Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
Roost
“Well, you fucked up,” Nyja says, though her voice sounds sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Weles. I know it was hard. Personally, I agree with you. You secretly wanted her to defeat you, and so you didn’t try your best. But that’s what happens when you’re in love.”
She tips back a cup of her favorite wine and sighs, looking at the waterfall we sit by. “I am going to miss this.”
“We might win yet,” I mutter, though I don’t believe it myself. “Jaga is strong. She could…”
“Jaga has her own goals and dreams,” Nyja cuts in, shaking her head. “She told you she’ll only go to Wyraj, didn’t she? Oh, Weles. She won’t fight Perun for you. I’m guessing Jaga wants to have her revenge on Mokosz, which is just as well. Cheer up. It’s a beautiful night, maybe our last.”
We don’t fuck, though she’d probably be willing. Nyja has a pragmatic outlook on our likely defeat and imprisonment. She’ll enjoy her life to the last minute, then fight and give it her all, knowing we will lose, anyway. I admire this about her.
We go right before dawn, when Jutrzenka is the most powerful. A full moon is close, so Chors is strong. The snows have melted in the south, and the King of Bees buzzes with the nearness of spring. The spring equinox is less than a month away. There will never be a better time than now.
As I stand before my allies, ready to take us all into Wyraj, I don’t know what to say. False promises of victory get stuck in my throat. Jaga watches me with cool detachment, neither hostile nor friendly. At last, we are what she claimed—just allies.
“Let’s burn down the Great Oak,” I finally say, and they nod and murmur in agreement.
I wrap them in my shadows and we’re off. My stomach is queasy with terror, but I don’t fight it anymore. The fear is there, and it will always be there until Perun is gone. I accept and embrace it. It’s what makes me a person.
I will act despite my fear today, because even if I’m going to lose, I am done being a coward.
The knife Jaga brought from the past sits at my belt just in case. No one but her knows I have it, since I am still pretending not to know what Nyja’s latest prophecy was about. In the light of day, it seems like such a silly precaution.
This weapon is so flimsy, so very inadequate. Perun is larger than life. A blade like this can’t defeat him.
But we’re not going to face Perun today.
“We’re here. Stay alert.”
We appear among soft grasses as the first rays of golden sun peek over the horizon. It’s endless summer in the south of Wyraj, and the grass is green and bright with wildflowers, the trees swaying in the balmy breeze.
Ahead of us stands the Great Oak. I plug my nostrils with my shadows to protect myself from its overpowering smell.
The tree is enormous, its trunk so thick, two hundred people could stand around it arm in arm, and still, they wouldn’t cover its entire circumference.
It reaches high, high into the sky, its branches spreading far and wide.
A small town could be built in the shade cast by those branches. They are thick and gnarly, some of them centuries old, some counting thousands of years.
Bies souls roost in the canopy as high as the eye can see.
They fluff their feathers or call, caw, and clack, a multitude of swallows, storks, and crows enslaved by Perun.
Then, there are other birds, the eerie, quiet ancestral souls ready to be picked up by storks and planted inside mortals before birth.
My allies spread out carefully, and I watch the skies, expecting dragons or angry gods. But nothing happens. The sun pushes higher and higher over the horizon until we’re bathed in the golden light. Jutrzenka raises her arms and spins with a joyful laugh, her golden dress flaring around her knees.
I wait, tenser and tenser. This feels like a trap. All my instincts scream for me to go home, but it’s just the old terror. I see the spot where I was buried from here, a darker patch in the ground just by the trunk.
It’s only fear.
“I can’t believe Perun’s not here yet,” Nyja murmurs, standing by my side, her eyes watchful and alert.
“The shields around his new temple are nigh on impenetrable. He really might be blind to everything happening outside it,” Rod says behind me, his voice hushed, just like hers. It’s like they are afraid of provoking the licho with a louder sound, and I understand them.
It’s fucking eerie that no one is here to fight us. My nape itches, and I clench my fists at my sides, not knowing what to do. This might be a trap or the luckiest break ever. No, it’s a trap. We should go.
“What are you doing here?”
Mokosz appears in front of me, a frown marring her perfect visage. She gapes for a second with wide eyes before her face flattens as she realizes what’s happening. She raises her arm, ready to command nature to attack us.
The red, glowing tendrils of Jaga’s soul wrap around the goddess. Fear flashes in her blue eyes, and she opens her mouth to scream. A thin, red soul tentacle dives down her throat, burrowing deep inside Mokosz.
She is lifted from the ground, struggling in silence. Jaga breathes hard, enraged, as she takes her higher, as high as her soul tendrils can reach.
She slams Mokosz hard into the ground, making it vibrate. Her soul pulses, brighter and redder, light traveling up those tendrils from Mokosz into Jaga.
I realize with a sick kind of awe that Jaga sucks magic out of her. When did she learn this? It doesn’t matter. Mokosz flails, weak and gripped by panic, and Jaga slams her again. Then again. Mokosz heals her broken bones instantly at first, but her strength flags quickly.
“See? Told you,” Nyja says, taking out her pipe. “Oh, this is so pleasant to watch. I’ll treasure it until I die. Do you see? She can’t heal herself anymore. She’s sucked dry. Your Jaga is a monster.”
“A goddess,” I correct her absentmindedly.
Mokosz is a crumpled bag of malformed body parts, each slam breaking more and more of her bones until some of them protrude through bleeding wounds, jagged edges gleaming white and red in the glorious sunlight.
Her nose is broken, skull bent inward. She can no longer heal herself, and so stays this way, unable to breathe or cry.
“She said she would make her ugly,” I whisper with awe, wicked satisfaction burning in my chest. “Fuck, Nyja. She’s formidable. She could fight Perun. Maybe.”
“And that’s for Weles!” Jaga roars.
Her soul-tentacle bursts out of Mokosz’s stomach, splattering blood and entrails. The goddess hangs limp, unconscious, and Jaga lets her fall to the ground. She slaps the bruised, swollen, mutilated face of Mokosz, until the goddess wakes with a faint moan.
“Don’t you sleep on me now,” Jaga says, baring her teeth. “How does this feel? Tell me.”
She reaches inside Mokosz through the bloody, gaping cavity of her stomach and rummages in there. Mokosz lets out small, pitiful cries of pain, and Jaga pulls out a moment later, holding her beating heart. She looks at it with a smile, then stands up and turns to me.
“Catch.”
She throws me the heart, and I let it land in my hand with a wet splat, the organ still beating and alive. Jaga kicks the bloody remains of Mokosz and goes to me, breathing hard.
“What do I do with her so she never comes out again? Where do I bury her?”
I stare into her dear face. My heart beats with awe.
No one has ever avenged me like this. I always destroyed my own foes and crushed whoever dared to wrong me—until my captivity.
Ever since then, I learned to use less satisfying, more underhanded ways of getting back at people, since I could hardly confront them as Weles.
My rebellion was a way of getting back at Perun, but it was never enough. Fucking around with Mokosz helped me repay her for some things she had done. But never did I get the bloody, straightforward revenge I wanted.
Until Jaga gave it to me.
My powerful, just, evil poppy girl. She did this for me—after everything. My chest feels constricted, and I mourn us even as I get drunk on triumph.
“I say we strap her to the Great Oak before we set it on fire,” I murmur, squeezing the heart of Mokosz with sick satisfaction. I like the indecency of handling a living heart much better when I am not on the receiving end of it.
Jaga shakes her head. “You can’t burn it with all the souls still up there. They won’t be able to flee if the fire spreads too fast.”
Nyja and I scoff in unison. I tend to forget Jaga doesn’t know these things. I keep treating her like one of us, a goddess who was born to rule, but she is still so mortal in the way she thinks.
“Those souls are tied to the Great Oak and unable to leave,” I explain. “We don’t have time or resources to unweave Perun’s spells keeping them here. The Oak must burn, Jaga. It’s the only way to weaken him in a meaningful way.”
She clenches her jaw, looking up at the multitude of birds. There are thousands on the lower branches, and many more higher up.
“This is a small sacrifice,” Nyja says gently. “They are slaves, anyway. I bet many of them would prefer the freedom of death.”
Jaga looks at her with deep contempt. “Death is not freedom.” She turns to me, her eyes lit with urgency. “Let me try to get them to leave. Please. You owe me for what you did, remember?”
“We don’t have time,” Nyja hisses.
I sigh and close my eyes, the warm, wet heart beating in my hand. Does it matter? Jaga is right. I owe her. Besides, she is the only one of us who has limitless power, since I can replenish it so easily by giving her my breath. If not for that, I wouldn’t waste magic on saving the birds.
I drop the heart of Mokosz to the ground and crush it with my heel.
“Come with me.”
I take Jaga’s elbow and transport us to the foot of the massive trunk. We end up just by the hole in the ground that led to my prison, and I realize with a shock that they’ve left it exactly as it was. When I glance inside, I see the chains, rusty and covered in grime.
It’s as if my prison is waiting for me to come back. Fear claws at my insides, and I welcome it with a sigh.
“Here. Follow my lead.”
I press both hands to the bark, grimacing when my skin instantly itches. Jaga does the same, watching me expectantly. I take a shaky breath and swallow, doing my best to focus.
“They are tied to the tree,” I explain, fighting nausea. “If you can find the main spell running up the tree that binds them, and then unravel or cut it, they should be able to leave. Fuck. This would be easier with a bond.”
“I see many strands of magic,” Jaga says, her green eye closed, her brows furrowed with concentration. “Some brighter and thicker, others narrow. They… They feel foreign. I don’t know which spell enslaves the souls.”
“Mm-hm. That’s why I’m here.” I swallow compulsively. The skin of my palms peels in places, and I can’t heal as long as I’m touching the tree. “There. It’s red. Darker than your soul. Pulsing fast. Do you see it?”
She peers into the trunk, and I know it’s hard, since there are hundreds of kinds of magic throbbing within, magic flowing through the Great Oak like sap. Jaga nods hesitantly.
“The one that feels hot? And… almost sweet. Like overripe fruit.”
I push away from the oak and wipe sweat off my brow, shaking and coughing. “T-that’s the one.”
She doesn’t spare me a glance as I walk away, giving my old prison a wide berth. I stop nearby, watching her, my nose plugged with shadows while I heal. Jaga frowns deeply, her mouth set in a grim line.
“Fuck being efficient,” I think she mutters, though I’m not sure.
The oak trembles. The birds above us make panicked noises as they spread their wings, and Jaga cackles, her soul visible and pulsing.
She pours more and more magic into the tree, sure of her power, careless with her magic since she’s learned it can be replenished so easily.
I should deny her my breath to teach her a lesson, I muse, but not today.
The tree shakes harder, leaves and acorns raining down.
The birds scream. That’s the only word that fits.
The noise is no longer cawing or clacking, but a continuous, agonizing whine coming from tens of thousands of beaks.
Jaga grunts, her soul withering, pulling in to hide in her body.
I try to caution her against running out, but my coughing makes it impossible to speak.
She wouldn’t hear me over the noise, anyway.
A hand settles on my shoulder, and I flinch, but it’s only Chors. His eyes are creased with worry as he looks between me and her.
The ground shakes again, and I hold on to him to stay upright.
I would have fallen if not for my son. Chors shakes his head, looking impressed and disapproving all at once.
The cacophony of bird suffering quiets, and the ground settles.
Jaga stumbles away from the oak. Her soul is tucked in, no red halo around her head, and I know she’s running on empty.
Yet, when she raises her arms high, they do not tremble. She claps once, and the sound carries.
“Shoo! You’re free!”
For one heavy heartbeat, silence drapes heavy around the branches.
Then, wind. The air moves, softly at first, then faster and faster, as wings beat it up into a frenzy.
The first birds pull away from the branches, rising higher and higher, and my breath catches in my throat, because she did it, she really did, and it’s so much better than what I intended.
Tens of thousands of birds take to the sky, abandoning slavery at Perun’s whims. They rise like a cloud of smoke, thick and gritty, higher and higher, cawing and trilling. They sound different than they used to. There is exuberance in their calls.
I am grateful Jaga did this. I wouldn’t have been able to. With my supply of power, divine though it is, I could have picked one: freeing the souls or destroying the tree, and when it comes to Perun, I’ll always choose destruction.
Jaga spent all her magic, too, but she chose to use it for freedom. I’ve never loved her more than now.
“Jaga, come take a breath before…” I begin, but my voice gets stuck in my throat as a cloud of powerful, oak-scented magic envelops me from every side.
I’m disoriented, blinking to clear the daze from my eyes, when the ground suddenly opens under my feet.
I sink in, and I try to leap away, but an invisible, familiar force holds me in a vise.
I sink deeper until I’m buried in the soil up to my hips, then to my belly button.
It stops. Chains bind my arms and wrists, and things wind around my ankles underground, thin, hungry roots. They suck the magic out of me. Just like before. Like in my prison.
Perun crouches in front of me, his blue eyes twinkling with mad triumph.
“Welcome back, brother.”