5. Five

Detritus muffled Ryurikov’s harsh moan. He slapped his hands down to the ground, pushed himself up, and every bone and muscle in his body throbbed with excruciating pain. Twigs and leaves and more forest-wilt tumbled around and off him. He knelt, turned to the dark sky obstructed by shadowy green and heaved a tired sigh.

“Owe us twice.”

Ryurikov closed his eyes. Those aggravating bastards.

“I didn’t ask for this,” he growled. Getting to his feet took several attempts. He wrapped an arm around his still cramping stomach and squared against the five, likely self-appointed enforcers of morality. “What the hell do you want from me?”

One spirit drifted closer. It held up a stick in its long spindly fingers and he narrowed his eyes. This was starting to feel like a threat.

“Take, give,”it whispered.

“I did!”

“Not enough.”

“I took plenty, I’ll thank you!”

The moment pallid fingers applied pressure to the stick, Ryurikov felt an ache in his shin. And as the stick splintered, the ache twisted into an agony that had him crying out. He fell to his ass and clutched his shin—not quite broken, but it had to be fractured.

“You fucking shits!”

“Take, give,”they sibilated in unison, then floated away, their shadowy faces visible through the backs of their heads.

“At least fix what you broke!”

No acknowledgements were forthcoming.

Ryurikov swore. First under his breath, then loud enough to startle birds. Wings slapping nearly disguised heavy footfalls approaching. Ryurikov stilled. The hair on his neck stood up, his skin prickling. The temperature dropped as an unearthly shadow slid over him. He grit his teeth and hunched his shoulders against the inevitable attack.

Nothing.

He knew the demon was there, Awimak’s rasps heavy, his scent woodsy, and there was the unmistakable shift of a thick hoof through deadened leaves.

Ryurikov released a quivering breath. Slowly, he slid his hand down to reach for the dagger at his belt. It wasn’t there. He squeezed his eyes shut in fury, then abruptly stood up.

“Fuck!”

He’d forgotten about his leg. So much for escaping.

Using the nearest tree to steady himself, Ryurikov hopped on one foot to turn around, sucking in a startled breath as his gaze settled on the gigantic demon.

DREAM.

A single word, the demon’s voice a deep rasp, like the snarled curse of a wraith that launched Ryurikov’s heart up into his throat. Trying to run was pointless. When he did nothing, Awimak took a step toward him, hooves like those of a draft horse.

DREAM FOR ME, HUMAN.

Ryurikov’s hand clenched around the branch he used for support. “I don’t take well to commands, demon.”

“Sir?”

The colossal, shadowy form vanished without a trace right in front of him. When Ryurikov glanced over his shoulder, Andrew lingered there, eyes wide, holding an old basket.

“Are you well?”

He cleared his throat, still tight with the panic that had just been strangling him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m foraging, sir.”

“At this hour?”

“It’s dawn.” Andrew stepped closer, revealing a child hiding behind him. She too carried a basket nearly as large as her, one of her braids in her mouth. “Do you need help?”

“Aren’t you worried the Jezibaba will get you?”

“No sir, she never turns back.”

Ryurikov motioned for Andrew to stay where he was. “You really shouldn’t be here, there are demons in this forest.” Not that he was worried about him.

“I know sir, but I’ve no choice. Please, let me help.”

“There’s only one thing I need you to do.” Ryurikov lowered to sit on the ground with a tired sigh, more mindful of his fractured shin this time. “I need you to take this.”

From the pocket of his breeches he pulled free the leather coin pouch and tossed it toward Andrew, who didn’t catch it. It dropped with a dull plunk.

Dumbfounded, the lad only stared.

“It’s all yours.” Ryurikov would have added a ‘please’ to that, but he didn’t want to seem too desperate. Even though he was.

Despite shadows veiling Andrew’s face, those honey-coloured eyes never left Ryurikov as Andrew bent low to gather the pouch. He pried it open, and gasped.

“I can’t take this!”

“Fucking hell, just take the damned money and get out of here.” Ryurikov’s tone was harsh, but his words seemed to fall on deaf ears. He worked his jaw. “You’d be doing me a favour by taking it.”

“Sir, I can’t, not without—let me help you.” Andrew lowered his basket, but again Ryurikov frantically gestured for him to stop.

“Consider it a payment to leave me alone, then!”

The lad’s chin wobbled and terror clapped Ryurikov across the heart. “Don’t—”

Too late. The tears spilt, and he found himself cinched by a surprisingly powerful embrace. He winced at the accidental nudge to his injured leg, but couldn’t stop the reflex of holding Andrew with an arm to support him. Something unintelligible got sobbed into the side of his hood, along with a smear of snot, no doubt. Awkwardly, Ryurikov patted a bony back, his eyes flicking to the young girl still standing there, chewing her braid.

“Just promise me you’ll buy that girl something to eat besides her hair.”

“Sophia,” Andrew blubbered, leaning back to wipe his eyes.

The sight of him contorted Ryurikov’s insides. In a way he didn’t appreciate. He crawled backward to put distance between them, ignoring the woodland debris digging into his palms and ass cheeks.

“Now go. It’s not safe here.” Now that had come out all wrong. “Not that I care.”

A wavering smile blossomed across Andrew’s lips. “I will never forget your kindness.”

He stood, tucked the pouch into his pocket, collected the worn basket off the ground, and took Sophia’s tiny hand in his. Before leaving, he turned back around. Ryurikov tensed.

Andrew asked, “May I get your name?”

“...Ruri. Now go.”

Andrew’s mouth moved as if tasting the name. Ryurikov refused to meet the lingering gaze, finding lichen-festooned branches nearby to be much more interesting. Only when the two were out of sight and the girl’s excited babbling no longer reached him did Ryurikov flop down to stare at the vibrant green above him, the beginnings of morning blue peering through.

His whole body ached, a bit like he’d fallen to his death. His stomach still hurt.

When he heard footfalls again, Ryurikov sighed in aggravation.

“You better fix my leg now.”

“I’d rather they didn’t.”

He froze.

For the first time in a long while, Ryurikov felt a chill run down his spine that had everything to do with fear. Orange eyes peered down at him.

“Fuck you, witch.”

Awimak was terrifying, sure, but hadn’t killed him yet. Jezibaba had done so twice now. Twice.

A mass of wrinkles twisted with amusement, though her attention was caught by something else. Ryurikov raised his head to see a spirit gliding past a cluster of young trees, carrying an armful of mossy twigs.

“Stop that,” Jezibaba snapped.

The spirit razzed at her, a snake-like tongue flapping out of its inscrutable mouth. Ryurikov snorted, his own lips twitching with a smirk when it dropped everything onto his leg and wriggled its spindly fingers. The pain in his fractured limb eased, tingling coursed from ankle to knee, and bone audibly snapped back into place.

Ryurikov swung his legs, sending forest dross raining around him, sweeping to knock Jezibaba off her feet—she’d already moved. He snatched up the closest thing to a weapon and whirled to block the incoming lunge of a familiar broom with a thick branch. He shoved away, circled the annoyingly agile hag, grip tight on his makeshift wooden sword.

“You’re a nuisance,” Jezibaba uttered in her scratchy voice. She still wasn’t wearing any shoes, although now had fabric tied around her feet and ankles.

“I would’ve left you alone after looking into the mirror a few times.” Ryurikov lunged to close the distance with a downward swing. Jezibaba blocked, the dull clack of branch on broom barely echoing. He hopped back, out of reach. “If you hadn’t killed me a second time. Once I can forgive.“ He stepped sideways, steadied himself. “Twice is personal.”

“What if it is?”

Ryurikov hesitated, enough for the hag to whip out of his sight. He pivoted to impede her downward thrust—she’d come from above, pushing him to a knee with the force. Jezibaba landed further away, leaves crunching underfoot.

The trees sibilated in a cool breeze.

“I see.” Ryurikov straightened up. Stepped back again. “Was it something I did, or my parents?”

Jezibaba lowered her broom. By now, he knew better than to trust her and spun away from a swarm of something coming out of nowhere.

His cloak swished. Before it settled back around him, the bats fluttered off with screeches. The hag was nowhere in sight.

“Since the King and Queen are no more—I don’t see how it matters if it was them.” Her voice soared fieldwide, making it impossible to tell where she loitered.

Ryurikov edged forward, keeping his eyes on the canopies above as much as the ground. The spirits were nowhere to be seen. All that surrounded him were moss-laden trees and thick, twisting roots.

“I can’t answer for the sins of my parents,” he said. “But for mine, I can try to make amends.”

Not that he would.

A rustle behind him, barely audible. He turned, dodged another lunge of that accursed broom, swung his branch up and watched in satisfaction as it snagged the necklace, tearing it from Jezibaba’s creased neck. Teeth and tiny bones scattered to the leaves between them as the hag bounced backward. She straightened up—and was rammed into her side by a giant beast.

The broom swivelled midair before it dropped. The hag flew into a tree with a sickening crack. And where she had been standing now loomed Awimak, a goliath even among ancient trees.

“Fuck me,” breathed Ryurikov.