Page 142 of Devil's Deal

She frowns, touching her stomach, but nods. Darobor shifts in his seat.

“Weles saw how people struggled during the dark nights, and he also grew jealous of his brother having a few sons already. He decided to have a son, too, and he called him forth from the darkest river of Nawie. Chors was born, the most beautiful of the gods.”

Sara fidgets, giving me an inquisitive look. “The most beautiful? I thought that was Dadzbog. He shines the brightest.”

I haven’t seen Dadzbog, and I’m still completely certain he can’t be more stunning than Chors.

“Yes, he shines the brightest. So bright, in fact, you can’t even see him, because he blinds everyone with that light. That’s not true beauty if looking at him hurts your eyes, is it? But Chors’ light is subtle. He shines just brightly enough to let you see in the dark and to admire him freely. That’s true beauty. Not the one that tries to blind you with its vicious light, but the one that lets itself be admired.”

Sara makes a sudden hiccupping sound, pressing her hand to her mouth. Her eyes are wide.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, standing up.

She shakes her head and bolts out of my cottage. Darobor and I follow on her heels, and we go out just in time to see her vomiting into my calendulas. When I look at Darobor, he seems pale and sweaty.

I think back to what could have caused this, but it can’t be my chicory brew or milk, because I drank the same thing, and I’m fine. Not even a rumble from my stomach.

Sara finally stops retching, and I fetch her a cup of water to rinse out her mouth. Darobor wipes his forehead, looking ill.

“Go home,” I say with a sympathetic sigh. “I’ll stop by with stomach drops.”

He nods without speaking, and I imagine he’s afraid he’ll retch the moment he opens his mouth. I wave them both away, and they hurry home, leaving me frowning on my doorstep. Something isn’t right. First Jarota coughing his lungs out, now this?

If it was all the same illness, that would be understandable. But two different ones is much rarer—unless Sara and Darobor both ate something unsavory for breakfast. I shrug, because that seems quite likely. I pick a small bottle of drops and bring it to their house.

The rain grows stronger as the day crawls toward evening. Everyone stays home, probably cursing about losing a day of work. Between the poludnica and the weather breaking, this is truly an unlucky time.

When darkness falls, Chors’ light obscured by the rain clouds, I walk to the river bank, barefoot and smiling, even though I’m worried. The wet grass squelches between my toes, and I lift my face up, catching the sweet raindrops on my tongue. It’s dark, and yet not completely black like Perun wanted it to be. I still see the outlines of things, my eyes quickly getting used to the lack of light.

By the river, I stand on the stone, looking at the water surface pelted with rain. It’s peaceful here, and I breathe deeply, even though my dress and hair are drenched. I suppose I shouldn’t stand in the rain if an infection is spreading around the village, but I feel strong and well, so I ignore the voice of caution in my head.

The sky flickers brighter in the north, and I grin, wondering if we’re in for a summer storm. Or maybe Perun’s angry about something? Lightning and thunder are supposed to be his domain, and yet, water belongs to Weles.

For a moment, I feel tempted to call on one of them, but bite my tongue. Chors is one thing, though he, too, is an old, powerful god. But Perun and Weles are at the very top, with Weles coming in second after his brother.

I bring my hands to my mouth to make my voice carry and call on another name.

“Woland!” I shout over the river, louder than the drumming of rain. “Diabel!”

I wait, smiling, because I’m sure he will come. For a moment, I even think I see a flash of his golden eyes in the thick reeds by the river bank, but when I call him again, there is no response. I wait and wait, soaked and getting cold, until anger takes over.

Of course, he ignores me. Unreliable and unfaithful, he’s not someone I should ever trust. I don’t know why my stupid heart insists on expecting him to treat me well. I should know better.

I huff, stepping off the stone, and look with disgust at the place where I know his throne stood. Where I knelt for him.

What’s that?

I step closer, frowning as rain pours down my face. Even in the dark, I see that spot looks different. When I crouch to see better, the earth seems charred, the grass blackened to dust. A knot twists in my gut as I run my fingers over the bare earth. I’m not sure, but it seems lifeless. Maybe even cursed.

Just like my herb garden was.

My fingers are stained with wet soil, but I still bring them to my chin, running my chilled fingertips over the brand Woland gave me. I don’t know what’s happening and how it’s all connected, but I can’t shake the feeling the brand might be responsible for the grass dying where I knelt.

Could this be why my garden has wilted? I remember I weeded it the day before the blight hit. Could this be why? Does the brand kill plants near me?

If so, this is a disaster. I am a whisperer. I can’t do my work if I can’t use herbs.

“Woland!” I scream angrily, getting to my feet.

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