Page 3 of Devil's Doom

For a moment, I turn it in my fingers, uncomprehending. Then I recognize the shape and weight. It’s an apple.

My mouth waters, but I can’t eat yet. I clearly remember there was another thud, so I get down on my hands and knees, searching in the dark, until my fingers close around the second fruit.

When I bring one to my nose, I almost moan with relief, taking a big bite. Gods, it tastes wonderful. Tart and sweet, sweeter than apples back home. Maybe it’s because Slawa’s fruit is magical. Or maybe I’m just that hungry.

I stay on my knees as I eat slowly. The apples burst with juice and flavor on my tongue, and I devour both in record time, leaving nothing behind. While not fully satiating my hunger, they take off the edge and wake me up enough to think.

And the more I think, the more I realize that maybe I shouldn’t have eaten them so fast. Because that wasn’t an accident.

I spoke of hunger and two apples rolled right to my feet. Like magic, but not mine. Was it a gift, a curse, or both?

My fingers tremble when I bring them to my stomach. My skin is sticky with cool sweat, but when I press down, there is no pain apart from the ache of hunger. If I was poisoned, it didn’t act immediately.

“Who is there?” I murmur. “Who gave me the apples? I owe you thanks. Probably.”

In the silence, the trees around me rustle, as if brushed by a sudden wind. I think of Strzybog with the laughing eyes and a mane of golden hair. If that’s him, I should run. He’s Woland’s ally.

The pines creak, trees seeming to move aside for a moment so more starlight falls on the forest floor. I glimpse a hollow right underneath a tree, mostly hidden from view by a large bush. It’s half-filled with pine needles, and something gleams there for a moment before the forest calms and the wind dies down.

My heart thunders in my throat when I crawl forward. The hollow looks comfortable and big enough for me to curl in. And in it lies another apple.

Swallowing thickly, I stop and consider the offering. The wind might be a clue. Is it a gift from Strzybog? I wrinkle my nose, remembering the disdainful smiles of the fun-loving, seductive god. He didn’t strike me as someone who leaves humble gifts in secret, unacknowledged.

Who, then?

The pines creak again, and I look up, the trees black against the wide sky, swaying like gentle giants. My breath catches when I remember what Wiosna always said about the forest gods.

“Some say they are asleep. Others say they are dead. Maybe they just went away to Wyraj, where trees grow strong and no one cuts them down. Who knows? But it’s a pity they are gone. The forest gods help their own, you know. They can always tell whether you’re a friend or an impostor. It’s the smell. Most people smell too civilized, like cows and muck. A szyszymora will only help you if you smell like them: of pines, moss, and stream water. Clean.”

Maybe I’m not clean, but I’ve spent the last few weeks in a forest. I probably fit right in. Maybe enough to be offered protection.

Szyszymoras are the guardians of the woods. They are supposed to resemble large trees, or maybe giant pine cones—Wiosna wasn’t sure. What she was sure about was that they are kind and protective of those they see as allies, and that they serve the King of Bees.

Trusting the folktales is a risk, but I can’t afford not to take it. I am too exhausted to go on.

I take the apple and eat it in big bites, pushing my ravenous hunger just a little bit away so it’s not as urgent. The forest rustles and creaks, calm and serene, and it lulls me into a sense of security.

“Thank you so much,” I whisper, crawling into the hollow. I dig into the nest of pine needles carefully, so that they cover me but don’t prickle my skin. “Please, protect me as I rest. Thank you.”

The trees sing their lullaby, and I fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep. My last thought is that maybe the apples were poisoned, after all.

Maybe it’s not sleep but death.

Chapter two

Child

When I wake up, it’s almost noon. I can tell from the sun that shines high in the sky, caressing my cheek as its rays filter through the treetops.

Three more apples sit by my side. My body feels achy but definitely not poisoned. In fact, I feel better rested than I should, given the circumstances.

The apples are big and red, their skin almost perfect, and they smell divine. I could do with something more substantial, but I won’t say it. This gift is a blessing enough, so I bow my head in gratitude.

“Thank you. It seems I do have a friend here, after all.”

Above me, birds flutter from branch to branch. I look up to see if they are small and black—like nawkas—but these are gorgeous, blue birds with red bellies, their colors so jewel-like, I’ve never seen their kind before.

My lips part as I keep looking, more details of the world registering. It’s not just the birds that are beautifully colored. Everything, from the trees, through the sky, to the mossy stones lining the slope, is so intense.The colors are brighter and deeper than back home, the edges sharper.

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