Page 28 of Fate and Fury

The five of them—Elders Dykstrova, Gamayun, Balandin, Dobrow, and Mikhailova—had governed Kalach for as long as Katerina could remember. With their lined faces, intricate, silver-white braids, and long beards, the three women and two men seemed both ancient and ageless.

Elders Gamayun and Balandin hailed from Povorino, far to the south, where volcanoes lurked within mountains and lava fell like rain. Their skin was darker than the others’, a beautiful, burnished brown. Elders Dykstrova, Dobrow, and Mikhailova had been raised in Kalach, and their parents had governed the village before them. The Elder Council was the village’s mind; Baba was its heart and soul. Together, they honored Kalach’s traditions and kept the peace.

Moonlight filtered through the arched, stained glass windows of the chapel, illuminating the forms of Sant Andrei, Sant Antoniya, and Sant Viktoriya. Elena was resplendent in her mauve dress, its sleeves embroidered with vynohrad vines and fruit, signifying domestic happiness, and diamond-shaped rhombs, for fertility. Velvet-petaled guelder roses wove through her blond hair, their plump crimson berries representing the passion of the marriage bed.

Elena’s eyes shone, her expression transported. All Vila were descended from Sant Viktoriya, but Katerina was hard-pressed to think of any who worshiped the ancient saint as ardently as she did. Since they were small, Elena had wanted nothing more than to follow in Sant Viktoriya’s footsteps, to wed and give birth to Vila and Shadowchildren to defend the glory of Iriska. Sometimes, Katerina wondered if Elena truly loved Niko, or whether she loved what he represented. What he could offer her.

Her Shadow stood across from Elena, clad in gold. The lapels of his jacket were embroidered with oakcharms,their thick trunks and sprawling branches symbolizing strength and commitment. With his dark hair tamed into submission and his gray eyes gleaming like the silver surface of wishing-fountain coins, he was too much for Katerina to look at, altogether.

She was here to support his engagement to Elena. But every second she stood by his side and pretended this was anything but agony made a liar out of her.

She swallowed hard, averting her gaze to Baba’s apprentices, who were lighting a circle of candles around Elena and Niko. Though the girls didn’t possess magic, they’d been chosen for their gifts for healing and their dedication to the village’s ways. They had lit the candles on Katerina’s thirteenth Bone Moon, when she and Niko were sworn to each other as Shadow and Dimi. Niko had vowed that night to fight for her in his mortal form and in the form of his black dog, to protect her from supernatural forces and mortal threats alike. And she had vowed to stand with him, to bind her soul to his, to fight only for the Light.

The two of them had been so young then, battles with Grigori nothing but imagined glory, and the Kniaz’s claim a far-off threat. Now, they had the deaths of innumerable demons to their names, and there was just a year until the second round of the Trials, when Kniaz Sergey might well Reap them and force them to leave everyone they loved.

Now, Niko was about to pledge himself to Elena.

The apprentices lit the last candle, blew out their matches, and stepped back, looking to Baba for approval. It was a foolish element of the ceremony, Katerina thought; she herself could have lit the candles with no more than a passing whim. But Baba was a believer in conserving magic, in only using it when the situation demanded.Every spell has its cost,she was fond of saying.If you don’t pay it now, you’ll pay later. Watch out, or you’ll pay in blood.

Baba inclined her head at the apprentices, in their diaphanous white gowns, and then turned to face the villagers, Dimis, Shadows, and Vila, crowded into the wooden pews. She raised her gnarled hands, and the candles’ flames flared higher. “People of Kalach,” she said, her cracked voice resonant. “We are gathered here today to witness the pledging of alpha Niko Alekhin, the Shadow of Dimi Ivanova, and Elena Lisova, blessedamong the Vila. In three months’ time, the two will marry. And our covenant with the Saints will remain an unbreakable chain, binding us to them, protecting us from the Dark.”

Katerina gritted her teeth and stiffened her spine. She was a powerful Dimi and spellcaster, the strongest in centuries. She could master this.

Niko had never been meant to be only hers, forever. She could find a way to let him go.

One of Baba’s apprentices came forward, bearing a precious copy of the Book of the Light. Facing the congregation, the ancient Dimi took it and began to read.

“In the beginning, there was the Dark,” she intoned. “It hungered. It waited. Itwanted.But it was not alone.”

Katerina had heard this story a hundred times—as a child at Baba’s knee, during her training as a Dimi, at every marriage and bonding ceremony. Still, she forced herself to listen.

“From the heavens, the Grigori Watchers fell one by one, cast out for disobeying the will of the Light. The fallen angels descended into Darkness, and the Darkness welcomed their fall. It crept inside them, a pitch-black tendril that twined around their souls. It lived within them, and fueled them, and still it hungered for more. For the Darkness is never satisfied.”

As one, the villagers shuddered. Across from Katerina, Elena shuddered, too, as if the words pained her. It was all Katerina could do not to roll her eyes.

“The Grigori carved out territory in the Underworld,” Baba said, turning the page. “But soon, they craved more human souls to fuel their empire and preyed on the world above ground, nearly claiming it for the Dark. All might have been lost, if not for those who would become Saints: Sant Antoniya, Sant Viktoriya, Sant Andrei.” She let her eyes linger on Katerina, Elena, and Niko, in turn. “Across the world they fled, hunted by the Grigori, until they reached the village of Kalach. When theycould run no more, they built a chapel in the woods and prayed to the Light for strength. And the Light answered.”

She turned to Katerina, inclining her head in a gesture of respect. “To Sant Antoniya, it gave the holy gift of the Dimi: to command the wind and move the trunks of the trees; to call storms to her will and spur fire.” Her gaze shifted to Niko. “To Sant Andrei, it gave the gift of the Shadow: to transform into a guardian that would stand between humanity and evil, cleaving unto his Dimi, a Light to help her battle the Dark.” Her eyes settled, finally, on Elena. “And to Sant Viktoriya, it gave the gift of the Vila: to bear Shadowchildren and young Vila, to safeguard the Light that would vanquish the Darkness of this world and the next.”

The congregation murmured in approbation, then fell silent as Baba cleared her throat once more. “And so the Seven Villages of Iriska—Kalach, Drezna, Satvala, Liski, Povorino, Voronezh, Bobrov—became a realm within a realm, home of the portals to the Underworld, warded to protect the world beyond. The Saints founded a dynasty, and together, Shadows, Dimis, and Vila rose against the Grigori, keeping the covenant of the Light.”

Six villages now,Katerina thought. And who knew which would be the next to fall? But Baba’s face was calm, betraying no hint of what had befallen Drezna, when she spoke again. “The battle for our souls still rages, as it will while the Grigori demons walk the path between this world and the next. Shadow or Dimi, Vila or villager, it is our responsibility to fight.” Her gaze fell now on the congregation, and her voice rose, deep and cracked. “It is our sacred duty to keep the Dark at bay and defend the Light.”

“It is our duty,” the villagers chorused. And, “It is our duty,” the assembled Dimis, Shadows, and Vila echoed in turn.

“May we honor the Saints,” Baba said, eyes rising to the stained glass windows. “May we pray for their protection; may we tread always on the side of the Light.”

Two of her apprentices broke ranks, materializing by Baba’s side. One took the Book of the Light with careful, reverent hands. The other handed Baba a ceremonial goblet of wine.

“In the words of our holy Saints,” Baba said, raising it high, “by the gleam of the Bone Moon, may we lift a glass in honor of those who have perished so we might live: One for the fire, two for the storm.”

She closed her eyes and drank, her wrinkled throat moving as she swallowed. When she finished, the apprentice reclaimed the goblet, then took up her place once more.

Baba’s dark eyes flickered open, arms raised, as if to welcome the arrival of the Light. “There is a rhythm to Kalach. As there is to all of Iriska.”

“Blessed be Iriska,” the villagers intoned, as one.

At Baba’s signal, the apprentices lifted their treshchotkas from the table next to the altar. They had carved these instruments for the occasion, sanding the boards, threading them carefully with a blessed string until they fanned out evenly. Their hands moved in a blur, flickering in the flames from the candles and the wall-mounted sconces, as the boards of the treshchotkas clacked together, a hypnotic backdrop for Baba’s words.

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