Page 53 of Devil's Deal

When Jarota cries out in a desperate, ululating voice and shouts, “A werewolf hunts in our lands! A man by day, a horrible beast by night, he hunts for meat and blood. Beware! Beware the werewolf!” I gasp, but not for the same reason everyone around me does.

Because Woland spoke to me, too. I heard his voice just like I hear Wiosna’s. Could it mean he was really there? Does he follow me around, invisible yet present?

When others watch Jarota with wide eyes, I look frantically around, turning on the spot. I search for the glimmer of yellow eyes, the hulking shadow of the beast. My heart flutters in alarm when I see the shape of antlers in a rose bush, the coil of a tail in a discarded piece of rope, tendrils of menacing shadow crawling up the wall of a cottage.

Illusions, all of them. Just my terrified mind acting out the terror he planted inside me last night. Woland’s claws on my throat, his threats in my ear—that was real. But the shadows pretending to be him are just the concoctions of my exhausted brain.

When I see nothing out of the ordinary, just the dirt road running through the village, a cottage on the other side of it, and the grassy space where Jarota usually augurs, I force myself to relax. If the devil really speaks to me, there is nothing I can do apart from making sure not to trust him.

I already know he can appear here in the flesh like he did last night. And I am still no closer to protecting myself from his presence and his touch.

When bitter fear and shame fill my chest like heavy stones, I clench my fists and force Woland out of my mind. I have a werewolf to deal with.

“How do we slay the beast?” Darobor asks, clutching his scythe.

The sharp, crescent-shaped blade that is usually parallel to the handle has been reattached so the tip points up into the sky. Darobor turned his scythe into something akin to a spear. He means business. He’s also the only one who keeps the fear out of his eyes, even though I have no doubt he’s afraid.

His wife just gave him a third son three moons ago. The duty to protect his loved ones must strengthen his resolve.

“Cut off its head,” Waclaw grunts, his hand firm on the pitchfork. He’s ready to avenge his lambs. “No bies can kill without a head.”

The men nod and mutter in agreement. Jarota looks troubled for a moment but then his face lightens up. He looks straight at me.

“Silver also harms werewolves,” he says. “You can ask young Jaga if she has any.”

The pit of my stomach crawls with nausea when everyone’s eyes turn to me. I’ve been trained all my life to avoid attention, and all the times when people looked at me too intently ended up with me getting chased and hurt.

But this is different. I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the heaviness in my throat. This is another step in my path to claim the post of the whisperer. I can’t miss this chance out of fear.

My voice sounds strong enough when I speak up.

“All the silver I had went into making protections for your homes. I never had enough to make a weapon, but there is enough to keep the bies away from your homes and barns.”

Murmurs and whispers break out in the crowd. I look steadily back into all the eyes regarding me with distrust and surprise. To the side, I notice Ida speaking quietly to her two friends and pointing at me with a great deal of nodding. Like she’s trying to convince them of something.

Ida, my champion. The world has truly become a strange place.

“I have protections for anyone who wants them,” I continue, catching Czeslawa’s venomous look. “But make haste if you want them. Everyone who isn’t going to fight should be on protected land before moonrise.”

People glance at the sky with fearful expressions. When they look back at me, I see distrust warring with fear, and for a moment, my heart freezes. Have things really changed enough for people to trust my whispering? Or was it all in my head? Will I stand here like a fool, having offered all the hard work that I sacrificed sleep to do, only to be left alone and rejected?

A beat passes. Another. And then, the first person rushes to my side, then another, and another. In the matter of a minute, I am surrounded by a crowd clamoring for my protections.

“Jaga, serve me first! I’ll give you a goose! A plump goose!”

“I’ll take two, for my home and my son’s! He’ll keep you supplied with wood this winter! Please, Jaga!”

“Please, we need protection, too! My daughters are so little. I beg you, protect them from the bies.”

“I have a limited supply!” I shout over the noise. “Everyone who gets protections from me has a duty to take in those who didn’t get any!”

Everyone nods eagerly, and I lead the procession of customers to my cottage, walking swiftly now. I’ll have to trust they’ll keep their promises, because there is no time for them to fetch the geese, hens, and wood they promise.

But that’s fine. I am not Czeslawa, who turns away people in need. My jaw clenches when I remember how Bogna looked on my doorstep that night when she ran to me.

I am a true whisperer. And if someone conveniently forgets to pay, I’m sure I can find a way to remind them.

“Look at that, Jagusia!” Wiosna croons in my ear, calling me the endearment she only used when she was very pleased with me. “How they follow you, like a flock of lost sheep. This is the most power a whisperer’s ever had.”

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