“Call me Weles,” I say, the epithet she chose igniting my frustration.
I am the dark god, I rule the kingdom of the dead, I command shadows that snuff out the most powerful flames, and yet, I can’t seem to do the simplest things. The fruitless hunt for evidence of Mokosz’s ploy has run me down, and Jaga won’t even look at me. Some god I am.
“Weles,” Wiosna says with an amused huff. “Am I on first-name basis with a god now? Goody. Say, how is my dear Jagusia today? Still refusing to see me?”
I nod with despondence. I’ve offered Jaga everything that might interest her—long tours of my domain, watching thenawka soldiers training, speaking to each soul she knew back when they were alive, and more. She refused them all.
“Why don’t you come, anyway?” I ask, desperately hoping maybe Wiosna can talk some spirit back into Jaga. “To be honest… I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
Wiosna rears her head to give me a sharp, reproachful look. “Boy, don’t give me that. You broke that girl, and you must fix her. Take responsibility!”
She knows my secret—that I am Woland, too. She didn’t use to know in the past. Back when I messed with Jaga after that Kupala Night, I approached Wiosna as Weles and asked if she wanted to go back to the mortal world and talk to her mentee, since she was going through some trouble. Wiosna jumped on the offer. She loves to meddle.
When I decided to remove everyone who supported Jaga, I confined Wiosna’s soul to Nawie as Weles. She suspected me then, and when I brought Jaga here from her grave and she fell into that catatonic state, I approached Wiosna and asked her if she’d cook for her.
And that was when she guessed who I was. Oh, the dressing down I got was priceless. Wiosna isn’t afraid of anyone, not even me. She’ll probably tell Perun off if she ever has the chance.
“I’m trying,” I tell her solemnly. “That’s why I’m asking you for help. Come and look at her. Maybe talk to her. I’ll appreciate your insight and wisdom very much.”
She straightens, her eyes crinkling with pleasure. “Oh, very well, dearest Weles. I am wise and insightful, as you rightfully noticed. I will help you.”
Since Wiosna can’t access the lower levels on her own for the first time, I lead her through every door, moving us both through shadows when I can. She comments on the brief glimpses of the more beautiful spaces, like the Hall of Fires.
“Oh, you’ve done very well for yourself here, yes, indeed. You must positively adore shiny things. And you have such an eye for detail! No wonder my Jaga caught your eye. She’s exquisite, isn’t she?”
Jaga’s mentor speaks with motherly pride, even though she was only Jaga’s teacher. But it makes sense to me—after all, Jaga’s own mother resented her deeply and wasn’t very affectionate, from what I gathered. Wiosna replaced her as the girl’s guardian even when the mother was still alive.
That is why she’s the one I’m bringing today, not the sad, quiet soul of her mother, who’s haunting the higher levels of Nawie, searching for the soul of Ratko, Jaga’s father, to scream at him in rage. Jaga’s parents are an unpleasant little pair, and I still cannot comprehend how two subpar mortals like them could have brought forth such a vivid, beautiful creature.
Not that she’s vivid or beautifulnow.
“Oh dear,” Wiosna sighs as soon as we step through the threshold of my throne room. “That’sher? Boy, why didn’t you bring me sooner? She’s a wraith!”
The short whisperer rushes to Jaga, ignoring the splendor of my throne room. She only has eyes for my poppy girl, and my heart squeezes with hope and a strange kind of kinship.
Wiosnalovesher, just like me, and that makes her an instant ally.
“Jagusia? Oh dear. Look at your hair! Girl, are you starving? Isn’t he feeding you? If I knew, I would have cooked all your favorite dishes every day! Get up girl. Come on, get up! You’ll get varicose veins from sitting all day like this.”
Jaga’s empty gaze is turned on the old healer, and for a moment, my heart freezes with anxiety. If she won’t react to Wiosna, I won’t know what else to do.
But Jaga does react, albeit slowly. She straightens with a grunt, taking her legs off the ornate armrest encrusted withrubies, and stands, her joints creaking like the hinges of a decrepit door.
“Oh, and yousmell!” Wiosna covers her nose with her hand. “Don’t they have water down here? Show me where the bath is, and old Wiosna will scrub all that dead skin off you. My, my, you’ve let yourself go.”
Jaga bares her teeth embedded in sunken gums in a ghastly smile. Despite Wiosna’s protests, she folds her into an embrace, and the old whisperer pats her back comfortingly.
“There, there. We’ll fix you right up. A bath, some broth, and you’ll be as good as new.”
“I missed you,” Jaga says, her voice rustling like dry leaves on a dead tree. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Well, that makes two of us, but I’ll be even happier when you don’t reek anymore. And what are you wearing, for Nawie’s sake? That’s one bold outfit, and no wonder it makes you stink. Oh, dear. Hey, you there! Be useful for once! Prepare me a linen dress, something breathable and clean.”
I snort when I realize Wiosna just addressedmeso rudely. I let it go, hopeful and amused rather than offended. If she drags Jaga back to life, she can insult me all she wants.
They are in the bathroom, and Jaga peels off her leather clothes slowly while the tub fills with hot water. I send my shadows to watch and listen, hoping maybe Jaga will tell Wiosna the secrets she withholds from me, but she says little. Mostly, Wiosna grumbles about the state of her skin and how her ribs protrude.
“What’s the use of being immortal when you don’t let yourself enjoy it?” she huffs. “This gift is utterly lost on you.”
