Matthew | Чернобог (chernobog) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2011-10-10 08:05:00 |
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Entry tags: | chernobog, marzanna |
Is this the Region, this the Soil, the Clime,
Who: Chernobog & Marzanna
What: A continuation, or perhaps more explanation, of past histories, though not necessarily in chronological sequence.
Where: Outside of an unnamed village in Poland, near the Masuria Lakeland area.
When: A long time ago.
Said then the lost Arch Angel, this the seat
That we must change for Heav'n, this mournful gloom
For that celestial light?
Run.
It was the only word in her mind, as her feet found pace to dash through the trees. Limbs and joints were stiff, almost welded together by ice, but she forced her body to move, following the outline of a figure just ahead of her. The silhouette bobbed and weaved, moving through the trees at an unnatural pace - but that was what they were now, unnatural beings, dead things.
For the dead move quickly...
She could hear her mother’s voice in her ear, mixed in with the screaming of the mob behind her. Here she had thought homecoming would be a sweet thing, that she’d tricked a trickster, now everyone in their village would have to respect her; instead, she’d only invited scorn and violence from those she’d known as neighbor and friend. Even friend was a stretch of a description, and she forced her feet to dig deeply into the snow, trying to be mindful of the soft spots, the treacherous patches where she could fall in up to her knee, breaking the limb.
“Father, wait!” A little girl once more straining for her parent’s attention, she reached out as though to slow his progress, but he continued his lead; it only encouraged her to continue, pushing at branches while fighting not to slip.
“We can not pause, my dear, you have to keep moving!” The voice called from the shadowed trees. He was always just out of sight, just out of reach, but forever urging her on. “Keep moving. We’re going to safety, darling. Just keep pushing through the snow!”
There was a wisp of movement just around a birch tree and disappearing behind a full pine that was weighed down by the heavy snow. The urgency was apparent and the grim energy hung thickly in the woods.
Branches seemed to hang down like heavy hands, an attempt to impede her steps or snatch her up, bind her to this mortal coil where she no longer belonged. Frosted fingertips were bitten at every step, her feet (once shot, now bare since her shoes had long since fallen away in the snow) ached from the cold sensation of ice on their skin; the idea of warmth was a foreign one, the idea of a flame to thaw her bones alien and unknown. It was as though these things had never been known, that the icy darkness was all she knew, and now she was racing back toward it.
She was only being paid back in kind, she knew, a betrayal repaid, a rejection returned. The slight she’d given to the god was her punishment, or so she believed - what other explanation was there for it? Never did the thought that he’d tricked her, in she tricking him; so many circles, her mind spun and spun in confusion, the only clear path being the one she was trying to find to the shadow darting ahead.
“Father, please!” Her voice strained in desperation, though her feet continued to find purchase on the icy floor of the forest.
“I’m sorry, darling,” the voice called from the trees. “I cannot pause, I cannot help you; it would waste precious time. Move quickly! I promise to warm you and take away the ache of the cold. But first, move. They are coming for us and if you do not move they will catch us!”
A figure peeked from the trees, a hand waving as it urged her on, and what seemed to be the winters light capturing the saddened eyes. Quickly, the figure vanished as it moved on with silent steps.
An aggravated grunt was released from her throat, and, attempting to increase her speed, she moved over a fallen log, her feet hitting the ground with such force that it jarred her. Behind the two leading the chase, she could hear the mob growing in intensity and fervor, howling for the blood of those they believed accursed; those who had returned to where the dead were no longer welcome.
Crying out with an animalistic sound, she moved forward again, and stumbled, this time falling to the snowy floor - eyes screwed shut to protect them, her hands flew out in front in order to halt her body’s trajectory. Icy snow covered her face, and she struggled to right herself as she could hear the mob growing closer.
“You’re so close, Marzanna!” the voice called out from the brush of trees that gathered near the lake. The desperation was apparently in the voice as it rolled over the snow and surrounded the frozen girl. “Please, darling, hurry! Before they catch you! You’ll be safe over here. You only have to move forward a few more feet. Hurry, hurry!”
Her hands attempted purchase in the snow, pushing herself up, her feet scrambling beneath her to right herself. Brush and flora, what little was left in these cold winter months, were being crushed behind her as the villagers continued forward - the flickering of their torches cast greater shadows, buying more intimidation for the forest to spend as it pleased. Finally she was upright, and moving forward again, trying to reach the figure that was so far away.
She pushed through brambles, shoved scratching branches from her face, and finally, it seemed that she was to finally catch her father. Whether he had slowed or she had simply found the strength to move as quickly as he was undecided, but the only thing on her mind was to reach out for his sleeve, to capture him so that they might run together...
...and her hand fell right through his wrist, the darkness enclosed therein giving her nothing solid to latch on to.
Chernobog easily slipped his arms around Marzanna’s; circling her frozen skin and slipping into every curve. His eyes were floating before her, awkwardly close but the proximity allowed him to keep his voice quiet. “You’ve been very untrustworthy, darling. Trying to trick me was very wrong of you.”
His glowing eyes flicked up towards the oncoming towns people and Chernobog urged Marzanna’s frozen limbs forward so that they were hidden in a grove of pine trees. “Are you sorry?”
A sob broke through her lips, her limbs aching from all the movement and the pain of nearly being frozen solid. She was both pulled and propelled forward, no longer necessarily in control of herself. The desire to not die - though she was already very much no longer among the living - was ever present in her mind; but she was incredibly compunctious all the same. There was no telling what the god would do. He was completely within his rights to give her over to the mob, and any sense of security that she’d held in following what she thought was her father was smashed to pieces.
“Yes! Yes, please...please don’t let them catch me! Please!”
“All right, darling. Hush,” Chernobog cooed as his shadow-like fingers crawled up Marzanna’s cheek and brushed through her hair. “I have a way to save you. Come with me.”