Chapter 5 Woland
Chapter five
Woland
“Before mortals were created and started praying, gods were self-sufficient,” I explain, and Jaga’s steps slow in interest.
“We created the world around us and filled it with plants and creatures with infinite freedom, and the same power applied to our bodies and souls. Each god shaped themselves at will, until they settled on an image they liked for a time. If we wanted to change, we did. Mokosz was far more adventurous in those times, experimenting with her body without the fear of being ugly. She’s terrified of ugliness now, of course. ”
Jaga grits her teeth. “Then I’ll make her ugly one day. That cunt.”
“You have my blessing. Now, when mortals built shrines and called on our names over the smoke of a burning sacrifice, something changed. It was subtle at first and took centuries for us to notice, but… We grew more solid. More set in our ways, reluctant to change as much. Strzybog, who used to frolic with all elements equally, lost interest in all but the wind. Mokosz settled on one face and body that she kept perfecting. Swarog spent more and more time in the forge. Perun grew volatile like a summer storm.”
I smile bitterly, falling silent as I remember those days. That was when the war with my brother truly began, though I didn’t see it yet. We fought often before because of Mokosz, but never like that.
After we noticed the changes in us, Perun screamed that it was my fault for making mortals in my image, so creative, powerful, possessed of magic. They gained power over us. We were no longer limitless.
If he’d been free to make them in his way, he claimed, none of that would have happened. They would have been docile, easy playthings for us to pick up and discard at will, and we would have been free.
But limitless freedom is boring.
“What then?” asks Jaga, and I can tell she’s annoyed by my silence, by having to ask. She can’t pretend to be disinterested. Good.
“It took some time to figure out what happened, but I did. It turned out mortal beliefs had power, and a lot of it. By believing certain things about us, calling us certain names, mortals forced us into frames. Mokosz, the most beautiful of goddesses. Weles the wise, the healer, the creator. Perun, the impulsive thrower of thunder.”
I smile ruefully, nostalgia for the times before my imprisonment sweeping over me briefly. Jaga stops and leans her back against a pillar encrusted with sapphires and obsidians. It’s dark in this part of the Hall, cozy. I see a distant fire reflected in her rapt eyes.
“Was it before he gave mortals the ancestral souls to control them?”
I nod. There’s a weight in my throat. I don’t like remembering that part—Perun spoiling my most beloved creation while I was helpless to stop him.
“My brother was furious. He went into the mortal world a lot in those days, causing storms that destroyed entire villages sometimes. It was ironic—he raged against the mortals for making him who he was, yet he reacted exactly like they expected: with mindless, all-consuming fury.
“But Perun is cunning, too, and after his rage was spent, he sat down and pondered. At last, he decided to use the mortals’ beliefs for his own gains.”
I clench my teeth. Jaga steps from foot to foot, probably in pain from her boots.
“Let’s sit.”
A thrill runs down my spine when she takes my offered arm. It was a good choice to tell her, even though my soul aches all over again as I remember that pain.
We sit down in an alcove hidden in shadow, where only large ember-like rubies gleam softly by the floor. Jaga sits close but doesn’t touch me.
“He went among them in secret and spread stories of himself as the most powerful of the gods. He displayed his power, giving gifts to those who admired him and killing those who didn’t.
And because mortals were still magical and free in those days, their beliefs shifted things rapidly.
Perun gained more and more power, and no one realized.
He can be sly and discreet if it suits him. He hid it well.”
When I fall silent, Jaga nods. “You fought.”
I lean my head against the cool obsidian of the wall behind me. “Yes, we did. He wielded almost limitless power, while I was stripped of some of my attributes, which I hadn’t even noticed. It was over fast. He chained me to the roots, burying me deep in the ground, right at the foot of his throne.”
There’s a fleeting brush of fingers on the back of my hand, but it’s over before I can appreciate it properly. I realize my voice has grown hoarse. My throat is tight from emotion.
“I never had to tell this story to anyone before. Everyone who needs to know was there. They saw what happened.”
Jaga doesn’t thank me for slicing my heart open in front of her but she doesn’t rush me, either. We sit in silence for a while until my voice is steady enough to go on.
“I was chained for a few centuries, giving Perun ample time to mess with my creation. He designed ancestral souls and implanted one in every newborn child. The nature of the mortal world changed in the span of a generation. People stopped practicing magic or going out at night. Bieses, some of which used to live among the mortals, were pushed out, relegated to forests and marshes. Many came to live in Slawa permanently, banished from the human world.”
I stare ahead, dreading the next part of the story. Jaga is silent, not even her breath audible.
“Now, here’s where Perun fucked up,” I continue in a low voice barely louder than a whisper.
“He made me a villain, one whose name was a curse, feared by all. Mortals had less magic then, less power, but they still had the souls I gave them when I breathed life into the first mortals’ mouths.
Their beliefs still mattered, more than Perun anticipated. ”
My eyes lose focus as I remember the terror of that first change, when I grew a tail, antlers so heavy I could barely lift my head, hooves that slid and slipped on the polished marble. She doesn’t have to know that. It’s too humiliating.
“What he tried to do was too abrupt, too unnatural. I used to be the god of healing and wisdom, and the ruler of Nawie, one that was revered and often called on, a god of a thousand shrines. By turning me into a villain, Perun upset the balance. There was a vacuum, and he forgot to fill it.
“Suddenly, there was no longer a god of medicine and herbs, but mortals needed healing just as before. They lost the god of wisdom, but they still taught and learned, and told stories. And most important of all, there was no other god of death like me, and mortals—they kept dying, and those who remained prayed for their dead to find a peaceful home. Replaced by no one, I still filled my old role.”
“But you also had a new one,” Jaga whispers with understanding. “That of the villain. The devil.”
“They were too different, too incongruent.” I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment and feeling into the essence of Woland that’s within me all the time, a shadow to my light, an exhale to my inhale.
“So I changed. As all those beliefs and fears coalesced into a powerful magic, I became Woland, that magic thrust upon me without warning. Now, I am both. But I am also one. And Jaga, I won’t make excuses. ”
She hums curiously when I halt, trying to organize my thoughts.
“We, gods, are shaped by mortal beliefs,” I explain.
“But our actions and choices remain our own. As Woland, I am different from Weles, but Woland is me just the same. And yes, the devil’s nature is greedy, callous, dark, and it is so much easier to be that way when I wear his skin.
But no one has ever forced me to act that way.
What I did to you… I take responsibility. For all of it. And I’m sorry.”
She’s silent, probably ignoring my apology. I swallow my sigh and accept that it will take a long time and many more apologies to make a difference.
“Perun doesn’t know what happened,” I continue.
“He thinks Woland is a creature separate from me, some sort of a folk god, not too powerful, a nuisance rather than a worthy enemy. He doesn’t come out himself to fight me, and I avoid him as much as I can.
You see, as Weles, I am confined to Nawie.
As soon as I leave, I am attacked by Perun’s creatures and his gods, and he comes rushing to get me in chains again.
As Woland, I walk free. No Wyraj-born god knows I am him, not even Strzybog.
Only those related to me. Blood ties keep them from sharing my secret. ”
We sit in silence. An ache grows in my chest, tight and impatient. I told her my darkest secret, the origin of my deepest anguish that I struggle with every day—being two that are one—and she says nothing.
She doesn’t love me anymore, Woland’s gruff voice speaks in my mind. And she never loved you.
Of course, he isn’t a separate creature from me, but sometimes, it’s difficult to contain the duality. He is just so different, and yet, his darkness is exactly right.
We are two ends of the same stick.
Jaga stands abruptly and turns to look down on me. She’s a black silhouette against the reddish glow of the alcove. I can’t discern her expression.
“How much of that was true?” she asks in a light, careless voice. “Did you count the lies? Tell me.”
The hurt I feel at her words wants to turn into anger, but I don’t let it. I can suffer if that’s what she wants. I can be in pain.
“I told you the truth, poppy girl,” I whisper, looking up at her face bathed in shadow. “All of it. If I omitted anything, it was to spare myself humiliation. You don’t have to know how long I wept from confusion and helplessness after I became Woland. Or maybe you do.”
Her laughter is cold and mocking.
“Wept? Oh, poor little god. How many people do you think cried because of you?”
She leaves, her heels thudding on the marble. I let my anger come and pass, and turn into grief.
I always thought she’d be understanding and kind after I told her everything. I expected embraces and kisses. And then, I hoped to tell her how glad I am that I met her. She is my prophesied poppy girl, my brightest star and the light of hope.
Not just because she is the key to defeating Perun and taking back what’s mine—the mortal world, my creation.
Jaga gave me hope for the first time in centuries that mortals can be powerful, brilliant, creative, and strong. She reminds me of the first people. She gave me back my dream.
Now she walks away, that menacing shadow I can’t name curling around her, and true terror rips through me as I consider the worst.
Maybe she is irreparably broken.