Page 141 of Devil's Deal

“Well, we can’t cure it, but we’ll keep it from hurting and getting worse. For now, I’ll mix you a herbal brew to drink, and I’ll make you some fresh knitbone root ointment. I’ll drop it by in a few days.”

Jarota nods gratefully, and I get busy mixing the herbs while thinking where I saw a robust knitbone plant recently. It was most likely by the river, since knitbone likes damp places.

When I hand Jarota the pouch with herbs and explain how to make the brew, he suddenly bends in half. A loud, hacking cough bursts from his lungs, and he grips his knees, coughing harder and harder until he grows red and tears stream down his face. I give him a cup of water when the fit is over, eyeing him worriedly.

“How long have you been coughing like this?” I ask, wondering why he didn’t mention it.

He shakes his head, bewildered. “I haven’t. This is the first time.”

I study him dubiously, because that kind of cough indicates an advanced infection. Still, I won’t quarrel with him. I grab a small bottle of pine needle tincture. It’s made from the new, green pine offshoots in early summer, and I have a few for personal use. I already know I’ll have to make more next year.

“This is excellent cough medicine,” I say, handing it to Jarota. “Take a spoonful twice a day and it should clear up in no time.”

He thanks me profusely and leaves, but not before he has another coughing fit in my ante-room. I look at my supply of cough medicine. If this spreads, there will barely be enough to treat a few patients.

I resolve to save them for children and difficult cases. For now, I’ll mix up a substitute from currently available herbs. I set out with my basket, determined to get everything I need, complete with a few handfuls of thorns.

Someone’s messing with me, and I will punish them for it.

Chapter forty-five

Signs

The day isn’t as hot as the previous ones, the sky overcast with big, fluffy clouds, and so it isn’t as unpleasant to go about my chores. I gather herbs and dig up some beautiful knitbone roots, and after noon, I look in on a few of the oldest villagers working in the fields. Everyone fares well in the cooler weather.

In the evening, I don’t go to the river, only washing in a big basin. Woland doesn’t visit, but I meet him in my nightmares as the big black bear roaring my name as he chases me through the woods.

Next morning, after I’m done replanting some herbs from my previous cottage’s garden into my current one, Darobor and Sara come to visit. A faint drizzle falls from the sky, and I know the work in the fields will likely stop until it’s dry again.

“Sara really enjoyed your story about the Rodzanicas,” Darobor says, leaning against a tree while his daughter runs up to me to see what I’m doing. “Would you mind telling her a few more? And my wife asked me to invite you to dinner tomorrow if you’d like.”

I smile at the girl, who looks at my herbs with avid interest. “Of course. We can go inside since the rain’s picking up. I have some cold chicory brew with milk.”

I don’t even have to water my replanted herbs, because the drizzle will keep the soil soft and moist. They look sad and half-wilted now, but I’m sure they will perk up in no time. I buried a few charms in the soil and surrounded my garden plot with a perimeter of thorns. The herbs should be safe now.

Inside, Sara chatters about her own garden plot, where she grows her favorite vegetables. She tells me with pride her cucumbers are always the best, because she takes all the guano after mucking out the chicken coop and uses it to fertilize her garden.

Darobor sips his brew, looking at his daughter with a smile, and I listen with pleasure. I really like children. Being able to talk to them now that their parents no longer warn them about me is probably the best change that happened in my life since I became the whisperer.

At the same time, I wonder what story to tell her. After Woland told me about the ancestral souls, I am convinced this isn’t the only tale that has an official and unofficial version. I wonder what else is a lie.

And so I choose the one that I know for a fact is based on truth, at least partly. I start the story about how Chors became the light in the night sky.

“After Perun and Weles created the world,” I begin, smiling at the girl as she plays with her braid, her eyes big and curious, “Perun decided to divide the days in two halves, one light, one dark. He wanted to put a big light up in the sky, and so he went into the celestial smithy where his son, Swarog, worked, and he brought forth a son from the smithy’s holy fire.”

“That’s Dadzbog!” Sara exclaims with excitement, proud she knows something.

I nod. “Indeed. Dadzbog was golden and bright, and he traveled across the sky for a half of every day, spilling life-giving light onto the land. But every night, when he went to sleep, the world plunged into thick darkness. Perun didn’t want to light up the night sky. He decided people were to live, work, and play during the day, and sleep during the night.”

Sara frowns. “That’s not very nice. Sometimes, people have to be up at night. For example, if a new calf is born. You can’t tell the cow to wait until morning, she’ll have the calf when she’s ready.”

I smile, nodding in approval. “That’s right. And if you’re serious about becoming a whisperer, there are some herbs that have to be gathered at night. It would be very difficult to find them if the nights were pitchblack like Perun wanted.”

Her eyes grow as big as saucers.

“Do you go herb-picking at night? In the meadows? Or in the woods?”

I laugh, seeing her barely concealed fear. “Yes. It’s only scary the first few times. After that, you get used to it. Now, back to the tale.”

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