Page 52 of Devil's Deal

When she’s gone, I sit down heavily and bury my face in my herb-stained hands. After years of being idle and just worrying how to survive, suddenly it feels like the fate of the entire village is on my shoulders. And now, I should also worry about being challenged for the position of the whisperer?

Then I laugh and get back to work. Truth is, I shouldn’t fret about the future.

Because if I fail tonight, I’ll die torn apart by a werewolf. And if I’m dead, I’ll have so much bigger problems. No amount of worrying can prepare me for those.

Chapter eighteen

Voices

“The gods have spoken!” Jarota cries, throwing a fistful of herbs into the fire. They burst with a flurry of sparks, making the crowd gathered around him gasp.

I look at the sky, making sure the moon hasn’t risen yet. It’s almost sundown, but the werewolf can become active at daytime, provided the moon is in the sky.

We’re safe for now. Chors is still asleep.

The people gathered around me are quiet, even the children. Usually, they chase each other around the square while their mothers periodically hiss at the little urchins to keep quiet. But not today.

The square is a large space right in the middle of the village. The grass is well-trodden, bare ground shining through in patches. This is where Jarota augurs and traveling tradespeople set out their wares when they visit. When it’s unoccupied, children play here.

Now they stand still, their eyes huge with fear.

Because for the first time in our lives, we have a real bies to deal with. And also for the first time, we know the gods are real. Everyone saw them at Kupala.

Jarota launches into a lengthy prayer, thanking the gods for their wisdom. He cuts open a black hen and looks intently at its entrails. I am grudgingly impressed by how well he pretends. If I didn’t know he had the answer already, I would believe that he read the truth out of the chicken corpse.

When the zerca prays, my eyes wander. They snag on Swietko, who stands aside with a group of men bearing pitchforks, scythes, and wood-chopping axes. They are ready to defend the village and just wait for the zerca to tell them which way to point their weapons.

Swietko and his friend, Tolimir, are the only ones who have hunting weapons, the former bearing a short spear, the latter—a bow. Other men use traps to get wild meat, so Swietko and Tolimir are the only hunters who take down bigger prey.

As our only huntsmen, they are burdened with the most responsibility to take down the bies. I see it in the tense lines of their bodies, the deep wrinkles marking their fierce expressions. I remember how cowardly Swietko behaved at Kupala, and it makes me wonder. Will he look this determined and grave when the werewolf appears or will he drop his spear and run?

The other men look scared, even though they stand tall and bear their makeshift weapons with confidence. The fear is in their eyes, deep and primal.

A shiver of unease crawls down my spine. With everyone strung so tightly, it would take one word from Jarota to make those pitchforks point at me. He wouldn’t even have to name me, just say a witch slaughtered the lambs.

I’d be impaled on a pitchfork in no time. My new position is tenuous at best, and even then, there is a thin line between whispering and doing magic. That is why the silver knife I inherited from Wiosna is now hidden under my dress, strapped to my thigh so no one will see it.

Wiosna bought it from a traveling tradesman many years ago, and there are marks on the knife that make it look magical. She claimed they don’t do squat, and the only value of the knife is its silver blade. Still, she kept it hidden for all these years and told me to do the same after I got it.

If anyone sees it on me, they’ll jump to conclusions too fast for me to protect myself. Especially Swietko.

“Fear, mortals! Fear and fight, because a curse fell upon you!”

Jarota’s eyes bulge, and I sigh, locking my thoughts away. It’s time. He’s leading into the big reveal.

People around me mutter nervously, and Jarota puts in a long pause for good measure. I tap my foot impatiently, glancing at the sky. Still no moon, but it’s close.

“A terrible bies stalks our animals and children. A beast from the deepest caverns of Nawie! Weles’ own creation!”

There are a few gasps, and I force myself not to roll my eyes. This is a bit much, which Wiosna confirms with a scornful whisper in my ear.

“Nawie, my foot! That bies never saw the gods’ lands. Those that make it to Nawie stay there, because the vast caves of Weles’ domain are better than the mortal plane.”

I blink, looking at Jarota as he launches into another worshipful prayer, clearly milking his moment. But I don’t really see him as my face tightens into a thoughtful frown. Something isn’t right. What did Wiosna just say?

Then it hits me. Everything she’s told me until now could have been an echo of the things she said when she was alive. But now, she suddenly spoke about the afterlife like she knows it. Like she saw it.

I breathe evenly, thinking it through. Could it be possible I really have Wiosna’s spirit following me around? And if so, how did it happen? Is it magic? Can she teach me?

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