by Gaja J. Kos
“You prepare everything yourselves?”
The Koldunya nodded. “We’re not bad at it. But we don’t excel at it either, not with so little of us left. Though it wasn’t always like that, you know. In my lifetime, yes, but before…”
Rose cocked her head to the side. She didn’t know much about the Kolduny, apart from the basics her mother had told her when she was growing up. Somehow, Rose assumed the witch people of light led their secluded lives pretty much the same throughout the centuries. But, perhaps, that had been nothing more than a foolish assumption of a teenage mind. A fact she had failed to check as years passed.
“Few people outside the witch covens know of our history,” Serafina said. “We rather avoid advertising our existence in general, although that’s just another thing in the long list of changes we’ve been through. I think that the main problem lies with the older members, the ones that had persevered through the ages. They find it hard to be reminded of their loss, so not talking about our past became some sort of unspoken rule.”
Rose wanted to ask about the latter, but another question slipped through her mouth before she could stop it. “Through the ages? I was led to believe your lifespan is similar to that of a human.”
An apologetic smile curved on Serafina’s lips. “We come closer to three or even four human lifespans…”
Rose bit down on a macaroon just so that she would stop gaping. “How old are you?”
“Eighty-one.”
“Chernobog damn me.” Rose exhaled. “I’ve brought a grandma into the mountains without as much as even a first aid kit in my bag. I’ve made an old lady run up a bloody glacier!”
Laughter spilled from Serafina, a joyous sound that mixed perfectly with the wicked gleam that brought out the gold in Rose’s eyes as she observed the witch.
“And now,” Rose continued but could hardly keep the smile from seeping into her voice, “I’m feeding you tarts. Do you know how bad this stuff is for your sugar levels, ma’am?”
Serafina bumped the Rose’s leg beneath the table. Just as they both exploded into another round of howling laughter, the waiter rushed up to them, depositing a new tart—and a new trigger to chortle about—before hurrying back inside without as much as casting a second glance in their direction.
The Koldunya gazed longingly at the raspberry tart, then placed a small piece of the delicacy on her fork, her laughter slowly dying down. “I wish I could’ve seen what our world was like before.”
“Your world?” Rose asked.
“The sacred circle is the last fragment of our former lands,” Serafina said softly. Her gaze dropped to her plate before finding Rose’s eyes again. “We used to have Witchdoms. And Kingdoms. A whole world—no, a home for every individual with magic in their blood.”
Rose’s eyebrows lifted. “So I was right,” she whispered.
Serafina put down her fork, a silent question written across her beautiful features.
“With the secret circle being so well hidden,” Rose explained, “I wondered if it isn’t so because it’s actually set parallel to our world, not an actual part of it.”
“Parallel, but not closed off entirely,” the Koldunya confirmed. “In the days when our lands were still a complete realm, my people granted safe passage for humans to come visit us during festivities. Those days were a celebration, a symbiosis of different lives brought together to thank and cherish the gods, to enjoy the time they had granted us—that is, until the powers of certain deities started waning…”
Rose’s throat constricted as a shadow passed across Serafina’s face, but the witch continued, oblivious to her reaction. “My people feared the changes that turned from a subtle warning into a threat for our very existence, feared the whispers of the future shift bore on its phantom winds. So they refused to turn their backs on our annual celebrations, hoping the love and magic we offered to the gods would be enough to sustain them. They should have sealed all passages, should have shut off our lands from anybody who wasn’t our kin. But they were afraid. Afraid to lose even an ounce of that love and gratitude all these other beings had to offer. Especially humans, which had been devoted so fully, wholly to our gods.”
Rose swallowed past her discomfort. Her words were barely a whisper as they left her lips and fluttered into the rays of sun. “That’s why so few know of your existence.”
Serafina put down her fork, shoulders slumped as her fingers fumbled with the line of her burgundy and gold tunic. “The witches and warlocks weren’t alone when our world fell to pieces. Those with strong magic in their veins withstood the destruction, but the others…”
Silence stretched between them, words suddenly redundant.
Although Rose was ignorant of the specifics, she had seen a world half destroyed, had witnessed the remnants of Mračaj—a land that had once been beautiful, that had been home for so many creatures, vital to the workings of the world… And she had experienced the skin-crawling sensation of missing reality.
But Mračaj had been small, barely a pouch tethered to the earth…
Serafina had spoken of a realm.
Of a place that had harbored thousands upon thousands of wielders of magic.
Broken.
With beings of lesser or no power drowning in the rubble as it fell apart.
“My ancestors managed to sustain the sacred circle. Preserve it as it always had been. But despite it being home for me, I know it’s not for many of the elders who still grace us with their presence. The Sacred Circle—capitalized, as it once had been—was no man’s, yet everyman’s, land. A place of safe passage between different Witchdoms and Lands. A place of eternal spring, where travelers could rest safely, knowing they wouldn’t be touched.
“The Circle would have been lost with the rest of the realm if it weren’t for the Kolduny binding themselves, ourselves, to that patch of land. After the transition had passed, we made it ours. Not that there were many contenders, mind you. The Vedmaks abhorred the idea of eternal spring, retreating rather to darker dwellings of unnamed locations… But despite the sacred circle presenting Nature as it should be even as the realm collapsed, despite it offering a haven for my kind, the elders mourned—and still do—the lost world. They spoke of it to us as we grew up. Those were the only times they had pushed aside the pain and broke the vow of silence. Memories are all they had left. They couldn’t let them crumble and fade away like our homes.
“You know, the towns I’ve reconstructed from those tales, the streets and communities I have dreamed of for decades… Val d’Isère reminds me of that,” Serafina said softly. She took Rose’s hand in hers and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, Rose. I won’t forget this. And neither will my people.”
Chapter 10
Nathaniel was bleary-eyed after working through the night with Katja, but his mind was honed into a state of pure concentration. He had never felt truly confident dealing with living beings. It was why he became an M.E. instead of pursuing a doctor’s career in the first place.
Though Nathaniel wasn’t a stranger to patching up werewolves every now and then when their healing was too slow on its own, this was fundamentally different.
Yet Nathaniel was the only one the pack knew with a medical degree as well as knowledge of the supernatural. Finding someone else who passed the criteria would have taken too much time, and that was something the circumstances had no tolerance for.
Luckily, Nadia was by his side, the healer making up for what Nathaniel felt he was lacking. Though it did little to boost his own confidence, at least the human believed their joined knowledge just might suffice.
He looked down at the cub.
Rafael was dressed in hand-me-down clothes Mark had dug up from the attic, and looked positively gleeful in his new human form. If Nathaniel hadn’t known that no White werewolf should be able to achieve a shift, he would never have thought there was something wrong with the boy by simply looking at him.
He was a bit of a weak walker, but with
only one day to master standing on two legs instead of four, that couldn’t be perceived as odd. And neither could the fact that Rafael hadn’t voiced anything close to human words, though not for lack of trying.
The child was growling playfully in Nadia’s lap, his blue-green eyes shining with innocent amusement. Thankfully, he didn’t seem bothered at all that Nathaniel’s stethoscope was brushing against the skin of his back, traveling beneath the light green cotton T-shirt.
If Nathaniel was being completely honest with himself, he couldn’t have dreamed of having a better patient.
“Can you turn him around, please?” he asked the healer as he removed the stethoscope.
Nadia smiled at the boy. “Rafael, we’re going to fly uuuuup!” She lifted him above her head, a wolfish giggle spilling from the child’s lips. “Aaaand arouuund!”
Rafael’s legs dangled in the air, his features alight with glee. Nadia positioned him in her lap so that the young were now faced Nathaniel. The human took the child’s leg in his hands, examining the small green line that ran across the soft, baby white skin.
He knew it by heart.
The shape. The way the liquid seemed to be alive within the confines of the gash.
Everything was the same.
Except for the impossible becoming reality.
He tickled Rafael’s toes, coaxing another bubbling laugh from the small were.
“He seems to be a strong, healthy young man,” Nathaniel said, half turning to peer at Evelin, who was leaning on Mark’s arm. The human sat down on the ground next to Nadia’s feet, his fingers still fiddling with Rafael’s chubby toes.
“Do you know why he shifted?” Mark rumbled from a few feet away, his expectant expression falling when Nathaniel shook his head.
“It could be the next stage of evolution for the whole White species. It could be the toxin, linked just strongly enough with his body to cause this. But I can only speculate at this point. I—Nobody has the equipment to run adequate tests.”
Nathaniel’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled, hating that he had to admit defeat. There could have been other doctors or researchers that dealt with the supernatural, but if it truly was the toxin changing the basic coding of the child’s body, more heads butting together wouldn’t change a damn thing. The poisonous liquid was unique, a product of the wolf-man’s twisted powers, inherited from a long lost god himself.
Perhaps better equipment could give more insight into the toxin’s workings, but it wouldn’t amount to more than the scratching of the surface.
Few supernatural occurrences were viable for scientific explanations. It usually took decades, in some cases even centuries, to take those first few baby steps towards discovering anything solid. And that was when it came to the more simple aspects, not a bloody thing as layered and complex as the sinister green liquid that had taken so many lives—and had succeeded in fundamentally changing one.
So far, the toxin seemed to defy the laws of nature and reason alike.
“I hate to bring this up, but what about magic?” Zarja offered, noticing Nathaniel’s surrender even though her eyes remained fixed on Rafael, exactly where they had been for the past half hour. “Without Rose here, we could chance another visit with the Kolduny.”
“You want us to expose the existence of our child to them?” Mark snarled, the points of his teeth slightly sharper than any human’s could be. “You know what they’d do to Rose if they realized who she truly was… Shit, that fucker Sander stalked her, Zarja, just because there was something about her that he couldn’t quite place.”
Zarja lifted her arms, motioning the werewolf to calm down. The last thing she wanted to do was fight Mark simply because his emotions were getting the better of him.
“Rose is of Vedmak descent. A product of a relationship that should never have happened, that’s forbidden by their rules. Of course they’d hunt her down in a heartbeat. She said as much herself. And I guess you don’t need a reminder of just how fucking powerful she is…” Zarja arched an eyebrow, pinning Mark in place with a hard stare. “Imagine if it weren’t Rose. Imagine if someone as fucked up as Vaclav had been born of such a union. I don’t believe the Kolduny—or anybody else, for that matter—are correct in their outright hatred towards such a child; but I can’t exactly condemn them, either.
“Rose is good. She’s probably better than all of us thrown together. And even she, without any ill intentions and with all the effort she had put into controlling her energy, took a life just because her power is so Chernobog-damned strong. Imagine what someone might do if they wanted to abuse it, to wield it as an instrument of death…”
“What’s your point, Zarja?” Mark snapped.
But Zarja didn’t take offense. She knew the sour mood wasn’t directed at her. Not intentionally, at least.
“My point is”—she exhaled, willing her tone to be softer as it left her lips—“that the Kolduny may be prejudiced when it comes to abnormalities concerning their kin. But Rafael is a werewolf. A sweet, little were who had survived an attack from a prick-ass-fucker that was also a werewolf. Of sorts. My point is, that they won’t see Rafael as a threat to them. And since the toxin comes from power, comes from magic—something that the Kolduny are familiar with, even if it isn’t the kind they wield themselves—they might be able to give you some answers.”
“But if they know…” Evelin whispered, her emerald eyes filled with concern.
Zarja stepped closer, placing a hand on the werewolf’s shoulder. “I think they’re isolated enough that word won’t get out to the wider community. And if it, by some piece of shit chance, does, we’ll deal with it. Along with every other bloody thing the world wants to vomit in our faces.”
The petite, dark-haired were turned to Mark, a plea in her eyes. Zarja held her breath, counting the seconds that passed in silence.
“Fine,” the werewolf finally sighed, his lips brushing against Evelin’s forehead. “We’ll take Rafael to the Kolduny.”
“I’ll have to call Tomo to reschedule today…”
“What’s today?” Zarja asked. “I can jump in if you need me.”
Evelin peeled herself away from Mark, motioning Zarja to follow her to the couch. They sat side by side, the delicate were letting some of the fatigue show at last.
“He’s going to scout the vampires’ den for us.”
The afternoon light illuminated the glassy surface of the lake as Rose and Serafina climbed up the path that led from Val Claret to the Le Lac village, the second highest settlement in Tignes. A tall slide loomed in the distance, following the descending curve of the steep bank, then arching upward right at the very end. The usual line of people at the top of the slide was absent, the water still too cold for even the bravest of candidates to plunge into its depths.
The pair continued their ascent alongside the lake, stopping only as they reached the railing that separated the path from the massive toboggan. Serafina eyed the steep descent with no small amount of interest.
“I can still toss you in if you’d like.” Rose snickered and braced her forearms on the cool steel surface.
The Koldunya bumped Rose with her hip, yet there was a hint of mischief dancing in her eyes that alerted Rose to the fact that maybe, just maybe, she had actually given the idea a thought. Rose huffed.
“If I use enough of my magic,” the witch began, her lips quirking up, “I could probably warm up the water as I hit it. Wouldn’t even feel the cold.”
Rose rolled her eyes at the smug expression on Serafina’s face. “Humble, aren’t we?”
Serafina’s laugh spilled into the air, melodic like a spring’s tune. “Just wild.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“That, I don’t doubt.” Rose chuckled, then nudged her head in the direction of the path.
With a deep sigh, Serafina sent one last glance, full of longing, in the toboggan’s direction before she peeled herself away from the railing. She followed Rose, who had already reached the highest point of t
he trail that led around the lake. Slowly, they made their descent down to the village together, crossing the various sports fields that separated the bank from the streets.
Rose released a breath of relief as she spotted the Tabac shop just where it had been all those years ago. She smiled. Changes were an inevitable part of life, but sometimes it was nice to have a few things etched in stone. Especially when her stash of cigarettes was running so dangerously low.
With the various shops lining the length of the street, Serafina was more than glad to linger outside while Rose replenished her stock. Though she cursed herself slightly for not bringing more packs with her, she couldn’t deny that the tobacco here was substantially better. It almost justified the obnoxiously high prices.
With a wink, Rose left the Koldunya by a souvenir shop and headed into the small but—if she remembered correctly—very well-stocked Tabac.
An elderly man greeted her from behind the counter, the smooth, soft sound of French rolling off his tongue like strands of silk. Without even knowing it, Rose bit her lip. She was no stranger to the language, spoke it well herself, thanks to Ileana. But at times, coming across someone whose words came out like a swirling aroma of fine wine, she was reminded of just how raw she must sound compared to that melodic speech.
With the healthy tan and somewhat thicker skin, the man was probably a Tignes native—which made the lack of the classic lazy inflection even more impressive.
Rose stepped forward and took a quick look through the window at the street lying beyond. Serafina liked to take her time window—or actually—shopping. Which meant Rose could indulge in a little pleasurable entertainment of her own. With her ears as finely tuned as they were, resisting to listen to such a beautiful language for a few additional moments was next to impossible.
She bought her Camels and a few packs of Gitanes, casually chatting up the man as he rung up her purchase. He seemed in a good enough mood, and there weren’t any other customers in the shop, so Rose didn’t feel like she was too much of a bother. In fact, the man was very forthcoming when she asked him if the second highest village in Tignes had undergone any major changes in the past few years.
