Page 8 of Devil's Doom

“Get up. You’re a witch, powerful and strong. You can do it. See? You killed the beast that wanted to eat you. You’re strong. Get up.”

My legs shake when I stand. I take a few steps to the edge of the path, then stumble against something. A sweet scent fills the air, and I lower to my knees to see what it is.

A small cup made of tree bark, filled with honey that now spills out of the overturned dish. I snatch it up with dismay and eat the treat. Then, throwing my dignity aside, I lower my face to the ground and lap at the spilled honey like a dog.

It’s forest honey, dark and redolent of pines and wildflowers. It’s also the best thing I’ve ever tasted, but in my ravenous state, I devour it too quickly. My hunger, instead of being abated, grows into a monster pulsing in my guts.

“A reward for killing the bies?” I mutter bitterly as I head to wash my sticky face. “Keep it next time and kill it yourself.”

At the low river bank, I kneel carefully to wash my face and drink. The water is freezing, but I drink as much as I can hold, breathing shakily through the cold. At least now I know for sure I made the right decision to leave the forest. I am not safe here.

Thirst quenched, I get up and walk, one hand clutching my knife, the other curled around my pendant. It’s reassuring to touch it—a reminder I was strong enough to outwit the devil. Also, idiotic as it sounds, I feel less alone holding it. It’s like a part of him is with me. A weak, conquered part that’s entirely in my power.

As my body screams with pain, my chest still hollow and sick, I amuse myself with the memory of Woland on his knees. He begged me to be his once, though like everything else, it was a trick and a lie.

But he looked good kneeling at my feet. That’s what makes me smile against the pain.

I reach the end of the woods just as the birds wake up and fill the air with a lilting song. It’s still dark, but I know dawn is coming. Ahead, a shallow valley of fields stretches, gray and quiet in the starlight. Beyond the valley a mountain rises, the river circling around it on the left. Dozens of lazy threads of smoke rise over the slope.

I can’t see well from where I stand, but the smoke is proof enough—I finally reached a settlement.

My battered body gives out, so I sit heavily on a wide tree stump and wait, watching Slawa emerge as dawn creeps closer.

At first, I can’t believe the sheer size of the place. The mountain is enormous, its gentle slopes rolling over vast swathes of land. The entire area is densely populated with dwellings. I’m not sure because of the distance, but I think I see cottages, some sitting side by side, others surrounded by small gardens. Higher up, the structures grow bigger, more stone than wood, and at the top, towers of a fortress jut into the gray sky.

I’ve never heard tales of anything like it. The sheer number of people living there is beyond comprehension. I can’t imagine how cramped it must be, but at the same time, I’m glad. It will be easy to get lost among the multitude of people.

Because it’s clear: that’s where I must go. I need to learn the ways of this world, and what better place to get news than a crowded town where people gossip, complain, and quarrel all the time? I’m good at staying out of sight and listening. I did it all my life, always keeping a hand on the pulse of my village so I’d be warned if my people planned to cast me out.

The path widens here, leading from the forest to the mountain in an almost straight line. It cuts through fields of barley or rye, partly harvested. A few trees grow on the balks between the neat rectangles of fields, the borders marked with red ribbons.

Something glitters halfway through the valley, close to the path. It looks like a large pond, perfectly circular. As it gets lighter, I notice the pond is fed by a narrow stream shooting off from the river.

When the sun rises, I take deep breaths, willing my body to go on. I’m shaky, the source of my power in my chest still almost empty. I should eat and sleep, and if I am to enter the settlement, I should probably change my appearance. Woland is powerful and leads an army, if I can believe him. Who knows how many people are looking for me on his orders.

As hunger squeezes my stomach, I look around for something to eat, finding only a gnarled tree heavy with small apples. I eat as many as I can, and it feels like I’m feeding a bottomless hole inside me. I’m not just hungry for food. The space where my magic was is a pit, the lack so visceral, it’s like I’ve become the hunger itself.

And so, I learn another lesson: don’t spend more than you have.

The tree stripped of apples, I set out down the path, looking for anything that might help me disguise myself. Soon, I’ll meet people going out to the fields, since harvest is ongoing, and work probably begins right after dawn.

When I spot a big walnut tree close to the pond, I head there, careful to stick to the balks. Where I’m going, the fields are mostly harvested, only hard stalks of rye sticking out of the soil in uneven clumps. I should be alone here.

In Slawa’s crystal air, everything seems to be closer than it is. It’s noon by the time I reach the pond, parched and exhausted. I go to the stream and drink, eyeing the utterly still surface of the round pond. There are no reeds, no water plants, nothing. Just the black water that seems to watch me back as I examine it with dread.

A memory of a tale flickers in my mind. Magical creatures are said to live in bodies of water like this one, and so I drink quickly and step back, getting busy gathering walnuts, most of them still in their green, fleshy shells.

The only warning I get is a faint splash behind me. And then, a voice calls out, throaty and very deep. It sounds masculine and definitely not mortal.

“What’s this? A maiden, just in time for breakfast? The gods are kind today!”

I whip around, walnuts scattering from my hands. Right in the middle of the pond is a bald head covered by slick gray skin, the nose wide and flat. Two big red eyes watch me with amusement, the being’s thin lips stretched in a smile that reveals narrow, sharp teeth, very yellow against the glistening gray of his face.

“Who are you?” I ask, my heart hammering with fear.

I’ve put my knife down to free my hands. I snatch it up so fast, I get dizzy from the sharp movement. Even as I grip the handle, I know I’m too weak to fight.

“Oh, are you new here?” he replies with a question, the water rippling gently around him, though he doesn’t seem to move. “That’s delightful! I love showing the young ones the ropes. What’s your name, maiden?”

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