The storm had rolled in suddenly, thick black clouds smothering the moonlight. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay, and the village of Myrnyi shivered under the weight of something unseen, something ancient.
Lybid barely had time to process the horrific knowledge she and Kyi had uncovered in the ancient book before a frantic pounding rattled her cottage door.
Boom. Boom. BOOM.
She and Kyi exchanged a look, their faces ghostly pale in the flickering candlelight.
The knocking continued, more desperate now. Lybid rose cautiously, grasping a dagger from the table before unlatching the door.
A man staggered inside, his face streaked with dirt and tears, his clothes soaked through from the relentless rain. It was Ivan Melnichuk, a laborer from the northern part of the village. Lybid barely recognized him—his eyes were wild, rimmed with madness and fear.
"They took her! They took my Marya!" he choked out, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Lybid felt a cold weight settle in her stomach. "Who took her?"
Ivan's lips trembled. His body swayed as if he might collapse. "The forest… the river… the thing inside it. I heard her screaming, and then—" He clawed at his own chest, as though trying to rip out the terror lodged there. "Please, you know the old ways! I've heard the whispers. People say you still know… them."
Lybid's fingers tightened around the dagger's hilt.
The old ways.
The words rang in her mind like a warning. It was true—she knew the incantations, the rituals, the ancient protections that had been buried under the weight of the church's doctrine. But using them meant something far worse than disobedience. It meant exposing herself to the wrath of those who despised the old beliefs.
Still, Marya was a child.
Lybid glanced at Kyi. He gave a slight nod, his expression grim.
"What did you see?" she asked Ivan.
His face crumpled, and he covered his mouth as if trying to hold in a scream. "I saw… her." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Mavkf."
A sharp wind howled outside, rattling the wooden shutters. The fire in the hearth flickered violently.
Lybid inhaled deeply and turned toward the ancient book, still lying open on the table. Her fingers traced the brittle pages until they found it—the incantation. The words were written in Old Slavonic, the language of those who had come before, of those who had worshiped the land and its spirits before men in black robes declared them demons.
She ran her tongue over her dry lips.
There was no guarantee this would work.
There was no guarantee it wouldn't kill her.
Kyi leaned in. "Are you sure about this?" he murmured.
Lybid looked at him, then at the book. Then at Ivan, who trembled before her, a father drowning in desperation.
She had no choice.
She turned to Ivan. "Take me to the river."
The Drowned Forest was alive with whispers. The wind moved through the trees like a breath exhaled from unseen lips. The river, swollen from the storm, slithered through the roots like an open wound.
Ivan collapsed to his knees at the edge of the water, sobbing. "Marya! Marya!" His voice cracked. Only the silence of the night answered.
Lybid stepped forward, the book clutched in one hand, a clay bowl in the other. She placed the bowl on the muddy bank and pulled a dagger from her belt.
The first rule of the old ways—something must always be given.
She pressed the blade against her palm and dragged it across her skin. Blood welled up, hot and dark, dripping into the bowl.
The forest hissed.
Ivan gasped. "God help us…"
Kyi flinched but didn't speak.
Lybid ignored them both and dipped her fingers into the blood, tracing symbols in the wet earth. She raised her head to the sky and spoke the words that had not been uttered in a hundred years.
"От древа до корня, от крови до води,Поверни ту, що забрали, пусти душу від пітьми.В ім'я землі, в ім'я ріки,Хай відгукнеться той, хто чує мої слова."
(From tree to root, from blood to water,Return the one who was taken, release the soul from the dark.In the name of the land, in the name of the river,Let the one who hears my words answer.)
The air thickened, pulsing as if the earth itself had begun to breathe.
The river grew restless.
A ripple spread across its surface, slow and deliberate, moving against the current.
Ivan let out a strangled cry. "She's coming back! My Marya!"
Lybid knew better.
The water split apart, revealing not a child, but something else.
A figure rose from the depths, its long hair dripping black with algae and rot. Its skin was pale, too pale, stretched thin over bones that no longer belonged to the living. Its lips parted, revealing blackened gums, water pouring from its mouth as it spoke in a voice that was not human.
"Lybid… you have called me."
Ivan screamed. He scrambled backward, horror twisting his face. "That's not my Marya!"
Lybid's pulse pounded. She had called, and something had answered.
Before she could speak, heavy footsteps approached behind them.
Methodius.
The priest stood there, his face shrouded by his hood, but his expression was unmistakable—rage.
"What have you done?" His voice was low, trembling with fury. "Heretic. Witch. You summon demons now?"
The Mavka turned its hollow gaze toward him, its lips curling into something almost like a smile.
Kyi stepped in front of Lybid, shielding her. "She was trying to save the girl—"
"Save?" Methodius laughed darkly. "You don't save lives with pagan rituals. You damn them."
The wind howled. The Mavka took another step forward, its feet not touching the ground.
"Lybid…" Its voice was wet, gurgling. "Something… must be given."
The priest lifted the heavy iron cross from his neck and thrust it forward. "Be gone, creature!"
The Mavka laughed.
A sound like bones breaking.
Lybid's breath hitched. She had made a terrible mistake.
The offering was not enough.
Something—someone—had to take Marya's place.
And the forest had already chosen.