“Gods, I’d never pray to her,” Andrij replied. “I noticed wolf tracks a while back, and I think you’re right. Marzanna sent a wolf to stalk us.”
Valentyn smiled proudly, revealing the two teeth missing on his right side. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“I’m right! Ha!”
Andrij rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you worried a wolf is following us?”
Valentyn patted the ax at his side. “Ain’t nothing to worry about. I saw his eyes in the dark—big and blue those ones—but I’ve fought plenty of wolves. I got a feeling he’s just watching.”
“For now…”
Valentyn huffed and pushed Viktor into a canter that the horse resisted for as long as possible. As Andrij followed, the old warrior called back, “Maybe you do need one of those Dwie Rzeki girls to loosen you up.” He chuckled. “Village shouldn’t be too far. Małe Wzgórze I think it was called.”
“ ‘Little Hill’? I don’t see any—” He stopped as a trail appeared before them, sloping upward. “—hill,” he finished.
“Told ya to trust me,” Valentyn said. “In a few minutes, we’ll be filling our bellies and—”
A shout cut him off as a boy, no taller than Andrij’s hip, ran from the brush with a bent spear in hand. Andrij smiled at its sloppily carved tip. Someone’s too young for iron.
“Raiders!” the boy shouted, skidding to a stop three strides away and realizing he was obviously overmatched. “The raiders are back!”
The riders swapped glances as a woman led a group of men down the trail with various hasty weapons in hand: hatchets, hoes, and sickles. They approached as one grabbed the child, scolding him as he did.
These men aren’t warriors. Their chief had likely left for Dwie Rzeki with his best men and eligible girls. The festival honored both the coming of spring equinox and sixteen-year-olds as adults, eligible to be wed. Only the older men remained.
“You are mistaken,” Andrij began, clearing his throat and trying to sound as confident as possible. “We are not raiders. I am Andrij Myroslavovych Ya—”
“No one cares about your name,” the woman interrupted. She stepped forward, her hair wrapped beneath a flimsy woolen cap and her brown dress torn in multiple places. “We’ve got nothing left to give. Especially not to you Astiwie.”
Andrij sighed. Is it common for Krowikie women to lead? “We seek nothing but a warm bed for the night as allies of your high chief. We come under the orders of King Boz Vladyslavovych Kramarenko.”
The woman gripped her sickle and furrowed her brow. “You don’t get it. Raiders have taken everything from us. They’ll come back tonight to steal whatever’s left. You don’t want to be here, and we don’t want you here.”
“And High Chief Jacek won’t send men to help you?”
“Our lands are not like yours, Astiwie. The high chief barely controls the most influential chiefs, let alone villages like ours. He may claim to rule us, but he has neither the men nor the will to protect our village.”
Valentyn eyed Andrij. “Don’t do it,” he whispered.
But as Andrij sat tall and looked down at the woman, memories of fields ablaze met him.
He had been eleven, less than a year before he would complete his hunt and earn his first haircut—the first step toward manhood. From then on, his father would train him to follow in his footsteps. For Andrij, though, that day would never come.
The raiders came without warning. As Khakovo had no warriors or real weapons, those who bothered to put up a real fight were slaughtered. Andrij’s eldest brother, Drugov, was among them, and he wept alongside his family for days as their farm burned. What little jewelry his mother had was taken along with much of their grain and his father’s favored cattle. They’d never been rich, but now, they had nothing. It was in the aftermath of the raid that Andrij’s father went to King Boz for the resources to plant a new crop and breed new livestock.
Unfortunately, the king’s demands were steep, so Andrij’s family worked for moons in order to repay Boz’s claimed ‘generosity.’ Then the raiders returned.
After slaying Andrij’s father, they stole what remained of the king’s resources. When Boz’s men showed up a year later to collect their king’s due, he found a family of little more than beggars, scrounging what little they could from their burned land just to survive.
They took Andrij instead.
Now, Andrij’s breaths caught as he looked from the woman to the quivering boy, barely younger than he’d been. Five years before, he’d been unable to protect his family. King Boz had forced him into his service because of those raiders, taken him from his family. Maybe Valentyn had been right. They could’ve forgotten him after all these years, or they could’ve starved with nothing. If Andrij had a chance to save these people from that same fate, though, he had to take it.
“We will help you stop their attack if you allow us to rest here tonight,” he finally said. Andrij’s nerves drifted away as he spoke, and he puffed up his chest with a warrior’s strength. “How many men are in their band?”
Valentyn shook his head as the woman stared at Andrij, eyes wide. “Twenty,” she said, “maybe more, all with spears and shields.”
“We’re doomed, kid,” Valentyn muttered. “Best to ride west while we can.”
Ignoring his mentor, Andrij scanned the crowd. “And are these all your people who remain?” He counted eleven. Not enough. Though he and Valentyn were trained—and Valentyn had retrieved Andrij’s shield from the Wyzra’s bank—numbers were crucial in such a fight.
She nodded. “All the men.”
“Very well,” Andrij continued, dismounting and striding to the woman. “We will need your women to stand with us then.”
“I don’t—”
“Listen to the boy,” Valentyn said, still on Viktor’s back. “I don’t want to be here, but he does. If ya don’t do this his way, then you’re on your own.”
Andrij stopped before the woman. “What’s your name?”
Meeting his gaze, she crossed her arms. “Beáta.”
“Beáta,” he said with a nod, “you are bold to lead in the absence of your chief. We can help you get rid of these raiders, but we need all of your people to help if we are to protect your village.”
Beáta stepped back. Her eyes were stern, but she waved for them to follow. “Come.”
The gathered people walked alongside Andrij and Valentyn as they climbed the hill toward the Małe Wzgórze village center. Andrij felt their stares, heavy upon him like an ox’s yoke. In a moment, he had taken their safety as his own responsibility. If only he knew how he’d protect them.
As they walked, Beáta explained more about the raiders, who were led by a man she called Ctirad. They had waited until the village chief had left with the few men trained with a spear.
The destruction they’d wrought became obvious at the village center. Cottage doors were smashed in, and corpses of both sheep and goats lay rotting in snowed pastures. A putrid smell struck Andrij’s nose as he passed the well before the chief’s longhouse. When he looked down it, he gagged and stumbled back.
Valentyn raised his brow. “What spooked ya?”
“There’s a body in the well,” Andrij mumbled, shaking his head to get the image out of his head.
Beáta nodded, the dark rings beneath her eyes now apparent in the clearing. “Radoš was his name. He’ll turn to a demon if we can’t burn the body. I figure the raiders threw him in there to keep us away from the well.”
“Crude but effective,” Valentyn replied. “Why haven’t ya taken him out?”
“They took our rope, mister!” the boy with the spear exclaimed. “Pa had a good stretch of it before…”
Beáta stroked the boy’s hair before ushering for him to join a man and woman Andrij assumed to be his parents. “They stole most of our tools, livestock, and what little valuables we had,” she said. “Tonight, Ctirad claimed he would take what remained of our food. Not that we have much
to give.”
With a glance in Andrij’s direction, Valentyn handed Viktor’s reins to him before pulling a short coil of rope from his pack. “ ‘Never travel without a rope,’ my father always said. Ironic that it killed ‘im in the end.”
“Lower me down,” Andrij said. “I’ll grab the body while you pull.”
Valentyn huffed, pushing him aside. “I’m lighter. Would hate for ya to have to swim with a corpse. If someone’s got to pull it up, might as well be me.” His gaze drifted to Beáta as he removed his pack and Astiwie cloak, handing the latter to Andrij with a reverence Andrij didn’t know his mentor possessed.
Is he fond of this woman?
The weight of the battle ahead had Andrij’s nerves frayed, but Valentyn held his chin high. The old warrior’s resistance to helping Małe Wzgórze seemed to have faded too. If Beáta was the reason why, then Andrij thanked the gods for Valentyn’s unending desire to find a woman.
Rope tied tight around his waist, Valentyn put one foot on the well as Andrij and a few other men grabbed the free end. “Don’t drop me, or you’ll regret it!”
“I’d rather not have you coming back to haunt me,” Andrij replied, unable to chuckle at the joke. Every time he looked at the destroyed village, a longing for home throbbed in his chest.
Valentyn dropped without warning.
The rope pulled taught, and Andrij gritted his teeth as it tore at his palms. Why had Valentyn jumped so quickly? It couldn’t be just to impress Beáta. Valentyn took risks at times, yes, but he wasn’t that vain.
After a minute of silence and worried glances, a tug finally came on the rope. “Oi! Pull me up before I drown down here why don’t ya!”
Relief washed over Andrij, and this time, he allowed himself to smile as they pulled Valentyn back up. Soon, Valentyn appeared with a sopping wet corpse in his arms. He shivered as he met the cold breeze, but Andrij knew his mentor wouldn’t show his pain. Especially with Beáta watching.
“Not a problem at all,” Valentyn said as he set down the body and held his hands at his hips. “Best to burn the body soon. That stench ought to kill us all otherwise.”
A group rushed to him, offering their thanks, before they wept over the body. Just like Drugov. Andrij fought tears at the memory of his brother run through by a raider’s spear. These people deserved their chance to mourn and ensure this man could enter Nawia’s paradise, not be trapped as some demon in the well.
Andrij offered Valentyn his cloak before winding the rope. Using his hands made him feel useful, despite his uncertainty of defying the raiders. “We should probably get you some new clothes if you don’t want to freeze to death.”
“I’ll be fine,” Valentyn said as Beáta approached and bowed.
“We owe you a great debt,” she said. “The least of which can be repaid with a new tunic and trousers.” Valentyn opened his mouth to object, but she wagged a finger. “I won’t be hearing any complaints from you. I am our village’s healer, and I cannot have you running amok in wet clothes when Marzanna’s Curse could befall you. Come.”
Andrij chuckled as she dragged away Valentyn. “While you’re away, I will begin training the people for battle.”
Valentyn’s only reply was a grunt before he disappeared into Beáta’s cottage.
Chapter 6
THIS WON’T END WELL.
Andrij watched the gathered men and women swing their make-shift weapons as Valentyn instructed them. His mentor had emerged from Beáta’s cottage much happier than when he’d entered, but both of their moods had soured since then. There were only twenty-four villagers capable of holding a spear, plus the two Astiwie. Without training or shields, it wouldn’t be enough.
The small farms scattered across Małe Wzgórze wouldn’t provide much cover either. Even with the chief and a few more warriors, defending the village would be difficult without a wall. They needed experienced fighters, not farmers and their wives.
Andrij reached into his bag and felt the Firebird’s feather, still ablaze. Dziewanna had saved him once. She could offer these people hope, but this wasn’t Marzanna’s demon. Andrij had been the one to volunteer to stop the raiders, so he would stop the raiders… somehow.
The sunlight waned as Valentyn shuffled over, stroking his beard. “They’re hopeless, but you’re right, that’s exactly why they need us.”
Andrij nodded. “If we’re to ask for the high chief’s aid, the least we can do is help protect his villages. Besides, my home was just like this one. I can’t just let them lose everything knowing I could have helped them stand against these raiders.”
“You’ll be the death of me, kid.” Valentyn took a deep sigh and looked to the setting sun. “But it’s been a long time since I’ve done something that feels right. Da, maybe this is it.”
Without a reply, Andrij patted him on the shoulder and paced before the gathered crowd. Men frowned, women trembled, and boys too young to see battle smirked, not knowing what horrors they were about to face. These people would’ve lived if I hadn’t spoken. Their possessions may have been stolen and their farms ravaged, but they would’ve lived.
He shook his head. No, that wasn’t living. It was torture, clinging to survival and devouring every last scrap you could without knowing whether it would be your last. He’d felt that hunger, that pain. It had grown with each passing day until desperation warped his mind. Andrij wasn’t proud of his thoughts during that time. The things he’d considered…
Swallowing, he straightened his posture and forced himself to look like the general the village needed. “These raiders have taken all you have while your chief drinks in Dwie Rzeki. But that ends tonight.” Holding up the flaming feather, he continued. “A Firebird sent by the goddess Dziewanna has blessed our mission west, and that means she’s protecting all of us. Let her fury burn all who threaten this village!”
Andrij stopped before a couple, clutching each other’s hands as the rest of the crowd shouted in support. There was fear in their eyes.
“By standing up to these raiders, you are far braver than most,” he said to them. “I can’t promise anything, but we’ll do all we can to protect your village.” If only he knew how.
The flames danced around his hand as he paced away, examining the clearing that made the village center. Outnumbered and with inferior training and weapons, they had little hope without a trick. He held up the feather. Maybe Dziewanna knew this would happen.
He spun and pointed to Beáta. “Do you have oskoła, any alcohol or oils?”
“Yes, but—”
“Get it,” Andrij interrupted. “We can burn them if we act quickly. Bring all of it the village has and spread it out around the trailheads.”
Beáta scampered off, grabbing a few of the men as she did. This better work, Andrij thought as he clutched the feather. The fire wouldn’t kill all the raiders, but it would give them a chance. That was enough.
“I don’t know if I should be angry or proud,” Valentyn said, stepping to his side.
“Sorry. It was the oskoła or our lives.” Andrij patted him on the back. “But if we make it to Dwie Rzeki, you said there would be more, right?”
“There better be.”
The men emerged from their cottages with buckets of oskoła, and Andrij directed them where to pour it. Soon, the liquid trickled down the trails and covered the furthest section of the village center, away from the buildings.
Andrij grinned as they finished, gathering around him. “Allow them to enter until they reach the end of the wet patch. I will stand with Beáta as the rest of you hide out in the woods. Wait for the fire to ignite, and then attack in the chaos that follows.” He scanned the crowd. “Any questions?”
No one stirred. Hopefully that’s a good sign.
“All right, then. Move into positions. Dadźbóg’s light will be gone soon.”
The crowd scattered, and Valentyn nodded to him one last time. “Stay alive. There’s too many women in Dwie Rzeki for just me to handle.”
With a hearty chuckle, Valentyn jogged into the wood, and Andrij hoped that wouldn’t be the last time he saw him. There was no time for pondering, though. The sun would set in minutes, and he needed to be prepared when the raiders arrived.
Beáta took a shaky breath as she joined Andrij. “You think it’ll work?”
“No idea.”
She raised her brow. “Then why tell them this goddess you call Dziewanna will aid us? No mere torch would ignite the oskoła with it soaking into the snow. Either the goddess saves us or we’re dead.”
As the light disappeared, Andrij held up the Firebird’s feather, flickering in the darkness. “Then let us pray she hears our call.”
Torchlight appeared at the base of the hill, and Andrij slid the feather up his sleeve. You can do this. He’d never led people before, let alone those fighting for their own village. Each of their lives weighed on his shoulders as the raiders neared, their torches illuminating their grimy faces and cracked shields. In the darkness, there could’ve been fifteen or fifty. Andrij just hoped Beáta’s count had been close. If there were more raiders than she’d expected, it would be a massacre.
“Beáta!” the lead raider shouted, opening his arms with shield and spear still in hand. Black paint ran from his forehead to his full cheeks, and torn leather armor covered his round body.
“Ctirad, welcome,” Beáta replied, bowing her head.
Andrij remained standing. “There is nothing left for you to take.”
Ctirad smirked and swung his spear, bringing its tip only inches from Andrij’s nose. “There is always more.”
“But you can’t have it.” Andrij slid the feather from his sleeve, dropping it upon the oskoła at Ctirad’s feet and praying silently that Dziewanna aided them.
Shock filled the raiders’ eyes, but they were too slow. The fire swallowed them in an instant, racing through the village center and slicing down the trails. Screams filled the air. Then came the yells of the villagers.
The Rider in the Night Page 4
