“No. The Great Mother has promised to protect us.” Olga shook her head. “She would not unleash such devastation on us. If what you say is true, all the world’s population would suffer near extinction. Baba Yaga only wishes to protect the natural world.”
“She’s lying, Olga.” Billi met the old woman’s gaze. “She wants to wipe the slate clean and start over. She only needs a few to survive. Even if it takes another thousand years for the world to repopulate, Baba Yaga can wait.”
“Baba Yaga has promised us a spring like no other, after the Spring Child’s sacrifice.”
“Yes. But it’s going to be a long hard winter before it arrives, and you won’t be around to enjoy it. None of us will.”
This was a dangerous game. But she’d seen Olga defy Baba Yaga, so there was some doubt in the old werewolf’s mind. If Billi could exploit that, might they not gain an ally and a chance to stop Baba Yaga? Maybe not all the Polenitsy blindly believed in their Dark Goddess. They’d seen the indiscriminate devastation of Vesuvius. There hadn’t been any allowances made there-the volcano had wiped out everything.
“How, Olga? How is Baba Yaga going to save the Polenitsy?”
Olga glanced back toward the cave, then at Billi. She shook her head. “It is not my place to question the wisdom of the Great Mother.”
“That’s convenient. For her.”
“Does your god answer your questions?” Olga retorted. “I think not.”
“Then we must find our own answers.” Billi stopped close to Olga. “Or we are all going to die.”
Olga huffed and pointed toward the camp. “Move faster.” She didn’t want to discuss this anymore.
A guard waited outside the tent. The man, a bulky sword-armed Mongolian, pulled the flap back.
“Make sure they do not leave,” Olga ordered before departing.
“What exactly was that all about?” said Ivan.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Ivan limped up to the fire in the center of the tent. He rubbed his hands and warmed them over the flames. “What are we going to do?” He stared at the fire, and his eyes shone with amber flames.
“If you’ve got a cunning plan, now would be the time to enlighten me.”
“Plan? We’re trapped, Billi.” He slapped the side of his leg in frustration. “I’m going nowhere with this.”
“Just let me think.” Billi searched the room. Couple of stools, a bed, and some pots and pans. Not much. She needed to move fast, before she changed her mind.
The stool.
“We need to get out of here now.” She smiled at Ivan, picked up the stool, and smashed it on the ground. “Fight me.”
“What?” Billi kicked the table over, sending the tray and cups clattering. “Fight!” Ivan grabbed the bed, shouting incoherently, and tossed it into the flames, sending burning embers across the carpet.
The tent flap swung open as the guard stormed in. Ivan screamed and threw his crutch at Billi, who caught it. She pointed at Ivan as the smoke began to rise.
“He started it!”
The guard glanced at Ivan, and Billi swung the crutch into the back of his legs. He dropped to his knees. His hand went to his sword, while Billi spun the wooden stick around and whipped herself behind him. With the staff across his throat, she buried her knee into his upper back and pulled.
“Grab his hands! His hands!” Billi ordered.
Ivan lurched forward and did so. The guard hissed and locked his neck muscles as stiff as he could, but Billi had the staff under his Adam’s apple, and pulled it toward her while pushing her knee further into his back, steadily strangling him. Ivan held the man’s hands out in front of him.
The man coughed, then choked. He turned his head, trying to free himself from the suffocating trap Billi had him in. He twisted, but Ivan wouldn’t let go. The struggles diminished in vigor, and after what seemed like a century, his body slumped.
Billi dropped the stick, and the man fell face-first onto the carpet. Ivan tipped a jug of water over the smoking edges of the carpet. He used the discarded blankets to smother the small fire.
“Thanks,” she said. “It would help if you told me what you were planning in advance.”
“No time.” Billi checked the man’s pulse. Still alive. “He’ll be out for ten minutes. Gag him and tie him to that.” She pointed at one of the two central tent supports. The post was about twenty inches thick, solid pine and dug in deep.
Billi unbuckled the man’s weapon’s belt. The saber was an old Cossack blade, sharply curved with a single edge tapering into a stiff dagger point. It was old and certainly sharp enough to shave a few hairs off a werewolf. As well as the saber, there was a plain stabbing dagger. Ideal for slipping between the ribs.
“I’m going after Vasilisa,” she said.
Ivan didn’t ask what she was going to do with her: Billi’s cold tone was explanation enough.
“And then?” he asked as he tied up the unconscious man. He stood and smiled sadly, then leaned on the support column, worn out.
Billi shook her head. “There won’t be any ‘then,’ Ivan.” She could run, but how far would she get? The Polenitsy would be on her before she’d gone a mile. They would not treat her well for having killed the Spring Child. But whatever the werewolves did would be quick; Baba Yaga would want her to suffer a longer, crueler death.
“There has to be another way.” Ivan came up to her and put his hands on her arms.
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess.” Billi tried to laugh. “I seem to have a fatal effect on boys.” But maybe they’d let Ivan live if she did the deed alone. It was a fool’s hope, but at this point any hope was foolish.
Hope that Arthur and the Knights Templar would arrive and save the day.
Hope that the Polenitsy would defy Baba Yaga.
Hope that she could save everyone without killing a little girl.
Foolish, foolish, foolish.
Billi looked up at him. There was warmth in what Billi had once thought was a cold and guarded gaze, which matched the emotion behind his sad smile. Billi laced her fingers with his.
I am going to die. The thought hit her like a spear. Billi squeezed her fingers tighter around Ivan’s. Once she let go, that was it. She took a deep breath to quell the fear mounting inside. At least she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of murdering Vasilisa. Not for long, anyway.
“Let’s think for just a minute,” said Ivan desperately. “Maybe your father-”
Billi pulled herself free. Time to get it finished. “We can’t wait.” She wrapped the belt around her waist, buckling it on the very last hole and checking her weapons again. The scabbard was worn smooth and the sword came free easily.
“Get the guard’s coat and hat and stand out here; they’ll notice if he’s missing.” Billi went to the door flap. “Wish me luck, Ivan.”
“I wish…” He stopped. The time for wishes had run out. He straightened his clothes; if this was good-bye, he’d do it properly. He started to smooth the creases, but faltered. He touched her face gently before letting his hand fall away.
“Deus vult, Billi SanGreal.”
Billi left.
She looked into the darkening sky. To the west the sun’s dying light covered the clouds with deep crimson smears, the shades turning to dark purple and black in the east. The moon had vanished behind the dense clouds, giving her some reprieve. She felt the feathery kisses of snowflakes on her cheeks. The icy wind whipped at her tattered red coat, and she pulled up the collar to protect her neck, but the cold air ruffled her hair and stung her ears.
She was fifteen years old. Funny, she felt older. She’d been shadowed by death and now it had caught up with her. The warm air of the ger warmed her back, and for a moment Billi could have turned and rushed into Ivan’s arms, but that was a foolish fantasy. She was a Templar. Duty always came first.
You shall keep the company of martyrs.
Billi closed her eyes and searched the air, seeking out a scent
that she recognized. The air was filled with emotions-hers, the Polenitsys’. They rolled like a melange of sharp spices. Fear was peppery, eye-watering. Chili-powder rage stung her lips. Musky love swam through her nostrils.
The world of the werewolf overpowered her senses.
Humans lived in such a dull, lifeless world.
I’m human.
Her eyes snapped open.
People waded through the dense snow, their vision limited by the flurries. Nobody paid her any attention. Billi peered into the snowy veil and saw a shock of red against the white field.
Svetlana.
Well, here I come, ready or not.
She was among the trees, twenty yards away. A smaller figure followed a few paces behind. Billi tightened her grip on the sword hilt. This was it. In a few minutes it would all be over.
Billi made her way directly toward them. Step by step she pushed, never taking her eyes off of them. They’d come out of a tent on the opposite side of the clearing and moved onward, oblivious to her. Svetlana held out her hand and helped Vasilisa through the whiteness. The girl still wore only a smock. At times she was invisible; at others she shone brighter than the icicles dangling off the branches. She’d been given even more jewelery, multicolored armlets, rings, necklaces, and small crowns of woven twigs and winter flowers.
Billi clambered over a huge boulder, hauling herself by the net of vines that ran over the gray rock like veins. She reached the top and stood, her scarlet coat flapping in the icy winds. She pulled out the saber in her right hand and settled the dagger in her left.
“Vasilisa,” she said.
Vasilisa looked up and stared. She tried to pull free of Svetlana, but the red-haired girl was too strong. “Billi…” Vasilisa pleaded. “Help me.” But the young Polenitsy understood that Billi wasn’t here to save Vasilisa, and pushed the small girl onto the ground behind her. She smiled, revealing her long canines.
“Death in red,” Svetlana said. “My favorite color.”
36
SVETLANA CAST OFF HER COAT. SHE WAS NAKED EXCEPT for the downy red hair that covered her broad shoulders and thick upper arms. She stalked forward, flexing her fingers. “Come down here and die, Templar.”
Billi leaped.
Svetlana changed in a heartbeat. Two bounds and she had transformed into a raging monster, the beast Billi had first seen in Thetford. The hulking half-human, half-wolf creature had dense, heavily muscled arms and long ivory claws, each tipped to needle-point sharpness. She threw back her shaggy head and howled. Billi slammed down in front of her and waited until she could feel the claws cutting the air, then dived sideways, slicing horizontally to open the wolf’s belly. But Svetlana stopped dead, and the blade’s edge just scraped her furry pelt.
Billi rolled in the snow, but was up instantly. The Beast Within arose: rage flooded her, and she stabbed. Billi didn’t fight with skill or grace: the battle was for blood, for blood’s sake. Svetlana tooka nickonher ribs while swipingat Billi’s face. Billi stabbed upward with her dagger, but Svetlana dragged her claws across Billi’s wrist, forcing her to drop it.
Ared mist filled Billi’s eyes, and her human self shook under the assault from the Beast. She had to control it, bend that power to her advantage, use the Beast rather than let it use her. If she fought mindlessly, on Red’s terms, she was going to lose. She focused her attention on her saber, on her training, on fighting like a knight, not like a beast.
Something ripped at her leg, and she vaguely saw three red lines through her torn trousers. Instead of backing off, Billi screamed and hurled herself at the young woman. They fell, and Billi heaved the saber down across Svetlana’s neck. Svetlana grabbed the blade and held it, trying to force it away. Her fangs snapped inches from Billi’s face.
Billi’s arms quivered with fury, and she forced her full weight onto the weapon, which sank closer to the werewolf’s throat. She grinned. She’d never felt so strong. Billi could see every hair on the werewolf’s body and each bead of sweat on its brow. The blade began to break the creature’s skin, and a warm, single drip of red sprang from the wound. Billi wanted to lick it.
The Beast Within howled.
Svetlana hurled her off. Billi tumbled through the snow and crashed against a large rock, then scrabbled to her feet, hand still gripping the saber. She raised the sword two-handed over her head. Her skin was burning from the fire within her. Her bones ground together as they fought between human and wolf form. Her grip shook violently as the transformation spasmed through her.
Oh God, no.
The moon, almost full, shone bright within the blanket of black sky. Billi wanted to tear off her clothes and bathe in its ivory stare, to let it carry her into the deep forest, away from humanity and all the ties that bound her. To be free.
Then Billi saw Vasilisa cowering under a boulder. She couldn’t give in to the Beast yet, not until Vasilisa was dead. As a werewolf, what might she do? Would she rip Vasilisa to shreds, or bow down before her like the other Polenitsy? She had to stay human, to be sure she killed Vasilisa.
Still human.
Svetlana crashed into her, catapulting her into the air. The sword spun away as Billi crumpled into the thick snow. It hit a rock and the blade snapped. The blow should have broken Billi apart, but instead she just felt a hard jolt. She flipped back up and grabbed Red’s face as the werewolf dug her claws into Billi’s ribs.
Despite the roaring pain, Billi concentrated on sinking her razor-sharp nails into Red’s face. Her thumbs were tipped with daggers, and she pushed toward Red’s eyes. Grooves opened along the wolf’s snout as she slid closer.
Svetlana screamed and twisted away. Billi stumbled toward the sword and, chest heaving, tried to lift it. It seemed ten times heavier now, even with only half a blade. Blood sprinkled the snow. Her blood. Her body was covered in cuts, and her coat hung off her in tatters.
Every step was like dragging through lead. The werewolf’s eyes were filled with blood. She howled and swiped left and right blindly. Billi slashed at her legs, cracking the kneecap, and the red-pelted wolf buckled.
Billi stared down at Svetlana, who panted, her tongue dangling loosely out of her savage jaw. Blood smeared her face, and her fur was blood-splattered. She tried to raise her arm to defend herself, but the effort was weak, defeated. Billi raised her sword and stiffened her grip. Svetlana stared up, eyes filled with impotent fury. Billi smashed the pommel on her head, and the werewolf collapsed.
Vasilisa lay curled up in the nook of a boulder. She’d buried her face in her knees and had her hands over her head as if trying to blank out what had happened.
Billi looked at her own hands. The nails were thicker, but normal. She’d fought down the change again. The bloodthirsty rage subsided, and with it she shook the Beast back into its cage.
Shouts rose out of the wind. Flashlights appeared in the distance and dark figures ran through the snow. The wind carried fearful howls.
Billi tossed away the broken sword. She groaned as she bent down to pick up her dagger. Every muscle screamed, and her bones did too, each having been twisted and tortured out of shape and back. Her spine popped as each joint set back into its socket. It took a huge effort to grasp the dagger and lift it.
“Billi?”
She had to do it now.
Billi grabbed Vasilisa by her dangling necklaces and held her fast. She raised her knife.
Oh God. This is it.
Vasilisa stared up at her, not understanding. She shook her head as if this might be some nightmare. She held on to Billi’s fingers, wanting this to be okay, wanting to trust Billi, but she could only tremble.
Strike!
Billi willed her arm down, willed the blade to enter the girl’s heart, but her arm wouldn’t bend. Vasilisa gazed up at her, too terrified to move.
“Close your eyes, Vasilisa. You won’t feel anything.” Billi’s voice broke. She pressed her lips together despite the tremor running through her. She had to do this.
It
was her duty as a Templar. The life of one against the lives of billions. Baba Yaga would bring Fimbulwinter, and humanity would suffera long, slow deathby starvation. A second of ruthless action and the world was saved. Billi wouldn’t have time to regret it; the werewolves were going to tear her to pieces at any moment.
“God forgive me,” said Billi. She pushed Vasilisa against the rock and twisted the necklaces around her fist, holding Vasilisa still. The moonlight caught the little girl’s petrified face, her bewilderment. It glistened off the brightly polished baubles and old flint arrowheads dangling from her neck. The small bones, lumps of precious metal, beads, and a crude statue all jangled from Billi’s grip.
The statue.
Billi’s breath stopped. She held it between her fingers. The small, roughly carved shape of a woman, the big hips and small stub of a head, all veined with dark iron.
It was the Venus figurine.
A werewolf slammed into Billi, pushing her away from Vasilisa, and the necklace broke a part as it came free. The pair tumbled in the snow, knocking all the air from Billi’slungs. She lay limp under the snarling werewolf, its gruesome fangs just a few inches from her throat. Half buried in the snow, Billi twisted enough to look at Vasilisa. Olga was already there, passing the girl to others. Two women helped Svetlana up.
Vasilisa was removed, quickly surrounded by the Polenitsy and carried away. Only when she’d gone did the werewolf move off of Billi.
They lifted Billi up. Olga approached.
“Why didn’t you kill her?” the old woman asked.
Billi smiled. She slipped her closed hand into her pocket, feeling the smooth cold curves of the statuette made in Tunguska. The one thing that could kill Baba Yaga.
Oh, but I will.
37
IVAN STARED OPENMOUTHER AS THEY DRAGGED BILLI back. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe his eyes. It lasted a second before his face dropped. He was tied to one of the thick wooden posts in the center of the ger. They did the same to Billi on the one opposite him. The leather straps bit deep into her wrists as Olga twisted and knotted the bindings around and around. She gave the knots a sharp tug, then stood between the two of them. The other Polenitsy had gone, and Olga shifted from foot to foot, her gaze moving from Billi to Ivan and back. Then she straightened her coat and left.
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