Domovoy

“Consider this offer, stranger”, he pleaded the tall and skinny elderly man sitting across him at the wooden table. It was slightly dim lighting in the tavern, despite all those candles around. The round stone fireplace was in the middle of the room, making it the brightest and warmest spot, the perfect spot for watching over everything and everyone.

He had a tremble in his voice. He was young, with red ungroomed facial hair that looked like fire in the room’s flickering light. From his scruffy baggy clothes, you could see that he was troubled beyond his years.

The stranger did not even look at him, only proceeded to light his pipe. He watched the smoke form wavy shapes in front of his wrinkly face. Despite the lines shaped by his years, he had a spark in his gaze. He scratched the back of his bald head, and after a pause, he said:

“Laddie, autumn has passed at last, can’t you see it? There is no chance to even find a dinghy to leave this ungraceful island – not ‘till spring comes around if the gods allow. You are simply wasting your time”.

He took a deep inhale from the pipe, contained it for a bit and closed his eyes; when he opened his eyes after exhaling the smoke, he saw the lad fidgeting with his thumbs on the table.

“I will not be trapped here. I must go...” he murmured with his head down, like a cub with the tail between his legs. He was scared, yes, but he didn’t seem ready to give up yet.

The wind was thrashing the window shutters, while somewhere far away there was a whistling sound, a chilling sound. The wife of the tavern owner was trying to calm down her baby that had just woken up crying in the middle of the night. Her steps were hitting the above floor while she was pacing in the room, while she was singing a mesmerizing lullaby in a language that the young man did not understand.

The storm outside went on furiously for days, maybe ten – others said fifteen or twenty, without subsiding. All the locals were waiting it out at their homes, while the tavern had become a refuge for the travelers that were stuck there, unable to leave this island, which was forgotten by the rest of the world. Time seemed to be flowing differently since the start of winter, and the young man could feel it in his bones that there was something in the air. Magic, and he did not have a good feeling about this.

He sat close to the flickering flames of the fireplace to warm his hands and his face. A cooking pan was there, spreading in the room the sweet smell of food and herbs. He wondered when he was getting out of there, he had met and talked with everyone in that tavern the past days, however, he still did not have any plan at hand. Everyone seemed to be saying the same thing, that they needed to wait it out. On top of that, every day felt the same, and everyone had lost count of time. It felt like they were having the same routine, the same conversations, while they were incredibly lucky that the resources still had not run out.

To pay for lodging and food, when the money unavoidably ran out, everyone needed to work and do chores in the meantime. Cleaning, repairing, carrying firewood from the back, and so on. Still, the tavern owner was unbelievably generous to share what little they had; he had his own family to feed. But he was a pious man, he would not deny help and let people starve or die out in that weather. 

The unwritten rules of hospitality included respecting, protecting, and serving the guests, and in the stories so many times a god was disguised as a man or woman or even a stray animal to test them. So, the tavern owner would not take any chances. His chubby face remained hopeful forming a smile and his voice soft and steady even in those circumstances.

The spirit in the fireplace remembered the unwritten rules of hospitality because it was around it that people gathered around and told those stories. The spirit in the fireplace remembered the people narrating stories of fear, about mysterious beasts at the bottom of the ocean, or vengeful creatures lurking from shadowy corners at night.

The spirit observed the humans from the fireplace. The drunken men shouting or passing out in the tavern, the morning cleaning, various people coming and going, bringing new stories with them every time about someone or something that they saw, a rumour they heard, or something they accomplished.

Like all things with spirit, this spirit in the fireplace simply existed and felt in that world. Not good or bad. It felt happiness and sadness though, and like all creatures, it carried its own memories. The fragmented summer memories, where the fire was lit only for cooking and the night, and the full memories of many winters, where its fire was blazing strong, offering coziness and hearth to everyone around. The spirit had a favourite companion, a hunting dog, who every time was enjoying his lazy slumber next to the weary feet of his master, who stayed on the island every winter season.

It was the house spirit, and as the house and tavern were one building, it was the hearth, the Domovoy, and to be satisfied it needed care and offerings.

Now that people were stuck, Domovoy was kindly easing the pain of so many, taking care of the life in the house, which felt good. Nobody had talked to Domovoy directly for a really long time, and it was the usual way of things. Until the end of this autumn. A traveller, a wrinkly old lady sat by the fire to warm herself on a cold night.

It was on that same cold night, a group of drunk locals was hostile to her, shouting, and loudly commenting on her appearance, and the fact she was not talking back at them. From the spark in her eye, she seemed to be angered, but at that moment she only looked down and away and kept quiet.

She went by the fire to sit alone, and she drank beer in the tavern. A long time passed as she was staring down at the flames. Then, she opened her mouth, and murmured:

“Domovoy, domovoy,

Let your fire warm this poor drinker.

Domovoy, domovoy,

Lady Winter this year will linger”.

She grinned and she threw pieces of bone and ashes from her pockets to fireplace. The flames became purple for a second, ready to receive her ominous request.

“Cast a spell, on humans wicked and nice,

By the endless storm, they will be trapped in this place like mice.

Reveal their true nature to be judged!

This spell will be solved when three grown people are freed.

The only way to do that is by selfless deed.

If not succeed, feed them a long, torturous dream.

Let it last and let it stir; like a soup, stir the time stream!”.

The witch blew a breath towards the flames and clapped her hands three times. Her spell was finished. She chuckled with satisfaction and left before the first rays of sunrise. The next morning seemed normal, and the morning after that.

On the third morning, the winds gathered and grew stronger, more and more, until the first thunder breaking, when the conjured storm had begun.

Domovoy was not happy with this spell, especially because it was supposed to be a protector of some sort. Not the sort with sword or spear or fighting, but of a more discreet form. It needed to notify the people, but in its current form, nobody would pay attention.

Reflecting on it, Domovoy decided that the tavern owner could be one of the people with a selfless deed, helping all those travellers by offering food and lodging. His wife, on the above floor, who nurtured the baby could be the second person. Babies and children did not count on the witch’s spell, she made it tricky so that it’s harder to find a third person. Domovoy thought about the third person while scanning the room full of people.

Sending a nightmare to someone and scaring them to be good was indeed amongst its capabilities, but then it remembered the words of the spell, “reveal the true nature”. Any intervention that would be forcing their hand was doomed to fail.

What could be done, then?

The spirit thought and thought fast. Forcing the humans' will would not succeed, but what might do the trick could be slightly encouraging them to use their free will in a selfless way.

Domovoy searched the minds and dreams of people, the young red-haired lad had lived a hard life, but there was still some good in him. He had sailed across the sea, as a crew member in merchant ships to earn money for his young wife and child. The ship was attacked by pirates and thieves, and he was one of the survivors, who drifted ashore to this place. His family, who was waiting for him, would believe him dead if he did not come back until spring. He worried that his wife and child would be sick and they would not have any resources. Domovoy decided that this person was good enough to start its efforts for unbinding the spell.

The following day, the spirit had taken the form resembling the lad’s grandfather, inspired by his memories, with some modifications so as to not arise suspicions. Domovoy only aimed for a resemblance, in order to cause a feeling of familiarity and safety to the other person, but it wanted the resemblance to be attributed to a "physical coincidence", as one would say. The spirit's disguise was dressed like an old craftsman, short and wide figure, silver hair and beard, and cheeks red, and appearing strong for his age.

When people woke up, they did not pay attention to the spirit's human form, as they thought that they saw another traveller, and they did not remember his face, but they had a feeling that he had already been there with them. So, people did not mind him, and he quietly sat by the fire.

The thunder and vigorous wind continued outside, the sky was so dark as if that night was endless.

The old man held a cup of drink in his hand, and when he saw the young man and the others sitting around the hearth of the flames, he leaned forward. He looked into their eyes and spoke to them:

“Who wants to hear a story?”