What if Mokosz gets her first and buries her somewhere again? Oh, fuck, I should have pretended better. No, she’s not here, and it’s all my fault like always, and I…
Poppies and lovage. I exhale, not yet certain, but hopeful. I send all my shadows that way, into a small village some souls have chosen for their dwelling. There is a row of cottages, a village green, and a wide river flowing nearby…
I realize with a jolt what this place is. As I stalked Jaga in the mortal world, I often came back frustrated and angry. My magicbrimmed, my fury burned, and I spent sleepless nights thinking about her and the best ways to win her over.
All that energy wanted out, and since I usually create when I’m overwrought, I took it upon myself to build a new level in Nawie. It’s always expanding into new realms, and so I took a blank one and started building.
When I realized what I was doing, I’d already made a village, one eerily similar to Jaga’s. But how did she know? Did Nyja tell her? I didn’t realize she knew. Or maybe Wiosna has found this place and told her?
I let my shadows creep closer, and yes, there she is, my poppy girl wearing leather and high-heeled boots, her hair like a flame cascading down her back. She steps from foot to foot uncertainly, facing…
Oh. I see.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” Jaga says in a stiff, sharp voice that I know is caused by her uncertainty and fear. “I just wanted… I will go if you hate me.”
Bogna, Jaga’s friend whom I got killed, wraps her arms around Jaga, laughing with joy.
“You’re here! Oh, Jaga, how come? Did you die? What happened! Oh, I’m so happy to see you!”
Jaga returns her embrace with much hesitation, and they both cry, Bogna with half-translucent, ghostly tears that don’t truly hurt, and Jaga with her whole being.
“I got you killed!” she sobs, her body wracked with guilt and grief as she holds on to her friend. “You’re dead because of me, because I couldn’t help you, I couldn’t, and I’m sorry! So sorry!”
Bogna laughs without comprehension. Once upon a time, I told Jaga the truth. She is happy. So much happier than she was alive.
“But what are you talking about? Jaga, look! My babies are here! All my babies!”
She points at the doorway of her cottage, where three children aged three to five stand, dressed in pretty, clean clothes, their eyes bright. They sport dark and blond hair, and the youngest has lovely pudgy cheeks that Nyja would squeeze and kiss with love if she were hers.
“Your… Your children.” Jaga stares at them with her lips parted, and I see she doesn’t understand for a moment, utterly confused and lost.
And then she does. “The… Your miscarried babies? The ones I helped you… You… They are with you? Aren’t they nawkas?”
“Oh, they are!” Bogna says with joy, pulling Jaga inside the cottage. “When I came to Nawie, Weles himself welcomed me home! It’s so beautiful here, and he is so good! He asked me if I wanted to see my children, and of course, I did! And they wanted to stay with me, so he let them. Gods, I am so happy. Come in! I’ll make you a brew. Oh, you look so pale.”
It’s dusk in this little village, and the sky colors purple while the first stars twinkle over the horizon. It smells like sage. I quietly follow my shadows, settling outside on a narrow bench by the front door, and watch the night fall while Jaga catches up with her friend.
She doesn’t say much, mostly listens, and her emotions are in such turmoil, I glimpse some of her confusion and reeling uncertainty through our bond. I can’t tell what she thinks. After an hour of listening to Bogna’s happy chatter about her children and their respective accomplishments, she excuses herself in a weak voice, stumbling outside.
She’s not surprised when she sees me. Her eyes are red-rimmed and haunted, and she grabs my shoulders, shaking me.
“The baby I delivered. Where is she?”
I sigh with understanding and nod. “I’ll show you.”
I wrap my shadows around her, and she shivers all over, a horrible suffering making her cold even as her blood races,urged by her pounding heart. We step out onto a beach, where an enormous wreck of an old ship is moored. It’s morning here, and children of all ages climb the masts and run over the deck, screaming and laughing.
“That’s her,” I say, pointing out a girl of five, older than she would have been in the mortal world. “They can choose what age they are here and whether to grow up or not. She chose to be four when she arrived, and she’s growing. They play here every day. Once they get bored, they’ll find another playground. She has many friends who love her. Look.”
The girl runs down the deck with an excited shout, and an older girl of seven grabs her hand, listening avidly. They both disappear inside the ship’s cabin, coming out a moment later with a treasure chest of gold and rubies that they pull behind them. A boy joins them, then another, and the girl Jaga delivered snatches something glittering out of the chest and runs, laughing happily, while the others give chase.
Jaga sobs without tears, and she’s so overwhelmed, her soul escapes past her barriers, unfurling like a red sail to match the ship. I hold her tightly, and she buries her face in my throat, wailing so much harder than she did back then, in the forest after I got her banished.
It takes a long time for her to calm down, and when she pulls away, her face is wet and blotchy. She looks at me with sad, pleading eyes.
“But why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I release a breath that’s shaky, just like hers.
