10. Ten

Lyrical notes of flowing water accompanied the steady trill of a bird. When Ryurikov opened his eyes, it was to a sky of gold and rouge, in part shrouded by dark clouds. The stench of smoke still curled inside his nostrils and with a groan, he sat upright. Blearily, he glanced across the shallow river, a young forest just beyond it, then looked down at his right arm.

Someone had tended to it, and robbed him of his outerwear, bracers, and tunic in the process, leaving him exposed. The patterned sash covering his upper right arm hid the damage, but the pain made him want to weep. He tried moving the limb, and sucked in a sharp breath.

Fucking ouch.

“You won’t be able to use it for a spell. Might even be a lost cause.”

Ryurikov grunted at Jezibaba’s grating voice, reaching with his good arm to pull the hood up out of habit. He grunted again when his fingers closed around nothing.

“What did you do with my clothes?” At least she hadn’t freed him of his breeches. He almost wished she had, claggy as they were with gore.

There was no answer. She sat on a large rock with her legs crossed, knobbly knees stained with soot much, like the rest of her. Jezibaba jerked her head in the opposite direction, silvery hair shaking loose a beetle, its sheen catching golden sunlight.

Awimak sat on his haunches nearby, and Ryurikov weakly scoffed at the sight. His cloak was wrapped around the demon’s horns like a shabby headdress, scarf around the thick neck, and the rest of his clothes rolled in a ball beside furry legs.

THEY DO NOT FIT.Awimak sounded disappointed.

“I’ll have that back.”

He ignored the pain barbing his body as he limped across river rock to snatch his clothes off the ground. Unfurling them, he examined the fabric in dismay. Even in the waning light, it was clear the linen was ruined. He didn’t really want to put any of it back on. Neither did he wish to stand around half naked while the temperature dropped.

A sudden touch to his ribcage made Ryurikov flinch. His hand twitched with the instinct to stop him when Awimak reached out a second time, but he resisted. Strong fingers glided across the scars mantling the entirety of his right side, stretching across his stomach.

Burning eyes flicked up to his chest, and fingers shortly followed, tracing the uneven pattern of further scarring with startling gentleness. Ryurikov flicked his tongue across his lower lip, unsure of the meaning. Compared to him, Awimak was immaculate. No scars, no blemishes. Nothing but smooth grey skin and dark glossy hair reflecting the setting sun. Even his touch was unflawed.

Clawed fingers reached Ryurikov’s face, partially marred like the rest of him, and he jerked back in full.

That was enough of that.

Swiftly, he pulled the blood-soaked tunic over his head, grimacing at the way it stuck to his skin, cold and damp, and shrugged back into his green surcoat. He unwrapped his scarf from the demon’s neck, replaced his belt and bracers, then snapped his fingers at Awimak for his cloak.

The demon abruptly pulled himself up to his full height and hulked over him.

Ryurikov fought the urge to duck away. There was no need for Awimak to speak. They both knew his princely entitlement had taken an inopportune moment to show itself. Rather than shrink, or apologise, he squared himself against the demon, now a beastly shadow against the pink sky.

“My cloak, if you please,” he said, holding out his hand.

TAKE IT.

Ryurikov narrowed his eyes, recognising the words for a dare. He glared at the skull. The stench of smoke intensified, and the silence between them stretched. Tense, brimming with challenge.

“It’s drenched in blood,” he ground out.

YES, said Awimak.

Fucker.

Ryurikov bared his teeth, but did not reach for the cloak. Instead, he stalked back to the river. He was parched.

“What the hell happened?” he grumbled, loud enough for Jezibaba to hear.

“What do you think happened, you fool?”

“I don’t know, you lumpy salamander, I lost consciousness.”

“Fat load of good you were, for something you started,” Jezibaba quipped behind him. “Why don’t you go and see what your imprudent behaviour has accomplished?”

He glared across the river, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The cold water did little to ease the burn of what felt a startling amount like shame. Without another word, he hobbled away, to the east. The sky had darkened to a band of glowing orange along the horizon, while the air stung with every inhale, the smoke thick. Pushing branches out of the way, Ryurikov stepped out from a cluster of trees and froze.

Eastcairn was no more.

Every building reduced to ash, charred protrusions of broken pillars still ablaze. There was no sign of life but for the distant screeches of Skin Crawlers.

Twigs crunched under hooves behind him. The cold air drifting off the demon was a sharp counterpoint to the heat that radiated from the demolished town. Ryurikov couldn’t bring himself to move yet. He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“How long was I out for?”

A FEW HOURS.

They had laid waste to an entire town. There was nothing. Nothing but glowing earth.

YOUR VISIT AGITATED THEM.Awimak’s hot breath ghosted across the back of Ryurikov’s neck.

His jaw tensed at the implication. “Are you saying this is my fault?”

THEIR ENTIRE PRESENCE ON THIS PLANE IS YOUR FAULT, IS IT NOT?

Ryurikov whirled to glare at Awimak’s chest, then craned his neck. His cloak was still up there, around large horns.

Ignoring the searing pain in his mangled arm, he pounced, scaling the demon and delighting in the way he’d caught him off guard. With a firm grip around a horn and his legs entwining the wide ribcage, he swung his head forward to tug the cloak off using his teeth.

Awimak stepped back with a snort, branches beating Ryurikov across the head, then swung ’round to fling him off. His hold on the demon tightened, teeth clenching around blood-soaked fabric, the metallic tang vulgar on his tongue. Claws bored into his thighs, and he cried out in shock, easing the lock of his legs.

The demon reared back. Ryurikov collapsed across the deer-like skull with a grunt and grit his teeth against the pain in his arm. Then, Awimak thrust forward with such force, Ryurikov lost his grip and hurtled off, flying backward to collide with a trunk.

He crumpled to the ground and wheezed, back throbbing from the impact. The sound of thick hooves trudging through grass disappeared, and he glared up, although could scarcely see any longer. The only light came from the orange glow of what used to be Eastcairn, casting harsh shadows through the forest.

With a wet cough that had spittle clinging to his lips, Ryurikov struggled up to his knees. He grimaced at the taste of metal in his mouth and spat.

“Fucker! We’re not done yet. Come back here!”

“Such language.”

Ryurikov tilted his head back in defeat. “Go away.”

The Quinary didn’t go away. They encircled him, looking particularly ghostly as they twitched their spindly fingers with eagerness.

“I fucking tried, alright?” Ryurikov ground out. “I tried.”

“You did,”they agreed in unison.

One of them bent low, gathering handfuls of forest dross.

“You failed,”it said.

“Did your best regardless,”added another.

Twigs and dried leaves were tossed like confetti at his arm and ankle.

“Yay for you!”

Ryurikov glowered. “Well, fuck you very much.”

As he lowered his gaze to his ruined arm, now hidden by the tunic, the pain eased. He flexed the limb and tested his leg. They’d healed him in full. It shouldn’t surprise him, when they’d brought him back from the grave, twice. He still owed Jezibaba for that.

“Why do you keep helping me?” There was a distinct—suspicious—shift of their glinting eyes at the question. “Out with it!”

They exchanged another glance, saying nothing, and irritation whisked his chest. Ryurikov opened his mouth to demand answers, but they razzed at him then quickly took off into the darkness.

He sighed. For the first time in so many years, he couldn’t evade a sense of defeat. Leaning back against the birch that had broken his fall, he angrily booted dried leaves. For a long while, he sat there, darkness interrupted by smouldering fires creeping ever closer. Another few hours, and they would devour this forest, too.

“Are you going to sit here and simmer until you turn crispy?”

Ryurikov chewed on the foul taste in his mouth. He really ought to drink more, or eat something. Jezibaba’s joints popped as she toed his side. Sharp nails dug into him, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Get up. I’d like to sleep at some point tonight.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he asked, “What were you to Valka?”

“If she didn’t tell you, she didn’t want you to know.”

Ryurikov shook his head. “If she’s even still alive, I doubt she’d care whether you told me a childhood secret.”

Jezibaba huffed. “That was exactly the problem with you.” When he looked up at her, he could scarcely make out the lumpy silhouette. “You always treated her like a child, never told her the truth, always trying to protect her by lying. What? You didn’t think she knew you were keeping things from her?”

He frowned. Valka had always readily accepted anything he told her. “She was only a kid.”

“Nineteen is young, but she wasn’t a child. You should have told her what the consequences would be if she left you to your own devices.”

“You assume I knew.” Ryurikov looked hard at a forest floor no longer visible.

“You knew what would happen.” The acidity returned to Jezibaba’s quavering voice.

She wasn’t wrong, but Ryurikov wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of admitting it. He got to his feet, beginning his stride out of the trees.

“Either way, she didn’t have to marry that ponce.” At Jezibaba’s inquiring hum, he added, “I fucked him fifteen different ways that night. Let me assure you, he was decidedly happier that way than he would have been marrying Valka.”

And Valka got to adventure like she wanted to, instead of enduring the role of queen.

Awimak had returned to the river, an ominous silhouette against the glimmers of orange. The cloak remained wrapped around his horns, like a symbol of a battle won. Ryurikov said nothing, indignation adding to his sour mood, and simply bent low to drink more. Three slaps on stone nearby, followed by the laborious creaking of trees, suggested Jezibaba had summoned the hut.

As he reentered the dimly lit hut and spotted Awimak’s shadow slipping past the paned windows of the kitchen, Ryurikov quelled the need to go out into the garden and continue their tiff.

“Do what you will, I’m going for a bath and then sleep.”

“You bathe?” Ryurikov asked. “How?”

She said nothing else, disappearing up the stairs. Trying not to let the state of his clothes get to him, Ryurikov removed the surcoat, leaving him in his bloodied white tunic, and tossed it across a stool before making his way up the stairs. He beelined for the room with the mirror, the door creaking as he shouldered it open. Candles were still lit, yellowed wax dripping off the desk and windowsill. The doves in the stained glass window dozed, heads buried in their wings, and the mirror remained where he’d left it.

He approached, gut churning with the knowledge of what he would see and yet, as Ryurikov gazed at his reflection, it startled him regardless. Streaks of black and splotches of red stained his face, clumped his hair. His eyes were aglow, as they always were at night.

Like the moon.