“We don’t have time,” Nyja hisses.
I sigh and close my eyes, the warm, wet heart beating in my hand. Does it matter? Jaga is right. I owe her. Besides, she is the only one of us who has limitless power, since I can replenish it so easily by giving her my breath. If not for that, I wouldn’t waste magic on saving the birds.
I drop the heart of Mokosz to the ground and crush it with my heel.
“Come with me.”
I take Jaga’s elbow and transport us to the foot of the massive trunk. We end up just by the hole in the ground that led to my prison, and I realize with a shock that they’ve left it exactly as itwas. When I glance inside, I see the chains, rusty and covered in grime.
It’s as if my prison is waiting for me to come back. Fear claws at my insides, and I welcome it with a sigh.
“Here. Follow my lead.”
I press both hands to the bark, grimacing when my skin instantly itches. Jaga does the same, watching me expectantly. I take a shaky breath and swallow, doing my best to focus.
“They are tied to the tree,” I explain, fighting nausea. “If you can find the main spell running up the tree that binds them, and then unravel or cut it, they should be able to leave. Fuck. This would be easier with a bond.”
“I see many strands of magic,” Jaga says, her green eye closed, her brows furrowed with concentration. “Some brighter and thicker, others narrow. They… They feel foreign. I don’t know which spell enslaves the souls.”
“Mm-hm. That’s why I’m here.” I swallow compulsively. The skin of my palms peels in places, and I can’t heal as long as I’m touching the tree. “There. It’s red. Darker than your soul. Pulsing fast. Do you see it?”
She peers into the trunk, and I know it’s hard, since there are hundreds of kinds of magic throbbing within, magic flowing through the Great Oak like sap. Jaga nods hesitantly.
“The one that feels hot? And… almost sweet. Like overripe fruit.”
I push away from the oak and wipe sweat off my brow, shaking and coughing. “T-that’s the one.”
She doesn’t spare me a glance as I walk away, giving my old prison a wide berth. I stop nearby, watching her, my nose plugged with shadows while I heal. Jaga frowns deeply, her mouth set in a grim line.
“Fuck being efficient,” I think she mutters, though I’m not sure.
The oak trembles. The birds above us make panicked noises as they spread their wings, and Jaga cackles, her soul visible and pulsing. She pours more and more magic into the tree, sure of her power, careless with her magic since she’s learned it can be replenished so easily. I should deny her my breath to teach her a lesson, I muse, but not today.
The tree shakes harder, leaves and acorns raining down. The birds scream. That’s the only word that fits. The noise is no longer cawing or clacking, but a continuous, agonizing whine coming from tens of thousands of beaks. Jaga grunts, her soul withering, pulling in to hide in her body. I try to caution her against running out, but my coughing makes it impossible to speak.
She wouldn’t hear me over the noise, anyway.
A hand settles on my shoulder, and I flinch, but it’s only Chors. His eyes are creased with worry as he looks between me and her.
The ground shakes again, and I hold on to him to stay upright. I would have fallen if not for my son. Chors shakes his head, looking impressed and disapproving all at once. The cacophony of bird suffering quiets, and the ground settles. Jaga stumbles away from the oak. Her soul is tucked in, no red halo around her head, and I know she’s running on empty.
Yet, when she raises her arms high, they do not tremble. She claps once, and the sound carries.
“Shoo! You’re free!”
For one heavy heartbeat, silence drapes heavy around the branches. Then, wind. The air moves, softly at first, then faster and faster, as wings beat it up into a frenzy. The first birds pull away from the branches, rising higher and higher, and my breath catches in my throat, because she did it, she really did, and it’s so much better than what I intended.
Tens of thousands of birds take to the sky, abandoning slavery at Perun’s whims. They rise like a cloud of smoke, thickand gritty, higher and higher, cawing and trilling. They sound different than they used to. There is exuberance in their calls.
I am grateful Jaga did this. I wouldn’t have been able to. With my supply of power, divine though it is, I could have picked one: freeing the souls or destroying the tree, and when it comes to Perun, I’ll always choose destruction.
Jaga spent all her magic, too, but she chose to use it for freedom. I’ve never loved her more than now.
“Jaga, come take a breath before…” I begin, but my voice gets stuck in my throat as a cloud of powerful, oak-scented magic envelops me from every side. I’m disoriented, blinking to clear the daze from my eyes, when the ground suddenly opens under my feet. I sink in, and I try to leap away, but an invisible, familiar force holds me in a vise. I sink deeper until I’m buried in the soil up to my hips, then to my belly button.
It stops. Chains bind my arms and wrists, and things wind around my ankles underground, thin, hungry roots. They suck the magic out of me. Just like before. Like in my prison.
Perun crouches in front of me, his blue eyes twinkling with mad triumph.
