The Abandoned

Who are the Kindly Ones? We spy the Blajini. The walkers under the disc. The gentle mischief. The reason behind every missing sock. Spooking dogs. Teasing children. Trickery, yes, but never malice. Sometimes they help children escape from monsters, feed the sick, help deer escape the hunter. Mischief is their culture. They are chaos, but they take a kind turn to those who have been kind to them. They are the reason folks place plates of food on their doorsteps at night. They are the reason Romanians eat dyed eggs, letting the shells float downstream to the Apa Sâmbetei.

But times are treacherous for the Kindly Ones. They are cast out of their homes in the Shadowy Forest and chased by the hungry dead. They are scattered by the Ones Who Drink With Teeth. Will the Blajini organise? Will they get home? The world needs gentle mischief.

Who is the Blood of the Great? We spy the Iele. The seductive song. Are they tempter sent or tempest tossed? We know the old words. We know the story. Initiate the Latin translation.

And so, Alexander, who history calls Great,

Empire-Sculptor and Undefeated and Victory-Crowned,

Lay cold. Lay dead. A congress of worms.

And whether by fever wrought or by poisoner’s plot,

Who is there left to say?

And so, the concubine of Alexander took flight,

So many fearful miles, to the Land Beyond the Forest.

She took with her three daughters: Catrina, Zalina, and Marina.

All sired by the one called Great.

In the dark forest, the mother made a pact with Gaia,

And released her three daughters, blood of the Great,

Into the wilderness, protected under Gaia’s gaze.

And the three daughters drank deep the supernal nectar,

Forever preserved. Forever sweet.

And so, the Iele came to be.

And so, are they still.

Forever preserved. Forever sweet.

And if this be a warning or an invitation,

Who is there left to say?

Who is “of the forest?” We spy the Padurii. An adjective becomes a noun. O child, listen to your mother. O child, do not follow the lady into the forest, dark and deep. If you do, she will kiss your heart with her incisors. Listen, sweetling. We know the old words, and we know the spell. Initiate the Romanian pronunciation.

Mama ia copilul în braţe, cu o bucăţică de mămăligă iese în ogradă, rupe mămăliga în trei şi descântă de trei ori, aruncând spre pădure de fiecare dată câte o bucată:

Mama Pădurii,\r\nAm trimis un semn la tine,

De la copilul meu,

Să-ţi dau strânsul cu plânsul,

Şi să-mi dai somnul şi odihna fetii tale,

Ca să doarmă ca butucul

Şi să tacă ca chiticul.

Cum dorm păsările în pădure,

Aşa să doarmă copilul la mine.