Page 107 of Devil's Deal

“Everyone who’s out in the fields should come home immediately,” I say, keeping my voice calm and firm, though it takes effort. “Those who go to call them shouldn’t be in direct sunlight. Until Dadzbog comes down from his peak, it’s still dangerous. Everyone must stay in the shade. Under a tree is good. At home or in a shed is best.”

The men nod and run out, but one stops in the threshold and turns.

“I’ll tell his wife to come here.”

I nod in thanks and look at the dead man. I know him vaguely—it’s Jacek. He moved here with his wife a few years back. They didn’t have any children and mostly led a quiet, productive life.

“It looks like you’ll be my first wake,” I mutter, sighing. I’ll have to clean him before evening and then sit by him until morning, guarding his soul so no bies snatches it away before Rod comes to take it to Nawie.

Wiosna used to say it was just a custom, and the souls were long gone by the time she even got round to washing the bodies. Now, after everything that happened, I’m not so sure. Just like the tales she told me, this custom must be rooted in truth somehow. And so I bring my iron poker from the hearth in the kitchen and have my silver knife handy on my working bench.

If any bies comes to take him, it will have to go through me.

Soon, I hear chatter of alarmed voices from the road. People come home from the fields, and right now, they are mildly scared, but also curious and excited. They talk over one another, asking those who saw the poludnica what she looked like, debating where she came from, and so on.

Despite Jacek’s death, no one sounds terribly upset or terrified, and I know why that is. Right now, avoiding a poludnica sounds simple, and it is. Just stay in the shade.

But that simplicity is deceptive.

It’s wheat-reaping season, and the linen is almost ripe, as well. To harvest all the crops, people will have to be in the fields from dawn till sundown, and a three-hour break in the middle of a workday will set everyone back. Crops will likely spoil if she’s not dealt with soon.

People will have to choose between staying in safety or harvesting their crops to have enough to eat and trade.

That’s why there will be more deaths soon. Because I don’t believe those who have big families with many mouths to feed, all depending on a good harvest, will sit at home through all midday.

A faint knock on my open door yanks me out of dire thoughts. It’s Magda, Jacek’s wife, and her eyes are red but dry. She’s a quiet, unobtrusive kind of person, and even her attire—a light-brown dress, dark-brown kerchief over brown hair—makes her look forgettable.

“Come in, dear,” I say, instantly emulating Wiosna. She was great with widowed people. “He’s right here. His soul is still with us. You can say your goodbyes.”

I put my arm around her shoulders and bring her toward the table. Magda shakes but doesn’t cry, and I stand with her, just like Wiosna always did, and hold her. It’s important to give a mourner a human connection in those first moments, otherwise, her soul might feel tempted to join his.

And so I keep her grounded in the mortal world as we both stand silent over her dead husband’s body. After ten minutes or so, Magda gently extricates herself from my hold and turns to me. Her face looks haggard. Those ten minutes made her look older by twenty years.

I wish she cried. Tears are a relief. But then, she might be one of those people who never cry in public.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Can you tell me… Because Bogdan said it was… a bies. In the fields.”

“I don’t know for certain,” I caution her. “But the men said it was a poludnica. We’ll know once the zerca listens to their accounts and confirms it. But if it really was a noon lady, that means he died quickly and without pain. Poludnicas strengthen the power of the sun, focusing it on a target. Dadzbog’s shine and heat become so great, they kill instantly.”

She stares at me, and I dearly wish for Wiosna’s guidance right now. I try to remember what she said in these circumstances, but she had to deliver the news usually after a patient died in her care following a long sickness. She would tell the widow they died in their sleep, even if that wasn’t the case. She would say they had an easy passing.

I told Magda the truth, but I wonder if I didn’t overdo it by explaining the manner of death. Thankfully, she shakes herself off and clears her throat, looking at me imploringly.

“And why did she choose him?”

And now, there is an echo of weeping in her voice. She will cry soon, I hope.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “A poludnica is a bies. She has no thought, no reason, just cruelty. There is no fairness to it. All I know is, he didn’t deserve to die. You didn’t deserve to lose him.”

When she starts crying, she falls into my arms and shakes, and I hold her through it as her tears wet my dress. She cries until a few men come in, Darobor among them, and clear their throats in my small ante-room.

Magda turns away and wipes her face, breathing shakily. I come out but leave the door open.

“Everyone’s back,” Darobor says quietly, Waclaw nodding by his side. “And we thought we might gather a few men and get rid of the bies, only Jarota doesn’t know how to kill a poludnica.”

Neither do I. Blast it. What I wouldn’t give to have Wiosna with me right this moment.

“I know one tale about a poludnica,” I say slowly. “In the story, she was a young maiden who died from a broken heart. Her sweetheart promised to marry her but then went with another. The rejected girl passed away and returned the next summer to haunt the fields. She kept killing men until her sweetheart came into the field one day, and she took him. That stopped her, but… We don’t know who our poludnica was when she was alive. No young woman died in the village this or last year.”

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