Page 3 of Devil's Deal

And now, night’s falling. It’s been a long race. No wonder I can’t move.

Nausea swirls in my belly, my throat constricting to keep down bile. I try to roll to my side to stand, but it’s useless. Daga yanks my arms up and holds them down over my head. I cry out in pain.

Jaromir sits on my knees, his flushed, sweaty face obscuring the darkening sky. He grins down at me, cruel and ugly.

As he leans closer, I smell his breath. Meat and soured beer.

“We should have driven you out long ago. Your pathetic mother and you are like rats. Good for nothing, bringing curses on our land. But the elders never listened. Cowards. They are too afraid of Wiosna.”

Wiosna. My teacher, who is a whisperer and a midwife. Of course, everyone’s afraid of her. Everyone who offends Wiosna might find themselves out in the cold when they need healing or their baby delivered.

“You should be afraid,” I say viciously, because I know what Wiosna’s capable of.

But my anger is shallow and powerless. It doesn’t overcome the well of fear underneath. My legs tremble under Jaromir’s weight, and his grin widens despite my words.

He knows it’s over for me.

“Wiosna can’t protect you here, you little devil.”

I spit in his face with my last bit of strength. Jaromir roars and backhands me with force. My head snaps to the side.

“Miro, the knife. Make it fucking hurt,” he snarls.

So that’s it. Somehow, the inevitability of death settles my fear. It sinks deep down to the bottom, leaving behind a strange, giddy feeling. My mouth stretches in a grin, a laugh bubbling in my chest. I look up at Jaromir’s furious face, my spittle still on his cheek. Then at Miroslaw, who kneels by my side, the knife raised high in his hand.

He looks pale and uncertain, his hand shaking. Of course. He’s never killed anyone, and it’s not as easy as it looks. Especially the kind of sacrifice that will please the gods.

He should eviscerate me in one, fluid cut, and I already know he can’t do it. I did it once with Wiosna, and it was hard. We cut open a fox that stole chickens from her coop. I still remember the steam rising from its innards when I pushed the knife through fur and muscle.

Miroslaw doesn’t have the guts to do it as it should be done. It’s really funny that I’m the only person who actually knows how to cut open a sacrifice.

“What are you waiting for?” Jaromir hisses, glaring at his friend. “Just fucking do it. Kill the witch.”

I burst out laughing.

Chapter two

Burn

Their expressions morph from anger, through confusion, into fear. I laugh so hard, my entire body shakes with it, my stomach hurting from the force of my mirth. It’s mad and unnatural, but I don’t stop. I laugh and laugh until Daga’s hold on me loosens and she moves away, her pale face flashing in the dark.

The night has fallen.

“What’s she doing?” Daga asks from somewhere behind me. She moves further away and Jaromir follows, getting to his feet as he looks around with watchful eyes.

“Have you called him here, witch?” he asks, his hands clenching into fists as I curl up into a ball, unable to stop my mad laughter. “Is he coming?”

I force myself to look up, my eyes falling on Miro. He flinches, crawling away on his hands and butt. He drops the knife and it lies harmlessly in the moss.

They are scared. That thought cuts through my odd state and the laughter gets stuck in my throat. I roll to my knees and stand up on shaky legs, looking at Jaromir with a smile. It comes easily, that expression. I’m no longer afraid. They are.

“Oh, he’s coming,” I bluff. “He’ll drink your blood and suck your marrow. He’ll be here any moment.”

A low cry comes out of Daga’s throat while Miro squeaks, moving back faster. Jaromir’s eyes narrow.

I turn and run. He roars and follows, bending to pick up Miro’s knife.

I don’t make it even ten steps when his arm snakes around my ribs. He raises his hand high, a dark shadow in the night, and it drops down in a graceful, well-aimed arc.

---