Page 24 of Coil of Boughs (The Underforest Duology Book 1)

Sunlight spilled past bright green leaves, dappling across Ryurikov and the bed Awimak had made for him under the apple tree. Well, less of a bed, and more like a den of blankets, roots and branches. A bird twittered above him, a spherical shadow underneath the light. Ryurikov glared.

“This bower is mine,” he said to it. A robin, he thought. “And don’t shit on me.”

He wiggled his toes, grinning in triumph. The fierce pinpricks in his legs had yet to subside, but he was comfortable enough, clad in a white linen tunic with his legs raised over the brim of the nest, head resting on the fluffiest of moss. He almost preferred it over a feather stuffed pillow.

“You can move your toes!”

His heart burst straight out of his chest at Valka’s sudden appearance. She’d been the one to carry him down to the garden while Awimak worked his magic, and he still resented her for it. Ryurikov glowered at the tankard she held out for him. Ale, he realised, once he finally took it.

“Just a little while longer, and I can kick your toned ass all the way up that fucking mountain.”

Valka sighed. “Well, I’d deserve it, that’s for sure.” She sat in the grass beside him, reaching over the short wall of his den to rub sword-calloused hands across his shins. “I was kind of hoping you’d forgive me.”

“You set Vasili on me!” he snarled so viciously, Valka flinched away.

“He’s the reeve, why wouldn’t I? Besides, he’s the only one who ever managed to persuade you to put your scheming out of your mind, at the very least delay them.” When Ryurikov said nothing, she shrugged, adding, “I was surprised he was even alive. I…didn’t think anyone had survived, other than you.”

He scoffed. “Makes you wonder how any of these rumours about me even spread.”

Words dropping from his lips with ease, yet had Ryurikov realising he’d just made an excellent point. He stared at Valka, and she gaped back.

“I–I have no idea,” she uttered. “Vasili?”

“Based on what he said while he tried to force himself on me, I don’t think it was him.” Ryurikov snapped his mouth shut so hard his teeth clicked, swiftly looking away from Valka’s stunned expression.

“He did what now?”

“Where’s Awimak? He said he’d be right back.”

“Ruri, what did you just say?” Valka’s leather glove creaked, her fingers clenching around the hilt of her blade.

He looked everywhere other than at his sister. “You know he’s always been obsessed with me.”

“Well, sure but—” Valka’s expression became explosive, freckles disappearing under the crimson flooding her cheeks. She stood in one swift move.

“Awimak already took care of him,” Ryurikov said before she could take a step away.

Her eyes met his, burning with anger. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Good to know she hadn’t intentionally set Vasili on him, at least not in that way. Likely, she would have been fine with him being roasted for his crimes, though. Fucking asshole.

Loud twittering jerked his anger upward. That bird, too, was an asshole.

“He’s a good one, isn’t he?” Valka said loud enough to be heard over the noisy chirping.

“My demon?” Ryurikov snapped off a protruding twig near his head and hurtled it up at the bird, though it was too light. It fell immediately, landing in his drink. “He’s a fucking tree who insists on being nice to me.”

“Gods, I know it’s been a few years, but you were never this…” She swayed her hands in lieu of an adequate description.

“This much of a cockhead? I’ve always been one. You might’ve noticed if you hadn’t been too busy running off with a jezibaba.”

With another sigh, Valka seated herself beside his nest again, leaning an elbow across its brim, the neatly folded branches bending slightly under the weight. “I deserve that.”

He picked the twig out of his ale, flicking it aside, before guzzling the drink in its entirety without a single breath in between.

“You always left me,” he panted, flinging the tankard into the bushes. His complaint sounded whiny even to him, and he grimaced. “I mean, it would’ve been nice if…”

If every once in a while, she’d been there to comfort him after beatings from their father, who had claimed it was to work on his resistance, should he ever be abducted. Of course, Ryurikov had never been honest to Valka about it, stayed away while he recovered, never once mentioning what the king did to him. Could he really be upset with his sister for not being there?

“I’m sorry.”

He flicked away crumbs of lichen scattered on his chest, shrugging. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. I never have. And I don’t blame you for taking me at my word and actually leaving, either.”

Valka reached over to clasp his shins again, a storm of pinpricks bursting up under the touch. “I appreciate that. I shouldn’t have left, though. I’m sorry.”

Ryurikov shook his head. “Had you stayed, you might not be alive now, and then where would I be?”

Not having died for the third time, for a start. He flattened his lips.

“Let me get you something to eat?”

She seemed to take his shrug for a yes, her fine black boots pressing marks into the grass as she rose and hurried away. Behind him, she made a noise of surprise, said something Ryurikov didn’t catch, before the sound of heavy hooves pricked his ears. He eagerly flopped ’round, holding out his hand for Awimak to take.

“I was beginning to think you might pull the same stunt I tried to, earlier,” he teased, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

His demon released a snort, sounding tired. Awimak ducked into the bower, large enough to comfortably accommodate both of them, and wrapped Ryurikov in several blankets before pulling him firmly against his chest. Those incredible arms held him tight, as if Awimak was in need of comfort, blankets blocking out the earthy cold pressed into his back.

WILL YOU TELL ME OF A FOND MEMORY YOU HAVE?

Cheek resting against soft, cool moss, Ryurikov flicked his tongue over his lower lip. “Ah–Sure. Horses.”

RIVETING.

“Fuck off,” Ryurikov grumbled. “I haven’t even started. So–Horses. Yes. I ah–I loved riding, one of the few joys that I didn’t get bea—I had this mare. Wild as anything, worse than any stallion. She was a beauty, the most unusual combination of browns and greys I’d ever seen. A bit like you, actually.”

A glance over his shoulder. Awimak’s sweltering breath grazed his temple. His eyes must have been closed, Ryurikov couldn’t see their fire.

GO ON.

“I tried breaking her in. She was difficult, but I was confident I could out-stubborn her.” He settled back down, closing his own eyes. “When she’d thrown me off for what must have been the hundredth time and had me under her hooves, I realised maybe not.” Awimak released a faint huff of amusement, which pleased Ryurikov a great deal. “There was a moment, just before she got ready to trample me to death, where we locked eyes. I was terrified, but we just stared at each other. For ages, it felt like. Until she backed off. I then realised I’d been apologising to her, over and over.”

YOU DID NOT DIE, HENCE IT IS A FOND MEMORY?

“You’re witty today,” Ryurikov drawled. “It’s a fond memory because it was the first time in my life I was made to respect someone and it felt deserved.”

DID THIS MARE PERMIT YOU TO MOUNT AFTER?

“No. I released her. Too stubborn even for me. Watching her run free though…”

It had given him the idea to let Valka run free, too.

THANK YOU.

He shifted within the firm grasp as best he could, useless legs making it a struggle. “You’ll tell me what troubles you now?”

I WAS HUNGRY.

Fuck. “Awi—”

I NEEDED ANOTHER SOURCE. THERE ARE FEW WITH PLEASANT DREAMS AS YOURS WERE. Awimak’s skull nudged his forehead, shifting from side to side. He was being nuzzled. NIGHTMARES LEAVE A BITTER TASTE.

Sounded like they were unsatisfying, too. “Do they satiate your hunger?”

NOT LIKE YOURS DO.

A chill coiled down his spine, and it wasn’t a bad one. “You should take the next good dream I have.”

I WOULD NOT.

“Nonsense.”

Since Awimak’s eyes were nothing but hollows of black, Ryurikov pressed a quick, silent kiss to the side of his elongated jaw. The flames flickered to life within the skull. His heart jumped with inexplicable panic, and he swallowed against it.

“You take care of me, I will take care of you.”

Awimak made a most pleased sound, massive claw trailing down his arm, fingers grazing the back of his hand. Ryurikov lifted it, bringing both hand and claw in for a better look. He splayed his fingers, pressing palm against open palm, his hand but a fraction of Awimak’s. His demon could crush every bone in his body and it would take less than an inhale to do so. He remained an enigma, Ryurikov longed to know more, but he knew Awimak would never intentionally hurt him, and that was more than he’d known about anyone else.

Gazing into those enchanting eyes, he pressed his lips to the tips of those long digits, giving each a gentle kiss worthy of Awimak’s kindness. The skull’s flames burned like a falling star, as intense as the tempest of emotion inside Ryurikov’s chest.

“Aw.”

He started, then glared over his shoulder at Valka. She grinned, holding out a bowl.

“I’ve never seen you like this with anyone. It brings a tear to my eye.”

“You trying to murder me several different ways brings a few tears to mine.”

Hazel eyes rolled at him. “Take your bowl. Once you gather your strength, we’re going to Briarmour. Radojka wants to meet with the other witches to learn about this magic you mentioned.”

“Why do I have to come along?” Despite his harsh tone, he was famished and sat up. Ryurikov groaned, scowling into the bowl. More broth, and it was unlikely to be of the bone variety.

“To act as a mediator, maybe?” Valka shrugged. “Radojka isn’t on good terms with the others. Since you saved them, they might listen to you.”

Ryurikov made a face, ignoring the way Awimak knocked into him upon sitting up, spilling some broth on his tunic. “Hard pass.”

Valka crossed her arms. She lingered, tapping her foot with impatience while Ryurikov drank—broth was not food, and whatever this was barely passed for vegetable tea. When it became clear he was adamant on ignoring her, she stalked off, sword and flute swinging at her hips.

I DO NOT BLAME YOU FOR NOT WANTING TO RETURN.

“Thank you. I’m glad someone understands.”

YOU WERE MURDERED THERE. NATURALLY, YOU WOULD BE AFRAID TO GO BACK.

“I beg your pardon?” Ryurikov glared up, sensing something akin to mirth. “I’m not scared, I just—you know what, fine. I’ll go if it’s that important.”

I WILL REMAIN BY YOUR SIDE, MY EYEWORTHY.

Fucking hell, why did that make warmth creep across his face? He buried his face into the bowl to polish off his tea.

Valka’s eyes kept darting his way, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth every time, and Ryurikov tried very hard to ignore it. His hold on Awimak’s arm tightened, his legs unsteady, dirty boots shuffling through leaf-wilt.

I COULD CARRY YOU, Awimak said for the third time that evening.

Ryurikov grunted with effort. “I know you could.”

“I can carry you too,” said Valka.

“I know you could.”

“I’m not carrying you,” muttered Jezibaba, several paces ahead, her shuffling no better than Ryurikov’s.

“Nobody asked you, dead wood.”

“Ruri!”

He snickered. “What?”

“You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Ah, but I do. Unlike you, she actually killed me. Twice. It really hurt the second time, too.”

Jezibaba clicked her tongue, carefully shuffling past a circle of delicately glowing mushrooms. “Serves you right, for being so witless.”

Ryurikov bared his teeth. Would have stomped the mushrooms out of spite had Awimak not gently guided him away. “Fuck you, child-eater.”

Valka gasped. She swung ’round to stop him in his tracks and instinctively, Ryurikov tightened his hold on Awimak’s forearm. His legs were not strong enough to kick her away.

“Don’t say that,” Valka hissed. She glanced over her shoulder, but Jezibaba quietly carried on. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you and everything else, and I’ll do what I can to make it up to you, but you cannot ever call her that.”

Her tone and dour expression made Ryurikov consider his retort—briefly. “I’ll call her what I like, especially if it’s true.”

“But it’s not true, Ruri!”

“Leave the boy to his beliefs,” Jezibaba called. “What difference does it make?”

Valka faltered, clearly torn between getting him to change his mind and listening to the crone. In the end, she hastened after Jezibaba, speaking to her in a murmur too quiet for Ryurikov to hear.

“You’ll tell me if they plot to kill me again?” he said to Awimak, now out of breath.

I WILL LAY WASTE TO THEM MYSELF.

Ryurikov’s eyes flicked up to Awimak, sun-like spheres once again ablaze. “Alright, but don’t kill Valka completely.” He wobbled, legs threatening to give out entirely.

AS YOU WISH, DRURY.

Apparently having had enough of his stumbling, Awimak gathered Ryurikov into his arms. He grunted, but didn’t argue. Being off his legs was a relief, honestly, but he’d never admit it.

Cradle carried against a solid chest, he nestled his head along the crook of Awimak’s shoulders, lazily scouring the forest they threaded.

They walked its edge, not close enough for the Clutchers to spot them, but enough to find their way back to Briarmour. Smoke of the wasteland curled past the trees, tinged burgundy in the setting sun. Fern and tiny white flowers dotted the ground, dampened by ash that had broken past the barrier of leaves above. It would only be a matter of time before this too was all devoured, yet more of Awimak’s earth ruined.

“Do I recall something being said about your mother?” Ryurikov asked and took note of the tension drawing into Awimak’s long jaw. “Awi?”

PERHAPS.

“Don’t be evasive,” he grumbled. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever introduce us?”

YOU HAVE ALREADY MET.

Ryurikov raised his brows. “Unless she’s an oak somewhere in the Unbroken Wilds, I’m fairly certain I’ve not met her.”

Awimak grunted in amusement. SHE IS NOT AN OAK. SHE IS THE EARTH.

He tilted his head back understanding. “Forged from the earth.”

YES.

“Alright. But by whom?”

MEN.

“Humans?”

YES. BLACKSMITHS OF THE ARCANE FORGED ME FROM FLESH AND BONE, TO EXIST AS HUMAN. AND METAL AND SOIL, TO LIVE WITH TERRENE TENACIOUSNESS.

Ryurikov mused on that. “So, somebody somewhere fucked something earthly. A horse?”

The sound that left Awimak was one of dismay. Ryurikov’s stomach clenched with a laugh. “Why the long face?” He wheezed, hands tightening around the sturdy neck for fear of being dropped. “I lo–ah, you’re brilliant as you are. Long face, horse legs, and all. Wouldn’t change a thing.”

Fortunately, Awimak did not drop him.

“Where’s the town?” Valka was, once again, refusing to be discreet with her glances and smiles.

“Hard to miss,” Ryurikov said with a sigh. “It’s a fucking town surrounded by—”

IT MAY HAVE CHANGED SINCE OUR DEPARTURE.

Once they emerged from the forest, another large boscage greeted them, surrounded by a regressive barrier of rain. The trees looked different to those of the forest. More gnarly and ancient, contorted around familiar stonework and half-timbered structures. So large, they blocked the foot of the mountain where the town lay. Ryurikov gaped.

I SAID I WOULD MOVE FORESTS FOR YOU.

He didn’t need to explain it. Ryurikov understood his demon had tried to summon the Quinary to him by creating an entire fucking forest, town be damned. It left him speechless. Moved so deeply, he felt dizzy.

“Well,” he breathed once done reeling, “it looks much improved.”

Jezibaba spent some time standing before the barrier, muttering to herself, bony fingers tapping her shrivelled mouth in thought. It took a ridiculous amount of time, considering all the hag needed to do in the end was slap her hands together, then part them again. Like a translucent veil, the rain moved aside, while Ryurikov’s feet reconnected with the ground as Awimak gently set him down.

A lingering touch, and a lingering look. Ryurikov wasn’t particularly fond of not touching Awimak just then. His hand slid around the toned side just above the woven fabric attached to his hips, thunder grey skin silky smooth under his gloveless touch. Heat stirred his groin at Awimak’s low hum of pleasure, at the way his large claw came to cup his face, stroked his lips with a thumb.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ryurikov murmured.

WHAT?

He gestured at his own crotch. “It’s back.”

Awimak’s eyes blazed. I SHALL LIONISE YOUR COCK WHEN WE GET A MOMENT.

Valka’s snicker pulled Ryurikov out of his lusty haze. “You two are adorably nasty. Ready?”

“Just because you haven’t gotten laid in a while,” Ryurikov quipped.

“It has been a while.” She sighed with rue, adjusting her hold on his equipment and glancing up at giant trees overcasting the entire town. “Maybe I can find myself a demon-lady.”

Shadows darkened the stream. The minktoads continued to trill away, and the arched bridge was far more lopsided. Colossal roots pushed up its slats, lurching under Ryurikov’s feet. Trees more massive than he’d ever seen ensnared homes and shops alike, their dark green leaves keeping most of the smoke out.

What should have been an unsettling return to a place where he’d been murdered less than four days ago became strangely calming. Awimak was by his side and held his hand, soothing any stray nerves abrading the edges of his mind.

Ryurikov caught sight of the same inn the monk insisted he not go into, and his stomach grumbled. “I could do with a proper meal.”

He would have gladly ditched the hag and Valka, but a sudden commotion further down the shaded street had him sighing with exhaustion. Several of the townsfolk remained, appearing unbothered by the forest that now occupied their town, more concerned by his presence. Or rather, excited. They looked happy to see him. Men and women, even some children running to him, their voices overlapping to the point he couldn’t make out what they were saying. “Jarl” and, “new leader” were, unfortunately, unmistakable and impossible to ignore.

“No, thanks.” Ryurikov hastened past the gathering crowd. Panicked, when they followed. “Valka!”

His sister slowed her gait. The hag too turned at his perfectly normal, not-at-all flustered tone.

Valka’s eyebrows rose. “You’re popular.”

“You want to make things up to me?” Ryurikov panted, his hold on Awimak’s hand still firm. “Get rid of them. Where are the other crones?”

“In the palace,” muttered Jezibaba.

Ryurikov followed the hag up the crooked cobblestone path, but stopped in his tracks when he heard the melody of a flute.

He whirled, eyes widening at the way those in the crowd shifted and struggled, fighting internal manipulation. The youngest moved away without resistance. Only the adults were capable of an attempt at fighting it. Until their shoulders drooped and bodies slumped, and they moved away as though puppeteered.

“What the fuck, Valka!”

She looked at him, startled. “What? You asked me to—”

“Not to fucking manipulate them!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

A question that made Ryurikov’s vision spin with fury, crippling his ability to say anything at all. Had it not been for Awimak steadying him by the shoulders, he thought he might have collapsed.

Leaning against his demon’s body, he clutched at the bark-armoured forearm and glared at the thing that called herself his sister. “Why don’t you also liberate them of their organs?”

Her expression darkened. “I’m not a Clutcher. This is dragon magic!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what kind of bullshit it is. You’re robbing people of their autonomy—”

“Don’t judge, Ruri.” Valka faced him, securing the flute at her hip. “I’ve helped so many people with this.”

“Hurry up, you fools,” Jezibaba snapped. “I want to go back to my hut before morning.”

With a last look of disgust at Valka, Ryurikov spun on his heel and stalked after the witch, Awimak in tow. He didn’t blink once at the strung up bodies of the headless jarl and several of his daughters, dangling from the lowest branches of ancient trees. Two of them were missing. He wondered if they’d been the ones to knife him.

The presence chamber was as they’d left it, the window still shattered, what little light filtered through refracting on shards littering the floor. There was no animal being roasted. Rather, two of the crones he’d rescued sat on opposite sides by the fire. They still looked frail, but clean with a change of clothes. Black velvet dresses looked blood orange in the fire’s warmth, once again reminding Ryurikov that he was hungry.

“Brave of you to come here, Radojka.”

“We said we’d spell you into oblivion if we ever saw you.”

Ryurikov had discarded their names soon after leaving the crones, and did not care enough to ask. He was more focused on their hostility toward Jezibaba, grinning when the old buzzard turned to him with a glare, silently suggesting he ought to help. He didn’t step in, at least not until Awimak gently nudged him forward.

His legs felt stronger now, confidence returning to his stride as he approached the other witches. “I’m sure you recall I saved your lives.”

“That was four days ago, of course we remember,” said the hag with the short, nest-like hair.

“Then perhaps you’d be willing to do me the courtesy of explaining to that creature,” Ryurikov motioned at Jezibaba, “how your magic works?”

The one with the long, messy braid bristled. “Why, so she can give it to her sister to mangle?”

Ryurikov’s eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”

The short-haired crone side-eyed him. “You did not realise Radmila is her sister.”

“We thought it strange,” continued the other, “you keeping the company of the very one whose sister you tormented.”

His mouth went dry, realisation crawling up his spine to hook its claws into the back of his skull.

Not only did that explain Jezibaba’s absolute hatred for him, but it solidified what everyone keeping witches in their employ suspected. All hags had some kind of connection. They shared things with each other, they would have known about the childish cruelty he’d subjected Radmila to. Things even he felt a little guilty about now.

Short-Haired added, “Especially as it was Radmila who summoned the Skin Crawlers.”

Wood scraped across stone flooring. Ryurikov barely realised he’d collapsed to the bench, his legs gone weak. Awimak rushed to his side, reaching out to squeeze his shoulders, but Ryurikov was back on his feet again, rage spurring him forward. Spittle flew from his mouth with snarled swears. He lunged for Jezibaba, shock replacing her scowl. His fist connected squarely with her face.

There was no satisfaction to be had, despite Jezibaba’s tiny form flying backward and crumpling to the floor. Valka’s outcry echoed, she swooped down to the hag, her hands trembling, breathing pitched with panic.

“All this fucking time!” Ryurikov bellowed.

The long dagger was in his hand before he could think. His foot connected with Valka’s arm, her attempt to block no match for his wrath. His fingers twisted into the maroon fabric of Jezibaba’s long tunic, yanking her upright, blade pressing firmly into that wrinkled throat, drawing blood.

“All this time,” he snarled, “I thought it was me who had evoked them. And you let me believe it!”

“Awimak, please, stop him!” Valka’s plea was no more than a pathetic whimper.

Jezibaba’s orange eyes looked glazed, her nose clearly broken, no doubt seeping blood into the back of her throat. It cascaded over her jaw, dripped onto his fingers in green. She groaned, slowly recovering from a wallop that would have killed a lesser hag.

“It–It was your fault,” she said, voice muddy.

Ryurikov pressed the blade harder into her neck, longing to draw out her death, to make it as painful as he could.

“As mu–much as it is mine,” she added, to which he scoffed in disgust. “As much as it is Radmila’s.”

“No,” Ryurikov managed, applying yet more pressure to the blade. A little more, and she would die choking on her own blood. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“You terrorised my sister!”

“I was a child! A stupid, arrogant, fuckhead of a child. And so what, she condemns everyone just to punish me? Gets my sister to hate me?”

“She didn’t know what she was doing!” Jezibaba’s bony hand came up over his, but didn’t push the blade away. “You and your entire family pushed her into it. She was too far gone with hatred to know any better.”

Ryurikov’s mind hurtled back to that day again. The way Radmila had trembled, more than usual. The hatred in her eyes when he came in and she’d looked up from her tome, glowing a faint blue. He faltered. Awimak had said the Skin Crawlers weren’t his fault. He was not a liar. There had to be more to it.

“Awi,” he said, shakily. “You–You said this wasn’t my fault.”

IT IS NOT. His demon had come up behind him, doing nothing to stop or encourage him.

“I believed you!” he cried, cursing the crack in his voice.

IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT, RYURIKOV.Awimak gently stroked him across the back. I CANNOT SPEAK FOR THE ENCHANTRESS, I HAVE NOT SEEN HER MIND. MY DRURY, IT WOULD HAVE REQUIRED IMPOSSIBLE KNOWLEDGE TO SUMMON CREATURES SUCH AS THE SKIN CRAWLERS.