts.
Kilometers away, on a dusty roadside, an inconspicuous notebook with Scythian inscriptions lay abandoned but not forgotten.
I am unhappy with a lot of things, especially with the zagovor's chant.
At least, achieved the 1000 words mark in two days
At least, achieved the 1000 words mark in two days
Last edited:
Chapter 3
- Location
- Moscow, Russia
Chapter 3. What has the fox made
The pale, waxing moon crescent glided over the azure skies, reflecting off the mirrorlike sheen of the river, and breathed its soothing aura upon Liza's soul. The low sun's rays played over her flaming red fox ears that emanated a faint cindery glow, creating such an ethereal sight that even the most jaded skeptics would have been hard pressed to deny the presence of something supernatural.
Dipping her toes in the cool, invigorating water, she gazed at the schools of tiny fish darting around and the water striders skimming the surface. She felt strangely peaceful and serene, untethered by the mundane concerns of everyday life, free from any obligations or worries. She closed her eyes and let herself be lulled into reverie by the gentle lapping of the river.
"I'm so screwed," she whispered to herself with a wry smile, cussing herself for making the biggest mistake in her life.
Her new-found happiness was so fleeting and ephemeral. With the Veil securely fastened around her, her nature should have been concealed, but fate seemed intent on thwarting her plans. It was so close to being perfect. Liza never anticipated the Veil falling out of its proper alignment.
"Ah, screw it. It'll come in place eventually," Liza brushed her concerns away, running her fingers over her ears, still marveling at their warm texture. "Even if I get caught, they'll just think I'm some kind of weirdo. No big deal"
After rummaging through her backpack for a few minutes, Liza found a pair of scissors and a black T-shirt with an image of a skull on it. Then, she deftly cut out the far side of the hem and snipped off the sleeves. The result was a rather large, square piece of fabric, which she wrapped over her head, securing it with a knot at her nape. Her short-clipped nails caught in the edge of the makeshift bandana as she tugged it tight.
She preened before her reflection in the water, checking it from different angles and admiring her handiwork, a mischievous smile playing upon her lips. Now, she could blend into any heavy metal concert without attracting undue attention.
"Yo, I look badass!" she exclaimed with glee, making devil's horns with her hands.
Before hopping onto her motorcycle, she returned to the vole's final resting place for some last-minute tidying up and found a veritable pimpled behemoth of a toad, the size of her palm, gobbling it up, its mouth bulging as a balloon. "Hey, that's —" Liza cut herself short, recalling that amphibians didn't have much use for words. It was clearly not conscious enough to even comprehend what was happening.
Peering up at Liza with its large, slimy eyes, the toad started to hop away, leaving behind a trail of viscous mucus; the vole's tail sticking out of its throat. She stifled a chuckle at the awkward way it moved, tripping over itself several times before finally managing to get past the edge of the bank and into the water, as if unused to bipedal locomotion. The creature might've been ugly and revolting, but somehow, something was endearing about it.
Liza started up her motorcycle and revved the engine, which issued a throaty roar, eliciting a startled yelp from a nearby bird. When she let off the throttle, the rumbling settled into a steady rhythm, like the purr of a contented tiger. A refreshing breeze whipped past her face, blowing her bandana's fringe back and forth.
The patchy tufts of the cirrus clouds were contradicted by a line of low, dark cumuli; their dark, ominous spires drifting forward and rolling into heavy, ominous masses on the northern horizon. Placid cows ambled across the meadow, swatting at flies, which zipped around their heads; a bovine chorus of bellowing and mooing interrupted periodically by the distant roar of thunder that echoed over the countryside; the soil beneath them crunched softly underfoot. Muggy air wafted off the steppe, its mustiness intensified by the scent of manure.
Liza gripped tightly the handlebars, slowing down to navigate past a cow, which was happily chewing on a clump of grass, oblivious of her passage. After a moment, its head turned abruptly, and the animal stared at her, blinking its large, round eyes with perplexity. She pulled the bike to a halt, waiting for it to vacate the way, but it didn't budge. With a flick of its rough, papery tongue, the cow licked her face, leaving a wet trail of saliva and nearly sending her sprawling to the ground. Having successfully stupefied the formidable predator, it returned to munching on grass.
"You! You clod-footed dummy!" fighting off the smile creasing her lips, Liza chided the cow as she wiped the slobber off her face.
"Don't be scar'd of my lil' Krasava," a stout woman stepped out from behind the cow and gave it a friendly pat on the rump. She was garbed in an old-fashioned, grey and white, ankle-length dress that fluttered in the breeze; her long, black hair was draped in a red flowered kerchief tied loosely around her head. A kind smile graced her broad, round face, revealing a set of straight, yellowish teeth. "She ain't meanin' no harm, she's a sweet thin'. She just liked ya'"
"What an amiable creature," Liza stroked the cow's flank, admiring how smooth and supple it felt. Her fingers trailed lazily down Krasava's spine, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath. "And as beautiful as her name suggests." The cow, sensing praise, lifted her head and nuzzled against Liza's hand.
"Ya' can't blame 'er. Who'd not want ta' be friends with a lovely lass like you? Betcha' lads chase after ya' in droves, jus' ta' look at that pretty lil' face." The woman's faded blue eyes twinkled merrily, appraising Liza with a kind of maternal familiarity.
"Actually, I'm quite taken by myself. I don't need anybody else to complete me. But thanks for the compliment, you're very kind," Liza's face burned as she forced an air of nonchalance, stumbling over her words and fidgeting in her seat.
"'Tis is what yer all young'uns say. Jus' wait 'til you're older, then ya'll need somebody ta' hold yer hand 'n' be yer' shoulder to lean on. Ya' fret not, 'ere are plenty o' fellas out there who'd be happy ta' court ya'," the woman imparted her wisdom, speaking in deep, throaty tones. "But yer' are too thin for yer own good, yeh know? Ya' should put some meat on yer bones."
"You don't have to worry, I've got plenty of muscle, thank you very much," Liza smirked, trying hard to keep a straight face. Unsolicited advice aside, she had been enjoying this exchange immensely: the woman's warm personality was infectious. She proffered a hand, "I'm Liza, nice to meet you, Mrs...?"
"Lyubov'. 'Tis a pleasure ta' meet yer' as well" her dirty, calloused hand clasped firmly onto Liza's, testing the strength in that handshake, gradually increasing pressure until they squeezed each other's hands so tight their knuckles were turning white. No words were necessary, the gesture spoke volumes. After a few seconds of silence, they let go and smiled at one another again.
"What brings ya' here?" Lyubov's voice carried a pleasant lilt; her thick accent lent her words a musical cadence, "'Tis fellas from Novosibirsk' State University were supposed ta' come down here ta' study ancient graves, but they packed up an' left before we could show 'em around. Are ya' one o' them?"
"They did?" Liza wondered why they would leave without seeing the site firsthand, abandoning their study this abruptly. She didn't know much about archeology, but surely they couldn't expect to get any meaningful data if they only looked at photos or sketches. That sounded more like a tourist trip than serious research.
"They said somethin' bout it being dangerous, unstable soil, whatever tha' means. They didn't really explain why though, ya' know?" The woman shrugged. "But ya know, they seemed kinda' shaken by something 'fore they left"
Krasava — in Russian, an uncommon form of the "beauty". Also can be a slang word to express a positive attitude towards someone.
The pale, waxing moon crescent glided over the azure skies, reflecting off the mirrorlike sheen of the river, and breathed its soothing aura upon Liza's soul. The low sun's rays played over her flaming red fox ears that emanated a faint cindery glow, creating such an ethereal sight that even the most jaded skeptics would have been hard pressed to deny the presence of something supernatural.
Dipping her toes in the cool, invigorating water, she gazed at the schools of tiny fish darting around and the water striders skimming the surface. She felt strangely peaceful and serene, untethered by the mundane concerns of everyday life, free from any obligations or worries. She closed her eyes and let herself be lulled into reverie by the gentle lapping of the river.
"I'm so screwed," she whispered to herself with a wry smile, cussing herself for making the biggest mistake in her life.
Her new-found happiness was so fleeting and ephemeral. With the Veil securely fastened around her, her nature should have been concealed, but fate seemed intent on thwarting her plans. It was so close to being perfect. Liza never anticipated the Veil falling out of its proper alignment.
"Ah, screw it. It'll come in place eventually," Liza brushed her concerns away, running her fingers over her ears, still marveling at their warm texture. "Even if I get caught, they'll just think I'm some kind of weirdo. No big deal"
After rummaging through her backpack for a few minutes, Liza found a pair of scissors and a black T-shirt with an image of a skull on it. Then, she deftly cut out the far side of the hem and snipped off the sleeves. The result was a rather large, square piece of fabric, which she wrapped over her head, securing it with a knot at her nape. Her short-clipped nails caught in the edge of the makeshift bandana as she tugged it tight.
She preened before her reflection in the water, checking it from different angles and admiring her handiwork, a mischievous smile playing upon her lips. Now, she could blend into any heavy metal concert without attracting undue attention.
"Yo, I look badass!" she exclaimed with glee, making devil's horns with her hands.
Before hopping onto her motorcycle, she returned to the vole's final resting place for some last-minute tidying up and found a veritable pimpled behemoth of a toad, the size of her palm, gobbling it up, its mouth bulging as a balloon. "Hey, that's —" Liza cut herself short, recalling that amphibians didn't have much use for words. It was clearly not conscious enough to even comprehend what was happening.
Peering up at Liza with its large, slimy eyes, the toad started to hop away, leaving behind a trail of viscous mucus; the vole's tail sticking out of its throat. She stifled a chuckle at the awkward way it moved, tripping over itself several times before finally managing to get past the edge of the bank and into the water, as if unused to bipedal locomotion. The creature might've been ugly and revolting, but somehow, something was endearing about it.
Liza started up her motorcycle and revved the engine, which issued a throaty roar, eliciting a startled yelp from a nearby bird. When she let off the throttle, the rumbling settled into a steady rhythm, like the purr of a contented tiger. A refreshing breeze whipped past her face, blowing her bandana's fringe back and forth.
The patchy tufts of the cirrus clouds were contradicted by a line of low, dark cumuli; their dark, ominous spires drifting forward and rolling into heavy, ominous masses on the northern horizon. Placid cows ambled across the meadow, swatting at flies, which zipped around their heads; a bovine chorus of bellowing and mooing interrupted periodically by the distant roar of thunder that echoed over the countryside; the soil beneath them crunched softly underfoot. Muggy air wafted off the steppe, its mustiness intensified by the scent of manure.
Liza gripped tightly the handlebars, slowing down to navigate past a cow, which was happily chewing on a clump of grass, oblivious of her passage. After a moment, its head turned abruptly, and the animal stared at her, blinking its large, round eyes with perplexity. She pulled the bike to a halt, waiting for it to vacate the way, but it didn't budge. With a flick of its rough, papery tongue, the cow licked her face, leaving a wet trail of saliva and nearly sending her sprawling to the ground. Having successfully stupefied the formidable predator, it returned to munching on grass.
"You! You clod-footed dummy!" fighting off the smile creasing her lips, Liza chided the cow as she wiped the slobber off her face.
"Don't be scar'd of my lil' Krasava," a stout woman stepped out from behind the cow and gave it a friendly pat on the rump. She was garbed in an old-fashioned, grey and white, ankle-length dress that fluttered in the breeze; her long, black hair was draped in a red flowered kerchief tied loosely around her head. A kind smile graced her broad, round face, revealing a set of straight, yellowish teeth. "She ain't meanin' no harm, she's a sweet thin'. She just liked ya'"
"What an amiable creature," Liza stroked the cow's flank, admiring how smooth and supple it felt. Her fingers trailed lazily down Krasava's spine, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath. "And as beautiful as her name suggests." The cow, sensing praise, lifted her head and nuzzled against Liza's hand.
"Ya' can't blame 'er. Who'd not want ta' be friends with a lovely lass like you? Betcha' lads chase after ya' in droves, jus' ta' look at that pretty lil' face." The woman's faded blue eyes twinkled merrily, appraising Liza with a kind of maternal familiarity.
"Actually, I'm quite taken by myself. I don't need anybody else to complete me. But thanks for the compliment, you're very kind," Liza's face burned as she forced an air of nonchalance, stumbling over her words and fidgeting in her seat.
"'Tis is what yer all young'uns say. Jus' wait 'til you're older, then ya'll need somebody ta' hold yer hand 'n' be yer' shoulder to lean on. Ya' fret not, 'ere are plenty o' fellas out there who'd be happy ta' court ya'," the woman imparted her wisdom, speaking in deep, throaty tones. "But yer' are too thin for yer own good, yeh know? Ya' should put some meat on yer bones."
"You don't have to worry, I've got plenty of muscle, thank you very much," Liza smirked, trying hard to keep a straight face. Unsolicited advice aside, she had been enjoying this exchange immensely: the woman's warm personality was infectious. She proffered a hand, "I'm Liza, nice to meet you, Mrs...?"
"Lyubov'. 'Tis a pleasure ta' meet yer' as well" her dirty, calloused hand clasped firmly onto Liza's, testing the strength in that handshake, gradually increasing pressure until they squeezed each other's hands so tight their knuckles were turning white. No words were necessary, the gesture spoke volumes. After a few seconds of silence, they let go and smiled at one another again.
"What brings ya' here?" Lyubov's voice carried a pleasant lilt; her thick accent lent her words a musical cadence, "'Tis fellas from Novosibirsk' State University were supposed ta' come down here ta' study ancient graves, but they packed up an' left before we could show 'em around. Are ya' one o' them?"
"They did?" Liza wondered why they would leave without seeing the site firsthand, abandoning their study this abruptly. She didn't know much about archeology, but surely they couldn't expect to get any meaningful data if they only looked at photos or sketches. That sounded more like a tourist trip than serious research.
"They said somethin' bout it being dangerous, unstable soil, whatever tha' means. They didn't really explain why though, ya' know?" The woman shrugged. "But ya know, they seemed kinda' shaken by something 'fore they left"
I hope the speech quirk is tolerable.
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Chapter 4
- Location
- Moscow, Russia
Chapter 4. What does the fox see?
"And what graves were they supposed to be studying? Like, the prehistoric ones, with mammoths and wooly rhinos? I'd love to see them" Liza gushed excitedly and leaned forward on the seat, curiosity bubbling over inside. Since the first time she had seen the giant skeleton in the local museum as a little girl, she had been enchanted by those mighty beasts, which had roamed these lands millennia ago.
"Nah, not 'tis old. 'Tis are kurgans, a whole other ballgame. In the kurgans, Scythians buried 'eir dead with all kinds o' goodies." Lyubov chortled in delight as she continued to describe in detail how wealthy Scythian nobles went into their eternal rest surrounded by heaps of precious jewelry and trinkets; intricate carvings of horses and eagles; weapons of rare beauty and craftsmanship. "Not only 'tis," her voice dropped low as she paused for a dramatic effect, "they also buried their horses and slaves alon' with 'em! What a way ta' go, eh?"
For a farmer, Lyubov' was surprisingly well-versed about the Scythians; a certain reverence exuded from every word that fell out from between those jowls of hers. It reminded Liza of her history teacher back in middle school who would talk about the Battle of Marathon with such fervor that she could almost imagine the scene herself. The same sense of wonder emanated from this woman's eyes.
"Wow, so these guys were pretty high society?", Liza shook her head, slightly curving her lips into an amused grin. For a moment, she imagined herself riding a magnificent white stallion through steppes, sipping mead at feasts under starry skies, decked out like a princess, before sinking into eternal slumber. Shoving aside a silly, whimsical yet tantalizing notion, she decided to follow up on the more practical aspect of the conversation. "So, where are those kurgans?"
With a toothy smile planted firmly across her face, Lyubov gestured at the horizon, indicating the vast plain that stretched for miles before them, dotted here and there by sparse copses of trees. "There's hundreds of 'em, ya' know. The ones 'tis fellas were studying was jus' over yonder." Her thick fingers traced a line in the air, pointing in the direction of a faraway hillock — a pimple in the otherwise unblemished landscape — jutting from its surroundings without any rhyme or reason. A mellow summer haze had settled around it, softening its stark silhouette, lending the landmark a beguilingly inviting quality.
Liza squinted at the distant mound, straining her eyes to make out any distinguishing features, but for all her efforts, she couldn't spot anything peculiar or remarkable: just a humdrum lump of dirt, sitting quietly amid a verdant steppe. An itchy sensation crept into her fox ears, bristling the fur lining their insides as she peered deeper into the distance. In an attempt to soothe those twinges, she shook her head gently side-to-side, then forced a confident grin onto her lips. "That one? I couldn't have told it from any other grassy hill."
"Nah, 'tis is no kurgan. Yer see, most kurgans have a flat top, while' Tis one's kinda' pointy, " her coarse palms flattened together, illustrating her point. "The kurgan is a tad farther. Go pas' yonder hill, an' keep on straight 'till ya' get to the big ditch in front o' ya'. Yer'll see the kurgan there," with a beatific smile, Lyubov' dotted an imaginary map in the air, pleased with herself for having imparted such invaluable information.
"Thanks," Liza beamed back at Lyubov', pretending that everything was just fine and dandy. But the prickling itchiness persisted, gnawing at her nerves like a rat in a cage; the urge to claw down and scratch her flaps lurking inside her mind, threatening to burst forth whenever she thought about it too long. She swallowed hard and forced another cheery tone through gritted teeth, resisting the temptation.
The two of them chatted inconsequentially for some time more, discussing mundane topics: how warm the weather had been recently, what was the best way to cook a nettle soup, which mushrooms were worth picking by themselves versus when added into a broth or a stew — simple, everyday conversation which nevertheless felt oddly familiar and comfortable. Even though Lyubov's words lacked any hint of refinement, they were spoken with sincerity, which could melt the hearts of ice. This pleasant exchange could have gone on indefinitely, however, with each minute that passed, Liza's inner turmoil grew stronger; discomfort seeped down her spine and neck, so, despite finding the farmer's company enjoyable and pleasant, she decided to wrap it up as soon as possible.
"Lyuba, I'm so lucky to have met you today. You know so much about the Scythians! And it's amazing with how much warmth you talk about your cows!" Liza's eyes gleamed as she gushed, the flattering words rolling off her tongue effortlessly, like a songbird's trilling chirps. She spoke in such a manner as if every word was part of a carefully rehearsed script she'd memorized, intoned with all the pomp and solemnity that went along with delivering an epic soliloquy.
"Ya know, come visit me anytime. I'll be glad to show ya' around." Lyubov' waved her hand cheerfully, smiling from ear to ear. Her broad smile lit up her whole face, revealing many missing teeth in its dazzle, making it all the more charming despite being unattractive.
"I hope everything goes well for you here, Lyuba," Liza said, giving a final wave before turning on the bike again, kicking the engine into gear once more and setting off towards the distant hillock on her left. As she sped away, carefully maneuvering around the cows milling over the grassland, she stole glances at Lyubov', whose expression was beaming like that of a mother watching over her child setting out for the first day of school.
As soon as Lyubov' had disappeared beyond the hill, Liza dropped the pretence of carefree enthusiasm and swung her motorcycle about sharply, then jammed down on the brake pedal with her foot; a metallic screech rang through the air, accompanied by a shower of dirt kicked up by the rear tire. Furiously ripping off her bandana, she flung it to the ground, allowing her fox ears to unfurl free; a pair of scarlet flaps perching atop her head. The gesture came across like a release — albeit brought a fresh bout of twinges — as the fur inside those long appendages bristled in anticipation. Liza started scratching them vigorously, twisting and wringing each of their lengths.
As the itch subsided, a haunting melody echoed throughout Liza's mind: an ethereal tune filled with sorrow and loss that seemed to draw from ancient chants or rituals passed down from one generation to another. A mournful cry that called to her spirit rather than her heart; even though she could discern individual notes, they failed to coalesce into any recognizable chord. Instead, what reached her ears was an indistinct mixture of ghostly voices intertwining in harmony, resonating against each other with varying degrees of pitch and timbre.
The plaintive lamentation full of unbridled melancholy, tinged by regret and yearning, spoke of the days long past, when mighty warriors galloped over grassy plains astride sturdy steeds. She couldn't place the source of the music; no earthbound instrument could have produced such delicate, celestial tones, even a rapid harp glissando accompanying the solemn chorus didn't originate from any mortal device. It had no place in the sunlit world; the melody was unmistakably of the beyond.
A ripple of goosebumps washed down Liza's spine as the bewitching tune continued to seep into her mind. The rational part of her mind screamed for her to stay away — but a tiny, feeble voice of reason did nothing to quell the overwhelming urge pulsing through her blood, her body responding to that primal call to adventure. Curiosity burned deep inside her belly, inciting an insatiable hunger to uncover the truth behind the song.
Throwing furtive glances at the surrounding landscape, Liza noticed several small black birds flitting about between tufts of yellowed grass, darting towards and away from their destination with unerring precision. They reminded her of crows or ravens, although they were far smaller and more slender in build, with pale grey feathers shimmering against the sun. The bird in front appeared slightly larger than its fellows, sporting sleek plumage. As it neared the top of the mound, its path began to weave like a snake's slither, dipping and soaring as if avoiding unseen obstacles. The rest of the flock followed suit, all darting in the same erratic manner, some even zigzagging backwards and forwards. She gaped up at the hillock, puzzled by the bizzare behavior, wondering what or who were those birds avoiding. Was something tricking their senses, compelling them to veer off course? Or had the strange melody spooked them off? Whatever the case was, she had a hunch that this place could be no ordinary pile of dirt with a few scraggly shrubs sprouting atop it, no matter what Lyubov' had claimed.
Her gait rhythmic and light-footed, Liza sneaked closer to the grassy knoll, surveying its perimeter carefully for any telltale signs. As she came to within a couple of dozen meters of the earthen structure, her nose twitched, detecting an unusual odor wafting out from under the thick layer of the earth: sweet yet foul at the same time; the hints of honey and rotting flesh combined in an unholy union, with a musty edge on top. Following the aroma's trail, she traced along the foot of the mound — only to return to where she'd started, having passed over the exact spot twice already without noticing it.
"Oh, I see," she softly murmured, smiling like the cat who got the cream as she retraced her steps back towards the mound, prodding at illusionary grass here and there with her feet until finally locating the invisible boundary. Stopping dead in her tracks, Liza pulled a plastic water bottle from her backpack and crouched down next to the invisible barrier, leaning forward so that her ear almost touched the ground. Then, she took out a murky purple jar and unscrewed the cap, releasing a pungent odor of strong spirits with a herbal note. Fishing the macerated jelly tooth that resembled a puffy white gelatinous cloud from the container, she took a deep whiff before rubbing it between her fingers and flinging the thick, gooey substance into the water.
She looked through the bottle's walls at the towering black thunderheads, covering half of the sky now; her booming voice reciting the ancient zagovor. The air seemed to crackle as if electricity coursed beneath it, the flashes of lightning dancing across the clouds with blinding speed, illuminating the entire vista with a majestic display of power.
"Waft, O winds, unfold, O clouds, the curtains of the heavens. As the clouds soaring aloft uncover the sun, so do thou, O clouds, unveil the unseen"
Three times she chanted, and with each repetition, the concoction within the bottle bubbled and fizzed — as if tiny lightning strikes were occuring within its cloudy depths — before slowly settling into stillness and taking on the same hue as the darkening skies. With a final blast of breath, Liza poured the magical brew into the dry soil, whereupon it evaporated in seconds, billowing upwards like steam.
A slight tremor ran through her lips as her eyes grew wide in wonderment at the sight unfolding before her. Taking up an entire patch of land where no natural formation existed before, now a hill emerged, seemingly forming itself out of thin air.
"And what graves were they supposed to be studying? Like, the prehistoric ones, with mammoths and wooly rhinos? I'd love to see them" Liza gushed excitedly and leaned forward on the seat, curiosity bubbling over inside. Since the first time she had seen the giant skeleton in the local museum as a little girl, she had been enchanted by those mighty beasts, which had roamed these lands millennia ago.
"Nah, not 'tis old. 'Tis are kurgans, a whole other ballgame. In the kurgans, Scythians buried 'eir dead with all kinds o' goodies." Lyubov chortled in delight as she continued to describe in detail how wealthy Scythian nobles went into their eternal rest surrounded by heaps of precious jewelry and trinkets; intricate carvings of horses and eagles; weapons of rare beauty and craftsmanship. "Not only 'tis," her voice dropped low as she paused for a dramatic effect, "they also buried their horses and slaves alon' with 'em! What a way ta' go, eh?"
For a farmer, Lyubov' was surprisingly well-versed about the Scythians; a certain reverence exuded from every word that fell out from between those jowls of hers. It reminded Liza of her history teacher back in middle school who would talk about the Battle of Marathon with such fervor that she could almost imagine the scene herself. The same sense of wonder emanated from this woman's eyes.
"Wow, so these guys were pretty high society?", Liza shook her head, slightly curving her lips into an amused grin. For a moment, she imagined herself riding a magnificent white stallion through steppes, sipping mead at feasts under starry skies, decked out like a princess, before sinking into eternal slumber. Shoving aside a silly, whimsical yet tantalizing notion, she decided to follow up on the more practical aspect of the conversation. "So, where are those kurgans?"
With a toothy smile planted firmly across her face, Lyubov gestured at the horizon, indicating the vast plain that stretched for miles before them, dotted here and there by sparse copses of trees. "There's hundreds of 'em, ya' know. The ones 'tis fellas were studying was jus' over yonder." Her thick fingers traced a line in the air, pointing in the direction of a faraway hillock — a pimple in the otherwise unblemished landscape — jutting from its surroundings without any rhyme or reason. A mellow summer haze had settled around it, softening its stark silhouette, lending the landmark a beguilingly inviting quality.
Liza squinted at the distant mound, straining her eyes to make out any distinguishing features, but for all her efforts, she couldn't spot anything peculiar or remarkable: just a humdrum lump of dirt, sitting quietly amid a verdant steppe. An itchy sensation crept into her fox ears, bristling the fur lining their insides as she peered deeper into the distance. In an attempt to soothe those twinges, she shook her head gently side-to-side, then forced a confident grin onto her lips. "That one? I couldn't have told it from any other grassy hill."
"Nah, 'tis is no kurgan. Yer see, most kurgans have a flat top, while' Tis one's kinda' pointy, " her coarse palms flattened together, illustrating her point. "The kurgan is a tad farther. Go pas' yonder hill, an' keep on straight 'till ya' get to the big ditch in front o' ya'. Yer'll see the kurgan there," with a beatific smile, Lyubov' dotted an imaginary map in the air, pleased with herself for having imparted such invaluable information.
"Thanks," Liza beamed back at Lyubov', pretending that everything was just fine and dandy. But the prickling itchiness persisted, gnawing at her nerves like a rat in a cage; the urge to claw down and scratch her flaps lurking inside her mind, threatening to burst forth whenever she thought about it too long. She swallowed hard and forced another cheery tone through gritted teeth, resisting the temptation.
The two of them chatted inconsequentially for some time more, discussing mundane topics: how warm the weather had been recently, what was the best way to cook a nettle soup, which mushrooms were worth picking by themselves versus when added into a broth or a stew — simple, everyday conversation which nevertheless felt oddly familiar and comfortable. Even though Lyubov's words lacked any hint of refinement, they were spoken with sincerity, which could melt the hearts of ice. This pleasant exchange could have gone on indefinitely, however, with each minute that passed, Liza's inner turmoil grew stronger; discomfort seeped down her spine and neck, so, despite finding the farmer's company enjoyable and pleasant, she decided to wrap it up as soon as possible.
"Lyuba, I'm so lucky to have met you today. You know so much about the Scythians! And it's amazing with how much warmth you talk about your cows!" Liza's eyes gleamed as she gushed, the flattering words rolling off her tongue effortlessly, like a songbird's trilling chirps. She spoke in such a manner as if every word was part of a carefully rehearsed script she'd memorized, intoned with all the pomp and solemnity that went along with delivering an epic soliloquy.
"Ya know, come visit me anytime. I'll be glad to show ya' around." Lyubov' waved her hand cheerfully, smiling from ear to ear. Her broad smile lit up her whole face, revealing many missing teeth in its dazzle, making it all the more charming despite being unattractive.
"I hope everything goes well for you here, Lyuba," Liza said, giving a final wave before turning on the bike again, kicking the engine into gear once more and setting off towards the distant hillock on her left. As she sped away, carefully maneuvering around the cows milling over the grassland, she stole glances at Lyubov', whose expression was beaming like that of a mother watching over her child setting out for the first day of school.
As soon as Lyubov' had disappeared beyond the hill, Liza dropped the pretence of carefree enthusiasm and swung her motorcycle about sharply, then jammed down on the brake pedal with her foot; a metallic screech rang through the air, accompanied by a shower of dirt kicked up by the rear tire. Furiously ripping off her bandana, she flung it to the ground, allowing her fox ears to unfurl free; a pair of scarlet flaps perching atop her head. The gesture came across like a release — albeit brought a fresh bout of twinges — as the fur inside those long appendages bristled in anticipation. Liza started scratching them vigorously, twisting and wringing each of their lengths.
As the itch subsided, a haunting melody echoed throughout Liza's mind: an ethereal tune filled with sorrow and loss that seemed to draw from ancient chants or rituals passed down from one generation to another. A mournful cry that called to her spirit rather than her heart; even though she could discern individual notes, they failed to coalesce into any recognizable chord. Instead, what reached her ears was an indistinct mixture of ghostly voices intertwining in harmony, resonating against each other with varying degrees of pitch and timbre.
The plaintive lamentation full of unbridled melancholy, tinged by regret and yearning, spoke of the days long past, when mighty warriors galloped over grassy plains astride sturdy steeds. She couldn't place the source of the music; no earthbound instrument could have produced such delicate, celestial tones, even a rapid harp glissando accompanying the solemn chorus didn't originate from any mortal device. It had no place in the sunlit world; the melody was unmistakably of the beyond.
A ripple of goosebumps washed down Liza's spine as the bewitching tune continued to seep into her mind. The rational part of her mind screamed for her to stay away — but a tiny, feeble voice of reason did nothing to quell the overwhelming urge pulsing through her blood, her body responding to that primal call to adventure. Curiosity burned deep inside her belly, inciting an insatiable hunger to uncover the truth behind the song.
Throwing furtive glances at the surrounding landscape, Liza noticed several small black birds flitting about between tufts of yellowed grass, darting towards and away from their destination with unerring precision. They reminded her of crows or ravens, although they were far smaller and more slender in build, with pale grey feathers shimmering against the sun. The bird in front appeared slightly larger than its fellows, sporting sleek plumage. As it neared the top of the mound, its path began to weave like a snake's slither, dipping and soaring as if avoiding unseen obstacles. The rest of the flock followed suit, all darting in the same erratic manner, some even zigzagging backwards and forwards. She gaped up at the hillock, puzzled by the bizzare behavior, wondering what or who were those birds avoiding. Was something tricking their senses, compelling them to veer off course? Or had the strange melody spooked them off? Whatever the case was, she had a hunch that this place could be no ordinary pile of dirt with a few scraggly shrubs sprouting atop it, no matter what Lyubov' had claimed.
Her gait rhythmic and light-footed, Liza sneaked closer to the grassy knoll, surveying its perimeter carefully for any telltale signs. As she came to within a couple of dozen meters of the earthen structure, her nose twitched, detecting an unusual odor wafting out from under the thick layer of the earth: sweet yet foul at the same time; the hints of honey and rotting flesh combined in an unholy union, with a musty edge on top. Following the aroma's trail, she traced along the foot of the mound — only to return to where she'd started, having passed over the exact spot twice already without noticing it.
"Oh, I see," she softly murmured, smiling like the cat who got the cream as she retraced her steps back towards the mound, prodding at illusionary grass here and there with her feet until finally locating the invisible boundary. Stopping dead in her tracks, Liza pulled a plastic water bottle from her backpack and crouched down next to the invisible barrier, leaning forward so that her ear almost touched the ground. Then, she took out a murky purple jar and unscrewed the cap, releasing a pungent odor of strong spirits with a herbal note. Fishing the macerated jelly tooth that resembled a puffy white gelatinous cloud from the container, she took a deep whiff before rubbing it between her fingers and flinging the thick, gooey substance into the water.
She looked through the bottle's walls at the towering black thunderheads, covering half of the sky now; her booming voice reciting the ancient zagovor. The air seemed to crackle as if electricity coursed beneath it, the flashes of lightning dancing across the clouds with blinding speed, illuminating the entire vista with a majestic display of power.
"Waft, O winds, unfold, O clouds, the curtains of the heavens. As the clouds soaring aloft uncover the sun, so do thou, O clouds, unveil the unseen"
Three times she chanted, and with each repetition, the concoction within the bottle bubbled and fizzed — as if tiny lightning strikes were occuring within its cloudy depths — before slowly settling into stillness and taking on the same hue as the darkening skies. With a final blast of breath, Liza poured the magical brew into the dry soil, whereupon it evaporated in seconds, billowing upwards like steam.
A slight tremor ran through her lips as her eyes grew wide in wonderment at the sight unfolding before her. Taking up an entire patch of land where no natural formation existed before, now a hill emerged, seemingly forming itself out of thin air.
I'm seriously behind the schedule, this saddens me.
There are some things I want to iron out, but not now.
There are some things I want to iron out, but not now.
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