Page 8 of Devil’s Doom (Jaga and the Devil #2)

Chapter eight

Dragon

The walls of the fortress are so tall, I need to crane my neck to see the top. It’s built of blindingly white stone, brilliant in the sun. I suppose it’s not truly a fortress, since it has no doors, just a wide arch leading inside the inner courtyard.

“Perun’s temple,” Lech says, sweeping his arm in a flamboyant gesture. “A token of his great power.”

We go down a wide corridor, our steps echoing against the walls. When we emerge, I stifle a gasp of surprise.

The inner courtyard is a grove, green and verdant. Tall oaks and slender birches sway in the wind, enormous blue and purple flowers filling the air with fragrant scents. I look around in awe, though I don’t fully enjoy the beautiful space. It seems incongruent with what I know about Perun—the god who doesn’t mind that children die because of him every day.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, strolling down the path with Lech.

“Yes. The most glorious oaks in all of Slawa grow here. Only those in Wyraj are more majestic. You know, legend has it, Perun can appear wherever an oak grows. So if he wants to pay us a visit, this is where he will come. Now, look up.”

We stop in a small clearing. I follow Lech’s gaze to the top of the nearest wall, flinching when I notice the enormous, scaly beast sitting on top.

“D-dragon,” I say under my breath, my hands suddenly sticky with sweat.

I saw a dragon once, but he was in his human form at the time. This one is completely beastly, bluish silver scales covering him from the tip of his muzzle to the end of his tail glittering with sharp spikes. He has gray leathery wings folded on his back, his huge body balancing effortlessly on top of the wide wall that he grips with razor-sharp, gleaming talons.

Suddenly, his wings snap open in a smooth, robust motion, and I step back with a sharp breath, awed by their wide span. The beast stretches, his neck elongating as he opens his maw in a yawn.

Next thing I know, his talons tighten even more until dust falls off the wall. The dragon braces and takes off, the massive bulk taking to the air like it’s a weightless, slender swallow.

“Take a deep breath and crouch,” Lech murmurs.

Still shocked and terrified, I do exactly as he says. I just manage to lower myself to the ground when the grasses around me fall flat, the world growing utterly silent. At the next moment, my breath is torn from my lungs as the toll rips through my body, robbing me of some of my magic by force.

I look up in time to see Lech grimace as he leans against a tree, his body rigid.

“How… How did you know it would happen?” I ask, gasping in shallow breaths.

Lech shakes his head, his eyes closed, his sharp teeth bared from pain. His pale, freckled complexion of a redhead goes pasty until he looks sick, beads of sweat glittering on his tense forehead. I roll to my feet, my pain already fading, and go to his side.

“Do you need help?” I ask brusquely, laying my palm on his sweaty nape to check his temperature. “Is it the usual pain or something else?”

He groans, pressing a hand to his chest, his long, slender fingers shaking.

“Normal. ‘M fine. A moment.”

I step away, wiping my hands on my dress. As I look around, I expect the grove to lose its color, just like the forest did after the toll, but if anything, Perun’s temple looks even more vibrant than before. The flowers glitter like precious jewels, the trees are healthy and robust, wind whispering between perfectly shaped leaves, all green with no trace of discoloration.

“Were you a healer?” Lech asks, coming up behind me. His voice is weaker than usual, but still as charming as always. “Before you died?”

Damn it all. I wait a bit before turning to him until I’m sure my face is perfectly neutral. Of course, nobody knows I’m mortal. Just like the utopek, Lech assumes I became a bies in the mortal world, served my sentence, and was sent to Slawa.

“For a short while,” I say, keeping my face straight. “The training stayed with me, though.”

He regards me seriously, his mouth for once not tilted in a cynical smirk. The change in him is startling when his usual expression is gone. He seems older, more weary—more trustworthy , somehow.

I already know not to take anything he says at face value, only the deception is not to fool me but the spies the city apparently teems with.

“Interesting,” is all he says. “Come on. I’ll show you the other side of the mountain and then we can get dinner. You might want to thank for my guidance by getting mine.”

I scoff. “You want me to pay for you to leech someone’s blood? Forget it.”

“Most eateries serve lamb blood,” he says with a shrug. “Or does that offend your sensitivity, too, one-eyed girl?”

I huff with impatience. I’m tired from the climb, sweaty, and now annoyed because I let a part of my identity slip. “Will you stop calling me that?” I demand through clenched teeth.

A ghost of his usual smile curves Lech’s pale lips. He still seems sickly. “You gave me no name to call you, so I had to invent one myself. What would you like to be called?”

“Alina,” I say the first name that pops in my head even as I berate myself for not coming up with a solid identity earlier.

I can’t be Jaga, the mortal whisperer from a small village who caught the eye of the devil. If I show too much of myself, Woland will find me at once. Though he likely doesn’t stay here. I can’t imagine the arrogant demon subjecting himself to Perun’s tax, so he must stay somewhere the toll doesn’t reach.

But he still has people at his command. It’s them I should avoid.

“Let’s go, then, Alina. I’m starving.”

We cross the grove and come out through a wide arch on the other side. Below us, Slawa rolls down the slope, the river glittering like a silver serpent at the bottom of a ravine. It cuts the mountain almost in half, its tall banks made of hard, gray rock. A few boats spear the water, and cavorting bodies glitter and flash by the shore, probably rusalkas or other water people.

The city looks enormous from up here, the number of chimneys sending curls of smoke into the blue sky dizzying. The older parts built of stone end about halfway down the mountain. Below are the newer, smaller houses made of wood.

It takes effort to remember my nightly climb from the foot of the mountain, but one detail leaps out at me: the trash. There were heaps of it lying around here and there, but not in the upper part of the city. I imagine people living down there are poorer, maybe less powerful.

“Down the stairs and over the bridge,” Lech says, pointing out a wide staircase leading down from the temple.

The bridge curves in a graceful arch over the river. It has no barriers on the sides, so when a stronger gust of wind whips up my dress, I contemplate what will happen if I fall into the water. The bridge is so high over the bottom of the ravine, a fall might just kill me.

I’m itching to test out if my magic is strong enough to let me fly. Excitement curls in my belly, and on its wings comes resentment. I should be able to enjoy my newfound power, to play with it and test its limits, but the risk of Woland finding me and Perun’s greedy tax keep me from it.

Flying would be amazing. Not just as means of escape from a difficult situation, but as something I’d do for fun. I’ve never had much of that in my life.

As if called forth by my thoughts, a dark shadow falls on top of us. I look up, right at an enormous, rust-colored belly of a dragon. He sails past, his wings stretched open and unmoving. When he’s on the other side of the bridge, the dragon suddenly folds his wings and dives, shrinking as he goes. He disappears among the houses.

“One of our esteemed guardians,” Lech says, his mouth tilted with sarcasm. “There are about three dozen stationed permanently in the city, you know. They are here to keep us safe, but don’t make the mistake of seeking a dragon’s help if someone beats you or rapes you. They protect us from things far more important than mere death or body harm, you understand.”

I look up into his brilliant blue eyes that stare at me intently over a mocking smirk. I can’t keep back a grin, so I smile at him, finally understanding the way he speaks. Lech carries deep, utter disdain for those in power, but since he knows there are spies everywhere, he never lets an irreverent word pass his lips.

Instead, he shows his true meaning through subtle signs. His smirks, his mocking praise, the cynicism glinting in his eyes—all that makes me think he’s not truly indifferent to the deaths wrought by Perun’s toll, for example.

I might be wrong, but my instincts about people are usually right. Whisperers need to see what hides under the surface, because patients lie to their healers all the time. And as a hated outcast on the verge of banishment, I had to be aware of my neighbors’ thoughts and motivations.

“You know what?” I say when Lech’s smile grows genuine in response to mine. “You’re not entirely rotten for a leech.”

He presses his hand to his heart in mock delight. “Why, Alina! Your exuberant praise makes my heart race!”

Beyond the bridge, the city bustles with life. It’s like he said—people came out and started trading as soon as the toll happened. I look around with a curious eye, wishing for the other one to be uncovered so I can take in every detail.

Some creatures I recognize easily—beautiful wilas, sharp-fanged upirs, and bare-chested mamunas haggle for better prices, buy flowers from street stands, or hurry down the street with pinched expressions, carrying large wicker baskets in their arms.

And others I have trouble with. A thin, tall woman with skin as gray as ashes glides up the street, towering over most. A tattered black dress sways around her bony knees, the black fabric worn where her protruding hipbones rub against it. Behind her is a man who brings to mind a hog, tusks jutting from under his lower lip, his skin scrubbed pink, bare stomach jiggling with each heavy step.

“If you keep turning your head this way and that, your neck will hurt,” Lech says with a mocking laugh.

I stop by a stone wall of a bakery, forcing myself to keep my eye from straying. “Say, is it guaranteed that the toll only happens once a day? Did it sometimes happen more than once?”

He grimaces, leaning his back against the wall next to me until we’re side by side, both watching the motley crowd milling over the cobbles.

“It happened a few times, as just punishment for a revolt,” he says carefully in a neutral tone. “Some heretics took it upon themselves to destroy the fence Perun so generously raised around Slawa, and after they lost… The land paid the price.”

“How many people died?” I murmur, looking around furtively to check for spying birds.

“Let’s not dwell on the past,” Lech says with false cheer. “Come on, I’m starving. There’s a nice place down the street that carries almost everything. We’ll both eat like the gods.”

We navigate the bustling, laughing, haggling crowd. I glance into a narrow passage that most likely leads to a parallel street, and freeze, catching Lech’s sleeve on reflex. He turns to me with an impatient huff, but I ignore him, too busy staring at a sign painted in a rusty shade of red on the alley wall.

It’s Woland’s sign, the same one he branded me with. Two crescents interlock, joined in the middle by a thin line. The symbol runs a bit in places, and the color makes me think it was painted with blood.

Someone jostles me, and I jerk toward the empty alley. Lech puts his hand on my arm. His voice is strained.

“Alina. Let’s go eat.”

I am about to turn away when someone enters the alley from the other side. It’s a man with a trail of ruddy scales running down his cheeks, his body tall and robust, eyes red and cruel. I instantly recognize him as a dragon—maybe even the same one I saw flying over the bridge.

He pulls behind him a slim, blonde girl, her face pale from terror, eyes wide. Even in her terrified state, I can tell she’s gorgeous, most likely a wila. She has that evanescent sort of beauty, like she’s a delightful trick of the light that will disappear when I blink.

“Alina, come. Please.”

I don’t pay attention to Lech, too shocked by what’s happening. It’s broad daylight. Anyone can see it, and yet…

The girl cries out feebly, trying to tug her hand free, and the dragon growls with anger.

“Stay still, you dirty whore.”

He pushes her face into the wall and stands behind her, yanking her dress up. I gasp softly as I understand with full clarity that he’s about to rape her. The girl presses her cheek to the cold stone, her face turned in my direction. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears streaming down her cheeks as she bites her lip in anguish.

The dragon tugs at his belt, his forearm pressed firmly to her nape. I take a step forward, fury ringing in my ears. Someone grabs my braid and yanks me back with force, until I’m out of the alley and pressed to a wall myself, a cold palm clamped over my mouth.