Indistinct Slovenia

I used a bit of imagination for the term “indistinct”, and eventually came up with the old trick of the fog, already seen in countless tales. I wrote it in a day, and I like the subject. In the future, I might rewrite it, or maybe expand it!

“But mom…”

“No cuts, no buts. Shut the door and play inside,” ordered Alja, her finger pointing to the bedroom. Blaž and Nina abided unwillingly, their eyes low. The little boy whispered, “We ain’t kids anymore, we wouldn’t get lost.”

The mother caressed their heads and squeezed them in a gentle hug. “Kids, I’ve already told you that this fog is… not like the others. You wouldn’t just get lost. I’ve told you nanny’s story a hundred times. I wish she were here to describe it to you with the tone she used with me.”

The wooden cottage stood next to one of the many western Slovenian lakes, with crystal blue, placid waters. On its shores, there were just a few sparse houses. An unpaved footpath, which ran all along the pond, connected their house with the neighbors’ farms, not closer than three or four kilometers in any direction. Outward, there were woods of oaks all around, as far the eyes could see; far northward, dark pines covered the lower Alps, whose peaks disappeared in the clouds. In that area there were other bodies of water, closer to villages; only a few people lived on this lake though.

“It’s just… strange thinking that there’s someone out there,” replied Blaž, the seven years old son.

“Yes, I know. But you ain’t paying attention to the details. Have you counted the moons between the latest mist?”

“Mom! Every morning there is fog from the lake!”

“Yes, but — Come here, near the window,” she said, trying to gather what little patience she had left, “Look. See that the fog hasn’t raised from the water, but from the woods?”

The children nodded.

“Well. Have you counted how much time passed since the last of these hazes?”

They looked at each other, and shook their heads.

“It’s been thirteen moons, as always. You know that this is the megla iz jame, the mist from the cave.”

The little Nina, two years younger than her brother, was skeptical, but she could sense an unsettling feeling in her belly. “Let’s go visit the cave — the three of us! The vile can do no harm to us all… can’t they?”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Don’t speak silly words! They don’t want to be disturbed. These are their days, when they step outside their underground homes to walk in our world.”

“But you said grandma—” started the little boy.

“I think you didn’t understand that properly. Come, have a seat near the stove. I’ll bring some cookies and tell you the story one more time.”

The kids were delighted by the idea, and rushed near the cast-iron appliance; the floor boards quivered under their steps. The house was tiny, it consisted of one room, not too large and neither too small: it was a living room, a kitchen, and in a corner there were two beds. The toilet was outdoor. The cottage was completely made of wood, and the stove was the only heat source. It was a late February morning, and the fire was on since dawn.

Anja made appear a plate of biscuits from a hidden spot that the kids had yet to discover, and she approached the low table. She had prepared the kettle too, and sat on the rocking chair — that was the place where stories were told.

“Alright. As you know, my mother Špela lived in this very house, which had been built by her grandfather. From when she was very little, her parents recommended her to fear the megla iz jame: every thirteen new moons, the vile come out of their subterranean village to hunt some hares, pheasants, or deers. As you and me, they need some food every now and then. Their hunt lasts three days, and it is a good idea to stay inside our homes. In the past, several children had gone missing after they went out in this mist. The vile took them, and they got lost in the underground maze of caves — or worse!

“When she was a bit older than you, my mother was well-aware of the danger of the fog, and would never go out. Incidentally, during the third day of the vile’s hunting, their young puppy ran outside as my grandfather opened the door. Nanny Špela cried in horror, certain of not seeing it again, and made a terrible mistake: when her parents couldn’t see, she sneaked out and went to look for her doggie.

“She wandered for the whole afternoon in the wet mist, shouting his name, ‘Bobi! Bobi!’ but she never got an answer. She had already cried most of her tears, when she realized she could no longer find her way home. She had left the path hours earlier, drawn by some noises, and now couldn’t find it again. She walked and walked in the woods, until her feet hurt. She saw countless oak trees and high mossy rocks; despite believing she was good at recognizing landmarks, she soon realized she was lost. As the evening approached, fear equally grew in her.

“Dusk had fallen, and the air was thick with bluish fog, chilling her to the bone. Grandma, damp as a fish, was already planning to sleep between the roots of a big tree. However, as she was patching up an improvised bed, she heard something. It was a voice, it was someone singing. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, but she decided to follow this sign from the heavens. She stepped on cautiously –she didn’t want to fall down a slope– and, after a couple of minutes, saw a lighter tiny point in front of her. She approached this luminescence, and in front of her appeared a tall rock with a huge opening — it was the cave in the woods not far from our house, where the mist arose. The light was inside, and indeed there was someone too.

“Grandma was no fool, she knew that something was up. The hunt was ongoing, she had to be on guard. She silently entered the grotto, careful to not be heard. Hidden behind the wet walls, she stretched her neck to sneak a peek. There was a large opening with a tall dome-shaped ceiling, covered by stalactites. In a corner, a fire with a strange hue was going. In front of it, a young girl of about her age was skinning a bunch of hares. She was dressed with a brown cloak, holding a long, curved knife, and was humming softly. Nanny Špela stood there for a while, studying the child: she couldn’t see her traits because of the light behind her, but was sure she hadn’t seen her before. She seemed… wild. She was wondering how that daughter got in that cave and where she was from, and while in these thoughts, she noticed that the fire… was not an actual fire. The girl suddenly dropped the animals inside the flame, and they disappeared without a sound. Looking more carefully, it was a magic flare suspended in midair! Grandma gasped, and even that feeble whisper was enough to reveal her presence. The latter suddenly turned her face and immediately found Špela’s terrorized gaze. She rose, standing at least a palm taller than grandma, and approached her with swift, circular movements, keeping a certain distance. Her blade was pointed at the intruder.

“She spoke some words in an incomprehensible language, but my mother didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she raised her arms, showing her empty palms. The armed girl waved the weapon, pointing grandma’s coat. She didn’t understand at first, so the tall girl grabbed her arm and got her up. The wild daughter pointed the cutting edge on the chest, and started thrusting the coat’s pockets. In that dangerous position, grandma was able to see the girl’s features: she had dark blonde hair and very dark brown eyes, maybe black; her ears were of a peculiar shape, almost pointy. She also saw that the knife was covered with complex inscriptions; days later, when she described them to the village elder, he’d say that it was runic language. Even if she wasn’t aware of that, a clear idea came to her mind: that girl wasn’t like her. She was a vile, a spirit of nature; she was a huntress, and grandma could have ended like one of those hares!

“Luckily for her, she had brought with her a tiny wooden toy. It was a small horse made of birch tree, with the head, tail and legs roughly outlined. She had made it a couple of weeks before to train her pup to find truffles: she soaked it with lavender oil, dug a hole away few hundred meters from home, and hid it in there. If the doggy was able to find it, then it had a good nose; otherwise, it would have not been a good truffle dog.

“When the huntress found the wooden horse in grandma’s pocket, she stopped for a moment. She quickly cast a glance at her, then took a step back. She observed closely the toy; my mother said that, for a fraction of a second, she could see a slight smile on the girl’s face. Then she brought it near her face, and sniffed it. She made a weird face, maybe because the scent was very strong, then got back to stare at it. Every now and then, she stole glances at grandma, but her whole attention was on that tiny object. Then nanny Špela, understanding that interest, repeated her, ‘You can have it,’ pushing slowly her open palms towards her. After about a minute, each one unsure what to do, the wild child moved her head, indicating the opening of the cave. Grandma immediately understood the signal: she was letting her go. Without asking twice, she made a slight thankful bow, and began walking backward; her hand on the walls, without losing sight of her. Once she was out, she turned around and started running as fast as she could. Luckily, it was the end of the third day of the megla iz jame, so the mist was slowly vanishing. After a while, she decreased her pace, and after an hour the moon became visible enough to brighten the woods. She eventually heard the faint noises the fishes do in the lake when catching mosquitoes on the surface, so she could find the lake. From there, it was easy to get home. Her parents were already resigned that they wouldn’t see her again, and when she stepped in, they burst with joy. And guess what? That silly dog had already found his way home by his own! She ate a big bowl of oatmeal, and told the whole story. She went to bed, and never stepped out ever again during the hunt. As your great-grandmother told her with grim tone, she’s been very lucky.

The biscuits were gone, a few crumbs still on the children’s laps; the morning had flown by."…And that’s why you will stay inside for these three days. Is that understood? I know you knew, and you wanted to listen to the story again… but you better take these things seriously."

The children nodded, thrilled and mesmerized by the telling, “Yes mom, you don’t have to worry!” They both were obedient and, during the days of that inauspicious fog, they stayed inside, safe.

The third night, though, little Nina went to bed, but didn’t sleep. After all the candles were blown out, she waited for at least one hour in silence, and then got up. She opened the farthest window of the cottage, just a little, and put a tiny doll made of hay on the windowsill.

“You can have this too, if you wish.”

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