32. Blow
“No one will come,” Wiosna says cooly in the morning as I add wood to the fire to boil water for chicory brew. “The whole point is for the zmora to go back to the host and relay the invitation, and you killed it before it could do that.”
She is angry with me about how I handled the situation, but when I asked her last night exactly what she minds, she wouldn’t say. Apparently, I should know this myself, and if I don’t, that means I’m flawed.
Despite Wiosna’s judgment, I’m convinced I made the right choice. I saved myself. I can’t believe she holds a grudge over that.
Now, I only smile, making Wiosna groan with irritation. I do think the zmora’s host will come, and that’s because I know what it feels like to have a zmora. It’s not a separate being but an extension of a person.
For example, I felt the echoes of everything my zmora did, and ultimately, I controlled her. I think it’s the same way for the person who sent one after me, and that makes me far less merciful than I was before.
Even if they only thought they were hurting me in their dreams, they still deserve to pay for the pleasure they took from it. And they took a lot. That zmora was bent on killing me.
When I pour the brew into two cups and check that the food is nicely laid out, there is a hesitant knock on the door. I open with a wide grin to see Czeslawa on my doorstep.
“Welcome,” I say while Wiosna curses behind me. “I’m so glad you came.”
Czeslawa looks bewildered, her hair sticking out from under her kerchief as if she didn’t pin it up properly. There is a vacant look in her eyes, and her mouth keeps moving, like she’s about to say something but doesn’t know what.
My eyes linger on the boils that have sprung up on her cheeks and forehead since I saw her last. They are the result of the well hex I did. Every time Czeslawa looks into the well, a new boil appears, and now they dot her face, fat and bulging. She looks like a witch now. That’s the price for spreading vicious gossip.
And the punishment for trying to get me killed is so much better than I could have planned. It looks like Czeslawa is completely defeated. I don’t think she’s likely to recover.
When I look down, I notice she’s wearing the slippers I left in her ante-room. That means she’ll leave the village soon. Hopefully, forever.
I show her in and close the door, feeling like a victor.
“I never heard any stories of zmoras getting killed,”Wiosna mutters, sounding grave. “But it looks like there are consequences.”
I have a pretty good idea about what happened. Since I beheld everything my zmora was, the power, the cruelty, and her unflinching drive, I know I’d rather be dead than lose her. She is everything that makes me strong and keeps me going. It looks like Czeslawa’s zmora was a source of strength for her, too.
With it gone, she’s a husk.
She sits at my table, throwing around scattered, unfocused looks. She frowns, makes to say something, and frowns again. I smile pleasantly, waiting for a barb or an insult and knowing none will come.
Like me, Czeslawa was fueled by ambition and rivalry, I see it now. Even more, she was driven by pettiness and greed, and with all that gone, she’s lost.
I know there are people out there whose power lies in other sources. Ida is driven by vanity. Darobor, by duty. People like that would probably be unable to create a zmora, and if they did, they wouldn’t lose the primary force driving them if it died.
There is a warning in this for me, too. I might be tempted to call on my zmora in the future, but I cannot risk losing her.
“Do you take milk with your chicory brew?” I ask and pour Czeslawa a splash when she nods distractedly.
When I urge her to eat, she looks uncomprehendingly at her plate and picks at the cheese. I add the lack of appetite to my mental list of the signs.
“So, Czeslawa,” I speak pleasantly after I eat a few bites and she’s merely pushing the food around with her spoon. “You visited me the last three nights. Do you remember?”
She looks up, staring at me for a few blinks, and finally nods.
“I came in when you slept,” she says, her voice dull. “I knew you were the one who cursed my face and destroyed my shed. So I came in to punish you.”
I nod. She speaks with no feeling, no hate.
“Did you know I was to blame or did you only suspect?”
She blinks a few times and brings the cup to her lips but doesn’t drink. “I knew. You left blood on the thorns.”
I frown but it comes back to me at once. Yes, the thorns Czeslawa scattered on her path. One pricked my sole, and apparently, that’s how I was discovered. I tuck that information away for the future. It might come in handy.
“So you knew what you were doing? With the zmora?”
Her lips move, and she nods slowly. “I was going to kill you. You’re a witch and you’re taking my clients. You deserve to die.”
Her face scrunches up, an echo of anger flashing in her eyes, but when she blinks, it’s lost and she looks puzzled again.
“Is that why you dug out the bone protecting my cottage from the werewolf? Because you thought I deserved to die?” I ask, my voice betraying no anger, only curiosity.
But the anger is there, boiling just under the surface. My zmora stirs within me, sharpening her claws. Knowing she’s there brings me comfort.
Czeslawa looks at her plate and clasps her hands together, then unclasps them. Her eyes are vacant when she looks up.
“No. You humiliated me and questioned my authority. I was going to prove you wrong.”
I’m too shocked to react with anger, so I just snort with a surprised laugh. “You wanted me to die, torn to shreds by a werewolf, because I made you look bad?” I ask.
Wiosna growls, muttering obscenities under Czeslawa’s address. My mentor is clearly on my side with this one.
“You are a witch.” Defensiveness echoes in Czeslawa’s voice, but it’s still much too dull to sound normal. “You steal my clients, make them think they can get away with paying less, and you do foul, black magic to get ahead.”
And with that, I have had enough. The legs of my stool scrape hard when I push it back, standing. Without hesitation, I reach over the table and grab her throat, just like my zmora did last night. Fear flashes in Czeslawa’s eyes, and she grips my fingers but doesn’t struggle.
She can still breathe, albeit with effort. It’s hard to choke someone one-handedly, even though my zmora made it look so effortless.
I don’t care to choke Czeslawa, though. I just want her to hurt.
“You greedy old hag,” I hiss, my rage boiling too hot to contain anymore. “Your clients came to me because you cheated them! You gave them faulty cures to keep them paying more. You weren’t threatened by witchcraft but by my competence. As soon as I started serving proper medicine, you knew your ruse would fail. And that’s why you wanted to kill me. So you could keep swindling people and grow plump on everything they paid you. You’re pathetic!”
I let go and stagger back, breathing hard. Czeslawa merely looks at me, blinking. An ugly, red flush spreads on her throat where I gripped her.
“Here is what will happen,” I hiss, rounding the table to get right in her face. “You will pack your things, leaving behind all the whispering tools that were in the cottage when you arrived, and you will go. And if anyone asks you why, you will just tell them the truth: that you’re a cheat and a liar!”
She tenses, resistance flashing in her eyes, and for a moment, it seems like the old Czeslawa is back. But in a few seconds, she goes limp and nods. It’s like there is no fight left in her. No purpose.
When she leaves, not having eaten a bite, all energy drains out of me. I want to triumph, but my period pangs are getting so bad, I know I’ll be useless for the next few days. I put on a special belt sewn from soft, absorbent cloth and lie down, hoping like hell no one comes to see me.
The cottage is hot, and I drift in and out of restless sleep until sometime in the afternoon, someone knocks on my door. I crawl off the bed and answer, bent over in half from the pain.
“Straighten up,”Wiosna tells me, but I physically can’t. I’m irrationally afraid if I do, my insides will burst open.
It’s only Ida on my doorstep. She looks upset, her eyes darting around, her lips pinched together.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately alert. “Do you need my help?”
She steps from foot to foot, finally facing me squarely, though her eyes are wary. I am aware of a new sense of distance between us. Her posture is unusually closed-off.
“Did you… Jaga, did… What did you do to Czeslawa?”
Oh.I’m not sure how to answer, because I certainly can’t tell her the truth. I manage a very lopsided shrug. “Is something the matter with her?”
Ida eyes me closely, now more suspicious than wary.
“You look like you’re in pain.”
I nod. “Feminine trouble. The kind herbs cannot help. What is it about Czeslawa? Did she leave yet?”
Too late do I realize I revealed too much. Blast it. It’s all because of the pain. It muddles my thoughts. I really shouldn’t interact with people when I’m on my period.
Ida shakes her head, taking a step back. The suspicion in her eyes morphs into fear.
“You did it to her,” she whispers, bringing her shaking hands to her face. “That’s why you wanted me to spy, didn’t you? You wanted to get rid of her, and now she’s all strange and lifeless, like someone stole her soul, and she’s leaving. And you’re in pain. Like… Like you exerted yourself. You did something.”
I press my hand harder to my abdomen, as if that will contain the throbbing ache. When I shake my head, swallowing thickly to keep nausea at bay, Ida raises her hands as if to ward me off.
“I can’t believe I trusted you,” she says, a sob tearing out of her throat. “When you’re exactly what they always said!”
She turns and runs, stopping by my gate. Without turning, she speaks.
“You helped me, so I won’t tell. Don’t hurt anyone else.”
She leaves, not giving me time to respond or defend myself. I stand in the doorway, looking after her, and now it’s not just my bleeding womb that hurts. My heart feels like it bleeds, too.
I really thought we were friends.
A slow clapping behind me makes me turn so fast, pain stabs through me like a knife. Shadows coalesce in the middle of my cottage, whirling and darkening until they reveal him.
Woland.
“And here I thought she might be your next Bogna,” he says, cruel amusement in his voice. “There goes my plan. But don’t worry. I have others.”
I grimace and walk inside. The door shuts behind me on its own, plunging the cottage into hot, stifling gloom.
“Leave me alone,” I mutter half-heartedly, wincing when every step makes my insides jolt with agony.
If only I can lie down, all of it will go away. I’ll just sink into the pain and won’t have to think or move. It will be perfect. The only obstacle between me and the bed is him, standing so tall, his antlers brush the roof beams. His tail swings from side to side with excitement or tension, and his expression is entirely too gleeful.
I hate his good mood. I’d rather he suffered, just like me.
“Get out of my way,” I bite out, too exhausted to deal with him now.
“But I want to help you,” he says, smiling innocently, except that look won’t ever fool anyone. It doesn’t belong on his demonic face.
“Leave.”
He huffs with exasperation, and then I’m in his arms as he deposits me smoothly on the bed. I curl up into a ball, and when he strokes my hair, I growl, because I don’t have the strength to push his hand away.
He stops touching me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to make him go away with sheer inertia. Woland is ancient, with many lifetimes of amusements behind him. He probably gets bored easily.
And yet, after time passes and I drift away in my little cocoon of agony, he speaks. His voice is unusually gentle.
“I can make it go away,” he coaxes. “One little drop. I’ll give it to you for free.”
I exhale, my insides knotting tighter. Oh, gods, how I want it. I know how his blood makes me feel, like I’m less mortal, unencumbered by hunger and exhaustion. It can remove my pain.
One little drop. Will it really hurt if I get it?
I crave the ease and relief, I need the power and pleasure of tasting his blood, and yet, there is this tiny, stubborn voice in my head saying no. Because I’m already so much weaker than Woland, and every time I allow him closer or take something he gives, I weaken myself more.
I might feel strong with his blood buzzing in my veins, yet that magic won’t allow me to ever get an upper hand.
Besides, I’ve suffered through many menses. I can deal.
“No,” I whisper hoarsely.
His hoof stomps hard on the floor. I don’t look up, only curl up tighter, and Woland snarls with anger.
“I’m simply offering to soothe your pain!”
I’d laugh if I didn’t think it would make me hurt more. “Nothing is ever simple with you.”
His exhale is long and measured, and I know he’s trying to keep his temper in check. If I weren’t in such horrible pain, I’d enjoy aggravating him. Refusing him is so rewarding.
“You’re right,” he says after a while, his voice cool. “I didn’t just want to help. I wanted to soften the blow.”
A quiet note of menace rings out in his voice, enough to make me open my eyes. I don’t stir, though. This is the most comfortable I’ll get, and I’d rather stay like this as long as possible.
“What blow?”
Woland laughs, unpleasant and cold. A shiver runs down my back, and I know whatever’s coming won’t be good. Despair pours into my chest, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like crying from helplessness and rage.
I swallow it all back. He cannot see my tears, I will not allow it.
“Your little mentor is back in Nawie.” His voice grows gentle, pitying, though I know it’s deceptive. “She shouldn’t have been let out in the first place, but I allowed it, hoping she’d talk some sense into you. But weeks passed, and you’re still as stubborn as you were that night, hm? Now you’re on your own. Let’s see how long it takes before you beg me to take you in.”
I blink a few times, trying to make sense of everything he just said. My abdomen pulses with more and more pain, until all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists tight.
“Wiosna?” I whisper under my breath.
Woland snorts, but I ignore him, my foolish, na?ve hope making me wait… and wait… but she never answers.
She’s truly gone at a time I need her the most. Ida believes I’m a witch, I’m about to become the only whisperer in the village, and the devil is still bent on claiming me.
I am all on my own.