Page 44 of Devil's Deal

My heart beats faster, my hands growing clammy. I try to think what could have made those grooves, because my mind’s first guess—claws—makes my skin itch with foreboding.

More people join us, clearly drawn in by the screams that I think must have been Helena’s. I sidle up to Ida and Ola, who quietly explain the situation to their friend, Kalina, who just came and asked what happened.

“…and whatever killed the lambs didn’t stay to eat. Waclaw says the bodies are ripped to pieces, but all there. Blood and entrails all over the barn.”

As if to confirm Ida’s words, a gentle evening breeze blows in my face, bringing with it the sticky, metallic scent of blood. It crawls up my nose and burns my eyes, and I turn away, covering my mouth with my hand to keep myself from gagging.

“Their boy, Tomek, went to fetch the zerca,” Ida continues, her voice clipped and strong. “I guess Czeslawa, too, though I don’t know what good she’ll be.”

I’m impressed by how controlled she is, recounting the events with cold-blooded calm. Even Waclaw looks sick and green around the mouth, and he’s one of the steadiest men in the village.

And I do understand why they need Czeslawa. The barn will have to be purged of death and blood before new animals can be let in, and a good whisperer should know how to do it. If she’s very good, she’ll not only get rid of the odor of blood but also purge any invisible remains of the massacre so no baleful spirits are attracted to come and feed off the animals or people in the house.

Wiosna taught me all of it, and it came in handy a few times when a cow died in labor or the plague took a pen full of pigs. Places of death near the house need to be cleared out, not just of dirt, but of spiritual remains, as well.

Then again never, not once, did we have to deal with a barn full of entrails and blood. It’s unheard of. And all the more terrifying for it.

“Well, they’ll need a whisperer to make sure whatever it was doesn’t come back,” Kalina says in a low, fearful voice. “Do they know what it was? A bear? A wolf?”

Ida scoffs and glances at me, clearly aware of my eavesdropping. “No, they don’t. That’s why they need the zerca. Helena said it looks like a demon’s handiwork. They want the zerca to tell them what kind of bies could have done it.”

I hold back my shocked gasp. Until Kupala, gods and monsters belonged to the realm of tales. After my encounter with the older me who saved my life, I never saw anything unusual. Only mortals troubled by their small, mortal worries.

And now, it seems the world teems with black magic.

What kind of bies could it even be? I stare at the barn, desperately trying to see through the gloom. It’s already dark out, and the barn oozes even deeper black than that of the falling night. At least out here, the yellow face of the god, Chors, shines on us, round and perfect over the horizon. Inside, there’s only death.

Someone nearby lights a torch, and a quick patter of feet announces another arrival.

Tomek emerges from the dark, leading Jarota, who looks troubled and slightly unkempt, his long, gray hair flying around his sweaty face. Behind them, Czeslawa follows at a stately pace, her hair covered by a neat, black kerchief. She nods to a few people in greeting as she passes, her eyes narrowing when she sees me.

I wonder if it’s her usual enmity or if she already knows some of her clients decided to try my services instead.

Both Jarota and the whisperer stop by Waclaw and his wife, talking in hushed voices. Jarota looks more and more troubled the longer he listens. Czeslawa eyes the barn with a frown and then glances at me, a nasty little smirk playing on her lips.

Two men come up to the zerca with torches, and the entire group save for Helena and Tomek go inside. We wait, the warm evening wind playing among us as the night deepens.

“What do you think it could be?” Ida’s voice is quiet, yet it rings out in the tense silence of the waiting crowd. It takes me a moment to realize her question is directed at me.

“I don’t know,” I say, keeping my suspicions to myself. “I haven’t seen inside. But I’m sure the zerca will be able to augur the truth out of the entrails.”

Normally, to foresee the future or learn the will of the gods, the zerca cuts open a hen or another bird and looks for answers in the entrails. Whatever was in the barn already did the work for him.

“The only thing the zerca can augur is his cock in Milka’s mouth,” Ida scoffs, earning herself two nervous giggles out of her friends and an offended look from a matron standing nearby.

I don’t feel like laughing. More than anything, I’m startled. I realize now that Kupala Night did so much more than kill Bogna and make me hate myself. It seems to have upset the order in our village, and suddenly, I am the whisperer people go to instead of Czeslawa, and the zerca has lost their respect.

Though, maybe not. Maybe it’s just Ida, turned cynical by her marital disillusionment.

“Shh, here they come,” Ola shushes her, and the girls creep closer to hear what Jarota will say.

While the zerca flounders with his sleeves, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself, Czeslawa stands by Helena and whispers intently in her ear. Helena’s red-rimmed eyes drift over to me and quickly away.

My stomach churns. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

“Something terrible happened here, good people,” Jarota says, his voice tremulous.

Suddenly, I wonder if his uncertainty and unkempt appearance mean Ida is right. Maybe the village people stopped respecting him after Kupala.

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