Devil's Deal: A Dark Fantasy Romance

28. Woman

The next two days go by in a flurry of work. I sew, gather herbs, and see clients. My popularity after the werewolf attack is still strong due to the lack of other exciting news. I make a point to be seen out and about, even attending Przemyslaw’s burial, in which his charred bones are laid in a deep hole, his skull put into a separate grave to ensure he doesn’t rise again.

It’s in the morning, and few people attend. Most men and many women are already in the meadows and fields, working since dawn. The weather is too nice not to make advantage of it. The burial is for those wealthy enough to have others work on their land or those who earn their keep in other ways, like me.

Jarota has picked out a plot by the forest, far outside the village, and yet people murmur it’s too close for comfort. So I suggest a hawthorn hedge be planted around it, not because I believe Przemyslaw’s bones will magically grow flesh and teeth again, but because having a protection to rely on will reassure everyone.

That’s whispering, too. Giving villagers ways to feel secure in the scary, dangerous world. Also, hawthorn really works. After all, I use it myself.

When I give the advice, Czeslawa sends me a venomous look. Despite my new popularity, she doesn’t look any worse for wear, her clothes still of great quality, her figure well-fed, skin fresh. She looks too good for my liking. I really should get on with punishing her for trying to kill me.

When everyone goes backs to the village after the burial, I deliberately walk close by Ida, giving her a meaningful look. She smiles and sends her friends ahead, claiming she has a personal matter to discuss with me.

“I hear you’re getting a lot of business these days,” she says without preamble, sounding glad about it.

That’s exactly what I want to talk about.

“It’s getting busy,” I confirm. “I’ll gather herbs for beauty potions later today, when the sun is high, and my indigestion tonic seems to be very helpful. But I wonder how Czeslawa fares these days. Do you know anything?”

Of course she does, and of course she wants my beauty potion. That’s why I mentioned it. Ida’s shrewd eyes light up, her full mouth curving into a knowing smirk.

“Many people are loyal to her,” she says, lowering her voice when a couple of villagers pass us on the grassy path. “She doesn’t want for anything, that’s for sure, and people still go to her with the big things. You know my friend, Ola? Well, she’s pregnant and she wanted to see you about it, but her mother-in-law forbade it. She said Czeslawa is more experienced and the true whisperer.”

“Did she now?” Wiosna mutters, her voice carrying a threat.

“Blessings upon Ola and her baby,” I say, nodding solemnly. “Let Mokosz watch over them both. So, do you believe there are any people who’d rather come to me about delivering a baby or sitting by the dead? Or am I just a curious novelty?”

Ida smiles, all pretty and dimpled. I find myself watching her not with envy, as I once did, but with pleasure. She really is a marvelous beauty and definitely doesn’t need my potion. She’ll still want it, though.

“Well, my mother is on your side and so am I, though with Janek unable to perform recently, I won’t have any reason to call on you. I’m working on my friends, but you know the way it is. The elders decide on the most important matters, and to them, whoever lives in the whisperer’s cottage is the whisperer.”

I nod thoughtfully. Getting the cottage is my priority, anyway. It was supposed to be mine after Wiosna died.

“Thank you for telling me. And how are you?” I ask, putting my hand on her shoulder to stop.

We’re alone among the meadows, long grasses swaying in the hot wind of the late summer morning. In the distance, I see a few kerchiefed figures bent low, their sickles flashing in the sun.

“Everything good at home?”

She sighs, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. I hate dousing Janek, because he is so numb afterward. Not like himself. But I’m afraid to stop. He really… What he did…”

She looks around, suddenly watchful and tense, and my heart aches for her. The pretty, vivacious Ida, the Kupala queen, deserves so much better than a violent husband.

“He forced himself on me a few times,” she murmurs, her face averted and burning with shame. “I didn’t want to because of the itching, and he just… He just put his hand over my mouth and made me. I fought but… I was too weak. A woman fighting for her dignity will never be as strong as a man who wants to fuck.”

She laughs bitterly. I don’t know what to say other than curse her husband, which won’t do anyone any good. So I’m silent, and we both stand there, surrounded by the comforting susurration of the wind combing through the grasses.

“My mother said to just let him next time and pretend to enjoy it so he’s done faster,” Ida adds ruefully, still not looking at me. “He is my husband, after all. He has a right to me.”

I grit my teeth, wishing I could tell her it’s not the case, that she is her own woman and doesn’t have to cater to her husband’s wishes, but that would be a lie. A woman belongs to her husband in body and soul. It sounds romantic before we get married, and young girls are sheltered from the ugly reality of what such ownership truly means.

“It shouldn’t be like this. I’m sorry, Ida. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Her eyes flash up in surprise, but she shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry. You helped me more than anyone did. It’s just… I wish that medicine weren’t necessary. He can be sweet, you know, and good to me. It’s not all bad. But it’s like the medicine takes away all of him, the bad, yes, but the good, too. He’s just… numb. Like he doesn’t care. And yet, it makes me feel safe. I don’t know, maybe I’d be happier if I had children. That’s what mama says. She was miserable until she had me and my siblings.”

“Do you want to get pregnant? We can adjust the dose so he gets some spirit back, but it’s risky,” I say, turning to practicalities when I don’t have words to comfort her.

Nothing short of promising to poison her husband seems adequate, and I already know from Bogna it’s not the right thing to say. Women are so strangely protective over the men who hurt them.

I suppose I’m no better. Didn’t Woland knock me about, threaten me, kill my friend and make me watch? Didn’t he sic a beast on me? And I still opened my legs for him.

But it’s just like Ida says. There is good with the bad.

“Not yet, but thank you,” Ida says, her cheerful, confident mask falling back into place as she looks up with a small smile. “I’m grateful for the respite from his attentions, truly. I’ll enjoy it for a bit longer. Besides, my sister is pregnant with her first and I wouldn’t want to steal her thunder. Say, Jaga, when will the beauty potions be ready? I’d like to get one.”

I smile, and we walk again, the village getting closer. “In seven days. And you’ll get a supply for free if you agree to be my eyes and ears. I want to know what Czeslawa is doing and if people are pleased with her services. You’re good at gleaning every piece of gossip, I know. Everyone wants to talk to you, because you’re such a pleasure to be around.”

She giggles at the compliment, and the innocent, arrogant girl is back for a moment, replacing the disenchanted wife.

“Well, I can tell you right now she talks shit behind your back,” Ida says, her eyes glittering with the excitement of sharing something I don’t know. “She’ll say things like, ‘A young whisperer such as Jaga wouldn’t know how to treat this,’ or ‘This only works for experienced whisperers,’ or she might insinuate you’re a witch. She keeps saying how unlikely it is that a normal young woman could have slain such a cursed beast like the werewolf without magical help… Uh, Jaga, why are you smiling? I’d be furious.”

Yes, I’m grinning, and even though Czeslawa’s badmouthing bothers me—mainly because I’m still terrified of being accused of witchcraft—it also makes me triumph.

“Because she calls me a whisperer,” I say with glee. “If even she admits I am one, that means I’ve come further along than I thought. Thank you, Ida.”

She nods with a smile, throwing her long, wheat-colored braid over her shoulder.

“I’ll keep listening. And you save the best potion for me,” she says with a cheeky grin and runs off down the path among the cottages, a picture of youth and happiness.

A chicken digging in the dirt by the path clucks in fright, jumping away in a flurry of feathers when Ida passes it at breakneck speed. I smile, happy we’re friends now. Only a month ago, I wouldn’t have believed I might enjoy her company.

But as soon as I realize it—how I like Ida, how she trusts me, sharing her most intimate pain—my smile freezes on my lips.

Blast it.

I can’t make any friends, because Woland will kill them off if I resist him. Did he see us just now? I look around surreptitiously, convinced I’ll see a flash of his grin or the shadow of a tail, but everything looks normal.

“Wiosna?” I ask under my breath, walking through my gate. “Is he still gone?”

“Yes,”she answers at once. “Don’t worry.”

I chew on my lip, opening my door wide to let in a bit of the breeze, though it’s hopeless. It’s an incredibly hot day, and I’ll probably spend it outside in the shade of a plum tree.

“And when he came to me by the river,” I say cautiously, dreading her answer, “did you watch?”

“Up to a point,”she says with a snort. “I’m not a dirty old grandma who gets off on peeking, you know. I made myself scarce when it became obvious what you two were doing. It’s a dangerous game, Jaga. You should keep your distance, but then, you won’t listen to my advice anyway, will you?”

I shake my head, knowing she’s right about everything. Yes, I should keep my distance, but even when I do, Woland pushes too close, obliterating my defenses and getting under my skin like a thorn. I can’t keep him out.

“He said he’ll kill my friends if I make any,” I murmur. “If I don’t let him claim me.”

Wiosna snorts. “And it’s a problem, how? You hate people. Just let it show more and I’m sure no one will be eager to befriend you.”

I smile tightly and don’t say anything else. Throughout the years, I got used to Wiosna’s cruel directness and practical approach, so her words cut me very rarely. But what she just said opens a deep, throbbing wound in my chest.

Yes, I keep saying I want to be alone, that I hate everyone, just like they hate me. But no matter how often I repeat it, it doesn’t become the truth. Bogna’s friendship was so precious to me because I craved another person’s affection with all my being. I would have died for her, and if Woland stopped time at that moment, just as Przemyslaw raised the stone, and told me to be his, I would have agreed.

But he didn’t, and I was too mindless with terror to even try bargaining with him. I don’t even think it would have worked. He wanted to hurt me because I dared to reject him, and so he did.

And I have to do everything in my might to keep it from happening again.

“Ready to do a spell?”Wiosna asks after I have a cup of water and some bread, forcing myself to eat even though I feel no hunger or thirst. Woland’s magic is still strong within my veins, and I wonder if that’s the way gods and demons always feel. Unburdened by physical needs, always strong and well-rested.

What I wouldn’t give to be that way, too. And yet, I know I can’t get used to this. It would be too easy to become addicted. That is why I have to access my own inner power, and to do that, I have to do magic every day in the hopes one spell will finally break through.

I dread it already.

“I suppose,” I say with a sigh. “All right, I have this idea that I want to use against Czeslawa. A spell would help. But it will have to wait until dinnertime so she doesn’t see me.”

It’s haymaking season, so most men and a fair number of women and children are out in the meadows, reaping and turning the grass so it dries evenly. They make haste, because the linen growing blue in the fields will soon be ready for harvest, as will the wheat. The hay must be made and put away before then.

But Czeslawa doesn’t work in the fields, and she spends most of her days at home, except for when she goes out to dinner. There are a few families who invite her to meals, and she rotates between them.

I grab my wicker basket and set out for the herbs I told Ida about. Wiosna always scoffed at beauty potions as not real medicine, just a vanity product, but I used to enjoy making them. Properly prepared, they made my skin softer and more even, my lips redder, my hair shiny and strong.

Today, after speaking with Ida, I have another idea how to make those potions do some good. And so I set out into the meadows, stopping at the places where I know the right herbs grow. I gather mullein, which is one of the most versatile herbs and has rejuvenating abilities.

The plants are taller than me, gently swaying in the summer wind, and I pick the small yellow flowers and a few leaves. Next, I set out for mugwort. It grows everywhere, and I quickly fill my basket with the unassuming herb, its tiny flowers white and brown.

I swing by Waclaw’s linen field and get a few of the blue-flowered plants. The linen is supposed to be stolen in secret from a field owned by someone who has only sons. It is the most potent then, making women who wear and use it more attractive.

And finally, I head back to my cottage and pick almost my entire supply of lovage from my herb garden. My hands smell like it after I’m done, spicy and green. Woland mocked my soap, and he was right in a way—lovage is a love plant, among others. But it’s also a powerful protection against many types of bies, against the evil eye, and demons.

But the reason I want to include lovage is that it makes people who use it more appealing and convincing. Its effect is subtle, but my hope is that a woman using my potion will gain a tiny bit of power in her household.

Maybe even enough for her no to be heard.