The Spark That Ignites the Dawn

Chapter Six: The Day Her Universe Changed

A/N: Image is Sig in his lil castle (minus a beard).

"I am iron and I forge myself." 

Marya was sat on the old rocking chair when her morning went from bad to hell.

She'd barely slept the night before, knowing that somewhere in the forest, Sig was proposing to her best friend. Not wanting to interrupt, she'd stayed away the entire time, curled up on her mattress, staring at the pages of a book she wasn't reading. The night was cold and dark, and a blustery wind continually flung out the tiny flame of the candle. When she gave up trying to distract herself and instead lay down in the darkness and attempted to rest, her only reward was a fitful dream of being best man at Sig and Vasilisa's wedding, until her dead mother Tatiana turned up, laughing at her attempt to hide her feelings.

Then she'd gotten up to give her speech and instead of making the guests laugh, she'd delivered a heartfelt soliloquy in which she recounted everything she'd liked about Sig.

She woke up almost convinced that there had been a wedding, and was disappointed to find she didn't yet have an excuse to flee the country.

Breakfast was a silent affair, with only the clock ticking on the wall her company. She mixed flour and eggs, collected earlier from the chickens, into a batter, and her comfort food for the morning was a plate of steaming pancakes, cooked using a little of her elemental fire over a hot plate. Things were improving marginally as she was halfway through chewing her first bite when Aloysius hurled open the door from his nightly hunt.

Her uncle's temper had not gotten better in recent years. Marya tried, whenever possible, to avoid him entirely, opting instead for long days outside of the cabin and sleeping in the wild forest. She found she had to return at least once a day, or else her uncle's anger only sought her out, irritated at her simple, peaceful existence.

On truly awful days, he'd try to teach her magic. The spirit of the koldun flowed within her, he proclaimed, and she should act like one. He'd start with flora. 'Set fire to this,' he'd demand.

But then he'd move onto animals. Mice, dangling by their tails, were choked without air, poisoned without substance, harmed without touching a hair. Aloysius taught her how to control small animals and make them do her bidding. Birds became spies, aloft in the air, high above the towns. Deer willingly lay at her feet before Aloysius broke their necks. And at night, she would hold their broken bodies and pray that whatever life came next, she would be forgiven.

When she disobeyed, Aloysius would get angry. But every few months or so, whenever it all became to much, she inevitably snapped. She'd fight back, refuse to do what he told her.

On those days, he always shouted. On those days, she was punished tenfold.

It seemed like today would be one of those days.

Swinging the door shut on them, her uncle strode into the cabin, splattering mud across the floor. Marya would have to clean it later— her uncle never cleaned, nor cooked, nor cared for her, ever. Not that she wanted him to: the small wooden hut without Aloysius was much better than with him in it.

His savage growl was enough to rattle her fork on her plate. She jumped.

'For Dana's sake, why are you so weak?' he hissed, hating her jitteriness. Marya made herself smaller; by tucking her elbows in, not making eye contact, sometimes Aloysius would forget to be so angry with her. Privately, she prayed that Dana would not let him get angrier.

'The possible legacy of our great kingdom— in your hands,' he sneered, and Marya caught him pouring out ale from a keg. Her stomach rose, protesting the food she'd tried to eat: Aloysius and alcohol never partnered well for her. And it was only eight in the morning.