Chapter 51 Curses
Chapter fifty-one
Curses
Jaga
The world has burst into spring.
We’ve been alone in our home, making love and sleeping for the first few days, then arranging this new space to fit us both.
Weles can’t help but create. He’s already rebuilt the house into something between a castle and a cottage, with many beautiful rooms glittering with jewels and a gorgeous garden where vegetables and herbs grow.
He’s remade the land surrounding our home, and it’s now littered with sparkling ponds and overgrown with rare plants, many of them poisonous.
Poppies grow everywhere, no matter the weather and season.
I fly every day. Over our domain, over Slawa, over Nawie and Wyraj. Some days, I go to the mortal world and fly over lands warm and cold, familiar and strange. I always come back to him, and he always asks me if I enjoy his creations.
No one rules Slawa nor Wyraj. It’s the strangest development.
Perun’s fence is gone, the tolls done with.
The bieses of Slawa don’t trust this new change yet.
They stay in the cramped city that used to be taxed with the lowest toll, though today, I saw two adventurous families setting out into the plains.
They will build better lives for themselves on fertile land. Others will follow.
Nyja rules Nawie and seems happy. She visited once to give us her warm congratulations, then went away to turn the land of the dead into a formidable queendom. Weles is confident she will rule it well.
Rod and his daughters spend their days basking in the sun. They avoid deathbeds and cribs, the marks of their slavery to Perun, and enjoy life.
Dadzbog is in a cell under our house, where Weles tortures him in his free time to get him to break Chors’ curse. So far, he’s had no luck, but we’re hopeful.
Swarog attacked us three times. The first two, we sent him back to lick his wounds in Wyraj.
The third time, he flew in while we were making love.
Woland came out, naked and furious, and buried him right in the garden patch outside our bedroom’s window, then came back inside and fucked me hard, drawing screams of pleasure out of me for him to hear.
He let him go after a few days. Swarog hasn’t been back.
Rada has moved in nearby, within the bounds of our domain, where she’s protected by our magic. Dar isn’t strong enough to fly as far as I do, but we play together most days. He’s a happy, beautiful child, growing up to be a hero.
There will be many heroes and powerful witches in our world.
Chors came by once to give us his good wishes.
He stays in Slawa, in one of the rooms over the milk bar.
Weles says he’s looking for love in the wrong place, but I’m not sure.
Maybe he must drink a lot of milk to make up for the lack of a mother.
All that matters is that he’s comfortable and hopeful.
Jutrzenka is gone. She’s neither in Wyraj nor in Slawa, and we suspect she went off to hide in the mortal world. I’m not worried. We’ll deal with her when she comes back.
The King of Bees went back to his woods and refuses to speak with us. I suppose he was burned one too many times. Or maybe he just needs a rest from people. It’s only fair.
Wiosna can’t visit me in my new home, but I see her in Nawie from time to time. She cooks for me, and we talk for long hours. She tells me Nawie’s soul gossip, and I listen and smile, enjoying myself.
It’s become so easy. To—just live.
“We’ve put this off long enough, but I suppose it can’t wait anymore. I got started on curing the rot,” Weles says with mild annoyance when I return from my flying trip. “My rebels are gathering everyone who’s sick, and I’ll take them to the magic springs in Wyraj later today. Do you want to come?”
I smile and put my arms around him. “Why are you so grumpy? Can’t wait to smell all that pus? Have you forgotten it’s your own creation?”
He sighs and gives me a kiss. “I don’t mind blood or entrails, you know. But pus—just no. Yet I’ll do it, all for you. Praise me for being a good husband and fuck me later as a reward. Please.”
“Husband?” I ask with amusement. “Since when are we married?”
He scoffs, a bit offended. “Since we claimed each other, of course! What—are you planning to leave me for someone else? Of course, we’re married. It’s forever.”
I watch him, glimpsing a flicker of uncertainty, a bit of fear under his amusement. I grab his hair and pull him in for a kiss so hard, he hisses from the abruptness of it.
“Fine. I guess we’re married. My, I should go back to my village and boast that I’m wed to a god.”
No sooner than the words leave my mouth, my smile freezes on my face, and I look away, swallowing with effort.
I won’t visit my village any time soon, because if those people see me, they will chase me away with pitchforks.
Weles cups the back of my head and tilts it up, kissing my nose, then my brow.
“Do you want me to change their memories? Make it like it never happened?”
I think for a moment, then shake my head. “No. I don’t want to go there, anyway. I was never happy in that village.”
“And now?”
“What now?”
“Are you happy?”
I hesitate, looking into the glittering, dark eyes of the god who made the world yet worships me and prays to me every night, and I smile.
“Yes. I’m happy.”
After Weles sends the rot patients to Wyraj, we stroll through the city. It’s a beautiful spring afternoon, the sun about to set. When we pass the milk bar, Chors sits outside on one of the benches, skeletal and tired. New moon is almost here.
“Still no luck getting Dadzbog to break his curse?” I whisper to Weles, who shakes his head with grim disappointment.
“He claims he can’t. No matter how much I torture him, he won’t do it. I’m starting to think he’s telling the truth.”
“Hm.” I think about gods and beliefs, and my enormous, powerful soul, then look at my husband. “I want to try something, but let’s not tell him unless it works.”
Weles nods, and I close my eyes, imagining a robust, powerful, healthy Chors, free and unruled by the motions of the moon.
“I believe Chors is powerful at all times and in all seasons. I believe he is free.”
When I open my eyes, Weles shakes his head, looking sadly at his son, who is still thin, still in pain. We go closer to say hello, and Chors looks up with effort, then frowns.
“What… Why is…”
He breaks off, looking at his hands, then stands abruptly, shoving the bench back with a loud screech. He turns in place, and his body glows silver, his eyes bright. He is thin still, but he bursts with energy, and a tear rolls down his father’s cheek when he beholds his son, who is finally well.
“You’re free,” I tell Chors, my voice breaking from joy.
His curse is gone forever, because I’ll always believe in his power and freedom, and no amount of mortal tales about the moon being eaten away or starving will change that.
Later, we go to the other side of the city and dance in a little square with tables set outside, fiddlers and drummers playing lively music. Rusalkas, mamunas, and upirs dance around us, giving us a wide berth. Lutowa passes by, waving at me, and I wave back without a smile.
A sudden gust of wind weaves among the dancers, lifting the women’s skirts.
I laugh and press closer to Weles, but a few women are exposed, and they shake their fists at the wind.
Strzybog appears at the edge of the crowd, watching us with a tight smile.
He beckons us closer, and we sigh in resignation, hating to be pulled out of revelry for something that is sure to be a chore.
“What is it?” Weles asks him tersely.
Strzybog huffs with annoyance, folding his arms on his chest. “I just came to warn you. My mother is well again and she’s plotting against you.”
We exchange glances, me and Weles, and I know I wear the exact same smile as him: mean and a little excited.
“Oh, let her come,” he says with a laugh. “My love isn’t done getting her revenge, are you, dearest?”
He doesn’t give me time to reply, covering my lips with a ravenous kiss, his knee shoving between my legs to part them.
“You are revolting,” Strzybog says darkly, shaking his head. “I won’t warn you next time. Deal with her yourselves.”
He turns to go, and I stop him, because I remember I have power over gods now, and he deserves to pay for all the hurtful, thoughtless things he has done.
“Hey, Strzybog!” I call, grinning when I think of the perfect punishment. “I believe you will fall in love with the person who hates you the most!”
He watches me for a moment with a disbelieving frown, then rolls his eyes and waves me off rudely. I snicker when he disappears in a bout of wind that attacks women’s clothing again, and Weles tuts under his breath.
“That was mean, love. I can’t wait to watch your curse unfurl.”
We go home through a portal of flames of my making, stepping out on the porch just in time to see Mokosz throwing curses at an invisible, protective barrier Weles has set up a few days ago.
She’s disheveled and furious, her eyes glinting madly as she throws thorns, vines, and swarms of wasps, trying to make herself an entrance.
“You!” she roars when she sees us, stopping her assault. “You will pay for what you did to me and my husband!”
I fold my arms, and Weles shrugs and goes inside, humming a melody under his breath. He is completely certain his protective spells will hold, and I believe him, though the bursts of magic in our front garden do annoy me a little.
“Come out and fight me!” Mokosz screams.
I follow my husband inside, in time to receive a cup of pear wine he brought from the mortal world recently. There are wine artisans who make exceptional drinks, and Weles buys out their best wares, though I fully expect him to make his own wine soon. It’s his nature, and I love him for it.
We sip the wine, smiling at each other, but then Mokosz bursts into a litany of insults, and I grimace. Weles sighs.
“If I put her in the garden like Swarog, she’ll just make all the weeds grow faster than the good plants. Could we drown her in a pond for a while? What do you think?”
“I think it’s boring,” I say with a snicker. “Do you remember one of the old tales, about Baba Gienia? It was my favorite as a child.”
He thinks for a moment. “Baba Gienia… Wasn’t she the terrifying witch that ate children? The one who had a hut that walked around where it wanted?”
I nod, clapping my hands. “The very same. Hold on to something so you don’t fall.”
I close my eyes and focus, and Weles grabs my arm. When I huff with dry amusement, he kisses me and says I am the safest bet for him to rely on. A moment later, the house shudders, and Mokosz’s screams stop for a moment.
“Oh, fuck,” Weles murmurs, crushing my arm in his grip when the house lurches up, fast and shaky yet, because the chicken legs I just made it grow are unused to walking.
We grab onto each other, but it’s not enough.
We fall and roll together, and I end up on my back with him on top, his mouth on me. He kisses me, then whispers in my ear.
“What now, my formidable witch?”
“Let me up. I have to see what I’m doing.”
“Bond with me. We’ll both look through my shadows.”
I scoff. “What, don’t you have things to hide?”
He looks in my eyes, exhaling in relief when the house grows still, even though it’s high over the ground.
“Love, you can rummage in my head all you want. Worst thing that happens? You’ll discover something you don’t like and you’ll punish me for it. I promise I’ll love every second.”
“Oh, fine.”
We look into each other’s eyes, an intimate bond growing between our minds. As soon as it’s done, he makes my clothes vanish and thrusts inside me. I dig my nails into his back, struggling to breathe as his shadows surround the house, giving me a view of everything happening outside.
Mokosz looks much smaller from high up. She stares at the house with fury, pummeling at our protections with more spells.
“And go,” I whisper, moaning when my husband sucks my nipple into his mouth.
The house lurches ahead, its first step unsteady. We roll until I’m on top, and Weles laughs, pulling me close for a kiss. We take another step, and Mokosz gasps when she realizes our large, chicken-legged home is going straight at her.
“What…” she begins, stupefied.
The third step brings the house so close, she has to jump back so as not to be trampled.
“Make it so she can’t get away with magic,” I whisper, squeezing his throat. “Make her run.”
He moans, flexing his hips, and shadows wrap around Mokosz, illusory shackles limiting her magic. She waves her arms, but she’s helpless to leave. All she can do is run away while our house pursues her, now strong and certain on its two enormous, clawed legs.
It doesn’t take long. I laugh with wicked satisfaction when one leg steps right on Mokosz, crushing her under the weight of our abode.
She squishes like an overripe slug, bursting into a wet sludge, and Weles makes a gagging sound of disgust. I pierce my tongue and feed him my blood to distract him.
He forgets all about Mokosz, drinking deep from my mouth, but I watch as I make the house step away, and seeing the mess she’s become heightens my pleasure. I come cackling.
“You know, there never was a Baba Gienia,” Weles murmurs later, when we lie in bed. “But there could be a Baba Jaga. One who likes pus and tramples goddesses into the ground.”
I hum, nestling closer in his warm embrace. “Maybe someday.”
We sleep, happy and safe, me and the god who broke me, remade me, and put me above all else.
THE END
(or is it?)