Chapter 2 Underworld
Chapter two
Underworld
When we reach the Hall of Fires, Jaga stops with a faint gasp. Chors nods.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
The top of the staircase is wide enough for ten people to stand abreast, so I pass them easily and step to the side, making sure Jaga sees me in her periphery.
I need her to know I made this, that I am capable of creating beauty.
That heartsick, pathetic thing that lives in my chest like a parasite stirs in an impossible hope that she will praise my creation.
I want her to love my kingdom.
But Jaga says nothing. Disentangling herself from Chors’ supportive hold, she walks into the Hall with careful steps, as if expecting some witchery to split the floor under her feet and bury her again.
I follow, mimicking her slow steps. The Hall of Fires stretches ahead of us, a mosaic of sparkling lights and smooth shadows, flames shimmering and dancing everywhere, rubies, ambers, and sapphires reflecting them.
Precious gemstones are set in the walls, the pillars, the vaulted ceiling that glitters like a restless sea, its multiple arches filled with obsidian stones glinting with darkness, the protruding ribs bedecked in sapphires and ambers creating an impression of foaming waves of light.
I made the Hall to resemble a great fire, quenched by the great sea represented by the ceiling. Two forces at play, light and darkness, fire and water, destruction and birth.
The patterns in the walls are flames licking at shadows, rubies representing dark red embers, with yellow ambers glinting above, and cold blue sapphires at the tips. Multiple real fires are placed strategically to light some parts of the mosaic while leaving nooks and alcoves in shadow.
I held great dance reveries here, once upon a time. So much fucking happened in those hidden nooks, and then out in the open, too.
“To the times long past,” I murmur under my breath, raising my hand in a mock toast.
Jaga reaches the first pillar and stops, her hand extended, her fingers just a hair’s breadth away from a brilliant cluster of diamonds that form the tip of a flame. Their prisms play on the skin of her palm. She takes a breath, trembles, and snatches her hand away.
“It’s where I hold counsel,” I say, my voice low, choked by the uncontrollable longing for her touch.
I wish she’d stroke the stones, at least, because I shaped them and set them into this pillar. Her touching my creation would be like touching me.
“The Hall of Fires used to hold large gatherings. My generals and commanders gathered here, and we’d discuss war strategy.
There would be maps, cauldrons filled with poison brought for us to test, weapons and beasts.
I created new monsters to send into battle, made new metals for our swords, bowstrings so durable and supple, they could let an arrow fly right across Struzina.
Invigorating times. Now, most of the strategizing, a pale shadow of the past, happens in the rebel base. No one comes here anymore.”
Jaga doesn’t acknowledge my words, walking deeper into the Hall. I swallow everything else I want to tell her—how insane I am after what Perun did to me, how hopeless, how tired of this endless war I cannot win.
I wish to say that it wasn’t a lie when I told her fanciful stories of the future, dreaming out loud about peace, joy, and the children we’d have. I do hope for that, but it’s a hopeless sort of hope.
“Nawie has an inverted hierarchy to Wyraj,” I say hoarsely after choking down all my unsaid bullshit.
“In the branches of the Great Oak, the higher up you are, the more important and unreachable. Here, up is down, and down is up. The most important things are deep at the bottom. That’s why I keep you in my throne room. No one can reach you there.”
She offers no words of thanks, not that I expect any. I clear my throat, staring fixedly at the back of her head. Even her dull hair shimmers a little in the magical, golden light of the eternal fires burning in crystal cauldrons placed in bright clusters between the pillars.
“The higher up you go, the more dangerous it is, though we have defensive measures on every level in Nawie. Perun tried to steal the souls away from me back in the day. We introduced a powerful net of wards and alarms to keep them safe. He’d just bleed everyone of their magic if he could get inside. ”
I look for Chors, but he’s gone, so I shrug and follow Jaga down the central nave between thick, evenly spaced pillars. The Hall stretches ahead, brilliant and numinous. It could very well be a place of devotion for me to hold court, but I’m not willing to be worshipped anymore.
Not by anyone who is not her.
“Speaking of that, we pushed back another attack in Devil’s Cauldron.”
Nyja emerges from a pool of shadows ahead. Jaga stops abruptly, guarded and silent, but Nyja only smiles. She wears a flowing red dress today, her white hair braided into a crown around her head. Her dark skin glimmers like the luxurious obsidians above.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, little witch,” she says, approaching in long, confident strides. “I see you’ve changed. Good. That innocent, fearful girl I met long ago wouldn’t survive what’s coming. But you might.”
Jaga flinches away from Nyja’s hand reaching for her cheek.
“I wasn’t innocent.”
Her tone is cold, but Nyja is an expert at dealing with difficult people. That’s why we’re still friends.
“Don’t give me that,” she says with a sharp, appraising look. “You were a lamb, a lamb that grew up into a thing with claws. Or am I wrong? Are you still that girl?”
Jaga’s jaw clenches before she shakes her head. Nyja nods, smiling now that she’s won the argument. Her silver gaze turns sly.
“How does it feel to be so deep underground after what you went through? Just like home?”
I grit my teeth, looking away to calm myself.
Nyja fought with me on where to keep Jaga so she’d be safe and well, claiming that staying underground would only trigger the pain of being buried.
Her words smart like an accusation, but I stand by my decision.
The deepest levels of Nawie are the only safe space for my poppy girl.
But Jaga isn’t shaken. “Nowhere feels like home. I don’t care where I’m staying.”
“I was right,” Nyja boasts, shooting me an arch look. “She’s got claws.”
“You said something about an attack,” I grit out. “What happened?”
She sheds the air of mischievous teasing and sighs, her brows drawing together in a frown. “Dragons happened, of course. Rarog made an appearance, but no gods. It felt like a recon skirmish. They are still searching for our weak points, and so far, they have found none.”
She presses her lips together, and I nod grimly.
“You think it’s a matter of time.”
Nyja rolls her eyes. “Yes, it is. No one is invincible. I know you claim Nawie is untouchable because Perun never managed to get in, but did he ever try hard before? Also, it’s not just Perun this time, it’s all of them.
How confident are you against Swarog and Dadzbog fighting together?
Because I am afraid, Weles. I truly am, for the first time in centuries. ”
I glance at Jaga, wondering if she has something to add, but her face is locked down, mouth flat, eyes impassive. She listens intently, though.
“Let me guess.” I cut to the chase with a weary sigh. We’ve been through this many times before. “We need allies.”
“Yes, we do. It’s time to let go of your pride, my friend. We need support. I could send envoys right now and…”
“Oh, please,” I cut in, turning away so fast, my black robe billows behind my back.
“Who do you want to ask for help? Loners hidden away in their enclaves, like the King of Bees? There is no one left, Nyja! Everyone’s either on our side or theirs, and I will not beg potential spies to fight for me!
They will just stab us in the back and steal away my… No. I won’t change my mind.”
“Your pride will kill us all!” she roars.
The Hall darkens, the force of her fury pressing all fires low until only the faintest red glow lights up her furious eyes. Jaga snorts softly, folding her arms. She would have been afraid once upon a time, but now, she’s amused.
“There are many you could bring to our side if you only tried!” Nyja screams, advancing until her finger pokes my chest. “The King of Bees is an excellent choice, but there are others, too! Dola’s sisters need only a nudge to come to your side.
Strzybog will turn against his father if offered a good enough incentive.
And if you gave Jutrzenka just one little smile, one word of affection, she’d… ”
“No.”
We’re face to face, both breathing hard with fury. We might have kissed in a moment like this once upon a time, when the world was still young. We were friends, lovers, rivals, and everything in between.
Nyja breaks away with a frustrated groan, and I look over at Jaga, hoping to catch her eye. I fail, of course. She watches the goddess with a faint smile and says nothing.
Ask her about Jutrzenka, I plead in the privacy of my mind. Be jealous, poppy girl.
But it’s like she said. She doesn’t care.
“What’s Devil’s Cauldron?” Jaga asks, clearly proving that all she’s interested in is the lay of the land.
Nyja puts her arm around Jaga’s shoulders and leads her toward an especially beautiful part of the mosaic with many small, blue flames springing from pools of shadow.
“It’s a cirque on top of Nawie’s tallest mountain, Mogila. It’s perfectly round like a basin, and almost always filled with fog, which looks just like steam from a brewing potion. Therefore—Devil’s Cauldron. A sort of wink to Perun, I might say, one he never got.”
A wink. Yes. Because Perun has no idea I am the devil. It’s my most guarded secret and the only reason I am able to walk freely without being attacked.
“Why is the mountain called Mogila?” Jaga asks, letting Nyja steer her toward an alcove framed by golden amber flames. They sit on a padded bench.