Andrew Ognev - The Chronicles of the Elders Malefisterium. Volume 1. The Ordeal of Freya

Vlad knew firsthand that the old woman had a lot of different stories. And each was more fanciful than the previous. He would be happy to listen to her stories, but he had no time: A present was waiting for him at home!

“I don’t have much time,” Vlad said stubbornly, but his actions did not meet words. He wanted to stand up, but instead, he made himself even more comfortable on the bench and was ready to listen.

“I won’t take much of your time,” the old woman assured him. “I’ll be done before you eat your cake…

Once upon a time there lived two brothers. They possessed a great wisdom and a considerable power.

The elder brother, known as the White Sun, had control over fire to burn down the evil and over the light of the sun to enlighten the righteous path. The younger brother was the Great Craftsman. He created all kinds of things for his brother and for common people.

But the Dark Evil came to their land and threatened the human race. The endless power, which was awakened by the Evil, was ensnaring the Earth in its web. The two brothers stood up for the people, but the forces were unequal. And they called for help, and two young maidens lent them a willing hand, the Witch of the Moon and the Maiden of Darkness, and the forces were equal again.

And the Ancient Evil, that held sway over the dead, fell. When the evil spirits were defeated, they became a close-knit family.

And they raised their city up into the sky with their power, to their own glory.

And they lived happily there ever after.”

Old Fedotya stopped to catch her breath.

Vlad took the opportunity to bid goodbye. A basket with cakes had already been waiting for him.

“Oh, no, thank you!” Vlad tried to refuse.

“Well, that’s not for you, my dear child!” the old lady said disarmingly. “That’s for the Father! As a thank-you for the candles.”

“Thank you, Fedotya Andreevna!” Vlad said. “I must go now.”

He took only a few steps from the porch, when he heard old Fedotya talking.

“The city in the clouds… lit up by the sunset and first streaks of dawn…” the old lady closed her eyes and was muttering under her breath. “I can see you in that city!”

Vlad looked over his shoulder, surprised, and gazed at her pale face.

“Ah? What?” the old lady came to herself.

“Are you all right?” the boy asked anxiously.

“Ah? Pay no attention to the old woman,” she waved away. “Oh, wait! Wait! You forgot the milk!

She rushed into the room as fast as legs could carry her and came back with a large bottle.

The boy was holding the basket with cakes in one hand and the milk in the other.

“Fedotya Andreevna,” he asked, “why have you told me this tale?”

“Don’t you know it?” the old lady looked at him with cunning, half-closed eyes.

“No.”

“This is not the place where you should be.”

Vlad was coming back from old Fedotya, perplexed and dismayed.

He had heard a lot of her tales since he was a child. She used to tell them when he stayed at her place once a week or when she came to the church, almost every other day.

Vlad was quite sure that she had come so often to see him, to watch him grow up, to check up on his education, and to tell him another story. She seemed to have known or have felt what was going to happen to him in the days to come and was preparing him for that change with her stories and tales. She always asked him how he was doing, and never was contented with the casual answer “I’m fine”, keeping on questioning, delving into every detail. And he would tell her about his swift-flowing days, hour by hour, eagerly and openly. She seemed to be watching him throughout his whole life.

Vlad remembered the old woman having occasionally a quiet word with Father Konstantin. After their conversations, the priest used to look morose and pensive for a long time.

When Vlad was a little boy, she often looked after him, especially when Father Konstantin or bell-ringer Mark was busy. And she repeatedly told the boy that he was special, not like all the other. Vlad never dared to ask what she meant to imply.

The boy himself didn’t consider himself special. He felt embarrassed and even annoyed when he was praised or admired. For Vlad judged himself by other standards. What he had not done yet was more important for him than what he had already done. And what he had not learnt yet was more important than what he had already learnt.

And then was that strange tale…

Just another story, nothing else. The old woman was very good at telling stories and knew a great deal of them. Yet, that very story stroke a chord with him. Disquieting thoughts crept into his mind. Her last words, “This is not the place where you should be”, got him totally confused.

Is he going to be exiled from the village? But why? What has he done? What is the reason he didn’t fit it? Maybe, it’s better to go back? To ask her?

Uncertainty, and not Fedotya’s words, was what disturbed him most. Vlad understood it clearly. Several times he stopped and nearly went back to old Fedotya to get answers to all the questions preying on his mind, but his legs wouldn’t obey him and kept carrying him home.

“So be it!” he said aloud, as if showing his obedience to an invisible fellow traveler.

Vlad would be glad to talk with Father Konstantin, but he remembered, disappointedly, that the priest would not be at home.

At home, he put the basket with cakes and a bottle of milk on the dining table. A small parcel was lying on a clean rag.

“A present!” he brightened up.

He unwrapped it.

Inside there was a silver chain with a dark-purple diamond-shaped crystal pendant. Vlad touched the crystal and it lit up with soft light, vibrating.

Startled, the boy screamed and dropped the present. Instead of smashing on the floor, the crystal hovered in the air and then slowly went up to Vlad’s face, as if looking into his eyes.

The boy backed up, astounded. The glare around the crystal was growing until it took the shape of a human figure, a figure of a woman. The woman was tall and slender; she was wearing a long embroidered gown flowing down to the floor.

The woman’s body was the same color as the glaring crystal, which was pulsating close to her heart.

She spoke in a pleasant melodious voice:

“How do you do, Mister Viggin?”

At first, Vlad didn’t understand who the woman was talking to, and kept looking at her in astonishment.

“Do you know me?” he asked after a long pause.

“Of course,” the woman replied with a smile.

“May I ask who you are?” the boy asked timidly.

“My name is Freya Altos,” the woman introduced herself. However, she could see by Vlad’s face that her name didn’t ring any bells. Quite the opposite, his face displayed even greater bewilderment. “I am a Master of the Academy of Magical Arts, Malefisterium,” she added.

“The Academy?” Vlad asked, “of Magical Arts? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s time you learn more about it,” Freya came one step closer to Vlad. “The Academy is the place where kids like you live and gain insight into mysteries of the world.”

“Why do they need that?” Vlad asked. He believed (and he was taught) that mysteries must stay uncovered. Otherwise, what kind of mystery it would be, if it was known to many? It would be no mystery any longer; rather, it would be a piece of common knowledge!

“To learn how to change the world for the better.”

“Is it not good enough?”

“No matter how good this world is, there is always room for improvement. You practice to sing better. You read books to learn more.”