On Kupala Night, Lena and David slip into an old forest to search for the fern flower, but the deeper they go, the more the night begins to answer back.
The Valley of the Wet Ferns lay at the edge of the old forest, a place old people in the village mentioned in half-whispers, as if the trees themselves might be listening. On Kupala Night, when bonfires were already flaring in the clearings and the moon hung bright and cold above the treetops, Lena and David pushed through a wall of young birches and nettles, intent on finding the fern flower.
They had been exploring together since they were little, fearless until something truly strange appeared. Tonight, though, even the way the branches snagged at their sleeves felt different. The air was damp and earthy, thick with the scent of moss and river mud. Somewhere beyond the valley, voices rose and fell around the fires, but in here the forest swallowed everything until only their breathing remained.
"I don't think we've ever come this far," Lena whispered, parting a curtain of fern fronds from her face.
David glanced over his shoulder, then at the dark shapes ahead. "Maybe the fern flower only shows up where nobody dares to look," he said, trying for a grin and not quite managing it.
He was about to say more when a sound drifted through the trees. It was not quite a song and not quite a cry, but something between the two, low and clear, as if someone were humming from deep underground. Lena stopped so suddenly that David nearly bumped into her. She tightened her grip on the little torch she had brought, though its beam seemed flimsy against the dark.
"Did you hear that?"
David listened. The sound came again, closer this time, threading through the ferns like a voice searching for them. Then, just ahead, a pale green light flashed between the stems. For one breathless moment Lena saw a small figure standing among the leaves, white-faced, with long braided hair and eyes that caught the light like water.
David stared. Before either of them could move, the glow brightened, a branch snapped somewhere to their left, and a dry, sharp laugh cut through the trees. The wind rose all at once, circling above them, and the shadows between the trunks stretched long and thin, as if the forest were waking up.
The pale figure lifted its hand and slipped back behind the ferns.
Then, from somewhere deeper in the valley, a voice called out, soft and unmistakable: "Lena... David..."