Treasure

by samui_seifuu

Summary:

Every thirty years and three, the Serpent King, Poloz, claims a bride from the village. Ajax thinks his family is safe — his sisters are either married or too young. But he is wrong. After a fateful encounter in the forest with the mysterious stranger Zhongli, Ajax finds himself chosen as the Serpent's intended treasure.

Drawn into a world of ancient contracts, magical gifts, and possessive desire, Ajax must navigate his family's expectations, his own dreams of seeing the world, and the terrifying, all-consuming attention of a god who has decided he is the only prize worth keeping.

Notes:

• A translation of Сокровище by samui_seifuu

English is not my first language, so if you notice some mistakes - pls write me about it.

Chapter 1: The First Meeting

For many villages in the east, spring means the coming of warmth, the start of fieldwork, and the promise of festivities. In their village, it was much the same — except for one addition: once every thirty-three years, the season brought with it a shadow of fear.

Ajax would soon turn nineteen. He had been born after the last time the Serpent King had come, but on long dark evenings his mother often told him of her friend, who had not been hidden away in time by her parents and vanished one spring day into the forest. Hunters claimed they had heard her voice in the mountains once or twice, but afterward — no sign, no trace. The Serpent King, master of these lands since time immemorial, had chosen his bride.

And now, with this spring, everyone was preparing for his return. Mothers smeared soot on their grown daughters’ faces and hid them away, while fathers raised fences around the village. Ajax thought all these precautions needless for his family—after all, the Serpent did not take wives who were already married, nor did he touch children. Marishka and Lyuba were already betrothed, and Tone, at fifteen, was still far too small to become a bride for the Serpent King. The village elder only once reminded Ajax of the precautions and asked him to keep watch over his sisters — for if the Serpent King found no bride in the village, he would leave them be and return in another thirty-three years. As Ajax was leaving the elder’s house, he carelessly asked:

“Surely he won’t come crawling back next year to steal maidens again?”

The elder only laughed and shook his head. Like every leader before him, he kept a malachite casket, inside which lay the contract with the Serpent King, written long ago on calfskin. The Serpent King and his brood protected the village, and in return, once every thirty-three years, he took a beauty of his choosing. In time, the villagers discovered ways to save their daughters from this fate, and the Serpent did not contest it—he would simply return to the mountains, only to come back when the appointed time arrived.

“The Serpent King does not break his word. Thirty years and three, no more, no less. So guard your sisters, Ajax, lest he set his eyes upon them.”

Ajax nodded and ran home.

***

Once again, he missed. Ajax had mastered the sword quickly, but the bow had never come easy. Aiming at a squirrel, he loosed an arrow and struck a branch instead. The creature, tail flashing red, vanished into the fresh spring foliage.

Adjusting his shirt and shifting the bow into a more comfortable grip, Ajax pulled out the arrow and plunged deeper into the forest. Game no longer roamed near the village — frightened off by the men hammering fences around houses with young women inside. With little to eat in spring, Ajax had snatched a hunk of bread that morning and gone into the woods to bring down a grouse or two and check his traps.

One by one, the traps proved empty. The sun was already touching the tops of the trees, and steam was rising from the newly warmed earth. Patches of snow still lingered beneath the firs, yet Ajax, flushed from the hunt, wore only light clothes, as if daring the chill to touch him. Kneeling, he studied the tracks pressed into the mud, and, catching the scent of prey, followed the trail.

With every step the forest grew denser. Ajax glanced around warily, but pressed on. There were seven mouths at home to feed, even counting Marishka and Lyuba who had married and moved into their own cottages. He could not return empty-handed. Hazel branches struck his arms, grass clung to his boots as if to hold him back, but Ajax forced his way forward. Ahead, a break in the blue twilight of the undergrowth gleamed, and though the tracks had vanished, he pushed toward it. Each step grew harder, as though the forest itself wrapped around him, unwilling to let him reach the clearing bathed in golden sunlight. Yet stubborn Ajax burst through—and at once understood why the spirits had tried to stop him.

Dozens of snakes blanketed the clearing in a writhing mass. Their bodies glittered like gemstones in the sun, shifting and weaving themselves into living knots. Ajax stood frozen. From a distance the red, yellow, greenish, and black scales could have passed for veins of precious ore, not the skins of common serpents. They hissed softly, but paid him no heed.

Ajax stepped back—and pain seared his leg above the boot. He looked down in horror: he had trodden on a viper, and the snake had struck back. The knot of serpents stirred, heads lifting, movements quickening, until they poured toward him like a river of scales. Ajax stumbled back, terror rising, but before they reached him, they turned and slithered once more to the center. Just as he dared to exhale, he saw them—two jewel-bright yellow eyes with vertical pupils gleaming from the shadow at the far end of the glade.

The Serpent King.

Ajax all but hurled himself back into the woods, running blind, heedless of whipping branches and stinging shrubs. In his mind lingered the terrible vision: a serpent’s wedding feast, and the King of all serpents presiding over it. Only when he tripped on a stone and tumbled headlong did he notice the venom’s burn spreading through his leg. At last he dragged himself upright in a familiar part of the forest. His shirt was filthy, his bowstring snapped, his trousers streaked with blood. His left leg throbbed and cramped, and with teeth clenched he dropped onto a rotting stump, pressing a plantain leaf to the wound.

But the poison would not be drawn out. He would have to go to the elder’s daughter—Anya, trained in healing by her grandmother the witch, could treat viper venom. Rubbing his eyes with both hands, Ajax could still see the vision of the serpents’ wedding blazing before him.

The crack of branches broke the silence. Ajax looked up with a start—and saw a stranger in foreign clothes. The man leaned on a staff, his brown robes flowing, rings of gold and gemstone flashing on his fingers. Ajax stared at his long hair, sun-bleached at the tips, and narrow eyes that gleamed with golden flecks—eyes strangely like a serpent’s. Ajax froze. They reminded him of the Serpent King’s gaze, though that one had remained in the sunlit clearing.

“Ho there, good lad. Tell me—where might I find the village?”

The man’s voice was low, touched with a rasp. Ajax blinked stupidly, then pointed.

“Follow this path north. You’ll see it soon enough—half an hour’s walk, no more.” His leg flared with pain, and Ajax hissed, rubbing at the bite.

“And what’s happened to you, that you sit here on a rotten stump in the middle of the woods?”

The stranger’s gaze lingered on the wound, creasing fine lines around his eyes—lines sharp as if carved into stone. Embarrassed, Ajax pursed his lips but finally showed the bite.

“I stepped on a viper by mistake. She struck me. It hurts, you know. Their fangs carry venom—my leg’s going numb already.”

The man smiled faintly and reached for his satchel. Before Ajax could protest, he knelt, drew out a salve, and spread it in a golden sheen over the wound. His fingers were icy cold, but Ajax told himself it was just the medicine—strange things often happen to an injured limb. When the stranger had covered the bite completely, he nodded in satisfaction and stood.

“Wash it off this evening, and the poison will be gone. You needn’t worry.”

“Thank you, kind sir!” In a rush of gratitude, Ajax sprang to his feet—eye to eye now with those golden-flecked pupils. “How can I repay you?”

The man only smiled and shook his head.

“There’s no need, Ajax. Let us say I am paying an old debt.”

And as Ajax stood bewildered, trying to grasp his meaning, the stranger slipped away into the trees.

Chapter 2: The Second Meeting

Ajax scratched the bite before pulling on his boot. It had been not quite a week since that day in the forest, and he still could not fathom where the stranger had vanished, why the salve had purged the venom and healed the wound, what “debt” the man had spoken of, or, devil take it, how to find answers to his endless questions. He had asked the merchants if they had seen any foreign travelers, then questioned the elder’s daughter. Anya blushed, turned away, and then, with a look so full of tender longing, met his gaze again. Learning nothing from her, Ajax fled in haste to the river to check the nets.

Ajax never understood why it was so with him: while the other lads of the village were chasing after girls, he felt no such pull. It sorely vexed his father. When Vladimir drank one cup too many, he would ask why his middle son scorned women, especially Anya — clever, lovely, a most desirable bride, with a whole cottage in her dowry and the healing lore of her grandmother the witch. Ajax would mutter that he had not yet seen the world, that it was too soon for him to marry, that he must first teach his younger brothers, Teucer and Anton, to hunt, for their father’s sickly head often left him unfit for the task.

Stripping off his boots, the boy glanced once more at the bite, then smacked his freckled cheeks and rolled up his trousers. The men of the village had grumbled of leaving the nets in place — vipers were bathing in the river come morning. No one dared harm the creatures, lest they anger the Serpent King, but sharing the water with them was no pleasant task either. So Ajax had volunteered to check the nets himself.

He moved from one to another, skillfully untangling and casting ashore those that had caught fish, yet all the while he felt a pair of eyes fixed upon him. Uneasy, he finished with the last net and turned. Stepping from the water, he found the stranger seated by his boots.

“Good day to you, lad. How fares the leg — no pain now?”

At the man’s smile, something twisted tight in Ajax’s chest and stole his breath. The stranger’s gaze, narrow and intent, seemed even more serpent-like than before. A thought scratched at the back of Ajax’s mind, close to revelation, but he could not frame it. Drawing nearer, he pulled on his boots, still staring, and at last replied:

“And to you, good day. It truly is healed, thank you. Where did you come by such wondrous medicine?” He received only a satisfied smile in return.

For a moment, Ajax thought he glimpsed a flick of forked tongue between the stranger’s lips. He blinked, and told himself it was but the spring sun at its peak, making his head swim. The rye fields wavered in the heat, and, without pressing for an answer, he turned back to the nets. The fish were few — the snakes had scattered the catch at dawn. He shook them into sacks left by the fishermen, then spread the empty nets to dry, pinning them with stones. He had to be quick, lest he meet the Noonwraith that haunted fields when the sun stood high. Yet the stranger’s watchful gaze followed his every move, leaving Ajax flustered, stirred by a feeling he did not understand.

“Why have you come to us?” he asked at last, rinsing his face in the river. He noticed now the man’s hair was bound with a golden pin, like those worn by eastern guests passing through their village on the way to the port. “Do you go to the city?”

“I came to visit an old friend. But I was told she passed to the other side three years ago.” At the deep voice Ajax felt that same inner tightening, that same bewildering unease. “I shall stay here a few more days, then be on my way.”

Ajax lifted the sacks of fish. When the stranger offered his hand, Ajax shook his head, refusing. Yet he could not help but stare. The high collar of the man’s coat was embroidered in gold that shimmered like scales. The brown fabric was fitted and shone in the light as if woven of silk. Ajax recalled the silken dress in his mother’s chest, the one his father had brought her from his travels east, as a wedding gift.

“Where are you from, my lord?” Ajax asked, slinging a sack over his shoulder.

“Once I dwelt in the eastern lands, in a country called Zhongguo. But my thirst for wandering outgrew my desire for a settled life, and I became a weary traveler. Ten years ago, I came to your village and made a promise to Nastasya, the healer, that I would return. Too late, it seems.” He bowed his head, and Ajax realized he spoke of old Granny Nastya, the elder’s mother, who had perished in the forest gathering herbs. “Now I lodge with her daughter, Nina.”

Ajax listened, wide-eyed, entranced. Here before him stood the living image of his dreams — his longings for distant shores and strange lands. Flustered, nearly dropping the sack, he blurted:

“My lord—”

“Zhongli,” the stranger supplied, smiling, his hands folded behind his back.

“My lord Zhongli, tell me of the lands you have seen!”

Zhongli’s laughter rolled deep, like stones shifting in a mountain’s heart. With a graceful gesture, he swept back a sun-bleached lock, his jeweled rings chiming, and began his tale: of soaring cliffs and shadowed caverns, of fields where grain grew under water, of strange rites and customs unknown to Ajax. He told of Morpesok, where one might board a ship and in three weeks’ time step ashore in a jade port of a far eastern realm. Ajax burst out, heedless:

“How I long to see it all!”

Zhongli stopped. They had reached the first cottages of the village. Ajax looked at him with eyes bright as sapphires, and the stranger’s smile widened. From his pocket he drew a bracelet, green gems set in gold, gleaming in the noonday light.

“If you do not remove this bracelet within a month, I will show you the world—all the lands your heart desires. But—” Ajax had already reached for it, when Zhongli caught his hand in his cold fingers. “if you put it on and later turn away, then never again shall you leave this village.”

Again Ajax thought he saw a flick of tongue. In those golden-flecked eyes now glimmered a shadow of hunger. The more he weighed the terms, the more dreadful they seemed. Gently, he slipped his hand free of those clawed fingers and asked:

“If I take the bracelet, may I return home whenever I choose?”

“Yes,” Zhongli smiled, satisfied. “And you may leave the village whenever you choose. If you are not ready, you need not wear it this moment. In one month I shall return for your answer.”

“Very well. I understand!” Ajax took the trinket, studied it, and slipped it into his pocket. Zhongli’s sharp gaze followed the movement. “Then in a month, we shall decide.”

With a hasty farewell, Ajax ran off toward his friend Vanya’s house. Zhongli watched until the boy vanished behind the fence, then turned toward the cottage of Nina the healer.

***

That evening, warm lamplight filled the elder’s home. Anya sat by the rushlight, softly singing as she stitched a protective pattern onto a shirt — meant as a gift for Ajax, who had torn his own shirt while wandering in the forest. Struggling to hide her sighs, she glanced at the window. At Yuletide, Aunt Nina had foretold a swift proposal, yet Ajax seemed to avoid her. She could not fathom why — for all had said since childhood they would make a fine pair. Tall, with his curling red hair like the sun-god Yarilo himself. At such thoughts, her cheeks flushed, and she drifted so deeply into her reverie that she failed to notice the great serpent coiled in the corner until she turned. When she met its golden eyes, she shrank back on the bench, buried her head, and cried out.

Her father, Stepan, rushed in from the next room. He snatched up the iron poker, ready to strike. Again the golden eyes shone from the shadows — smaller now, but no less dreadful. Anya’s sobs broke off into silence.

“Peace, Stepan. I did not come for your daughter.”

The low voice bound them like a spell. The elder set down the poker. From the shadows stepped a tall man in a gold-embroidered coat, long hair flowing, the tips glowing like fire. Hard scales glinted along his sharp cheekbones. Stepan had seen him once before, when his mother had taken him to the mine as a boy, before he became elder. Now the Serpent King stood revealed, smiling with parted lips, a forked tongue flickering between. At the sight, Anya burst into tears again.

“I will not give you Anya,” Stepan declared, shielding his daughter. “Your serpents already took her mother, bit her to death. You have had enough.”

Zhongli shook his head, disappointed. From the darkness gleamed another pair of eyes, and Nina emerged into the rushlight. Wrapped in a silken gown, she smoothed her gray hair. Stepan’s jaw clenched. There had long been whispers: that their mother, Nastasya, had borne Nina by the Serpent King, and so in that year no maiden was claimed. With her witch-granny’s gift and her serpent father’s blood, Nina had mastered healing and divining rich gold veins, but became an outcast, dwelling on the village’s edge by the forest. Stepan had known his own father, yet never understood why the man, enthralled by Nina, had forced him to honor and aid her always.

“Nurtured a viper in my bosom,” he thought bitterly, stepping back to shield Anya.

“Aunt Nina…” Anya whimpered through her tears.

The witch only smiled and shook her head. She pushed Stepan aside, sat beside the girl, and soothed her. He would have dragged her away, but froze as Zhongli spoke:

“I have made my choice, and it is not your daughter.” Stepan started at the words. “In a month I will return to claim what is mine by right.”

“Whom have you chosen, Serpent?” the elder roared. All the parents’ efforts to guard their children from the fate of the Serpent’s Bride had failed. “Lyuba? Yara? The orphan Masha? Was it not enough that your snakes stole my mother, and that Katya bore you serpent-spawn?”

“I have chosen the greatest treasure this village holds. In a month, I shall return for it. As promised in the pact.”

Nina rose, kissed Anya’s hair, and left with her true father. They whispered together in a sibilant tongue. The door slammed, the rushlight died, and Stepan collapsed to his knees. He did not know how many centuries ago the pact with this fiend had been forged, but he knew now: whoever the Serpent King claimed, there would be no escaping that fate.