Page 16 of Devil's Deal

It really happened. The gods are here.

“It looks startled,” Strzybog says, and I don’t even get offended at being referred to like an animal. I stare at the five shapes in the circle, desperately trying to pierce the fog veiling their faces with my eyes.

Because if Strzybog is among them, who else came? I just hope neither of them is Perun. He would strike me with a lightning for daring to wear a spelled chaplet on my head.

Perun hates witchcraft just as he hates his evil brother, Weles.

“Not an it,” the female voice says, gaining an angry edge. “It’s a she, and moreover, I happen to know her.”

That jerks me out of my dazzled stupor. What? She knows me? How?

“You’re Jaga, aren’t you? Wiosna’s apprentice?” the woman calls out, and suddenly, the fog lifts and I see her face.

Dear gods, she’s gorgeous. Tall and robust, she has a regal air as she looks at me from her height advantage. Her skin is deep brown and gleaming like polished metal, her hair white. It flows down her back in beautiful waves, and she wears a long robe of dark green that clings to her body. I don’t know who she is. None of the goddesses I know looks like her, but then, our tales are old and some are forgotten. For all I know, Jutrzenka, Mokosz, or another goddess decided to change her appearance.

“I am, my lady,” I answer, and my voice sounds far away, like it’s not my own.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time,” the goddess says, looking me up and down. “My, but you have grown!”

Then, her eyes narrow as she looks at my chaplet. I flinch, a fresh wave of fear making my hands sweat. Oh, gods, what if she hates magic just like Perun?

She bares her teeth in a wide grin, and my heart gallops even faster when I notice how sharp her teeth are. Is she really a goddess? Or might she be something else, some kind of bies like a strzyga or an upir?

“Woland, she’s the one,” she says over her shoulder.

A tall shadow standing in the back behind the other four stirs. I haven’t paid it much attention before, because unlike the others, it hasn’t shown any colors. It’s just a tall, menacing black silhouette, the face obscured, the body bigger than the other gods’.

Now, it has my full attention as my stomach bottoms out with terror.

My knees grow weak and I lock them on instinct to keep myself standing. Some of the fog unravels, and now I see the shape of the being’s head. It’s big and perfectly proportional. Two jagged yet symmetrical structures spread from the temples, black and intricate with large and small prongs.

They are antlers, the biggest I’ve ever seen, and yet, they do not belong to a deer. The creature stands upright on two legs, towering above the other gods. He or she is almost two heads taller than me, not counting the antlers.

“That she is,” a deep, beastly voice answers, raising the hair on my nape.

“No way,” Strzybog says, turning to the dark shape in the back. “Did we come all the way from Slawa just so you can claim this slip of a mortal? Are you sure it’s her?”

Claim me? Slawa? I don’t understand what he says as the blood rushing in my ears distorts my hearing. My legs shake, and I can’t control it. All I know is that I’m terrified and completely out of my depth.

I don’t know any god or deity by the name of Woland. As the shadows refuse to dispel and his face remains obscured, my wild, fearful eyes take in the other faces when the fog hiding them blows away.

Strzybog looks handsome, his hair gold like ripe wheat, his beard a shade darker and trimmed to give his face a slightly angular shape. His eyes are as blue as high summer skies, creasing with impatience as he assesses me. Still, he seems kind enough. Playful.

Behind him stands another man, this one far less pleasant. He is tall, his silver hair shorn close to his head, and his eyes are red. It’s not just a reflection of the fire. They are truly red, and I shiver from fear even as I notice a silvery sheen to his cheekbones. It looks like scales.

A movement lower down catches my eye, and I bite back a gasp as I notice a thick, silver tail swinging behind his legs. What kind of licho is he?

“Forgive us, dear,” the beautiful white-haired woman says, coming closer.

I have an urge to step away but force my legs to keep still. She can’t walk out of the circle, I remind myself. I’m safe. As long as I don’t enter the circle of fires, they cannot touch me.

“For what?” I ask, surprising myself with how cool my voice sounds.

“We know your name, but we haven’t introduced ourselves to you. My name in Nyja.”

She nods with a sharp grin when my eyes widen and fists clench. Nyja. She is the goddess of death, the one who welcomes the souls of the dead in Nawie. Wiosna said she wasn’t sure whether Nyja was a god or a goddess, because that detail was lost in the old stories.

But now I know. She’s a goddess, and a damn beautiful one. Also dangerous. As sharp as a knife.

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