Эдвард Резерфорд - Russka

The snake was dead. It lay in a twisted mass on the broad ledge. Fully extended, it would have been two, perhaps three times as long as he was. Its head had been split open and gouged: he wondered how – by an eagle perhaps? He could see that it was a viper – there were several varieties in the region – and although it was dead, he could not help shuddering as he looked at it.

Yet even as he looked, he realized something else: something that, despite his fear, made him tremble less and even smile. Yes, indeed, this was the magic kingdom. The snake lay under the shadow of a bush that grew in the crevice between the two rocks. And it was a hazel bush.

‘So now I’ll be able to find my bear,’ he said aloud.

For the dead snake could give him one of the greatest secrets in the world – the secret of the magic language.

The magic language: it was silent. All the trees and plants spoke it, so even did stones and streams; animals too, sometimes. And you could obtain the secret in several ways – no less an authority than his grandmother herself had told him. ‘There are four ways to discover the secret language, Little Kiy. If you save a snake from the fire, or a fish from being caught, they may give it to you. Or second, if you find fern seed in the forest at midnight on Midsummer’s Eve; or third, if you find a frog when you’re ploughing and put it in your mouth. Or lastly, if you find a dead snake under a hazel bush, you must bake it and eat its heart.’

If I could speak to the trees and the animals, they’d soon tell me where my bear cub is, he thought. And he gazed at the fearsome snake with satisfaction. Only one big problem remained though: how to bake it? For there was no fire. Perhaps, he considered, I could take it back to the village.

He did not take his eyes off the snake. It lay only a few feet away and it had not been dead for long. Except for its torn head, it looked as if it might come back to life at any moment, and as he felt the heat of the rock through his little bast shoes and thought of the heat warming the snake, he still could not help trembling a little.

No, he could not drag it home alone.

But then a simple and comforting thought came into his head; and in his mind’s eye it seemed as if a broad path had just opened up before him through the lonely woods. I’ll go back and fetch Uncle Mal. He’ll come and bake the snake for me.

How easy it seemed. For a second, he felt as if his journey was over and he was safely back already. With relief he scrambled down off the rock to the little brook below, and began to retrace his steps along it. The whole scene seemed less magical, more familiar now, as he began the return from his successful journey.

It was five minutes before he realized that he was lost.

Having turned back into the woods from the shining pool, he had taken his direction from the passing clouds. How was it, then, that the place looked so unfamiliar? The trees were starting to grow taller and closer together. There were some scattered boulders and bushes, quite different from the woods where he had been before. He would have been glad, now, to see even the dangerous pond with its rusalki . Again he looked up to see the clouds. He did not know that, since before noon, the wind had been gradually changing its direction.

And only then, at last, did the little boy slowly give way to panic. As the minutes passed, and he knew with greater and greater certainty that he was lost, a coldness seemed to envelop him. He stopped, looked right and left, saw only the endless ranks of tall tree trunks stretching in every direction, and realized that it was hopeless.

There was no way out. He called out, shouted his mother’s name four, five times. But his cries were only lost in the forest. It was as though the day itself had decided to trap him, imprison him in the forest under the endless blue sky, and was now watching him from far above, mocking. Perhaps he would never get home. There was a fallen tree nearby and he sat beside it. Waves of misery passed over him as he sat on the ground with his back to the tree, too discouraged to walk any more. He began to cry.

Twice more he called out, but there was no answer. A large mushroom was growing beside him. He stretched out his hand and stroked its soft form for comfort, then cried a little more. And so several more minutes passed as his crying brought him warmth and his wet eyes grew heavy. Then, for a little time, his head fell foward and his chin rested on his chest.

At first he wondered if he was dreaming when he saw the little bear.

It had obviously wandered away from its mother and was loping along, almost tumbling over its own large paws, hurrying to catch up with her. The bear cub passed only fifty feet from where Kiy was sitting half asleep.

Rubbing his eyes, Kiy struggled up, pinched himself to make sure he was awake, and stared after it. Could it really be, after all, that he had found the cub? He could hardly believe his luck. The cub was still visible, scurrying towards a brown form about a hundred yards away that must be its mother. The brown form vanished behind a tree.

Forgetting everything, the little boy started after them. He had only one thought: I must see which way they go. Excited, hurrying as quickly as he could, he followed.

They led him through the wood, across a glade, into another wood. He did not care how far it was. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of them and froze in case they saw him. But mostly he was following the sounds they made as they plunged and scuttled through the forest. He did not know how far from home he was now; nor how he would find his way back. He was too near the object of his quest to think of that. Eagerly he pressed on.

Several times he almost lost them. In the middle of a seemingly endless grove of oak or beech, he would suddenly encounter silence. All around would be trees, with no special feature. And he would pause, wander, pause again before at last hearing their rustling sound coming from some direction.

He had no sense of danger. For after so many magic signs – the hidden pool, the light in the stream from the other world, the snake under the hazel – it was clear to him that this must be a magical day and that the spirits of the forest were leading him to his goal.

It was in one of these silences that he saw that, over to his right, there was a patch of sunlight behind a screen of birch trees that suggested a glade. Perhaps the bear cub had gone there. He moved towards it.

And then ahead of him at the edge of the glade he saw a flash of light in the trees. It was not very high up. Something in the lower branches was glittering. He could not see what it was for the screen of birches, but the sun’s rays were dancing on it, darting this way and that amongst the trees, flashing bright colours of red, silver and gold. What could it be?

And then he realized, with a rush of joy – of course, what it must be. What else lived in a tree and shone like this? What else guarded the valuable things that people searched for – and must surely be guarding his bear cub at this very moment? What else, but the rarest and finest of all the forest’s wonders?

It could only be the firebird itself.

The firebird had plumage of many colours. It glistened and sparkled, even in the dark. If you could creep up and seize one of its long tail feathers, you could have anything you wanted. The firebird meant warmth and happiness. To be sure, the bear cub would be waiting there with the firebird, now. The glinting light seemed to beckon, inviting him.

He went forward, until he was only a dozen yards away. Though he could not see it clearly, the firebird did not move but still sent out flashes of light: it was waiting for him. With a little cry of joy he ran through the screen of birch trees into the clearing.