When it finally settled, he sat on his throne of stone with his glaive clenched tightly in his hand. “Now, I wait.” Seven are one, he thought. For now. The pack will grow, ten by ten-fold, but he would have to wait. So that was what he did, he waited. The great warrior god sat alone on his cold, hard, stone throne; and he waited.
CH 21: Who Says You Can’t Go Home?
With her blood still boiling from the meeting with Blackwell, Lilly walked the streets of New York City. In her tight black dress and expensive shoes, she waited for someone to antagonize her, for someone to take the bait, for someone to say the word she hated so very much. So far, no one had.
As much as she hated to admit it, Blackwell was right. She was early. Her impatience and the anticipation was making her anxious. Still, if Blackwell hadn’t locked away all of the monsters—all of them, she wouldn’t have had to wait at all. Then she could have caught her own monsters, but right now, that wasn’t the case. Was this his plan all along? Was that the motive behind their deal concerning the great flood? she wondered, to save the humans from the monsters, consolidate all the power. It certainly sounded like a Blackwell plan. But what was his end-game? Lilly’s thoughts were interrupted by other ones, the voices of her banshees.
The banshees were her servants, her wards, her sisters, her children. And they howled for justice. In her head, their voices rang louder than any her own thoughts ever did, always. Avenge us. How long shall we wait? When is it our time? When will we have our vengeance, our retribution, our vindication? How long shall we be held under the boots of men? Tyrants! Killers! Defilers! The abandoners and killers of children. How much longer shall our prayers go unanswered? Our tears? Our pain? How long? The vengeance of women, they certainly deserved it. They have waited long enough—too long, thought Lilly.
Still, she could wait two more days; she had to. She—they had waited so long… But what was two more days? “Soon, soon. You will have your vengeance, your strength, your justice. No longer will men wrong you or abuse you—never, never again. For those that try… well, there are worse things than death. The age of man is ending… soon.”
Lilly tried to clear her head, or to find someone to suffer her wrath, but neither came. For two hours, she walked—long-legged, alone, and a fake smile, the perfect bait. Yet no one took it. No one said the word. Aside from some drunken suitors and a few borderline-crude cat calls, it was quiet, and it wasn’t enough—not enough to warrant Lilly’s gift.
So she continued walking. She saw the people hiding behind their paper shields and blissful ignorance. Cloaked in fancy clothes and selective thoughts, they ignored the atrocities of the world, or they didn’t know any better, not yet.
Couples, Lilly passed by a few couples, fake-smiling and judging them as she did so. Couples. Some tolerated their belittling boyfriends, while others cowered from domineering girlfriends. Others did the domineering and belittling. Some held hands but kept wandering eyes. Others forced smiles while typing deceptive sins into their phones, sending and receiving temptation through the ether while hiding the truth from their mates. A strange world, it was.
Sickened and bored, Lilly eventually quit walking and took a seat on a bench by a small park. Past midnight, sitting alone on a park bench in a tight black dress, she dangled herself even more like some obvious-yet-very-tempting bait. And she waited for someone to try her and kept waiting. Still, no one did. So, she continued waiting while her frustration grew. And she huffed, angry that the humans weren’t proving as wicked as she thought. Give them time, she thought, that was the same thing she told Fenrir. Her melancholy was soon relieved by a distraction, a homeless woman passing by.
Pushing a shopping cart with a shawl wrapped around her head, she looked weak. She was weak… weak, wrinkled, shrunken, and frail. And dying. Lilly almost pitied her. Instead she huffed. Another homeless person, really?
The woman shuffled by on her holey, dirt-splattered shoes. Glancing at the pretty young woman sitting alone on the park bench, she quickly did a double-take. “Hello,” she said, her voice cracking with both age and weakness.
Lilly dismissively waved at her, expecting her to continue moving along and pushing her shopping cart of trash. She didn’t.
The woman shuffled closer. “You are very pretty. Why are you sitting alone?”
“’cause people are stupid,” Lilly answered. “So annoying,” she added, rolling her eyes.
“Well, you shouldn’t be out here alone. It can be dangerous.”
Lilly cocked her head to the side with disdain and huffed. “Yeah, well, so am I.”
The old woman smiled and was about to say something, but a cough hit her. The phlegm rumbled in her throat as her cough grumbled louder and continued growing until it became a fierce, painful hacking.
For a moment, it seemed like the woman’s coughing fit was winding down, but then she dropped to a knee and the coughing started up again, rumbling louder faster than before. And, unmoved and expressionless, Lilly watched. That is, until she saw blood spray out of the woman’s mouth and splatter onto the concrete walkway.
Lilly let out another frustrated huff before she pushed herself off the bench. “Hold on,” Lilly huffed again. “Here, let me help you.” Helping the woman stand and wiping the blood from her lips, the evil goddess seemed to show a dash of compassion. “Are you okay?”
With sparkling timeless eyes, the old woman smiled a toothless smile. She saw Lilly’s fangs and her glowing red eyes. She even saw Lilly’s horns—the short devil horns that peaked out just above Lilly’s golden mane, horns she never revealed to anyone and that no one should have ever been able to see. But she saw them. And the old woman knew her. “You, you are so beautiful.”
“You’re dying,” Lilly said, surmising as much. That was the only way that the woman could see her, the real her. The dying could often see between this world and the afterlife. And often, the dying were the only ones who could see—see the truth, the truth behind our veil of lies and masks.
“Dying? I am. Asbestos and lung cancer, no insurance.” The old woman nodded to herself, accepting her fate. “It’s okay though. It’s been a long life.” She was still smiling, her wrinkled lips curling around her toothless gums. “You, I cannot believe…” The hacking interrupted her again, and more blood splattered out from somewhere inside her and against the back of the old woman’s hand.
“Here.” Lilly pricked her fang on her thumb and squeezed against her wounded thumb until her blood pooled under her thumbnail and mixed with the venom seeping from it. Tilting the woman’s head to the side, Lilly said, “Don’t…” then she jabbed her thumbnail into the woman’s neck—into the once-plump, now-shriveled vein on the side of it. “This will help with the pain and discomfort, for the moment at least.”
Yanking her thumb out of the woman’s neck, Lilly then held it over the opening while caressing her neck as gently as she would her grandmother’s.
“Don’t speak. It’ll take a little time for it to soak in and for your neck to heal.” The woman complied, nodding silently and lovingly. And moments later, Lilly removed her thumb, and the woman’s neck was healed. In fact, the spot where Lilly had stuck her was wrinkle-free and looked ten years younger than the rest of her.
The woman thanked her, and Lilly helped her over to the bench. All the while, the old woman never stopped smiling. “You,” said the old woman. “I cannot believe that I got a chance to meet you. My word. This is a joyous day, a miracle.”
“And who do you think I am?”
Still grinning, the old woman lightly poked Lilly’s shoulder and said, “You are her.” The woman’s Russian accent finally surfaced. She whispered, “You are Baba Yaga.”
Lilly laughed loud and hard. “Oh, my. I have not heard that name for so long—ages, most likely. So you think that I am Baba Yaga, the old Russian witch?” Now Lilly was smiling. Her teeth were gleaming, polished, ivory pillars stacked between two plump cherry-red lips.
“Oh no,” the old
woman said with certainty, shaking her head. Her old wrinkled hands reached up and weakly touched Lilly’s arm. “No, not that.” Then she grabbed Lilly’s youthful hand and lightly patted it. “That is just one translation, the old grandmother. Yaga can also mean the abuser as well. To me, when I was a child, my grandmother would tell me stories about you, but in her stories, you were beautiful, as you are now. Tall and beautiful, you had long flowing hair of gold. And you would punish evil men. And other times, when men would get tempted by your beauty and become wild with lust, you would…” The old woman paused and covered her mouth with shyness. Then, like a child telling a secret, she whispered into Lilly’s ear.
And again, Lilly howled with laughter. “Yes, I have done that. Chopped it right off.” They both giggled like children. Congratulatory and happy, the old woman patted Lilly on the back like a proud parent.
She continued with the stories of Baba Yaga. A smile was frozen across Lilly’s face as she listened intently to the old woman’s Russian ghost stories. Stories of evil witches, candy houses, the woman in white, the whispering well, dream seducers, the magic mirror, and follow the hall. All were stories of vengeance, all where she was the hero, an avenging spirit.
Lilly giggled, “Follow the hall, that was always one of my favorites.” An old witch would put a spell on a man or bite his neck—depending on the story, and the man would become enchanted. The man would be consumed with the euphoria he felt and became a slave to his enchantress. Regardless of how they really looked, to the enchanted man, the woman was a gorgeous, seductive woman. And she’d flirt with him and lure him down the long hallway of a palace or an elegant hotel, seducing him all-the-while. She’d laugh and whisper to him, “C’mon baby, it just a little bit farther, or do it for me.” In the end, the man would end up walking barefoot in the dark—twenty-thirty miles sometimes. Barefoot and hypnotized, the man would walk miles through the woods, miles over stones and sticks and mud. But by daybreak, the spell would wear off. The man would finally come to his senses, finding himself in the middle of nowhere with his feet raw and beyond bloody. Miles away from civilization, the panic set in, and the man finally realized that he was lost in the forest and that his feet were too injured to move. But more often than not, it never got to that point. Usually the men were just led into a coal mine and dropped down an unmarked mineshaft.
The old woman continued telling her stories, and the odd-looking pair soon sounded like old friends. But finally, the old lady ran out of stories, and her wrinkled face became stern and serious. “And this one time, a long time ago, it was in my village, and there was a man… He was a bad man, a very bad man. And he… He hurt people, woman and children. And I prayed and I prayed—every night, I prayed to you, to Baba Yaga, to take away the bad man. He was evil, very bad man—a very, very evil man. And for months, I prayed and I prayed, but nothing ever happened.
“Then one day, the bad man disappeared. When we… when they found him, he was in the woods. And his legs and his arms were… they looked like they were cut up by scissors, over and over and over again. And…” again she whispered into Lilly’s ear. But this time, there was no laughter, only seriousness.
Finished with her whispering, the old woman looked into Lilly’s eyes and nodded, dead serious. Then she frowned and turned silent. I’m a stupid old lady, she thought, Baba Yaga’s not real. She then forced a smile and said, “I am very sorry for bothering you. Thank you for indulging an old woman and her ghost stories, but you’re not really Baba Yaga. I know that. It’s just my mind. I’m old.” She coughed lightly. The venom was wearing off.
She forced herself to hold her smile a little longer. “But you are very pretty though.” She patted Lilly’s leg then pushed herself off the bench. “You be careful, honey. It is dark and the nights can be dangerous.” And she started to shuffle back to her cluttered grocery cart. And all the happiness she just experienced seemed to have all but disappeared. The disappointment wouldn’t last long.
“Mischa Tochtesky,” a voice sounded out from over her shoulder, and the old woman froze, realizing that she never told Lilly her name—and she especially did not tell her that one, her old name from the old land. It was her Cossack name, the name her grandmother told her to never say, the name she’d beat her for if she ever spoke it aloud. Tochtesky, a Cossack name, a dangerous name, and dangerous to speak aloud; once, it invited death, a death sentence from the Russians.
The Cossacks… Betrayed by the English after World War II, expecting the English to grant them asylum for their support during the war, they received none. Instead they were left to the devices and wrath of the communists. And following a violent and complex history, the red hammer and sickle hunted down the Cossacks and executed them by the thousands.
Lilly continued, “That is your name, isn’t it? And you should say it with pride. The Cossacks were a proud people. Fierce, strong, independent, with free hearts and free souls. No matter the cost… even if that cost was blood.”
“But you,” Mischa whimpered as her hands trembled. “You… How could you know? I never…” Mischa whimpered and shook, but her surprise took a backseat to her story, a story Mischa never thought anyone would, or could, understand. Then it all came out. “They hunted us, the Soviets. My grandmother helped us, and we moved west. We walked. We... we ran—we had to. Through the snow… ‘follow the road, Mischa,’ she’d say. ‘Run until your lungs burn hotter than your legs; then run some more. The pain will stoke the fire in your soul. When you hear the gunshots, run even faster,’ she told me. ‘Run until the snow fades and summer comes and the dirt becomes grass. But never look back, not for me, not for your brother, don’t look back. And never say that name, never. Never say it, but never forget. One day, when the time is right, whisper it. Whisper our story to your children and their children. We are Cossack. Never forget.’” Mischa’s wrinkles were soaked with tears.
“And did you?”
Eyes clenched, the old woman nodded. “I did, but my children are gone. The fire in their souls burnt out twenty years ago… but mine still burns.” Her eyes sparkled with hard resolve, like flames.
Lilly nodded sympathetically. “Sometimes, life is cruel—crueler than the gods.” After a pause, she tssted. “My little Mischa, I cannot believe you. You call me Baba Yaga, your Baba Yaga, and then you take it back?
“The man from your village, the evil man. I know what happened to him. I remember. Of course, I remember. I had dreams of him, the things he did.” Lilly curled her lips up in disgust and shook her head. “Disgusting. Nightmares.” While the gods slept, their dreams were filled with the lives of mortals.
Lilly put her hands on the old woman’s shoulders. “And your prayers, your prayers, they woke me up, woke me from my slumber. Groggy and only for a short while, I still woke up. And I remember the man, and the woods, and what I did to him. And I assure you that he got what he deserved.” Lilly grew sadder. “I am just sorry that you had to see it.” She hugged the old woman. “You were just a child.”
The old woman was shrunken, and her head barely reached the midpoint of Lilly’s torso. But she rested her head there nonetheless. “It is you. You are really here… my Baba Yaga.”
“I am.” Lilly hung a gold coin around her neck. “For you.”
The old woman’s eyelids flickered with salty tears as she nodded with gratitude.
“Now, my little Mischa, my truest believer, even after all these years, what can I do for you?” Lilly smiled as she smoothed out the old woman’s ratty hair and waited for Mischa’s answer.
Mischa’s old wrinkled hands wrapped around Lilly’s golden youthful ones. After a long pause and a soulful look, she answered. Almost apologetic, she whimpered, “The gift.”
Lilly looked at the old woman with sad, red eyes. As they began welling up, Lilly thought about trying to convince her otherwise. But as Mischa coughed again, this time slightly worse than the last time, Lilly decided not to. Mischa would receive the gift she asked for.
&nb
sp; “It is okay,” the old woman reassured her. “I have lived long and for many years. Some good, some hard…” Mischa made a fist and thumped it against her chest. “My fire still burns strong, but I am ready. It is okay.” She touched Lilly’s face. “And I got to meet Baba Yaga, my Baba Yaga. This is the best gift that you could ever give me.” She smiled, a true smile; and her eyes sparkled like that of a child’s.
“Okay.” Lilly pursed her lips and nodded repeatedly, trying to hold back the sadness. “Okay, my little Mischa. If that is what you want, I will give it to you.”
She slid her hand onto the middle of Mischa’s back and led her into the small park behind their bench. Lilly looked around. Not bad, but I’m still going to need a little more privacy.
The park was small and consisted of only a few benches and a swing set. More importantly, it was dark but not dark enough. Lodged between two tall brick buildings, the park was mostly hidden from the moonlight. Street lights weren’t a concern, and all-but-one of lights of the park’s lamppost were already burnt-out. It was pretty dark, but still, not dark enough. But as Lilly flicked her index finger at the lightbulb inside the last working lamppost, a barbed stinger shot out of her fingernail, across the park, and shattered the light. And now, it was a whole lot darker. Now it is dark enough. “Soon,” Lilly said. “Soon. Your suffering will be over very soon, and forever.”
She kissed Mischa on top of her head then opened her mouth wide. Her fangs blared, long and sharp. Then Lilly bit into the old woman’s neck, near the spinal cord—to limit the pain.
Lilly made sure to give her little Mischa a full dose of the sweetest venom she could muster. And as the venom, the poison, started coursing through Mischa’s veins, she sighed happily. With Lilly’s venom came ecstasy, and both were flowing through the old woman’s veins, and the dim streetlights and dull yellow lights shining out of the windows of the tall apartment buildings became supernovas. The old woman’s toothless mouth curled into dull pink crescents as her lips tingled with bliss and wonder. Her eyes dilated into giant eclipses of darkness and she felt weightless as a cloud.
The Long Night of the Gods: Lilith Awakens (Forgotten Ones Book 2) Page 20