Page 5 of Foul Days

“Half woman, half bird.” Kosara listened. Actually, it didn’t sound much like a yuda. It seemed to be hooves, rather than talons, drumming on the roof tiles. “Or it could be a samodiva. They like riding those damned gold-horned deer of theirs all over the place.”

That last sentence, she had to shout. The barkeep banged on the ceiling with the handle of his rifle until whatever had landed there flew away.

The stranger looked around, as if he couldn’t believe no one else was making the sort of scene he was. The other patrons kept drinking in silence.

“What the hell is a samodiva?” he asked.

“Beautiful women who force you to dance with them,” Kosara said.

“That doesn’t sound that bad.”

“Until you die from exhaustion.”

“Oh.” A drop of sweat rolled down the stranger’s forehead and landed in his eye. He blinked fast. “But why? Why are all the monsters here?”

Roksana laughed. “It’s New Year’s Eve, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“The Foul Days have begun,” Malamir said gravely, as if reciting from some ancient tome. He’d had a brief stint as an actor back in the day, and he’d never shaken off his taste for the dramatic. “The New Year was born, but it hasn’t been baptised yet. The monsters roam the streets freely.”

Kosara narrowed her eyes at the stranger. “You’ve never heard of these monsters before? Really?”

“I have,” the stranger said. “Of course I have. But I didn’t realise they just fell down from the sky like that. Like, like, the world’s sharpest-toothed hailstorm.”

“Not all of them do,” Kosara said. “Those are the intruders. The karakonjuls, the samodivas, the yudas … Oh, and the rusalkas.”

“The rusalkas?”

“Fish people,” Roksana supplied.

“Not quite,” Kosara said. “But close enough.”

“Right,” the stranger said. “So those are the intruders.”

Malamir continued in his grave tone, “They are only allowed to come here during the Foul Days, when the boundary between our world and theirs is hair-thin.”

“And the rest?” asked the stranger.

“The rest are our homegrown monsters,” Kosara said. “They simply become more active during the Foul Days—and more powerful. All the upirs rise from their graves, all the wraiths wake up, all the varkolaks transform into wolves…”

“I don’t know how you manage to keep them all straight.”

“It’s quite easy, really.” Kosara squinted at the stranger. This went way beyond educational pamphlets. Had he slept through every New Year’s Eve? “I can’t believe you don’t know any of this.”

“I’d heard rumours, of course, but I’d assumed you people were all exaggerating. You’re known for being superstitious folk. No offence.”

You’d be superstitious too if it was a matter of life and death. Knowing your amulets from your talismans could save your skin in a monster attack.

Then Kosara realised what the stranger had said. You people …

“You’re from the other side of the Wall, aren’t you?” she asked. When the stranger remained silent, she knew she was right.

Now that she thought about it, he obviously wasn’t a local. He seemed older than her, maybe mid-thirties, but his skin was smooth and unscarred. He wore a light coat—in the middle of winter! Instead of boots, he had on a pair of suede brogues. His feet would freeze in the snow outside.

Poor bastard. Of all days, he’d decided to come to Chernograd on New Year’s Eve. He was either very brave or completely clueless. Judging by what she’d seen so far, Kosara would bet on clueless.

“The other side of the Wall?” Malamir pushed his glasses up his nose with one long index finger. “How did you get here?”

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