Chapter 4

4

T he problem with dramatic exits was that they cost a couple of seconds, so by the time he got back into the house, the nechist had managed to drag the unconscious priest down the hallway and toward her room.

Roman thrust Klyuv against the wall and stomped down the main hallway.

"Drop him!"

Roro shook her head, flinging a limp Farhang back and forth. The priest's head smacked into the wall. Great, now he'd be concussed on top of befuddled.

Roman charged into the kitchen, flung the fridge open, grabbed the beef shank bone he'd saved for soup, and ran back to the main hallway. Roro was trying to drag Farhang through the utility room doorway, toward her lair.

"Trade!"

Roro sighted the shank bone. Her jaws fell open, and Farhang crashed to the floor.

" Roro? "

Roman tossed the bone at Roro. She leapt three feet up, snatching it from the air, and took off toward the utility room. The door swung closed behind her, moved by the draft. A massive hole gaped in the bottom. She'd chewed her way out.

Great. Now there would be no stopping her, and he'd have to replace the door.

Roman nodded at Finn. "Grab his legs."

Together they picked up Farhang and carried him into the living room, in front of the fire.

"Kor!" Roman called.

The korgorusha materialized on Farhang's chest, purring.

"Keep him napping," Roman ordered.

Smoke curled from Kor's black fur, swirling around Farhang. Korgorushas couldn't knock you out, but if you were drowsy and fell asleep, they could keep you sleeping for a while.

Finn stared at Farhang. "Why did you save him?"

"He's a Zoroastrian. Remember all that stuff I said about balance? Zoroastrians are the opposite of that. There is asha , the force of good and truth that comes from Ahura Mazda, and druj , the force of evil and falsehood that originates from Angra Mainyu, better known as Ahriman. The two are in constant battle, and every Zoroastrian is a soldier in that war. It is the sacred duty of the mobeds, the Zoroastrian priests, to eradicate evil in all its forms."

Finn squinted at Farhang. "So he is a mobed?"

"No. That is a real live magav. Very rare. The Greeks call them the magi."

"Like in the Bible?"

"Like in the Bible. He is a Magus. That's where the word magic comes from."

A weird cold was spreading through his thigh.

"Farhang isn't just a priest, he is a warrior-mage, a holy knight devoted to the protection of good. No force in this world would ever make him attack a child. If he were in his right mind, he would've asked a lot of questions before starting any fireworks, and he sure as hell wouldn't have let those assholes drag him around blindfolded. Something was done to him to make him like this…"

A spike of pain hammered through Roman's thigh, biting into the bone.

Roman yanked at the leg of his sweatpants, exposing the ragged cut where the bolt had grazed him. The wound had turned a weird olive-brown.

"Fucking assholes."

He spun around and marched to the utility room. Finn chased him.

"What's wrong?"

"Poison." He stabbed his finger at the flock of kolovershi trailing him. "Bring me that bolt."

The kolovershi took off.

Roman tore into the room, flung a second fridge open, and rummaged through the gathering of glass vials on the shelves. No, no, yes, no…

He thrust a baggie with powdered herbs at Finn. "Hold this."

The boy took it. Panic shivered in his eyes.

Roman pulled a jar of Remedy out, scooped out some, and smeared it on the cut.

One, two, three… Still cold and hurting. And now it was climbing up, toward his kidneys. For Nav's sake…

He pushed vials aside, grabbed a green one, a blue one, and one with thick black goo, and shoved them all at Finn. The kid took them all with trembling fingers.

Roman slapped the fridge door shut and marched into the living room. The kolovershi pack swept into the room, and a bolt landed in his hand, still wet with his blood.

"Give me that bag." His voice was ragged. Pain bit into his gut.

Finn held out the baggie. Roman took it, pulled it open, and shook a handful of herbs into his palm. His fingers cramped. He forced his hand to close and clamped the bolt in his hand, plastering the herbs onto the bloody metal.

A small, fluffy-looking koloversh shivered, flinging snow off his feathery fur, and opened his mouth.

" Call the client ," the little koloversh snarled in Wayne's voice.

" Wayne, we just lost half our team. You're not thinking of giving back the money, because we've got to pay out the death benefits… "

Roman muttered an incantation under his breath.

" Fuck no, we're not giving back the money. Call the fucking client. This wasn't how the job was sold to us, so if he wants it done, he's gonna have to pay us a hell of a lot more. Tell him he gives us more money, or we walk. If he has a problem with it, he can get on site and see what we're dealing with. And after that, call Fulton and tell him to get his ass and our antimage squad down here. This whole fucking job has been a shit show and that ends now. "

The pain had climbed into his chest.

" It's going to take all night for them to get here from Columbus. "

" Then they better get a fucking move on. "

" We should've done that when the skulls came on, " a third voice growled. " But no, you went all gung-ho because a pagan priest didn't roll over for you. "

" Not right now, Pike. Don't fucking test me. "

The koloversh shut his mouth.

The last words of the incantation fell from Roman's lips. Magic sank into the bolt head like the fangs of a striking snake.

"Poison me, you zaraza." He hurled the bolt into the fire.

A howl of pain ripped through the night. One sniper down.

Roman pointed at the little koloversh. "Fedya, good boy. Finn, no matter what happens, stay inside the house. The rest of you, protect the kid."

He plucked the blue vial from Finn's fingers and gulped the liquid antidote. It burned through him like fire and crashed against the cold stabbing into his heart. He grabbed the green vial, drank it in one swallow, and twisted the cap off the black goo.

"Nobody panic. I'll be back."

He turned the vial upside down. The congealed drop of Chernobog's tear fell onto his tongue.

Darkness rose and swallowed him whole.

* * *

The snow crunched under his feet, pristine and white, like the sugar glaze on a paska. The Milky Way glinted across the dark sky, clothed in magic, a brilliant backdrop to the full moon, unnaturally bright. Its gauzy light played over the woods, and the snowdrifts glittered as if dusted with crushed diamonds.

Around him pines towered, their fluffy needles perfectly still. Their scent floated in the air, a crisp, tangy fragrance, at once nostalgic and fleeting.

It smelled like Koliada.

His hands were free this time, but the pull across his chest assured him that the weight was still there, attached to him.

Of course. He hadn't finished dragging the damn tree yet. The moment he'd passed out, Chernobog had put him right where he'd left off, and he must've gone right back to pulling, unaware he was doing it.

When he chose to enter Nav on his own, he was instantly conscious. When Chernobog summoned him from a dream, however, awareness became a divine privilege. Sometimes he was aware, and sometimes he came to and found he'd been sitting by Chernobog's throne for hours in a catatonic state, his physical body in the human world, his metaphysical presence in Nav, while his mind was blissfully dreaming.

You single-minded bastard.

Roman felt the dark cloud of irritation rising inside him. Chernobog's tear suffused him with divine power, purging all poisons and ailments. A last resort, it packed a wallop that always knocked him out for about an hour. An hour Finn had to spend defending the house on his own, but only an hour. He should've woken up long ago.

Roman glanced over his shoulder. The massive tree lay on the snow behind him. Past it, through a gap in the pines, he could see a vast field rolling out to the horizon, where the jagged wall of another forest rose. He had dragged the tree past the firs of the Twilight Forest, past the Grueling Field, and was now in the Evening Woods. He had been in here for hours.

"Seriously? Did you not see I had my hands full? It's your marriage. Your wife is mad at you , not me. Why the hell am I involved in it?"

The woods didn't answer him.

Roman swore and checked himself. A harness woven out of a strange dark leather crossed his chest, looping over his shoulders. He was bound to the tree like a burlak, a barge puller from Russia's old past, a human beast of burden dragging the trade ships up the river. This forest was his personal towpath.

"So now I am an ox? Is that where we are? I am to drag the tree like a mindless animal?"

The night remained silent.

"You know what, fuck right off. I'm your beck-and-call boy for 362 days out of the year. I don't complain. I do whatever the fuck you want, no matter what is happening in my life. I'm with a nice girl, I think it's going well. I wake up in my kitchen standing in my own piss. The girl is gone. Never see her again. That's okay. I read the fine print before I signed. I knew what I was in for. I just do it. I always do it. I always do whatever you want even if it's stupid. I am supposed to get Koliada off. Three fucking days out of the year when you don't fucking bother me. I am off."

The trees remained silent.

"You know what, I'm going to drag this tree to you, and then I am done. I quit. Kill me, I don't give a fuck."

He started forward, stomping through the snow. The tree slid behind him like his personal ball and chain.

"Excuse me," a soft male voice said from his left, his tone tentative and cautious. "Can you see me?"

Roman glanced to the side. Farhang floated next to him, levitating about four feet off the ground in a classic cross-legged pose. He wore a white layered robe, pinned to his waist by a golden sash. White cloth wrapped around the top of his head, leaving his long dark hair to fall loose on his shoulders. He was clean-shaven, free of dirt, and his body glowed weakly with a pale golden light.

"This is your answer?" Roman demanded.

Silence.

"I suppose not," Farhang murmured. If there ever was a need for a visual example of being crestfallen, he was it.

Roman sighed. "Hello, Farhang."

Farhang's eyes lit up. "You can see me, and you know me?"

"In a manner of speaking. I've met your body."

"Oh. Um, if it's not too forward… Do you happen to know where my body is right now?"

"In my house, in front of a fireplace. I have a magic beast sitting on you to keep you asleep."

"May I ask how I got into your house?"

He seemed a little fragile. Hitting him with you showed up at my house to forcefully remove a child from my care might have been too much. "You came with some mercenaries."

Farhang's face fell. "I did?"

"Mhm."

"And it wasn't a friendly visit?"

"No."

Farhang hesitated. "Did I hurt someone?"

"You gave it a very good try."

Farhang winced.

"It's all good. Nobody that mattered was injured." Roman kept moving forward. "I figured out something was wrong pretty much from the get-go, so your body is unharmed."

Mostly. Mostly unharmed. Roro had really sharp teeth.

"I'm very sorry. My deepest apologies."

"Apology accepted."

Roman marched forward. Farhang hung next to him, keeping pace.

"The woods are a nice change," Farhang said after a while. "There is something about the scent of fir trees and pines that touches the soul."

"It's primeval," Roman said.

"Yes. That's what it feels like."

"Pines are ancient. They evolved before flowers did, almost 200 million years ago. Flower aromas are layered and complex, while the scent of pine is a simple fragrance. Yet every human responds to it. We know it by some forgotten instinct."

Scents and memories were intertwined. It wasn't the pines' fault that the memories they conjured set his teeth on edge. He couldn't sink into that dark hole right now. He had company.

"Where do you usually float?" Roman asked.

"Over a grassy plain with distant snowcapped peaks in the background. I believe it's the landscape of Northern Iran. Somewhere near Sareyn, perhaps."

"Sounds picturesque."

"Oh, it is," Farhang nodded. "A grand landscape, very vast. Feels almost infinite. And very lonely."

"How long has it been since you spoke to another human?"

Farhang pondered it. "Three years? I think."

All gods were assholes.

"What happened?"

Farhang sighed. "I swore a holy oath to defeat someone in the name of my god. I was warned against swearing it, but things got dramatic, and I swore it anyway. There was a woman involved."

"Happens to the best of us," Roman said. A woman was the reason he was dragging this cursed tree. Morena and Chernobog rarely fought, but they must have clashed over something this time, because the tree was clearly an apology gift.

Farhang smiled. "I failed to keep my pledge. The oath splintered me in two. My body, with a sliver of my consciousness, is in the physical world. The rest of me is here, locked out."

Three years floating in solitude, without any idea what was happening to his body. Yes, I get it, Dark One, point made. It could always be worse. I don't care. I'm still quitting.

"Have you attempted to appeal?" Roman asked. "Three years is a long time."

"Unfortunately, the Triad is of the opinion that since I ignored the explicit warning and got myself into this predicament, it is up to me to pull myself out of it. So far, I haven't been successful."

Many years had passed since his divinity classes. Roman raked his brain, trying to remember the particulars of the Ahuric Triad. There was Ahura Mazda and two others… He was pretty sure one of them was the god of covenants. An oath was a covenant, a contract. As a magav, Farhang would be held to the strictest of standards.

"I couldn't help but overhear that you are angry with your patron deity," Farhang said.

"That's one way to put it."

"In my experience, gods are selfish. They don't always explain things, but they do love us, for we are their chosen."

"Love is too strong a word," Roman said. "They use us. We are the instruments of their will. They have a vested interest in keeping us alive, but should we perish, they will simply find another."

"True. Such is the nature of the job. My teacher told me once that for a person to become what we are, they must have the Servant's Heart. We are similar to physicians and soldiers. We seek to serve a greater good and to belong to something meaningful and grand, and we dedicate our lives to putting ourselves between others and danger."

"That is a noble way to look at it. The reality is dirtier and grimmer." Roman jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the tree.

Farhang looked mournful. "Indeed." He opened his mouth to say something else but closed it instead.

"What?"

"How I wish I had a tree to pull. At least, there would be an end. A destination."

They fell silent. Roman crunched through the snow. In the distance an eerie wail soared to the sky and lingered, squeezing his throat.

"Don't you start!" Roman snapped. "I'll pull your feathers out!"

The wail cut off mid-note. The woods were once again quiet.

"I realize that we might not have started on the right foot," Farhang said. "But may I keep you company for a while?"

He hadn't quite managed to keep the desperate note from his tone.

"Company would be most welcome."

Tension eased from Farhang's shoulders.

"I have to warn you, you might not like what is waiting for us up ahead," Roman said. "We are in Nav, inside the Slavic pagan world of the darker gods. This is the Winter Cathedral, where the Earth sleeps, not dead but suspended in a restorative rest. It is an ancient place, born from fears as old as life itself. This path is a trial. Look behind us."

Farhang glanced over his shoulder.

"Those trees in the distance are the Twilight Forest, where the Wolves of Doubt and Uncertainty prowl. The open ground you see is the Grueling Field, where spirits of the punished plant and plow, but never reap or harvest. It is a place of thankless work, nourished by worries that have plagued humankind since farming began. A place where seedlings die from crippling frost and plants are felled by cruel winds. The pines around us are the Evening Forest, where the Birds of Regret and Missed Chances shriek and wail. Once we pass through it, we will enter the Glades of Remembrance. They will make you relive your most painful memories."

It might have been the glow of the golden light, but the magav looked slightly paler.

"I will stay," he said.

"Suit yourself."

After a while the trees began to thin. Roman could almost glean the clearing ahead. Whether he liked it or not, he would see him. He had to brace himself.

" Wake up! "

The voice echoed through the woods. Finn's voice.

" Wake up, wake up! "

Something had gone pear-shaped again.

"Farhang, I'll be back. Wait for me here. Don't try to enter the Glades without me."

"I will stay right here by the tree," the magav promised. "You have my word."