Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

“No regrets?” Emil whispered into Adam’s ear, but there wasn’t a single regret in his heart about the night of Forefathers’s Eve.

“No. You foretold it all, remember?” he asked, rising from the blanket as the crowd around the bonfire thickened, about to proceed with the next part of the ceremony. And he wasn’t missing it this time, no longer a slave to fears.

“No, but I believe you,” Emil said, slotting his fingers between Adam’s as they walked toward the dancers. There were still those who looked at their relationship with unkind eyes, but no one could harm either of them while the crows stood watch in the trees.

Marzena, Mrs. Zofia’s daughter bowed her head as they passed, acknowledging Adam’s role in the valley. Since Chort had come back, prosperity stopped being a privilege of the few, and the people of Dybukowo were starting to take notice.

The chatter quieted as they approached the fire, but the moment music picked up, gaining intensity, Emil squeezed Adam’s hand and pulled him that bit closer. The flames reflected off his gaze, as if the forest hiding in his eyes was ablaze, but so was Adam’s heart. They moved in sync, running toward the fire. For the blink of an eye, old fears passed through Adam’s mind, but Emil held his hand, and they leapt together, passing above the flames that licked their bare feet.

The end