32. Thirty-Two

Echoing roars of thunder. Demonic death rattles. All of it muffled by the thumping inside his head, stuffed with cotton. And there was dust, so much dust. In his mouth, up his nose.

Ryurikov spluttered, flailing to get up off his back. The cry spilling between aching teeth vibrated his throat, though barely penetrated his ears. He saw little more than blurry smears among the hazy smoke. His knees collided with the pliant ground, ungodly pain working him over worse than a blacksmith’s hammer.

He swore, still muffled. Something curled around his hand and he startled upright, swaying in his attempt to flee. Only to realise someone was holding onto him. Haggish hair glinted silver, the woman’s stature so little, Ryurikov needed to look down.

“Fuck, it’s you,” he slurred, squinting at Jezibaba.

“Be quiet, hatchling, I’m trying to help.”

Whatever the blazes she was doing, it was helping. Ryurikov’s vision cleared and so did his scrambled head. He looked around to gather his bearings.

The three Skin Crawlers had been reduced to smouldering carcasses, collapsed in a pool of dying blue flames and blackened ash. Beyond them, a burning mass. Jezibaba’s hut.

“Did I do that?”

“No,” Jezibaba croaked. “They did, but you summoning the lightning certainly sped things along.”

“Shit.” He almost felt bad.

Fuck. He actually felt bad. Might have ruminated on it a little longer too, were it not for the realisation that he was still holding the hag’s hand. Ryurikov jerked away and turned his focus to the quavering voices behind him.

And that was when it hit him, like being rammed in the stomach by Awimak.

Valka. He’d abandoned her. Left her to die.

Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, Ryurikov shakily approached Una, Darinka, and Jadrana standing near his sister’s body, who lay half buried in the ash, face covered in strings of dusty hair. Vasili hovered nearby, his leg coated in bloodied fabric, but Ryurikov ignored him.

The choice he’d made stung his eyes, but he refused to close them. He would confront the consequences of his decision, even if it killed him.

Ryurikov dropped to his knees, the pain pulsating through his whole body dulled by the squeezing numbness laying waste to the hollow of his chest. Hollow, for surely someone with a heart would not have made the same choice.

His sister’s name tumbled past his dry lips, followed by a broken, “I’m sorry.”

“For what, Ruri?”

Valka rolled onto her back, a smug smile visible beneath burnt debris and ash. Ryurikov swore, but clapped his hand into hers and helped Valka up to her feet. It strained his aching muscles and he grunted in pain. Every breath he took hurt his teeth.

“I forgive you,” said Valka before he could speak up.

The burn in his throat spread into his chest. Ryurikov squeezed his eyes shut against the stinging smoke, the shake in his hands.

“I didn’t want—I had to,” he stammered.

“I get it.”

“It was–it was either you or—”

“I get it, Ruri.”

“Fuck, Valka, I–I had to.”

“Ruri!”

Ryurikov started, forcing himself to look at his sister.

“You couldn’t let the hags and the whole town die just to save me. I get it. I’m fine, see?”

Ryurikov’s gaze scoured Valka’s scorched clothes, partially burned into her skin. She’d be scarred for life, much like himself. His breath swooped out in a tremor.

“Unfortunately,” Valka continued, kicking at burnt waste. “Vasili saved me.”

“You don’t have to sound so annoyed about it,” said Vasili with a scoff.

Valka turned on him. “I’m not annoyed, I’m pissed! You—”

“Thank you, Vasili,” Ryurikov ground out. The bastard’s expression shifted from surprise to smug, and he grit his aching teeth. “Let’s get back to Briarmour. Share the good news with everyone.”

He jerked his head at the hags, who had been waiting for some kind of command. Fucking hell, he hoped he wouldn’t have to keep doing that.

“You though, stay.” Ryurikov pointed at Vasili. “We’ve things to discuss.”

“What, here?” Vasili looked irritated as he inspected his calf. “I’d rather tend to my leg.”

“Stay. The rest of you, go. Make sure Awi and the townspeople are alright.”

His order was followed with only the merest hint of protest. He ignored Valka’s lingering, questioning look and watched the four catch up with Jezibaba. She hobbled more than usual while holding Valka’s hand for support, likely exhausted.

“That was good work, Ruri,” said Vasili.

Ryurikov shifted from one foot to the other, then moved, slowly and stiffly, to circle the man. “I have my moments.”

Vasili turned to face him. “How did you summon the lightning?”

Ryurikov shrugged. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

He might have no choice but to believe in a deity or two now, certain his prayers had been answered, however painfully.

“Whatever’s left of it.” Vasili motioned at the state of his arms and moved with him, clever enough not to turn his back on him. “I saved Valka.”

“So you’ve said.” Ryurikov’s anger boiled. “You also had your soldiers attack my town.”

Thick, dark eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “That wasn’t on my command.”

He snorted, feet crunching over charred bones. “Oh, come on. You didn’t exactly travel back here on your own.”

“Obviously.”

“So where’d you stash them?”

“I left them to camp in the other forest. Stop moving!”

He bared his teeth. “You think I’m going to let this slide? I told you this town is mine, and by fuck I’m going to make sure it stays that way!”

The bastard closed the gap between them and had the gall to place his hands on either side of Ryurikov’s shoulders.

“I saved your sister. You owe me.”

Red snapped into his vision. Bright and blinding, bringing with it the taste of metal. Ryurikov held Vasili in one arm, plunging the hunting knife deeper into flesh. Twisted it clockwise. A guttural groan into his ear had spittle coating the shell, and Vasili dropped out of his hold.

Cinder crunched under his collapsed body and ash feathered. The blade’s hilt protruding from his gut gleamed in slivers of emerging sunlight. Umber eyes, glassy with pain, stared up at him. Strangely, not with disbelief or shock, but knowingly. Serene, almost.

“You say that like she couldn’t have helped herself.” Ryurikov shook blood off his hand, mostly devoid of a glove, its leather devoured by lightning. He lowered to a knee, glancing at the blade, and gave the hilt a flick before yanking it out.

“I-I di-didn’t know,” Vasili wheezed. “I swear.”

“I almost believe you.”

Blood pooled along Vasili’s leather jerkin, streaming down his side to mingle with the wasteland. He jostled with moribund breaths. “Mulgar kn-knows I have a–a soft spot for you. Knows I—”

More pained gasps interrupted whatever else he had to say and Ryurikov scowled. Fuck, he was probably telling the truth.

“Oh well.” Ryurikov slipped his knife back into the cuff of his boot and stood, ready to walk away.

“Y-You planned this.”

He regarded the struggling man at his feet. “I did.”

There was a reason he hadn’t told Vasili about needing a silver weapon, after all.

Ryurikov left no room for his Keeper to ask him why, or for him to fall into the trap of illustrating all the reasons keeping the bastard alive was a shit idea. There were other things to focus on now, not least of which was Monarch Mulgar, who would come down on Briamour with the wrath of a goliath suffering haemorrhoids.

The trunks of ancient trees barricading Briarmour had shifted, more warped than before. It was one of only two signs a battle had taken place. The second, mangled corpses of Mulgar’s soldiers littering the ground.

Two halves of a body hung like banners from nearby boughs as Ryurikov crossed the crooked bridge. Large green eyes peered from beneath the hoods of mushroom heads. The minktoads had resumed their hopping and shrill chirping by the stream, while townspeople already worked to clean the viscera. Heavy scrapes of scrubbing brushes across cobblestone followed him while he searched for his demon, dreading what state he might find Awimak in.

At the pathway leading to the palace stood Awimak, along with Valka and the hags. Relief and yearning unfurled within Ryurikov at the sight of his demon, but regret soon overwhelmed as he scoured the great form.

Those wide shoulders were hunched, dark grey skin covered in swathes of burns and cuts, volcanic blood crusting into scoria. His beautiful hair had been singed, sections of it shorter than others. No doubt mirroring each and every injury Ryurikov had sustained. He sped up his strained limp to reach Awimak’s side.

His demon turned to him, concern clear in his rasped, MY DRURY.

“I knew you’d defend this place with the effort of squashing a glowant.” Ryurikov mustered a smile and reached for a claw. At least Awimak’s grip was as strong as ever, though careful in the way he held his hand.

On the stoop, Jezibaba sat with the dolour of losing all she had. It was certainly something he could relate to, and the ache in his chest tightened.

“Where’s that pot of piss?” asked Valka, gently stroking Jezibaba’s back.

“Dead.” Ryurikov continued before she could ask more, “This isn’t the end of it.”

IT IS NOT. Awimak reached for Ryurikov’s face, the pad of his thumb firm in stroking away grime.

“You think Mulgar’s going to keep coming after us?” asked Valka.

“No, they’re going to keep coming after this town. Me being here is just an added bonus for them.”

A DISADVANTAGE, YOU MEAN.

Ryurikov smiled, allowing himself to lean into the large, cupped hand first before moving out of the touch.

“Why?”

He rolled his throbbing shoulders, regarding his sister. “Because they’re a mixture of disease-riddled genitalia and…they might still be pissed that I kept hunting game on their land.”

That, or Mulgar still had their braies in a twist that he’d wanted nothing to do with them, even after a most rousing proposal Ryrikov would’ve been tempted by, had he been in a better state of mind to appreciate it at the time.

“Then there’s the issue of Radmila.” He glanced at the hags, whose lizard-like gazes flicked up to him.

The tense silence that followed became a clear indicator that things weren’t about to resolve themselves so easily, that this was further from done than Ryurikov would have preferred to believe. He sighed.

“A problem for future us,” he said, to the visible relief of those around him. “Let’s focus on recuperating. I’m in desperate need of a bath, for a start.”

“Me too.” Valka gave Jezibaba’s frail shoulder tender pats. “You should get some rest.”

The hag didn’t respond, and for some gods forsaken reason, Ryurikov chose to wait until the others had gone. All aside from Awimak. He lowered beside her with a tired groan, the stone chilly under his rear, and stared at the shady bushes lining the path ahead.

“Any chance you can regrow your hut?”

Jezibaba croaked an empty laugh. “Not unless you can find three ambulating saplings.”

“Where might we find some of those?”

Orange eyes, brimming with unshed tears, briefly glanced at him. “The Underforest.”

“That’s easy, then. Awi?” Ryurikov looked at his beautiful demon. So stately despite mirroring all his injuries.

THERE IS MORE TO IT, MY LOVE.

“In the Underforest deep, where earth’s embrace does secrets keep. Amidst Vale’s black stone she sits, the birth mother of magic, fixed in meditative sleep.”

“You missed your calling as a bard.” He kicked out both legs and leant back. “What’s that got to do with walking trees?”

“The mother is who granted us our magic,” said Jezibaba tersely. “I was once her favourite, but due to Radmila’s actions and my inactions, I’ve fallen out of favour.”

“Alright, and?”

The hag sighed in exasperation, as if Ryurikov was somehow challenging her patience.

“She’s the one who gifted me the trees.”

Well, too bad for Jezibaba, then. “You did…alright today. Thanks, you know. For the–for the help.”

She did not reply.

Ryurikov strained upright, glad to have Awimak’s help in doing so. A clamour of townsfolk awaited him inside the palace. He cast one look at the many eager faces peering out of the presence chamber, and beelined for the stairs that would lead him to his chambers.

“Any deaths?” he asked, weary.

SOME. I DID WHAT I COULD.

“I know.”

It couldn’t have been easy, trying to defend the town while also suffering any and all injuries acquired during the scuffle with the Skin Crawlers.

“Thanks, Awi.”

His demon guided him to the bower, his silence filled with concern as Ryurikov’s breath hissed past his teeth while lowering onto the edge to sit. Now that the rush of imminent death had dwindled to a promenade, his body was keen to remind him of every cut, burn, and thump he’d earned.

Awimak’s clawless fingers glided over his injuries without touching, as if itching to help unstick burnt fabric from raw skin, the likelihood of hurting him all that stayed the urge.

I WILL LOCATE THE DOCTOR.

“It’s fine. I’ll just have a soak. Besides, you don’t look much better off.”

IT MAY HAVE ESCAPED YOUR NOTICE, BUT I AM NO ORDINARY HUMAN.

Ryurikov weakly huffed. “That you are not.”

Awimak shifted to leave. Ryurikov’s hand shot out, fingers clenching around roughened forearms. He didn’t want to be alone, needing to ask his demon stay and hold him. Swallowing hurt his raw throat, and the request hooked itself behind his teeth.

Thankfully, Awimak understood, lowering to sit beside him and wrap a great arm around his aching shoulders. Ryurikov flopped sideways into the hold, his eyes drifting shut. Sleep, it was all he wanted to do now.

“Did you get hurt at all?” he mumbled, then feebly flapped his hand. “Besides what I did to you, I mean.”

YOU DID NOT DO THIS TO ME, MY LOVE, I DID.

Blearily, he forced his eyes open to look at the underside of Awimak’s jaw. “Doesn’t seem fair.”

WHAT DOESN’T?

“It should be both ways. The blood-swear, I mean.”

Rather than respond, Awimak rose to his hooves and took Ryurikov with him, careful in the way he cradled him in those large arms. The doorway to the bathing chamber had been pushed apart to accommodate his horns, without a doubt larger after the blood-swear, Ryurikov was sure of it now. He ran his sore fingers over them, admiringly, as he was lowered into an empty tub.

“Ordinarily, one requires water to bathe,” he lightly teased, then chuckled at Awimak’s deliberating pause.

I AM AWARE.

Ryurikov was happy enough to let his limbs dangle over the tub’s sides, watching while his demon carefully liberated him of his boots and peeled his breeches off. Removing the rest of his clothes proved a bigger challenge. By the time he’d been freed of his tunic, agony blurred his vision.

I’M SORRY, DRURY.I WILL GET THE DOCTOR NOW.

“Just slap some of that salve on,” Ryurikov strained.

Fiery eyes shifted around the sockets in search of the cauldron, left in the corner of the chamber. It had to be nearly empty by now, but Awimak duly slid his fingers through it, scooping up what was left and gently spreading it across Ryurikov’s chest.

The relief was immediate. Although tempted to slump back and let Awimak soothe his wounds, Ryurikov ran the tips of his fingers through the salve on his pecs and brought it up to a wide shoulder. Skin once grey was now blackened and rumpled, the pink of injured flesh peering through.

“I got hit by lightning,” he murmured, conversationally.

I THOUGHT I FELT A TICKLE.

He shook his head. “You’ll recover?”

Awimak leaned in and ran his tongue across Ryurikov’s cheek, swiping away grime. I WILL RECOVER. AND SO SHALL YOU.