Vodník Read online

  L’uboš led us to a stairwell going up. As he walked, he continued to talk. “No matter what else a castle was built for, whether beauty or sport, its main reason is always defense. In real castle, at least. Maybe Disney castles are different. Stupid.”

  We emerged to another chamber, one with low wooden beams. L’uboš pointed at another doorway off to our left. “That is where the stairs continue. To an attacking army, this would be very confusing. They would not know the layout, and so they would become lost. Come.”

  The next stairwell was thinner than the first, and my elbows brushed either wall. “In tight space,” L’uboš said, “the person above on stairs has big advantage over the person below. Easier to defend and attack. Spiral stairs always go clockwise as you go up in castles. Defenders coming down can use their sword arms. Attackers coming up can’t.” He gestured with his arms showing how the central pillar of the spiral staircase would block a right handed person from swinging a sword if they were facing up.

  This stair exited into an all white room with gothic windows. But for some strange reason, the doorway was shorter than the rest of the stairs, height wise. I almost banged my head on it before my uncle stopped me.

  “Watch your head,” he said, then moved to one side of the door and pretended he was holding a sword over his head, ready to strike. “The attacker would come through door and have to stoop. A defender could chop his head off easily, because by stooping, the attacker exposes weakness in his armor. Understand?”

  “Yes.” Medieval people were sick and sadistic, but they were good at what they did.

  “Come,” L’uboš said. “Higher.”

  The stairway was now super thin, and I felt like I needed to breathe in just to keep walking. My elbows kept scraping the stone walls. This time, we exited into the open air. We had reached the wooden observation tower.

  The entire city stretched out around us: the river snaking through the middle and weaving its way past a public pool and soccer stadium, the city center resting at the base of the castle, and the industrial and residential areas rearing up around it like younger but uglier and taller siblings. Birds flew around the tower, sweeping past in a flutter of wings and soaring low enough that we were looking down on them at times.

  I might have had phobias of water and fire, but heights had never fazed me. I leaned as far as I could over the chest-high wall separating us from a fall. Then I spat. It was caught by the wind almost im­mediately, and I lost track of where it went.

  Katka snorted, but L’uboš laughed. I had thought he would. I smiled at him. “Trying to hit stupid tourists,” I said.

  His laughter deepened once Katka reluctantly translated for him. “Just don’t do it too often,” he said through her. “Bad for tourism, and we need money. And don’t do it on tours.” He sighed and pointed out around us. “That is the tour. Finished.”

  I cleared my throat. “So, uh . . . when can I start work?”

  L’uboš slapped me on the shoulder. “I give you tour script, and you memorize it. Study, and I will test you whenever you like. Once you pass, then you can do tours.”

  “Oh,” I said. That was kind of a downer, but I should have expected it.

  “Do you have any questions?” L’uboš asked.

  “Who owned the castle?” I said.

  L’uboš said something that sounded like a Slovak curse, though I had no clue which one. “I forget part of tour. Very bad example. Matúš Čak was main owner of castle. He was like king of entire area in 1300s. He died with no children, and his empire was broken up. But even though he had much money, it was never found and neither was his grave. There are rumors of secret tunnel beneath the castle that leads to his grave, where all his treasure lies.

  “When Communists were renovating the castle, they discovered the castle’s foundation rock was unstable. Many small caves and holes. So they filled them all with concrete. Stupid. Archaeologists have found tunnels beneath the city center, but they have never found any that lead to the castle. In my opinion, Matúš has a very simple grave that is unmarked. He was Catholic, and they didn’t believe in fancy graves. He might be in a monastery somewhere. I don’t really think it matters.”

  He held up a finger. “All that matters is legends bring in more tourists, and—”

  “We need money,” Katka and I said at the same time. We all laughed until I stopped because it felt a little too sitcommy.

  Still, the thought of a buried king lying in mounds of gold was more than appealing. “What if the treasure were here?” I asked.

  L’uboš snorted. “Treasure. That’s for children and fools who come here trying to dig up the property.”

  “What about all your talk about needing money for the castle?” I asked.

  “Stupid,” L’uboš said. “We will not save castle with fairy tale. But enough of that. We go down now. I am hungry. We have barbecue at castle soon.”

  A barbecue sounded good. Before I left the tower, I took another look at the city around me. I could barely believe that just yesterday I’d been surrounded by the normal life of America. Slovakia was different, but there were definite perks. And who knew? Maybe underneath where I was standing, deep within the rock, lay a king’s ransom in treasure.

  Even rarer than the ability to see mystical creatures, being able to actually interact with them—be affected by their actions—is both a blessing and a curse. Probably about five percent blessing and ninety-five percent curse, but studies thus far have been inconclusive. It doesn’t help that most humans who can interact with these creatures end up dying quite quickly, or turning evil.

  The tour had taken longer than I had thought. By the time L’uboš had found the tour materials for me to memorize (which, granted, took a while—he wasn’t the world’s most organized person), the sun was already setting. We met my parents at the castle portcullis, the iron grate that slid down to block off the main keep from invaders.

  Dinner was klobása with rolls cooked over a campfire made from castle wood scraps. The parents stayed by the fire. Katka kept me company twenty feet away. There were times when I hated myself for being so chicken. It wasn’t like the fire was going to blaze up and burn everything down in an instant, but I couldn’t force myself to have anything to do with flames. Even twenty feet away, I felt nervous and tied up inside, knowing my family was that close to such a big fire. Thankfully they were family and more than understanding. L’uboš cooked the klobása himself and brought it over to us.

  I had thought I had been eating klobása all my life—it was called Polish sausage in the States. Except now that I ate this, I realized what my mom had meant whenever she complained she couldn’t get any good klobása. It was like every time I had ever eaten it, it had just been a glorified hotdog. This was real: it was filled with spices and the taste of smoke, and it hissed and spat when held over the fire to cook. Wherever the grease dripped into the flames, a tiny explosion shot up to the sky. I caught myself rubbing my burn quite a few times, and had to keep reminding myself to stop.

  Above us the clouds had blown away to be replaced by the few stars strong enough to shine through the city lights. For a moment, I could almost believe we were living back in the medieval days, holed up in Trenčín castle and having an outdoor feast. True, the tower was lit up by gigantic floodlights, but I could eliminate those in my mind.

  Katka and I talked in English while my parents discussed things with L’uboš in Slovak. I caught my mom frowning at me a couple of times—she was still big on the Speak Only Slovak kick—but other than that, it was a relaxing evening. After a while, the adults left to go to another part of the castle L’uboš wanted to show my dad. Katka and I kept chatting.

  I was still stunned by how well the two of us got along. I’d never had a conversation this long with someone my age. Ever. And I hadn’t even known her at the beginning of the day. Now I was telling her all about the finer points of The Princess Bride, Rob Reiner films, and William Goldman scripts. And maybe she wasn’
t understanding everything I was saying, but she seemed to genuinely care.

  It was awesome.

  In the middle of explaining the Dread Pirate Roberts, I saw a flash of light out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see the flames shoot up, doubling in size for a moment. I jerked backward. “Did you see that?” I asked Katka.

  Katka looked over at the fire. “See what?”

  It did it again, except this time, the fire burst up in a column into the sky, almost coming halfway up the castle tower and bathing the entire courtyard in orange light. Oddly, the flames didn’t add any extra heat to the surroundings. Now I completely lost all sense of dignity. I grabbed Katka and dived for the only cover I could find: in this case, a bench near the picnic area. Katka shook me off, staring at me like I’d gone nuts, despite the fact that the fire was towering over her. I pointed. “That!”

  A woman stepped out of the flames. Her skin, hair, clothes—everything about her was made up of solid fire. Her hair was a burning red in the shape of a woman’s long locks, but where normal women would have strands of hair, she had strands of fire, each strand pulsing and flickering with the same light as the campfire. Her skirt had stripes, alternating shades of flame, and her blouse was the blue of the inside of a candle. Her skin was a lighter shade of orange, with her features well defined and beautiful. The air shimmered around her, like it does above pavement on a hot day.

  A whole person, made of fire.

  “What are you talking about?” Katka asked, raising an eyebrow in blank confusion with the woman five feet in front of her and the entire area lit up enough to see every cobblestone in minute detail.

  So much for sleep deprivation and jet lag. It was at this point that I could no longer pretend I wasn’t seeing things, or that nothing supernatural was happening. When you’re standing bathed in the light emanating from a woman of flame, and the person you’re with can’t see a thing, either you’re on drugs, or something’s up.

  “It’s a woman made out of fire,” I told Katka. “And she’s standing right there.” My cousin was craning her neck, scanning the entire area to find what I was talking about. In the firelight, I noticed a disturbing fact: Her widened eyes were still dilated enough for darkness, even though they should have been at pinpoints by now.

  The woman peered at me. “Tomáš?” she asked, using the Slovak pronunciation, TOE-mosh instead of TOM-us. When she spoke, smoke came out of her mouth. Her voice, on the other hand, was normal.

  I had no saliva in my mouth, and all I could manage was a nod. Would she burn me to a crisp? And how had she known me? Of course, who cared if she knew my name or not if all she wanted to do was fry me?

  A whole person made of fire.

  I wanted to run farther away—run anywhere—but I had no control of my legs. I couldn’t even straighten up out of my crouch behind the low wall.

  Her brow furrowed, the flames inside bending to the new shape of her forehead, creating small blue creases. Whoever heard of folding fire? She became . . . darker. Redder, like the color of glowing embers instead of a forest fire. Her dress and shirt turned black with red accents, and her hair was now just a dark auburn, with a tiny flicker of yellow every now and then, almost like highlights. I had to blink to readjust my eyes.

  “Why have you returned?” she said. “And to the castle of all places. He will kill you if he finds you.”

  “Kill me? Who?” And how was she speaking English?

  “What’s happening?” Katka asked, narrowing her eyes as she stared intently in the direction I was looking.

  The fire woman glanced at my cousin and sniffed, then snapped her fingers. Katka froze in place, not even breathing.

  “What did you do to her?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I did it to us.”

  I licked my lips, trying to get some saliva flow going in my mouth again. The fire woman gave off a muted sound of flames: hushed cra­ckles and snaps that made me think of bonfires and witch burnings. “Um . . . who are you?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You do not remember?”

  I shook my head. “Should I?”

  She laughed. “I would hope so. I risked my life to save you.” She took another step forward, and I retreated again.

  “Are you trying to fry me?” I asked.

  That stopped her. “Of course not. Why would I—”

  It occurred to me that if she knew me when I was in Slovakia before, she might know what I couldn’t remember. “You say you saved me—did you give me this at the same time?” I held up my burned arm.

  The woman sighed. “Tomáš, I apologize, but it was for your own good. The vodník wanted your soul when he first saw you. He only pretended to be your friend. That is why I am surprised to see you back. He is not the kind to take failure lightly.”

  Vodník? If a gawk could be said to increase, that’s what happened to me. “I was friends with you—and him? This vodník?”

  “Of course you were. Don’t you remember anything?”

  A flash went through my mind—blazing white heat and water down my throat. “Tell me more,” I said. Maybe if I had some more information, it would jog my memory.

  She shrugged, sending small ripples of flame down her shoulders. “I don’t know much more. It was here at the castle, at the little pool below. He lives here, of course—in the well. The humans were having a fair, and I didn’t arrive till late, once the bonfires were lit. When I did, he was already holding you under in the pool. I had to flare to save you, and I almost killed myself in the process. He wanted you so badly.”

  “Why?”

  She pointed around us. “We cannot affect the world anymore. Before, yes, but something has changed since the old days. The vodník can still drown people. He can even still manifest to regular humans when he chooses. But his power is rare, and it’s weakening. I cannot affect humans at all. Around you, it’s different. It’s like you let a piece of the old times live again. You’re special.”

  Great. I’m lucky and special. “What’s your name?”

  “Ohnica.” She looked up at the tower we were standing by, watching the bugs swarm the floodlights. I’d say one thing for a fire woman: she probably didn’t have to worry about mosquito bites.

  As I studied her longer, I began to get another tickle at the back of my thoughts. The image of me chasing after a ball made out of fire. Maybe I had seen her before.

  “Well, Ohnica,” I said. “Why are you speaking English? And why am I so special?”

  “Language is irrelevant to us,” she said. “We are understood in any tongue. And as to why you are special . . . I don’t know. Some guess it’s hereditary. But none of that matters. You need to stay as far away from this castle as you can.”

  “Do you mean the vodník guy?” I asked. “Why would he want to kill me so bad?”

  “You escaped once. He does not forget that. If he decided to add you to his collection, he will keep trying.”

  “Collection? What is a vodník?”

  Ohnica glanced at the fire, then back to me. “Time runs short. For the past decade or two, I am bound to active flames. Before, I could wander at will, as the vodník does. I am weakening. If you could build a large enough fire, I might be able to break free. Then I could be of more use to you. In the meantime, stay away from here. Get answers from the humans—they can tell you about vodníkoch.”

  “But I just got a job working at the castle,” I said.

  The fire woman sighed and headed back to the fire. “I cannot tell you what to do, Tomáš, and even if I could, you do not seem ready to believe me. If you insist on working at the castle, be prepared. Do not be alone near water, and do not get close to the well. When the vodník appears, you might have to kill him. I will come to help if there is fire nearby.”

  “Um . . . okay.”

  She considered me for a moment. “I understand this is all new to you. For now, know that I am your friend. If you need help, start a fire and I will come as soon as I can. Build one big enough,
and I can do more. Hopefully we shall have some time to get reacquainted when you are less skeptical. I missed you. I hope you survive.” With a final sunny smile, she disappeared back into the flames.

  Some things really are just stories, of course. Many Slovak tales speak of Starenka, a woman who turns up to help heroes in their time of need. Despite how frequently she appears in these stories, our Investigations Unit has never been able to confirm her existence. We are reasonably confident she’s just a figment of some storyteller’s imagination.

  The next day, Katka came over at eight—two in the morning back in Pennsylvania. Not that it mattered; I had woken up at seven on my own, and I hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. Stupid sunlight. I’d managed to convince Katka last night that I’d just been kidding about the fire woman. I think she bought it mainly because of the culture difference between us. Thank goodness for that. My parents had taken me home—Katka had stayed at the castle with L’uboš—and I’d been deep in thought since, trying to make sense of the mess I was in.

  “Do you want to see the town?” Katka asked when I came to the door.

  I looked down at the T-shirt and shorts I had on. “Why not,” I said. There were advantages to sleeping in your clothes. I grabbed a baseball cap, slipped on some sandals, and off we went. The day was sunny and brisk, and the lawn in the park had just been cut, the air heavy with the scent of grass. It was nice to be outside and listen to the birds chirping in the trees.

  When we got to the place where Mom and Dad had led me up to the left, toward the castle, Katka took me right. The street opened into a large plaza with a giant pillar in the middle. I pointed at it. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a monument to the people of Trenčín who died in the cholera plague in 1710.” Katka led me over to it. It had steps leading up to a square monument with a round pillar that had a tarnished statue of a man at the top. A couple of old women clustered around the base, hawking flowers and herbs. One of them walked up to me.