Devil's Deal: A Dark Fantasy Romance

17. Whisperer

The next day, I find Jarota in the garden behind his house, scrubbing his face in a bucket of cold water from the well. His gray, wiry hair sticks out in all directions, as if he spent the night pulling on it. He just might have.

“Good morning,” I say from a distance so as not to startle him.

He still jumps with a mild shriek, almost tipping over the bucket. Even though I want to laugh at his expense, I hold it back. He won’t help me if I treat him with anything but respect. And I desperately need the zerca on my side here.

Because I’m not letting anyone die, no matter how selfish Woland thinks I am.

“You must have been in a deep conversation with the gods,” I say, doing my best to sound reverent. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

“Yes, well… That… Yes.” Jarota fumbles with a coarse towel, drying his face and hair nervously.

He’s in a pickle. Being seen in a compromising situation weakened his position here, and now, if he fails as our zerca when a beast kills off our sheep or even people, he’ll become a laughingstock. He might even be driven away. People are cruel if they come to you for help and you let their children die.

“I cleaned out Waclaw’s barn yesterday,” I say, going right to the heart of the matter. “And this morning, I put in protections, but I keep wondering if they are enough, so I wanted to ask you for advice.”

Jarota straightens slightly, some of his usual pride creeping in. “Advice? Of course, good girl. I’ll help you if I can.”

I take out a linen napkin containing the bloody bit of fur I found in the barn. I unroll it slowly while Jarota comes closer, curiosity pulling him in. When I reveal what’s inside, he frowns, stroking his beard.

“It looks like wolf fur, but I am no huntsman,” he says. “You’d have to ask Swietko or Tolimir.”

“I thought it must be a wolf, too,” I say, speaking carefully. One wrong word here and he won’t do what I want. “But then I realized the fur wasn’t low to the ground, as you surely must have thought. It was stuck to a nail that’s about this height.” I point at my shoulder, and Jarota gives me a blank look.

I do my best not to grit my teeth. The problem is, if I tell him what I think the bies is, he’ll disregard it. Jarota is proud and deems himself wiser than everyone else. I need him to come up with the answer on his own.

“So, if it was a wolf, it must have been very tall,” I say. “So I wanted to ask if you knew of any creature that looks like a wolf but is taller? Maybe as tall as a man?”

I look at him hopefully, certain he’ll get it this time. After all, it’s painfully obvious. The moment stretches, and I finally realize the zerca has no idea what I’m saying. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to keep my expression neutral.

I was never good at being patient with people. Another fault Wiosna often complained about.

Now, she doesn’t complain, though. Her voice is calm and thoughtful when she speaks in my ear, the strange echo making her sound eerie.

“He doesn’t think like we do. I told you about every bies that walks this world so you’d be prepared. He never focused on that. His tales are the stories of gods in Wyraj.”

I frown. Fine, and yet, the zerca must know at least some of the folk lore. I can’t give up yet.

Jarota rubs his forehead and then pulls on his hair in thought. I force myself to keep still and give him time, but honestly, I want to grab him by the ear and scream the truth into it. After all, it’s so obvious.

“I’m not sure there is such a bies,” he says slowly, shaking his head. “I’ll ask the gods later, when I sacrifice a few hens…”

“Later? Will it be this evening? If so, you’ll have a good light. It’s another full moon tonight. Like yesterday.”

It takes all I have not to gnash my teeth as I spell it out for him.

“Praise the god Chors,” Jarota mumbles, clearly missing my point.

I smile through clenched teeth, wondering how much more obvious I can be.

“So, I was thinking about using sage and iron as the most common repellents for all that’s evil. But Wiosna sometimes used silver, only, I don’t have much left. Would it be a waste, do you think, to use it? Is the bies likely to fear silver?”

Jarota blinks owlishly, and my shoulders drop in defeat. I try to think of any other clue I can give him, but there is nothing short of saying it outright that I can think of. So we stand there, in his sunny little garden, and I will his dusty mind to move faster. Please, please, please, it’s so easy! Starts with a w, ends with wolf…

Jarota’s eyes grow big and he tears the napkin out of my hands, looking at it fearfully. He grabs my arm and pulls me closer until I’m forced to breathe in his garlicky breath.

“I know what it is! The gods have spoken!”

“Praise be,” I say, trying to muster some enthusiasm. But I don’t have to try very hard. Jarota is already pacing as he thinks, excited and self-important. He doesn’t even look at me.

“Of course, now that they’ve spoken, it is so obvious… But we must make sure… We can’t tell yet!”

He stops in front of me, his features tightening into a strict frown. He shakes his finger at me. “I shall tell you what it is, young Jaga, but you mustn’t gossip about it before I augur tonight. The gods must confirm it. I must be the one to tell the people.”

I nod eagerly, because this is precisely what I want. If I went around saying a werewolf bies killed the lambs, people would think I was mad. If the zerca says it while chicken blood drips from his fingers, his gray hair billowing spectacularly in the wind, everyone will believe him.

Who knows? I might even save his reputation this way.

“I swear,” I say, pressing my hand to my chest. “What is it, then? I promise not to tell anyone.”

Jarota’s eyes bulge, his hands shaking from excitement. “It’s a werewolf!”

I gasp, maybe a bit too loudly, and shake my head, doing my best to look scared. “No! My word. I never would have guessed it!”

“Don’t feel bad, child. These things are hidden from most,” he tells me sagely. I hide my face in my hands because I’m fairly certain my expression might betray me.

When I look up, back in control, Jarota nods seriously. “We are in grave danger, Jaga dear. Better find that silver.”

I thank him as profusely as I dare without seeming mocking and go home, determination driving me on despite my lack of sleep and rest. I already know where all my silver is, and I’ve put it to work.

The doors and windows in Waclaw’s house are already smeared with lard, into which I dropped silver shavings to make them stick. Herbal pouches mark the four corners of his land, and I buried the charred bones of the killed lambs in the path leading to his house as a clear warning to the werewolf.

Do not cross.

While I sweated, digging the hole for the bones, Wiosna chattered in my ear. She said I was overdoing it, but in the end, she admitted she’d never dealt with a real bies before. So maybe I was right to be too cautious.

“Strange times have come, my girl. I hope I prepared you well.”

Waclaw was kind enough to let me have some of the bones for myself and others, and I buried mine right across my gate. The hedge surrounding my cottage is hawthorn, a strong protection against all evil, so the gate is the only point of entrance.

The burned bone of the victim is a powerful ingredient to deter a bies. The downside is, of course, that it can only be obtained from an animal or person attacked by that bies.

Now, I’m eager to go home and prepare more protections for other people. After Jarota announces who killed the lambs, everyone will want some.

I’m not really doing it out of the goodness of my heart, though. People in a panic always pay well for protection, and I’m done being poor and derided. The wind of change blows through the village, and I’m going to ride the gale until I’m on top. This is my chance.

But there’s more to it.

I want to stick it to Woland. I want to save my village and deal with the murderous beast without his help. I’ll never let him own me after what he did. I’d rather face a werewolf. And this particular one, I have a personal quarrel with.

Because I’m fairly sure the werewolf is Przemyslaw.

When noon passes and the only things keeping me awake are nettle brew and sheer determination, I am surprised by a firm knock on my door. I’m well into making my twentieth pouch of herbs and bone, and my eyes sting from lack of sleep.

“Come in,” I say, tying the pouch together with red string.

When Ida’s mother with two other matrons stand in my doorway, my jaw drops in astonishment. I’m too exhausted to control my expression properly.

“Behave,”Wiosna prompts, so I blink heavily and stand up, waving them inside.

She’s been in my ear all day, and I’m finally getting used to her input. I still don’t know whether it’s magic or insanity, but I’ll take it. It’s been comforting to think she watches over me and helps out, even if her help boils down to cranky reminders to be a gracious host.

“Come in,” I say, and the three matrons shuffle in, the last one closing the door after a quick glance at the path outside. “How can I help you?”

“Ida says the medicine you gave her worked almost instantly,” Ida’s mother, Roza, says, watching me with narrowed eyes from underneath her black kerchief. “Unlike Czeslawa’s medicine. It’s not the first time the whisperer failed us. She’s lost my trust, but you seem to know what you’re about.”

I blink and pinch myself, hiding my hands behind my back. The pain should wake me up just a bit. I desperately need a clear mind to deal with this, but gods, am I exhausted. It doesn’t help my cottage is boiling hot at this time of day.

“Wiosna taught me well,” I demur, instead of saying what I want, which is, “Go see Czeslawa, then. You used her services for five years and spread vicious gossip about me. You made your bed.”

But becoming the whisperer is what I always wanted, so I have to keep my tongue on a leash. I’m rewarded by Wiosna’s pleased chuckle when she hears my praise.

“You know, I always thought you should be the one to take over after her,” Roza says, nodding, her thin lips pursed into a strict line.

I pinch myself again to stop the bitter laughter that foams up my throat. Gods, these people. Sucking up to me with pretty lies on their lips, as if they expect me to purge my memories of the past.

And yet, I have to admire Roza’s audacity. Only a few years ago, she was in my face, telling me if I ever hurt her family, she would make sure my body was dragged and quartered.

It was in the winter when many children got sick and people blamed me. Because of course. What better way to spend my time than make innocent kids cough up muck from their lungs?

Most of them got well after months of recovering and the whole thing was forgotten. Ida’s brother lived, and Roza went back to her usual way of treating me, which was cold indifference.

And now she tells me she always believed in me. What a steaming pile of shit.

“I am happy to hear that,” I say through clenched teeth, and I think Roza sees how much it costs me to stay polite. She nods sharply, as if to say this part of the conversation is over.

Gods be praised. I don’t think I can be pleasant for much longer.

“After what happened at Waclaw’s last night, we were wondering if you have any protections from the bies for sale,” she says, looking pointedly at the neat row of completed pouches on my table. “We’ll pay well.”

“I don’t take food that spoils easily at this time,” I say quickly, because I still have the things Ida and Ola brought me, and then sausages from Helena. All my food is cooling in a bucket at the bottom of the well, but in this weather, it won’t keep long.

Roza nods. “We have preserves, honey, and furs. Like I said, we’ll pay well.”

Well, look at that. At least Czeslawa taught them to be generous. I should thank her one day. She does well for herself and lacks for nothing, while Wiosna barely got by sometimes. So, in this matter, I’d rather learn from Czeslawa.

I value my work enough to demand a good price from those who can pay.

“Thank you,” I say, gathering four pouches to hand to Roza. “Bury each in one corner of your land. It doesn’t have to be deep, but the pouch must be covered with earth. Bid everyone in your family not to leave your home when the moon is in the sky.”

She puts her heavy basket on the table, and I set about emptying it quickly before I deal with her friends. Each gets four pouches, and with that, my supply is severely depleted. I’ll have to make more quickly.

“Why the moon?” one of my clients asks.

“The zerca believes this bies must have something to do with Chors,” I say. When they scoff, clearly unimpressed by Jarota’s judgment, I look up sharply. “But you don’t have to believe him, of course. Be warned, though. Whoever goes out after the moon rises may end up just like Waclaw’s lambs.”

“So that’s why he’s going to augur early today,” Roza says with a slow nod. “He usually does it after sunset, but a boy went by earlier today, saying the zerca would augur before dusk. Does he know what the bies is? Do you?”

I sigh, emptying the last basket before I hand it to its owner. “I know enough to make effective protections. However, I cannot make them fast enough, so I have a request: if a neighbor asks to stay in your home tonight because their place isn’t protected, take them in. If I hear you refused somebody when you could take them in, I’ll never serve you again.”

Roza frowns, clearly displeased that I’m ordering her around. But then, her brow clears and she nods. “Of course. It wouldn’t be neighborly to refuse others shelter from evil. Very well, we’ll go to see the zerca later, and Ida will come by to get these for her home.”

After they go, I force myself to stop working enough to have some cheese and bread with more nettle brew. I won’t be of use to anyone if I faint from the heat and lack of food. After that, I work doggedly through the day, only taking a short break when Ida comes in for protection for her in-laws’ home.

She lives with her husband now, and her husband lives with his parents in a house large enough to fit them all. It’s a curse, she says.

“I’d rather the house were smaller, you know?” she says before taking her leave. “Then, he’d be forced to get us a new cottage. We’d be on our own and much happier for it.”

This is probably the oddest of changes after Kupala—Ida talking to me openly like I’m her friend. I am even more surprised by how I enjoy her company. She has a good mind hidden behind that pretty face, and a sharp wit.

I nod without saying anything. These last few weeks since getting married took a toll on her, and it’s even more pronounced today. She’s harder, more bitter, her pretty lip curled in a perpetual sneer. It’s hard to reconcile this disillusioned woman with the pretty, self-confident girl who taunted me at Kupala.

“Wait,” I say before she goes. “I knew you were coming, so I prepared this for you.”

I hand her a small bag of herbs, the same ones I mixed for Bogna. Ida takes it, comprehension dawning on her face. She looks miffed but takes the bag, avoiding my eyes.

“Now, listen closely,” I say. “Put the herbs into a cupful of water and heat until it boils. Take it off the fire, strain the brew, and put it in a cool place. You can say it’s your medicine if anyone asks.”

She nods, glancing up briefly. Her sneer is gone, face soft. Ida looks like a girl again, vulnerable and scared, and all that’s left of my enmity whooshes out of me.

At the end of the day, she’s just a girl.

“Put three spoons into his wine or mead every night. It won’t spoil the taste, but make sure no one sees you. Men have funny notions about women trying to poison them.”

She laughs bitterly then grabs my hand. “Thank you. Truly.”

“One more thing. The downside of this brew is, he won’t be eager to bed you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll live. Thank you. I have to go bury these, and then we’re going to see what Jarota says.” She pauses at the door, shooting me a sly look. “Though something tells me, you already know what he’ll augur.”

“Goodbye, Ida.”

She stands in the doorway with her back to me for a moment before she turns with a resolute nod. “When Czeslawa challenges you for taking her business, I’ll support you.”

When she’s gone, I sit down heavily and bury my face in my herb-stained hands. After years of being idle and just worrying how to survive, suddenly it feels like the fate of the entire village is on my shoulders. And now, I should also worry about being challenged for the position of the whisperer?

Then I laugh and get back to work. Truth is, I shouldn’t fret about the future.

Because if I fail tonight, I’ll die torn apart by a werewolf. And if I’m dead, I’ll have so much bigger problems. No amount of worrying can prepare me for those.