The library in Myrnyi was a relic of the past, a crumbling building tucked away at the edge of the village. Few dared to enter it now, its dusty shelves filled with forgotten knowledge that smelled of mildew and decay. Kyi, the son of a librarian, found himself drawn there, compelled by the desperate need to understand the horrors that had befallen their home.
Church and library were two of his favorite places in the village.
The whispers of the Mavka's lament haunted his dreams. Each night, he saw the pale, sorrowful face of the river spirit, her voice weaving tales of loss and fury that left him gasping for air upon waking. Something about her words nagged at him—Return what was stolen. Restore what was broken.
Armed with a flickering oil lantern, which he got from the Deacon Methodius, Kyi pushed open the library's creaking door. The air inside was thick and oppressive, heavy with years of neglect. Shadows danced across the walls as his lantern swayed, the faint scent of ink and aged parchment seeping into his senses.
"Kyi, I'll be back in a moment," - his father's voice echoed behind the bookshelves, - "Don't go out until I'm back"
He made his way to the back, where the oldest records were kept. The shelves here were warped with age, the books and scrolls coated in a fine layer of dust. Kyi ran his fingers along the spines, scanning titles that meant nothing to him—until he saw it.
A leather-bound book, its cover cracked and faded, rested atop a precarious stack of papers. Embossed on its surface was a symbol he recognized from the carvings near the Drowned Forest: a crescent moon encircled by jagged lines that resembled roots or veins.
Kyi hesitated, his pulse quickening. He reached out and opened the book, its brittle pages crackling in protest. The text was written in an archaic script, but the illustrations spoke volumes.
There were images of the forest as it had once been, lush and vibrant, teeming with life. Then came depictions of settlers cutting down trees, building homes, and diverting the river. The balance had been shattered, and with it came the curse.
Kyi's breath caught as he turned to a page filled with symbols and strange incantations. At its center was a drawing of a figure—half human, half spirit—bound to the river. Its eyes were hollow, its mouth open in a soundless scream. Below it was a single phrase, written in jagged, hurried letters:
"She weeps for what was stolen. The forest demands its due."
"Demands its due," Kyi whispered, the words chilling him to his core.
A rustling sound broke the silence, and Kyi froze. The lantern's flame flickered wildly, casting long, twisting shadows across the room.
"Who's there?" he called, his voice cracking.
The rustling grew louder, closer, until it seemed to surround him. Kyi gripped the book tightly, his knuckles white. A cold breeze swept through the library, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and decay.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement—a figure shrouded in darkness, its form indistinct yet deeply wrong. It lingered at the edge of the light, its presence sending shivers down Kyi's spine.
"You shouldn't be here," the figure rasped, its voice low and gravelly, like stones grinding together.
Kyi's mouth went dry. "Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer. Instead, it extended a skeletal hand, pointing to the book in Kyi's grasp. "What you hold will bring ruin," it hissed. "Leave the forest to its fate."
Kyi shook his head, clutching the book tighter. "I can't. The children—the village—they're in danger. I need to know how to stop this."
The figure's form shifted, becoming less human with each passing second. Its face melted into a void of writhing shadows, and its voice grew distorted. "There is no stopping it. You meddle in things you cannot understand. The forest remembers. The river remembers. And now, they will remember you."
With a guttural cry, the figure lunged, but Kyi stumbled backward, knocking over a pile of books. The lantern with engraved cross fell, its flame sputtering but holding. Light spilled across the room, and the figure recoiled, its form dissolving into a swirl of mist that seeped into the cracks of the floor.
With his heart pounding, Kyi scrambled to his feet, clutching the ancient book as if it were a lifeline. He bolted from the library, the door slamming shut behind him with a resounding thud.
Outside, the night air was cool and still, but Kyi couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He glanced back at the library, its windows dark and empty.
When he reached Lybid's house, he burst through the door, startling her as she pored over herbs and salves at her kitchen table.
"Kyi?" she asked, rising to her feet. "What's happened?"
Kyi placed the book on the table, his hands trembling. "I found this in the library. It explains the forest—the curse. But...something was there. Something that didn't want me to find it."
Lybid stared at the book, her brow furrowing. She reached out and opened it, her eyes scanning the pages. As she read, her face grew pale.
"This...this is ancient… pagan book," she murmured. "It's older than the village itself."
Kyi nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "And it's angry."
Pale elegant hand placed above the book's cover.
Boy flinched from it.
The two exchanged a glance.
"Deacon!" - like cold water in a hot day, stream of relief covered Kyi.
"You didn't tell me that you understand writings of heretics," - his voice disappointed.
"My grandmother was a pagan. A believer of Rod. And I still bear our believes weight."