Page 108 of Devil's Deal

Darobor pulls at his mustache in thought. “Well, even if we knew, I don’t think we’d want to sacrifice a lad to stop her. Is there any other way?”

I look up in thought, the sun shining so brightly, it leeches the color out of the sky, making the blue washed out.

“She takes her power from Dadzbog,” I say. “That’s why she attacks around noon, when he is the highest in the sky. She won’t willingly go into shaded places. That’s why shade is the best protection.”

I look at the men, frowning as I think. “So, maybe luring her into the shade might work? Or tying her up and dragging her inside, where there is no sun? But it’s all so risky. If you go near her, she’ll kill you with a look. Or how did she kill Jacek? Did she touch him? Did you see?”

Bogdan, one of the men who brought Jacek in, comes forward. “She didn’t really touch him. More like… He came to her. When I looked up, I saw he wasn’t anywhere near me, so I looked around, and I saw him walking slowly, as if wading through water, toward a shape in white. She was far away, so I didn’t see her face. But she seemed, I don’t know… Eerie. Her dress moved even though there was no wind.”

“I see. Did you call out to him?” I ask, trying to put all the pieces together for even a hint of a clue.

“Yes. He didn’t react.”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Well, we can assume she bewitched him somehow. The question is whether she can do that to more people at a time, but I wouldn’t put it to the test just yet. Please, let everyone know to stay home around noon tomorrow. I know this is the worst possible solution right now, so make it clear that anyone who stays out in the fields at midday risks losing their life, and thus depriving their family of support.”

This should do it for a day or two, I hope. But if it takes us longer to deal with the poludnica, I’ll have more bodies to watch over through the night.

The men leave to spread the news, and I stay outside, taking deep breaths. When I go in, Magda thanks me, her eyes vacant and sad, and leaves, promising a generous payment.

I line up my smudging herbs and purifying oils and get down to work.

Cleaning a body isn’t as much about removing sweat or dirt, though I do that, too, but about cleansing all mortal residues so there are no obstacles barring the soul from leaving. I wash Jacek’s body with water mixed with vinegar, thanking the Rodzanicas for the fate they gave him. Then, I smudge him, asking the smoke to take away all his mortal attachments. Finally, I anoint him with rosehip oil, asking Rod to follow the scent of the oil so it guides him to Jacek’s soul.

Magda comes in before dusk and leaves a basket filled with beeswax candles and clean clothes to dress her husband in. She doesn’t come in, just puts it in the open door of the cottage and leaves without replying to my words of thanks.

I dress Jacek, wash my hands with my strongest soap, and pick enough nettle leaves for a few jugs of a refreshing brew. It will help me stay up through the night. As dusk rolls in, Darobor comes over with Jarota. I lead them through the patient room, where they pay their silent respects to Jacek, into my kitchen, where I treat them to my wine.

We discuss possible ways of dealing with the poludnica, but neither of us has any ideas until Darobor asks, “And where does she go? Like now, when the sun is setting. Where might she be?”

Jarota looks at me, and I shake my head. “The tales I know say nothing about this. If she’s a spirit without a body, she might simply disappear until another noon. Or maybe she follows Dadzbog during his journey across the sky. If she is a bodily bies and can’t just leave, though, that will give us hope. It means she has to hide somewhere during the hours when she’s weak. If we can find her lair, we might attack her when she’s stripped of her power.”

Darobor nods once. “I’ll spy on her tomorrow.”

“No,” I say at once. “In the stories, she always takes men. Even if you stay away, she can lure you closer. I’ll go.”

“Jaga, dear, that is very risky,” Jarota says.

But I shake my head. It makes perfect sense for me to go, though I can’t tell them why. And it’s because Woland needs me alive. He won’t let the poludnica kill me. Out of all the people in the village, I am the safest.

So it’s decided. After they leave, I allow myself a small cup of my wine and then sit in the corner of my patient room on a stool, a cup of nettle brew in one hand, my knife in the other. A lone beeswax candle burns by the body, bathing Jacek’s pallid skin in golden light.

The village outside grows quiet, only the chirping of grasshoppers carrying in the night air. I sit without moving, staring at Jacek’s face until the image blurs, becomes too big, and then too small. I try to let my eyes unfocus, the way Wiosna once tried to teach me, and see the invisible.

Namely, I want to see the Rodzanicas’ mark on his forehead. But no matter how I squint or tire out my eyes, his skin remains clear. Jacek’s destiny either has been wiped upon its completion or it’s just not accessible to the likes of me.

The candle burns down slowly, its honeyed scent mixing with that of the oil and smudging herbs. The smell is so familiar and comforting, in a way. I sat with a few bodies in the past, but Wiosna was always in her bedroom, just a shout away. Even though she didn’t treat the stories about soul-stealing bies literally, she still told me to wake her if anything happened. That made me feel safer.

Now, it’s only me and the dead. A shiver crawls down my spine when the candle flickers, and I think the shadows move, but that’s only a trick of the light. I blink a few times to keep my eyes fresh.

I wonder if I will see Rod when he comes. So many strange things happened, it’s not completely out of the question. Yet, ever since Kupala, the only god or godlike creature I saw was Woland.

Or Diabel. I turn his other name on my tongue without saying it, and remember how desperate he was to hear it from my lips. How he made me say all his names.

How ancient he must be. How feared, to have so many names, every one cursed and avoided. Every name a weapon.

“He’s only the first out of many.”

I jump, almost overturning my stool, when Woland emerges from his shadows at the foot of the table. My heart, so peaceful just seconds before, hammers with shock. But it calms down instantly. He’s become so familiar, I am not even afraid.

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