Chapter 5

5

R oman opened his eyes. Pale, early morning light filtered through the living room window and mixed with the glow from the fire. He'd been out all night.

Damn it all.

Roman sat up.

Farhang was still asleep, Kor lying on his chest. The korgorusha's eyes were fixed on the window. The iron hound, Roro, and the rest of the nechist had parked themselves by the glass, staring out with glowing eyes. Something bad was happening.

Even the kid's puppy sat with her nose glued to the window. Finn was nowhere to be found.

A male voice floated in from outside, too vague to distinguish the individual words, but he got the tone—condescending dickhead.

The shepherd puppy turned and looked at him over her shoulder. The dog's outline shimmered. For a blink, a different shape curled within the space, woven of darkness. He saw black feathers, a dusting of crystalline white, a flash of blood-red... Golden eyes stared at him, a glimpse of the Wild, ancient, cold, and forever untamable by humankind. It reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in its polar grip.

He spun within a snow whirlwind under the flames of green and purple godfire painted across the dark sky. Conifer needles brushed his skin, the heady scent of pine resin intoxicating and thick. The crack of glaciers snapping, the sound of ice growing, the whisper of snow falling, and the howl of winter wind drowned him, deafening, impossibly loud. He heard a wolf song, felt the heated sweat slick his body under furs as he chased survival across an icy plain, saw his own breath, and smelled blood as the hot arterial spray hit the snow. Life through death, a cycle never ending, a wheel ever turning… Godfire, ice, labored breath, blood, sacrifice, rebirth, spinning faster and faster…

It spat him back out into his living room.

His heart thawed. The taste of blood on his lips warmed him.

The little shepherd gazed at him with puppy eyes.

"Got it," he ground out. "I suspected. I don't care. I've already decided to help him. Not for you. For him."

He got up to his feet and went to the window.

Finn stood on the porch, rigid, his legs planted. He was holding Klyuv in his hand, and his fingers were bloody. The staff eyed him but let him hold it.

Across the front yard, at the other end of the property, a dark-haired asshole in combat fatigues and fingerless gloves held the melalo by his wing. The bird monster dangled from the man's fingers. Clean-shaven, trim, about the same height as Wayne standing next to him. Two peas in a pod.

The new guy wore an amulet around his neck. The number of soldiers-for-hire around his property had multiplied, too. The promised mage squad must've arrived during the night, and by the looks of it, they had been busy. Six ten-foot stakes rose just outside of the yard in a wide crescent, each carved with runes, and topped with a goat head staring at the house. They'd broken out the nithing poles.

Nithing poles were a curse conduit, but the entire property was consecrated as Chernobog's holy ground. A curse wouldn't affect it. The runes glowed with power, so they weren't complete amateurs. They had to have known that.

Roman pushed slightly. His power crept toward the poles and recoiled. Ah. Not a curse then. They had repurposed the nithing poles into a ward, shielding their position. Clever. Really clever.

Livestock was precious, and to curse something, you had to pay the price. The more valuable the animal, the more juice it gave the curse. Chickens were on the bottom rung of the ladder, goats and sheep were mid-range, and finally, horses and cows were top tier. They'd cheaped out a bit.

"Look kid," the mage dickhead said, "it's over. Your volhv friend has been shot by a viper bolt. Paralysis in forty-five minutes, coma in four hours, death in eight to twelve. I bet he's out cold, right? You tried to wake him up and you couldn't."

Finn's fingers gripped the staff so hard, the knuckles of his right hand were white.

"Here, hold this." The mage thrust the melalo at Wayne. Wayne grimaced but took the wing. The melalo was doing his best impression of roadkill, body limp, the one living head lulled to the side.

The mage reached into the pocket of his fatigues and pulled out a small vial filled with blue liquid.

"Antidote," the mage said slowly, pronouncing each syllable. "You can save him."

Finn clenched his teeth.

The mage shook his head. "You're not getting it. You have two choices here. Walk out, and we give the volhv the antidote and you leave with us. Or, we wait you out, he dies, we come in and slit the throat of everything that's still alive in that shack, burn the place, and you still leave with us. He lives, he dies. Doesn't matter to me."

That shack ?

Wayne put his hand out in a restraining gesture. The mage gave him a look.

"He is a kid, Fulton," Wayne told him.

The mage rolled his eyes. "You wanted me here because you couldn't get the job done. I dragged my ass out here. But it's your show. Go ahead. Just a small suggestion, if I may?"

Wayne made a go-ahead gesture.

"We are due at the Lumber City job in twenty hours. That's not a lot of turnaround time, and none of my guys have had any sleep. It's one kid, a pack of magical vermin, and one dying pagan priest. What if we just wrap this up and maybe still catch a little downtime?"

Wayne might have outranked Fulton, but judging by the caliber of the wards, the mage was both experienced and powerful. Roman had met his type before. He was the kind of man who had very little respect for rank. He was looking at Wayne as if the head mercenary was some kind of middle manager making his job more difficult. Fulton liked to fuck shit up and get paid. He didn't like complications, he didn't have a lot of patience, and if you held his leash too tight, he would bite it off and leave. Wayne's face told Roman that Wayne knew all that.

"Finn," Wayne called out.

Uh huh. The reasonable tone was back.

"I get it. You're doing what a man is supposed to do. You made it through the woods, you didn't get caught. You found this place, and now you're trying to protect it and your new friend. I respect that. But sometimes no matter how hard you fight, you can't win, kid. Knowing that is part of growing up. A boy can be stubborn because he doesn't understand the consequences. A man must evaluate the situation and mitigate the damage."

Finn's shoulders slumped.

"Fulton here is in a bad mood because he marched all night and had to work hard when he got here."

Fulton rolled his eyes again.

"Don't let that fool you," Wayne said. "He's very good at what he does. His crew is one of the best. They have taken down people with a hell of a lot more power than you or the priest have. Once they get started, they will tear this whole place apart, and I won't be able to help you."

Well, at least he wasn't lying. Once Fulton got going, stopping him would require brute force. He gave off that thorough, scorched-earth vibe.

"I know you care what happens to these critters." Wayne dangled the melalo by his wing. "Or you wouldn't be out here on that porch. You've heard people say that a man has to do what a man has to do. Right now, you are that man. You can save everyone, Finn. All you have to do is go inside, grab your dog, and walk across this yard to us. That's all. Simple. Do that and nobody else dies today. I give you my word."

Finn swallowed. He seemed resigned.

"Take the deal, kid," Fulton said.

"I give up," Finn said.

Wayne shook his head. "Don't look at it that way. You're not giving up. You're doing the smart thing. The noble thing."

Something was brewing inside Finn. The shepherd puppy rose from her haunches and slunk to the front door.

Finn squeezed the staff. Klyuv's eyes bulged.

"Come on down." Wayne waved him over. "You can do this."

Finn opened his mouth. "Drop the melalo and set the antidote on the ground."

The two mercenaries stared at him.

"I don't want to write this big check."

Fulton looked at Wayne. "What the fuck is he talking about?"

"Who knows?"

"Do it now," Finn said.

"That's it," Fulton snapped. "Playtime is over. Now we're doing it my way."

"Remember, alive," Wayne said. "Him and the dog."

"On me!" Fulton stepped forward. "Arrowhead formation in three…"

Six soldiers stepped forward, taking positions behind Fulton in a rough triangle, like a flock of geese orienting behind the leader.

On the porch, Finn gripped the staff with both hands and planted it in front of him.

"…Two…"

The wall of the ward anchored to the nithing poles turned visible, a translucent barrier of pale silver. Fulton thrust his hands forward, and drew them apart, as if opening curtains. A gap formed directly in front of him.

A blinding white clump of magic accreted inside Finn, a storm pressurized into a tiny, hyper-dense point in his chest. The mercenaries didn't feel it behind their ward.

Fulton smiled. "…One."

Golden chains made of light snapped to Fulton from the six mages, funneling power into him. He opened his mouth, his eyes burning with magic. Flames sheathed his arms.

" I accept, " Finn whispered, his voice unnaturally loud. " Help me, Morena! "

The shepherd howled, her wail an eerie primal song filled with bloodlust.

The melalo clamped his beak onto Wayne's fingers. The mercenary flung him aside. The creature took off into the woods faster than Roman had ever seen him move before.

The blizzard inside Finn tore free. Ice shards stabbed out of the ground, crowding each other, charging toward the mercenaries like frozen waves. Cold gripped the yard, bitter, polar cold, as Winter herself exhaled. The Christmas tree snapped and splintered, its sap crystallized in an instant. Two birds plummeted from the sky, frozen in mid-flight.

The waves of ice slammed into the nithing poles and crunched, speeding up their shafts, turning the poles into six frozen popsicles. The runes winked out, extinguished. The ward tore, and seven people cried out in a chorus from the backlash. The mercenary mages stumbled back.

The biggest wave headed straight for Fulton.

A jet of flames erupted from the mage's hands, punching into the wall of ice rushing at him.

The ice kept coming.

Fulton screamed, his flames turning white. Steam burst from the impact of fire and ice.

The staff danced in Finn's hands. He grunted and pushed, struggling to put all he had into it, but he had nothing left.

The ice slid another two feet and stopped. Another half a foot, and Fulton would have lost his hands.

Finn slumped, hanging on to the staff to stay upright.

Fulton's flames died. He bent over in half, breathing heavily like he'd just sprinted 400 meters.

Wow. The kid packed a lot of power. Not much control but a lot of raw force. Roman smiled. Morena? would have her hands full with this one. Served her right.

The ice waves cracked and collapsed.

Fulton straightened. "Arrowhead on me!"

The six mages stepped forward like zombies rising from the dead.

"That was good, kid," Fulton called out. "I took you too lightly. But now you're done and I'm not. Not that you will get a chance to use it, but let me give you some advice. When it comes to magic, it's all about staying power."

Finn stared at him, rage burning in his eyes.

Fulton raised three fingers, then two. The golden chains shot to him again.

Finn stumbled. His body went one way, Klyuv went the other, and Roman stepped out onto the porch, catching both.

Finn gaped at him.

At the property line, Wayne swore.

Roman spat an incantation. Bone chains erupted from the ground, seizing Fulton and the six mages behind him into bone collars. Roman thrust his hand out, closed his fingers, and yanked. The chains dragged the struggling mercenaries into a clump, winding around them with Fulton in the center. Roman jerked them up, slammed them on the ground, jerked them up again, and hurled the whole mass of people and bones into the trees.

"How?" Finn sputtered. "You were dying."

"Funny thing about a god's tears—they pack a lot of divinity. Those assholes wish I was dying. Instead, I am pissed off and filled with the horrible love of my god. You did well, Finn. Come inside. It's time we talk about it."

* * *

Roman leaned Klyuv against the wall and patted the staff. Good boy. Klyuv was picky about letting itself be touched. The kid still had all his fingers and both eyes, which was some kind of miracle.

"Go sit by the fire, Finn."

The kid stumbled off and landed on the floor in front of the fireplace like a sack of flour. He looked like death.

Roman tossed another chunk of wood into the fireplace, poked the logs with a stick to get them situated, and went to the kitchen. This called for heat and sugar. He pulled the bottle of sbiten out of the fridge. He'd made some three days ago, because he'd been craving it, but ended up just drinking his eggnog instead.

Eggnog would've so hit the spot right about now.

He poured sbiten into a kettle, returned to the living room, slid the kettle onto an iron hook attached to the fireplace, and swiveled the hook into the fire.

Finn sat unmoving. The shepherd puppy had wedged herself next to him, her head on his lap, and was looking at him with devoted eyes.

The doggie door banged. A moment later the melalo scurried into the living room and hid behind the metal ash bucket, half of his good head with a small, round eye sticking out.

"There you are, paskudnik."

The melalo shivered.

"Look at what you've wrought. Got yourself caught, now the child is traumatized."

"It wasn't his fault," Finn muttered. "They were trying to catch Fedya. He ran at them to distract them."

"Is that true?"

The melalo shivered again. Roman got up, came back with a piece of jerky, and held it out. The melalo scooted from behind the bucket, snagged the jerky, and ran back to his hiding spot.

Steam escaped the kettle's spout. Hot enough. Roman pulled the swivel arm out of the fire with the fire poker, grabbed the kettle's handle with a folded towel, and poured two mugs of the hot brew. The scent of spices filled the room. He handed one mug to Finn. "Drink."

"What is it?"

"Sbiten. Honey, jam, water, and spices. Will warm you right up."

Finn sipped. Some color came back into his face.

Roman landed in his favorite spot on the couch and drank from his mug. "I'm all ears."

Finn looked into his mug.

"We're past the point where you can be shy about it," Roman told him.

"They took my sister."

"Who?"

Finn gave him a dark look. "The gods."

"The Slavic gods?"

He nodded. "She made some kind of deal with them. She is always off, doing something they want. Sometimes she comes home, but she never stays longer than a couple of days."

Not unusual. Deals with gods always came with strings attached. The question was, what did his sister get out of that deal?

"Then, last year, in February, I started getting these dreams. Winter, northern lights. Snow. Ice. Dark forest." Finn drank more sbiten. "I would wake up and the bed would be covered in frost."

That sounded about right.

"Did you have powers before that?"

Finn shook his head.

"This happened before with my sister, but in a different way. My parents took me to Biohazard. There is a man there who can tell what your magic is."

"Luther Dillon."

Finn glanced up. "You know him?"

Roman nodded. Luther was a rarity—a powerful, formally educated mage who didn't have his head up his ass.

"What did Luther say?"

Finn's eyes turned dark. "He said I was chosen by a pagan god. He couldn't tell which one, so he narrowed it down to two: Ullr and Morena. When he said her name, it was like a bell rang in my head."

Better than pain.

"I looked up what she is," Finn said. "She is evil, cold, and dark. She's the goddess of death and winter. There was a family in New York that offended her, and she froze all of them, even the babies."

"She did. It wasn't just a family, it was Lihoradka's cult, and they incubated a plague inside themselves, but yes, she did freeze them all. Even the babies. Subtlety isn't what gods are good at. That's why they have us. We mitigate."

"Well, I don't want to worship her. I'm not even Slavic. None of our family is. She shouldn't have picked me."

"You don't have to be Slavic for a Slavic god to pick you. My neighbor is Polish. Not a Celtic bone in his body. But druidism spoke to him, and so he is a druid."

"Well, at least he had a choice!"

The sbiten was clearly doing its job. The kid had come back to life.

"And you didn't?"

"It didn't feel like it. She left me alone during this last summer, but in September it started again. Snow, blood, cold, every night. I'd wake up, and my windows would be frozen. The pipes in my bathroom burst twice. It cost a lot of money to fix." Finn slumped. "She hounded me."

"They do that." Roman took a swallow of his drink. "Speaking of hounds, when did the dog show up?"

"A month ago. I found her shivering in the rain by our porch." He petted the puppy, and she licked his hand. "I didn't know Athena was a special dog. I only found out three days ago."

"You named Morena's sacred animal after a Greek goddess?" Roman sighed.

Finn's jawline hardened.

"I get it," Roman said. "An occasional screw-up is allowed. Just remember you have to earn it. What happened three days ago?"

"I had a nightmare."

It must've shaken him. His eyes turned haunted.

"What did you see?"

"My parents. They were dead in our house," Finn said quietly.

Heavy. "Anything else?"

"A priest in front of an altar. He had Athena on it. He cut her throat with a long, curved knife. Her blood was all over the altar, and it was glowing with green and purple lights. It felt…real."

The shepherd whined softly. Finn petted her again.

"What happened next?"

"Her blood froze, and I heard a woman's voice. She said that if I wanted to keep my parents, my dog, and myself alive, I had to run. She said to follow the dog, and when I got to the fir tree in front of a big house, ask for sanctuary, and stay there until my sister came. Then she told me to wake up, and I did. I got dressed, took my backpack and Athena, and left."

Mystery solved. Morena must've been really convincing. Probably scared him out of his mind. Didn't clarify why those assholes outside were hunting him though.

"I'm sorry," Finn said.

"For what?"

"For coming here. You got hurt because of me."

Roman shrugged. "All part of the job. I have to say, that's the first time someone asked me for sanctuary, but turns out, I'm rather good at providing it. Catholics, eat your heart out."

"You joke a lot," Finn said.

"I do. Helps with the darkness."

"Why do you do it? Why do you serve Chernobog?"

And here we go. "Usually, I quip something witty here about it being a family business or that I love the dark power. But I'm going to give you the real answer, as a professional courtesy. I do it, because someone has to, Finn. Like it or not, gods exist. Even the weakest of them have enough power to ruin lives and bring unimaginable misery to our world. We serve as intermediaries between them and the rest of humanity. We guard the boundary."

Finn stared at him.

"It's a shit job no matter what god you serve. People don't seek divine intervention because their lives are going well. They come to you when they are desperate. When a child has been taken, when the crops have failed, when plague is burning through their loved ones, when nothing else has helped. They come ridden with guilt and filled with pain. And your job is to listen to their tragedies, take it all in, offer kindness and understanding, and then go to your god and beg them for salvation and mercy. Sometimes it's granted. Sometimes you bargain for hours, and you get them from fifty righteous men to ten, and then you can't find the damn ten righteous men, and the entire city gets destroyed, and you carry that with you for the rest of your life, but at least you tried. It takes a particular person to do this. You don't get a thank you often. There will be times when you will try your best, and people you've bled and fought for will spit on you and curse your name. But it's a job that must be done."

Finn looked away. "What if I can't do it?"

"Do you know why Morena wants you? Yes, it's because of your magic and compatibility, but also because you don't want the job. You will not abuse it. I've had a front row seat to what happens when a priest is seduced by the power. It's not pretty. You won't be one of those. I can tell. You can say no, Finn. Even though you've invoked, you can still renounce Morena and quit. The choice is yours."

The house fell silent, except for the cracking of the logs in the fireplace and the soothing purr of the korgorusha watching them with glowing eyes.

"If I do this, will anyone even come to me?" Finn said quietly. "Would they even ask for my help?"

"Of course they will. Why wouldn't they?"

"Pagans kill Morena every spring. They make an effigy out of straw, and they throw it in the river."

Roman nodded. "True."

"They drown her. Every year."

"Sometimes they also burn her."

"People hate her that much."

He almost laughed, but held it in. Pragmatism came with age and exposure, and the boy had neither.

"Hate is a strong word here. People do fear Morena. They are cautious with her name. They don't implore her unless shit has truly hit the fan. But that doesn't mean they hate her or that they don't want her blessing."

Finn looked skeptical.

"One thing you learn when you become a priest, once the shock and awe wears off, is that most things are simpler than you imagined them to be. The traditions and rituals we perform aren't just for the gods. They are for us, for humans. In a way, it's fan service."

"What?"

"The drowning ritual—the correct word for us, Slavic pagans, is obryad—takes place at the beginning of spring. The weather is nice, the skies are blue, and you don't have to wrap a scarf over your face to keep your nose from freezing off. After being cooped up all winter, you can dress up in something that has some shape to it, get together with other people your age, decorate a dolly with branches and ribbons, and toss it into the water or set it on fire."

Finn frowned.

Roman smiled at him. "You know who loves this holiday? Teenagers like you. They come out in droves to check each other out and flirt. Morena started out as an agrarian goddess. Not exactly the same, but similar roots as the Assyrian Ishtar and Greek Demeter. Common theme for their spring rites? Fertility."

Finn blinked.

"See, you've built this whole tragedy around ‘people are murdering my goddess' when in reality it's all about celebrating surviving the winter by shopping for a date. I've asked Morena before how she felt about it."

"You did?"

"I did. You know what she said? ‘Finally, vacation time.'" Roman drained the last of his sbiten and set the mug aside. "Now let's take a look at that nightmare of yours."