The last time I was in Wyraj was to rescue Jaga. She was buried under the meadow of Mokosz in the west, far away from my former prison.
“What even would we do, once there?” I ask with annoyance. “It’s not Wyraj that’s our target, it’s Perun himself, and we’re still too weak to attack him.”
“I can think of one thing that would be worth burning down in Wyraj,” Nyja says with a wicked glint in her eye.
“The Great Oak.”
“Losing the oak will make him weak,” Rod says with quiet vehemence, and his daughters nod solemnly. “Once it falls, we’ll stand a chance of defeating him. I say we go.”
I look at Jaga, who watches me with her arms folded, her face unreadable. But as her lip curls scornfully, I realize what she’s thinking—that I’m a coward.
Maybe she’s right. But on the other hand, bravery is not the same thing as rushing stupidly into action on the word of a mad goddess.
“Rod and Chors, I want you to see if entering Wyraj is safe. Avoid Mokosz and the bieses, we can deal with them later. I want to know if Perun will come if you cross the border. Dola, monitor Perun’s progress with the temple. Listen in, if you can, but don’t let them know you are there.”
I send my family, those I trust the most, to verify Jutrzenka’s words. It’s not a decision yet. I’m reluctant to risk going to Wyraj, only, I can’t be certain whether it’s because of my centuries-old fear or reasonable misgivings. Or maybe both.
“We’ll reconvene once we know more,” I say, my skin itching with the need to act. I want to fuck Jaga, spend all of my fear into her body, but I know it won’t happen.
Odious witch.
My gods depart almost at once, taking precautions to be safe. Since I can hardly stand the waiting, I pace, first in the Hall of Fires, then in my throne room, finally exploding outside to fly frantic circles over the island.
Rod and Chors come back to report they’ve walked in Wyraj for hours and weren’t attacked. I send them back to push deeper, toward the Great Oak, to see if that will provoke Perun.
Time passes in waiting, and I can’t stand it anymore. Because what if it turns out Jutrzenka was right? What if it’s our chance to burn down the source of Perun’s power?
Will I be courageous enough to do it?
“I’m going to do miracles,”I tell Jaga the next day when a warm wind blows from the mainland, and I know spring is near.“Come with me.”
“I’m busy.”
I sigh and go alone as Woland, because I don’t have to show my face to anyone to deliver miracles. I’ve answered everyprayer I could since the fall, and I can tell my power has grown. It’s not an enormous surge, but here and there, I find myself flexing further, creating more, performing spells I haven’t tried in centuries.
I built a whole new level in Nawie, a meadow of poppies by a glorious river flowing lazily under an eternal sunset, but every time I try to take Jaga there, she gives me an excuse.
She doesn’t share my anxiety while waiting for our allies to return. Curing the rot consumes her. She’s burned through dozens of subjects that I keep bringing her, morbid bridal gifts from a besotted god to his beloved. She’s made some progress but still has no cure.
When she’s not busy playing with pus, she spends time with Rada and the dragon child. Sometimes, I catch her talking to Nyja or Chors, and once, to Rod. It makes me jealous and sick every time.
What if we burn down the Great Oak and defeat Perun? Will she leave the next day? Or will she stay and seduce one of my sons?
I shake off that thought, clenching my teeth until my jaw aches, and focus on growing my strength. Each miracle pushes me closer to my goal, which is more important than Jaga, I remind myself.
I am in the middle of bestowing a bag of wealth on the third zerca today when Jaga’s voice resounds in my head, urgent and alarmed.
“Woland! Come quick!”
I abandon the gold and rush to her side, horrible terror urging me to go faster, until I step in front of her in the torture chamber, and Jaga beams at me, bouncing from excitement. I look her up and down, searching for wounds, and she grabs my hand with a laugh. I didn’t change into Weles in my hurry to get to her, but that’s hardly a problem. Her subjects will all die, anyway.
“I found it! Woland, I found the cure!”
Pride swells in my chest, pushing out the fear, and Jaga pulls me toward an upir rapist whom I grabbed for her a week ago.
“Check him! See if there’s any left. Go on!”
I crouch in front of the upir, who watches me warily, and I look within him. It takes me only a moment to realize she’s right. There is no trace of the rot.
