Page 19 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter nineteen

Rebel

“This is the granary,” Lech says, pointing at a tall door in the central area of Woland’s underground kingdom. “And that tunnel leads to the other side of the river. It goes right underneath. Took a feat of magic to keep it safe and dry.”

The ceilings are high here, giving the illusion of spaciousness. I feel trapped, though, constantly aware of the sheer mass of earth and rock piled on top of me. I know it won’t fall—the tunnels have been dug and expanded centuries ago, and it was done by none other than Weles. All the rebels going about their tasks seem used to staying so deep underground, and I strive not to show my nerves.

Lech gives me a tour, and the more I see, the more I realize the tunnels are like a second city, completely hidden from view, self-reliant thanks to powerful magic that brings in fresh water and air.

Woland’s rebellion is impressive, I grudgingly admit. According to Lech, over a thousand people live down here and follow his orders. Lech is one of the foot soldiers, relegated to painting rebellion marks in the city and recruiting promising candidates—which was why he took interest in me from the start.

“You were an obvious choice,” he says, eyes sliding to my bruised throat and right back up. He keeps glancing at it, and every time he does, I grow more frustrated. “You were new, not yet blinded by Perun’s propaganda. Powerful, too. I let you see the worst of what happens up there, but I had to make sure you could be trusted before I brought you here. This is the forge.”

We enter a vast hall, as large as Woland’s quarters but with a higher, pillar-supported ceiling. Sounds of fighting fill the room. Over two dozen people are here, training in pairs or threes, each group taking up a clearly delineated rectangle of the stone floor.

It’s not a smithy, then. It’s a place where fighters are forged.

“Hand to hand combat, weapon fighting, and further down, magic training. Come on, let’s take a look. The duels are always fun to watch.”

We walk down a path marked with red ribbons, which Lech says is the only safe area in the forge. On either side of us, people of various races fight, and I look this way and that with wide eyes, taking in the different fighting styles. Mortals usually wrestle or swing blades at each other, but here are chochols, whose light, feathered bodies allow them to jump high and far, and bearlike kobolds, who can crush their opponents with their sheer mass. A pair of upir women fight each other using long sticks that slash and parry at a dizzying speed.

“Do you see the barriers? They contain the magic so it doesn’t hit someone by accident.”

We reach the area devoted to magic duels. The stations are bigger, the floor colored purple, and each rectangle shimmers at the edges, the air slightly distorted. As I watch, the strzyga I met when we arrived here throws a flurry of half-transparent needles at her mamuna opponent, who ducks out of the way. The needles hit the shimmering barrier and disappear, the barrier flashing with bright light.

“Look, the traitor is here,” the strzyga shouts, shooting me an ugly look, her milky eyes narrowed. “Came to fight? I’ll wipe the floor with you, girly. I don’t care how much the master likes your cunt. Traitors don’t last here long.”

My fingers twitch as I hold her unsettling gaze, baring my teeth in response to her snarl.

“Why should I fight you?” I ask with a tight laugh when I notice the quiet spreading around us. The others are watching. “I already defeated you once. Just one little spell, and you slept like a baby. Maybe challenge me again once you learn something.”

The strzyga lunges in my direction with a horrible screech that makes my ears explode with pain. A strange thing happens. When she reaches the shimmering barrier, her body flattens against it like it’s a wall. She can’t leave the duel area.

The mamuna, her ample breasts bound tightly with swathes of white fabric, grabs the strzyga by the hair and tugs her back, her muscular arm burgeoning with strength. The strzyga whirls around and attacks the mamuna, who blasts her in the face with a cloud of dark dust she produces out of thin air.

The strzyga falls to her knees, coughing as she scratches at her eyes.

“We’re not done yet,” the mamuna woman says, winking at me. “Get up, Wera.”

Her long, brown hair is pulled into a mass of tiny braids that are tied into a knot on her nape. Her skin is light brown, eyes tilting at the outer corners. Her entire body is a work of art, each muscle big and chiseled with surgical precision. I could use her to study anatomy for healing.

“Zlotomira had only good things to say about you,” she says before she turns back to the strzyga, who spits at her feet, her wrinkled face red, eyes teary. “You’ll be training with me tomorrow, new girl.”

“Then you’re a traitor, too,” the strzyga snaps, directing her open palm at the mamuna.

A current of light shoots out. The mamuna blocks it with her crossed hands, the light dissipating against metal braces she wears on her forearms.

“That’s Draga,” Lech murmurs while the two fight, the strzyga launching small, cutting spells at the mamuna, who dodges them deftly, fast on her feet despite her burly frame. “She’s one of our best fighters. It seems the master has already arranged your lessons.”

“And the strzyga?” I ask. “Is she important?”

Lech clears his throat. “Wera is one of the master’s oldest followers. She has a lot of sway here, and she’s very… set in her ways. You have nothing to fear, though. She’d never disobey a direct order, and the master made it clear you are to be welcomed and supported. Since he punished you himself, no one else has a right to touch you outside of training.”

I finger the scab that has formed over the ugly wound on my throat. I wish I could make Woland wear one just like it, since I drank as much of his blood as he did mine.

“Set in her ways?” I ask when Draga grips Wera by the arm and throws the strzyga straight into the barrier around their training rectangle, making it pulse with red light. “What does it mean?”

Lech directs me with a wave of his arm, and we walk back through the forge while he explains in a quiet murmur.

“The rebellion used to be much smaller a few centuries ago. It was before Perun got aggressive with the toll, and few people saw reasons to fight him. Wera believes the old way was better. According to her, every newcomer is a potential traitor, even though we desperately need more people. The battles we fight are much more challenging than in the past. She still thinks we’re fighting in an uprising, but the master calls it a war now, and he’s right.”

“The master,” I mutter under my breath. “The man shits and pisses just like everyone, you know.”

A ghost of Lech’s familiar smirk grazes his lips. “I’d be careful with comments like this one, darli… Jaga. If you let some of the rebels know you’re privy to the master’s bathroom habits, they will beg you to sneak out some of his waste so they can put it on their altars.”

I make a face. “You’re joking. Please, say you’re joking.”

“He’s more powerful than a lot of Perun’s gods,” Lech says, growing serious. “Even though he doesn’t call himself a god, he is worshipped here.”

I scoff, remembering very well how Woland tried to convince me of his divine nature. He might not ask his followers to call him a god, but he surely demanded it from me.

Just like he told me to call him master when I was on my knees in front of him. I wonder if it gives him a thrill every time his followers bow and address him that way. It definitely seems like he gets off on it.

“This is one of the kitchens,” Lech says, leading me into a vast space crowded with chochols and kobolds cutting vegetables and meat on large tables laden with produce. Three enormous hearths crackle with fire, big pots bubbling over the flames. The space doesn’t smell of smoke at all.

“Lech!” A tall chochol woman with a vicious-looking black beak and gray feathers on her arms comes over, giving him a keen stare with her orange eyes. “I heard some rumors that you brought your blood bag down here!”

Lech stiffens, and I shoot him a curious look.

“She’s not a blood bag,” he says with a tight smile. “Sure, it started that way. But now… I don’t know. Don’t call her that.”

“Oooh, is my testy upir boy finally in love? High time!” The chochol woman’s eyes turn to me, and she clicks her beak. “Heard you brought in a volatile witchling, too. Hello, dear. My name’s Krystyna, but everyone calls me Egg.”

“I’m Jaga. Why are you called Egg?”

The woman clicks her beak again, her voice cheerful. “Because I was one of the best con women before I decided to stop letting the big ones suck my magic. I could swap eggs with no one being the wiser, and all it took was swift fingers and some charm.”

I understand what she means. She probably swapped charged eggs for empty ones, conning people into thinking she paid them. I give her a smile, making a point to remember her face, names, and skill. This one is useful to know.

She wiggles her clawed fingers at us. “Gotta go back to work! Hope you like tonight’s dinner, Jaga!”

“Please, don’t mention this to Rada,” Lech says with a sour face as we leave. “I don’t want her to feel hurt.”

I nod slowly. “I assume a blood bag is someone you use as food and don’t care about?”

Lech nods with a heavy sigh. “She’s not that. She never really was. It’s just… The rebels are tough people who can hold a grudge. And since Rada wasn’t one of us, she was fair game to anyone who had a bone to pick with me. It’s better if you aren’t seen caring about other people too much, especially those on the outside.”

“Hm.” I look around the next place he leads me into, which is a vast, low-ceilinged dining room. Rows upon rows of tables and benches fill the space, a quarter of them occupied by upirs and a few other types of creatures. The tables are laden with pitchers and cups, no food in sight.

As Lech serves himself some blood, I think about what he said. Woland made the same argument—caring about others is a weakness. Love is a weakness.

That’s not what worries me, though. If Lech’s fears are justified, it means he has enemies in the rebel ranks. Enemies determined enough to hurt his loved ones if they don’t belong to the movement.

I can’t imagine fighting side by side with people who wish me ill. I’d never feel safe knowing they might stab me in the back during a battle.

“But now that she’s here, Rada is safe?” I press when Lech comes back, his meal devoured within seconds.

“Yes. It’s forbidden to attack other rebels outside of training, which is why most people here hate you already. You really did a number on us, darli… Fuck. Jaga, you attacked some of the old guard, like Wera. They will never trust you, no matter what you do, and many others listen to them. But now that you’re sufficiently punished, they should leave you alone. He did you a favor.”

Lech points at my throat, and I bristle. “I should remember choking someone means doing them a favor.”

He smirks. “Sure it is. In the right context, there’s nothing better.”

I look away, feeling my cheeks burn. Lech laughs under his breath. “I knew that wasn’t a real punishment. A man who looks at a woman like that…” But he breaks off, clearing his throat.

“What?” I ask sharply. “Finish your thought.”

He shakes his head and changes the topic. “There are three kitchens. One prepares meats and vegetables, the other is more like a butcher’s shop, mostly dealing with meat, and one is basically a prison where we keep, well, the blood bags.”

I stop and stare at him. Lech shrugs, looking away.

“How many prisoners are kept here right now?” I ask, emulating Woland’s tone of idle curiosity which he uses when he wants me to answer easily, as if he doesn’t really care to know.

“I don’t know. A dozen, maybe two. They are mostly war prisoners, but might also be rebels serving a sentence for breaking the rules. If Wera had attacked you back there, she would already be locked up and drained for blood, for example.”

Lech motions down the corridor, and I resume walking. “All right. What are the other important rules here?”

“I think you should ask the master what rules he wants you to follow,” the upir demurs, pointing toward a narrow corridor with rows of doors on either side. “Living quarters. Can I leave you for a moment? I want to check on Rada.”

I grab his arm, turning him to me. Lech’s blue eyes widen when they meet mine, his lips pursing.

“Wait. Lech, you can call me ‘darling’ if you want. It’s what you call almost everyone.”

His laugh is bitter and mocking as he gives me a patronizing look. “No, Jaga, I really can’t.”

“Why?” I stomp my foot, willing him to treat me the same way he always did. Lech has grown so distanced and stiff around me, it doesn’t feel like we’re friends anymore.

“Because he calls you that,” he says, lips curving in a condescending smirk as he shakes off my hand. “Things are different now. To be frank, I’d prefer to be anywhere but near you. You’re a fucking hazard.”

I reel back as if slapped. Lech sighs, rolling his eyes at my reaction.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a snort. “He hasn’t kept a woman for longer than a month in the past. Soon, you’ll fall out of favor and everything will go back to normal. Enjoy it while it lasts, and for fuck’s sake, don’t touch me ever again. I don’t want to die.”

With that, he turns and walks away. I gape after his retreating back, my eyes burning. Before any tears have a chance to fall, I grit my teeth and turn away, scanning the area for a safe space to hide. Gods, I just want to be alone for a moment.

But luck isn’t on my side. The two upir women I saw fighting in the forge come my way, their eyes sharp as they focus on me. I brace my shoulders, seeing their expressions. I know immediately they won’t be my friends.

The taller one, who has blonde hair and light gray eyes, stands in front of me with a mocking smirk.

“You must have done something really humiliating to entice him,” she says without a greeting, scanning me from head to toe with clear scorn. “You’re not beautiful and you’re certainly not smart, because attacking Wera was the stupidest thing a new recruit could do. So, what did you do? Lick his shit off the floor? Is that why you’re here?”

Lech’s cold rejection still rings in my ears, overlaid on top of Woland’s voice telling me he’d rather kill me than lose. My throat is tight, my body rigid, and somehow, I am so weary, so confused, I can’t shut the hurt away like I always do.

Or maybe it’s not the exhaustion. Maybe I grew complacent, spending weeks with my friends and forgetting how to survive. In any case, my self-control is gone. I’m unleashed, and it’s a relief of sorts.

I know exactly what to say, because the woman’s line of attack shows me she’s jealous. Probably one of those people who have an altar devoted to the devil.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” I say, drawing myself up. I’m almost as tall as her, and I make use of every inch of my height. “But why are you asking? Hoping to get some tips so you can be the next in line? I’ll make sure to leave some scraps for you once I’m done with him.”

An ugly spasm contorts her features. “You’ll be gone in a few weeks at the latest,” she hisses, getting right in my face. “And we’ll remember long after he forgets you. You’ll pay for what you did. Traitor.”

“Why wait?” I ask, mad laughter bubbling in my chest. “No one’s here, just you and me. It’s two on one. Come on, bitch. Put your fists where your mouth is.”

I don’t even care that if she attacks me, I’ll probably have more bruises and wounds to deal with. I have some magic to defend myself, but if I want my provocation to work, I need it to be clear that they attacked me first.

The upir woman sneers, her eyelid twitching. I notice her lashes and eyebrows are as fair as her hair. Behind her, a shadow slithers along the wall.

“I’m not as stupid as you,” she hisses. “I won’t attack his whore. But if I were you, I’d keep that mouth shut. These tunnels aren’t safe. What if a rock falls on your head one day? Something to think about.”

I burst out laughing when another shadow creeps down the wall, then another. She frowns at me, unsure why I cackle.

“Sweetheart,” I say, looking over her shoulder, where I suspect he is, invisible yet watching. “You’ve got it all wrong. You think I’m his whore, but the truth is, it’s the other way round. You know what the secret is? You need to make him your blood bag. He loves nothing more than to kneel for a woman.”

Her eyes bulge, confusion and then outrage burning in their depths.

Behind her, the shadows take form of an antlered silhouette. His eyes are locked on mine, and they burn with fury.