I was born in darkness, in a cool, shadowed spring lined by smooth rocks, and that’s why I didn’t know. I grew up to the sound of my sisters, Madlenka and Vlastimila, laughing and singing, keeping time to the drip and burble of the water.
“Silly little Klara. See, she hides from nothing! Listen to the splashing at the cave’s edge, Klara. Is it a monster? It will eat you, Klara! Are you frightened?”
And my oldest sister Benedikta’s voice, chiding them. “She’s young. She’ll grow. Don’t torment her.”
When the time came for us to venture into the daylight of the river, swimming to the sea, Benedikta sang me a brave-making song. “Don’t be frightened. It will be strange and it will be new, but we’ll be together.” I believed her, at first, and I followed, and we all sang together.
Down to the stormy sea we go,
Down to the open blue.
And then the light hit us. Spinning colors assailed me, so intense that I couldn’t make head or tail of what I saw. I froze, shaking, and I dove behind the shadow of a rock. I wanted to tell my sisters to stop, to wait for me, but I could not speak.
I heard a quaver in my sisters’ voices as they saw the same things for the first time. But none of them needed to hide, not like silly little Klara. Even Benedikta, who had always shown me kindness, didn’t notice. Their song receded into the distance.
Through dark and light the currents flow,
And we must pass there, too.
In winter, the little cave would freeze, and there would be no place for us to go except the sea. But in my terror I couldn’t make myself do it, not then. So I listened to my sisters’ voices fading away, and I trembled, and I wept.
I tried for weeks, or what felt like weeks, before I could bear the light even for short moments. Between them, I passed the time alone in my little cave, pretending laughter still rang between the rocks. I sang Benedikta’s songs to myself, and even Madlenka’s, sometimes. My voice grew, over the weeks, becoming stronger and clearer and higher, and it echoed pleasantly across the stone walls. The sound comforted me, though I knew it wouldn’t stop me from freezing.
In my little excursions, I learned more about the river, and about the humans who trod on the shore. A village lay nearby, a little muddy thing with cows on the commons, and I found I could easily understand the humans’ words. Next to the village, near the cave, grew sweet-smelling groves where the leaves made a soft, dark shelter.
“It’s so spooky here,” said a young woman one evening in one of the groves. She had a bright kerchief over her hair, and she sat nestled against a young man in the lush grass. “Lonely and spooky.”
“It’s not so spooky,” said the young man.
“I’ve come out here before,” said the young woman, and the young man frowned at her for a moment, as he didn’t want to know this, but she pressed on. “By myself, I mean, and I’ve heard the singing. You know what I mean, don’t you?”
The young man nodded reluctantly. “I’m sure it’s only the wind.”
“Don’t be silly. Everyone knows it’s the rusalka. She sings that way to lure you in. You’ll go deeper and deeper into the water, trying to find her, and when you’re all the way under, she kisses you, like this—”
She pressed herself against him and kissed him while I watched. It lasted a long time.
“Just like that?” said the young man, laughing.
“Well, not quite like that,” said the young woman, “but she kisses you, and suddenly your mouth and nose fill with water, and you drown in her arms. That’s what she does.”
“There’s no rusalka,” said the young man.
“There is,” said the young woman. “And she’ll drown you even more if you say there isn’t one.”
I had never heard the name before. Rusalka! A beautiful word, I thought, much more beautiful than Klara. Both beautiful and dangerous. And to think, all this time, I hadn’t known!
That night, as I sang to myself, I imagined young men entranced by the music, slipping carefully over the weed-choked rocks and through the pebbly bed of the stream, falling into my arms and kissing me. I didn’t picture them dying, though I knew they would. I knew I didn’t really want them to die. But I couldn’t tear my mind away from the kisses. I hadn’t really known, until that night, how lonely I was.
The weeks went on, though, and no men ever came.
The days grew shorter. I knew I had far more to fear from staying than from leaving. But every day, before the sun rose to its peak, the light became too much for me, and I ducked back into my cave and wept.
One morning, as I cruised along the shore in the misty light of dawn, I heard a loud noise. I ducked into a stand of reeds to hide. The noise arced up in triumphant triads. A song, I realized, a song like mine, only louder and brasher. A human song.
The humans galloped into view on majestic horses, playing their song on curved horns, and in front of them a bear lumbered, dodging their arrows. Dogs snapped and bayed under their feet. In the midst of the humans rode a young man resplendent in dark finery, with hair like leaves at midnight and eyes like stars. He smiled ferociously as he urged his horse in a high leap over a fallen log, and then something clattered and splashed into the water from his arm. He checked himself, coming abruptly to a halt.
“My dagger!” he cried in dismay. “I’ve lost my dagger.”
Most of the hunting party had already ridden on, but another young man, a much stockier one, stopped to help him. “That thing?” he said. “Serves you right for waving it around all day.”
“No, no,” said the beautiful young man. “I just dropped it in the reeds over here.”
He hopped lithely off his horse and splashed in. The other young man just stood and smirked at him. Water swirled around his splendid boots, ruining them, though he didn’t seem to notice. He blundered around through the water, looking in entirely the wrong patch of reeds. I’d seen the dagger fall ten feet away from him. He might never find it.
“Father will kill me,” said the beautiful young man. “He wanted me to present it to Bara next week at the Vyšehrad.”
“Oh, is that why?” said the stocky one. He crossed his arms. “I thought he must have given it to you because he liked you, or something, the way you were carrying on.”
The Vyšehrad! I’d heard humans mention it before. A glorious castle overlooking the water, further down the river. Much further than anywhere I’d ever dared to swim.
“He’ll kill me,” said the beautiful young man again.
I made my decision then. I could move only with difficulty between the shallow reeds, but I squirmed through them as well as I could until I reached the dagger. I flailed back and forth in the reeds, making a disturbance. Here! Look here!
“Don’t be so dramatic,” said the stocky one. “He won’t kill you. He’ll just say ‘Oh, Viliam. Incompetent as always.’ And maybe take it out of your inheritance, or something. Whatever.”
The beautiful young man largely ignored him, peering intently through the reeds. “I can’t find it.” He didn’t seem to see the movements I made, and the stocky one either didn’t see or didn’t care.
So I began to sing.
I began to worry that it would be too much, and this Viliam would wade too deep into the river and drown. But I sang, high and clear, just as I had sung for so many nights alone in my cave, a summoning song. Come to me. Come this way.
Viliam’s frown of anxiety turned into a curious frown, and he looked up from the fruitless patch of reeds where he’d been wading. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” The stocky one guffawed. “Now you’re hearing things.”
But Viliam waded over through the reeds and looked around for me. When he brushed past the reeds over my head, his eyes met mine, and I stopped singing so that he would not die.
Up close, his eyes looked less like stars, and more like the darkest pools. One could hide in them as deep as one liked and never be hurt by the sun. I wanted to speak to him. I am a rusalka. I am Klara. If you kiss me, you will die. But the words died on my lips.
“I found it,” said Viliam. He reached in close to me and took the dagger, and his eyes traced me, fascinated.
The stocky one’s lips curled in scorn. “By listening? Was it playing in the reeds with the fishes? Did a little rusalka lead you to it?”
I froze. But Viliam only stood up and brushed the algae off of his clothes, sheathing the dagger securely at his side. I watched his ankles as he waded back out. “I found it. My luck was good. Shall we go on?”
The stocky one shrugged, and they mounted their horses. “Your stories are less believable by the day.”
I watched them as they left, and then I struggled back to the clear water where I could move freely. Viliam’s beautiful dark eyes burned in my mind. A mad conviction filled me. I would see him again. I would brave the light and the distance, and I would go to the Vyšehrad. When winter came, I would not freeze. I would be long gone down the river by then, and love would be my guide.
A beautiful song stirred in my head. I looked into the distance and I began to swim.
The meadows and forests flew past, and as the shadows lengthened, my mad determination gave way to elation. I was really doing it! I was really going down the river. Soon night would fall, and I would be a whole day’s journey down, and another day would dawn, and I would swim through that, too. I could not go back now. I felt light and strong like the wind, and I sang with joy.
In the evening, I passed a town, a little one, smelling savory and filled with bright garlands, where humans danced. To reward myself for a day of brave swimming, I slipped into a clear little pool where I could nestle in and watch.
A young woman, dressed all in white, tiptoed with delight down a green aisle towards a young man. As the man slipped a ring onto the woman’s finger, they looked adoringly into each other’s eyes. I found myself fascinated. I wondered what finery a man like Viliam would wear to his wedding, what his hands would feel like on me. Then I blushed, the water unexpectedly cold against the heat of my face. I didn’t even know him, and I mustn’t think such things. How Madlenka would have laughed at me!
Besides, if I had kissed him, the way this bride and groom began to kiss, he would have died.
The humans marched out in a glorious procession as the wedding ended, and people went every which way. A cluster of young women in bright cotton dresses rambled down to my pool. I wondered if I should hide, but a few of them glanced my way and smiled, and the others took no notice. So I stayed where I was.
A maiden in blue kicked off her shoes and went dancing right into the water, where she stopped still. Lifting her hands to the heavens, she sang a prayer. The guttural words sounded like nonsense, but when she danced out of the water again, she smiled radiantly. The other girls laughed and congratulated her and patted her hair. It made me think of Benedikta for a moment. How I missed her! But soon I would reach the sea, and I’d see her again.
“Good luck for next year,” said the other girls, “and maybe a groom in the spring!”
A second maiden, this one in red, danced into the water after her. I realized they would all do this in turns. I snuck a little closer, wanting to know more and why.
As I did, I heard a girl, on the sweet-smelling grass of the shore, confiding in her friend.
“I don’t want to,” she said, in a strained, snuffly voice. “I know I’ll do just awful, like last year, and everyone will laugh at me.”
“Oh, come on, Blanka,” said her friend. “Last year was a fluke.”
“It wasn’t a fluke,” said Blanka. “It came right for me. You know it did. It wanted me to panic and fail.”
“They’re just water striders,” said her friend. “They’re not going to kill you.”
“They’re awful,” said Blanka, burying her face in her arms.
The fifth girl in the group danced hesitantly, and her foot twisted on a loose rock. She fell, making a great cold splash, and leaped to her feet in panic, trying to pat the water away from her ink-blue skirt. She raised her hands anyway, after a minute, and sang the prayer, but her shoulders slumped as she climbed out. The girls shied away. She’d failed. Bad luck.
At last Blanka’s turn came. Her friend helped her up and gave her a nudge towards the pond. With the rest of the girls’ eyes on her, she put on a brave smile, held out her arms, and danced into the water, singing the good-luck prayer. She danced gracefully, with light feet, even on the treacherous rocks of the little pool. I wanted her to do well.
Just then a huge water strider sprang right for her. I acted without thinking. I splashed and disturbed the water, and it sank, its footholds gone. A few girls tittered, but Blanka stood firm, and when she danced back out again she tumbled, grinning, into her friend’s arms.
“A splash is a good omen, if you don’t let it bother you” said Blanka. “Luck and wealth! Much better than last year.”
“You did wonderful,” said her friend.
The villagers feasted that evening. The smell of hearty food wafted out over the water. When the humans’ songs faded, late in the night, I sang my own song, a song of love and hope. Later I heard riverside wanderers mention that night. They said they’d never known a more romantic evening.
I had never been so far away from my cave before! I scarcely noticed the days go past. I swam by sweet-smelling vineyards laden with ripe fruit, bridges built of bricks the size of boulders, and forests so deep and thick the whole world looked green in every direction. Soon I had forgotten my fear of the light. Why be frightened of seeing such visions?
Still, something in me felt comfort when the darkness came each night. At night, I felt more alive, more like singing. In darkness, said my heart, lay secrets that could be mine.
At midnight in the darkest heart of the forest, traveling by faith and by touch, I heard a song like mine. Not exactly like mine, or like Benedikta’s, but a water song like ours. Haunting and powerful and attractive. I didn’t realize I had turned, swimming towards the song, until I was halfway there. I didn’t mind, though. I knew who must be singing.
In the dark, we nearly collided. I looked up at her, even though I could not see her, save for the dark-on-dark shadow she made against the forested sky.
“And what are you looking for, little one?” she asked.
“Another rusalka, like me,” I said. “My name is Klara. I was… curious.” And lonely, too, but I wouldn’t have said that out loud.
She laughed a luxurious laugh, and I could hear her dancing slowly in the water. After a moment I heard other movements. Other rusalkas, I realized, danced with her, gathered together in a circle.
“I am Silvie-Ilona,” said the rusalka. “And you are not one of my sisters. But we don’t begrudge company. Spend the night with us, if you like, and learn what we are.”
They sang high and sweet, their voices delicate but irresistible. I joined in, when I could, with my own feeble voice. After a while some of them went out onto the shore, scrambling over deadfalls and shimmying up trees.
“How can you do that?” I asked Silvie-Ilona, who still stood with me in the water. “I can’t do that.”
Silvie-Ilona swayed thoughtfully for a moment. “It takes time. At first we can only leave the water at night, and only at the place where we died.”
I stared at Silvie-Ilona in the darkness. I could imagine the shape of her body now: tall, beautiful, and wild. “You died?”
She raised her head, looking off into the distance, although I could not yet see her eyes. “Hundreds of years ago, Klara. My lover betrayed me and I drowned myself. It was a shameful death. For my shame, I was cursed to haunt the water, drowning men until I was avenged.” I could hear a sad smile in her voice. “He is forgotten now, and without descendants, so it may as well be forever.”
I squirmed in the water. “I don’t remember dying.”
“No?” said Silvie-Ilona. “What is the first thing you remember?”
“Darkness,” I said. “Darkness and my sisters’ songs.”
“And what have you been doing since then?” said Silvie-Ilona.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Hiding. Swimming. Helping people sometimes.”
“Well, then,” said Silvie-Ilona. “You can draw your own conclusions there.”
She stepped out of the water then, and I could only watch as she bent and spun in the dark. Her song rose stronger in the mists of the coming morning. Birds awoke and added their shrill voices in harmony. A cold morning wind blew, rippling the surface of the water, and I let myself sink further down. Still she sang.
I heard a rustling as the sky turned from black to blue-gray. A man stumbled towards the river, mad and wild with longing. Some of the rusalkas had gone back into the water as the light grew, but Silvie-Ilona stayed on the shore, singing and calling, until the man joined her. In the dawn, I could see her more clearly. Her eyes shone green like the brightest emeralds and her skin shimmered like water. I could see the man, too. I didn’t find him handsome, but something in his bearing as he danced, something dignified and vulnerable both at once, reminded me of Viliam. My heart beat gladly inside me, and I thought of Viliam and me, twirling and grasping one another like that. This time the coolness of the water on my burning face didn’t stop me.
Then all at once the man could bear it no longer. He pulled Silvie-Ilona to him and kissed her full on the lips. It lasted only a moment before his eyes opened wide in horror. He pushed her away and stumbled down the shore, choking and gurgling and vomiting water out his mouth and nose, waving his arms wildly. He fell and twitched and choked, and it took ages for him to die. I had never seen anything die before. I had never known it could be so ugly.
At last his body relaxed, with water still streaming from his face, and he rolled limply into the river. Silvie-Ilona’s sisters caught him as he sank and laid him down on the bottom. Silvie-Ilona might have looked over and called something to me then, but I don’t know. By then I was already swimming away, fear and shame and bile filling my throat.
I swam as fast as I could all morning, and my head surged like a storm. I had known, of course, that my kiss could drown a man. But I had never imagined it so terrifying and pointless. How selfish I was, how evil, to have chased after Viliam like this, when I could do nothing but make him die! I must not look for him anymore. Far better never to see him again than to hurt him so. (And yet his beautiful black eyes, like the deepest pools; his fierce, brave smile; his gentle fear; I had to see him again—)
I hated myself, that day, for the first time, and my hate burned so hot and tempestuous inside me that the rapids did not surprise me at all. The water crashed against hard, cold, rocks, loud and angry. I could scarcely find my bearings, let alone keep swimming straight. But my selfish heart already surged and pounded. Why should the river not do the same?
I let myself go limp. It seemed the best way. I flipped and spun and felt sick, and yet I felt happy, in a morbid way, as though this were the natural course of things. A penance for what I knew I was.
My head hit a rock.
Pain exploded through me, and my resignation vanished. It hurt! Hurt enough to kill me, if I hit too many more. I might have been angry with myself, but I did not want to die.
I swam. But my head buzzed and spun and throbbed, and I could scarcely find my way downriver anymore. Chilly white mountains of water heaved all around me and I fell from side to side, thrashing helplessly. Every new impact hurt more. I couldn’t always tell if I’d hit rocks, or simply hit the surface too hard, jarring the injuries I already had.
The world weaved and bobbed in front of me. I picked a direction that might have been forward and I struck out again. For a moment I swam free, and I thought it had worked. Then another wave, bigger than any before, loomed in front of me. I fell upwards and landed hard and sharp on a rock, gasping and thrashing in panic. I would die here! I would never see Viliam or find my sisters.
“Oh, the poor thing,” said a voice.
The voice sounded human. A pair of gentle hands pushed me sideways, and I rolled into the water. This time, though the current ran faster than ever, no rocks blocked its way, and the waves did not churn. I simply sped forward, on and on.
“They’re good luck, you know,” said the voice behind me. “One splashed away a water strider when my cousin Blanka did the water prayer. Good luck for the whole year!”
She’d dropped me into a side channel made for small boats. If I kept going forward, I might be okay. With a grateful smile, I started to swim in earnest. I sang a joyful, determined song to myself as I swam, and I sang it over and over again until my head stopped aching.
Streets and buildings rose around the river as I swam. The hot noonday sun beat down on swarms of bustling, bickering, stinking humans, crowded about selling their wares, rushing between smoky buildings. Above it all, faintly visible in the distance, stood a towering stone castle.
When I got there, I knew what I would do. I would swim the length of the castle, just once, making no noise at all. If I saw Viliam, I would see him. If I did not see him, I would go on. Either way, I would not sing. I would only try to look at him one more time. That would be all.
The river swelled and human things sprang higher all around. Boats churned the water and docks chopped into it. Worst of all, the humans had nets! Fishermen held dozens of them out into the water, yanking whatever lived there up in the air for inspection. I had seen fishermen with nets before, in villages, but I had never seen so many all together. I swam a careful, zig-zagging path around them.
Wham! As I dodged between two nets, a third one flew down around me and tugged me out of the water. I gasped in panic, struggling to get free, and found myself looking up at a craggy old fisherman’s face.
“Let me go!” I said. “Let me go, or I will kiss you and you will choke on a riverfull of water and you will die. Let me go!” But the man only smiled and pulled me closer.
Then, strolling up the dock behind the rows of fishermen, a pair of deep black eyes caught mine.
Viliam!
He looked at me with a shock of recognition, and he walked up to the old fisherman, putting a gilded glove on his shoulder.
“Let that one go,” he said. “Throw it back, if you please.”
“Ha!” said the old fisherman. “Are you mad? Look at the size of this thing! It’ll feed us for–” But then he turned and saw Viliam’s face. He went white. “Of course, my lord! I remember the bans.”
“Good man,” said Viliam. “You can catch all the trout and carp you like, but that species is particularly intelligent, and good luck as well. I trust this won’t happen again.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
I tried to thank him, but I couldn’t speak. I could scarcely breathe.
And then, as the fisherman tugged me out of the net and tossed me back into the river, I caught sight of my own reflection. A shimmering thing, distorted by the movement of the waves, but unmistakeable.
The water took me, and I swam as fast as I could past the nets, my mind reeling. Only a fish! Nothing Viliam could ever love. Nothing that could kill him, either, but that did not comfort me. I swam and swam, waving my fins and beating my tail in anguish. A fish!
But as I cleared the noise of the streets, I heard echoes, deep sounds from the sea ahead.
Benedikta’s song rose high above the others. Madlenka and Vlastimila’s voices shimmered underneath. I turned toward them, all the follies and pains of my journey slipping away. I was born in darkness, not knowing what I was. Now the time had come for light.
Down to the stormy sea we go.
Down to the open blue.
Through dark and light the currents flow,
And we must pass there, too.