Chapter 57 At the Gates of Borodyn
AT THE GATES OF BORODYN
“The old world rots at its roots. Tear it free with blood and bone, Lidé?en, or be buried beneath it.”
—Láda Velé?a, Goddess of Leadership and War
Noel
The nearest village is close. I hear human voices, the crackle of burning coal, smell the scent of food drifting through the air, tainted by the stench of sweat and unwashed men.
It has been a while since I last stepped into a human village. This is also my first time in one that isn’t Tárnov.
For all its cold, oppressive presence, Tárnov is clean.
If anything falls to the ground, it is picked up immediately, fearfully, lest a soldier sees and punishes someone.
The streets are polished, the stones gleaming.
I, myself, sent misbehaving soldiers to scrub them clean, a shameful lesson for their families to witness. But this village smells foul.
Tárnov is the second-largest village, a military stronghold. I assumed other villages might not be as favored by the tsar, but I did not expect the difference to be this vast.
We have been running for days and nights.
Now that I am no longer human, I can see how little sleep I need and how my strength remains unchanged.
Colors are more vivid. Sounds are crisper.
The day we left, I could hear everything.
Not just the birds near our home, but the ones far beyond.
The laughter of nymphí by the forest pond.
The rustling of animals far away from us.
I could sift through the noise, channeling what I wanted to hear and blocking out the rest. It was easy to learn.
That night, when Theron and I became one, I heard nothing but us. That is a weakness I cannot afford. Even if having him buried inside me was a pleasure I never thought existed. This is why I put a cloth inside myself to prevent leaking. Even now, my body craves him.
From the moment we set off, the wolves have followed us. Even now, they run behind us—not too close, but never too far. They don’t look hungry.
And I swear I heard their cries during the bonding ritual. That piercing, bone-deep howl still lingers in my mind. They want something. If not food, then what?
For now, it doesn’t matter.
We near the first village, positioned northeast of ávera. A small coastal settlement, yet dangerously close to our lands. If there’s one thing I know about villages near ávera, it’s that they are always armed. And today, I will test my new strength.
We ascend a hill that should give us a clear view of the village below.
Our pace slows, our approach careful and silent.
The last thing we need is to alert the villagers too soon.
What concerns me most is the ambush. Gregor’s warning about the tsar’s plan was no surprise.
I would be a fool to think everything would go smoothly.
Of course he’s furious. His precious barrier, gone.
The old plan to keep women locked in the villages, to ensure the blue rose never crossed it, is soon to be gone as well.
If he knows the prophecy, which he does, he will stop at nothing to prevent me from fulfilling it.
What he doesn’t realize is that I already know this.
He tried to use Gregor, but failed. And his empire will fall, village by village, mistake after mistake.
His first mistake was me. Had he not allowed me to join the army, I would be just another nameless woman, married off with a dozen children by now. Yet, something feels off.
There is no sound of gathered soldiers. No distant orders being given. No shifting of armor or weapons.
Nothing.
Theron halts and glances at me over his shoulder. The others follow his lead, coming to a silent stop, waiting for my signal. I turn to face my army, an unshakable force of giant, battle-hungry vólkins. Their gazes burn, muscles taut, ready to strike at my command.
I pulse my crystals once, a silent command. Do not move.
I nod to Theron, and he climbs to the edge of the cliff. My eyes darken at what we find.
A half-destroyed sign hangs from a wooden tower, barely clinging to the rotting beams. Welcome to Borodyn.
The tower itself connects to a crude wooden wall surrounding the village, though calling it a defense would be generous.
I only heard of Borodyn once. My commander mentioned that some villages were too poor to afford a starosta, a head of their own, forced instead to serve one of the five ruling territories.
I knew that. What I didn’t know was that it was this poor.
The stench alone should have warned me. But nothing prepares me for what I see next.
An old man, his face twisted with self-satisfaction, standing at the center of a wedding ceremony. A wedding . . . with a child. The guests at his wedding cheer as the women remain silent. My grip tightens around my Rose, my jaw locks in place. Then, a cry.
My head snaps toward the sound just in time to witness, through an open window, a man striking his wife. She sobs, begging for mercy, and her body curls in on itself as he beats her without pause. I can’t believe my own eyes.
The final straw is when my gaze lands on a statue of a woman in the village square. Even a statue has not been spared their depravity. Her chest is polished smooth, lighter than the rest of the stone. Men have been groping a damn statue. A slow, seething heat creeps through my veins.
Every single man here is guilty.
My awakening wasn’t just a transformation of my body and spirit. It was a revelation. A stripping away of the veil that once hid the world’s horrors from me. Now, I see the world as it truly is. And I will not stand by.
I lift my hand to signal to the nymphí. They emerge from between the trees, shimmering under the canopy.
It begins. We raid Borodyn.
The blade of my sword ignites with a blinding blue light, pulsing with my raw energy. A scream erupts from deep within me, louder, more powerful than I have ever heard before.
“ENSLAVE THE MEN! LEAVE NO ONE BEHIND! SEARCH EVERY CABINET, EVERY BED, EVERY HIDDEN SPACE. NO MAN SHALL ESCAPE HIS FATE.”
My voice echoes like thunder. It crashes through the trees, shakes the air itself. With that command, we charge. A storm of bodies, a force of nature, descends upon Borodyn.
The nymphí move like wraiths, slipping through the village to rescue the women and children. The vólkins and I? We will destroy everything else.
An earth-shattering growl rips through every warrior’s throat, and the sound rolls through the land like the voice of vengeance. The ground quakes beneath our feet. Theron roars, a deafening, primal battle cry that sends birds shrieking from the treetops.
With the nymphí at our flanks, we crash through the walls of the village.
The wood splinters. The gates shatter.
Borodyn will fall. And the world will remember.
This is the rage of centuries, of mothers slaughtered, of daughters caged, of a prophecy forced into silence.
I leap from Theron’s back to land in a crouch before pushing off into a sprint.
Around me, the vólkins flood the village, their massive bodies tear through the narrow streets, storm buildings, and break down doors.
Screams erupt from all sides—panicked cries from men, desperate wails from women.
The clang of bells smashing together rings through the village, their alarm system echoing above the chaos.
My heart pounds. My pulse roars in my ears. I run.
The child. That is all that matters.
Theron keeps pace beside me. A man rushes toward us, swinging a rusted sword.
Mistake. Theron grabs him mid-stride and hurls him into the side of a building with a sickening crunch.
Another lunges at me, but I don’t slow. With a flick of my wrist, my blade slices clean through his thigh.
He collapses to the dirt with a scream. I don’t spare him a glance.
The scent of blood already thickens the air, along with sweat, smoke, and fear.
People scatter, some to flee, others foolish enough to fight. It doesn’t matter. I see it from afar. The village square. The altar. The child bride.
The old man grabs the girl and runs. Rage blinds me. My entire body burns with it. I push forward, faster than I ever have before. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my sword as I near him. He won’t get away.
With a single motion, I drive my blade through his skull. His body goes limp, he collapses, and he drags the girl down with him. Blood spills over her small wedding dress, soaking her in his filth. My heart slams against my ribs. My breaths come fast and sharp. My first kill.
Staring at the corpse before her, the girl cringes. Then, as the shock wears off, she bursts into tears. Of course she’s terrified. She just witnessed death.
I crouch, lowering my sword, and force softness into my voice. “What’s your name, little one?”
Her wide, glossy eyes go wooden.
I reach out carefully to wipe a tear from her cheek. “I came here to save you,” I whisper. “I am Noel, and the wolves here have come to free all the girls.”
She blinks, her tiny shoulders trembling as she processes my words. “Maya,” she murmurs. “I’m Maya.”
“You’re very brave, Maya.” With a smile, I open my arms, offering her a choice. A way out.
She hesitates, then, slowly, she pushes her feet forward.
She leans into me, letting me gather her in my arms. I turn to Theron.
He stands tall, chains in his massive paws, a few dozen men already shackled at their ankles and wrists.
Their terrified gazes remind me of Gregor, back when he first arrived.
But this time, I have no mercy left to give.