Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Clouds
The fight ended in a major victory. I’d like to celebrate, and we all deserve it, but the only two people who are at full power are Jutrzenka and Jaga, the first because she didn’t fight, the latter—because I fed her my breath.
I try to follow Jaga after we come back underground, but she growls at me and locks herself in the torture chamber with her pus-dripping subjects. I spend a good minute pacing in front of the door and swearing, letting her know the full range of my disappointment and confusion.
“You can’t kiss me like that and then ignore me, you fucking tease. Come back out. Let’s talk.”
Nothing. I kick the door and pound on it to no avail. My magic can’t open it. Has she added this spell to the vial of my blood? The possibility makes me livid.
“Come on. I felt everything you did, and you loved every second. Stop denying it!”
Something pours out through the crack between the door and the floor. I jump back, fearing it’s pus, but it’s metallic and red. Blood.
“Fuck, Jaga, you’re taking it out on them again. Why don’t you make me bleed? Come on. Please. Torture me!”
When she doesn’t reply, I consider forcing my way into her mind and looking out through her eyes to see what’s happening in there.
But I sense deeply Jaga would find it violating at this moment, so I resist the temptation.
I want her not to mind this bond, or she will try to destroy it.
It would be such a waste since it’s so strong already.
Mindful of annoying her too much, I leave with a scoff and busy myself eating my weight in poppyseed cake in her honor. I need to be at full power in case we are attacked again. It’s morose and lonely, and the cake tastes like sand in my mouth as I think over the battle we’ve just fought.
Defeating Swarog was the largest feat for sure, since he’s one of the most powerful gods right after Perun. But if I am completely honest with myself, a lot of my victory came down to the element of surprise.
I’ve fought Swarog many times before, and our duels used to have a certain cadence, elegant and expected.
We would greet each other and exchange blows, and it was all respectful, a fight between enemies who used to be good friends once upon a time and still remembered all the good drinks they had shared.
I broke that tradition today, and it was enough to land a few strong hits, but next time, it won’t work. Swarog will expect dirty moves and probably use a few himself. I’ll be defeated.
Fuck. The familiar fear squeezes my insides, and I abandon my pile of cake to pace, wishing for a distraction—for Jaga. She can make me bleed or make me come, I’m not picky at this point. I just need her with me, tangible and warm, so I’ll know victory is possible.
If only I prove myself enough and don’t lose the next time we’re attacked.
It could be any moment, as soon as Dadzbog and Swarog regain their strength.
I curse and go back to the cake, shoveling it down my throat without chewing.
I break it down with magic so it feeds me faster, helping me replenish my strength.
But when a Wyraj god arrives in Nawie the next day, it is not to fight but to join our ranks.
“Strzybog is in my rooms,” Nyja says, materializing in the Hall of Fires, where I now sit, watching memories of Jaga and me on a large obsidian wall. “What’s this? Oh, Weles.”
The scene freezes, Jaga in my arms at the rebel base right after I caught her. I am so beastly here, sucking her blood with abandon as she clings to me with the full force of her fear and longing. I miss that Jaga. She was so pliant, so vulnerable, even though she seemed so hard to me at the time.
Yet it was nothing, nothing, compared to how she is now.
“Don’t judge me,” I say with a sigh. “She won’t fuck me, and I’m pining.”
Nyja folds her arms. “You should be celebrating. You single-handedly defeated Swarog, and we’ve had a major victory. A dozen of mine are dead, but we’ve given them a proper burial.”
She looks aside with a tight expression. I sympathize. This is the downside of using nawkas as soldiers—when they die on the battlefield, they die for good. Yet every soul that joins her army is aware of the risk.
Nyja always suffers after her beloved souls perish, even though she’s become adept at hiding it over the years.
“You said Strzybog is here. Why should I care? He comes to your bed all the time.”
“He’s not here to fuck. He wants to join you.”
I leap to my feet with a laugh. “Really? Oh, let me guess: he saw Swarog ripped to shreds and decided we are the stronger bet, after all?”
Nyja sighs. “Don’t mock him too much. You know he looks up to you, don’t you? You’re like a father to him, one who actually saw him when he needed to be seen. Ever since your captivity, you’ve abandoned him, too. It’s your chance to be on good terms again.”
I stare at her, taken aback, then roar with laughter.
“Like a father? Nyja, there comes a certain point in a man’s life, say after the first century, when not having had a decent father stops being a good excuse.
Strzybog is a little shit, and we all know it.
But—he’s powerful. So yes, I’ll treat him with some respect. ”
Her nostrils flare, and she shakes her head with a frustrated huff. “There’s more to him than you see.”
“And you’re the only one who knows him as he truly is because he’s rearranged your guts in ways that made you see stars?” I mock her, because now I’m thinking about fucking and how I won’t get any.
This never used to be a problem before my poppy girl. I swear, once Jaga comes around, I’ll make her pay. Maybe. After I kiss her feet in gratitude and let her break my tail into a pretty bow again.
“I’d like some respect, too, as your closest ally,” Nyja says in a low, ominous voice, and the lights die down for a moment, plunging the Hall into darkness.
I realize what I just said to her and grit my teeth. Nyja is right to be angry, so I stand up properly and incline my head in sincere regret.
“I apologize for my crude words. Of course, you are right, and I appreciate your counsel. Could you bring him to Devil’s Cauldron? I want to talk before I let him into Nawie proper.”
She nods and flutters away in a chaos of black wings.
“Jaga?” I ask tentatively. “Strzybog is here and I’m going to question him. Do you want to come?”
She is silent, and I sigh, draining my wine cup in small sips to delay the unpleasant chore of talking to Strzybog. Right before I step into my shadows, Jaga’s clear, calm voice resounds in my head.
“Fine. Where?”
“Devil’s Cauldron. Can you get there on your own?”
“Yes.”
I hesitate. As always with her, I want more, and the longer she denies me, the more I crave. I sit back and pour myself another cup, telling Jaga what she needs to know as my queen and consort, even though she renounces both titles.
“Strzybog has access to Nyja’s rooms since they are lovers, but not anywhere else. He’s been my spy in the loosest sense of the word because of his involvement with her, and he doesn’t know I am Woland. He reports to Nyja.”
I take a sip, closing my eyes as the tart taste of her wine explodes on my tongue.
I’ve loved it ever since she denied me its taste on that Kupala Night.
I smile at the memory. There I was, the demon who made her eyes bleed, and she had the audacity to tell me I would hate her wine after I explicitly asked for it.
Who knows? Maybe I was already doomed at that point.
“He doesn’t know?” Jaga asks after a long minute of silence. “How come he was with you when you came to claim me?”
“He was in Nyja’s bed when she said the prophecy.
Nyja doesn’t control that power—it’s like a trance, or sleepwalking.
He heard it all and threatened to tell Perun unless she took him with.
Nyja knew I couldn’t go to the mortal world as Weles, because Perun would attack me at once, so she told Strzybog she served Woland and would tell him.
Dola was with me when Nyja came, and she seemed to already know what it was about, so I let her hear it. She’s one of the few people I trust.”
“Oh. And Foss?”
“He was in the rebel base to give me his report when I heard your prayer to me, and I included him for added safety. I wiped his memory after. Honestly, poppy girl, I thought you’d be a formidable, exceptional mortal. And you were, only not in the ways I expected.”
“We’re here. Where are you?”
I sigh and get up, walking into darkness. With the next step, I come out on top of Mogila, right by the wide, circular hole in the center of the cirque. It’s an overcast day, and Devil’s Cauldron is brewing with fog. Pines creak around us, a troop of nawkas sitting in the branches.
“Old Weles!” Strzybog exclaims, coming over with his arms stretched wide for a brotherly embrace. “Long time no see!”
I thrust my hand at him, and he laughs, ignoring it, and folds me into a hug. I consider growing spikes like Jaga, but it won’t do to stab one of my most powerful allies.
“Yes, good to see you,” I say tersely once he lets go. “Tell me your most important reason for being here, and don’t you dare lie to me. I’ll know.”
He grins, his lips cherry-red among the golden hair of his beard. “Because you made Swarog puke out water with fish in it. I can hardly stand him, so I say you did a service to the world by putting him in his place. I am here for the entertainment you’ll provide.”
I press my lips together, fighting amusement as I think. This sounds like a completely honest answer, so very like him. Strzybog is like the wind he rules, always seeking new pleasures, always wandering.
I nod slowly, and Jaga stirs, briefly glancing my way.
“If you agree, can you make sure his path won’t cross with Rada’s?”
I frown, unsure why she’d ask that, but then I remember what Strzybog said about Jaga’s friend—that he turned her into a wila specifically to spite his mother.
“Fine.”