There is an old woman who runs a shop in the little town of Zeledovo. The locals call her Babushka, but her real name is Nadia.
The rumors say that Nadia once had a daughter, more beautiful than freshly fallen snow. Little Mishka and her long blonde braids made a wholesome picture amongst the flowers and trees among which she wandered. Sweeter than local honey was what everyone called her.
But the rumor also says that one day a passing soldier came across Mishka and her round childlike face in the forest where she played.
When the Rusalka of the local river found her face down in the water, he enveloped her in his arms gently and introduced her to her elder sisters.
They say that Babushka went to the river’s edge. Raged and screamed and sobbed and tore at her clothes. Demanded the Rusalka return Mishka to her arms. But it could not be done.
The river guardian took pity on the grieving mother and spit into her hands.
“Put this in the soldier’s drink and when he is no longer among the living, bring him to me for my daughters to feast upon. And when the moon rises high, you can visit this river and see Mishka’s long blonde hair float among the reeds. Her teeth are sharp now like mine, but part of her will still be yours.”
They say that Babushka’s back is bent not from age, but from the strain of dragging a dead soldier to the river in the dead of night. Now women and girls come from far and wide to Babushka’s apothecary seeking cures for their poor husbands who have bruised their knuckles upon the faces of their wives. Their bodies don’t suffer under the strain of life for long after one of Babushka’s balms is applied.
If you go down by the river at night, you might spy Mishka luring men into a dance which fills their lungs with water. And you might see Babushka gathering herbs while she watches.
~
There is an old woman who runs a shop in the little town of Zeledovo. The locals call her Baba, but her real name is Yeliza.
The rumors say that Yeliza once had a husband more loyal than the bond of moss to a tree. Love filled their home with light and warmth. And many a day was seen where her husband plucked blossoms from the ground to grace her hair.
But the rumor also says that a passing sickness found its way into her beloved one’s lungs.
When the God of Pox found the man drained of all the heat of the long fever, he took the man into his arms and carried him into the black.
They say that Baba went to the shrine. Raged and screamed and sobbed and tore at her clothes. Demanded the God return her beloved to her arms. But it could not be done.
The God of Pox took pity on the grieving widow and spilt blood to pour into her hands.
“Put this in the soup that feeds your neighbors. You cannot see your beloved again, but with this you will not stand alone in the wake of death. And when you visit his grave, you will know that his love for you has saved you the loneliness that may have come in his wake. For you will be surrounded by the lives you have saved.”
They say that Baba’s hands are arthritic not from age, but from the toil spent nursing the town back from the brink of that great blackness. Now people come from far and wide to Baba’s apothecary seeking cures for their loved ones who have weakened under the weight of that God’s beckoning. Their bodies don’t suffer under the weight of illness for long when one of Baba’s balms is applied.
If you go to the shrine in the early morning, you might see the God of Pox shaking his head at the many lives which have slipped from his fingers back into life. And you might see Baba gathering herbs while she watches.
~
Enemies might be too strong a word, but when one apothecary’s business is death and the other apothecary’s business is life, conflict is bound to occur. They had not much in common except the aches and pains of age and their business acumen.
It wasn’t uncommon to see the women cross paths in town and give each other a disapproving glance. The town’s wise grandmothers often quarreled. After all, there are only so many herbs to be sourced in the forest.
But that’s not entirely true, they did have one more thing in common: their love of their craft.
And rumor had it, a man from the capital had come to town. The townspeople were aghast. Imagine. A wealthy bureaucrat from the city becoming their mayor. What did the capital know of their daily lives? They preferred the answer to be a simple one: ‘nothing.’
There were many ways of dealing with problems in the country that were not acceptable in the capital’s eyes. But the new regime was the kind that likes to reach its fingers into the many nooks and crevices of the country. Prying into the private lives of its citizens to ensure that they were well-behaved patriots. For why was the tailor stocking blue cloth when the color of the flag was red? Suspicious, yes?
The townspeople watched with dismay when the new mayor entered town, caravan of baggage in tow. He chose the nicest house and stocked it with the nicest things. Dressed his daughter in the finest dresses.
The dresses were pretty and all, but where was the girl’s mother? The townspeople speculated on this topic at length. For rumor had it that he had informed on his own wife. Loyalty to the state over loyalty to one’s spouse? My, what a dangerous place the capital was becoming. And now the danger was arriving in their town.
Poor poppet. The girl always looked downtrodden despite the finery she was surrounded by.
Now, if the man had simply chosen to rest on his ill-gotten laurels and minded his business perhaps his story would have ended differently. But rumor had it that the capital had built a vast and horrible war machine to conquer its neighbors and as you surely know, such a machine operates at great cost.
The townspeople gritted their teeth under the weight of the new taxes. It was burdensome, but they dared not attract the attention of the capital by protesting. Perhaps more sedate festivities would take place during the town’s founding festival this year. They could endure that.
Babushka and Baba were not pleased that capital officials were suddenly looking closely into their business dealings. They still remembered with unease when Mara, the old witch of their youth, had suffered an ugly death at the hands of outsiders. Those days were long gone now, but Babushka took care to hide her more poisonous plants and Baba stashed away her shrine offerings. Customers still came, but wearing warier expressions after seeing the capital’s flag on the mayor’s front porch.
When the next tax came down from the mayor’s mouth, it was no longer a tax on money. But on food.
War makes for scarce eating on the front and weren’t the townspeople eating a little too comfortably while those poor conscripts starved? Their children grew lean under the austerity measures. They noticed that the mayor himself did not. But there are often times of famine. Babushka and Baba had both lived their youths in the time where the wraiths of starvation had wandered the streets. These pithy meals were unsatisfactory, but were meals nonetheless. Not the kind of bony hunger which attracted such terrifying creatures.
They wondered if the mayor knew such things lurked here. This was not the capital after all.
When the conscript officer arrived with soldiers in tow, the rusalkas were the only ones that ate well. The captain in his fine regalia seemed to think that his men had gone and drowned in a drunken accident. Only the townspeople knew that little Mishka’s belly was full and sated.
Regardless, he persisted in examining all the young men in town. Poking at protruding ribs and writing in illegible script on his ledger. He left without taking any young men with him, but fear grew in the hearts of their parents that he would be back.
When the illness hit, even the mayor began to feel nervous. No longer did he open his doors wide to show off his exquisite furniture. The front had not arrived to the town, but the soldiers’ trench cough had. Baba did her best, but this was not one of the old familiar foes that she knew. Even the God of Pox worried in his shrine, for the first time considering the possibility that he might be replaced by a newer and more potent ailment.
When the conscript officer did return, he kept a harsher grip on his men. The rusalka’s teeth could not reach that far from the river. But the men’s hands did reach for local girls and women. They came to Babushka crying in fear after one too many close encounters.
~
Babushka and Baba met for tea in the dark, cold of the night by candlelight.
It was time to cure the town’s ailments.
~
They say that the mayor of the town of Zeledovo who sends reports to the capital is actually a young girl impersonating her father. Rumor has it that she did her best to protect her father and visiting soldiers from illness by procuring a potion from a local apothecary and feeding it to them during a banquet. It’s a shame that they died anyway.
Passing travelers report that she is apprenticed to two old women and may one day inherit their businesses when she retires from politics. The town surely is in good hands with such a talented young entrepreneur.
If you’re hungry or feeling ill, Zeledovo is a great place to stop. The Rusalka is well fed so it’s not hard to catch fish. And the God of Pox seems to have received quite an offering because no one is ever sick.
My, what a wonderful place, that Zeledovo. But if you’re going to wander there, be sure to be polite. No one likes an outsider who can’t respect local customs.
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