January

You were very little when your mother sent you into the deepest depths of the forest in the dead of winter. Mother... No, it wasn't mother at all. Stepmother—that's the correct term. Your father married a woman who had a daughter. He brought them to live with you, in your cozy home. He said your stepmother would love you as her own, but every word he said was a lie. Not only did she not love you, her heart was filled with hatred for you. You weren't an ordinary person. Your simple blood was diluted by witchcraft. After all, your father once entangled himself with a real one... Witch blood is thicker than water. So you were only half human. "Collect a basket of snowdrops!" Your stepmother commanded you, and her daughter, your stepsister, giggled, standing behind your mother's skirt. You remained silent, but your stepmother seemed to be counting from your eyes, as if to say, "It's winter outside, what snowdrops? " "It doesn't matter that it's winter, go!" You dressed, buttoning your fur coat crookedly and tying a headscarf haphazardly. You pulled on your felt boots, hat, and holey mittens and trudged toward the exit. Right at the door, your stepmother called your name, something she rarely did. For a moment, you even thought she was about to say, "Come back!" It was just a joke. It was Kolyada Eve, after all. A great holiday... She called out to you once, and her bare face was wounded by its cruelty and indifference. You turned around. "Don't forget the basket, it's by the door." Everything inside you collapsed. You nodded, grabbed the basket, and left the warm house. You were five years old. So young to go alone into the black winter forest, filled with evil spirits and wild animals. So old to understand and comprehend everything. Your father had gone off to the neighboring parish to earn money again, so no one protected you. It was a pitch-black night. The wind, cold and frosty, bit your cheeks, your feet sank into snowdrifts so deep you could barely move them. That's when you met them—the months, who, despite their father, helped you. Fifteen years have passed since then. A healer's job is not easy, but you're no slouch. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, and you were already on your feet. You'd crushed herbs and brewed potions. Money doesn't earn itself. Your stepmother is still sleeping, as is your careless sister Marfusha. Your father is in the neighboring volost, as always. You rarely see him, but it's familiar to you. Packing your bag and putting on your fur coat, you leave the house, stepping carefully along the icy snowy path. It's the eve of the winter holiday, Kolyada. The villagers are quietly decorating their homes, preparing to celebrate the light and bid farewell to the darkness. First, you stop by a house; the head of the family is ill. You've stuffed dried herbs for him the night before. After receiving your payment, you move on. Now you'll treat the son of the head of your village. You've been preparing a potion for him for three whole nights straight. Having explained the treatment plan, you're about to leave, but your neighbor, old granny Avdotya, beckons you in. "My child, my child has fallen ill. She is in great pain, the fever has been tormenting her all night. Is the great Morana angry?" You enter the house. It's dark, and you can feel the sickness lurking here. You check on Aunt Verenika lying on the bed. Her forehead is hot, but there's no rash or anything. "Grandma Avdotya, bring me two mirrors, please." The old woman quickly fulfills your request. Since the tzi is part bereginya, you can use various passages and passages to discover both the nature of the ailment and how to cure it. Sit down next to the ailment and create a corridor of mirrors. Peer into its depths. "An illness has settled in her chest. It has dissolved foul fluids into Verenika's breathing." You listen to your feelings. "It's a living disease. We need to fight fire with fire. The spirits are telling us to feed Verenika chaga." Avdotya's old eyes bulged, and you rush to explain. "It's a special kind of chaga. Not just any kind. Where can I find it?" "They say that a sorcerer has all sorts of wonderful potions. That sorcerer lives in his hut on the edge of the forest." You swallow, instantly understanding who Avdotya is talking about. A terrible sorcerer has long since settled in your region. His hut stands, even in the cold and darkness, in the summer. The villagers give him a wide berth. Seeing your confusion, Avdotya falls to her knees. You immediately lift her by the armpits. But the old woman only cries and babbles. "Save me! Save my daughter! I beg you! I'll give you whatever you want!" "I feel sorry for you, grandma." And indeed, your heart tightens at the sight of her saddened expression. You nod, albeit reluctantly. "I'll go, I hope the sorcerer won't kill me. You, Avdotya, pray to the gods for me." "I'll do everything!" I'll do everything! Just help me!" You leave the hut and head toward the darkening strip of forest. Snow crunches underfoot, the sun silvers the drifts, and a chill nip at your cheeks. But a knot of fear twists in your stomach, and your heels tingle, as if you're standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall. Only by midday do you reach the cursed clearing. A whiff of ice wafts from afar. As if a sorcerer, not a sorcerer, lives there, but a freezing cold. Your legs ache to carry you back, but you remember your grandmother and her pale daughter pleading with you. "No, I have to go. I already gave my word." You sighed, approaching the hut. Scared. Horrible. Nothing to do. Resigned to the inevitable and preparing for the worst, you knock on the door. "Who dared to disturb me?" You jump back, almost falling off the threshold. Run away from here while you're still alive. Run! "Oh, great sorcerer! The village healer dared to disturb you." "Get out!" You purse your lips. You've gone too far, there's no point in retreating anymore. "It's no wonder people avoid you. Cruel-hearted sorcerer! If not for the sake of good, then at least provide help for a fee!" "You say for payment?" The sorcerer's voice is a chilling, icy glimmer. Heavy footsteps make the hut's floor creak with effort. You count to 10 to calm yourself. You've been doing this since childhood; it always helps, but not now. The footsteps fade, and a moment later the door opens, and before you stands the one the whole village feared. The one you don't even like to think about. The one whose name no one knows. "What can you offer me?" You open your mouth, recognizing the man who helped you 15 years ago, but the words remain stuck in your throat. You remain silent as a fish, your lips moving, but no sound comes out. "It's okay then. Then get out of here." He closes the door, but you manage to put your foot in at the last moment. "Wait, sorcerer. I don't know what you need. You tell me yourself." He thinks for a moment, then invites you inside. You step carefully into the hut and shudder from the bitter cold inside. You look around. "Sit down." You sit down at a table with him. You put your hands in your pockets, feeling your fingers gradually go numb. "I need chaga, which is capable of driving out a living illness from the chest." "I'm not a witch doctor."

"What does she, an orphan, lack? I gave her my kerchief, a really good kerchief, and she didn't wear it for seven years, and then she only wrapped it around her kneading bowl." (from the film "12 Months")