Only, her eyes are bottomless and absent. When she looks at me sometimes, unseeing and empty, I shiver, sensing that deep darkness within.
It’s not in her body. It’s somewhere else, only, I have no way of looking at her mind and soul without her permission. Jaga’s on guard even when she’s sleeping, her mind tightly locked up against intrusion. If I were to ram through her defenses, it would damage her, and I won’t risk it.
Dejected and troubled, I get up and call on Nyja. She appears in a flutter of wings.
“Any news?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “We’re patrolling constantly. So far, no one’s attacked us. There is no movement on the other side of Struzina, either. I’m… concerned, Weles.”
“I know. Me, too.”
What neither of us says is that we’re both certain Perun’s gods did something during the avalanche of souls three days ago, something we missed. We’re both troubled, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“There’s a funeral starting in an hour in the town with the most victims,” I offer, already expecting this to be a dead end. “Maybe whoever did this will show up to revel in mortal suffering.”
Nyja nods, looking at Jaga. “Go. I’ll watch over her. You have my word.”
I call my shadows and shift into Woland, departing on the same breath. Nyja is one of the few people I trust to keep Jaga safe.
Worlds pass by in a blur of darkness as I travel, faster than a nightmare. Dawn’s breaking in the mortal world, a golden summer day covering the land as the sun rises over the horizon. I remember last summer, when I was still confident Jaga would be mine, my faith unshakeable until she chose dying in the werewolf’s maw over me.
How angry I was. How aroused. If only I’d fucked her then, after I made her take my name on the river bank, just as I wanted…
But Nawie was being invaded by Dadzbog, who came to fight Chors. My son fought viciously, but the sun god brought scores of dragons with him. They overwhelmed Chors, and when Nyjacalled on her nawka soldiers, Dadzbog burned them with his light.
She had no choice but to call on me.
So I came, swathing my golden nephew in darkness, and tossed him into Struzina. It was too late. Nyja was badly burned, Chors was wounded, and I had to stay and protect my home.
I still can’t explain why I lied to Jaga about that when we had our little heart to heart, right before I made the terrible mistake of trying to wipe her memory. I told her I left to fight Perun when I was about to fuck her. I guess I wanted to hurt her. Convince her—and myself—how unimportant she was.
Because the truth is, only the gravest danger to my closest family could drag me from between her legs, even then. And ithurtto leave.
Even at the beginning, she meant more than I could handle. I hated her for it. A mortal slip of a girl, one who defied me with so much fire… And I wantedher, even though I could have any other female—bies, mortal, or goddess.
That’s probably proof that even gods are fools in love.
I reach my destination, a town located right by the most common trade route. Nineteen pregnant women were killed here three days ago, the largest number in one place. The funeral is held outside the town gates, by a moor. It’s raining in this part of the mortal lands, the dawn obscured by heavy clouds.
Hidden in the shadows under a tall birch, I watch the crowd. Over two hundred people came to say goodbye to the women. A group of men stand at the front, their faces hard, hats clasped tightly in their hands as rainwater drenches their hair. Some press weeping children to their sides.
The husbands.
Not one of them cries or curses the gods. They are quiet, drowning in the despair of losing their wives and unborn children.
I envy those men, I realize. I envy their strength. If my Jaga was dead, gone forever as they believe their wives to be, I wouldn’t be calm like them. My grief would pour out in every way possible, until I turned the world around me into a lake of sorrow.
If she took a child with her,mychild, I’d drown myself in that lake to join them.
The zerca says his prayers, his voice high and sorrowful, and I sigh, not even knowing why I came here. Maybe to torture myself. It’s obvious no god is coming to revel in the mundane, quiet grief they caused.
I am about to go back to Nawie when I hear a part of the prayer, and it makes me pause as I realize who must have killed these mothers.
Becausewhohas the knowledge about all expecting women in these lands? Who revels in twisted cruelty toward children, and hates Weles?
“Our lady Mokosz, our Mother, our Comfort and Serenity, please, remember your daughters and lead them to eternal peace in Nawie. You, who promise to watch over each mother and unborn child, please, give us your blessings so we never know pain like this again.”
The air shimmers, a lone ray of the sun shining through the storm clouds. The villagers gasp, awed by what they deem to be a sign of the goddess’ favor. A hand strokes my nape playfully, and I twist in place, smacking her with my tail.
