I come closer, watching her eagerly. “I am not your mother, little one.”
She is so tiny, so exhausted. Her lips are bloodless in the firelight, her skin pale, limbs gangly. She will grow up to be a tall woman, slender to the point of thinness because of never eating enough. Now, she is a stranger in her changing body, and no wonder. She has just become a woman.
“Then who are you?”
Oh, sweet, young Jaga, so bold and impulsive even then. I remember when Woland came to our Kupala Night, and I was so terrified, yet the fear failed to leash my tongue. I reach deep into her, vanish the knife, putting it in my pocket, and heal her, leaving behind all the scars she will need to teach him a lesson.
She will hurt, but she’ll be safe. I look up, finally taking in those three who made her so afraid tonight. Anger burns in my veins.
It’s time.
“I waited a long time for this,” I whisper, forgetting my younger self as I let all my hate for them flow to the fore, ready and still fresh even after so many years. I raise my arms high, and wind whips the branches into a frenzy, called forth by my righteous wrath. Three lives for a life, because I am worth so much more than them.
I grin, thirst for blood twisting my insides with lust. Death brims at my fingertips, and I look at their souls, unimpressive little stones nestling in their hearts. I slash the air with both arms, crushing those stones without mercy.
But that is not enough. I transform their bodies into something lighter than chalk, something unnecessary and unimportant, because I will erase every last sign of those three. Their bodies become white and crumbling, and I beam withpride, because I forgot to practice this spell, yet it came so easily to me.
“They won’t even get to rot and nourish the earth,” I tell my younger self so she knows how well avenged she is. “And they won’t go to Nawie. Their souls will crumble to dust.”
I blow, scattering the ashes, and there is no more Jaromir, no more Daga, no more Miroslaw. Jaga is safe—at least until Woland comes nine years later.
She feels far from safe, though. Her eyes are huge with terror as she watches me, and I can’t help but smile. Such a tiny, scrawny thing. So beloved. I wish to hug her, but I know I didn’t, and it would probably scare her, so I don’t.
“My, my. Was I really that small and terrified? Well, rise, little one. Let me see you. You’re certainly different from how I remember myself. Perspective changes so much.”
Because when I was her, I didn’t love her one bit, no. Yet now, I do. I see she is inherently lovable, my precious little child, and she deserves so much more. I make her a silent promise.You will have a happy life yet, you’ll see. I’ll take care of you.
I crouch in front of her and tuck her hair behind her ear with all the love I feel.
“I can’t rise,” she says, still clinging to the memory of the knife. “I’m wounded.”
“Are you?” I ask, feeling the weight of that bloodied blade in my pocket.
She looks down, gasping from astonishment. “You healed me. I won’t die.”
I scoff. “Of course you won’t. Or how else would you grow up to be me?”
I see the moment when she understands what I’m saying. I nod. Yes, tiny Jaga. You will be me one day, and yes, perspective changes so much.
When I was her, I thought the woman who saved me was a goddess, powerful and commanding. But now that it’s me, I see how fragile my confidence is, how fickle my power. I came and saved her, yet I am tangled in so many things, wrapped up in the fates of gods and devils, a love that’s a cage while I’m starving for freedom, and I have no idea what to do.
But at least, I saved her.
“Rise then, little one.” I cup her cheek, swallowing my uncertainty and fear so that my eyes brim with all the love I have for her. “Rise and live so you can come back to this moment and save yourself one day.”
She breathes hard and fast, staring at me, and I sigh, nod my goodbye, and stand. I steal one last look at the forest of my youth, feeling a strange nostalgia that is not a longing but relief. Truth be told, my life was a bad one, and everything that happened after this was one long stream of disappointments and bitterness.
Until Woland came.
I turn away and walk into flames. The doorway closes behind me, and I face Weles, who watches me with wide, sincere eyes filled with pride and love.
Tearing my gaze away hurts, but I must. I’ve just promised my younger self I’ll take care of her—ofme—and I’ll never be well and happy if I stay with this man who can destroy me as easily as he picks me up.
My heart swells for him, and my body longs for his scent and heat, but that doesn’t matter.
Stupid choices lead to suffering. I know this best.
Chapter forty-two
