“Garald, you must answer, or I will think you do not want this wretched woman,” the demon intoned.
“Why would you bring me a gift? What have I done to deserve it? I know nothing is given freely.” Garald was careful in his choice of wording. He didn’t accept or reject the offering, and he was also cognizant of using a droning tone so that there was a distinct lack of inflection of interest.
The demon waved his hand at the woman trussed up and bleeding from dozens of places. She shivered continuously. When he did, all of the demons waved their hands as if they were all on the same wavelength. The arms rose and fell together in perfect synchronization. Where had she seen such a thing?
Sívamet, you know who this is. I see the knowledge in your mind. You reject the answer.
The betrayal hurt. Her own flesh and blood. Why would she do such a thing? Olga? Her aunt? Her mother’s sister? She had always been loving and kind. They had been close, all of them, her brothers protective of her. Why would she turn on them? She shook her head, rejecting the idea, ashamed she’d even considered her as a suspect. There was no possible way Olga would be in league with demons.
Afanasiv didn’t try to convince her. He remained silent when she wanted him to argue with her so she would have an excuse to lash out at him—at someone. Betrayal at such a level was soul destroying. Her brothers had always defended and loved Olga. They would do anything for her. All of them treated her as a second mother, particularly after their parents had been murdered.
“Come close and see what we bring to you. She is special. A woman you like.”
The demon chanted, a low droning sound. It couldn’t penetrate the shield she’d put on the earth, so there was no way those low notes could produce tremors and shake open cracks that would allow more demons to escape.
“What is your price for this hapless woman you have dragged here?” Garald repeated, using his same careless droning tone. He sounded almost bored.
“A small one. A very small price.”
“You see,” Garald said. “Always you act as if you are doing a favor, yet you are not. Your price is never small. I do not recognize this woman. She looks old and haggard. I think she is one of your many illusions. The times you have managed to escape the underworld, you delight in playing tricks. I have no time for playing games with you at the moment.”
There was a small silence, as if the conductor didn’t quite know how to react to Garald’s statement. She was proud of him for acting so disinterested. She knew it was difficult. She felt the strain on him, the heartache. He hadn’t looked at the bundle of misery. He’d lookedover the top of it and at the surrounding snow, but not actually at the woman.
Vasilisa floated close to her brother. “I am going to check Taisiya for damage, to see if she will survive what they have done to her. Then we will take her back. We have to know if they have made it so they intend to kill her if we make a show of aggression.”
Garald moved his body subtly so that when his nod came it seemed natural, as if he were merely changing his position slightly.
Vasilisa hovered over the woman again, this time assessing her injuries. She had been tortured. There was no doubt about it. What was the purpose? Just so Garald would come to her rescue? Just to get him to cooperate with them? Taisiya had something clutched in her fist. Vasilisa could see she was trying to open her fingers to release the object but couldn’t get them to open. Each time she made the attempt, a fresh flood of silent tears would roll down her face, but she persisted. Along with those tears, drops of blood ran down her clenched palm to her wrist and forearm to drip into the snow.
Frowning, Vasilisa floated closer until she was nearly lying on top of Taisiya. That close, she could see the needle and syringe in her fist and fingers sewn to them. Taisiya was desperate enough to use one finger to try to pull at the stitches and pop them loose one by one. It was clear she was doing her best to hide what she was doing, not from the demons towering over her, but she kept looking at trees in the forest. Vasilisa followed her gaze.
Afanasiv. I think I see the demon controlling the others. Taisiya keeps looking fearfully toward one tree in particular. There appears to be a blight growing on it. There wasn’t one before. I know every tree in the forest. That large outgrowth wasn’t there before.
Do not engage,she instantly commanded her brother without thinking. Then, in a softer tone, she told him the reason.She is doing her best to warn you of something. We must have time to figure this out.
He took a step forward and then forced himself to stop whenTaisiya shook her head and waved him off with her hand. It was more of a fist wave, but he caught that slight movement. They were trained to catch the slightest nuance of an enemy, so he would no doubt see the tiny hand shaking to warn him off.
Garald’s body shook with the effort to keep from hurling himself at his enemies. He did his best to look indifferent, shaking his head and looking at the woman with disdain. “I have never seen this wretched creature before, or if I have, it was brief, and I do not remember. Why would you bother me when you can see I have business to attend to this night?”
The demon threw back his head and laughed. As he did, so did all the demons with him. He took a step closer to Garald, and again as he moved, so did the other demons, the circle narrowing around Vasilisa’s brother.
The miserable bundle that was Taisiya was nearly within reach of Garald. Vasilisa could see her clearly. She became frantic, ripping desperately at the stitches holding the needle and syringe in place, moaning and crying out occasionally and then muffling the sound in order to keep Garald or the demons from looking at her. More blood ran onto the snow in bigger droplets. The red clashed with the white of the snow, making it impossible not to see, and yet the demons’ focus wasn’t on her. It remained on Garald and his every movement.
Vasilisa didn’t like the eagerness on the demons’ faces, the way their mouths gaped open to show their serrated teeth as if they might leap upon Garald and tear him to shreds. Their eyes had gone bright and shiny, glowing red in the night. Garald was surrounded by them. He had to feel their anticipation, the rising excitement in them, and yet he didn’t break a sweat. He appeared relaxed, his sword loose and even nonthreatening. He looked bored and unafraid, as if the demons were beneath his notice.
“Do you not wish to save this woman? We could kill her for you,” the head demon offered.
Garald’s answering laugh was harsh. “And then I would owe you a favor. I am not a young lad to be tricked by such foolishness. What is it you want from me? Tell me or be gone.”
The demon closest to Taisiya drove his foot with those terrible toenails into her side. At the same time, the demons all chanted three words over and over.Voz’mi yego krov’.They repeated the chant incessantly, swelling in volume. Taisiya screamed, writhing as if she were having a seizure.
“Run, Garald.” She managed to get the warning out before her throat closed and she went into a fit of coughing as she lunged toward him, stabbing with the needle.
Automatically making herself into a thin, pancake-like figure, Vasilisa inserted her body between her brother and the young girl who fought so hard to save him. The needle appeared to lodge in Vasilisa’s artery under her arm and instantly drew blood into the cleverly concealed tube in the girl’s fist. Taisiya’s fist dropped away, and she was rolled toward the demon, who ripped the syringe and tube of blood from her.
At once, a howl of joy went up from the demons, and they began to dance and sway in a circle around Garald. Vasilisa was certain it was to distract him. Taisiya lay at his feet in the snow, broken and bleeding. That would be a distraction as well.
Did she injure you or your brother?