Page 120 of Devil's Deal

“Think about it.”

He disappears, sucked into the shadows, leaving me shaken and thrilled the way he always does. I wonder where he went. What he’ll do now. How, where, with whom he’ll spend his time. I know I shouldn’t, because thinking about those things will only make me feel bad, but I can’t stop.

By his own admission, Woland has voracious appetites and probably countless lovers. He wants things I can’t deliver. It’s useless to be jealous.

And yet, I can’t help it, just like I can’t help wanting him. It’s such a thin line I walk: keeping him at a distance so he comes back, yet letting him close enough to satisfy my craving.

One day soon, I’ll fall. I’m not sure whether it terrifies or excites me.

Magda’s ancestral soul gives a lone trill, and I look up just in time to see Rod materialize against my door.

“Hello.” I welcome him, much more composed than last night.

“Good evening, whisperer.”

He looks at me for a moment, not approaching Magda yet. I swallow my nerves. Yesterday, he didn’t answer my question, but I feel tempted to ask him something again.

“Can I ask you for advice, oh mighty one?”

I’m not sure how to address him properly, but this seems to work. His serious mouth turns up in a quarter-smile. “Ask.”

“What is the best way to get rid of a poludnica?”

He snorts softly and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t work against my master.”

“Your master?” My eyes widen. I think he means Woland, and yet, Woland told me Rod serves Perun, because he has no other choice.

Before I have a chance to question him about it, he adds, “But you asked me respectfully and I am in a good mood. It’s very rare that I have the occasion to speak with such a vivacious woman.”

I blink a few times, taken aback by the compliment. “Uh, thank you, mighty one.”

He nods with a smile. “A poludnica takes her power from Dadzbog. Ask Chors to help you. He is the opposite force to Dadzbog.”

I nod dumbly and thank him, wondering how I’m supposed to ask the god of the moon for help. Will he even hear me from up there? But Rod already stands by Magda, his smile gone. He coaxes the ancestral soul to come out, and I instantly notice it’s identical to Jacek’s, pale and large-eyed. In the light of what Woland told me, this makes sense. Since all the ancestral souls have the same purpose, it’s no wonder they look the same, too.

“Goodbye, Jaga,” Rod says, disappearing. The eerie little bird sits obediently on his finger.

When I go out a few minutes later, I’m really grateful for my period a few days ago. I spent enough time in bed to make up for all my sleepless nights.

I already know I’ll have no rest tonight.

The sky is clear, Chors a bright crescent right overhead. He doesn’t look like a god up there, simply like the moon, the same way Dadzbog doesn’t look like a godly presence. I’m not sure how it works. Are those gods really up in the sky, making the arduous journey every day? It doesn’t seem very godlike. More like they are servants to their tasks.

I try to remember if any tales I know explain how to invite a god to speak with a mortal.

In one story, a woman who wanted to enter Nawie was told to follow Chors for many days until he led her to a large lake, and once there, she asked him to take her with when he was about to submerge. He did, and they entered Nawie through the water. In the tale, he was the moon in the sky and a man all at once.

There is no lake nearby, just our river. I’m not even sure if the water is necessary to call him, but the riverbank seems to be a place as good as any. I’m wary of speaking to a god in my garden. If somebody hears, they will think I’m out of my mind or, worse yet, dabbling in witchcraft.

Which reminds me, I’m due for a spell. But not tonight.

I walk to the river, and the moon seems to follow me across the sky, always staying right above me. I think of the tales about Chors. According to one of them, after Perun sent his son, Dadzbog, to the sky to make light, Weles was jealous, and he also created a son for himself. Born from the still, dark waters of Nawie, Chors was pale and serious.

Weles sent him up to the sky to follow Dadzbog and spill light over the land, but Dadzbog hated having competition. He pushed Chors from the sky and forbade him to eat for fifteen days, which explains why the moon grows smaller for half a month—because he can’t eat. It’s also why he only comes out at night to avoid Dadzbog’s ire.

Another tale says wolves hate Chors, and when he’s bright and full, they howl at him and give chase, biting off pieces each night until he grows smaller and finally disappears to be reborn from the waters of Nawie.

I don’t know which tale is true, or if any of them are, but both leave an unpleasant taste in my mouth. They are so cruel. What did Chors even do to deserve such a fate? The tales say nothing about that, they just describe him as this sad, slender man who travels across the black sky every night.

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