With a sudden clatter, Marya, Varya, Darya, Varya, and Zarya began to shift back and forth on the table, as if attempting to dance, and they squeaked all at once, “You’d better take us outside to see Vasilisa.” So Vera, with fumbling fingers, assembled the dolls in their proper order, slipped them into her apron pocket, grabbed her own coat, and donned her own summer shoes, which, like Vasilisa’s, were plaited from birch bark.
A breeze stirred the tall grasses where Vasilisa stood murmuring near the pond in the marsh. She grasped a tall staff, capped with her old companion, the skull, which cast an eerie amber glow. When her eyes became accustomed to the strange twilight, Vera could just make out some faint shapes moving within the water, the silvery outlines of maidens gliding to and fro. These must be the drowned girls of legend, she thought. The rusalki, who had died before their time.
Near the edge of the pond, a seething, dark red shape appeared, and it seemed as if the water were filled with blood, until, with a splash, a head emerged, then another, and yet another, and an enormous crimson, scaly body emerged. Vasilisa did not seem surprised. She leaned her staff against the tree, and bowed deeply. Vera gasped at the sight of her friend greeting a dripping, three-headed dragon. However, this was Vasilisa, and odd adventures were not foreign to her history.
The flame surrounding Vasilisa’s body subsided, and she would have fallen to the ground, but the dragon nudged her with one of its heads, and she actually hugged it around the neck, to Vera’s chagrin. Then Vasilisa took the staff with the skull, and stepped into the water. There was another outburst from the dragon. This time, the water was brightly illuminated, and Vera could see that it was a rainbow of iridescent girls and women, all shapes, sizes, and colors, some half-naked, some with their hair floating freely, others with crowns of ribbons and flowers. As the flame from the dragon’s mouth reached the first rusalka, she opened her own watery mouth to catch it, and then the strangest thing happened.
After the flame traveled through the rusalka’s translucent torso and limbs, she began to rise into the air, chanting:
“I am now a cup filling with light, my sisters. My loneliness is a set of lungs being filled with air for the first time.”
Then the rusalka floated above the branches of the nearest tree until she was out of sight.
“That is enough for now. I will return.” hissed the dragon. Vasilisa turned to him and dragged her waterlogged self back out of the water, and threw her arms around its neck. The amber light shining from the skull’s eyes went dim. A zephyr shuffled the grasses and the leaves for a moment or two.
And the two women walked back to the izba together.
We, the co-editors, contributors, and advisers, have started the Mago Web (Cross-cultural Goddess Web) to rekindle old Gynocentric Unity in our time. Now YOU can help us raise this torch high to the Primordial Mountain Home (Our Mother Earth Herself) wherein everyone is embraced in WE. There are many ways to support Return to Mago. You may donate to us. No amount is too small for us. For your time and skill, please email Helen Hwang (email@example.com). Please take an action today and we need that! Thank YOU in Goddesshood of all beings!
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