Дмитрий Мансуров - Invasion

At dawn, a satisfied kite was returning from a hunt. His day had begun extremely well: some heedless old man, God knew why, had tied all his chickens to the biggest hen. It would’ve been really stupid of the kite not to steal them away from the yard. The old man yelled some angry words at the kite’s retreating back and then quickly escaped to do some fishing while his wife was still at the market.

A boy and a girl came out of the forest, holding the baskets in their hands. The kite knew that their parents had died six years ago during the epidemic and that the children were now living alone, somewhere on the outskirts of the city. At the age of seventeen, Alena was doing an excellent job of keeping their house clean and raising her younger brother, who had just turned eleven. The old blacksmith Sarek, who went by the name Babak and lived on the other end of the village, helped her out with those tasks she couldn’t do herself.

There was nothing unusual about this because after the plague that had been ravaging this area, many houses stood empty and abandoned. In the attempts to prevent the epidemic from spreading, people tended to simply burn the deserted villages down, but some of them remained untouched. In less than six years, the villagers managed to recover from all the tragedies, and now only a cemetery filled with gravestones reminded everyone of what had occurred.

The boy became thirsty, and every now and then, he would rush to the closest puddle for a drink. Luckily, his sister managed to pull him away each time. Firstly, people just didn’t do things like that, and secondly, at the center of every puddle, there was an imprint of a hoof, a secret warning sign of Yaga herself. According to the unwritten rule of professional warlocks, each person had the right to a small clue that could help them avoid getting into trouble. The boy, unlike his wary sister, could care less about caution.

The kite was listening carefully to their conversation. During his long life, he had learned to decipher human speech. The boy once again crawled away from his sister and bent over a large puddle.

“Don’t drink that, Ivan, or else you’ll turn into a goat!” his sister cried out belatedly, but Ivan quickly took a few sips and stuck out his tongue at her. For a brief moment, he was engulfed by black smoke. Once it dissipated, the boy was gone, and a small goat was left standing by the puddle. The kite’s beak fell open in astonishment. Only now did he realize why Baba Yaga was working on each puddle so diligently.

“Oh!” Alena exclaimed, pressing her hands to her chest. “You goat! I warned you, didn’t I?”

The kite couldn’t help but wonder how he could steal the potion from Yaga. The drops she mixed into the water were amazing. He wouldn’t have to hunt for fat prey. He could just catch a mouse, throw it in the water, and the next second, a well-fed, fat goat would appear. This was a gift from the heavens!

Alena picked up the goat and ran to the local healer for help.

The kite was lost in his daydreams about turning a brood of mice into a herd of sheep. He was torn from his stupor only after noticing the faint black dot on the horizon with the corner of his eye. He shuddered. Now was not the time to daydream! The kite turned around abruptly and flew away in fear.

The castle that stood high and lonely was barely visible from the distance. It belonged to Kashchey the Immortal. Nobody, not even the most psychotic of psychos ever risked crossing paths with him. Kashchey always came up with ideas so vile that even the worst of the vermin acknowledged him as the ultimate evil. Luckily for every living being on this planet, Kashchey rarely flew into extreme fits of rage, but sometimes boredom drove him up the wall and he would pit evil forces against one another. The echoes of their battles terrified humanity and caused a strong headache among the evil forces themselves. At such times, those who knew what’s good for them had to find a new place for the living, somewhere as far from the battlefield as possible. Preferably, at the other end of the world.

However, Kashchey’s plans for today were surprisingly peaceful and concerned Princess Maria, the daughter of the local King Nicodemus, who was often depicted on various portraits. Exactly three weeks ago, Kashchey had taken a trip on his ghostly horse in search of troubles he could put someone in.

Fortune smiled on him when he saw a caravan of travelers from the distant kingdom. Kashchey joined the main carriage in all the glory of his fighting armor. He wore a black hauberk made of metal, which gleamed whenever he moved, a black raincoat, and a gilded helmet. Politely, he asked how far the much-respected travelers intended to go and whether they wanted to continue traveling at full health and strength.

If the travelers were uncertain whether it was in fact Kashchey standing before them, the sight of the legendary magical sword Kladenets eliminated all their doubts. In unison, the travelers pulled out purses with gold coins and were very surprised when Kashchey did not even look at them. Instead, he was interested in the portrait of Princess Maria. Kashchey had managed to overhear the caravan discussing how King Nicodemus called his daughter Maria “My golden treasure”, and so he headed to the leader of the caravan for details. And for the portrait itself.

The travelers had no desire to give up the precious cargo, but they also didn’t want to try their luck by fighting the Kladenets sword with their weapons. Life was something they all valued much more than the things they were carrying. After some loud but brief protests, the travelers quickly agreed that Kashchey needed the portrait more than they did. They turned out to be so kind that they presented him with a cart to carry the portrait in and asked for as little as their own lives in exchange. After mutual consent was achieved, the travelers rushed off into the sunset.

A small portrait occupied the area of only two meters wide and three meters tall in a folded state, and, upon closer examination, it turned out to be hand-made embroidery. Kashchey, after hanging this unique tapestry on the wall of the main hall of his castle, respectfully removed the crown that he wore specifically for such an occasion from his head.

And then the troubles began. For a long time after that, Kashchey stared intently at the image of the princess, frowning, trying to figure out which parts of her body consisted of gold. Eventually, he was forced to come to the conclusion that he simply couldn’t answer this question on his own. Kashchey couldn’t even imagine that the king called his daughter “his golden treasure” because of her personality. All his life, Kashchey preferred real gold, not the figurative one, so he failed to comprehend the psychological subtleties of his favorite word.

In the portrait, the princess was smiling mysteriously and nicely, and that irritated him the most. When Kashchey got tired of guessing, he decided it was time to find the answers in person. He would fly to the capital, ask the princess what it was all about, and return home. Just in case, Kashchey had prudently prepared a few surprises for the residents of the capital. After jumping on his ghostly horse, he rushed off to Slavnograd, to return his luck to its rightful place.

The clock on the main square struck six when he landed in front of the city gates, which were decorated with precious stones. The time was still young, but the gates were closed, and the gloomy sentries were guarding the city. Kashchey was amused that they had managed to miss his appearance. Strange sounds were coming from behind the walls, reminiscent of the convulsive sobs of a gusli that was being tortured by an inept guslar.