Troika

Fajra stood in the rain, in her shift, looking up at the sky and shaking her fist. "WHY?" she screamed. "You promised to be my Guardian! You promised you'd help me! Why are you gone now," the final question died on her lips as another wracking pain dropped her to her knees in the mud, tears mingling with her already drenched face. "Why?" she whispered.

Šárka watched from the door of the cottage. She knew this was going to happen. When Koré came here, Šárka knew this could only lead to trouble for Fajra. But she also knew it needed to happen; so she stood aside and let it.

A Troika. One of the most potent of magical numbers. And yet, they couldn't seem to pull it together. Mir needed to be here for that.

Šárka reached into a pouch at her hip and pulled out a handful of mugwort blossoms. She crushed them between her fingers and blew them in Fajra's direction:

"Loved too hard; Loved to quick

Missed the meaning; Lost the chance.

Time again; Passed you by.

Did not learn; Far too blind."

Her whispered words carried to the ears of one far from where she stood. Knowing she would not get an answer right away, she turned and went back inside, letting Fajra alone to sort out her own demons.

***

 Fajra sat resolutely in the wet grass, glaring up at Mir. "We will never get anywhere," he was saying, "if you do not stop being so stubborn."

"You do not know anything. You cannot hope to understand what I am going through," she crossed her arms and continued to glare. However, the damp and cold were starting to get to her – she knew it was only a matter of time before the pain came. Then, he would merely carry her away.

"Fajra, love, please. I am merely trying to help you. You think I do not understand your pain; you are wrong. You do not realize it now, but someday you will understand." He offered her his hand again. Barely above a whisper he added, "No matter what, I will always be your guardian."

The tightness, which always preceded her pain, crept into her neck and chest. She looked up at Mir, knowing he only wanted to help her. That's all he ever wanted. She took his hand, and warmth and calm washed over her, subsiding the pain for now.

He pulled her up to him, wrapping her in his embrace and kissed the top of her head.

"Can we go back to Šárka now, love?"

Fajra sighed and nodded. She was too tired to fight him anymore anyway.

***

After a time, Fajra came back into the cottage. Šárka had a cup of tea and broth waiting for her. She sat down at the small, wooden table, looking sullenly across to Šárka.

"Koré is still out?" she queried.

"Yes - I suspect that she will stay out at least the night, if not longer. You were exceptionally harsh this last time, Fajra." Šárka's words of disappointment were belied by her tone.

"I cannot go on like this. She will not accept the teachings I have to give and I cannot keep fighting her. It wears on me." Fajra took a sip of the bitter tea, made a face and put it back down.

"Yes," replied Šárka, "so stop fighting her. Do not teach her more until she comes to you." Šárka stood up to stoke the fire. "And drink your tea."

Fajra made a face at Šárka's turned back, knowing it was childish, but not caring. When Šárka made no comment, she sipped some broth and started again.

"But Mir always said..."

Šárka whirled around, skirts precariously close to the flames.

"Mir is not here now! Either you take my advice or you can go just as well as she can!"

Fajra knew better than to have mentioned Mir. Since he left, tensions were so much worse between them. Not that he was perfect, by any means, but somehow he managed to keep the peace. She lowered her head and muttered, "No Šárka. I do not wish to leave you."

Šárka had enough of the sulking and turned towards the stairs to go up to her altar. As she left, Fajra muttered, "I just wish he had never brought her here."

***

Fajra remembered that morning all too well. Mir had been gone for days this time and sent word to Šárka that he was returning that day with a surprise for them. Fajra couldn’t imagine what could be better than having him back. Some days, she felt that was all she ever needed.

She was sitting outside the front door of the cottage when his horse crested the hill. Elated Fajra called inside to Šárka that he had arrived, but the words fell heavily to the ground as Fajra realized there was someone riding behind him. A woman by the look of the petite frame. “Troika” Mir had been telling Fajra all this time – she assumed it was him and Šárka and herself. Never had she thought he’d bring another woman to their cottage.

Šárka stepped out of the door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Who is that with him” she asked.

Fajra couldn’t even respond; she just stood there dumbly staring. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what she was expecting. Her disappointment showed in her posture.

“You need to give up this foolish idea you have about him,” Šárka was saying. “You knew this was going to happen. What? Did you think his Troika involved himself? You know it cannot be that way – it must be three women.”

As they rode closer, Fajra felt herself slipping out of her body, to watch the rest of the scene in the detached manner she had started to reserve for her most pain filled moments. Mir and the woman approached, he helped her gently down from the horse. He almost appeared… smitten… with her. Fajra’s heart broke a million times over in her body, but her spirit watched without a drop of emotion.

The woman’s name was Koré. She was from several villages over. She was the one Mir had been seeking for going on a year now. And, she was finally here with them, he was saying.

The girl smiled and curtsied to them both as Mir made the introductions. Fajra’s body reacted in the appropriate polite fashion, but her spirit started to become furious. It was only a matter of time before the two reconciled. She needed to be gone from here before that happened.

She was just about to excuse herself – plead illness coming on, when Mir stated “And Koré, Fajra will be giving you your lessons. I have only a few more days here before I must leave again – this time for perhaps the longest yet. I trust that you will all get along. This needs doing. I have seen it. Isn’t that right, Fajra?”

Fajra’s body nodded and started to excuse herself, when the spirit returned with a ferocity she had never before experienced. The glare of her spirit was immediately turned upon Mir and the newcomer with such fierceness they both took a step back. Fajra’s fight between body and spirit took on a primal tone and she managed to physically tear herself away before saying anything hurtful. The pain welling up inside of her, kept her focus to the matter at hand – escape – and she ran for the nearby woods, a cry escaping her throat. Something about all of this seemed very wrong to her, but she couldn’t find a voice to explain what that was…

***

Mir's leaving should have broken the cycle, but instead a new one was created. Fajra looked down into the valley from her place on the mountainside.  It started to rain and still she stood there looking down; down to the house they shared. Down to the fields they ran in. Down.

She looked to the sky, rain washing over her face and was certain she heard his voice.

"Let it go. The fight is over now. Break the cycle."

Fajra twirled slowly, rain soaking her, washing away all that once was.

"Let it go," she thought, warmth building inside of her. "It no longer matters. You must do what you need. Should she choose to follow, so be it. But the time for waiting is passed. Now is YOUR season, Witch."

And with that, she turned, walking away from the valley below.

***

Secretly, Fajra was glad Koré did not follow; did not seek her out. "Your season, Witch. How can you expect one to follow, if you don't even know where you're going?" She knew Mir wouldn't have approved. Not her leaving, not her abandonment of everything he expected of her  and certainly not her methods for finding her Path. But we all learn in different ways and experience was the best way she knew how.

Fajra laid in bed a moment longer, letting her thoughts drift, soaking in the joy felt in her romantic heart and the energies swirling around her. So grounded in the Earth, she rarely gave into the flights of fancy of Air. So flowing and deep as the Water, her Soul lifted to the heat of Fire. The man beside her stirred, rolling over to lay his arm across her in a protective gesture, only the deepest of sleep can bring to lovers of passing acquaintance. Fajra silently and softly extricated herself from him, slipping out of the bed and down the stairs without waking him. When he did wake, she would remain but a pleasant dream... all else forgotten. At least she had grown in the knowledge of those magicks. For better or worse.

Slipping out the back door, so any early morning neighbors would be ignorant of her presence, Fajra slipped on her sandals and crept back off down the street. She mused about the nature of mankind... that very base need for physical comfort. How desire could be parasitic in nature... while others completely symbiotic. When she started on this experience, she feared she would become the former. A mortal succubus, destined to do more harm than good. But she checked up on her lovers since... and each one had settled into a healthier life... a more fulfilling life, after her visit. The thought made her smile.

So lost in thought was she, Fajra didn't even notice the man in front of her until she had run smack into him. He caught her by the arms to balance her and, startled, Fajra looked right into the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. The man was dressed in the style of a nobleman and had an air of authority about him. With an effort of will, she lowered her eyes in deference.

"You should pay more attention to where you are going, m'lady," his voice rumbled, sending a shiver down her spine. "And you'd be ill-advised to wander the early hours, unescorted, lest someone mistake you for a common whore." Fajra wasn't sure if it was meant as a threat. She tried to take a step back, but his grip on her arms tightened, ever so slightly. Her heart pounded staccato in her chest and she forced herself to look into his eyes again.

“Pardon, m’lord, but have you mistaken me for a common whore? Or even an uncommon one? If not, I’d humbly request you would release me,” Fajra took a deep breath, moving unconsciously closer to the man. “If so, I’d humbly request you reconsider.”

“Bold, m’lady. Very bold.” The man released her and took a step back, meeting her gaze.

Fajra blushed. What was it about this man? After all the lovers she had taken in recent months, why should a few words from this one make her feel any different? She averted her eyes once more, a small shiver at the memory of his touch running through her.

Mistaking her shudder as a chill from the early morning, the man quickly removed his cloak, gallantly stepping up and laying it across her shoulders. “My most sincere apologies, my lady. I have left you standing here in the cold, making inappropriate comments, when I should be offering to escort you home.” He stepped back and bowed. “Lord Castor of the Valleys, m’lady. And I would be honored if you would accept these most humble and sincere apologies.” He stood back up, offered his arm to her, smiling and watching her with those eyes.

Fajra had no idea how to respond. The desire that rose in her terrified her. It was more than anything she had ever experienced and the draw to this man like nothing she had ever felt, even for Mir. She panicked, turned and ran, heedless of his call following her. Into the darkened woods near town she went, stopping only when sense caught up with her and she realized she yet had his cloak about her shoulders.

“Great. Now he’ll likely call the Watch to catch a whore and a thief. Maybe I should just give up and declare witch now too, so at least I can die in the fire, rather than wasting in a jail cell.”

A deep voice whispered in her ear, “Or at the very least, a crazy woman, set for the asylum.” A strong arm crossed her chest, holding her tight and pulling her against him. “Though witch may explain this curious draw to you”

Fajra’s breath caught in her chest, as once more the voice and the memory of those eyes came to her. She finally found her own voice and, leaning into him, whispered, “What would you have of me, m’lord? It seems escape is impossible now for so very many reasons.”

Castor turned her towards him, hands on her shoulders. “Your name would suffice… for now.”  He grinned, his smile drawing her unconsciously closer towards him.

“Fajra, m’lord. Fajra of the Woods, apprentice of Mir, house-sister to Šárka and mentor of Koré.”

“Fajra,” he whispered her name, not unlike a prayer. “Of the Woods? You are a far distance from home then, my lady. Have you been banished? Where do you call home now?”

Faja’s thoughts were a jumble. She could not answer him. She did not know where she’d call home. She no longer knew what she was doing here or what she sought out of this life. The only thing that mattered now was the man before her and the power and draw he had upon her. His closeness, the scent of him, her pounding heart while being held in his almost-embrace became too much. Fajra’s world tilted ever so slightly and she slipped down to the dew-covered ground.

Castor caught her just before she hit the ground, picked her up in her arms and sighing, carried her out of the woods. “Castor… this is going to be such a bad idea,” he muttered to himself as he carried her back to the manor.