City of the Gods - Starybogow

by Rospond, Brandon; Kostka, Jan; Werner, CL

  When finally the man became quiet, the last hiss of his scream becoming nothing but a bubble of the ooze, Bishop stood, wobbly at first, and walked over to the remains. The dagger sat on the edge of the puddle, untouched except for the bloodstain on the tip. He picked it up, hesitantly, and wiped the remnants off on the bottom of his cloak.

  A silver dagger. He should have known. The League could easily hold the balance against the supernatural if they held a stockpile of their greatest weakness. Shaking his head, he stored the dagger once more.

  He retrieved his sword in a hurry and leaned against a tree once more. He was surprised the knights had not come in search of the cries of their commander, but in trying to gain his bearings, he realized that there were more screams of death. He darted from one bark backing to the other, toward the source of the cries that seemed to be in every direction. If he could follow just one of them, maybe he would find out what was happening.

  Eventually, he came upon one of the knights, walking in a circle as his blade shook in his hand. His helmet had been discarded and his eyes nervously looked in every direction. Bishop remained as a shadow in the trees as he watched, trying to discern the attacker. His eyes bulged as he watched a branch descend on the man, wrapping its spindly fingers around his face and lifted him in the air. The man tried to scream as he thrashed with his legs to be set free. The thin branches wove their way inside the man’s mouth, and then he stopped thrashing, a strange gurgling sound emitting around the branch. The tips of the wood burst forth from the sockets of the man’s eyes, exploding the orbs in a gory pop. The body went limp and the tree pulled the arm out from the body, letting it drop to the ground in a heap.

  Bishop followed the limb back to the source and saw, for the first time, a leshy. The humanoid-like face seemed old and wizened, with a thick beard carved underneath a long, pointed nose. It stared back at him with inhuman eyes as Bishop froze after stepping away from the tree he was now unsure if it was alive or not. The leshy’s mouth curved upward as it smiled at the man, nodding once before standing stock still again, the face disappearing.

  “I believe this one is your ally.”

  Bishop jumped as he heard the deep voice speak softly behind him. When he turned, he saw another leshy, this one’s face drawn heavy and down, no beard etched in its plump cheeks. It indicated toward a bush that opened up, and within, Fiona came trotting out to him. Bishop pet the horse on the muzzle and turned incredulously toward the forest spirit.

  “Yes… I don’t know what to say, but thank you.”

  “Human one fights against the dark ones. We watched human one when he traveled through our home. We were unaware if human one would cause destruction or simply pass through. This one’s ally, ‘Fiona’ as she claims human one calls her, has spoken on human one’s behalf. Fiona says human one is a good friend to her.”

  Bishop raised his eyebrows toward the horse, but then smiled. “Of course. Fiona’s my best gal. I just had no idea she could speak.”

  “All things can speak. Four legged ones speak, trees of the forest speak, fish of the water speak, birds of the sky speak. All things do not speak the same tongue as humans speak.”

  “Right, of course, of course.” Bishop nodded; it was simple enough, but this was more than he expected to be dealing with. To see a leshy in person and for it to not want to kill him was amazing! “Thank you, kind leshy spirit. I must return to my people now that I am free of those vile beings.”

  Bishop bowed to the creature, but it did not move. He watched hesitantly as he got back on Fiona, unsure if he would really be allowed to leave. Before he took off, it raised a branch to call to him.

  “Human one, the weapon that you have is imbued with great magic. The silver of the blade is something that the dark ones fear. Not just the Eldar Gods, but the evil spirits that still worship the gods of old, they all fear the blade that you have. Perun himself imbued the strength to ward off the darkness. Keep such treasure safe.”

  Bishop nodded to the tree spirit, and once he was sure it had finished speaking, he spurred Fiona into action once more, back to the League.

  *****

  After leaving the forest, his racing heart and mind had many things to think about. The karzełeks, the leshiye, the Teutonic Knight demons or whatever they were… The League had their sources of information, and they knew much about the ever-changing world, but maybe they did not know enough. This was in fact the reason why they had started amassing a storehouse of strange objects. They must have known what kind of effect the silver would have on the demonic knights.

  He had been taught that if you were not a disciple of either set of gods, all things supernatural would stop at nothing to end a mortal’s life. He did not know how to feel about these strange beings; the creatures of the Slavic Old Gods were real, right before his very eyes, yet he had grown up believing in a higher power, possibly the one God the Catholic faith preached about.

  Yet, here, in these bizarre times, creatures he had only read about in information from the League’s best spies had helped him and saved his life. Then there was the karzełek, who he also owed a life debt. Yet, then again, there were the skrzaks…

  He looked toward the setting sun and smiled. He was glad to have the League’s source of information, but there were many treasure troves yet to be discovered; he would learn about all of the strange wonders these earthquakes had brought with them in his journeys, himself, and make up his mind after he had further researched things firsthand instead of listening to the words of others.

  The Swamp Hut

  William Donohue

  Wodnik

  by Ivan Bilibin, 1934

  The Grandmaster leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed behind his steepled fingers as he concentrated on the text. His eyes ached and he realized that the light was fading. With a sneer he noticed the tapers were dying down. “I must beat that boy for forgetting to replace those candles.” He shook his head, leaning down toward the book, but the script was too difficult to make out in this dim. Throwing up his hands in frustration, he made an audible growl of disgust before leaning back once more. It was getting difficult for him to make out the words under normal situations, but in this light it was even harder.

  “Can you get me some more light?” He then turned toward the doorway when he heard no immediate response; clearing his throat and lacing his words with an equal mixture of disgust and annoyance, “Albrecht, get me some light!”

  The boy-attendant came scurrying in with some new tapers. “Yes my lord. Sorry my lord. I was just looking to the visitors.”

  “Visitors?” The Grandmaster sounded incredulous, half raising his body in the chair, and swatted the short stick he kept by his side to hit the lad.

  “The men from the Papal See, Lord.” He flinched, raising his arm slightly to absorb the blow.

  The Grandmaster slammed the rod to the table, leaning forward to the boy with a vicious look on his face. “Why wasn’t I told?”

  “I was coming to tell you my lord. They just arrived and wished that I announce them to you while they prepared for Vespers.”

  “Vespers, oh yes…” the Grandmaster trailed off in thought, then rose quickly, closing the book he had. “Get my robes, Albrecht, and call the brethren to prayer. Do it now, you fool.” Once the boy left he picked up the book and put it in his hiding place behind the bookcase. “No need to explain this to the Pope’s men.”And closed the compartment in the wall, then stopped to shake his head. “I must remember to beat that boy.” He reached for the false beard on the table. He hooked it on carefully to hide the tentacles that had emerged from his chin as a blessing of the Eldar Gods. He smoothed out his robes, took a breath, and then moved toward the door. The guards opened the doors to allow him to greet the Papal representatives. He made sure his beard was hidden and hoped the Papal representatives did not notice.

  The men rose slowly, but with confidence. “Grandmaster, we had hoped to see you in Vespers. There were not many there. A
Holy Order such as yours should take a more active role in faith.”

  “Yes, brother-inquisitor. Thank you. I was in my private chapel in prayer when you came. Had I known, I would have joined you. My boy was told not to disturb me, but he takes things too literally. I will beat him appropriately later.”

  To the Grandmaster, it was if the Gods had given him more gifts, and he carefully stroked his beard, careful not to dislodge it, but massaging his tentacles underneath.

  “Please do, Grandmaster; do not let him get too comfortable. We have need of your help. Might we speak in your room?” He pointed back toward his quarters and without waiting for a reply continued on through.

  The Grandmaster nodded after the fact and motioned with his hand as they went in. He fixed his beard again and joined them. In truth, he was surprised that the Inquisition had time in between rooting out the heretic and hidden Moors and Jews in Spain to ask him a favor in person. But then again, they were supposed to root out heresy everywhere – ironically they didn’t know much about his activities.

  “We bring news that King Jan Olbrach has died and the Polish nobles are meeting to elect his brother, the Grand Duke as King. We fear that these Poles are bad enough, but the Lithuanians are just heretics beneath the surface. We have championed your cause in Rome that you should be supported in your noble endevor, but the Polish King had friends in the curia. This Alexander, however, has retreated into the pagan past, from what we hear. We just need the proof to push a new crusade against them. We need your help, Grandmaster, in finding evidence – real or otherwise.”

  The Grandmaster outwardly portrayed a stern, somewhat shocked, expression, nodding sympathetically. “Any aid I may provide, will be my pleasure.” It took all he had not to smile broadly, but he could feel his tentacles were wriggling with dark joy.

  *****

  Michael Glinski found the Grand Duke in his study surrounded by papers. The Ducal Palace was a formidable looking place, but security was lax. There were guards outside the doors, but any well-meaning assassin could have made in it there. Alexander was not like his brother Jan Olbrach – he was more cerebral, not a brawler. He didn’t look up but just pointed to the chair across from him, “Sit down Michael. Help yourself to the wine.”

  “You unnerve me the way you do that. What if it wasn’t me?”

  “I know the sound of your steps; that clove scent you wear; and the sound you make as you enter a room. If I didn’t recognize any of those I would have pulled the dagger out of the pocket in the desk just in case. “

  “You worry me, my lord. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I just received two troubling correspondences. Unfortunately, both bad. First, your brother, the king, is dead. The Senate is meeting to prepare for an election to make you his successor.” He paused, waiting for a response, but there was just the familiar silence, until the Duke cleared his throat and paused before answering in a very measured cadence.

  “I will mourn my brother in my way. I am not sure I want the crown, but it is what is best for the family. I suspect the second is the quakes near Starybogow?” There was no hint of expression on his face when he said it. “If my brother is dead, there is nothing I can do and the ship of state must go on. If there was an earthquake in Starybogow, we have bigger issues we must deal with.”

  Glinski raised an eyebrow, not so much surprised, but accepting. “I suppose you have your sources?”

  Again without looking up from the paper he was reading, he reached to a pile and handed Glinski a document along with a small wooden box with brass fittings and an iron lock, then looked up at him. “Give this to your agents. They need to get to the town and assess what help we need to give the monastery. I had some reports from our agents, but they have abruptly stopped. My Jasek is totally blank now. He gets no messages; senses nothing. We need to re-open the communication.”

  Glinski looked around, but did not see the King’s fool anywhere. He nodded, took the paper along with the box, and left the room, moving down the corridor to his chambers. The haiduk guards presented their halbards as he passed them and entered his quarters. Two men and a woman waited there for him and stood up when he entered.

  He slid the contents in his hands across the table he used for correspondence and flopped down in his leatherbacked chair. He motioned to the people standing there. “Please sit down,” he pointed to a small table near his desk. “Have some bread and cheese if you’d like.” He poured himself a glass of wine and offered some to each, which they all accepted.

  “You all know we are locked in a struggle with the Teutonic Knights. You also know that our Duke is trying to protect the Old Gods and our ancient ways. What you may not know is why the news of these quakes in Starybogow is tied to this.

  “When the knights first came to the north at the invitation of Conrad of Masovia, they were to help beat back the ‘pagan’ Prus. At one point they might have been good Christians, but soon after setting up a base at Truso, before founding Elblag on the Baltic, many were infected by the Eldar Gods. Over the past two hundred or so years, several of the previous Grandmasters and senior leadership were ‘gifted’ special things by the dwellers of the deep. It is not as well known in Europe and many of those who hear this think that we are just spreading rumors, but at Neva and Grunwald, the growing power of the Eldar Gods was beaten back by commanders wielding swords of Perun. The Jagiellonians have kept this secret fight going, knowing what the world would face if they were not successful. We face one of those points in history that could pivot on what may happen next. There are those in the Teutonic Order who do not know the full truth, but many do and have willingly joined for the power they think the Eldar Gods can give them.” Glinski got up and walked around, rubbing his hands together, pointing and bringing his hands back together in frenetic energy.

  “The minions of the Eldar, in league with some of the minions of the darker Old Gods, have opened the void. Some have escaped, along with some of the Old Gods. The minions will no doubt try to bring more through. We have people in Starybogow to try and stop this, but we have lost contact with them. You need to get there, re-open the communication, and advise me for the Duke as to what is going on. The river has changed course, so you will have to go on foot for part of the journey, but also you will go under cover of tinkerers. A caravan is leaving in the morning, you will join them. Here is some money to get you going,” he threw a small leather purse on the table that hit with a clink. “You will go to the monastery and meet with them to appraise the situation.”

  He pointed to the paper and the box. One of the men looked to the other with a raised eyebrow, the girl gave them a disapproving look. The paper was sealed, not by the ducal seal, but with the insignia of Perun.

  Glinski continued, ignoring their motions. “They will have homing pigeons. You take two pigeons with you as well should you need to send a message in route. Here are your silver rings. Make sure you use them.”

  He held the rings up, studying them carefully before he handed them over. Silver was one of the things that could hurt the Eldar Gods as well as damage some of the darker Old Gods. The rings were good to punch them with and had a point that could do some damage. Even though they all carried silver daggers that were clinched to their wrists, the ring was still a great boon for emergencies. Then he handed them their necklaces with the amber pendants. Amber held the power of the Old Gods and the Eldar ones feared it; that is why it was so prevalent along the shore, acting as a barrier to keep the watchers of the deep at bay.

  The three had no questions. They were used to missions for Glinski. They knew that they could die one hundred different ways along a lonely road and no one would be the wiser. Instinct, guile, and a little martial prowess had allowed them to survive this long. There would be no hero’s welcome at the end of this, and no one but Glinski would know, but this was for revenge, plain and simple; it would always be about revenge. They simply nodded and left. The first man, Jan, turned to the woman Jadwiga, then to the second man David an
d asked, “Okay, who do you want to be your husband this time?” They laughed and kept going.

  After the hall had quieted down, unbeknownst to Glinksi, a figure moved from the shadows dressed in black. No one would notice the missing guard until morning. He checked to make sure he would not be seen and went out a window into the yard below. From the crack in his door, Glinski noted the man leaving and knew the plan was in place.

  *****

  The caravan was set to leave Vilnius at dawn the next morning through the Trocki Gate. It was a hodge-podge group that would grow and contract depending how far they were going. It was dangerous to travel alone and caravens like this gave the members a sense of security. Most of the participants were going to Grodno and who knew where else from there. One of the powerful nobles, Pawel Sapieha, provided an escort for that leg of the journey as they were going to escort some Sapieha relative back to the Lithuanian capital. Since the noble did not pay his private troops very well, and they had no incentive to save the people in the caravan, the members all chipped in a little more money as insurance that the guards would still protect them should they be attacked.

  The fourth wagon from the end belonged to Jan Roback and his pseudo-wife Jadwiga, accompanied by her brother, David. Owing to the hour and the distance to travel, the participants were happy, yet quiet as they moved out through the Trocki Gate, past the new walls that were just being started.

  The last wagon was a late addition, just a cloth merchant and his assistant. He said they had traveled from the Tartar Khanate with rare cloth and were supposed to be in an earlier caravan going to Warsaw, but delays kept him from leaving and he did not dare venture out on his own to try and catch-up. He spoke with a strange accent, describing himself as Wallachian. He was quiet for a merchant and discouraged his assistant from talking to the others as well. His assistant was a boy who seemed mute and the merchant would speak to him in a guttural tone that the agents could not recognize.