“What now?”
“Are you happy?”
I hesitate, looking into the glittering, dark eyes of the god who made the world yet worships me and prays to me every night, and I smile.
“Yes. I’m happy.”
After Weles sends the rot patients to Wyraj, we stroll through the city. It’s a beautiful spring afternoon, the sun about to set. When we pass the milk bar, Chors sits outside on one of the benches, skeletal and tired. New moon is almost here.
“Still no luck getting Dadzbog to break his curse?” I whisper to Weles, who shakes his head with grim disappointment.
“He claims he can’t. No matter how much I torture him, he won’t do it. I’m starting to think he’s telling the truth.”
“Hm.” I think about gods and beliefs, and my enormous, powerful soul, then look at my husband. “I want to try something, but let’s not tell him unless it works.”
Weles nods, and I close my eyes, imagining a robust, powerful, healthy Chors, free and unruled by the motions of the moon.
“I believe Chors is powerful at all times and in all seasons. I believe he is free.”
When I open my eyes, Weles shakes his head, looking sadly at his son, who is still thin, still in pain. We go closer to say hello, and Chors looks up with effort, then frowns.
“What… Why is…”
He breaks off, looking at his hands, then stands abruptly, shoving the bench back with a loud screech. He turns in place, and his body glows silver, his eyes bright. He is thin still, but he bursts with energy, and a tear rolls down his father’s cheek when he beholds his son, who is finally well.
“You’re free,” I tell Chors, my voice breaking from joy.
His curse is gone forever, because I’ll always believe in his power and freedom, and no amount of mortal tales about the moon being eaten away or starving will change that.
Later, we go to the other side of the city and dance in a little square with tables set outside, fiddlers and drummers playing lively music. Rusalkas, mamunas, and upirs dance around us, giving us a wide berth. Lutowa passes by, waving at me, and I wave back without a smile.
A sudden gust of wind weaves among the dancers, lifting the women’s skirts. I laugh and press closer to Weles, but a few women are exposed, and they shake their fists at the wind. Strzybog appears at the edge of the crowd, watching us with a tight smile. He beckons us closer, and we sigh in resignation, hating to be pulled out of revelry for something that is sure to be a chore.
“What is it?” Weles asks him tersely.
Strzybog huffs with annoyance, folding his arms on his chest. “I just came to warn you. My mother is well again and she’s plotting against you.”
We exchange glances, me and Weles, and I know I wear the exact same smile as him: mean and a little excited.
“Oh, let her come,” he says with a laugh. “My love isn’t done getting her revenge, are you, dearest?”
He doesn’t give me time to reply, covering my lips with a ravenous kiss, his knee shoving between my legs to part them.
“You are revolting,” Strzybog says darkly, shaking his head. “I won’t warn you next time. Deal with her yourselves.”
He turns to go, and I stop him, because I remember I have power over gods now, and he deserves to pay for all the hurtful, thoughtless things he has done.
“Hey, Strzybog!” I call, grinning when I think of the perfect punishment. “I believe you will fall in love with the person who hates you the most!”
He watches me for a moment with a disbelieving frown, then rolls his eyes and waves me off rudely. I snicker when he disappears in a bout of wind that attacks women’s clothing again, and Weles tuts under his breath.
“That was mean, love. I can’t wait to watch your curse unfurl.”
We go home through a portal of flames of my making, stepping out on the porch just in time to see Mokosz throwing curses at an invisible, protective barrier Weles has set up a few days ago. She’s disheveled and furious, her eyes glinting madly as she throws thorns, vines, and swarms of wasps, trying to make herself an entrance.
“You!” she roars when she sees us, stopping her assault. “You will pay for what you did to me and my husband!”
I fold my arms, and Weles shrugs and goes inside, humming a melody under his breath. He is completely certain his protective spells will hold, and I believe him, though the bursts of magic in our front garden do annoy me a little.
