They say that in the century before last there was a wandering castle here, it was seen in different places

When Victoria went for her morning run, she had absolutely no idea that she would be drawn into another world. Now she is a messenger of the Goddesses, whatever that means. Only instead of honors, there are only obligations, and everyone is trying to lure Vika to their side.

I wonder why the priests want her.

And why the Lord of the Honey Island does not want to leave her alone?

Author Ninel Myagkova

 

Chapter 1

- Vasya! It's been a long time, let me touch you! - I yelled, spreading my arms wide. Girlfriend jumped away from me, and clearly thought to pretend that she was completely unfamiliar with this crazy.

 

It did not work.

 

Despite resistance, Vasilisa Lavrova, now Thompson, was caught and loved.

 

I haven't seen her in three years. Since the contagion had married a far more capable triathlete than she was and left for England with him. Last year Vassilika's husband won silver in a world competition, and she gave birth to an heir to celebrate the occasion.

 

Vasilisa had been asking me to visit for a long time. I just wasn't in a hurry.

 

I knew all too well what it was like to have a baby in the house. My two brothers and sister were all younger, the last had just turned eight. My parents used to babysit me from time to time, especially when the twin brothers were little.

 

Of course, I understood my mother: she also wanted to sleep, she was human. But the experience was enough for me, I still shy away from offers of marriage and children.

 

Let's hope I get some rest. The baby is a year old now, he sleeps at night. Sometimes. Most of the time. All the more, as Vaska assured me, they have a large cottage - I do not even notice the child.

 

- Let me go, you'll strangle me! - Grumbled friend, and I obediently let her out, flushed and panting.

 

- Oh, it's a mess," I clucked my tongue with feigned horror, picking up a bag of things. - You're out of shape, mother.

 

- So I am the mother," she retorted, trying unsuccessfully to tidy her disheveled ponytail. - You're a fool, you little brat! Only I did a decent haircut ...

 

A ponytail is a decent hairstyle now? Well, I tell you, children are the worst. Where only disappeared heels and makeup, without which Vasilisa previously did not even throw out the trash? Sneakers, stretch pants with colorful stains of dubious origin, sizeless T-shirt, apparently taken off her husband ... The main thing - comfort.

 

My friend came to meet me herself, in a cozy square mini-bach. I at first tried the right side of the car and was taken aback to see the steering wheel there.

 

- England, welcome, ma'am," Vaska snorted, pushing me aside and getting into the car. - It's hard to get used to it myself. The whole world is left-handed, and they're always showing off.

 

My bag barely fit in the trunk. Half of it was taken up by a child's seat, some sacks, bags and empty plastic bottles.

 

- I still can not turn them in, - said Vaska, when I finally settled next to her and scolded her for the mess. - That with a little go to the store, and then the main thing is not to leave his head on the counter. If my husband suddenly let go alone, rushing for joy, not even take packages with them.

 

- I have a girlish memory. I see, - I nodded and prepared to look at the monuments of culture from the window.

 

But they were gone. The airport and its annexes whizzed by in a minute, turning into a monotonous road with an equally monotonous rural landscape. Trees, farms, cows, trees again.

 

- We are on our way home. We have a cottage in the village, in the countryside, - explained Vasilisa in an apologetic tone. - I'll take you to London later. You are here for two weeks, aren't you? We'll have time for that.

 

- Of course," I nodded.

 

After all, I'd come to hang out with my best friend, almost my sister, whom I hadn't parted from for a long time since we'd been put in pots next to each other in kindergarten. And London... Well, the metropolis-what hadn't I seen there? I don't think they'll let me see the Queen, and the Diamond Fund is sure to be cooler than Buckingham's.

 

- Is there even a gym in your village? - I asked after half an hour, noticing that the countryside had become quite countryside, and the houses appeared in the fields less and less often.

 

Vaska hesitated.

 

- Horses! - she thought happily after half a minute, when I was already thinking of strangling her. And myself as well. What was I thinking, going to visit two months before the competition? I was going to lose my form in those weeks. I'm already being punished by the coach, says I can do better. Of course, she says it to stimulate me, but it hurts me personally. I do my best anyway.

 

- Horses are good. Are there roads, or at least paths? Or do you live in the middle of the woods?

 

In my mind, I was already prepared for the worst. That's what happens when you take a trip spontaneously. Vasya texted me yesterday that she missed me. And I went out and bought a ticket. I have a visa from the last time, when I went to Liverpool to compete - I got it for a year at once.

 

So it turned out that I ate breakfast with ryazhenka and had to eat oatmeal for dinner.

 

The house turned out to be nice and cozy, a sort of rustic version: with shutters, a wooden porch with a rocking chair squeaking in the wind, and a vast yard full of a variety of children's toys like spades and balls.

 

The neighbor's teenager, a girl of about twelve, gave an earnest account of how many cartoons she had watched, nodded her acceptance of ten pounds, and galloped away.

 

- That's quite a rate, isn't it? - I whistled, looking after the bouncing pigtails.

 

- That's nothing," sighed her friend. - If I called a professional nanny, she would have the road, and food, and overtime for the rush call in double. And so - the child in the chair, buckled up, most importantly, did not yell too loud and okay. It's okay. Let's go to dinner or something.

 

Then it turned out that in the cottage Vaska, except milk and oatmeal and potatoes, no more food, and the latter I hate since childhood.

 

I know that normal people usually have the opposite. But that's how perverted I am. Of oatmeal and potatoes, I'll choose the former.

 

So I and the little guy stuffed our stomachs with healthy porridge and went to bed.

 

Vasilisa was left downstairs to clean up the consequences of independent feeding of the offspring. Boutuz sincerely thought that he already knew how to handle a spoon. Alas, gravity and porridge did not think so.

 

I rummaged in my bag and pulled out my pajamas, with knee-length shorts and a fully closed, long-sleeved top. It was better to run into my friend's husband in the hallway in the middle of the night in decent clothes. Even if he is a hundred times deeply in love and worships Vaska.

 

I don't want to make trouble for nothing.

 

I opened the window and took in the thick lush scent of the earth and the garden at night. Spring was already ending, the trees were blooming, dropping white-pink petals. Cicadas or grasshoppers - in general, someone very loud and inspired was chirping in full force.

 

In the distance, one by one, the occasional window light came on.

 

It looked like I was going to get a good rest.

 

And if I'm lucky, I won't lose my uniform.

 

There were paths in the cottage village, though not asphalt. Yeah, well, my sneakers are armor-piercing, and I've done better than that. Crossfit instead of jogging would be even better.

 

With a breath of oxygen, I slammed the window shut and settled into a crisp, fresh bed.

 

After all, it's not for nothing that they say the best rest is a change of activity. I'll reset my mind and my head, and maybe this competition will go better than the previous ones. My coach was right, I had never won more than a bronze medal.

 

I need to improve.

 

The morning without an alarm clock started unaccustomed. Blinking, it took me a long time to figure out where I was and why I was not at home. Loud English speech under the window put everything in its place. I am a guest of Vaska.

 

And it's time to go for a run.

 

I wandered through the cottage and found the matrimonial bedroom, empty despite the early hour. The kitchen was empty too, so I checked the nursery.

 

Lucky guess.

 

He was asleep, sprawled out like a starfish, not in his crib, enclosed by a bar fence, but on the small couch beside him. Around him, uncomfortably curled seashell, nestled Vasilisa, even in sleep, protecting her son from falling to the floor with his own body.

 

- Are you going to run? - I hissed. Vasya flinched and opened one eye, the first thing he did was to look away and check if I woke up the little thing.

 

The little thing was asleep and snoring, barely audible.

 

- No, I'm not going," my friend waved me off faintly. - He was up half the night - what a run, have a conscience.

 

Well, Vaska was not deceived. The isolation is really great, and the cottage is big enough that I didn't hear a peep all night. I slept like a baby.

 

Better than a baby, actually.

As I shut the door and shoved the spare key in the back pocket of my leggings, I took my time stretching and trudged up the gravel path. I didn't have much of a choice: I could either walk through the fields, over the clumps of earth, or along the edge of the roadway. The cars whizzed by infrequently, so they didn't seem to be breaking the rhythm of the trendy band blaring through my headphones.

 

I got carried away, so I drove three kilometers and slowed down, reacting only to the beeping of the clock. The clever device was signaling that it was time to turn back. I hopped and squatted and did a little stretching and looked around at the same time. I was running on autopilot, listening more to the music than looking at the scenery around me. And there wasn't much to see. A light, translucent fog covered the sparse houses, the even, like a ruler, fences that divided the territories, and the well-groomed fields. Trees stood in small groups or alone.

 

The gray tower stood out all the more against the monotonous plain.

 

I was surprised I hadn't noticed it at first. A pimple like that on a flat spot should immediately attract attention. It wasn't. I could only see it on the way back if it was camouflaged in the fog, or if it was gray in color, but I didn't get a good look at it until I was back.

 

I even thought for a moment to run past and look at this strange structure closer. The only thing that stopped me was the lack of a road. I would have had to walk through a field of freshly ploughed land to get to the tower. My long-suffering sneakers were a pity.

 

I returned to the familiar cottage, flushed and satisfied, and went straight to the shower.

 

It was definitely a good morning.

 

- What kind of tower do you have here? A granary or a monument? - I asked at breakfast, spreading strawberry jam on the classic, albeit slightly burnt, toast.

 

- What tower? - Vaska was astonished, deftly shoving a piece of the same kind of toast into his mouth and expertly wiping off the excess jam with a wet napkin. He was busy before he could say a word.

 

- I remembered my route. "It's about three kilometers if you leave the house, to the right. - I remembered my route. I remembered my route, and it was about three kilometers if I went out of the house to the right," I remembered my route.

 

- It's a potato patch," chuckled her friend, shoving another piece of toast into her child. - It stinks because it's fertilizer. By the way, if you run by again, grab a bag. Extra practice for you, and I'll fry it for lunch. But there ain't no tower. Unless..