Chapter 10 of a fairy tale for adults Rusalochka’s True Tale: A Touching Slavic Fairy Tale of Love and Sacrifice

 

CHAPTER 9: The Call of a Divided Soul

Life in the forest continued, but for Rusalochka, it had become torment—an endless wait. After the soul-splitting, she felt like a wounded creature, as if a part of her had been torn away with blood and carried far beyond the horizon—with  Leshiy.

The bond with him was painful now—not clear as before, but dim and aching, like echoes of an echo that she could no longer fully hear. Every morning she woke with a hollow in her chest, and every night she fell asleep drenched in tears of longing.

The forest dwellers looked at her with fear and pity. The mavkas whispered that she was fading before their eyes, that she now danced only funeral dances, and her songs had turned into mourning laments. Vodyanoy avoided her gaze, as if he could no longer bear the weight of guilt for  Leshiy's exile.

"You must live, child," pleaded Ved'ma, giving her potions that only briefly dulled the pain in her heart. "You cannot simply exist in waiting. You must live! Otherwise, your part of the soul will begin to die—and  Leshiy will feel it. He will perish from despair."

But how do you live when half of you is wandering in the unknown? Rusalochka tried to paint, but her paintings turned nightmarish—filled with sorrow and duality, as if the artist viewed the world from two places at once, with overlapping images in a mad kaleidoscope.

Every night she returned to their glade and watched the stars until dawn, silently crying out to Leshiy, begging for a sign that he still lived. And sometimes, in moments of deepest connection, she thought she could hear his voice—full of pain, calling her from afar.

Weeks of torture passed. Rusalochka felt Leshiy drifting farther away, and each day the bond thinned, as if the silver thread between them was stretched to its limit.

And then... it happened.

Pain. So sharp she collapsed, writhing on the ground and clutching her chest. Pain, fear, despair, mortal danger—it all poured into her.

"Something's happened to him!" she cried, and her scream echoed through the forest, startling birds into flight and sending animals scurrying to their dens.

She ran blindly, gasping for breath, her feet barely touching the earth. Branches struck her face and arms, but she didn’t feel a thing.

She burst into the hut, breathless with terror:

"He's dying! I can feel it—pain, fear—he's dying!"

Ved'ma silently took a stone bowl, filled it with water, and added a few drops of potion. The water boiled, turned cloudy, and revealed a vision that made Rusalochka scream.

 Leshiy—wounded, emaciated, barely conscious—was surrounded by hideous creatures. They looked like decayed corpses risen from swamp muck, with skin the color of withered algae and eyes full of malice.

"Swamp demons," Ved'ma whispered. "The vilest of water spirits. They're also called bolotniki. They feed on fear and the agony of the dying."

"But why are they torturing him?!" Rusalochka sobbed. "He's forest-born!"

"See the one behind them?" Ved'ma pointed to a massive figure with rotting flesh and growths across her body. "Their leader. That's Tina. Somehow, she found him and managed to capture him."

"We have to save him!" Rusalochka shrieked. "I have to go!"

"You can't!" Ved'ma snapped. "It's certain death! You’ll perish the moment you leave the forest. Or sooner—Tina wants your combined power."

"Then what should I do?!" Rusalochka clutched her head, on the verge of madness. "I can't just watch him die!"

Ved'ma was silent for a long time, then finally said, her words like falling stones:

"There is a way. An ancient protection spell. It can temporarily sever your tie to the maple. But the price... is terrible."

"Tell me!" Rusalochka whispered.

"The spell will give you three days—three days to travel far from the tree without dying instantly. But for those three days, you’ll sacrifice half your life. If you had centuries ahead of you... now you’ll have only a few decades."

Rusalochka paled:

"And if I don’t make it back in time?"

"You’ll die," Ved'ma said simply. "Wherever you are. The bond with your tree will break forever. And death will be slow."

"But I have a chance to save him and return?"

"A small one. But yes."

Rusalochka closed her eyes and imagined what lay ahead. A journey into the unknown, fighting swamp demons, the risk of dying far from home. And even if she succeeded—losing half her life.

But then she looked into the bowl again and saw  Leshiy writhing in the claws of those swamp horrors—and all doubts vanished.

"Do the spell," she said firmly. "Now."

"Think again!" begged Ved'ma. "You risk everything! Your life, your future—"

"I’m already dying without him!" Rusalochka cried. "Every day! Every minute! Better to live a few days with him than centuries without him!"

When the forest heard what Rusalochka had chosen, all those who held her dear came to Ved'ma’s hut.

Filin was first, his golden eyes full of sorrow:
"You shouldn’t do this, child," he pleaded. "It’s madness!"

"It’s love," Rusalochka replied, hugging the old guardian. "And love is always a little mad."

Vodyanoy rose from the lake, tears streaking his stern face:
"This is my fault," he rasped. "If I hadn’t stayed silent during the exile"

"Don’t blame yourself," Rusalochka smiled faintly. "You did what you thought was right. And now, so do I."

Last came Juniper—the ancient mavka who rarely left her tree. Her eyes held the sadness of centuries.  

"My child," she whispered, "you walk to certain death."

"Maybe," Rusalochka nodded. "But if I don’t go, he’ll surely die. And I can't live with that."

Juniper touched her face.  "Just like your mother. Then go—with our blessings. Whatever happens, we’ll wait and be proud of you."

But from the shadows, where the willows twisted like bitter lace, stepped Aspen, her eyes gleaming with venom.

"Running away, foundling?" she hissed. "Chasing after your outsider? The forest is cleaner without you both!"

She sneered, her face twisted by shadows.  "You won’t come back. Tina will keep you. You’re both as good as dead."

Rusalochka froze, her gaze flaring, but she said nothing.

Filin fluffed his feathers, his talons scraping the branch. 

 "Your poison has made you hideous, Aspen!" he growled. "Her love is stronger than your spite! But how do you know who holds Leshiy?"

Aspen snorted and slipped into the trees. 

Juniper exchanged a look with Ved'ma and said,  "I'll find out," and followed her.

But Aspen’s words lingered like a cold fog, and Rusalochka felt a pang of unease—Aspen knew far more than she had said.

The ritual was agony. Ved'ma carved ancient runes into Rusalochka’s chest, filling them with her blood mixed with maple sap. The pain was unbearable, but Rusalochka gritted her teeth.

"Remember," Ved'ma said as she carved the last symbol, "you have only three days. On the third sunset, wherever you are, you must be on your way back—or you won’t make it."

"Understood," Rusalochka whispered.

"Also," Ved'ma gave her a pouch of herbs, "this may help against swamp demons."

When the ritual ended, Rusalochka felt a strange relief—like unseen chains had loosened. But also a deep loss—part of her life force was gone.

"Can I go now?" she asked.

"You can," Ved'ma nodded. "But every minute counts."

Rusalochka took the bow and quiver—gifts from Vodyanoy, a cloak of moss and leaves—from Juniper, and a guiding amulet—from Ved'ma.

Filin  perched on her shoulder, "I’m going with you," he declared. "Don’t argue. An old Filin might still be useful in a dark swamp."

"Thank you," Rusalochka whispered, tears in her eyes. "Thank you all."

She turned to the forest, her home—maybe for the last time.

"Goodbye. If I don’t return... remember me."

"We’ll be waiting," Ved'ma said. "Until the last day."

And Rusalochka stepped into the darkness, beginning the most dangerous journey of her life.

Behind her lay the forest.

Ahead—uncertainty, death, and the only chance to save the one she loved more than life.

Time had begun. She had only three days.