The woman wept, and let the snake curl gently around her wrist, and told her daughter she loved her. Then she marched down to the town and found the man who had claimed to love her daughter.
“You must go with me to the cemetery,” she said, “and pay your final respects to my daughter, who would have been your bride and whom you swore to love.”
The young man protested. Hadn’t he already visited her countless nights in the cold of the icehouse? And wasn’t there a snake said to be lurking around the headstones?
“What righteous man fears a snake?” she demanded. “What man professes love, then will not speak his prayers on hallowed ground?”
The townspeople agreed and wondered why the young man resisted. At last, he submitted and followed her to the cemetery. When his footsteps slowed, she seized his hand and dragged him along the path. They passed through the gates and on to the girl’s grave, where the snake lay curled upon it.
“Go on,” said the woman. “Kneel and speak your prayers.”
As soon as the young man opened his mouth, the snake uncoiled and sprang up, biting him right on the tongue. He died with the black tongue of a murderer, and was buried in unconsecrated ground, and was mourned by no one.
The snake was never seen again, but a quince tree grew beside the young bride’s grave and lovers often met beneath its branches, when the weather was warm enough.
It is customary for the mothers of brides to offer prayers to Sankt Valentin, and seeing a snake on your wedding day is known to be good luck.
SANKT PETYR
Instead of going to services on his Saint’s day, a boy in the village of Brevno chose to sneak away with a jug of his father’s cider and lay down to snore in the chicken yard. While he slept, a demon crept into his mouth and slid down his throat, and when he woke he was not the same boy he had been. He bit his mother’s cheek and set fire to the village school. He gnashed his teeth and tore up the prayer books in the chapel. When at last the boy fell asleep in his bed, a priest was called to speak holy words over his dreaming body and drive the demon out.
The thing that emerged from the boy’s mouth was wet and gray as a slug, and though it thrashed and howled, it eventually let go its hold on the boy’s insides. But the priest had failed to seal the house shut and the demon fled through an open window.
As you know, demons are drawn to water, and the creature took up residence in a nearby lake. Anytime someone approached the water to fish or take a drink, the demon would emerge, hiding its true form to entice its victim. Sometimes it appeared as a siren with smooth skin and damp lips who sang to young men of love. Sometimes it was a lost mother crooning a lullaby, or an old friend bellowing a happy drinking song. The demon always found the right melody to draw its prey closer, and as soon as the hunter or farmer or widow or child dipped their fingers into the water, the demon would seize that hopeless person by the wrist and drag its victim down to the smooth stones at the lake’s bottom. There it would finish its song, as the cold seeped into its prey’s bones and water filled the lungs of another poor lost soul. Only then would the demon release the body and let it float to shore.
The townspeople knew that nothing could destroy the demon but fire. The men of Brevno filled their quivers with burning arrows, but the monster was too canny to ever stray out of the lake. Whenever the hunters got close enough to the shore to take aim, the demon would begin to sing and coax them down beneath the surface.
The priest who had let the demon escape his grasp had long since vanished from the town in shame. But the young priest who came to replace him was a different kind of man. Petyr had the strength of the Saints and he was not afraid to approach the lake. He told the men to gather their arrows, dip them in pitch, and be ready.
He marched down to the water, and as he drew closer, he began to recite the Sikurian Psalms. When he was only a few feet away he saw his brother before him, singing the filthy old shanty they’d learned from their father, a song they’d laughed over together for hours as children. But of course, his brother had been crushed by the wheel of a horse cart before he’d reached his twentieth year. Petyr was not deceived. He spoke the psalms louder, shouting them, drowning out the voice of the demon.
Petyr stood on the rocks and leaned out over the lake so the demon would see his face and be tempted to emerge to claim him. He chanted as it sang, but he made his expression rapt, pretending to be lured. He reached his hand out as if to touch the water. Then just as his fingers were about to break the surface, Petyr drew back, and the demon shrieked in frustration.
He did this again and again, drawing back a little bit farther each time, until at last, the demon lifted its slippery head out of the water and climbed over the rocks toward him. The demon stretched its limbs, yearning toward Petyr, about to seize him.
The hunters let their arrows fly.
The demon tried to flee, but Petyr grabbed it by the wrist
