Page 41 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)
Chapter forty-one
Men
It takes hours before all the wounded are stabilized. We lose a dozen more people despite all the healers rushing to and fro under Nienad’s harsh commands. I barely stand, my body held together by a few sips of hot milk between patients and dozens of eggs that make my stomach hurt.
My heart is filled with sorrow. Draga won’t get her arm back, because not even Nienad knows of a magic spell that will make a lost limb grow back.
And Lech is in a coma.
He’s still breathing, but barely. He lost a lot of blood, and no matter how much magic and medicine I pour down his throat, he won’t wake. Rada sits by him, sleeping Dar in her arms. She cries without sobbing, big, glistening tears rolling down her perfect face, and I can’t force myself to go to her side and comfort her.
Because I feel like it’s all my fault.
“Get some sleep,” Nienad says gruffly, coming to stand next to me. “You did all you could. Those that are destined to pull through, will, and those that aren’t, well… They’ll come back one day.”
My tired mind serves up a memory of Woland’s speech. I turn to Nienad, trying to wrestle my exhausted thoughts into a semblance of order.
“He said he’d do away with death,” I say, my voice hushed. “Is that possible?”
The old planetnik shakes his head, his stormy eyes blinking away from my face. He looks a hundred years old, just how I feel.
“We’ll never know until we win this part of the fight, girl. Go. Get some sleep. Keep the master happy once he comes back. He’ll need a lot of comforting from his consort.”
I clench my jaw and turn away, but my anger flares only weakly. I have no more fire in me to support anything but the horrible, heart-wrenching guilt.
Because I can’t stop thinking that maybe if I let Woland claim me, Draga would still have both arms and Lech would be well. I look around, taking in the rows of people lying on makeshift straw beds right on the ground. Most of them sleep, either healed or on the mend, but some sob over lost loved ones or curl up from pain that only time can cure.
I remember those same people smiling in welcome when Wera announced I was one of them. I remember them drinking in my honor. And now, here they lie, defeated and broken.
There is always one thing you can do to make sure we’ll win.
The guilt flares, hot and suffocating, and I run out of the cavern without even speaking to Rada or Draga. I don’t know what to do. Back home, the choice was obvious—I didn’t know why Woland wanted to claim me, and the fight we fought was between me and him. Yet now, hundreds of lives are on the line. Thousands, if I were to include all the inhabitants of Slawa who suffer under Perun’s cruel tolls.
And if what Woland told me is true, and Perun has his eyes on the mortal world, the number of people affected by my choice becomes too huge to comprehend.
I cannot bear the responsibility and guilt. For the first time since this battle started, I feel strongly that maybe I am the one in the wrong.
Maybe I’m selfish. What’s one life, even if it’s mine, compared to the lives of millions?
And yet, is Woland truly the one who’ll save them all?
I make it to our chamber with my last strength. Woland’s gone, off to whatever duties called him away from the rebel base, and I both loathe his absence and feel relieved. He’s the only person I can talk to about this, the only one here who knows about the prophecy, and yet, I still don’t trust him.
We were supposed to win. He was so confident. But dozens of his people are dead or hurt, and we gained nothing.
The wall will be fixed within a day. The toll will come, just like always, or maybe worse. Because Perun, enraged by another rebel attack, will terrorize the city in retaliation.
I throw off my clothes with jerky movements, anger giving me the burst of energy I need to battle my bone-deep weariness. I haven’t changed or washed since the battle, and now I scrub myself viciously, my mind spinning in circles.
I could call Woland’s name. He’d come. And I could tell him I belong to him. It would be done.
A part of me longs for the easy way out, because it is so easy. I’ll be free of the responsibility and guilt if I let him claim me. Whatever he does with the victory will be his triumph or fault, and I’ll be on the sidelines, no longer instrumental to anything.
But then, living by his side, I will have to watch the consequences of my choice every day. And if he fails to keep his word, if he hurts the people of Slawa even worse than Perun, there will be no way for me to stop him.
I dunk my head under water in the tub and release all my air in a mute scream. I don’t know what to do, and yet, every piece of my body demands I do something. Sleep would probably help me clear my head, but I know I won’t be able to lie in bed even for a minute.
All those screams of pain, and the bodies we left behind, feel like accusations. I cannot sleep while the rebels suffer.
Clean and dressed in a pair of trousers and a shirt, I call for a meal. It arrives instantly, hot bread dripping with butter and a few pieces of cheese and roast carrots, served with hot milk sweetened with honey. I eat everything, then pack a few eggs into a satchel. My magic is barely a hum in my chest, almost depleted. I still have to go.
In the cavern, I step carefully, avoiding my friends. And still, just when I’m about to slip out through the unguarded door, someone grabs my hand.
I turn, bracing for a fight, but it’s only Lutowa.
“Going out to assess the damage?” she asks, pointing with her triangular chin at the door. “Perun’s probably beyond pissed. Poor people.”
She doesn’t sound like she’s sorry. Her eyes sparkle, and it seems like she grabbed at least a few hours of sleep while I tended to the wounded.
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask on an impulse. I hate being alone with my guilt. Maybe talking to Lutowa will distract me long enough to deal with the worst of it.
She snorts, rolling her eyes.
“So the good people of Slawa can stone me when I’m still weak after the battle? No, thank you. You know that as long as we don’t win, I can’t show my face up in the city. At this rate, I’ll never be able to live on the surface. But you go. Bring me a few kolaches.”
She pats my shoulder and turns away, leaving me crushed by so much more guilt. She’s right—as a bieda, Lutowa is banished from the city. That’s why most biedas joined Woland’s movement. He promised them acceptance long ago, and yet, they are still forced to hide underground like rats.
But then, Woland’s promises are his own to keep. If he doesn’t, that’s not my fault.
Except, hasn’t he tried to bring his people the victory they all want? Hasn’t he done everything in his might to coax, cajole, threaten, and force me?
Does it mean he’s cruel? Or a good leader? My head pounds with the impossibility of trying to figure him out.
The walk up the stairs winds me, and I’m breathless and sweaty by the time I emerge into the cold, clear day in the city. My cloak is folded in my bag, and I take it out, swaddling myself in the warm wool. It’s not noon yet, but the streets are busy despite the early hour. The toll must have rolled through the land in the early morning.
I grip the edges of my cloak and rush to the milk bar, stinting myself even a bit of magic for warmth. Other people walk like me, fast, their eyes cast down on the uneven cobbles slick with ice. I almost slip a few times before relenting. I send a tiny spell to the soles of my shoes, making their grip better.
On my way, I pass two dragons, their strides long and angry as they throw harsh looks around. Neither stops me, but their presence in the streets makes the air feel tight and anxious. Normally, they don’t patrol the streets on foot, preferring to guard the city from the air. The guard must be on high alert since our fight yesterday.
The milk bar isn’t busy yet, just a handful of patrons sitting at tables and sipping from mamunas who chat with each other, exchanging gossip. As soon as the door closes behind me, I let myself relax, drinking in the warmth and the familiar, sweet scent of breast milk hanging heavy in the air.
This feels like home. It’s the first place that offered me security in Slawa. It’s where I tried to build my magical life, independent and free of Woland’s shadow.
A part of me misses those days with heart-rending longing.
“Alina, dear! Welcome!” Zlotomira rushes to me from her place behind the bar, her bare breasts bouncing with quick steps. “Or should I call you Jaga now? Sit down, dear. What would you like to drink? Wine? Ale? Or maybe Kata?”
She waves her hand toward a free mamuna, a young one with bright blue eyes and pink nipples. She smiles, and I smile back.
“Just nettle brew, I think. I haven’t slept much.”
“Oh, of course!” Zlotomira’s voice drops down to a whisper. “So it’s true? The rebels attacked the fence last night?”
I know from Draga Zlotomira is sympathetic to Woland’s cause, so I nod, looking around furtively. No one appears to listen to our conversation. An upir and a small, dark-haired girl with old eyes, who’s probably a cicha, are busy drinking their milk.
Still, this isn’t a safe space to speak.
“Could we talk somewhere private?” I ask quietly. “I need your advice on a rather sensitive matter.”
Her eyes light up with a warm smile. Zlotomira likes nothing more than secrets and being asked for advice.
“Of course, dear! Come, we can go into my office. It’s very private. So much magic is woven into those walls.”
I follow her to the back of the bar. Just as we go into the comfortable room equipped with a sitting area, a desk, and two tall cupboards, a young serving girl leaves a tray with food, my brew and a beer for Zlotomira. I take off my cloak and sit on a sturdy stool, taking a deep breath.
As I gather my thoughts, my eyes wander, taking in the white-washed walls covered with tapestries woven from orange, pink, and purple wool. They make the space cozy. A small fire crackles merrily in the hearth.
I have no idea if I did the right thing coming here, but the mamuna was the only trustworthy person I could think of. I wish I could speak to Wiosna, but she’s locked far away in Nawie. And calling on Chors again is out of the question—Woland would find me just like the last time.
I don’t trust him, but I don’t want to hurt him.
“Can I speak freely?” I ask when Zlotomira blinks at me with her bright, curious eyes.
She nods. “Call on Weles for all I care. My office is safe from spies.”
I nod with a breath of relief. I already knew she was dependable when she spoke up to the dragon who wanted to rape Rada. Now I see she doesn’t mince words.
“I need you to be honest with me. What do you think will happen if the rebels win?”
She blinks, surprised. I think she expected a personal matter, and not a hypothetical discussion about the rebellion, but if she’s disappointed, she doesn’t show it.
“Well, I do not think the rebels have a chance of winning. It’s been going on for centuries, dear, and they made no headway. Perun is too powerful. The only one who can challenge him is his brother, but he gave up long ago. The devil is clever, I’ll give him that, and he’s managed to put up resistance for a long time. But if it came to a duel between him and Perun, he’d lose.”
I cock my head to the side. “I thought you supported the rebellion. Why support a movement that can’t win?”
“Because what the dragons do to us is not right! Someone has to fight and resist, if only to show them that.”
Zlotomira purses her lips, pushing a plate of buttered bread with powidla my way.
“They come in here sometimes and force my girls to serve them, just like they force the wilas in the brothel or right on the streets. And there’s nothing we can do, because if anyone resists, they are captured and tried for treason. We need someone to put a stop to this injustice. Only, your rebellion won’t be it.”
“But what if they could win?” I press. “What if there was a way for Woland to defeat Perun right this second?”
Zlotomira chuckles under her breath. “Then we’d have a party. We’d milk that moment of freedom for all its worth. The tolls would be over. People would dance in the streets.”
I fold my arms on my chest, unconvinced. “But after? Let’s say, a year after Woland’s victory. What do you think it would look like?”
She looks into the fire, growing serious. “Hm. I believe the control would be more lax. Better for business. I’m not sure, though. See, Perun wants to keep us all in the city, where he can milk us for magic. That’s all he wants. But why does your devil want to rule, if that’s his true goal? If you learn that, you’ll know what his world will look like.”
I sit back, thinking. Gods, she’s right. And I’ve never asked myself this question, not once.
Why does Woland want to defeat Perun? What’s his true purpose? I have no idea, and it bares how little I truly know about him.
“Could he just want power?” I ask, not even pretending that I believe Woland is led by an unselfish goal, like freeing the people of Slawa. “Isn’t that what all men want? Power and obedience?”
She laughs, slapping her knee. “Oh, you innocent girl. You’d be surprised. So many men want just the opposite. We see them here all the time. They want to be ordered to crawl, or even to lick my mamunas’ milk off the floor like dogs and be praised for it. Now, I cannot speak to what the devil wants. Possibly, he just wants power. But that seems like a simple goal for someone who’s been alive for so long.”
I want to ask her about the men who crawl for women, because the idea intrigues me in a way that brings a flush to my cheeks. But it’s not why I’m here, so I let it go.
“What could he want, other than power?”
Zlotomira grins, chuckling under her breath. “That, my dear, I cannot tell you. But if what Draga tells me is true, and you are his favorite, let me give you that piece of advice you came to ask.”
She leans over the table, beckoning me closer.
“Men talk best when they are relaxed, lying in bed, their balls empty, stomachs full. Ask him when you have him like this, and whatever he tells you or doesn’t should give you a clue. Now, eat the bread. We make the powidla right here in the bar, with plums that hang on through the first frost. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, and it will be the sweetest you’ve ever tasted.”
I thank her and dig in, my mind churning. Maybe she’s right. Maybe all I need to do is suck Woland’s cock and ask him. Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the best.