Flesh is Red at Vodov
CLASSIFIED 36/7/1922: The following transcript is copied from writings on the padded walls of Officer D. Arkady V___ at Kozhy State Mental Asylum in the excellent capital of Gorod. Comrade Arkady had been stationed as an educational officer in a fishing town called Borku-Dorov to the far north when extenuating circumstances caused him to be returned home and admitted to the hospital. He did not share his experiences until the following text was found today written on the walls of his cell along with his corpse hanging from the ceiling by a makeshift rope. I leave this on your desk as a reference for further dealings with the people of Borku-Dorov, Captain. May you heed its warning.
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
These words are burnt into my mind. Chanted and sung and stomped into my conscience like a school motto from the State Academy – instinctual, cultural, primitive. I cannot escape them, even now.
Borku-Dorov haunts me. When I was first given the assignment, I was eager to prove my blood ran red. The East Thelenic Socialist League or E.T.S.L. is still young. The people in the provinces are still learning about what’s been happening in the cities the past few years. Still hesitant to trust the new government after so many years of imperial oppression. It was my job to go and share with them the value of our new Communist ideology. In the early days of the revolution, the people had been starving. Whether one wore red or white, he would go hungry. The children, forced to work the fields while their parents were away at war, were banned from taking food out of the villages, lest a stray soldier keep it for themselves. Some people are still mistrusting of working under the red flag. It is the committee’s position that a proper education would fix that.
I caught the train as far north as I could with the other state missionaries – young men and women from the city who could read and write. Most of our mage comrades had left to join the revolution against the despots in the West, but most of us knew one or two spells. Loseva Sofiya Yurievna was one of these, and she had given me a black, needle-like trinket which I attached to my watch fob. She had explained to me that if I were to break it, I would find myself back at her side for her to help me. I scoffed at the time, as I did not realise how dearly I would be in need of the help.
“AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN.” That was the first phrase I heard upon entering the town. It was quite small and was notable for its complete lack of a Wizard or a church – a fact which expressed itself in the flat skyline of the shore of the North Sea. I had stumbled alone into town on foot, clutching my thick, military issue coat about me as the icy polar winds blew in unimpeded. The first person I met was a beautiful young woman with dark, sunken eyes and thinning clothes. She posed the evil phrase to me like a question, but when I stared at her quizzically, she simply turned back to her work at the loom. I was puzzled, to say the least. The words were of no language that I recognised, but they sent a chill to my spine, nevertheless. I was sure the people of this region spoke the mother tongue all the same – I had read some reports from tax officials that had visited which, though brief, outlined conversations they had had with the locals.
“AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN.” The conversation with the next fellow, an old fisherman with a fur cap, began much the same. When I asked him, “Do you speak Odiin, comrade?” He harrumphed, then responded, “Of course, young man. What other language could I speak?”
Naturally, I pressed him for further answers about the strange phrase of greeting, but he gave no information, simply saying he remembers no such words being spoken. As I went about greeting others, accompanied by the man, Ivan, I did not hear the phrase spoken again.
I met many townsfolk that first day, most of them greeting me with mute neutrality, cautious of my presence. Although Ivan seemed pleased to introduce a visitor to his peers, he turned sour whenever I mentioned the Red Army or the League, so I resolved to bide my time.
Ivan allowed me to stay in his home while I stayed in the town, explaining that he was the closest thing Borku-Dorov had to a government official. The man’s home was a two-room wooden shack on the edge of town near the water, constituting a small cot, a stove, and a table with chairs. A small frame on the table showed a photograph of a strong-looking woman posing severely. “My wife.” Ivan explained, saying nothing more on the matter. After some discussion, I conceded to the old man’s generous offer to sleep in the cot while he fashioned a bed space for himself on the floor.
In my sleep, I found myself knee-deep in the shallows of the North Sea, looking out over the grey seascape that stretched into oblivion. The water was frigid at first, but when the phrase AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN boomed out from beyond the horizon, it turned warm, welcoming me deeper. I hesitated, and the current began to tug at my ankles as the phrase repeated, simultaneously loud yet soundless:
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
Like a fawn caught in a trap I began to thrash, the white water bubbling up with acidic steam around me. Some unimaginable force began to pull me to those words.
I woke in fright, a small face peering at me from the twilit doorway of the house. Seeing that I had noticed her, the little girl blushed and disappeared into the kitchen.
She soon returned with a small cup, leaving it on the windowsill.
“Excuse me sir, for waking you. Papa has already left to fish. I brought you some tea.” The girl bowed slightly, her black plaits swinging in front of her timid face.
“It’s alright,” I said, rising. “You must be Nochka Ivanovna. I am Arkady.”
Nochka simply nodded.
“What do you know about the East Thelenic Socialist League.”
“Not much, sir.” The girl averted her eyes to the floorboards.
“Well—”
“Please. We cannot talk about these things in the town.”
“Oh? Why not?”
That fateful question would be the one to lead me to my doom. Nochka seemed to think for a moment, then grinned childishly.
“Ask Papa to allow you to come to Vodov tonight. Insist to be allowed to attend. Perhaps they will let you speak then. Do not tell him how you know of it, just that you must go there to speak. Excuse me now, sir. I must go.”
Eager to fulfill my duty, I resolved to do as she said. I spent the day inquiring around town about Vodov, whatever that was, but nobody seemed to know what it was. Without a church or a school or even a town hall, there was no central place for me to go asking, but a few stalls had been set up down near the docks where I was able to speak to the townsfolk. I also asked some of people of Borku-Dorov what they do on the weekends without a church to attend. Most of them shrugged and told me they slept the day away.
Eventually, Ivan returned on his boat dragging it up the shore to the door of his house. Procuring an immense fish, he began to prepare it for dinner. Nochka appeared soon after, building a fire on the sand. When at last we sat, sucking the soft meat from the bones of the fish, I began to inquire once again.
“I would like to speak at Vodov tonight.” I spoke simply.
Ivan did not respond. His thick hands were incredibly deft at efficiently stripping the entire fish of its meat. When he finished, he threw the bone into the dying fire with a hiss.
I tried again. “I have been sent from the capital to educate the people about the new state. I understand Vodov is where I will be able to do this.”
“Vodov is not for you.” He did not turn his head when he spoke, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the fire. “You cannot attend.”
“The people of this town must be educated! Surely you see that. Soon, the Red Army will come north. They will be recruiting. Wouldn’t you rather know what your men will stand for when they enlist?”
“They will not enlist. We fought in the Great War already. For the Tsar. You are not so different.”
“!! You will learn not to say such things, old man!” I stood up. “When the Red Army comes, the men of Borku-Dorov will enlist because they will see that it is right! You would do well to listen to me before then.”
I went to the bed space Ivan had prepared on the floor and went to sleep.
That night I dreamt of the voice again.
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
I had been speaking to a faceless townsman at a stall when he opened his blackened mouth and the words gushed out of his unmoving lips. Turning to flee, I found myself at the edge of the wooden pier, staring out at the impending storm coming from the sea.
With a crash of lightning, the sky thundered: AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN. I turned back to flee, but found that the land had gone, replaced with an unending plain of grey sea. The dirty surface of ice formed and cracked in a dance with the roiling waves. The small wooden pier was all that remained. The storm overhead approached with supernatural speed, carried along by a hot wind that swept up the boards beneath me, cracking them. As I fell into the water, my skin burning from the hot air and freezing from the water, I heard the storm shouting with black lightning:
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
I woke to Ivan’s face looming over me, his dark eyes reflecting strangely in the candlelight. “Follow.” He said, then walked out of the house. He had changed his clothes, now wearing an odd black robe like the ones Wizards wore (in the movies). I quickly followed him, watching the candle move towards the boat. Ivan motioned to it, then snuffed out the candle.
“Your daughter—?” I began.
“Children do not belong at Vodov.”
I helped him push the boat into the water. The sea was calm in the darkness. Ivan rowed in silence. Feeling uneasy, I removed the black needle from my watch, clutching it in my hand.
After some time, I began to notice other boats in the night. Without any light, I could hardly see them in the unbroken darkness. Compared to Gorod at night, Borku-Dorov was impossibly dark, especially since the sky completely overcast. However, voices could be heard from the other boats, travelling quickly across the water like birds before a storm.
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
My eyes opened wide. The phrase was not imagined. I turned to ask Ivan about it, but I noticed he was singing too, deep and resonant.
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
Soon, the singing stopped, and I realised the water was becoming shallow. “Vodov,” Ivan spoke. We beached the boat in a small cove. I could just see the others close behind.
“Follow,” Ivan said again.
He grabbed me by the sleeve with a rough grip and began to lead me in the dark. It was impossible to see anything, but somehow, he navigated this new wilderness with ease. Soon, I realised we had passed into a cave, since the air had changed. It became denser, and the scent of charcoal hung low. Ivan let go of my wrist.
I could hear him nearby in the cave as more people began to enter. No words were spoken, but a thrum could be heard reverberating off the rock walls.
Then, flash!
A brilliant flame erupted in the centre of the cave, blinding me. Suddenly, I felt the grip of many hands tighten around my limbs and torso, pulling me to the ground. I let out a yelp, but I could not muscle free.
Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I found myself being held down on the floor by four large men in black robes. Behind them, I saw a small crowd of similarly dressed people, some of which I recognised from the town. Standing atop me, his feet astride my waist, was Ivan, his silver hair framed by a black crown.
“Please!” I shouted. “I only come to teach you about your country! Please, let me speak!”
“Only the initiated may speak.” Was Ivan’s response, his face suddenly cold and ceremonial.
I began to struggle and protest but to no response. The men around me tore my old clothes off me with ease, exposing my malnourished body to the cold. The fire at the centre of the cave provided no warmth. Strangely, I even felt as though the fire was radiating cold rather than heat.
A woman with incredibly long black hair approached carrying a silver pitcher. She began to walk around my supine body, holding up the pitcher and chanting:
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
Then, she began to pour the contents of the vessel onto my naked body. I immediately recognised the scent of oil and began to writhe in fear. I had heard of Pyronic Oleionism before, an extreme variation of the traditional baptism which involved oil and fire. My cousin’s husband had been baptised in this way. Reportedly, the fire was enchanted to have no effect. Still, I feared for my life. Typically, the oil was only applied lightly to the forehead, not poured on the entire body.
Despite my writhing and screaming, the men at Vodov did not move. Nor did a single drop of the oil touch them, somehow. Instead, they stared unemotionally down at me.
When Ivan returned from the throng, he was holding a bronze cup with a tall tongue of flaming oil in it.
The singing continued:
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
Then, he stepped towards me.
And upturned the cup.
The oil on my body caught fire immediately, and my skin began to melt. Every inch of my body was tortured with a thousand scarping combs of white-hot flame. The cave became abstract to me, my mind only knowing pain.
In that writhing, burning state, I saw an image. Riding down from the dark clouds above the sea, a dark skeleton with a red-hot spear came forth on a horse. Its presence turned the rain into vapour and the sea into ice as its exposed heart emanated a sphere of bluish light.
“I am VOD. I am coming. You will love VOD. Or you will die.”
In a moment of painful and belated clarity, I remembered the needle Sofiya had given me. Suddenly and with great force, I clenched my fist tightly, snapping the needle.
I remember not what happened next.
Apparently, I appeared at Sofiya’s side in a church classroom in Solitsk, fully naked and writhing as if in pain. No flame or blemish marked my body. All I could bear to say was that phrase.
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
I eventually came to in a hospital bed in Gorod, my limbs and torso tied down to the white mattress with straps.
I have tried to explain what happened to me to all that will listen.
I have been told there is no Borku-Dorov. Government officials have even been sent to investigate the matter and found that no town by that name or location has ever existed.
No academic or mage can explain that evil phrase to me.
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
AIGAR MANO PIKZIY TOTEN
Nor can they recognise the name VOD.
The worst of it is that Sofiya tells me she never gave me that black needle. She never even had anything like that.
She explained to the Board that I was meant to join her in Solitsk but disappeared somewhere along the journey.
Nobody remembers any of it.
But I do.
I remember it all.
The faces. The cold. The heat. The pain.
VOD.
I am turning to God now. If he exists, I pray that he will still accept me.
And I pray that when VOD comes, he will destroy you all!