Page 59 of Devil's Deal

Janek and Darobor are here, as is Waclaw. They watch me with suspicion, even Darobor, and I realize with a sinking feeling they aren’t here just to help. They will watch my every move to make sure I won’t do what Czeslawa accused me of.

Truthfully, it never even occurred to me I could not help Swietko. As soon as I saw him sobbing in the werewolf’s grip, he stopped being my enemy and became just a human being in desperate need of help.

But now that Czeslawa pointed out our enmity, I feel resentful that I have to go through such a gruesome ordeal just to save him. Because she was right. I hate Swietko. Why should I help him? But now, my own fate rides on his survival, too. There is a way out: I could say I see signs of werewolf infection spreading and admit to being wrong, but—that would be giving up.

And I don’t surrender. Not to Czeslawa’s stupid games. And not to Woland.

Woland. He expects me to beg him to save myself and the village now that I saw what the werewolf can do. And yes, it is tempting. To just be rid of the threat. To not have to face it again.

But I am made of stronger stuff than this.

“Mix the vodka with hot water,” I tell Janek, pointing at a cauldron I left simmering over my hearth earlier. “Make sure it’s not too hot and give him small sips so he doesn’t choke.”

Janek nods and heads for the hearth, his steps steady. The saw and wood ax he brought in from Darobor’s shed are on my cupboard. I point at the tools.

“Clean the saw with vodka. You don’t have to wipe the ax if it’s clean. The fire will do the job.”

Darobor nods and gets down to work. Waclaw stands by the door, simply watching without a word. I swallow convulsively, looking at Swietko’s mauled arm. The skin is pale, the flesh already damaged by the lack of blood flow, the wound gaping and red. I wish I could ask Wiosna if I should cut already, but with the men here, I can’t risk talking to her.

We raise Swietko up and make him drink the diluted spirit. It goes down smoothly, and once the cup is dry, I direct Janek to make more. He feeds the fire, too, and we put the blade of the ax in the hearth to heat it.

I’ve never done this so I don’t know how long the metal must stay in the fire. Wiosna is quiet, so hopefully, I’m doing things right.

Just when I’m about to start, the door bangs open. Alina, Swietko’s wife, barges in.

“Dear gods,” she breathes, taking in the sight of her husband on my table. “Is he… Is he going to…”

“I don’t know,” I cut in sharply. “He lost a lot of blood and he’ll lose his arm. I’m sorry, I know you’re worried, but if you can’t stay calm, you have to leave. This will be gruesome.”

She stares at me, her lips working wordlessly. Her round face is bloodless, her kerchief askew, revealing disheveled, strawberry-blonde hair. Tears well in her blue eyes. I know she loves her husband and desperately wants to have children with him. And yet, I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for her.

I have a terrible, disgusting job to do. That’s the only thing I focus on.

“I’ll wait with you outside, Alina,” Waclaw says quietly, putting his arm around her.

That shakes her out of her stupor.

“No.” She steps closer until his arm falls away from her shoulders. “I’ll stay. Just… Please.”

She looks at me with big, desperate eyes, and I nod once, waving her to my made bed in case she needs to sit. I hope she doesn’t faint, but then, Alina doesn’t strike me as a squeamish person.

And she doesn’t need to beg me. I’ll do everything in my might to save Swietko, not even to prove it to Czeslawa at this point. I’ll do it to show Woland he can’t have me. Not after what he’s done. Not ever.

“He’ll need another tourniquet,” Wiosna says gravely. “If you cut below the current one, the stump will heal badly. It might get infected.”

I nod. I feel all jittery, but surprisingly enough, my hands are steady when I reach for my supplies. I wrap a wide belt of linen for wound dressing a bit above my makeshift tourniquet, cinching the new one tight with a large spoon. The new tourniquet is just under Swietko’s armpit. He’ll lose the entire arm, then.

There is a narrow strip of skin between the two tight wraps of fabric, showing me where to cut.

“I’m making another tourniquet to make sure I cut off all the bad flesh,” I say.

Explaining things is something Wiosna abhorred, because she claimed most villagers were too addled by pain or fear to understand her. If she explained anything, it was for my sake only. But as a young girl following the whisperer from sickbed to sickbed, I appreciated the explanations more than I could express.

Logic and facts helped me stay calm. Understanding why a procedure was necessary made it appear less gruesome.

And so I explain every step and reason for it in clipped, quiet words as I turn the spoon, tightening the tourniquet. Then, with no reasons to delay any longer, I gulp some vodka straight from the bottle. It goes down my throat like cold fire.

“If he wakes up, you’ll have to hold him so I can cut straight,” I say, calmed by the spirit.

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