Chapter 42 Cure
Chapter forty-two
Cure
Jaga avoids me after bringing me the knife from the past. I preserve it in a hundred protective spells, keeping the blood on the blade, impossible to remove or use for anyone but me and her. The knife is ordinary, a sacrificial blade that any zerca might use to slaughter a black hen or a cat.
The only thing special about it is Jaga’s blood from that moment. I perform spell after spell, trying to discern what about the knife makes it deadly to a god, and come up empty.
Winter settles in for good on the island, the cold months Lutowa was named after gripping the world in merciless cold.
People starve in the mortal world, and biedas have a feast. There is no news from Wyraj until, one day, Jutrzenka goes to amuse herself in the mortal world.
She comes back excited and giddy, and begs me to call a council.
“But what happened?” I ask, annoyed, because I was about to drag Jaga away for some flying. It’s the only thing she deigns to do with me anymore, and I use it mercilessly to spend as much time with her as I can.
“It’s a surprise!” Jutrzenka says with a happy giggle, batting her eyelashes. “Please, please, please, Daddy, call a council!”
I shudder. “I will if you promise never to call me ‘Daddy’ again.”
She nods with a happy squeal, and I sigh, sending my shadows far and wide to summon my allies.
“Jaga, come to the Hall of Fires, please. There’s news.”
It takes over fifteen minutes for everyone to join us.
Nyja and Strzybog appear disheveled and hastily dressed, the rodzanicas are so pale as to be blue from the cold, and the King of Bees is lethargic and slow, his bees mostly still and silent.
Winter is not a good time for most of us, and some gods sleep through it.
I clap to rouse the fires and bring hot, sweet wine to the table to wake them up.
Jaga comes in with a heavy frown, annoyed that her work was interrupted.
She sits in her usual place opposite me, and I relish the sight of her there.
It’s a seat that has been unoccupied since the beginning of Nawie, reserved for my future queen if I ever have one.
She claimed it without knowing this. Just like she claimed my throne.
“Jutrzenka has news,” I say, gesturing for her to rise. “We’re all here. Tell us.”
The goddess stands up, clapping her hands like a delighted child. “Yes, yes! I was just in the mortal world, watching the dawn paint the snow gold and pink. I flew over many fields and forests in the north and saw my father. He’s building another temple with Perun.”
Curses and exclamations of outrage ring out, and I shake my head, massaging my throbbing temple.
“You acted like it was supposed to be something good,” I mutter under my breath, the familiar fear settling like a friend in my gut. “Oh, fuck.”
Jutrzenka giggles, bouncing in excitement. “No, but you didn’t hear the best! Both Swarog and my father are with him, and they are forbidden from leaving until the temple is ready. It will take a long time, at least until late spring, because he wants to make it indestructible.”
I look up, a glimmer of hope pushing through the fog of terror. “You’re saying Wyraj is unprotected. Only Mokosz and some bieses stay there since Perun took both of his most powerful gods with him.”
She nods with a wide smile, her eyes glittering. I smile back but without much enthusiasm.
“Perun will come back as soon as he knows we’re there,” Rod says soberly. “Wyraj is his domain. He’ll know if we cross the boundary, and even if he doesn’t, Mokosz or someone else will get him.”
Jutrzenka shakes her head. “No, he won’t! The protective spells hiding his new temple are so powerful, he barely knows what’s happening outside!”
Jaga frowns, drumming her fingers on the table. She watches Jutrzenka with barely concealed hostility.
“How come you saw him if he’s so well protected?” she asks sharply.
I sit back. “Good point.”
Jutrzenka giggles eerily, dancing in place.
“I saw a large piece of land that reflected the light wrong because of the protective spells, and I was curious, so I made myself a teeny-tiny hole to look inside. I heard them talking. Then I went to Wyraj to check. Daddy didn’t come.
He would have if he knew I was there, don’t you think? ”
I shudder, because she calls Perun Daddy just like she called me, and it is so very wrong. I wonder if he’s fucking her. I wouldn’t put it past him, even though he is her grandfather.
“I don’t know,” I say reluctantly. “This seems too serendipitous. I would expect Perun to be on his guard after his latest defeat.”
“Not necessarily.” Strzybog shakes his head, looking serious for once.
“He’ll want to get his revenge. You know how impatient he is.
You said he’s building the temple in the north?
That’s clever, since it’s unlikely the news from Warkogrod traveled that far through the winter.
He can start again and infect millions of people once the snow melts. ”
“I vote we try,” Nyja says, piercing me with her silver gaze. “You know him, Weles. A defeat always makes him dumb and blind, so this is the best moment to attack.”
Fear roils in my stomach, because I don’t want to go near the Great Oak, no matter how necessary it is. I haven’t seen it since I was Perun’s captive.
The last time I was in Wyraj was to rescue Jaga. She was buried under the meadow of Mokosz in the west, far away from my former prison.
“What even would we do, once there?” I ask with annoyance. “It’s not Wyraj that’s our target, it’s Perun himself, and we’re still too weak to attack him.”
“I can think of one thing that would be worth burning down in Wyraj,” Nyja says with a wicked glint in her eye.
“The Great Oak.”
“Losing the oak will make him weak,” Rod says with quiet vehemence, and his daughters nod solemnly. “Once it falls, we’ll stand a chance of defeating him. I say we go.”
I look at Jaga, who watches me with her arms folded, her face unreadable. But as her lip curls scornfully, I realize what she’s thinking—that I’m a coward.
Maybe she’s right. But on the other hand, bravery is not the same thing as rushing stupidly into action on the word of a mad goddess.
“Rod and Chors, I want you to see if entering Wyraj is safe. Avoid Mokosz and the bieses, we can deal with them later. I want to know if Perun will come if you cross the border. Dola, monitor Perun’s progress with the temple. Listen in, if you can, but don’t let them know you are there.”
I send my family, those I trust the most, to verify Jutrzenka’s words. It’s not a decision yet. I’m reluctant to risk going to Wyraj, only, I can’t be certain whether it’s because of my centuries-old fear or reasonable misgivings. Or maybe both.
“We’ll reconvene once we know more,” I say, my skin itching with the need to act. I want to fuck Jaga, spend all of my fear into her body, but I know it won’t happen.
Odious witch.
My gods depart almost at once, taking precautions to be safe. Since I can hardly stand the waiting, I pace, first in the Hall of Fires, then in my throne room, finally exploding outside to fly frantic circles over the island.
Rod and Chors come back to report they’ve walked in Wyraj for hours and weren’t attacked. I send them back to push deeper, toward the Great Oak, to see if that will provoke Perun.
Time passes in waiting, and I can’t stand it anymore. Because what if it turns out Jutrzenka was right? What if it’s our chance to burn down the source of Perun’s power?
Will I be courageous enough to do it?
“I’m going to do miracles,” I tell Jaga the next day when a warm wind blows from the mainland, and I know spring is near. “Come with me.”
“I’m busy.”
I sigh and go alone as Woland, because I don’t have to show my face to anyone to deliver miracles.
I’ve answered every prayer I could since the fall, and I can tell my power has grown.
It’s not an enormous surge, but here and there, I find myself flexing further, creating more, performing spells I haven’t tried in centuries.
I built a whole new level in Nawie, a meadow of poppies by a glorious river flowing lazily under an eternal sunset, but every time I try to take Jaga there, she gives me an excuse.
She doesn’t share my anxiety while waiting for our allies to return. Curing the rot consumes her. She’s burned through dozens of subjects that I keep bringing her, morbid bridal gifts from a besotted god to his beloved. She’s made some progress but still has no cure.
When she’s not busy playing with pus, she spends time with Rada and the dragon child. Sometimes, I catch her talking to Nyja or Chors, and once, to Rod. It makes me jealous and sick every time.
What if we burn down the Great Oak and defeat Perun? Will she leave the next day? Or will she stay and seduce one of my sons?
I shake off that thought, clenching my teeth until my jaw aches, and focus on growing my strength. Each miracle pushes me closer to my goal, which is more important than Jaga, I remind myself.
I am in the middle of bestowing a bag of wealth on the third zerca today when Jaga’s voice resounds in my head, urgent and alarmed.
“Woland! Come quick!”
I abandon the gold and rush to her side, horrible terror urging me to go faster, until I step in front of her in the torture chamber, and Jaga beams at me, bouncing from excitement.
I look her up and down, searching for wounds, and she grabs my hand with a laugh.
I didn’t change into Weles in my hurry to get to her, but that’s hardly a problem. Her subjects will all die, anyway.
“I found it! Woland, I found the cure!”
Pride swells in my chest, pushing out the fear, and Jaga pulls me toward an upir rapist whom I grabbed for her a week ago.
“Check him! See if there’s any left. Go on!”
I crouch in front of the upir, who watches me warily, and I look within him. It takes me only a moment to realize she’s right. There is no trace of the rot.
I stand up and pull her to me, grinning with mad pride, because my girl is strong, tenacious, so beautiful, and so smart and accomplished on top of that. I couldn’t have picked a better woman to fall in love with.
“He’s clean. How did you do it?”
Instead of answering, she grabs one of my antlers and pulls me closer.
An undignified noise of shock and longing tears out of my throat, because it’s been months since I tasted her last. I slick my tongue past her lips to gorge myself on her, and only after a moment do I realize Jaga doesn’t kiss me back.
She sucks air out of my mouth, greedy and focused. I stop moving and breathe into her, giving her all the air I have until she stumbles away, her soul glowing red like a halo.
“You just need to ask,” I tell her, my voice hushed from disappointment and hurt. I do my best to hide them. “It’s yours. I’ll give you anything.”
She turns away, and I can’t see her expression, but her voice is even and unaffected.
“I know. Thank you. The cure is magically taxing. I tried it a few times before, but I’ve never used enough power, as it turns out.
This time, it took all I had. But I am full again, so I’ll try with another subject, this one more advanced. Watch.”
She presses both hands to a dragon’s head, who snarls, trying to bite her despite his gag.
Jaga’s hands glow red as she pours raw magic into him, magic that is not a spell but a force of nature.
I gasp when I see how much there is, a flood of it, and she keeps going while the dragon writhes in his chains, making squalling, pitiful sounds.
It stops suddenly, and she stumbles away, pressing her hand to her temple. I shake my head with annoyance and catch her, sealing my mouth to hers.
“You shouldn’t spend it all like this. You’ll hurt yourself. What if I wasn’t here? What if you lost consciousness and couldn’t call for me?”
“Oh, stop worrying.”
She pushes me away and points at the dragon. “See if he’s clean.”
I check and nod, amazed. “You did it. But how? What is the cure?”
“The rot takes root deep in a person’s magic,” Jaga explains, washing her hands vigorously in a basin, her back to me.
“That’s why it cannot be cured like the illnesses of the body.
What I did was flush their magic system completely.
It’s like pouring clean water into a vessel full of dirt.
At some point, you will pour in enough for the water to run clean.
That’s what I did. But—I don’t understand why it worked now.
I’ve tried this before. It’s not a groundbreaking concept by any means. ”
I think I know. Jaga has steadily gained power, even while avoiding me. It’s not only my breath that feeds her then. It’s something else, and I have my suspicions, but I can’t tell her yet. It might be something to bargain with—to make her stay. I just need to confirm that I’m right.
“Can I see your soul?”
She shakes her head without turning. “Another time. I have to figure out how to make this accessible. I can’t very well go around curing every rot patient in Slawa, not to mention that you’d have to come with and feed me air every time, and it’s just so inefficient.”
Since when does Jaga care about being efficient? It’s just an excuse.
“I don’t mind,” I say, knowing it won’t change anything.
“But I do.”
I sigh, closing my eyes, because every time she rejects me, it hurts worse, especially when it’s casual like this.
“Very well,” I say when I’m certain my voice won’t break. “There are natural springs of magic in Wyraj—three of them. If we take it by some miracle, you’ll be able to bring the patients there. If they bathe in raw magic, it should flush out the rot.”
She nods briskly, still turned away. “Thank you for telling me.”
So cold, this woman. She’ll leave me, there is no doubt. Once Wyraj is taken, once Perun falls, she will go. And it could be as soon as tomorrow if we decide to go, if we win.
Or we will all die. Whatever happens, my time is running out.