“Make people afraid of the dark and magic, yes,” she cuts in. “But do they specifically make them fearyou?Is the hate of Weles built into every mortal? Because if it is, you’re right, this won’t work, but…”
“It isn’t,” Rod says with conviction, his eyes alight with sudden excitement. “I’ve handled millions of ancestral souls, and I know every spell woven into them. She’s right, Weles. They lock down magic and make people fear witches and the dark. But that’s it.”
I shake my head impatiently, because this obviously won’t work, and I hate wasting time and energy on something that will only crush me when it fails.
“I am darkness and magic,” I hiss. “It makes no difference whether Perun’s souls spell out my name or not.”
“Reinvent yourself,” Jaga says with a glimmer in her eye. “Are youonlythe god of magic and shadows? No, you’re a healer and a teacher. You said no one replaced you in these roles, so why don’t you simply claim them again? Healing is a part of every mortal’s life. No one prays as hard as a mother who has sick children. Do people pray to you, Weles?”
I grimace. “Sometimes. Not many. I ignore them.”
Jaga nods seriously. “Of course you do. They are but broken mortals, and you loathe looking at them. I think you should make all their prayers come true.”
There is a sudden silence, and most people watch Jaga dubiously. Only Wiosna cackles, hitting the table with her glass of mead, making it slosh over.
“Most prayers are idiotic,” I counter, shaking my head. “People ask for cures for warts, for their mother-in-law to fall in the well, or to find a pile of gold in the woods.”
“Perfect,” Jaga says, completely unbothered. “Cure their warts, drown their relatives, give them gold. You have plenty, don’t you?”
“This is preposterous.” I push away from the table, intending to stand up and pace, but a cramp grips me tight, and I settle back with a grimace. “Do you know how few people pray to me these days? And I can’t even show my face. What guarantee do you have that this will work?”
“I know human nature. If people get a windfall by praying to a certain god, they will pray to him again. Honestly. Why aren’t you all answering prayers to make yourselves more powerful?”
“It’s boring,” Strzybog says with scorn. “Besides, most people pray to Mokosz and Perun. Or to Swarog, if they are craftsmen, and the King of Bees, if they live off the forest.”
“I bet so many would pray to Weles if they knew it worked,” Jaga says, putting both hands on the table as she leans closer, asif willing to make me agree with the intensity of her gaze. “Come on. Do it now. Answer one prayer.”
I grit my teeth and close my eyes, listening for the voices I always tune out because of how tedious and irritating they are. I am shocked to discover quite a few mortals clamor for my attention. I thought most of them forgot me.
“Oh, Weles, please, make my mother well. Please, no one else listens.”
“Save me, Weles. They will kill me if they find out I did magic that day. Save my life.”
“We are so hungry. No other god ever listens. Please, Weles, give us food…”
And many, many others. I let the voices trail off, marking the first three for future perusal, and open my eyes. “They ask for healing, protection, and food. I have to be present to deliver those.”
“We should go, then,” Jaga says. “I’ll help. We will do miracles and give you back your power.”
I shake my head with frustration. “No, you don’t understand! Three people is nothing! I should… I should convert hundreds of thousands for this to work. It will take centuries to answer that many prayers.”
She shrugs. “Oh, do you have something more important to do?”
“Perun will find out and stop me,” I say through gritted teeth. “He will never let me do this. Or he’ll change the ancestral souls, adding new spells to make me even weaker.”
Rod clears his throat. “I don’t think he’ll have an easy way of doing that without me. Ever since I left, mortals get buried with their ancestral souls still inside them. Until Perun finds someone to replace me, he won’t recover the used ones. New ones still go out, carried by storks, but they will run out at some point.”
Jaga thumps her fist on the table in triumph. “See? Everything’s working out for you!”
“Jagusia, remember how Jarota prayed to Mokosz for rain that one time?” Wiosna asks out of the blue. “And it rained the next day, saving all our crops. You can bet he prayed to Mokosz for everything after that and told people to pray to her, too.”
“Oh.” Jaga sighs, nodding in understanding. She turns to me. “If you have zercas, you will have influence. Givethemmiracles, and they will convert people for you. Just do that, and then you can bide your time until you’re strong enough to face Perun.”
Her enthusiasm is adorable, but Jaga’s only lived a few years over twenty. She has no idea how powerful Perun is and how weak I am in comparison. She wasn’t in that hole with me, learning day after day that it’s impossible to win.
“I can try,” I say without conviction. “But I don’t think…”
“Oh, damn you!” she spits, hitting the table again, and just like Nyja, she makes the obsidian crack with the force of her anger. “You don’t want to win, do you? You want someone else tohand youthe victory. That’s why you keep chasing me. Fine. Be a coward then. I’m done.”
