He supposed he was getting his answer.
“Blood has always been power,” Serefin murmured.
He gently pulled his hand away from Nadya’s, taking the blade from his belt, and with a nod, Kacper’s szitelki from the sheath at his hip, rolling up one sleeve, then the next.
He crouched, motioning for Nadya and Parijahan to do the same.
“Let’s start with those of us we know are wrapped up in this,” he said, his voice soft. “If we need more, we can get more.”
Nadya frowned. “Serefin, what—”
He flipped the blades, and in one swift motion sliced both his forearms at once. The initial rush of power that always came when he cast magic did not come. He missed it. This was slower, sluggish, building in intensity until something pulled steadily at his heart.
He flipped the blades again, wiping them deftly on his trousers, and started to hand them to Nadya, but she was already dragging her voryens across her forearms. Parijahan swiftly followed suit. The ground grew wet beneath them.
He let his blood seep into the earth, closing his eye, hoping the blood of the godstouched did something, anything, in this place of divine memory and death. He heard Nadya’s low intake of breath. When he opened his eye, a trail of flowers was sprouting, leading off into the bones.
“Do we follow it?” she asked.
He gave a nod and straightened. Nadya touched the bone nearest to them as she rose, staining it black. His gaze lingered on the imprint of her fingertips.
Serefin took the first step. Tiny bones snapped and crunched beneath their feet, not those of the gods, but of simple creatures who had stumbled into this terrible place and been found wanting. Bones of gods caged them in as they walked. A jawbone. A rib cage. A skull that took a significant amount of time to walk past.
Eventually, they arrived at the skeletal remains of a god, somehow intact, and in the center, where the god’s heart would have been, was a vast lake that Serefin was certain was made of blood. Little creeks like veins spread out from the lake. He stepped over one.
“Didn’t Pelageya say it was on an island?” he asked.
Nadya’s eyes closed. “In a tree in a rabbit in an egg or some nonsense. It’s from a children’s tale.”
“Well, we’re children.”
She laughed at that, which was good. Serefin didn’t think he could handle another Nadya meltdown. Seeing her crack scared him in a way that was hard to define because she had always been so unflappable.
“You’re twenty years old,” she said.
“Details.”
They reached the shore of the lake. There wasn’t sand, or if there was, it was the wrong color. Black and glittering. It would almost be pretty if it weren’t so macabre.
“For a country horrified when you get a paper cut, there sure are a lot of bloody pools here,” Kacper commented.
Katya crouched at the edge. “Truly, we’ve been in this long enough to realize Kalyazin has been overcompensating for something.”
Nadya snorted. Parijahan held her hand out over the water—well, it wasn’t water, but Serefin didn’t really want to think of it as anything else.
“We have to cross it,” Nadya said.
“You think this is the place?” Rashid asked.
“Do you have a boat?” Kacper asked.
She shot them both withering looks and moved closer, digging a heel into the sand. She narrowed her eyes at the water, plunging her hand in. Katya hastily shuffled back and Parijahan reached out as if to stop her. Kacper took a step forward, but Serefin put his hand across his chest.
“Let her,” he murmured. “We have to work on instinct here and it will lead us to strange places.”
Nadya’s eyes began to glow, cracks of golden light forming under her skin. Her strange halo shivered and grew brighter.
The ground shook. Serefin turned slightly, studying the path behind them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.
“Of course you’re being watched. The gods, the freed, the never caged, the old ones, we all watch. We wait to see how you will shift the world on its axis. If you will balance it or plunge it further into chaos.”
Did Pelageya start all of this?
Velyos laughed. “The witch? Pelageya has power enough to become a god if she wishes, but every day she turns away from that path. Pelageya is many things, but where you are is no more her fault than it is yours, or that cleric’s, or that Vulture’s. The world turns. Choices are made. Yes, I had hoped someone would set me free. Yes, I called to Pelageya to take the pendant and place it somewhere it might be used. Yes, she complied.”
So, it’s your fault, then.
“I have always been one for mischief,” Velyos replied.
This is a little more than mischief. You got what you wanted. You got your freedom and your revenge; what about this four songs nonsense? That was you, wasn’t it?
“Chyrnog has worked for far longer than I. He has been nudging the pieces of this game for a millennium and you have all complied exactly as he wished. Mortals are predictable. This isn’t revenge, this is simply his nature. His nature is to devour, to consume, this is simply what he knows. And he found in your brother a mortal made for the same.”
Pillars of dark stone began to lift up from the bloody water, forming a bridge that disappeared into the distance.
Nadya stood, the gold slowly siphoning away.
“The four songs? Yes, that was me. Chyrnog was always going to break free. Chyrnog was always going to need to be contained. That’s the way it has always been, but it has been so long since he last escaped that the world forgot him. You mortals thought if you no longer spoke of the terrors of the deep, they would be condemned to myth and no longer ravage the world. Alas, it’s not so easy. This was all inevitable.”
Inevitability is too Kalyazi a notion for me, Serefin replied.
“I didn’t choose Tranavians intentionally, but you have made this game so much more interesting, so I have to thank you for that.”
Serefin rolled his eye.
What about her?
Nadya wavered on her feet, turning to him. He took a step toward her as she hesitated.
“I’ve never seen anything like her. She makes things so much more unpredictable. Delightful, really.”
Serefin didn’t like the sound of that.
“She has their power in her bones, but it wasn’t enough to make her like them. Or, maybe it was.”
“What do you think we’re going to find?” Serefin asked aloud.
Nadya glanced over. “Whatever it is, it’s not going to be pretty,” she said simply, then set off across the bridge. Serefin let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, before jogging to catch up with her.
“How did you do this?” he asked.
“Magic. What else?”
Like no magic I’ve ever seen, he thought. He didn’t really understand what Nadya was, but apparently neither did the gods.
“Don’t mistake my not telling you things you did not ask for ignorance,” Velyos snipped. “She is what happens when the darkest divinity is harbored in a mortal. A girl, divine in one breath, monstrous in another. That she has survived this long is remarkable. And truly, the old gods must have something very specific in mind for her. Their voices should have driven her mad long ago.”
But she can hear the voices of the gods, that’s her whole thing.
“Yes, and no mortal should be able to stand as many voices as she does. Perhaps she isn’t as sane as assumed.”
Serefin frowned. He cast Nadya a glance, but her gaze was locked on the island they drew near.
“What if we didn’t make it here first?” Serefin whispered, as Nadya stepped off the bridge and onto the glassy black sands.
“Catastrophizing again?” Kacper asked, coming up behind him.
Serefin should have asked everyone else to wait on the other side of this strange water, but he was grateful for Kacper’s presence. Here, the beach broke into forests, dar
k in a way that terrified Serefin.
“Hypothetically speaking,” he said to Nadya, “the only place where the gods could walk in our realm was on that mountain, right?”
“Hypothetically, yes,” she replied, eyeing the forest with trepidation. “But this place doesn’t play by the rules either, so we shouldn’t count on being safe from that.”
Great.
“I’ll wait here,” Katya announced. “Hold the bridge if needed.” It was very clear that she simply did not want to go into the woods.
Serefin took the bone relic from his belt, holding it in his palm.
Nadya’s face paled. “I need that,” she whispered, taking it with trembling fingers.
Anna glanced at Nadya, who nodded slightly. The priestess sat down next to Katya.
Kacper grabbed Serefin’s hand. “No, you—”
Serefin cut Kacper off with a kiss.
“I’ll come back,” he murmured against Kacper’s lips. “I promise. I love you.”
Kacper’s expression cracked. He grabbed Serefin’s face and kissed him harder. “Don’t you dare make this sound like a goodbye. I love you, and you’re coming back to me.”
Ostyia took Kacper’s hand and tugged him away, directing a look at Serefin that said that if he didn’t come back, she would resurrect him to kill him herself. He’d missed having her around.
“Come along,” Parijahan said, stepping past Nadya and Serefin.
His breath caught. He had known Parijahan was as trapped in this as the rest of them, but he’d thought the visual cracks in their mortality wouldn’t extend to her. Nothing ever seemed to really touch her.
Her black hair was tied in a loose braid, but small triangular horns pressed out from her forehead. She glanced over her shoulder at them. Her gray eyes were gold, the pupils the wrong direction, slitted like a snake’s. She grinned.
“I want to save my friend,” she said brightly, setting off into the forest.
“She’s going to be the only one to make it out alive, I swear,” Nadya muttered, then ran after her.
It was too late to turn back, too late to run. And as much as he wanted to, as much as he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking directly into a naked blade, Serefin followed them anyway.
interlude vi
TSAREVNA YEKATERINA VODYANOVA
The cleric, the king, and the prasīt all disappeared into the tree line. After a few tense moments of silence, Rashid let out an irritated huff of air.
“No,” he muttered. “She’s not doing this alone.” Then he ran into the forest.
Anna called after him, but Katya held out a hand to keep her back. It was his choice.
“How can we let them go off by themselves?” Anna asked.
“You saw them. This place is changing them. I don’t think we could survive anything in there. I don’t think we’ll survive being out here, quite frankly.”
Katya eyed the sky dubiously. She had spent her whole life studying the strange and the occult, but she had always rather thought it was an exaggeration. The sun had dimmed, like something rested beside it, casting a long shadow. How much longer until the whole world was plunged into darkness?
She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to die here. She wouldn’t allow it. Besides, her time wasn’t up yet.
“Do we … wait?” Ostyia asked, sitting close enough that their thighs touched. After a moment of consideration, she took Katya’s hand, kissing it gently.
Katya let that warm her chilled heart. It was so cold here.
Ostyia rubbed her thumb over the back of Katya’s hand. “I’m worried about Serefin,” she said softly.
Kacper glanced over at them. “He’s not as bad as he was before, when Velyos had him.”
“No, he’s not, but…” She shook her head slowly. “He’s not exactly himself, either.”
“Neither is Nadya,” Anna said.
“I don’t think we’re going to see them again,” Kacper whispered, tears in his dark eyes.
Ostyia squeezed Katya’s hand, kissed her temple, then got up and wrapped her arms around Kacper. Katya wondered how long they had known each other, how long they had circled in the king’s orbit. Serefin was charismatic, as much as he tried not to be. How many people hadn’t made it close to him like these two?
“Stay here,” Ostyia said fiercely. “I can’t lose you both, I can’t.”
“We can’t lose Serefin!” Kacper cried.
Ostyia’s face was bleak. “No, we can’t. But if he doesn’t do this, we lose him anyway.” Kacper folded down, burying his head against Ostyia’s shoulder.
The air around them changed sharply. Katya stood, frowning, reaching for her sword. The Vulture—gods she’d been ignoring the girl—looked up at her, tensing.
“What is it?” Her Kalyazi was surprisingly sharp. There wasn’t a hint of a Tranavian accent in it.
Anna lifted her head. “I feel it, too.”
Something heavy, falling down on top of them, smothering them. A trembling in the earth, as if something very deep was clawing its way up.
“What did they say would happen if Malachiasz got there first?” Żaneta asked.
Katya shook her head wordlessly. “Chyrnog is entropy. He’s the end of the world.”
The sky darkened at a terrifyingly rapid pace. The sun dimming with each passing breath. Katya’s grip tightened on the hilt of her sword, her palms starting to sweat.
“Ostyia?”
Ostyia made a soft sound of acknowledgment. She still held Kacper’s hands but was staring up at the sky.
“Remember when all those corpses attacked Voczi Dovorik?”
“I’d rather not.”
There was a shift as something rose on the horizon. Muscle and sinew and flesh lifting onto a pile of bones, forming a body. There were too many limbs, a roiling chaos in vaguely human shape. It was far away but Katya knew with dread certainty that it would be very close, very soon.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I wish you had blood magic right now,” Katya said.
Ostyia scrambled back from Kacper and to her feet. Her spell book was at her hip, Kacper’s at his. Useless.
“Me too,” she said.
Another figure lifted in the distance. Vast and incomprehensible, a twisting facsimile of vague life and pure horror. Gnashing teeth and blood dripping down bones as it became something more. One at a time, then all at once, others followed, horrific and indescribable. This was no longer a graveyard.
“How religious are you feeling, Katya?” Anna asked, her voice good-natured for someone who appeared terrified out of her mind.
“I’m thinking of committing some high blasphemy,” Katya replied.
“Yes,” Anna agreed. “Me too.”
47
MALACHIASZ CZECHOWICZ
Rohzlav watches Chyrnog from the shadows, as the one hungers, the other delights in the act of starvation.
—The Volokhtaznikon
“You said she would be easily swayed,” he hissed at … himself? Wait, no, Chyrnog hissed at him. Malachiasz was separate, there were broken parts of him left. Small pieces.
“She can hear my songs. The songs of my kin. She is darkness and divinity and she can raze this world to the ground! Stubborn girl. Why doesn’t she listen?”
Chyrnog, ever confident, ever arrogant in his power, had been the one to speak to her. Appealing to her emotions, appealing to Malachiasz’s vulnerability. He had failed.
Her darkness, thrilling as it was, had never turned to destruction. If it had, Tranavia would have been ashes a year ago. Serefin would be dead, Malachiasz, too. The sanctuary where she had been betrayed would be dust. She wouldn’t be convinced.
Chyrnog didn’t care.
Malachiasz retreated. He had finally found a battle that was too much for him. There was only one path for him to take. More chaos. More pain. It was all he knew.
He pressed out. There was a pulling at his chest and he recognized the pieces of his soul that he h
ad thrown away. He needed them back. But then Chyrnog would have them, and what would he have left? Nothing and nothing and nothing.
“No,” Chyrnog snapped. “They’re here.”
On an island in a forest in a tree and Malachiasz couldn’t remember how the rest went but before them was a small temple. Cut from bone. The bones of a god carved into doors and windows and towers. He saw Nadya turn, her face going pale. She touched Serefin’s arm and he followed her gaze.
The end was destruction no matter how it went.
SEREFIN MELESKI
“Go inside,” Nadya said. “Take whatever you find.”
He shot her a dubious look, blanching when he saw the relic in her hands. He turned to Parijahan.
“She stays,” Nadya said. “I need whatever it is she does that keeps his chaos at bay.”
Parijahan took a deep, shaky breath. Sighing, Serefin steeled himself and walked into the temple.
And right into a nightmare.
He should have expected it, honestly. Where else would his brother’s soul be comfortably hiding? The floor was strangely squishy under his boots, like he was standing in the mouth of a great beast. Glowing candles, held up by grotesque hands on the walls, cast a sickly light on blood trickling down from the ceiling.
He pressed past it. Past the screams, full-throated and mad, past the eyes that opened on the stone walls, watching him silently as he walked. He stepped over a body and did not investigate it further. Who would come to this place of dread horror?
Well, him, he supposed.
The dim hallway broke into a wide sanctuary, primal and jagged, and Serefin had the feeling of having been here before. A blade poised over his heart, carving out his chest. His blood splashed across the stone altar.
It was all the same. A space folded over and over again in time.
The small stone church, the clearing of horrifying statues, and a thousand other spaces where people had been sacrificed to the old gods. Where blood had spilt for the sake of divinity. No different from how it was spilt for magic. It was the same. They were the same.
There was a tree carved on the stone altar, blood spattered against it. A box rested in the pool of blood, and when Serefin opened it, the ground shook. The gods turned their eyes on him all at once and a shiver cracked down his spine.
Blessed Monsters Page 40
