Slowly, I look up, horror and awe mixing in my chest. The tree creaks, rustling violently, and slowly, inch by inch, it tilts.
“What the fuck is she?”Perun asks, shock in his voice.
I don’t know. I can only watch as my poppy girl, bathed in red, singlehandedly topples Perun’s oak. The hall shakes, the foundations breaking apart as momentum rips out the roots buried deep underneath. The oak falls, majestic and slow, and the hall quakes a final time as it hits the ground.
I shoot out of the trap, half-certain it couldn’t have worked. But the barrier is gone, Perun’s voice quiet. His magic dissipates, though I know he can come back. Wherever there is an oak, he can go. I have protections in place, so he needed four to reach me, but given enough time, he might try something with three.
“Everyone out!” I roar, scooping Jaga into my arms.
She’s unconscious, probably drained. She’ll be fine, so I focus on the nawkas instead. Nyja’s soldiers in their bird forms rush up into the perches, shooing all the little birds out of the hall. It will have to be purified until every last trace of the oaks is gone.
“Out! Remove everyone! It will be burned. Out, out!”
With Jaga’s limp body in my arms, I oversee the emptying of the hall, sending my shadows ahead to check if any souls were left behind. When I am certain they’re gone, I cast a long, heavy spell onto the oaks. Fire is not my element, but I can rule it if I must. With the dregs of my magic, I send hot sparks of wrath onto the trees until they catch. I leave the hall and close the doors, and Nyja casts a barrier spell around it to keep the purging fire from spreading.
We stand together, young soldiers, Nyja, a couple of souls who were inside when it happened. Those who can breathe, breathe hard. The birds are silent, perching on arches and benches around the arena as they watch the hall smolder, windows shattering until thick clouds of smoke escape. My fire is quick. The building will collapse within half an hour.
Jaga is still in my arms, and I finally look at her, half expecting to see something monstrous, something beyond dark. But she’s herself: pale, freckled, and bloodied.
Her nostrils don’t move.
“Love?” I ask, stepping away from the building. “Jaga?”
I shake her, but she doesn’t react, her head lolling heavily. I curse under my breath and lay her down on the ground. Nyja hovers by my side, quiet and shaken.
“Love, here. You just need to swallow. Just like before, remember? You couldn’t breathe but you swallowed just fine.”
Even as I say it, I know it’s not “like before”. When I dug Jaga out of her grave, she moved weakly, and I could tell at a glance she was alive despite the plants growing out of her body, her skin hanging in tatters over raw muscles. This is different.
I open my wrist, dripping blood into her open mouth while my magic combs through the fibers of her being, looking for damage. She has only shallow wounds, nothing serious.
Only, her heart won’t beat, and her breath won’t come.
“Jaga!” I urge, panic clawing at my throat. “Swallow! Come on, just once! You’re still there, I know you are. You’re immortal, remember?”
I’m sure she is. She can’t die unless I will it. Maybe only Perun can bypass my spell work, but it would take him much longer than he had in the hall, if it’s possible at all.
Blood drips out of Jaga’s still mouth, flowing down her cheek. I seal the wound in my wrist and bring her up, cradling her tome. Cold, cold terror seeps into my soul. Did she somehow break my spells herself? She kept saying she wanted to die.
“Jaga, come back,” I grit out, shaking her.
Even as I do it, I check. I can’t help it. If she died by some freak accident, her soul will be here, in Nawie. Maybe I can fix it. If only I have her soul.
I sweep my consciousness through my kingdom, searching for the familiar shape and taste, but she’s nowhere to be found.
“You’re not dead!” I bark. “Come on! Stop pretending!”
“Weles, she’s… She’s hollow,” Nyja whispers, sadness and dread in her voice. “There’s nothing there. Can’t you tell?”
“Then where is she?” I roar, cradling Jaga to my chest. “Find her! Now!”
Nyja closes her eyes, searching obediently, and I shake Jaga until her head rolls from side to side, her neck loose. It doesn’t make sense. She’s not dead—she’s still here. All she needs is her breath.
I lay her down and tilt her face up, pressing my lips to hers. I breathe right into her mouth, pinching her nose closed, until her chest lifts. I pull away, licking away my own blood that clung to her lips. Nothing happens. I shake my head, my hands trembling from fear, and do it again. My breath fills Jaga’s body, and I sense something, the faintest current, a reddish glow just visible when my eyes go out of focus.
“Yes,” I whisper, cradling her face in my bloodied palm. “Breathe. Yes.”
I give her another breath, and Jaga awakens with a violent gulp of air. Her hands grip the back of my head, and she presses me close, breathing in, and in, and in. I give her as much air as I can, and the red glow brightens and fills her body. She shakes, but she’s alive, she’s here, she’s not dead.
