Swarog has managed to rip out a few of the threads, but he still bears the marks. The poison will keep eating him unless it’s completely washed off, and even as his magic heals him, new blackened spots appear on his face and arms.
“Let me help you, nephew,” I say with a grin.
I grab him with my shadows, expending an enormous amount of power. It’s excruciating to hold him, and our powers clash, fire and darkness, heat and night. I grunt and dive toward the sea, pulling him with me. My magic pours out in an avalanche, bringing me close to my limit.
Just a bit longer. The cliffs. Almost there…
We plunge into the sea, and I keep holding him as he thrashes, the water boiling around him. It’s easier now, his heat diffused, his light not as bright. I risk a moment of distraction, sending my mind to see how Jaga’s doing.
I look out through her eyes right into the gaping maw of a poludnica. The bies screeches with fury struggling to get free, but Jaga’s hands are wrapped around her throat and hold fast. My girl’s skin is covered with burns, but nothing too serious.
“Just… Fucking… Die!” Jaga spits.
Something glittering and dark appears in her periphery, like a small stone, and falls into the poludnica’s throat. The bies chokes, her screeching cut off. Her eyes tear up, growing enormous with pain and fear, and Jaga throws her on the ground, panting from effort.
“What was that?”I ask.
“One of the obsidians from your throne room. I infused it with as much of Nawie’s darkness as I could. Need anything?”
“Send some magic. I’m drowning Swarog.”
She huffs, but as soon as I retreat, our bond flares to life. This time, it’s not just a trickle that comes through. It’s a solid stream, the flow rapid and brilliant, and I arch my back, releasing bubbles in a shocked moan.
Something hot and burning wraps around my ankle. Swarog has stopped thrashing, and he floats in front of me, livid but weak. A rope of pure fire twists tighter around my ankle, and he holds the other end.
I throw a blade of darkness at the rope just as he pulls me closer. I miss. He pulls again, his face twisted in wrathful concentration. I grab the rope with my hand to undo it, but I let go at once. This is the hottest flame I’ve handled yet. My foot is numb, all nerve endings burned through. My body can’t heal them properly with the rope still burning my flesh.
Swarog grins, certain he has me. One more pull, and I’ll be in his arms. He’ll take me straight to Wyraj.
I throw my hand out as he pulls me closer, and my palm meets the hard muscle of his chest over his heart. My skin burns from the contact, and Swarog’s smile falls half a second before I crush his heart with my shadows.
His hold on me loosens, and he sinks slowly, a surprised expression on his face. I know he won’t die, but if the sea quells all his magic, he might have trouble reviving himself. Giddy shivers race down my back. Maybe he’ll stay here, buried forever in the sea at the shores of my domain. That would be a crushing victory.
I burst out of the water laughing and shoot through the air back to the island. The sun burns my wet nape, and I look up, shielding my eyes. Dadzbog and the King of Bees are locked in a wrestling embrace, the insects crawling over the sun god, stifling his bright light. I hover nearby, well out of their reach.
“Need a hand?”
“We do not.”
On the southern shore, Nyja and her nawkas are busy slaughtering poludnicas, aided by Rod and his daughters. More than a dozen bieses lie dead in the sand, another dozen to go. Chors kneels by the water, never taking his eyes off thepoludnicas. Silver sweat glistens on his temples. I know it takes all his focus to tamp down on the poludnicas’ magic, keeping them from razing our troops with the sun’s full power.
If we were close to a full moon, he would have done this with ease, but we’re not, and Chors quickly approaches his limit.
Jutrzenka stands behind him, a mean, mischievous look on her face. Her hands are dirty from sand, and there’s a small pile nearby. It looks like she was playing there. I frown and fly closer. She says something, but I don’t catch it.
I do see my son’s reaction. His face tightens, and an angry, wolfish look flashes in his eyes for the briefest moment. His knuckles whiten as more sweat pours down his face, and I fly over, pulling Jutrzenka away.
“What are you doing?”
She trills a happy, girlish laugh. “Getting him to fight harder! I must support my allies, no? Did you see the castle I built?”
“Have you done anything apart from playing?” I ask, searching for Jaga in the fighting chaos of bieses and nawkas.
“I can’t fight poludnicas,” Jutrzenka says with a shrug. “Or my father. They all have similar magic to mine. I could spur you on, though. Would you like a kiss?”
I stride into the fray, finally noticing the familiar red of Jaga’s hair.
“Yes,” I hiss without turning around. “But not from you.”
