31. Thirty-One

Four fucking weeks, known to some as a month, before Theo managed to produce a sword adequately inlaid with silver. And for the whole gods-be-damned month, Ryurikov had put up with Vasili, the hags, children, Mauvella, the entire fucking town—

The nightingales that had made his window ledge their home perked up with the setting sun. Their songs echoed down to the cobblestone streets below, chipper and loud.

“Shut the fuck up!” he bellowed, but remained unsatisfied as they fluttered away, leaving one lonely feather to drift downward in their wake.

YOU’RE STILL AGITATED, MY LOVE.

Ryurikov’s feet stilled in their pacing. Awimak lay in their bower, baring all, a fine layer of sweat glistening in the low light of the lanterns, turning stormy skin fulvous. With a sigh, Ryurikov ran a hand through his hair.

“Fuck, Awi, there’s so much that can go wrong.”

AND SO MUCH THAT COULD GO RIGHT.

The corners of his mouth curled into a sardonic smile. “Based on past experiences, I can tell you that things are far more likely to go wrong.”

YOU WILL DO EVERYTHING IN YOUR POWER TO ENSURE THINGS DON’T END IN DISASTER. AFTER THAT, IT IS OUT OF YOUR HANDS.

Ryurikov glowered. “This would be a fuckload easier if you and Valka didn’t insist on coming along.”

A one-shouldered shrug. ALAS.

Darkness emerged and moonlight stretched into their chamber before Ryurikov could stop his fretting long enough to rejoin Awimak. He burrowed into the furs and slept with his face pressed against his demon’s chest, listening to the rhythmic thunder of his heart until he drifted off.

Even then, his sleep was fitful, disturbed by nightmares that come morning, he knew weren’t Awimak’s doing.

Far sooner than he was ready for, Ryurikov stood under an ashen-yellow sky, at the edge of the wasteland. Valka and Awimak were on either side of him, Vasili a pace ahead.

Bold of that fucker to turn his back to him.

Not that he’d done anything to so much as raise an eyebrow the past few weeks. He’d even treated the servants with surprising respect. Ryurikov didn’t buy into it. The feeling Vasili was up to something hadn’t yet gone.

He cast his gaze to the other forest, its line barely visible beyond the turbid haze. Jezibaba had said she would meet them halfway.

A bright flash flicked across his eyes and he winced.

“Sorry.” Valka stopped fidgeting with the silver blade, gleaming too bright. She shrugged her shoulders against visible discomfort. It had nothing to do with the stained-glass jerkin she still wore.

Ryurikov could only hope the blade would last long enough, his grip around the silver bow tightening with frustration.

“So, it’s just us?” Vasili asked without turning. “I thought you might get your peasants to assist, seeing as you’ve armed them.”

“You won’t risk yours, I won’t risk mine,” Ryurikov growled. And yet, Valka and Awimak were right there with him, imperilling themselves. Obstinate fucks. “Let’s get the fuck going.”

A pool of fanned out indigo flames was all the evidence that remained of their fight a month ago. Ryurikov had been under no illusion he and Valka permanently downed the elder Skin Crawler, but the lack of a carcass amid the fire was disappointing all the same.

They skirted the wasteland’s edge through layers of ash pliant underfoot, muffling their footsteps. As the forest drew into clearer view, flames licked up the trees, gnawing through the greenery.

Ryurikov sprinted at the sight of three large trees moving, roots kicking up plumes of ash as Jezibaba’s hut spilled forward, out of the safety of the forest and into desolation.

He pivoted toward Awimak, grabbed hold of a horn and swung up, then jumped for the tree-legs. A ledge, newly formed of branches, greeted Ryurikov at the top, the garden’s fringe now clear of fruit trees. Bark scraped under his gloved hands as he pulled himself up. There, a hag awaited him. Scraggly, thin as sticks—Una. She’d reminded him of her name only two days ago.

“Ugh, Ruri!” Valka struggled to catch the ledge and he bent low to grab her by the forearms.

With a strained grunt, he hoisted all that bulk up. Valka muttered her thanks, then ascended the short wall of the garden’s edge, and positioned herself on the ledge at the other side of it.

Vasili was next to arise, his body lurching high up into the air, limbs flailing wildly. He landed none too gently at Ryurikov’s feet, nearly rolling back down. His indignant screech had Ryurikov belting out a laugh.

He nocked an enchanted arrow, needing to shrug off a sudden onset of arousal. He would have to thank Awimak for bodily throwing Vasili around.

“That fucking demon!” Vasili snarled, ungainly in his attempt to rise as the hut lurched with each step.

“I will be fucking him, later.”

Discordant shrieks raked the ashen wasteland, rolling a shiver down Ryurikov’s spine. He positioned himself beside Vasili and resisted the urge to kick the bastard down.

“Something occurs to me,” said Vasili, drawing his sword, “if your concern for that demon was that he’d burn, what of the hut’s legs?”

Ryurikov had given Vasili only slivers of information, unwilling to divulge too much lest he attempted anything stupid, although even Ryurikov wasn’t sure what would become of the hut.

A downward glance revealed the roots already ablaze, and Awimak bounding alongside them, creaking branches protruding from his arms and twining the midriffs of Darinka and the younger witch, Jadrana, as he oscillated both. Up, back down. Silver hair fluttered in the wind as the two wove dousing magic from its source and around the trees, conquering blue flames wherever they erupted.

An upwreath of soot jerked Ryurikov’s focus forward. The eldest of the Skin Crawlers barreled toward them, the youngling behind it, no less unnerving. He righted his aim as crystalline water twirled around the arrowtip, manipulated there by Una, and waited, needing to close the distance just another step.

“I’m taking the nestling out first,” Ryurikov shouted, then let his arrow fly, water sparkling gold in the smoky murk.

A direct hit, water and silver-dipped arrow wedged into its skull. The youngling jerked away with a screech, shook itself off like a dog, and freed itself of the arrow. It dashed to catch up with the elder as the hut tilted in a sidestep.

Ryurikov dug his heels in, leaning against the sway, and glanced down. Anxiousness battered his heart as Awimak flung the two witches up a branch and dodged a whip of fire. He circled the elder Crawler and bulled into its ribs, sending it crashing to the ground. Ryurikov loosed his next arrow, hitting the Crawler’s exposed abdomen. Gossamer-thin skin bled blue flames, magic-encased arrow sizzling before it vaporised.

The hut staggered, throwing Vasili into Ryurikov, who caught himself on a wayward branch. He bellowed a swear into Vasili’s ear and shoved him off.

“Ruri!” Valka cried from the hut’s far side, past his line of sight. “I need to get down there!”

“No!” Ryurikov fired arrow after arrow, some without dousing magic as Una struggled to keep up. He refused to let the Crawler get back on its feet while Awimak had vanished from sight.

Valka shouted again, “They’re flanking the hut!”

He swore. Snarled at Vasili, “Get down there and help,” and hoped Darinka and Jadrana were strong enough to ascend the trees on their own.

“How far does this magic reach?” Ryurikov asked Una. She stood atop the wall of soil leading into the garden. Vasili’s boots churned through it in his climb, and shot past her.

“Would I be here if it extended as far as you’re hoping?”

“Gods fucking damn it!”

DRURY.

Ryurikov whirled to see Awimak scaling the ledge, large chest heaving. Torrid eyes told of trouble.

MY TREES ARE HURTING. I FEAR—

“That conniving piece of shit. I’m going to skin him alive!”

There’d be no time for that just yet. The town was under attack, and now it was a choice between its people and Jezibaba’s hut.

“Go. Keep them safe. We’ve got this here.”

A nod. KEEP WELL, MY LOVE.

“And you.”

No time to watch Awimak leave, to feel the dread squeezing his insides. The elder Skin Crawler writhed, shaking loose the last of his arrows as it rose back up.

“Why the fuck isn’t this working?” Ryurikov snarled.

Una didn’t respond, too busy transferring dousing magic between her, Jezibaba, and the stump. With a restless growl, Ryurikov held up his dagger. He barely waited for her to encase it, descending the ledge. The hag shouted after him—something about not being able to reach that far, her scratchy voice drowned out by the thump of his boots, the clicking of a beak.

Beaks.

At the edge of the incline in the distance, smoke dragged past demonic silhouettes. Thinly masking the flailing, scythe-like legs and the haunting screeches.

Ryurikov counted five before he ducked under the elder Crawler’s swipe. Cloak fabric tore behind him as he drove his dagger between its ribs. Hoping, praying, it had a heart. That he’d hit it.

The Crawler reared, its death-cry a deafening rattle. Ryurikov flicked fire off his blade, glowing red hot, and swung away from the demon’s final thrashing as it collapsed. Its blood pooled outward, devouring the hut’s tree-legs. Behind their staggered tromping, Valka and Vasili ran to keep up. In their wake, a very dead Skin Crawler.

“There’s more!” Ryurikov shouted, frantically gesturing at the hilltop.

“Obviously, we’ve seen them!” shouted Vasili, rattled already.

At the crest of the hill, the hut’s legs kicked out, roots lashing, scattering the demons into motion. Ryurikov lunged for the nearest, swinging his dagger into a hindleg. Realising too late the magic had gone.

“Una!”

She would not be able to hear him. Darinka and Jadrana were too preoccupied holding on for their lives beneath the hut’s foundation. Ryurikov swivelled away from the Crawler’s knifelike limbs. Ignoring the churning of his stomach at the sight of the deboned face flapping from its beak, he scaled a trunk, narrowly avoiding the hungry licks of blue fire.

A bony hand helped him over the ledge, and a swirl of water hovered just by Una’s shoulder. She swung it onto his dagger, the swish of cold air a short-lived reprieve. Ryurikov descended again, branches creaking with the promise of an early demise—although the trees were lower to the ground, truncated by flames.

He jumped. Plunged his dagger into a Crawler’s elongated neck. It bucked with a screech, its pronounced spine digging into his stomach. Ryurikov struggled to keep hold, tore the dagger free and straddled the creature’s ribcage. He brought the blade down into its side. Repeatedly. Until he hit its heart.

Bleeding fire latched on to his wrist, singeing fabric into the skin. He grit his teeth against the agony, flying forward as the Crawler buckled with a final caterwaul. Smoke and ash whirled into his mouth, down his throat. He choked on a cry, flinging his arm across the ground, panic blurring any coherency as the fire crept along his forearm.

The relief he felt upon water entwining his limb was only shallow. Ryurikov collapsed onto his back, rasping for breath he couldn’t catch, spittle coating his lips with each strained cough. Through dusty clouds, Una stood up to her ankles in ash, fright etched into the abundance of wrinkles.

“Get up, bantling!” she quavered.

He did, casting a wayward glance at his scorched arm, the magic gone and skin still sizzling like pork roast. Fucking ouch. Clenching his jaw, Ryurikov switched to his left hand, the dagger still aglow and useless. Una gaped at him, just as useless.

“Climb back up!” he barked, dashing to shove her out of another Crawler’s way.

Flames had gnawed the trees past their second joint, boughs supporting the hut’s foundation ready to give. Beyond, a swaying scythe knocked Valka to the ground, her sword missing.

She fought to crawl away from blue fire as Vasili swung his sword in an arc at the Crawler. Only for it to do absolutely shit-all, its dulled blade bouncing off. The other demon caught his leg, wrenching an echoing, agonised howl from him as bone-limb tore through his shin.

Above, Jezibaba’s hut had begun to wail, ear splittingly.

Ryurikov wrapped an arm around Una’s waist, yanking her out of the way of another attack, staggering as he dragged her scrawny form past limping trees and a shrilling hut toward his sister. He released the hag, using newfound momentum to clamber up the Crawler’s hindquarters and slammed his blade into it.

The dagger bent, down to the hilt, and shattered.

He bellowed a swear, dove for the serrated dagger at his belt, and rammed it into a protruding spine before he was bodily flung back. Ryurikov haphazardly rolled through cinders and the staggered tromps of ruined trees. He pushed himself to his feet and strained to breathe as the hut stumbled away.

At the garden’s edge stood Jezibaba, manipulating dousing magic toward Darinka, dangling in the air by a series of ugly knitted garments, knotted together. She strained to pass the shimmering water on to Una, who struggled to catch it, to keep up and out of the way of the three Crawlers descending upon her.

To his right, Valka scrambled to escape, dodging one strike and weaving past another on unsteady legs.

Ryurikov leapt after the hut, a glint catching his eye. He swept low without stopping, gloved fingers wrapping around a hilt unfamiliar to his hand.

His sister’s terrified scream chased him. It tore straight through his heart.

“Here!” He swung Valka’s sabre high, caught the swirl of water, and flung himself over Una in an attempt to shield her.

With the last motes of strength, he pivoted, swinging the sword at the surrounding Crawlers. He sliced their limbs. Surged the sabre skyward. Brought it back down, once again encased in a whirl of shimmering magic.

He dipped around a spray of scorching blue and plunged the blade straight into a thorax. Quickly pulled it free again. A fierce thresh of limbs nearly impelled him to his knees. He shoved Una out of the way, darted backward, and chanted a prayer to every god that might be listening.

Bleeding scorching heat, the demons staggered toward him. The clacks of their beaks snapping, the wind of their swinging extremities pursued his every duck and sidestep. Ryurikov pointed the sabre at ominous clouds above, eyes widening as the crystalline glimmer of water pulled toward it the unmistakable crackle and thrum of thunder.

A vivid flash of light. A soul-clenching crash. Lightning struck the blade’s tip—and the last thing he knew was sheer agony.