Page 42 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter forty-two

Creation

I try to pay for my meal before I go, but Zlotomira waves my eggs away.

“Stay safe, dear, and come back any time. There will always be a room for you here.”

Hot tears burn my eyes as I thank her. When she hugs me, it is maternal in a way I never expected to be hugged. Her warm arms and the smell of breast milk envelop me, and I have to bite my tongue to keep the tears from falling. I tell myself it’s just from sleep deprivation.

Outside, the sun has set. It’s only afternoon, and the taverns are as busy as always, bawdy music filtering out through the windows. I walk fast, barely paying attention to my surroundings. Yet halfway up a narrow street leading to the bridge, something prickles my nape. The air I breathe in grows warm, just for one breath. It smells of cherries and cut grass, and I look up, my heart pounding.

Ahead is that shape again, the same one I saw on the bridge when I was out with Lech. I already know she’s a woman, but I have no idea who she is. She stands still, and I do, too, waiting for her to move.

The door of a house up the street opens, throwing the flickering light of a candle on the cobbles. The woman disappears, the dark shape of her cloak melting into the dark.

Eerie.

I resolve to ask Lutowa or Nienad if they know of a bies that shows up in the dark, accompanied by the scent of summer. She can’t be a poludnica. They hide away in the night and only come out in sunlight. What else could she be?

In the rebel base, the cavern is still filled with healing rebels, though fewer now. The bodies have been removed, and those well enough to walk have left for their quarters. I spot the red of Lech’s hair and head that way. He’s still asleep.

“Rada left to get some food,” Lutowa says, coming over. She holds a basket of small apples that she pops in her mouth, barely chewing. “Nienad says he’s better. He should wake up within a day.”

I sag against a pillar, pressing my hand to my chest in relief. “Praise Weles! I am so relieved. Here, have a reward for being the bearer of good news. I brought you kolaches and a jar of mamuna powidla.”

“Really?” The bieda buries her nose in the linen napkin wrapped around the baked goods. “These smell amazing. I owe you one!”

I laugh at her enthusiasm. The weight of guilt in my chest is somewhat lighter after speaking with Zlotomira, and having a clear path ahead makes me feel less overwhelmed. Lech’s recovery lifts my mood enough to be hopeful about the future.

“I think you can repay the favor with information. I met some sort of female bies, and I have a weird feeling about her.”

Lutowa listens to my brief description of the woman I saw. When I mention the scents—of hay, cherries, and rosemary—her eyes widen, and she laughs like a girl who’s just been asked to her first Kupala Night.

“You saw Mokosz in the city!” she says, clapping her hands. “Oh, joy! Finally, some good news.”

I shake my head, confused. “Mokosz? But… I thought it was just some bies…”

Lutowa shakes her head, her cheeks pink with excitement. “No, it’s clearly her! Oh, Jaga, do you know what this means?”

I shake my head, because I have no clue whatsoever. If anything, I’m anxious, my heart settling into a fast, stuttering rhythm. Because why would Mokosz, the goddess of fertility, Perun’s wife, be interested in me? I saw her twice. It cannot bode well.

“It means Perun is away!” Lutowa exclaims, turning in place until her tattered dress swirls around her knobby knees. “We could go out! Go, tell the master immediately. I can’t wait!”

She pushes me toward Woland’s chamber, and I walk slowly, confused but too overcome with anxiety to ask more questions. I don’t know whether Woland’s back, but even if he isn’t, I know I must sleep or I’ll burst into tears like a child. Besides, bed is where I should be if I want to question him the way Zlotomira suggested.

My legs ache as I walk down the stairs, sighing to myself. It’s all good for Woland to room here, since he can transport himself in a puff of smoke. I, however, have to walk all those stairs every time. It’s not fair.

I’m about to open the door to our chamber when I hear voices drifting in from the other side. I freeze, listening closely. Ever since I started living here, Woland never had any guests. Who’s there?

Instead of coming in, I press my ear to the door, willing my hearing to sharpen magically until I can make out their words.

“I need to get going before I’m missed,” a gruff male voice says, a voice I heard somewhere but can’t place. “Like I said, it’s below five thousand sick. You’d have to try harder to get more. Rats aren’t working as well as you anticipated.”

I press my hand to my mouth and brace my mental barrier behind my eyes, getting ready in case Woland will try to remove this conversation from my memory later. I have no idea what the man is talking about, but I can tell with visceral certainty that I’m not supposed to hear this.

“We’ve considered distributing contaminated eggs as a charity movement,” Woland says, his voice dispassionate and brisk. “Your thoughts?”

The other man laughs coldly. “That might work until they figure it out. There’s a lot of rumors already, and we only hear so much. Don’t you have people keeping an ear to the ground in the gutters down the mountain?”

Gutters. So that’s what the poor areas filled with sick people barely scraping by are called. My nape shivers with disgust. There’s so much scorn in that word, scorn those people don’t deserve.

Woland makes a gruff, dismissive sound. “I’ll send someone. What rumors did you hear?”

“That the rot is either Perun’s punishment or the work of another bored god. Strzybog’s name came up. In any case, people are wary. Once they realize something’s wrong with your eggs, no one will touch them.”

I bite my tongue, my heart beating faster and faster. The rot. Does it mean it’s not a natural disease? Is Woland behind it? I press myself into the door with my whole body as if that would let me hear better. I desperately want to see Woland’s guest. I’m sure I heard his voice somewhere before.

“Good input. Let me send you back,” the devil says, and something scrapes, maybe his throne. “And I’ll call on you again soon.”

He is leaving, and most likely not through the door. I make an effort to wipe my face clean of emotion and open the door without knocking. It is, after all, my room. I cross the threshold looking down, and pretend to be startled when I raise my head and see the two men.

“Oh, hello!” I say with a breathless smile. “You’re here!”

But then I see who stands next to Woland. My smile freezes on my face.

He’s a dragon, but it’s not Foss. No, he’s big, burly, and the hints of scales on his cheekbones are rusty. His unfriendly eyes take me in with cold appraisal, and my skin crawls as I remember when I saw him for the first time—raping a wila in an alley.

“My consort,” Woland says, his eyes narrowing when I don’t move, my mouth open, eyes wide. “You can meet another time. Goodbye.”

Before I have a chance to blink, shadows wrap around the dragon, and he’s gone. The door behind me shuts with a clang, touching my back. I barely entered the room.

“I take it you know him,” Woland says, prowling carefully closer.

There is such unnatural calm in him. He watches me like a predator waiting to pounce on a mouse, and I yank my barriers tighter, thinking fast. I cannot let on I heard their conversation, but my reaction just now revealed that I know the dragon. That I can’t lie about.

“Why are you entertaining the second in command of the dragon guard?” I ask tightly, shooting Woland a suspicious look as I brace myself for the fight that’s coming.

He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They are calculating in a way that makes my legs weak with foreboding. The warm, affectionate lover from before the battle is gone. This Woland is a stranger, maybe even an enemy.

“Because he serves me, not Perun. His name is Igor. And as of yesterday, he is the captain. His predecessor died.”

Died. Probably killed by Woland in the battle. I huff with outrage. Igor was bad enough as the second in command, but with unchecked power over the city, he will be a nightmare. The likes of him should never rule over others.

“He’s a rapist,” I hiss. “I bet he has dozens of bastard children all over the city.”

Woland raises an eyebrow, some of his tension seeping away. He regards me with something bordering on amusement.

“Do you begrudge him?” he asks, sweeping his arm toward the table to invite me to sit. “We need to repopulate the city, you know. His efforts should be appreciated.”

I gape, not moving from my spot by the door. “What? Didn’t you hear me? He rapes women!”

Woland shrugs and turns away, walking back to his throne. A bottle of my wine sits on the table, and as he settles in, it tips to fill his goblet.

“I thought he had a preference for wilas. What exactly do you mind?”

“What do I…”

I am speechless from outrage as I follow him. When I stand by his side, Woland raises an eyebrow in mild interest, his posture relaxed. I hit the table with both fists.

“I mind him being a rapist!”

The devil has the gall to snort with amusement. “Taking a wila is not rape. That’s what they are made for, and the only reason for their existence. Now, I’d be concerned if the man had a taste for biedas. They weren’t made for fucking. But wilas? Sex is what they live for.”

I release a shocked breath, gaping with disbelief. I can’t understand what he’s saying. Rada’s face flashes in my mind’s eye, terrified as a dragon coaxed her away to rape her. She’s more than a body to fuck.

“They are sentient beings with wills of their own,” I say, my voice dropping low, shock turning into fury. “They have feelings! How can you even say that when you have wilas right here, serving your cause? Don’t you care about your people?”

Woland shrugs mildly, not in the least shamed by my words. “I don’t have many wila followers, to be fair. Their magic is weak.”

I reel away as if slapped. He watches me over the rim of his goblet, his eyes curious. I hate that I am so agitated while he’s completely calm, so I make an effort to tighten my control and sit down rigidly, placing my clasped hands on the table.

“Be that as it may, they aren’t toys made for other people’s whims,” I hiss. “They are people.”

He takes a sip of his wine and puts the goblet away, his eyes flashing with a triumphant smile.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, love,” he says, the endearment mocking. “Because I was there when Strzybog made the first wila, and that was precisely his purpose: to make a toy. He fucked her for a few days without breaks before he finally got bored, and then went off to make more wilas. That’s their only purpose: to be fucked. He even made sure they didn’t have enough magic to resist.”

For a moment, I don’t know what to say. His argument is so profoundly wrong, I don’t even understand why I should quarrel against it. A god’s whim shouldn’t decide a person’s life and purpose. Woland takes another sip and snorts, watching me struggle.

“If that helps, I told Strzybog it was a moronic idea. Creating a bies should be a thoughtful process, because, as you said, they are sentient beings. But all he cares about is satisfying his stupid whims. Did you know Strzybog created mamunas, too? He had a thing for lactating women, so he made himself a large-breasted bies that constantly makes milk. Fucking idiot.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “So that’s it? Just because… Because a god with no sense made them that way, they are all sentenced to a life of being used? How is that right? It’s not their fault!”

Woland sighs heavily, and I can tell he’s getting impatient. “But it is their fault, sweetheart. Don’t you know why people become bieses? It’s because they are to blame for something. That’s how it works.”

“But sometimes their only fault is dying gruesomely,” I hiss, frustrated. “It’s not right!”

Woland only shrugs. “Tell that to Perun. It’s his rule, after all.”

That’s as good an opening as any. I rally my self-control to contain my anger, even though I want to scream at Woland for working with a rapist dragon. He clearly doesn’t mind, for all his clever arguments.

“And what will your rules be? If you win?”

He sprawls more comfortably in his throne, watching me for a long moment before he speaks, his voice calm and careful. He’s on his guard, making me suspicious.

Here come the lies or deflection.

“I’ll forbid Strzybog from creating any more types of bies, for sure. I don’t believe we need more kinds, in any case. The society of Slawa is varied enough. Maybe too varied.

“It all started as gods’ play in the mortal world, and before we knew it, we had a city and multiple kinds of people living here. Perun decided they would be his after death, because he was jealous of Weles’ rule over mortal souls in Nawie. That’s why he encouraged other gods to make more bieses out of people who died violently or committed great crimes. He wanted more bies souls flitting around his tree.”

The devil hasn’t truly answered my question, but my curiosity is piqued.

“So first, there were the gods,” I say slowly, trying to make sense of the world I live in. “And then, Weles created mortals. And… And when gods got bored, they started turning mortals into bieses.”

Woland nods, taking another sip.

“Mostly, yes. Once Weles showed them what was possible with magic, everyone suddenly wanted to be a creator. But like with anything in life, making new things comes with unforeseen consequences.”

He smiles a private smile, looking away into the large fireplace on his right. The fire is low, the wood dark red with heat. I sit quietly, waiting for him to continue. It strikes me yet again, how old Woland is. One of the few who were born before time existed.

“After a bies was done serving their sentence, it turned out they could come in here,” he says, his voice tinted with amusement as he reminisces. “This mountain was unclaimed, because it was magically barren. Perun stuck to Wyraj, which brims with magic, and Weles had Nawie. The bieses who came here claimed the land in the middle, and Weles helped them build this city. He loved building things.”

His eyes grow hazy for a moment, and he sighs, his fingers twitching as if to chase away a fly.

“Before we knew it, there were hundreds, and then thousands. When they died, their souls stuck to the places where they spent their lives, and it grew chaotic, with the dead interfering in the matters of the living. Perun claimed them out of envy for his brother’s kingdom, turning them into birds and his servants.”

I nod slowly, a piece I didn’t understand before clicking into place.

“That’s why you said you’d conquer death,” I say quietly. “Because… Because if Perun is defeated, all of his rules can be changed. And you were there. When the world as it is now took shape. You saw how it happened… And you know how it can be reshaped. So what will you do? If you win?”

Woland snorts harshly. His eyes glitter with accusation, or maybe resentment, before he blinks and the expression is gone. I still feel it in my gut, feeding the guilt brewing there.

“At this point, it doesn’t feel like I’ll ever win. Nienad’s plan failed. The fence is protected against the kind of contamination we had in mind. Perun still has an unconquerable advantage—Wyraj, which is the source of magic itself, made even more powerful by the magic his tolls harvest. You were impressed with me yesterday, but my power is nothing compared to what he commands.”

I sigh, frustrated that he won’t just tell me. Though, maybe it doesn’t matter. If Woland is happy to work with rapists and excuse their behavior, he isn’t fit to rule the world whatever his plans are.

“So Igor is your ally? Or friend?” I ask, trying to make my voice indifferent. I fail, though. I am too angry not to show it.

“He’s a tool,” Woland says with an impatient huff. “And a damn useful one. I can’t afford to lose him, and even if I could, I’m not in a position to forbid him from taking wilas. Besides, what would I tell him? My consort said so?”

He laughs mockingly, and I clench my teeth, the cold in his eyes making me feel small and meaningless. When I look away, wringing my hands in my lap under the table, he sighs impatiently and leans in, grasping my chin. He forces me to look at him, and his face is neutral, the cold and the scorn wiped away.

“What do you want, Jaga? Do you want me to outlaw raping wilas if I win? I promise you I’ll do it, but you’ll have to help me. At this point, any chance of victory has moved far into the future, and my people are unhappy. If I don’t do something, I’ll lose them, too.”

He doesn’t seem distressed by the possibility, only stating facts. I stare into his eyes, my confusion made only greater by this conversation. I just wish I knew, once and for sure, if he’ll bring peace and prosperity to the world. I can give up my own goals for the benefit of many, but not unless I have some sort of guarantee.

And Woland’s word is not good enough. Not after everything he did.

“I saw Mokosz,” I say, because his eyes are too intense and unreadable, and I don’t have any answers for him. “At least, Lutowa says it was her. In the city. She had blue eyes and made the air smell like summer.”

Woland drops my chin, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“When did you see her?”

“Just now. And two days ago, too.”

He turns away, but not before I glimpse his pleased smile.

“Well, that, at least, is good news. Get some sleep. We’re going out tomorrow.”