48. Head
“Just leave me alone,” I say. I don’t even have to fake the exhaustion in my voice, it’s so apparent.
Woland sighs, looking tired, too. His tail hangs limp, his shoulders hunching just slightly. He rubs his eyes and then looks around in irritation.
“So you’d rather walk alone in these wild woods than come with me, is that it?” he asks, gruff and annoyed.
I only stare. I’d rather die than go with him, but I won’t tell him that.
“Very well,” he snaps, his shadows rising around him like vipers poised to strike. “Just eat something, for fuck’s sake.”
He vanishes in a cloud of darkness, and when it dissipates, a low table set with food stands in his place. I don’t come over, just watch it from a distance. There’s bread, so fresh, it’s steaming. A cup of cream, a plate of small, dark grapes, and worst of all, a juicy, still sizzling cut of meat so golden and appetizing, I want to weep. There’s a sprig of fresh rosemary on it.
I clench my teeth, ignoring the tantalizing scents, and walk away as fast as I can. I don’t trust myself not to go back to the food, so I need to run while my will is still strong.
And it is strong. I have a plan, dire though it is, and having a goal is always the best way to keep myself together.
The only problem is, I don’t know whether he’s watching me or not. I wish Wiosna were here to tell me. But of course, she isn’t, so I have to time it just right.
The river is deep and wide here, the currents powerful farther away from the shore. I am a decent swimmer but not a very strong one, so at least I have an easy way to carry out my plan. It would be easier still if I had a rope, but I don’t bemoan the fact much. I’m used to working with what’s available.
Besides, maybe it’s better that my body will disappear under water. Maybe that will make it more difficult for him to find me and bring me back to life.
I just have to remember to leave as soon as I die. He never told me, but I suspect he could bring me back that day because my soul stayed behind. I hope I’m right about this.
I wander until dusk and sleep through the night on a pillow of moss. In the morning, I walk a bit, assuming Woland will get bored and leave me to it. He probably watches me through the night to keep me safe, but he must do other things, too. Like he said, he has a war to fight.
Shortly before noon, when the forest trills with birdsong, I strip off my dress and hang it on a branch. I wade into the river and swim out into the middle. When I feel the pull of the current, I take a deep breath and submerge.
I know my instincts will force me to get back to the surface to breathe, but I plan to tire myself out enough while I’m in control so then, getting back to the shore will be impossible. Drowning is an ugly death, but it’s better than belonging to Woland.
I’m sorry, I tell my twelve-year-old self in the privacy of my mind. I will find another way. Death is not the end.
I stay down, carried by the cool current until panic hits, forcing me to emerge. When I look at the shore, I don’t even see my dress anymore. I calm down enough to be in control again and submerge.
When I come out this time, gasping for breath and snorting out water, a strong, dark arm winds around my waist. I cough and fight his hold, but he doesn’t relent, his shadows wrapping around my entire body until I’m swathed in a cocoon of his power. It makes me warm, and I clench my teeth, wishing it didn’t feel so good to be wrapped so securely.
My body is a traitor in this. It enjoys simple pleasures way too much.
Woland steps up onto the surface of the river, carrying me in his arms. He walks on water, his even steps taking us back to the shore. I am too furious to marvel at his ability, and besides, my entire focus is on not allowing myself to sag in his hold or, Perun forbid, snuggle against him.
But I’m so tired, and this is so very comforting.
It takes some time before we reach the shore. Woland doesn’t aim straight for the bank, walking diagonally instead. The river shimmers all around us, silver in the sunlight.
I don’t speak, and he is silent, too. When I glance at his face, it’s pulled tight with anger, though there’s a melancholy tilt to his mouth.
And now, I really wish I had some fucking rope.
“It won’t work,” he says calmly when he deposits me on the shore in the exact place where I left my dress. His shadows slither off me, and I shiver, cold and exhausted. He simply watches me with mild interest.
“It was w-worth a t-try,” I say, my teeth chattering. Now that I’m no longer wrapped up in him, I’m cold despite the heat of the day. I’ve been undereating for too long now, and my body conserves heat. “I d-don’t suppose you’ll let me starve to d-death, either.”
He snorts, snapping his fingers. A low table appears between us, laid with bread, hot meat, and grapes. The bread is cut into thick pieces dripping with butter. The meat lies on a bed of carrots and green peas still in their pods. There’s even a crystal cup of wine. I clench my teeth, but I’m fighting a losing battle.
“Eat or I will force it down your throat,” he says. It doesn’t sound like a threat. He simply states a fact.
I dress quickly, shivering harder. He doesn’t try to touch me or get close, just leans against a tree, his arms folded. When I sit on my heels by the table, he snaps his fingers again. A big cup of clear, steaming broth appears right in front of me.
“Drink that first.”
My mouth waters. I long to wrap my chilled fingers around the cup, and yet, I reach for the bread first just to be contrarian. Yes, it’s childish. But since I have no means to fight him, this is the only way I can make myself feel marginally better.
I wish my magic worked. Maybe then, at least, I would stand a chance.
Woland grunts with displeasure but doesn’t comment, watching me eat with his neutral mask in place. I force myself to bite off medium-sized morsels of the bread instead of devouring it in three bites, even though it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. The butter is divine, thick and creamy, and the bread melts into sweetness when I chew.
Maybe it’s because of hunger, or maybe he brought me food from Wyraj. But it’s the best meal in my life, and I hate him a bit more for it.
When I’m done eating and my stomach hurts, distended by the huge amount of food after a period of starvation, he makes the table disappear.
“You have three weeks,” he says quietly. “After that, I’ll do what I must.”
He vanishes into smoke. I sigh, ignoring the flowers that withered where I ate, and begin walking. The short timeline scares me, but I don’t lose hope yet, even though Woland just thwarted my newest plan. A lot can change in three weeks, and the recent whirlwinds in my life are proof of that.
If only I had someone to talk to. “Wiosna?” I whisper, hoping against hope.
But there is no response.
That night, I don’t sleep well. The bear chases me in my dreams, and then the scene changes, and I’m in my cottage, delivering Maja’s baby. In the dream, I know what will happen and yet I’m still convinced I can stop it somehow, but nothing I try works. She is born in a stream of blood, and then she dies. After that, the bear chases me again.
When the nightmare changes one more time, I hear Czeslawa’s voice telling me she’s dead because of me. She says I’ll pay for it. That I’ll feed her. Something in her words doesn’t add up, and that, or maybe something else, pulls me out of sleep.
I open my eyes to the moonlit forest. Czeslawa’s face, haggard and saggy, is right above me. Her eyes have no whites. They are completely black.
I roll away with a shriek. She snaps her teeth at where my neck just was while I stumble to my feet, my heart hammering so hard, I get dizzy.
She gets up to a half crouch, peering at me with those nasty black eyes. She’s thinner than she was alive, her body rangier. Her breasts sag down her chest, just empty sacks of flesh with the fat supporting them gone. She’s naked, dirty, and pale like a thing that lives under a rock and never sees the sun.
“Jaga,” she says, her voice screechy and thin. “You did this to me. I will drink your blood. I will suck the marrow from your bones.”
“You’re an upir,” I say, finally understanding. “How did you find me?”
She doesn’t answer, instead lunging at me with her long, filthy nails poised to scratch. I jump out of the way, but she is horribly fast, and I get a stinging scratch on my upper arm. Czeslawa stops, balancing on her thin feet, and licks my blood off her nail.
“I followed you,” she says with a pleased smile. “After I died, I came back to the village to get my revenge, and what did I find? You were banished!”
“How did you die?”
She cackles with glee, swiping at me with her long arm. I jump back and stumble over a root, my ankle twisting. I grit my teeth from pain and pivot, avoiding her grip at the last moment. We stand opposite each other. I pant while she’s barely winded, licking her lips obscenely.
“I just lay down and died,” she says with another cackle. “You took what kept me going.”
She clearly blames me, but even though I do take the blame for Sara, Maja’s baby, and the others, I don’t feel guilty about Czeslawa’s death.
It crosses my mind I could let her kill me, but the idea repels me. Upir or not, I will never let Czeslawa win. This foe I must defeat.
“You attacked me first. And the gods know it, which is why you became an upir. Only bad people turn into blood-drinking scum after death.”
Her smile is gone, and she jumps at me with a horrible screech. This time, I don’t avoid her. Instead, I grab her wrists when she’s almost on me, and push until we end up on the forest floor, her body under mine.
Czeslawa spits in my face and struggles. She turns out to be much stronger than she looks. I resist, but she still rolls us until I’m pinned underneath her, her cold, slimy hand on my throat, feeling my pulse.
But she makes a mistake and doesn’t restrain my wrists. I clench my hand into a fist and punch her face. There is a wet crunch just when pain explodes in my knuckles. Her nose is broken and my hand hurts like hell.
She shrieks, and I throw her off, scrambling to my feet. To hell with it. I’m done with this, and if the devil insists on following me around, he might as well be of use.
“Woland, I’m in danger.”
“I know.” His voice comes from the direction of a tall birch tree nearby, where he suddenly appears, leaning nonchalantly against the trunk. “I’m having a good time watching this. Continue.”
Czeslawa charges at me, and I manage to grab her arm and twist while she scratches me with the other. Her bones break, frail as they are, and she howls from pain and fury. I let go and retreat, blood trickling down my arm.
“You’re just going to watch?” I ask him, irritated.
Czeslawa straightens, brushing filthy, unkempt hair from her face. There is a loud snap and a crunch as her broken bones fall back into place. Her arm is fixed, and she bares her teeth at me. I crouch to pick up a stick, but it’s rotten, and when I hit her with it, it crumbles. She grabs my arm and sinks her teeth into it. I howl from pain and bash her head with my fist until she lets go, lurching back, my blood dripping from her chin.
“You’re an atrocious fighter, Jaga,” Woland says with amusement.
“Then give me a fucking hand,” I growl.
The upir licks her chops with loud smacking sounds, and Woland laughs.
“You keep refusing my protection. I decided to respect your wishes, darling. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Then why are you here?” I growl, picking up a sturdier branch while Czeslawa is still occupied with licking my blood off herself.
“Because I like a good show.”
I heft the branch in my hands. Heavy. I know I can’t swing it fast, so I will have to time it just right. Czeslawa snarls, more animal than a person now, and charges at me. I raise the branch in both hands, leaving my body completely exposed. When she’s almost on me, I swing with as much force as I can muster.
The branch falls right on top of her head, bashing her skull in. She crumples to the ground, twitching, but I know she’s not dead.
Woland claps, and I snarl at him the same way Czeslawa just snarled at me. He laughs.
“You did it. And without my help, too.”
“This isn’t over,” I mutter, assessing the upir at my feet.
Yes, I brought her down, but by her own admission, she followed my trail. If I don’t deal with her once and for all, she’ll keep coming, and since Woland refuses to deal with her for me, that means I’ll have to fight her every night.
I suppose I could just let her drink my blood until Woland rescues me, but I am too proud for that. No, I need to end this now.
I take a deep breath and turn to him. He comes closer, towering above me. His mouth is curled in an expectant smirk, like he knows I’m going to ask him for help.
“Could you please lend me an ax or a knife?” I ask, steeling my voice to be polite but not wheedling.
I hate asking him for a favor, but the prospect of being woken by Czeslawa every night is even more hateful than being in Woland’s debt.
He snorts. “I can’t give you a knife, poppy girl. You’d use it against me.”
I release an impatient breath, looking around for anything else I can use to chop Czeslawa’s head off. I think back to my pack of supplies with longing. I miss that silver knife Wiosna left me, mostly because yes, I’d love to stab Woland right now.
“Why do you even care?” I ask him, bending low to pick up a stone. I throw it away. Too small. “You showed me a knife can’t hurt you.”
He snaps his fingers, and a nice, jagged rock that will fit perfectly in my palm comes flying. I grudgingly snatch it from the air and grip it as I kneel by the upir’s head.
“A knife can’t kill me,” he says with amusement. “But I never said it can’t hurt me. Besides, there are various ways to harm a person. Do you think my heart won’t hurt when you try to kill me? Do you think it won’t break when you drown yourself to avoid me?”
The note of amusement fades from his voice, replaced by something hard and angry. I look up, startled, and find his eyes trained on me with vicious intensity. We stare at each other, the tip of his tail twitching.
“You don’t have a heart,” I finally reply, but even to my own ears, I sound weak and uncertain.
Woland laughs sharply, looking away. “If you say so.”
I take a deep breath to steel my nerves and raise the rock above my head. I bring it down on Czeslawa’s neck. Blood squirts, and my fist sinks into gore. I purse my lips, swallowing down an urge to retch, and raise my arm again. I hack at her neck a few times until my fury boils over. I shoot Woland a sharp look.
“Broken heart, my ass. Why are you trying to make me feel guilty for doing my best to save my freedom?”
“Death isn’t freedom,” he hisses. He’s angry, too. “Believe me, dead, you’d be even more a slave than alive and in my ownership.”
“Ownership,” I scoff, bringing the rock down with a wet splat. “Of course, since you’ve already marked me.”
“Well, you are mine,” he says calmly. “It’s just a matter of time.”
My anger finally snaps. I grunt, bringing the stone down, again and again. I hack through muscles and tendons, and then through Czeslawa’s spine, hurting my knuckles on her bones. When her head finally rolls away, completely detached, I’m shaking. A red mist hovers in front of my eyes, my fury coloring my vision.
“Well done,” Woland says quietly. “Though if you were mine, I would have turned her to dust with a snap of my fingers as soon as she came. You wouldn’t have even woken. But then again, you wouldn’t have slept in the forest but in my bed.”
I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and look at him with a scowl.
“Would you really turn her to dust? I don’t believe you. Maybe give me a demonstration the next time something tries to eat me in the middle of the night.”
He laughs, letting me know my attempt at manipulation won’t work. When I drop Czeslawa’s head between her legs and scatter some dirt on top of her as a makeshift burial, he leans over and whispers in my ear.
“Darling, the most dangerous beast that wants to eat you is me.”