15. Lambs
When I arrive at Waclaw’s house, a small crowd is already gathered in front of his barn. People talk in hushed voices, throwing wary glances at the dark, quiet interior of the barn. By the door, Waclaw stands with his wife, Helena, his arm around her shaking shoulders.
I stand on tiptoes to look over the heads, but it’s too dark for me to see what’s in the barn. If the silence is any indication, no animals are there. I’m about to look for someone to wheedle answers out of when my eyes snag on four deep grooves etched into the barn’s wooden door.
My heart beats faster, my hands growing clammy. I try to think what could have made those grooves, because my mind’s first guess—claws—makes my skin itch with foreboding.
More people join us, clearly drawn in by the screams that I think must have been Helena’s. I sidle up to Ida and Ola, who quietly explain the situation to their friend, Kalina, who just came and asked what happened.
“…and whatever killed the lambs didn’t stay to eat. Waclaw says the bodies are ripped to pieces, but all there. Blood and entrails all over the barn.”
As if to confirm Ida’s words, a gentle evening breeze blows in my face, bringing with it the sticky, metallic scent of blood. It crawls up my nose and burns my eyes, and I turn away, covering my mouth with my hand to keep myself from gagging.
“Their boy, Tomek, went to fetch the zerca,” Ida continues, her voice clipped and strong. “I guess Czeslawa, too, though I don’t know what good she’ll be.”
I’m impressed by how controlled she is, recounting the events with cold-blooded calm. Even Waclaw looks sick and green around the mouth, and he’s one of the steadiest men in the village.
And I do understand why they need Czeslawa. The barn will have to be purged of death and blood before new animals can be let in, and a good whisperer should know how to do it. If she’s very good, she’ll not only get rid of the odor of blood but also purge any invisible remains of the massacre so no baleful spirits are attracted to come and feed off the animals or people in the house.
Wiosna taught me all of it, and it came in handy a few times when a cow died in labor or the plague took a pen full of pigs. Places of death near the house need to be cleared out, not just of dirt, but of spiritual remains, as well.
Then again never, not once, did we have to deal with a barn full of entrails and blood. It’s unheard of. And all the more terrifying for it.
“Well, they’ll need a whisperer to make sure whatever it was doesn’t come back,” Kalina says in a low, fearful voice. “Do they know what it was? A bear? A wolf?”
Ida scoffs and glances at me, clearly aware of my eavesdropping. “No, they don’t. That’s why they need the zerca. Helena said it looks like a demon’s handiwork. They want the zerca to tell them what kind of bies could have done it.”
I hold back my shocked gasp. Until Kupala, gods and monsters belonged to the realm of tales. After my encounter with the older me who saved my life, I never saw anything unusual. Only mortals troubled by their small, mortal worries.
And now, it seems the world teems with black magic.
What kind of bies could it even be? I stare at the barn, desperately trying to see through the gloom. It’s already dark out, and the barn oozes even deeper black than that of the falling night. At least out here, the yellow face of the god, Chors, shines on us, round and perfect over the horizon. Inside, there’s only death.
Someone nearby lights a torch, and a quick patter of feet announces another arrival.
Tomek emerges from the dark, leading Jarota, who looks troubled and slightly unkempt, his long, gray hair flying around his sweaty face. Behind them, Czeslawa follows at a stately pace, her hair covered by a neat, black kerchief. She nods to a few people in greeting as she passes, her eyes narrowing when she sees me.
I wonder if it’s her usual enmity or if she already knows some of her clients decided to try my services instead.
Both Jarota and the whisperer stop by Waclaw and his wife, talking in hushed voices. Jarota looks more and more troubled the longer he listens. Czeslawa eyes the barn with a frown and then glances at me, a nasty little smirk playing on her lips.
Two men come up to the zerca with torches, and the entire group save for Helena and Tomek go inside. We wait, the warm evening wind playing among us as the night deepens.
“What do you think it could be?” Ida’s voice is quiet, yet it rings out in the tense silence of the waiting crowd. It takes me a moment to realize her question is directed at me.
“I don’t know,” I say, keeping my suspicions to myself. “I haven’t seen inside. But I’m sure the zerca will be able to augur the truth out of the entrails.”
Normally, to foresee the future or learn the will of the gods, the zerca cuts open a hen or another bird and looks for answers in the entrails. Whatever was in the barn already did the work for him.
“The only thing the zerca can augur is his cock in Milka’s mouth,” Ida scoffs, earning herself two nervous giggles out of her friends and an offended look from a matron standing nearby.
I don’t feel like laughing. More than anything, I’m startled. I realize now that Kupala Night did so much more than kill Bogna and make me hate myself. It seems to have upset the order in our village, and suddenly, I am the whisperer people go to instead of Czeslawa, and the zerca has lost their respect.
Though, maybe not. Maybe it’s just Ida, turned cynical by her marital disillusionment.
“Shh, here they come,” Ola shushes her, and the girls creep closer to hear what Jarota will say.
While the zerca flounders with his sleeves, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself, Czeslawa stands by Helena and whispers intently in her ear. Helena’s red-rimmed eyes drift over to me and quickly away.
My stomach churns. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.
“Something terrible happened here, good people,” Jarota says, his voice tremulous.
Suddenly, I wonder if his uncertainty and unkempt appearance mean Ida is right. Maybe the village people stopped respecting him after Kupala.
“A tragedy happened in this barn,” he continues, his eyes jumping from face to face. I feel the tension as people wait for him to say what killed the animals. The air buzzes with it. “Waclaw lost over a dozen lambs that were locked here for the night.”
I gasp, my eyes growing wide while people around me murmur, their voices deeply unsettled. A dozen lambs killed in the short time it must have taken after locking them up is bad enough, but if the barn was locked, it means something else, too.
A bear or a wolf couldn’t have undone the padlock.
I look up quickly to assess the barn’s door, but the hinges look intact. My heart beats fast with worry while the zerca continues.
“The gods haven’t revealed yet what animal or beast it was,” he says, swallowing nervously. “The barn reeks of blood and death, so it’s understandable the gods will not speak in there.”
I roll my eyes. I know at least one god who’d enjoy conversing with the zerca over a heap of steaming entrails. He would even lick the blood off the floor if he got thirsty.
“But I will pray and augur tomorrow. I’m confident we will have answers then. One thing is certain: the beast had its fill for tonight and shouldn’t be back. Even so, be sure to lock up your animals and children at night. The whisperer may be able to offer protective herbs for those who ask.”
He bows solemnly and turns to Waclaw. They talk in hushed voices while Helena nods at Czeslawa and turns to me. She beckons, so I brace myself and come over, wondering what it’s about.
“Good evening, Jaga,” Helena says, her eyes wide and fearful as she takes me in.
I nod in reply, putting on a polite smile. While never a friend, Helena usually treated me with cool indifference. She didn’t go out of her way to spit on my doorstep, so I decide to be cordial. Especially after what happened to her family.
They lost a large chunk of their wealth tonight.
“So, Czeslawa tells me the ritual of cleaning…” Helena stops, swallowing thickly. Sweat beads on her forehead, small wet curls sneaking from underneath her kerchief. She takes a deep breath and straightens, controlling herself. “The ritual of cleaning the barn is… expensive when she does it. But you’re only learning, so she suggested you could do it… cheaply.”
“Huh.” I didn’t expect anything like this, so I just stare at them both, waiting for an explanation. Because one thing is certain: if Czeslawa wants to give me her business, it’s not out of the goodness of her heart.
Maybe she is too lazy to do the work, I think, my lip curling.
“Careful,”Wiosna cautions, her voice a whisper in my ear. I manage not to flinch. “She’s a cunning vixen, that one. And I see your scorn, but she’s not lazy. She works very hard for the right payment.”
I don’t answer Wiosna, conscious enough of the fact no one hears her but me, yet everyone hears my voice. Having people think I talk to spirits is the last thing I need right now.
When I don’t speak, Czeslawa puts on a fake smile.
“Of course, after you’re done with the more mundane cleanup, I will come and smoke the space to put in protections and such. This is, of course, more advanced, so a mere apprentice like yourself can’t do it, you understand.”
Bullshit. I was ready to take over as the whisperer when Wiosna died. I’m no longer an apprentice, and I won’t be treated as such.
I smile sweetly, my mind whirring as I try to decide what to do.
One thing is certain: I won’t let Czeslawa make me her scapegoat if her protections fail, which is what she’s trying to do here. It’s obvious now.
What a cowardly way for a whisperer to behave.
I loathe the way she does things. The whisperer cottage that was supposed to go to me after Wiosna’s death is big and comfortable, with a large room for receiving patients and two more rooms for the whisperer to live and work.
But it’s not enough for Czeslawa. As soon as she moved in, she had a large, ugly shed for patients built behind the house. Unlike the cottage, the building is cheaply made and badly insulated. Her patients must feel uncomfortable there, but she’d rather let them suffer then bring them into the house where she lives.
She’s crafty and devoted to her comfort. Right now, she wants to get paid for the ritual but doesn’t want the responsibility that comes with it. It’s lazy, irresponsible whispering. She obviously doesn’t feel capable of keeping the bies from returning.
“You see now?”Wiosna asks. “Don’t let her use you.”
“No,” I say simply, giving Czeslawa a cool nod. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, turning to Helena. “I hope Czeslawa keeps you safe so you don’t have to experience it again.”
The whisperer gives me a look so venomous, I would flinch if my heart was fainter. Helena wrings her hands, shaking her head.
“But I can’t afford… With all the lambs gone, we have no way to pay for…” Her voice grows thin, tears springing to her eyes as she gives Czeslawa a pleading look.
I’m about to walk away but white hot fury makes me turn. The whisperer meets my gaze with a haughty expression, and I sneer.
“That’s very unfortunate. I was taught that a true whisperer never leaves those in need alone, no matter how wealthy or poor they are. But clearly, I was taught wrong.”
Czeslawa’s face grows blotchy, her eyes bulging with anger. But before she can speak, Helena grabs my arm, tears in her eyes.
“Please, Jaga! You know we can’t use the barn if it’s not properly cleaned. And what if that… What if that thing comes back? What if it takes Tomek?”
The whites of her eyes are bright in the dark. She’s terrified, her grip bruising my arm, and I sigh. It seems I dug this grave for myself, talking about what a true whisperer should do.
If I back out now, I’ll look like a coward.
“I’ll do it,” I say. “But I’ll do all of it alone. I’ll clean the blood, smoke out the evil, and then I’ll put protections around your house, on your doors and window, and in each corner of your land. I’ll do it all myself or I won’t do it at all, and my price is as Wiosna’s was: whatever you can spare. Take it or leave it.”
“Thank you,” Helena sighs in relief, her hand falling limp. “And, of course. I hire you to do it all and I’ll pay you as much as I can. Wiosna never failed us.”
“You’ll regret putting your trust in this girl,” Czeslawa huffs before storming away in a cloud of indignation.
Helena gives her a troubled look, shaking her head. Meanwhile, my hands sweat, my blood buzzing with excitement. This is my first serious whispering job, and also an official one, not a friendly secret like helping Bogna.
Everyone will know I cleaned the barn and secured the house.
And that means if the beast comes back and slaughters the entire family, people will blame me. That’s why my hands sweat with uncertainty right now. I’ve never done something like this on my own before. Not even Wiosna did.
Wiosna’s ghost must see the fear in my face, because she says, “I’m right here, ready to help, but I’m sure you’ll do splendidly and make me proud.”
I ignore her voice and focus on the excitement. Because now, I have access to the barn. I will see for myself what happened, examine the padlock, and draw my own conclusions without waiting for whatever explanation Jarota pulls out of his ass tomorrow.
With a beast to identify and a job to do, I feel more alive than I felt in years. Finally, I have a purpose. And it doesn’t even matter that I’ll spend the night elbows deep in bloody muck. Because this is what I’m good at.
But when I walk into the barn half an hour later, a bucket of lye and another of vinegar in my hands, I shriek and almost drop them both when I see what’s inside. And it’s not the blood and torn bit of lamb wool that have me spooked.
Woland jumps down from a roof beam, landing in a pool of blood in front of me. It splatters my dress.
“Good evening, my dear,” he says with a wolfish smile.