Page 6 of Devil's Doom

“You have offered enough. Stay with us, witch. Feed our thorns your lifeblood, and we will protect you.”

I take a shaky breath to better control myself. That voice is strange, like the very nature around me whispers in unison. Just like his body is made from wild creatures, it seems like his voice is made up from all the sighs, murmurs, and creaks of the forest.

“Thank you for your kind offer. It’s beyond generous.”

Even as I say it, I realize with sorrow I can’t accept the invitation. I have things to do, devils to defeat, and a twelve-year-old girl to save from the fate of death. As appealing as it sounds to just stay here, protected and wanted, I can’t give in to the ease and comfort.

The king seems to understand my unspoken rejection. He raises an arm and turns, pointing up the path in the direction where I’m going, following the current of the river.

“That way lies pain and destruction. My home is the last enclave of peace.”

I squeeze the handle of my blade convulsively. He speaks about the war. So this forest is free of it, and yet…

“But why is no one here then?” I ask, my curiosity stronger than reverence. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I met almost no one in these parts. If there is peace here, why don’t more people live in your lands?”

He turns back to me, the bees rising with the movement. For a moment, I glimpse two splashes of glittering violet in his face, like a pair of eyes the color of flowers. He seems to consider me until he finally speaks.

“The toll we pay is higher. But you can withstand it. Your blood brims with power.”

“Toll? What do you mean?”

But he doesn’t answer my question. The bees rise in layers, the swarm falling away from the central shape, until the king becomes smaller and smaller, finally falling apart into a multitude of insects that go up into the trees like a dark cloud. I watch the spectacle, more awed than scared now.

When the forest is quiet again, I set out down the path. The king refused to answer my questions, but at least I know I’m walking in the right direction—toward danger.

I might hate Woland for bringing me to Slawa without my consent, but since I’m already here, I will make the best of it.

Soon, I spot a bush laden with wild raspberries that hang heavy, bigger and darker than the same fruit back home. I eat with pleasure, drinking in the gold rays of the late afternoon sun. After stripping the bush of its load, I remember what the king said. I can stay—provided I feed the thorns my blood.

“Thank you for the meal,” I mutter, scratching my thigh with a thorny branch until blood wells. “Did you know a certain devil has similar tastes to you? Bloodthirsty lot, you kings and gods. I hope my offering will be enough for a peaceful night.”

When evening comes, I curl up in the roots of a large birch and cover myself with moss to ward off the night chill. True to his word, the king protects me, and I sleep through the night undisturbed.

I keep walking the next day, stopping around midday to catch fish in the river. This time, nothing odd happens, and I manage to catch five small fishes on my hooky fingers without exhausting myself. Encouraged by that, I gather big fern leaves and transform them into a rudimentary dress for myself. It’s shapeless and short, the rough, gray fabric barely reaching my knees, but at least, I’m no longer naked.

In the afternoon, the river grows bigger, fed by a few smaller streams along the way. The path is wider, too, and more well-trodden. It seems like I’m finally nearing the end of the woods.

The forest grows utterly silent, birdsong cutting off. I halt, looking around, just in time to notice the lush ferns on my right bow as if under the onslaught of wind.

I choke on my next breath. The same force that surprised me yesterday in the river plows through the forest, cutting through me with dozens of seeking, greedy fingers. This time, I’m not drowning, and so I feel exactly what happens. My power, the very magic flowing in my veins, is ripped out, strand by strand, until I’m left gasping, almost completely devoid of it. The smallest spark remains. The rest… is gone. Stolen.

“What in the licho…?” I gasp out, pressing both hands to my throbbing chest. “Why?”

The world is gray again, the colors drained out of the trees, the sun bleached of its golden shine. I blink, looking around with dismay. Before I have time to make sense of everything, the bushes ahead of me rustle, and someone steps out onto the path.

I shake my head in disbelief at the sight. It’s not the King of Bees, nor is it a tree guardian. No, it’s a small boy, his hair curly and golden, his face pink. He looks at me with a sweet, friendly smile.

“Hello! Are you lost? Where is your mother?” I call out, walking closer.

The boy is dressed simply, in a linen shirt and a pair of brown pants. His feet are bare, but he’s clean and looks healthy. My knees wobble with weakness, and yet I make my way toward him, worried for the child.

When I am five steps away, his expression changes. The smile grows wider, revealing more teeth, and there is something sinister to it. The boy’s eyes flash black for the briefest moment.

In the next heartbeat, he launches himself at me with a blood-curdling shriek.

Chapter three

Bottomless

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