Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Sun
I wrap my shadows around us all, since it’s the most efficient way of traveling. I bring them to the cirque on top of the Mogila Mountain, Devil’s Cauldron, which gives us an excellent view of the entire surface area of the island.
“Look out!”
A ball of fire shoots our way, thrown from high above. I snuff it out with a shadow that’s pure darkness and rise into the air to see.
“Dadzbog and Swarog above us!” I shout. “Poludnicas in the south. They crossed Struzina!”
Nyja turns into a flock of birds, taking off toward the southern shore.
Already, nawkas fly out of the shaft running up the mountain, exploding out of the hole in the middle of the cirque.
They follow her. A small troop of nawkas fights the bieses on the shore, but it doesn’t look good.
Most of them writhe on the ground, screaming.
Poludnicas are deadly enemies, and it’s almost noon on a sunny summer day. Their power is at its peak.
“I’ll shield them from the heat,” Chors says.
“Wait! I want to join you. Slaughtering poludnicas is my favorite pastime,” Jaga says with menace.
Chors nods and looks at me steadily while his thumb presses to Jaga’s chin, right where I once put my claim. Cold fury floods my thoughts as I understand what he’s doing—putting his mark on her.
I get my confirmation when his thumb comes away, and Jaga’s chin sports a silver crescent and three stars.
“You want her to be safe, don’t you?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
I don’t answer, leaping high into the air as wrath fuels my magic. I swear, Chors wants me to hate him sometimes. Or why would he have done this again? And she accepted it, of course.
Swarog flies at me, his gold and silver hair trailing behind him, both enormous fists engulfed in flames. He is Perun’s divine smith, the most skilled creator in Wyraj, who wields hammers as well as tiny precision tools with the same ease and skill.
I don’t bother waiting for a mocking greeting as his lips part.
My shadows surge forth, swarming down his throat and into his nostrils, and he flails with his arms, his eyes flashing with shock.
My attack distracts him, and he falls, spiraling toward the cliffs.
I pursue him with vengeance, thinking about Chors’ mark on Jaga’s face.
Swarog stops his fall a good twenty feet above the ground.
With his enormous, scarred fists, he grips my shadows like ropes and begins pulling them out of himself.
I grin and give them hooks, and now, every time he pulls a length out of his lungs, it’s along with bloody chunks of his flesh.
I send a flurry of slicing spells at him, but he conjures a massive shield of metal that repels them with deep clangs.
He is flame and heat, and my darkness hurts him, but not for long. As soon as the last of my shadows come out, he spits blood on the ground and rises higher, his face twisted with fury.
“You used to fight with honor,” he says in a deep, booming voice. “But centuries of hiding have made you a coward. You will lose, Weles. As you always do.”
My fear surges and tightens, and I grit my teeth. Yes, my instincts tell me he’s right. They instruct me to flee and hide in my throne room, the deepest hole I can crawl in. But—Jaga’s here, and I will not let her see me running.
“Have you seen what Perun did to Mokosz?” I ask, twisting my fingers at my sides as I weave an invisible net of spells. “I wonder what he’ll do to you when you disappoint him.”
Swarog is right, I think, as his wide mouth twists in disgust. I’ve never fought like this, striking first or distracting enemies with mocking remarks.
All this is very underhanded. Very Woland.
I have a split moment’s warning to put up a shield of darkness before he throws a ball of fire that could burn me whole. My shadows swallow it with difficulty, my magic draining rapidly as it snuffs out such a hot, magical flame.
He roars and pulls his arm back to throw again, his enormous muscles bulging from effort. I cast a glittering net of poison and night at him, and he’s too slow to pivot out of the way.
I duck, and the ball of fire explodes down the forested mountainside. I don’t bother putting out the fire. If we lose today, there won’t be any point rescuing Nawie, because we’ll be dragged away to Wyraj, never to return here.
I focus on Swarog, who’s cursing and hissing, trying to untangle the net I covered him with.
It’s thin and invisible, the threads of poison eating into his flesh, immediately blackening where they touch.
We’re close to the cliffs, and Jaga’s fight with the rarog comes to mind. I laugh under my breath.
Swarog has managed to rip out a few of the threads, but he still bears the marks. The poison will keep eating him unless it’s completely washed off, and even as his magic heals him, new blackened spots appear on his face and arms.
“Let me help you, nephew,” I say with a grin.
I grab him with my shadows, expending an enormous amount of power. It’s excruciating to hold him, and our powers clash, fire and darkness, heat and night. I grunt and dive toward the sea, pulling him with me. My magic pours out in an avalanche, bringing me close to my limit.
Just a bit longer. The cliffs. Almost there…
We plunge into the sea, and I keep holding him as he thrashes, the water boiling around him. It’s easier now, his heat diffused, his light not as bright. I risk a moment of distraction, sending my mind to see how Jaga’s doing.
I look out through her eyes right into the gaping maw of a poludnica. The bies screeches with fury struggling to get free, but Jaga’s hands are wrapped around her throat and hold fast. My girl’s skin is covered with burns, but nothing too serious.
“Just… Fucking… Die!” Jaga spits.
Something glittering and dark appears in her periphery, like a small stone, and falls into the poludnica’s throat. The bies chokes, her screeching cut off. Her eyes tear up, growing enormous with pain and fear, and Jaga throws her on the ground, panting from effort.
“What was that?” I ask.
“One of the obsidians from your throne room. I infused it with as much of Nawie’s darkness as I could. Need anything?”
“Send some magic. I’m drowning Swarog.”
She huffs, but as soon as I retreat, our bond flares to life. This time, it’s not just a trickle that comes through. It’s a solid stream, the flow rapid and brilliant, and I arch my back, releasing bubbles in a shocked moan.
Something hot and burning wraps around my ankle. Swarog has stopped thrashing, and he floats in front of me, livid but weak. A rope of pure fire twists tighter around my ankle, and he holds the other end.
I throw a blade of darkness at the rope just as he pulls me closer.
I miss. He pulls again, his face twisted in wrathful concentration.
I grab the rope with my hand to undo it, but I let go at once.
This is the hottest flame I’ve handled yet.
My foot is numb, all nerve endings burned through.
My body can’t heal them properly with the rope still burning my flesh.
Swarog grins, certain he has me. One more pull, and I’ll be in his arms. He’ll take me straight to Wyraj.
I throw my hand out as he pulls me closer, and my palm meets the hard muscle of his chest over his heart. My skin burns from the contact, and Swarog’s smile falls half a second before I crush his heart with my shadows.
His hold on me loosens, and he sinks slowly, a surprised expression on his face.
I know he won’t die, but if the sea quells all his magic, he might have trouble reviving himself.
Giddy shivers race down my back. Maybe he’ll stay here, buried forever in the sea at the shores of my domain. That would be a crushing victory.
I burst out of the water laughing and shoot through the air back to the island.
The sun burns my wet nape, and I look up, shielding my eyes.
Dadzbog and the King of Bees are locked in a wrestling embrace, the insects crawling over the sun god, stifling his bright light.
I hover nearby, well out of their reach.
“Need a hand?”
“We do not.”
On the southern shore, Nyja and her nawkas are busy slaughtering poludnicas, aided by Rod and his daughters.
More than a dozen bieses lie dead in the sand, another dozen to go.
Chors kneels by the water, never taking his eyes off the poludnicas.
Silver sweat glistens on his temples. I know it takes all his focus to tamp down on the poludnicas’ magic, keeping them from razing our troops with the sun’s full power.
If we were close to a full moon, he would have done this with ease, but we’re not, and Chors quickly approaches his limit.
Jutrzenka stands behind him, a mean, mischievous look on her face. Her hands are dirty from sand, and there’s a small pile nearby. It looks like she was playing there. I frown and fly closer. She says something, but I don’t catch it.
I do see my son’s reaction. His face tightens, and an angry, wolfish look flashes in his eyes for the briefest moment. His knuckles whiten as more sweat pours down his face, and I fly over, pulling Jutrzenka away.
“What are you doing?”
She trills a happy, girlish laugh. “Getting him to fight harder! I must support my allies, no? Did you see the castle I built?”
“Have you done anything apart from playing?” I ask, searching for Jaga in the fighting chaos of bieses and nawkas.
“I can’t fight poludnicas,” Jutrzenka says with a shrug. “Or my father. They all have similar magic to mine. I could spur you on, though. Would you like a kiss?”
I stride into the fray, finally noticing the familiar red of Jaga’s hair.
“Yes,” I hiss without turning around. “But not from you.”
Jaga sits on top of a lying poludnica, choking her, while above her, black stones glitter in the air. Somehow, the poludnica has managed to close her maw, and Jaga huffs in frustration, trying to get her to open it. She’s tired, bad burns on her face and neck where poludnicas must have grabbed her.
I fall to my knees by her side, put my hand on the poludnica’s forehead, and send darkness right into her brain, killing her instantly. Jaga looks up. I grab the back of her head, slicing a deep wound into my tongue with a spell.
“Drink.”
I press my lips to hers, and she grows rigid, her hands pressing to my chest to push me back. I hold her tightly, my thumb swiping across her chin to remove my son’s mark.
My blood floods her mouth, and she swallows. Her hands slide up to my shoulders, then to the back of my head, and she buries them in my wet hair as she gives me that kiss I’ve craved for so long.
I moan into her mouth, greedy and careless, and she sucks my tongue into her mouth, swallowing my blood in deep gulps. Desire and relief pour through our bond, so clear and obvious, and I kiss her harder, pulling her into my lap until she straddles me.
“Please, take it. You need it.”
I don’t give her time to reply but breathe a full breath into her mouth, and she shakes, pulling me closer by the hair. She swallows my air like she does my blood, and I feel it now, her pleasure, orgasmic and clear, just like mine when she gives me her magic.
“More,” I whisper in her mind, exhaling into her hot, sweet mouth.
She grunts from desire, taking my breath and magic, then grows still. Her hand leaves my hair, and something screeches very close. I realize how loud it is, the battle still going on around us. I was so wrapped up in her, I forgot where we were.
As I pull back, Jaga rolls off me and straddles a poludnica she’s brought to the ground by her dirty, dark blond hair. I just see deep, bloody gashes disappearing from Jaga’s neck, healed by my blood. That is enough.
While Jaga calls forth her obsidian stones, holding the poludnica by her scrawny neck, I jam my fingers into the bies’ eyes, two in each, and pour poison inside.
She convulses with a high-pitched, horrible screech, and goes rigid, foaming at the mouth.
She isn’t dead, but she’s paralyzed, and will be dying for a long time.
“I had her,” Jaga says with a frown of disapproval. “You didn’t have to.”
I stroke her already healed neck. “But I wanted to. She made you bleed.”
A look of astonishment flashes in Jaga’s eyes. She shakes her head as if to clear it, then gets up and offers me her hand. I don’t need it but take it nonetheless as I roll to my feet. Anything to keep touching her.
I look around. Rod and Dola are fighting the last two poludnicas, and Chors is up, looking at the sky with a tight expression. The King of Bees is still wrapped around Dadzbog, but I see the flames burning holes in the blanket of insects.
“Chors wants to fight,” I murmur, letting go of Jaga’s hand. “I’ll help him.”
As soon as my son leaps into the air, I follow. He doesn’t spare me a look, his eyes focused tightly on his target.
Dadzbog roars, exploding in a blinding brightness.
Burned bodies of insects rain down with a dry patter, and he shoots higher, moving through air too fast to catch him.
Chors shouts in anger and pursues him, and I follow, knowing he can’t fight alone today.
As soon as we pass the cliffs, Dadzbog dives into the water.
There, Swarog’s body floats right under the surface, pale and weak, and Dadzbog swims him out, disappearing in an eyeblink. They are gone, back to Wyraj, where they will lick their wounds. It’s over. We’ve won.
Chors dives into the sea with a cry of disappointment, and I make to follow, but an enormous wave crashes into me just as I’m about to break the surface.
“Leave me,” Chors’ voice speaks out of thin air next to me. “Go to Jaga.”
I sigh, worry twisting around my heart like a poisonous vine.
“Fine. But we’ll have to talk soon.”
He doesn’t reply, and I shake off the water, soaring through the air back to my allies.
Nyja’s nawkas are already hard at work extinguishing the fire that’s burned down a large swathe of the forest on the side of the mountain.
I send my shadows to snuff out the few remaining fires, and go to the southern shore, where Jaga, Rod, and his daughters gather what remains of the King of Bees into a pile.
“That’s why I don’t get him,” I complain with a sigh, letting my shadows loose to join the search. “Why would anyone want their body to be made up of thousands of tiny parts? How does he fuck? It’s bothered me for ages.”
Rod snorts, his eyes twinkling handsomely as he bends by Jaga’s side, dropping more insects onto the pile. “Is that really what bothers you most?”
My eyes narrow as his arm brushes hers, and I wonder if Chors isn’t the only son I must be wary of.