Ritual

Laughter and the rustle of grass underfoot echoed along the riverbank. The air was fresh, damp, carrying the tangy scent of river water and the thick greenery framing the shore. Gentle movements in the grass betrayed a sense of impatience—three figures carefully made their way down to the water, each step accompanied by the soft slap of bare feet.

Martha, dark-haired and agile, was the first to reach the water. She stepped in with a light, almost playful chuckle, letting the cool waves glide between her toes. Her gaze, full of mischief, fell on her companions:

— What are you standing there for? The water’s warm! — She raised an eyebrow, deliberately teasing them.

Behind her, Agatha, lips pressed tightly together, descended cautiously, gripping the tall grass for balance. Her face was tense, her hand trembling slightly.

— What are you grinning at? If I slip here, it’ll be your fault, — she grumbled. — You’ll have to pull me out, you hear?

— Yoo-hoo! — A cheerful shout rang out as blonde-haired Elizabeth leapt from a small ledge, barely pausing on the slope. She landed in the water with a loud splash, sending a fountain of droplets spraying in all directions, drenching everyone nearby.

Agatha, now waist-deep in the water, let out a sharp yell:

— Are you insane?! It’s freezing! — Her face twisted in a mix of surprise and irritation.

Elizabeth, beaming with satisfaction, burst into laughter, flailing her arms.

— What, you thought it’d be a hot tub?

From behind, Lucia, petite and dark-haired, emerged cautiously. Her steps were slow, her movements wary. She kept glancing over her shoulder as though afraid someone might be watching them.

— Come on already, hurry up! — she urged the others, but her voice carried a faint tremor, as if fear still whispered in her ear.

Martha, now almost shoulder-deep in the water, cast a quick glance at Lucia:

— Don’t worry so much. It’s fine. If anyone finds us, we’ll just say we’re out for a swim.

Agatha snorted, shaking her head, water dripping from her hair:

— Oh, sure. Just some n***d women at the river at night. No one’s gonna think we’re witches, especially around here!

For a moment, silence hung over them, as if Agatha’s words, meant as a joke, lingered too heavily in the air, an unwelcome reminder.

To break the tension, Elizabeth clapped her hands against the water, sending another wave straight into Agatha’s face.

— No need for dramatics!

At last, they were all in the water. As they submerged, each paused briefly to adjust to the unexpected chill. Their laughter and teasing quieted, and only the soft splashes of water broke the stillness.

Yet beneath their smiles lay something deeper—a tension, a dull unease about what lay ahead. The forest, the evening… and the thing they were preparing to do.

— This is fucking stupid, you realize that? — Agata hissed, clutching a bundle of wet leaves and cursing her long dark hair as it clung to her face. — I’ve never seen anything more pointless! — she added, furiously tossing her hair over her shoulder, her gaze darting across the others. She used to be Ashton, a cynical guy who trusted in science, but now...

— You’ve mentioned that already, — Martha replied calmly, her head bent over a wreath of herbs. Her voice was soft but carried a steely confidence she'd gained over the last two months. She used to be Mark, an MMA fighter who never lost his cool. Now, she was someone else entirely — a fiery redhead with wide hips and a stubborn look. This shitshow they'd all volunteered for, lured by the promise of a hefty paycheck, had radically altered their lives months ago when they’d landed here in the past... in the bodies of some peasant women.

— I don’t care, I’ll keep saying it until this madness ends, — Agata snapped, glancing around nervously. Her gaze landed on Elizabeth, who stood quietly off to the side, smiling as if she was actually enjoying this. Agata clenched her fists and growled at her — What are you so calm about?! — She glared at Elizabeth, who kept weaving her wreath with that unbothered smile that annoyed her more than anything else. Elizabeth had once been Nate, a sharp-witted IT guy, but now her face was calm, like she knew something the rest didn’t.

— Can’t you just enjoy the process? — Elizabeth said with a smile, then added, — Look, it’s nice here, quiet, warm water... It’s clearly better than hauling buckets to wash clothes all day or scrubbing out reeking stables. — Elizabeth sighed, continuing with a smirk: — And it’s definitely better than... — she wrinkled her nose — seeing your husband.

They all flinched as if in sync.

— Oh, don’t remind me, — Lucia muttered, dropping her head low so that her dark hair fell over her face. She used to be Lucas, managing a restaurant chain in New York, but now her life was reduced to cooking over a fire and waiting on a husband who always stank. — I’m already at my limit. These nights... it’s impossible. These stinking men... and, fuck, they think you owe them something. — She shuddered at the memory.

— Well, at least your husband doesn’t snore, — Martha said bitterly with a wry smile. — Mine makes sounds every night that make me think he’s dying, but no — every morning he’s alive again, stinking and demanding I make him porridge.

— Ugh, don’t get me started on porridge, — spoke up Juliana, who’d been John, a Marine Corps officer before the change. She cleared her throat, trying to shake off memories of yesterday’s breakfast. — I used to think the military was hell, but cooking soups and porridge for this whole bunch every day is even worse. And every time... ‘Juliana, you sliced the carrots wrong!’ ‘Juliana, where’s the milk?’ Are they kidding me?!

— Oh, will you stop whining like babies! Husbands, husbands. Yours are decent! My idiot doesn’t do anything except come home drunk and demand I feed him! And I’ve got a whole brood of kids! — Agata cried out bitterly again. — I can’t stand it when they scream non-stop, and then people yell at me, calling me a bad mother! Like I wanted them at all! — Agata threw the wreath into the water, her fists clenched. — And the worst part is when he drags me to bed! — her voice broke. — How the hell am I supposed to handle that?

They all fell silent. A hush settled over them, broken only by the gentle rustling of the water and the occasional splash when one of them moved. They all felt it — those nights with... these men, strangers, rough and indifferent, who didn’t see them as people at all.

— Every time he touches me, I want to run. To scream. But what’s the use? — Martha said hollowly, staring at the water that reflected her new face. — I just lie there, like a doll, waiting for it to end. And he doesn’t notice, doesn’t hear. All he needs is for me to be there. And I used to… — she trailed off, fighting the memories of her past life, though a shadow of sorrow crossed her voice.

— God, they’re all like animals! — Juliana cut in, nervously fiddling with the herbs in her hands. — It disgusts me when he touches me. I can’t stand the smell of his sweat, his breath... his body, always sticking to me. They just think we’re here for them, you know? For their pleasure, for their needs.

— Enough! — Agata shouted sharply, her voice breaking into a hysterical laugh. — What’s the point in all this crap? We’re stuck here anyway, and complaining about these men won’t change anything. We can’t even escape from here! They’d just find us! Or worse — the locals would think we’re lunatics or witches, and it’d all end... worse than it is now. — Her voice trembled, but her gaze was cold and determined.

— Alright, girls… — Elizabeth began, but was immediately met with Agata’s icy stare, as if she was on the edge of losing it.

— Girls?! Are you fucking kidding me? Maybe we can do without damn “girls” here? I'm still me! — Agata hissed, her gaze so furious it looked like the water around her might start boiling.

— Calm down, — Martha cut in sharply, breaking the rising tension. — This isn’t the time to fight. We’re here for one reason — to get out of here, — her voice was quiet but commanding. Even in this new body, with long red curls, Martha hadn’t lost her leadership edge that once dominated a whole sports team. — I’m not spending months tolerating this… this miserable existence, you understand? None of us are.

— Done! — Elizabeth shouted, finishing her wreath and looking at the others with that same unshakable expression that always set Agata on edge. — Shall we begin? — She barely had time to finish before the others, exchanging skeptical glances, formed a circle, trading sarcastic smirks.

— The ritual begins, chicks, — Juliana whispered with mock reverence, adding fuel to the fire with her choice of “chicks,” as she nonchalantly squeezed Lucia’s hand. — Let’s hope this works… and we don’t turn into something even worse.

— Oh, stop whining, we’re all here for a reason, — Martha sighed with exaggerated seriousness.

Juliana snorted, glancing around at the whole scene, but slowly, like the others, began walking in a circle, forming a clumsy ring. Each of them knew how ridiculous they looked, yet there was no turning back — they were all, even reluctantly, clinging to the faint hope that this bizarre mix of ancient words and crazy motions might just free them.

— Alright, girls, — Elizabeth said, forgetting Agata’s reaction earlier, as she picked up the pace slightly. — Now… remember what comes next? You didn’t forget, right?

— Like I could forget, sure, — Agata muttered, while the others stayed silent and came to a stop. Each of them began to press her chest, feeling the soft flesh that was now part of their bodies, trying to rotate their heads in sync. Most of them could barely contain their laughter as they felt their cheeks flush.

— Ir-kala-sham… — Elizabeth murmured, rolling her eyes, as if she herself didn’t believe the words she was saying.

— Ir-kala-sham, so be it, — the others echoed, attempting to keep in rhythm, rotating their heads and squeezing their chests to some beat only they knew. They spoke the words in time with their slow movements, frowning and feeling like complete fools as they went through this ritual.

— We need to pick up the pace… — Martha urged in a half-whisper, shaking her head so wildly her hair scattered over her face, making her look like some kind of forest witch.

Their movements grew faster, their voices louder, and the strange sounds of the ancient words they didn’t understand merged into a single rhythm, echoing in the evening silence. A wave of absurdity and embarrassment washed over them, especially as they started shifting their feet, almost dancing from one foot to the other. They rotated their heads, meeting each other’s eyes, occasionally cringing as even their own reflections seemed ridiculous.

— What the hell are we even doing? — Agata snorted, but, under Martha’s direction, continued to sway in rhythm, pressing her chest with such force that her face twisted in frustration. At that moment, they started leaping high around the wreath scattered on the wet grass. Juliana, suppressing a laugh, jumped clumsily, almost tripping — her long hair flew up, arms flung out to the sides, but quickly found the rhythm again.

— Ir-kala-sham, ir-kala-sham! — she chanted, half-laughing, struggling to keep her composure.

But suddenly, they all felt… something strange. It started with faint tingling in their palms, like tiny sparks flickering across their fingers, followed by a chill running down their spines. It was as if the words of the ancient spell were resonating somewhere deeper than they’d expected. Their knees were starting to buckle, either from the spell or sheer exhaustion.

At that moment, a loud, harsh bark echoed out from somewhere in the darkness. Each of them froze for a moment, but Agata was the first to break the silence.

— Aaaaaaah! — The shriek tore out of her, so loud and piercing that it echoed through the night. Her hands flew to her face, her eyes darting from one to the other.

— Aaaaaaah! — Lucia joined in almost in unison, flailing her arms as if fleeing some invisible threat.

They barely had time to exchange glances before Juliana, now fully panicked, let out a yell of her own:

— Aaaaaaah, screw this! — She bolted forward, nearly knocking the others over in her rush.

Panic overtook them all. Abandoning any pathetic attempt to keep the circle or continue the ritual, they scattered, each step echoing dully in the damp night. They stumbled through the wet grass, tripping with nearly every step but pushing forward, oblivious to the loud thuds and their friends’ cries coming from all directions.

— Shit! Shit, shit, shit! — Martha shouted, veering off away from Elizabeth, who suddenly had no trace of her usual smirk.

The thought that they might be mistaken for witches had lingered unspoken since the beginning of the ritual. But now, it felt terrifyingly real, and they each understood exactly why they were running — and what they were running from.

Epilogue

In this part of the village, it was surprisingly quiet, though it was usually filled with the shouts of children, the coarse voices of traders, and the tinkling bells of cows trudging toward the pasture. But today, everything had gone still. Even the wind seemed reluctant to stir the air, as if the village knew its people were preparing for something big.

Three young women—Martha, Agatha, and Elizabeth—walked side by side, their eyes fixed intently on the well-trodden path before them. Their clothes, while the best the village could offer, still looked modest and rough. Martha adjusted the corset at her waist with a sigh, cursing the fabric that chafed her skin. Her red hair tumbled down her back, and she brushed a few stray strands out of her face.

—Oh, just look at yourselves!—Elizabeth giggled, fixing the strap of her dress, which, though the fanciest in her wardrobe, still looked like it had been thrown together in a rush.—Martha, you’re so serious, it’s like you’re heading to a trial, not a wedding.

—If your corset were digging into your ribs so hard you couldn’t breathe, I’d love to see you laughing about it,—she grumbled, tugging at her belt in an attempt to loosen the pressure.—And really, what’s the joy in this? It’s not my celebration, and honestly, I’d rather stay home.

Agatha, walking slightly behind, gave a disgruntled snort, fiddling with the sleeve of her dress, which was adorned with crude embroidery.

—And you’re just fine with everything, huh?—she muttered, catching Elizabeth’s gaze.

—At least I don’t have to cook today,—Elizabeth scoffed, rolling her eyes.—Or smell like cows. Isn’t that a celebration in itself?

—Sure, a real celebration,—Agatha mumbled, pulling at the rough sleeve as though trying to hide in it.—Until someone hands you a bowl of scraps and says, “You’re not doing anything anyway, so here, help clean up.”

—Do you even hear yourself?—Elizabeth smirked, glancing at her.—Alright, how about a bet? At this wedding, I’ll manage to avoid looking like a worn-out servant for once.

—Yeah, right. First, they’ll ask you to serve pies, then someone will remember you’re the only one who knows how to weave wreaths, and by the end, you’ll be pouring ale for the men,—Martha interjected, scowling as she adjusted her corset again.—We’re supposed to be guests here, but we all know how this is going to end.

Elizabeth shrugged, her smile as bright as ever:

—Well, maybe, but I’ll still try to have fun. Even if it’s just for the show.—She waved a hand toward the village square, where the sounds of a bagpipe and laughter were already echoing.

The girls finally left the narrow path and stepped onto the village square, which looked completely transformed. Everything was adorned with colorful ribbons tied to tree branches and posts. Large wooden tables covered with coarse linen cloths were laden with simple but plentiful village fare. In the center of the square, a small band was playing while men and women began to dance in a lively circle to the cheerful tunes.

—What a crowd,—Agatha muttered, looking around in dismay.—Where can we sit without being noticed?

—Afraid someone might ask you to dance?—Elizabeth teased.

—Dance?—Agatha let out a laugh so bitter that even Martha raised an eyebrow.—I’d rather spend the evening herding cows than jump around with one of these sweaty men.

—And that attitude is why you’re always so miserable,—Elizabeth added, shaking her head mockingly.—You’re always such a grouch, Agatha. Maybe try relaxing for once? Even just a little?

Agatha snorted but a flicker of doubt crossed her eyes. They moved closer to the square, where the crowd buzzed like a beehive, familiar faces from the village appearing here and there. Suddenly, Elizabeth burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as she pointed to a tall, drunken man who was fumbling with a ribbon, trying to tie it around his head but instead getting tangled in it like a fly in a web.

—Oh, just look at that charmer!—Elizabeth giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.—That’s Gregory, our hero-weaver! How many mugs of ale do you think he’s had before someone noticed his nose is redder than the village flag?

Martha chuckled, trying to hide her smile behind her hand but ultimately failing as she quietly added:

—I bet he won’t even find his way back to his table. Not that anyone cares, except to laugh at him.

Even Agatha, who had been moodily tugging at her sleeve, couldn’t help but smirk as they watched Gregory flail his arms wildly, as if swatting an imaginary bee.

—Alright, alright, we’ll handle it,—Elizabeth said, still laughing.—But if he tries to dance, I’m warning you now: I’m not taking responsibility. If he starts spinning, he might crash right into the wedding cake.

—There’s your real ritual!—Agatha suddenly said, still smiling.—It’s like when we danced around that cursed wreath by the river. Only here, we have spectators, not darkness. And...the consequences wouldn’t be as bad.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her smile turning sly:

—What, should we recreate the dance? But this time, on the square, with the wreath on our heads and shouting loudly? Imagine how much the crowd would love it!

—Not funny,—Martha snapped, but her eyes glimmered with laughter.—If I hear “Ir-kala-sham” one more time, I’ll start jumping—not around a wreath but on your heads!

Elizabeth laughed louder, throwing an arm around Agatha’s shoulders:

—Alright, alright, no more “Ir-kala-sham.” Though that was our crowning moment, wasn’t it? Only we could look like idiots and mess up an ancient ritual at the same time!

—As if it mattered...—Agatha mumbled, her smile fading as she stepped slightly away.—We’re here. And nothing has changed.

Martha glanced at her with a shadow of understanding in her eyes but said nothing, only nodding. The mood dampened slightly until Elizabeth, still beaming with her disarming smile, declared:

—Oh, come on! Weddings aren’t for gloomy faces. Today, let’s forget everything. Even about...—she paused, but they all knew what she meant.—So let’s just pretend we’re living normal lives again.

—As if that’s even possible...—Agatha murmured quietly, but this time there was no bitterness in her voice, only exhaustion.

The three girls finally settled on the edge of the square under the shade of a large tree, far enough from the crowd to remain unnoticed but close enough to watch the festivities. While Elizabeth kept joking about the guests and their ridiculous outfits, Martha and Agatha exchanged the occasional smile, as if allowing themselves a brief reprieve this evening.

And though their new lives remained harsh, tonight, under the sound of bagpipes and the joyous cries of the dancers, they could forget their struggles, if only for a moment.