“My, my, I love what you’ve done with the place.”
The Baba Jaga swung the door wide and cut an unpleasant curtsy.
“Enter, Rodent,” she said.
A furry foot crossed the threshold, into the light. The wraith-dogs fells silent. The hands became busy with their tasks. If they’d had eyes, they would have avoided his.
The Leszy stepped inside. His club scraped the floorboards behind him.
“Human bones in the fence,” he said, adjusting his cap. “Nice touch. Couldn’t help noticing one of your fence posts is missing a skull. Hurtful, you know. Seeing that I delivered you one, all gift-wrapped in your favorite flavor of flesh.”
The Leszy smacked his lips, added: “Favorite flavor of flesh. My, my. That’s difficult to say.”
He cackled.
The Baba Jaga slammed the door shut with a bang. One of the hands dropped a glass in the kitchen, and it crashed to the floor. Unperturbed, the Leszy climbed, a little awkwardly, onto one of the Baba Jaga’s chairs.
His gleeful little face became serious.
“Our mistress won’t be happy, you know,” he said.
The Baba Jaga sat opposite. Candlelight glittered off two monstrous faces. Gleamed off two frowns. Caught the glasses and vodka that the hands set between the two creatures, even though neither reached for them.
“I warned you,” said the Leszy at last. “You weren’t supposed to save him.”
The Baba Jaga didn’t answer. With a metallic click, the bodiless hands set down a cauldron of stew. The Leszy shook his head, as if in wonder. His eyes hadn’t quite decided what color to be and hovered in a murky twilight between red and green.
The Baba Jaga spoke. “You gave them the sword.”
The Leszy’s eye twitched.
“It’s mine, I made it,” he said, banging a tiny fist on the table. “It’s mine, I made it, I decide who gets it! And I had to, I had to do it! Bound me with a silly oath.” He rubbed furry palms together. “Who knew they’d have a cross? Who knew he’d know? I heard he was the stupid one. I thought those strzygi would finish him off. But of course the lynx went bye-bye instead.” He scowled. “I liked that pussycat, you know. I’m sorry he’s dead. But then you . . . you saved the Wolf-Lord. You gave them directions. You granted them a wish, for the sake of the gods. Sometimes, I wonder,” he finished, “whose side you’re really on.”
Fury spasmed over the Baba Jaga’s face. It seized her watery old eyes, straightened out her puckered mouth. For a moment, it looked as if she might leap across the table.
But instead, she said, in a very calm voice: “I am on the side I chose a thousand years ago.”
The Leszy ignored the jibe.
“And what side was that?” he challenged. “Can you even tell the difference anymore?”
“Do not question me,” said the Baba Jaga. “Little god.”
The Leszy’s eyes swirled into red.
It was hard to look threatening with that potbelly and those skinny arms and legs. Hard to look threatening with a head that barely reached to the height of the table. Hard to have the upper hand in this room so dominated by another’s magic.
But somehow he did.
“When they kill the Dragon,” said the Leszy, in a very dangerous voice, “it will be your head on the chopping block. And cross my heart and hope to die, you old hag, but I will make sure the ax falls exactly where it should.”
The Baba Jaga regarded him calmly.
“I am not afraid of you.”
The Leszy cackled.
“In that case, you are even more foolish than I thought.”
48
THAT NIGHT, THEY CROSSED THE valley.
Their way was lit by the stars overhead, by the bluish glow of the Mountain, and by the glimmer and sparkle of the armor of ten thousand dead knights. It smelled like metal and snow and death. They went at a steady pace, stepping carefully over the maces and the axes, their strides methodical. Focused. Ren avoided looking at her feet.
They were walking among ghosts.
Where have you gone? she wondered. Has the Dragon devoured you?
It wasn’t a valley filled with death. It was worse: it was entirely devoid of life.
“Look at that,” murmured Lukasz, more to himself than to either of them.
Franciszek made a noise of agreement.
Up close, the Mountain was even more daunting. It stood in the exact center of the valley. A circular moat, miles wide in every direction, surrounded it.
They approached, Ren’s hand still on her sword. The water in the moat was clear, all the way to the bottom. Its floor was covered by armor, pennants, and more swords. Fabric and helmet plumes swirled far below them, ghostly and slow.
Unbidden, the Leszy’s words sprang to mind.
Fire! Fire! The knights fall down.
Ren could have sworn she heard a cackle somewhere out here in this hopeless expanse.
“What?” said Franciszek.
“Something the Leszy said,” she murmured. “The knights tried to climb the Mountain. But when the dragon breathes fire, the glass is too smooth, and they fall down. . . .”
Fire! Fire! The knights fall down.
Ren raised her eyes to the far shore, clouded with mist.
Lukasz had been pacing the edge of the lake. Now he returned, looking thoughtful. He had the easy, slightly sauntering prowl of an animal.
“There has to be a way across,” he murmured.
Franciszek knelt at the lake edge and unsheathed his sword.
“You forget,” he said, fishing around in the water with the tip of his sword. “I’ve been here for a while.”
A silver chain lifted from the water, looped over the sword tip.
“Grab it, Luk.”
Lukasz obeyed. As delicate as a water snake, the chain unfurled along the surface. He began to pull. Franciszek shielded his myopic eyes against the Mountain’s glow as they fell into an easy rhythm. They were a good team. She’d had that once, with Ryś.
A boat appeared. The strangest boat Ren had ever seen.
It was a dragon skeleton, the spine forming the hull. The spaces between the ribs were filled with glass, and a long, articulated tailbone formed the rudder. It was fronted with a silver skull, with an elongated snout and glass teeth set in its open jaws and glass in its eye sockets.
“What—” began Ren.
“Faustian,” said Lukasz. “The Golden Dragon must have killed it.”
Ren shuddered. The boat felt like a taunt.
Come and get me, the Dragon seemed to mock. If you dare.
“Stop,” said Ren suddenly.
Thud.
Both brothers turned to her.
“Stop,” she repeated. “Did you—”
Thud.
She looked up, craning back as far as she could. The mist swirled, unyielding overhead. The sky behind them was gray. It looked like it was going to rain. But . . .
“What is it?” asked Lukasz quietly.
“I thought I heard—”
Thud.
Thud.
“Damn,” said Lukasz. “You did.”
Thud.
49
A FOREST AWAY, THERE WAS another knock on another door.
Felka looked up. She listened intently for another moment. The house was silent, except for Jakub moving downstairs, unclipping his notes from the clotheslines. She picked up the sheaf of papers again. She went to the upstairs window, which, though small and round, looked down on the front door below.
There was no one there. A pit gaped near the front steps, occasionally spitting flames. Felka raised her gaze to the trees at the end of the road. The forest was closing in. In their absence, more streets had been swallowed. Instead of howling wolves, the night was broken only by thin, mewling wails.
Strzygi.
Ducha and the Leszy had been right. The monsters had converged on the village, getting into the streets and attacking the villagers. In answer, Czarn had rallie
d his wolves and driven them back into the forest. They all knew the victory was short-lived—it had only bought them enough time to get the humans to the castle. At least there the walls were higher.
The last of Czarn’s wolves patrolled the cobbles below with glowing eyes. She and Jakub had needed more time to pack, but it wasn’t safe to be in the village alone.
One of the wolves stopped just outside the front door. It had a long, fluffy tail and a limp.
Czarn howled. Felka opened the window.
“We’re almost ready!” she called down. “Just a few more hours.”
As soon as they received the news that the Dragon was slain, Jakub would leave. Maybe he would go to Miasto. Felka knew he was hoping his manuscript would get him a professorship at the uniwersytet. Hoping his face wouldn’t preclude him from the position.
She wondered if he would ask her to go with him.
“Don’t rush,” Czarn called back. “The strzygi are leaving.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
He shrugged.
“Maybe Jakub knows,” he said. “I have to get back to the castle.”
Felka watched the black wolf lope back through the winding streets. Then she reached across Jakub’s desk and found the special telescope he sometimes used to keep track of Ducha. She used a match to light the attached gas lamp. Then she trained it on the forest, and then on the Mountains in the far east.
The Mountains were too far away to see anything.
But, assisted by the gas lamp, she could see movement in the midst of the forest. The treetops rustled. A few stray creatures disappeared into the darkness at the edge of the village.
Strange . . .
The wind picked up. The window slammed inward, knocking over the telescope. The oil spilled, and a tongue of flame leapt to life on the hardwood. Felka rushed to stamp out the spreading fire, and outside, the wind howled in the eaves.
Someone knocked on the door.
“I’ll get it,” called Jakub.
She heard his boots tap the hardwood. The creak of the broken doorframe. The crackle of the fireplace.
A gasp.
“Kuba,” called Felka, “are you all right?”
No answer.
She left the telescope and cautiously descended the stairs. For the first time in years, the house was clean. The broken table had gone into the fire, as had the half-filled tankards of beer.
Jakub was silhouetted against the darkness outside. Felka came up behind him and peered over his shoulder.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the night. An old woman in a ragged cloak huddled on the threshold. Its hood was pulled low over her eyes. She supported herself on a cane that looked horribly like bone, and it must have been, because it was topped with a skull.
The woman did not look up when Felka joined Jakub at the door. She did not speak.
“Felka,” Jakub was saying, “do we have any food? We should invite this poor traveler inside—”
The woman took off her hood. She revealed stringy black hair that hung like ropes around her hideous face. Her nose was long and covered with warts. There was malice in her eyes.
Felka’s hand closed on his shoulder.
“Jakub Rybak,” said the Baba Jaga.
Jakub shoved Felka back. Her heart skipped a beat. She crossed herself, said a quick prayer to the saints, and made herself ready to meet her god in the heat of a witch’s oven.
“That’s me,” said Jakub.
The Baba Jaga gave them both a long, scrutinizing look. The moonlight cast her wrinkled, spotted face in ugly, yellow-green shadows. Felka wondered if she was assessing the meat on Jakub’s bones or the measure of his strength.
“I am told you were once a father,” said the Baba Jaga. There was a terrible cackling quality to her voice. A crow swooped down out of the blackness and alighted on the skull of her staff.
“Yes,” said Jakub.
Felka did not move. She glanced up at him, noticing that the ghostly moonlight had made him look somehow younger. It seemed to scrape the scars from his face and smooth the ragged hair back from his brow. For a moment, it looked like he still had both his eyes.
“You have a merciful queen,” said the Baba Jaga, her voice rasping from deep within her emaciated chest.
Felka wasn’t sure what she expected. Monsters to crawl out of the forest? Black hounds to drag them away?
The Baba Jaga flung aside her cloak.
She revealed a little girl. She had long silver-blond hair falling over a red vest and a crisp white shirt. She was five years old. She was not ghostly. She was not mavka. She was not dead.
She was alive. She was smiling. She was holding open her hands.
“Tata,” said Jakub Rybak’s daughter. “Tata, please don’t cry.”
50
ONE SECOND, THE MIST WAS swirling silver, and the next, it transformed. Lukasz watched the shadow take shape. A gleaming, glittering, whirling mass of gold and fury. The Dragon didn’t hesitate. It was in its element. It was confident.
Lukasz grabbed Ren’s arm. She was gaping up at the sky.
“Take the boat,” he said. “We’ll hold it off. Get to the Mountain.”
“I’ll help—”
With every wingbeat, a wave of heat hit them. Lukasz had fought enough dragons. He’d been burned, impaled, poisoned—
Every hunt up until now had led to this.
“No,” he said. “Remember what the Leszy said? You need to kill it on top of the Mountain.”
The dragon screamed overhead. It was so close that he could have counted the tines on its antlers. They were wasting time.
He looked back down at her.
“Go. We’ll hold it off. Give you time to get up there.”
“But—” Her eyes were flashing between lynx and human, and he knew she was panicking. “Your hand—”
“I’m fine.” Lukasz shook her. “I can do this. It’s going to be fine.”
“Lukasz,” she stammered. “Your brothers—this is your Dragon. You need to come with me. You were born to do this.”
Beside him, Franciszek drew his sword. The Dragon was a hundred feet away and coming for them. But Lukasz wasn’t afraid. He had survived mavka and he had lost eight brothers, and he had found one. He was the best dragon slayer in a thousand years.
But this was her Dragon.
“No.” He took her by both arms. “You were.”
Golden wings brought it ever closer. The blank black eyes stared down at them. And still, Ren wouldn’t leave. She opened her mouth, ready to argue, and Lukasz cut her off.
“Ren,” he said. “I love you, but I’m sorry.”
Her face changed, from determination to bewilderment.
“Why—?”
And Lukasz shoved her backward toward the boat. He meant for her to fall into the boat, but he’d shoved her too hard. Ren hit the water with a splash, overturning the boat in the confusion. The clear water churned.
Lukasz winced and turned away. At least she could swim.
He weighed his sword in his right hand, tested his dexterity. It would have to do. Ren was splashing and shouting behind him.
The Golden Dragon hurtled down toward them.
He caught his brother’s eye. He expected Franciszek to make a comment about him fighting right-handed, but instead, Franciszek asked, “You love this girl, right?”
Lukasz switched the sword back to his left hand. No. It would have to be his right.
“Yeah,” he said, distracted.
“Word of advice,” said Franciszek. “Most girls don’t enjoy being pushed into moats.”
Lukasz grinned at his brother.
“She’s not a girl, Fraszko,” he said. “She’s a queen.”
And the Dragon attacked.
51
REN HAULED HERSELF OUT OF the water, fuming. She had half a mind to turn right back into a lynx, swim across the moat, and kill Lukasz herself.
The Dragon was bellowin
g behind her, and the brothers were shouting. But the bank was obscured by black smoke, thick enough that her eyes watered. There was a sudden screech, and an enormous golden tail lashed out of the black and slapped the moat.
Water drenched her, and she nearly slipped on the slick glass. She flung out a hand, catching herself on the smooth side of the Mountain. The tail twitched once in the water, then flicked angrily and disappeared back into the smoke.
Ren held her breath. She couldn’t stay. She had to move.
This wasn’t that day in the river. It wasn’t that day with the strzygi. It wasn’t even that first day, when the Dragon had killed her mother and, perhaps without realizing what kind of enemy it was creating, had abandoned her to the care of the forest. Ren drew her sword.
She was going to kill that Dragon.
Ren turned back to the Mountain. Too smooth to climb, the Leszy had said. She didn’t have much time. Five scratches scored the surface. Ren’s heart soared. She put a hand flat on the glass.
Of course . . .
When she’d fallen back and caught herself, her hand had transformed.
Ren’s fingers shortened and her palm widened. Five claws burst from lynx paws, each the length of a knife. They sank into the mountainside. Ren flexed them, and with a horrible screeching sound, they tore through the glass.
“Thank you,” she whispered, to whoever had decided she would be this way. “Thank you.”
She shoved the glass sword back into its sheath and stripped down to her bare skin. Then she rebuckled the belt around her chest, loosely enough that it would still fit when she transformed. Ren looked at her hands, felt the strength well up in her heart and spill into her limbs. The world slipped into focus.
She was a lynx.
And she climbed.
Ren climbed as she had never climbed before. She climbed until the sounds of the Dragon and the brothers faded below her. She climbed until black smoke turned to soft mist. She climbed until every bone ached, until the sword seemed to drag her down. She climbed for the dead king and queen. She climbed for the village. She climbed for her brother.
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