“Look, I’m tired of fairy tales, and I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”
“Your family’s legends got misinterpreted along the way. I brought you here to show you there’s no hope in your people, Ozren. That’s why your garden is dying.”
“And how do you know all this?”
“I made this orchard a hundred years ago.”
“If this is some kind of a joke…”
“It’s not a joke, Ozren, and I’m risking a lot saying this to you. When the first Bozmaroff settled here with his people, they had only each other. The weather was harsh, the land selfish, and those few people fought tooth and nail to survive. I helped them a little. It didn’t cost me anything back then. The same way you wonder about your house’s future now, he wondered about the future of his people. So I told him that as long as they feel love for him, house Bozmaroff will go on. He then asked me how one knows whether his people loved him. So next spring, I made him this garden. That’s why the legend says it symbolizes your family’s power. You have a future as long as your people feel a grain of love for your house. Do you see now why it’s losing its beauty?”
“You’re not just a housemaid, are you?”
“No, I’m more than that… used to be more than that. Now I scrub floors and empty chamber pots.”
“You’re Lada…”
“Shh! Come on, we’ll talk somewhere safe.”
She grabbed the boy by the hand and led him back to the orchard the same way they had left. Jumping from shadow to shadow, waiting for the rattling of armor to fade away, telling them the guards had passed. They jumped over the fence and landed on the neatly cut grass, soft as a carpet under their feet, from the village’s muddy streets to the garden’s tranquility. The moon shone above all of them, both the noble running away from violence and the woman facing it.
“You’re a goddess. Can’t you do some miracle and fix the orchard? You can make things right, my father will be happy, and he can pay attention to these people’s real problems. Everyone here will worship you!”
“The days of worship have long passed, young Ozren. People like remembering the old ways, the gods, and the customs, but few take them seriously. Now that crosses hang over people’s beds. If I make a flower grow out of the dirt, I will be burned as a witch. The priests made sure to brand this in people’s minds.”
“But my family rules these lands. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Yes, you won’t. But when the order comes from the czar, what will you do then? How will you protect me when the church’s butchers come at your gates in their black coats? I get enough power from your people each year to continue living. Each time they burn my other half in spring, I feel their desire for beauty. Each time they marvel at the first flowers in spring and think of me, it gives me the strength to last the winter. But I don’t know for how long until my sister devours me completely.”
“I always thought the gods were untouchable all-powerful beings, and we existed at their mercy.”
“We’re prisoners of our own divinity. The days when they put collars on us and use us as animals are not long from now. But I’d rather be a servant by my own will than be chained in some ruler’s garden who will have me make gardens for his lovers or sleep with his allies.”
Ozren sat down and drove his hand through the blades of grass shuffled by the light wind.
“Why didn’t you make it a regular garden? Why does it have to be hope of all things?”
“Because I’m the goddess of beauty, not the goddess of practicality. How could I know that it would get misunderstood? I told the first Bozmaroff what it was and haven’t returned. Now I just wanted a place to hide, and I see people getting beat to death over apples. I never thought about the consequences of my actions. Gods never do.”