Sarwat Chadda - Billi SanGreal 02 - Dark Goddess

by Unknown

Ivan shook his head. "They threw everything into a bonfire." He leaned nearer. "Just hang on, Billi. Your father knows where we are. He'll come, and he'll bring more of Elaine's bandages."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  "Then will it matter what happens? To any of us?" Ivan pondered the next bit. His chin rested on his fist, and he looked at her. "But I will stick with you. You know that, don't you?"

  "Even if I become... one of them?"

  "You will always be who you are, Billi SanGreal."

  She could hear voices around her, speaking in a mixture of languages and accents. People laughed and argued and coughed and cursed. The snow outside her tent crunched with approaching footsteps.

  Svetlana—Big Red—threw open the tent flap wide and came in. She was holding a girl's hand.

  Vasilisa gave a cry of delight and bundled herself against Billi. The two embraced.

  "I knew you'd come, Billi," she whispered. "I just knew it."

  For a moment, Billi just hugged the girl. Maybe all the pain and hardship had been worth it.

  But then Billi pulled her back, away. Vasilisa continued to smile brightly. She trusted Billi totally.

  She doesn't know why I'm here, Billi thought. She thinks I've come to save her.

  In spite of the cold, the child wore a white summer smock, beautifully embroidered with green vines and delicate flowers. Her hennaed hands were bound with golden bracelets, and several necklaces hung from her neck. They were strung with beads, decorative stones, and uncut gemstones. Her blond hair had been arranged with seven or eight braids, each threaded with gold wire and old coins. On her feet she wore red slippers with curved toes, the felt decorated as lavishly as her smock.

  The Polenitsy valued their Spring Child.

  "Don't you feel cold?" asked Billi as she held out a blanket. The smock was as thin as a handkerchief, and the girl's legs were bare. Vasilisa shook her head.

  "Not anymore." She scratched her arm. "She's shown me how, Billi. How to change what I am. It's like the wind, the snow." She passed her hand over the lamp flame. "Fire, even. It doesn't touch me."

  "Baba Yaga?" Billi whispered. What other changes had the witch wrought on the little girl?

  Svetlana hissed, and Vasilisa shuddered. She glanced over her shoulder at the Polenitsy, then nodded. "Yes, the goddess has shown me what I am."

  Billi brushed Vasilisa's hair out of her face to get a good look at her. She was fresh and well-fed, but she had changed —she looked at Billi with wise eyes.

  Vasilisa turned to Ivan. He'd been watching it all silently. Now he stood and gave Vasilisa a warm smile.

  "They say you are a prince," said Vasilisa. "You look like a prince."

  "I am Ivan. It is a pleasure to meet you, Vasilisa."

  Billi's clothes had been swapped for a white shirt and baggy cotton trousers. She got out of bed, and her legs almost gave way. Ivan grabbed her. She was still weak from last night's battering. "I need something to drink," she muttered. She licked her lips. "More food, too. Meat." Her tongue ran over her teeth. She wanted to tear at a big juicy steak.

  Billi didn't miss the look from Svetlana. Billi was turning into one of them, but the young woman saw only a rival. If Svetlana wanted a fight, that was just dandy. Weak as she was, Billi's heart pumped with desire. She put her hand against her chest. She knew what would happen if she gave in to the anger. Elaine had warned her.

  "The wolf you killed, Silver Paws, was a pack elder and her bite was particularly infectious," said Vasilisa. "The other wolves are amazed that you've not transformed already. It takes a lot of willpower to fight it." Vasilisa paused, screwing up her eyes. Her lips lost their color and she swayed. "Fight it," she whispered to herself.

  Billi grabbed her wrist. "Vasilisa, you okay?"

  The girl rubbed her head. "SiCk, BiLLi. She IZz. InSide." Her voice became distorted as dozens of others spoke through her. Billi heard the accents of other languages, of the old and the young—male and female.

  Vasilisa's pixie face wrinkled, and her big eyes filled with tears. Her body trembled. "Oh, Billi. They won't stop talking." She gazed at Billi, her voice quiet and intense. "Please, don't let her eat me."

  Billi shot an angry look at Svetlana, but said, did, nothing. She didn't want to scare Vasilisa.

  "She won't." One way or another.

  So Baba Yaga was in there, digging away. All psychics endured the voices until they grew powerful enough to shut them out. Being a telepath, Kay had had it real bad. As a child he'd spent weeks living in isolation, trying to cutoff the invasion of other people's thoughts and dreams. Words and voices had spilled out of him, gibberish that had almost driven him mad. More than one asylum had a psychic patient deranged by all the voices that never quieted.

  Olga entered. The old woman wore a long dress made of animal skin and studded with beads. Her feet were in beautifully embroidered fur-lined boots. Heavy bronze bracelets rattled on her wrists, and faded blue tattoos covered her wiry bare arms. "The Great Mother wishes to speak with you, Templar," she said.

  The two Polenitsy put themselves between her and Vasilisa.

  Olga stepped forward. "We must go now."

  Billi stood fixed to the spot. Baba Yaga wanted to see her. She thought of the dreaded power that had risen out of the forest. Then she'd only caught a glimpse of the Dark Goddess, and it had overwhelmed her; now she was going to stand face-to-face with her. Goose bumps rose across her skin.

  "What does she want?" Billi asked. Ivan tightened his hold on his crutch. He glanced at her, and there was fear for her in his eyes.

  Olga pulled back the tent flap. "Come —now."

  They want us to be afraid.

  Baba Yaga wanted to see her. That didn't sound good. Billi couldn't change that, but she could either go cowering, or with her head up. She steadied herself against Ivan, then let go and stood on her own two feet. Like a Templar should.

  "No point keeping the old girl waiting," she said. Olga pointed at a pair of fur-lined leather boots by the entrance. On the stool lay Billi's red coat, but it was badly torn and all the buttons were missing. She put it on and then pulled on the boots.

  "You too," said Svetlana. She grabbed Ivan and dragged him off his stool. He slapped her hand away, and Red's hand sprang up, each finger tipped with an ivory claw.

  "Svetlana!" snapped Olga. Slowly, Red lowered her hand. Billi helped Ivan up and passed him the crutch.

  "Ivan?"

  Ivan wasn't listening: his attention was focused purely on Olga.

  "Do you know who I am?" he snarled. Despite the injured leg, Ivan smoldered with anger; every muscle was tensed for battle, and his eyes darkened like an advancing hurricane.

  Billi stared at him and the old woman. Oh, Jesus, she thought. Olga killed his father.

  Olga nodded. "The son of the old tsar."

  "Son of the man you killed."

  Billi took hold of Ivan's wrist. "We'll pick our moment, Ivan." His head snapped in her direction, and for a moment Billi thought he'd break free and attack. But then his rage cooled and he gave a single nod. He looked back at Olga.

  She smiled wryly. "And I will be waiting, boy."

  As they left the tent, Billi's hair blew loose in the wind. Out of habit she tucked her collar around her neck, but she didn't feel the cold much. Was this part of the infection? The change was coming: first rage and blood thirstiness, the emotions evolving into those of a predator. The physical change was last of all. But she couldn't give in yet. She still had work to do.

  Ivan took her hand. "Follow me," said Olga. Billi and Ivan went next, and Svetlana brought Vasilisa a few paces behind. Billi looked over her shoulder to see Vasilisa moving stiffly, eyes gazing into the forest ahead. Her breath came out like steam, in short desperate gasps, clearly petrified of what lay ahead.

  "Vasilisa... " Billi wanted to comfort her, but there was nothing she could do. She knew it, and so did Vasilisa.

  The camp was large—about thirty or forty tents spread across
a clearing within the heart of the forest. Lavish flags and totems hung from banners in front of most of the tent entrances. Others were customized with furs and beaded curtains, their exterior walls painted with shamanistic symbols that Billi didn't recognize.

  Aman with long black hair and a heavily tattooed face stood in front of a tent that had stick figures being chased by giant wolves painted across the material, a sickle-edged moon hanging overhead. The man glanced at them, then turned his attention to a golden eagle watching from a high branch. Small silver bells tinkled from tassels around its leg. The man raised his left fist, bound in a thick leather glove, and gave a curt whistle.

  The eagle dived straight down toward them. At the last instant its wings spread, bringing it to a dead stop, and it landed delicately on the man's fist. The bird flapped its huge wings, tip to tip, well over Billi's height, and she wasn't short. Its feathers rippled, their sheen moving from gold to orange to deep rich brown. Its head darted from side to side, and it screamed angrily, bothered perhaps at having to come down from its royal perch high in the stars. The man gently stroked the irate bird, humming soothingly.

  Next to the tattooed man were a couple of blond Scandinavians, bearded bears of men, each wearing sleeveless undershirts. They tinkered with the engine of an old Land Rover.

  "All werewolves?" Billi asked.

  Olga shook her head. "No. These men are merely consorts. Our bite awakens only women," she answered with a hint of pride.

  "Turns them into monsters, you mean?"

  Olga smiled at her. Billi had thought she'd be angry, but the old woman seemed to find Billi's comment amusing.

  "Tomorrow you will feel differently, I promise you."

  They left the light of the campfires and entered the surrounding forest. The darkness didn't bother Billi. Even with the moon cloaked behind clouds she could see the black roots, the frost-coated rocks, the patterns on the bark. Large boulders, dropped here from some glacial retreat, bore ancient claw marks and faint traces of paintings—strange spiral patterns and images of beasts and witches.

  Women were starting to gather around a huge rock. Old, young, something in between, they stalked through the trees, covered in paint, covered in tattoos, covered in beads and skins and power. They were of all nations and races. Fair Scandinavians and dark Africans. Black-haired Mongolians and browned-skinned women from the Indian subcontinent and the East. But they had abandoned their past lives when they'd become part of the Polenitsy, part of a more ancient, primeval identity. Their long locks blew wildly in the wind. One crouched above them on a branch, feathers and small bells hanging from her golden-brown hair.

  The women came close, silently watching the small group's progression toward the rock. Billi felt giddy, drunk. She held tightly on to Ivan, shaking her head to stop the silent calling that rose from the women, the Polenitsy. It wasn't audible; she could only feel it in her deepest heart.

  One of us.

  Deep down inside her, the Beast Within snapped at its chains, the links weakening. The clothes on her back were pulling her down. She wanted to tear them all off and go running and hunting and feasting with her sisters.

  One of us.

  Sisters? Billi stopped herself. No. She wasn't anything like them. They were monsters. The Beast Within was trying to trick her.

  They parted as they came within a few feet of the house-sized black rock. Frost-covered moss and ivy shimmered on its surface. Billi spotted faded patterns and worn-out engravings under the ivy, but they were too weathered to make out. The Polenitsy retreated into the forest, but Billi knew they weren't far. She could join them whenever she wanted.

  "Below," ordered Olga.

  At the base of the rock was an opening, a hole leading into the earth. It was almost invisible under the deep shadow of the boulder. Olga led the way, followed by Vasilisa. Svetlana pushed Billi, who spun and shoved the red-haired girl back.

  Svetlana crouched, her loose hair framing her face. She had deep red lips and was as tall as Billi, but more muscular. However, her powerful physique only made her more feminine, not less. Her features were strong and dominated by her green eyes, set above high, hard cheekbones.

  Billi gritted her teeth and hissed. She wanted nothing more than to rip that mocking smile off Svetlana's face. Ivan grabbed her wrist, pulling her back.

  "We'll pick our moment," he said. Svetlana snorted with derision. But Ivan didn't let go until Billi had acknowledged him. Then he released her as she turned back toward the hole and slid down.

  The passageway was too low to stand in, and the rocks it was made of were uneven and undulating, probably shaped by an ancient underground stream. The narrow channel was lit by candles that sat in small, chiseled-out alcoves. Above them was a gallery of artwork from pre-history. There were massive bulls with huge arched horns, and charcoal-outlined mammoths strolling across the ancient stone. Small, potbellied horses galloped over the rock, full of vivid detail and motion.

  The animals were lavishly colored with rich shades of ocher—reds and yellows. The outlines followed the shape of the walls so they seemed almost ready to break out of the rock and take living form. Matchstick hunters darted back and forth, throwing their puny spears and darts. The animals had been drawn and painted with great love and beauty, but the humans were featureless and pathetic.

  Feet scuffled overhead, and Billi realized that the passage had opened up. More Polenitsy moved along natural ledges higher up on the walls, watching Billi and her party. All women, despite the men in the camp. They were marked by symbols, bones, and decorations that were prehistoric and simply beautiful.

  Polished stones hung off twine necklaces, and small carved animals dangled from their braided locks.

  "Babushka," called Olga. She raised her hand, and all movement ceased.

  Water chimed ahead, echoing in the large space.

  Billi caught her breath. The air trembled as though the Earth itself were sighing. Ivan came next to her. His face was open with wonder as he gazed at the ancient artwork surrounding them. He touched the head of one of the bulls, tracing the curve of its horn with his fingertips.

  Olga entered, and they followed. Billi gasped at the size of the innermost chamber. The entire Temple Church could have fit in here without touching the top or sides. The roof formed a high dome, and around the widest part ran a deep ledge decorated by huge crystalline formations that glowed deep ocher. Thirty-foot-long stalactites dripped water into sparkling pools.

  Olga led them down the ledge to the largest pool, and they stopped at its edge. Thick columns of the same glowing crystal formed a forest of stone where the Polenitsy lurked. The walls were decorated with paintings and carvings of flying reptiles, man-beasts, huge monsters with wings and claws and humans with the heads of animals. The walls were marked with grooves where the wolves had sharpened their claws.

  "Babushka," repeated Olga.

  Something moved through the crystal labyrinth. Clack clack clack went a staff of bone. Bare feet with leathery soles shuffled along the stone. The Polenitsy hissed and went to their knees.

  Red shoved Ivan down onto his knees, and he stifled a cry. Billi knelt unbidden; it just seemed right. She was in the presence of the goddess. Only Vasilisa and Olga remained standing.

  Invisible waves of energy rippled across the vast chamber, and each one shook Billi to the core. She put her hands into the water, but fought to keep her head up. The weight of the goddess's presence was overwhelming.

  This was why man feared the dark. From the earliest times he'd known that something wild lurked just outside the flickering flames of his cave, with the beasts and the monsters. The Dark Goddess.

  She shuffled into the faint candlelight, and the shadows deepened around her. She walked hunchbacked, but even so was thirteen feet tall. Rags covered her skeletal frame—animal skins and ancient furs. Insects scuttled in her floor-length white hair, which formed a veil over her face. Only the eyes peered out. Black, shiny, ancient. Her nails— long,
curved daggers—clicked against her bone staff.

  "Come, MY little OnE."

  Vasilisa hesitated and glanced back at Billi. But Billi couldn't help her. Vasilisa crossed the pool to take the withered hand of the ancient witch.

  Baba Yaga drew Vasilisa into her arms and laughed. It sounded like the crackling of dry sticks on a fire, or of river water battering against rocks and cliffs. It rose, and now it was a bonfire, piled high and blazing.

  Chapter 34

  BILLI ENTWINED HER FINGERS WITH IVAN'S, HOLDING tightly to stop herself from shaking. Baba Yaga shuffled through the pool and peered at them.

  "WhO Are you, DAughterrr?" she asked. There were ten thousand voices on her tongue. With Billi's acute hearing she could differentiate some. Men, women, children. Some were nearly articulate, while others screamed incoherently. All Baba Yaga's victims. No wonder Vasilisa was terrified, standing in the clutches of the witch.

  "Billi." Her own voice cracked with fear. She cleared her throat and tried again, pushing some courage into her lungs. It wasn't easy. "Billi SanGreal."

  "A wolf-killer," added Svetlana.

  Baba Yaga's breath rolled like an icy wind over Billi's face. Her talonlike nails click click clicked, and Billi was painfully aware of how any one of them could rip clean through her chest and out the other side. Ivan rose and took a step forward. His face was a mask of fear, but he stared at the Dark Goddess, determined and defiant.

  "She did it to save me," he said.

  Baba Yaga's attention snapped toward him, and she stroked his throat with her cold nails.

  Red spoke. "They are to be punished, Great Mother. They killed Silver Paws, an elder." She glanced back at Billi, smiling. "Give me the honor, I beg you."

  "Babushka, she is my friend," said Vasilisa, her small voice ringing through the cave. She looked up desperately at the old witch.

  "We're here for the girl," said Ivan. "Let us take her, and there will be no more trouble. It will be better for you."

  Billi looked at Ivan, shocked. What the hell was he talking about?

  "There are hundreds of Bogatyrs on their way," said Ivan. "And Templars. With swords, axes, and guns. You will be destroyed."