The Deathless Sons: The Frostmarked Chronicles, #4

By Brendan Noble

Death claims the living realm.

Scarred by the demon's influence, Wacław cannot forget the horror he caused in Vastroth. He knows he must be strong to face Koschei and the Frostmarked Horde, but powerful magic protects the deathless sorcerer. With everyone Wacław loves at risk, can he control his power and find the key to slaying Koschei's soul as his tribe burns?

Anointed by the Vastrothie, Otylia has found worshipers and new strength in the force of endings, but it's nothing without her mother. She finally knows where to find Dziewanna. Can she save her before the pacts she's woven with her enemies come due?

Charge into the fast-paced fourth entry of The Frostmarked Chronicles as gods, spirits, and demons from Slavic myths clash for control of the Three Realms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brendan Noble
• Release date: Nov 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223768302

Brendan Noble

Brendan Noble is a Polish and German-American author currently writing fantasy inspired by Slavic mythology: The Frostmarked Chronicles. Through these books and his "Slavic Saturday" post series on YouTube and his website, he hopes to bring the often-forgotten stories of eastern Europe into new light. Shortly after beginning his writing career in 2019 with the publication of his debut novel, The Fractured Prism (Book 1 of The Prism Files), Brendan married his wife Andrea and moved to Rockford, Illinois from his hometown in Michigan. Since then, he has published two series: The Prism Files and The Frostmarked Chronicles. Outside of writing, Brendan is a data analyst, soccer referee, and the president of Rockford FC (Rockford's semi-pro soccer club). His top interests include German, Polish, and American soccer/football, Formula 1, analyzing political elections across the world, playing extremely nerdy strategy video games, exploring with his wife, and reading.

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Chapter 1 – Wacław

Will Jawia ever bloom again?

DEATH CLAIMED THE LIVING REALM.

Marzanna’s blizzard obscured my foggy breaths as ice and snow crunched beneath my boots. Frost crept up to mid-calf, snatching me with every step before I finally broke free of its frigid grasp. Shivering, I pulled my furs tighter. There was no end to the snowfall in sight.

The winds circled me, as if begging for me to wield them as a Naw płanetnik—a half-mortal, half-demon of the storm. We shared that desire, but in the weeks since the Huebia Revolt, each wintery tempest had fought my control of our flight. One like this would make it near impossible to even hold myself aloft, let alone fend off the demonic chały that lurked in the dark clouds.

I yearned to be free.

With the waxing moon above covered by the storm, only the twinkling of our campfire ahead offered any real light. Luckily, I didn’t need sight. The tether binding me to Otylia pointed the way to her, growing tighter with each haggard step.

Her shadowed form blocked one side of the fire. Black hair hung freely down her back, covered only partly by the silver fox pelt she draped over her shoulders to warm her neck. One hand clutched her fur coat shut as she stared into the flames. She didn’t sit, not when I was away. It was hard enough to get her to rest when I was by her side, trying to calm her nerves as we grew ever closer to finding her mother, the wild goddess Dziewanna.

Even from here, I sensed Otylia’s anticipation. Our souls’ bond prevented much in the way of secrets. That didn’t stop us from trying, and she hadn’t told me everything that had happened in the last few moons. I let her hold back. The walls around her heart and mind were strong, requiring care—not force—to be brought down.

It was that bond that alerted her to my presence amid the noise of the gales. She looked at me over her shoulder, her ivy green eyes alight against the campfire and her thin lips curled into the slightest of smiles.

The chill’s clutches melted away at the sight of her.

I collapsed into Otylia the moment my feet slipped onto the thawing mush around the fire. My thighs throbbed from pushing through the snow. My face stung from the hail. The fire slowly dulled that ache, but it was nothing compared to her silent embrace.

We’d traveled hundreds of miles since leaving Vastroth, and each day wore us down more than the one before. Our support for each other was the last flame keeping us moving forward. Dziewanna had to be close. We would save her, and then she’d help us end Marzanna’s winter over the living realm of Jawia. If it could be ended at all.

You’re rarely this quiet after scouting, Otylia said, pulling down my snow-covered hood and running her warm hands over my ears. They’d been numb, and when their feeling returned, so did the pain. A pin prick compared to the demonic hunger she quieted with her touch.

I gave a solemn smile and rested my eyes for a moment. Black and red danced across my eyelids with the flames. The storms are getting worse. I’m worried for Mom and for Kuba and the others. You can survive from offerings and me from animal blood, but the crops are dead. Game is scarce. If we don’t find Dziewanna soon, it won’t matter what Koschei and the Frostmarked Horde do. They’ll conquer our tribe’s skeletons.

Krowik exiled you.

They feared me. I pulled back, circling the fire. Its constant motion held my gaze, some primal part of me not wanting to look away. Huebia proved they were right to.

She crossed her arms and gave me a warning glare. Don’t do this again, Wašek, not tonight. You’re tired. That’s it. Tell me what you saw and then we can rest.

A dead forest, like all the others. Having rounded the fire, I stopped beside her, taking her hands. There’s a river to the east of it and another to the west, so maybe this is the one we’re looking for?

We’d agreed one of us would scout ahead during the blizzards bad enough to stop both of us from flying. Going alone was dangerous, but she’d needed the time to recollect her strength through offerings from her worshippers. She despised drinking the blood from her moonlight altars. We had little other choice with the risk of demons and Horde patrols ahead. For a few hours of scouting, though, a goddess and demon were each plenty capable of handling a few enemies without the other. Our bond allowed us to call for help through our minds anyway if the situation escalated.

A larger group would’ve made the journey easier. I missed Kuba and Xobas, and Otylia had smiled so much more around Ara, the nymph Sabina, and the Mothermarked Vastrothie girl Ta-naro. With the blizzards growing ever more brutal, though, we’d had little choice but to leave them with the Vastrothie army, who’d used Mokosz’s szeptuchy to travel through the mountains and toward Dwie Rzeki. We barely slept between treks. Every step and flight between those rests was met with Marzanna’s frigid wrath. No mortal or nymph would’ve survived at the pace we were going, and through our marks, our friends would ensure we remained in touch with our allies—no matter how far.

Vida and Jaryło’s memories showed two rivers meeting at a bridge before her palace on the frozen bay, Otylia said, nose wrinkled. This could be it, or it could be just another dead end.

The Frostmarked szeptucha known as Minna had controlled Vastroth until Otylia discovered she was actually Vida, a girl we’d thought had died during the szeptucha initiation rituals almost five years ago. Vida had chosen to kill herself rather than remember what had happened to her. The rumor was that she’d been brought back from death multiple times by Marzanna. I feared what that did to a person, and what it meant if Vida wasn’t the only one.

Your Thread of Life still shows northeast? I asked Otylia. As the goddess of endings, she saw the connections that bonded us to those we love and heard whispers of ends both future and past. The power frightened and fascinated me at the same time.

Our Threads appeared as Otylia’s eyes flashed pure white. Stretching from our chests to those we loved, they glowed brilliantly—hers green and mine light blue. We’d followed the single green strand traveling north. It had to show us the way to Dziewanna.

Mother’s Thread hasn’t moved since I discovered I could see it, she said. We’re going the right way, but when does the land end?

"I have no idea. Zorza Wieczorna’s evening gate in the sea was a long way west, but it feels like we’ve traveled further from Vastroth."

Her eyes returned to normal as the Threads disappeared, and the pulsing of our shared mark on my forearm faded with them. It reminded me that seeing the Threads with her was a gift only I had. Weles claimed Jawia is far larger than Nawia, but I didn’t even see the entire realm of the dead. The tundra could go on forever.

Then we’ll follow it forever, I replied, pulling her close and resting my forehead against hers. She was warm, and despite weeks of travel and her Ascension, she still smelled of wild herbs burnt in offering to her mother. A scent I’d known so well when we were little. I’m sorry. I wish I could take the pain of her loss away.

For a moment, Otylia didn’t react at all. We stood still with our heads touching and our souls sharing both love and loss. Silence was her choice, so I let the crackle of the fire and the howls of the dying blizzard replace our voices. She’d talk when she was ready. Until then, I shared her pain.

She stepped back when the fire smoldered to little more than orange ash and the sun’s dull glow appeared in the east. Neither of us moved to restore the flames. Without the storm’s cover, the daylight would expose its smoke and alert any nearby Frostmarked to our presence.

Rambling won’t save her, Otylia said, her head tilted down as she looked back at me. We should rest until then.

I nodded. Then tomorrow we fly.

Chapter 2 – Otylia

Where are you, Mother? I don’t care who or what Marzanna has guarding you. I’ll bring you home. I swear upon my moon and your wilds. I’ll bring you home.

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN WHAT SEEMED AN ETERNITY, I awoke to the light of the setting sun as I emerged from the shelter we’d dug in the snow. No clouds. No blizzard. It was as if Marzanna had forgotten to swallow us whole.

Her frozen wasteland dwarfed us anyway.

White extended for as far as I could see, amplifying the sun’s rays and making me squint as I stared to the northeast. The distant forest Wacław had scouted the night before was obvious now. It was leafless like all the others before it, but could this be the one I’d seen in Jaryło’s memories on the night Marzanna captured Dziewanna? Part of me wanted to hope. But I couldn’t. My hope had been beaten out of me by the combined efforts of Weles, Jaryło, Marzanna, Czarnobóg, and seemingly every other god and demon in the Three Realms. Spite drove me on now. To prove my enemies wrong, and to bring them Dziewanna’s wrath.

Wacław’s unruly blond hair and bleary-eyed face peeked out of the shelter. It was a short and narrow space, barely offering enough room for the two of us to lie next to each other. He liked that more than he was willing to admit. So did I.

Hopefully that forest has some animals, he said with a stretch before kicking himself out of the shelter with the grace of a newborn pup. I’m starving.

"You have enough žityje?" I asked, half-knowing the answer already.

He wiped the snow off his wide-brimmed płanetnik hat and put in on as he gave a tired smile. Yeah, but—

Then you’re fine. Mortal hunger can’t kill us.

His smile grew, and I resisted the urge to smack it off his face. Remind me why Jaryło forced you to pledge that you’d marry him? A god like him sure as Oblivion would hate to miss breakfast.

I smacked him anyway.

Mention that bastard again and I’ll make sure your other cheek is red enough to cover your dark veins.

Wacław’s eyes widened as he wiped dark demonic blood from his lip. I’d hit him hard, but in the emotions we shared, all the regret was his. Don’t worry, he said, thumbing the black dagger sheathed at his hip. Thunderstone, capable of draining žityje and killing a god. I don’t need to speak his name to stab him the next time he shows his stupid golden face.

To quiet his rage, I swooped in for a kiss before grabbing my travel bag and pulling up my hood. Glad the demon left you some guts. We’ll need them if Marzanna knows I’m coming for Mother.

Think Czarnobóg is actually guarding her? He shouldered his own bag. It seems like a waste for Marzanna to free a dragon from Oblivion just to have him guard her unconscious sister.

I don’t know how much of Death’s Trial was real, but we have to be ready for anything. If Czarnobóg really was the first żmij, he’s as ancient as Perun and Weles.

And most of that time was spent trapped in Oblivion.

A gust circled us as Wacław flexed his hands beside him. Eight winds, the grandchildren of the god Strzybóg, each with their own unique personalities. I’d spent enough time with Kyustendil, the northwest wind, to know that even the youngest gods had their surprises. I shuddered just wondering what one of the eldest was capable of—if Czarnobóg could be considered a god at all.

Let’s go, I said, taking Wacław’s hand. It’ll be another hour before the moon shows up. I’m not waiting that long.

He gave my hand a squeeze before leaping into the air. The gusts brought me with him, and I was grateful for the trousers beneath my slit dress as my skirt and coat flapped around me.

Using his winds to fly still unnerved me. End’s force pulled me with the moon’s power when I flew, controlled and direct, but Wacław’s winds battered me. Each time, I gained newfound respect for birds’ abilities to dive through the narrowest gaps with ease. Wacław’s too, as he didn’t hesitate or care about the winds’ shifts. He just pulled down his hat and stared at the path ahead. A master of the winds. With black veins crossing his skin and his fur-lined coat drifting behind him to expose Marzanna’s Thunderstone dagger, he surely gave the appearance of a storm demon. But his eyes held their bright blue. My Wašek was still in control, even if his demon had left its mark.

The winds carried us quickly over the forest. Starting at the bend of a north-flowing river, the trees crossed from its eastern bank to a second river. Here, the snow covered all but the tallest underbrush, but no tracks pierced its surface. We’d traveled far to the north. Were animals capable of living here in normal conditions, let alone the brutal terrain this land had become?

A howl answered my thought.

Wacław glanced at me for confirmation, and when I nodded, we dove toward the sound. Darkness crept over us with the descent. The wolves reveled in the night.

The winds silently caught us just above the snow, creating a surface beneath us that almost resembled solid ground. Wacław crept across it with ease. I moved slower. Each step felt like it could send me sprawling, but the winds held.

A short metallic sound broke the quiet. The last rays of light reflected off Grudzień’s jagged black Moonblade streaked in colors as Wacław looked ahead with narrowed eyes. Seven wolves gathered at the base of a massive oak, two pups nuzzling into their mother in a nook of the tree as four others broke into another howl. They hadn’t seen us yet.

Plenty of žityje for breakfast, I quipped to Wacław through our bond.

But he turned to me with worry in his gaze. They aren’t Marzanna’s, he replied. No glowing blue eyes. These woods are nearly dead already without me slaughtering the last of its animals.

They’re hunters like you. Mother said that’s the way of the wild, and demons are no different.

Wolves rarely kill an entire flock of their prey. Neither will I. He rose slowly, taking a long breath. Stay here. I’ll go invisible and make this quick.

The winds weakened beneath me, and the tips of my boots struck the snow as he took flight. Mortals and animals alike couldn’t see him when he chose to be invisible in his soul-form. The wolves noticed the gust, though. Heads raised, they sniffed the air. One growled as Wacław drifted nearer, and both wolf and demon lunged at once.

Grudzień found flesh in a single strike.

The wolf had smelled Wacław’s presence, but without sight, its teeth missed as Wacław tore through to its heart. One, his voice said in my mind as he devoured the heart and the žityje in its blood. One is enough. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than me, and when he finished, I sensed the thrill in his soul for another.

Listen to your mind, not the hunger, I told him. The demon’s control is gone.

He looked at me with blood covering his chin and gloved fingers. A beast. I fought my instinct to believe that. A beast would satiate its hunger until none remained, but Wacław forced himself to show mercy, to control the demonic urges. They’d lessened ever since I’d taken part of his demonic corruption in Huebia. That couldn’t change what he was.

Most of the other wolves whimpered and backed away from the invisible threat. One advanced, and I expected Wacław to accept the second kill nature handed to him. Instead, he took flight and rushed upward, his winds dragging me with him.

We rose together as the sun disappeared over the horizon. Nightfall replaced it, and I grinned at the rush of power that came with the force of endings, bound to the moon. My skin released a dull glow. It rose from my fingers in white wisps that joined with End’s colored ones for each creature nearby—for now just Wacław and the wolves in a vapor that spiraled through the night.

I broke free from the winds and grabbed hold of the moon’s pull. It tore me upward, straight and faultless as I climbed ever higher. Breathing grew harder with each moment I climbed, but I needed to fly, to see Jawia from the above. This was the first time since we’d left Vastroth that clouds couldn’t obscure the view, allowing me to rise to the stars as another flickering soul in the night sky. Then I saw it.

Water. Water!

I nearly screamed in glee at the sight of the moonlight reflecting off the sea’s waves. The two rivers converged upon a bridge at the forest’s end before splitting again and pouring into a small bay. A ring of ice encircled the land after that bridge, and my chest ached at the memory of Mother lying in the black dragon’s shadow.

We found her… I whispered to myself before scanning the sky for Wacław. Wašek! Come here! I see it.

The winds rushed through my hair and coat as he appeared beside me, his eyes wide. This is actually it? Where’s the palace?

Czarnobóg destroyed it. Our words were distant. All I could focus on were the spikes of ice forming a dome over the place Dziewanna had fallen, where Mother was trapped. My hand found her bone Bowmark amulet hanging at my collar. I couldn’t breathe.

Wacław cupped my cheek, forgetting his bloodied glove and smearing crimson across my face. Otylka, are… are you okay?

I clenched my jaw. A spear of cold silver manifested in my open hand as I stared down at the fallen palace. The spear’s light pushed back the darkness and my fear, replacing it with a need for revenge. I didn’t care what kept her trapped there. I would kill it and free my mother, my goddess.

Not until she’s free. I met his gaze, and his eyes reflected my anger. Good. Let Marzanna see what happens when he’s unleashed.

We charged north without another word. Wacław knew I needed action. Reassurance would’ve only redirected my fury at him, and no strategy could prepare us for whatever lay ahead.

Whoever guarded the palace remnants would see us quickly as we approached, but it didn’t matter. Stealth was irrelevant. There would be no hiding within the circle of ice, and that was fine by me. I wanted nothing more than to tear apart the fiends that entrapped Mother, that kept her from me. She suffered.

So would they.

My power would reveal anything living, but there was nothing until a new puff of vapor appeared beside Wacław’s wisp. The soft brown of a willow’s bark, it drifted, slow compared to the excitement of the others.

It’s her!

I opened my vision to the Threads of Life. My bright green Thread wrapped around me before shooting in each direction: one strand binding me to Wacław, others heading southwest toward Ara, Sabina, and Father, another dropping to the rivers and Weles in Nawia, and a final one stretching toward the far end of the ice ring.

In the darkness, I couldn’t see her, but Mother was there. End’s force confirmed it.

I removed my glove when her wisp stopped before me. So many questions wrapped themselves around my mind, and my hand shook as I raised my fingers toward the wisp. Seeing other’s ends, both past and future, was jarring. To know I was about to see Mother’s own…

You see her wisp, don’t you? Wacław asked.

I do.

He held my spear-hand, offering a smile I knew was forced. You can do this. I’ll be right here.

I couldn’t return his smile. End could show me what’s ahead or give me some answer to what had happened to Dziewanna, to Mother, but did I want to know? Suffering lay in those visions—of what she’d endured and what battles would come. I’d seen the destruction brought by Wacław’s fall to the Płanetnik in Huebia and had been unable to believe it.

Mother’s wisp moved toward my hand as I raised it. I pretended she could see me, that she was reaching to touch me for the first time in over four years. Childish hopes. I clung to them anyway, but as my fingers met her wisp, End’s force didn’t tear me away.

Cold silence met me instead. Shooting from my fingers up my arm and into my chest, Marzanna’s frigid grip tightened around my soul. I recognized it from moons before. Wacław had cast out her curse through his Frostmark and now endured permanently frostbitten fingers as a result. But this time, her power held no sway over me.

I released a burst of žityje, repelling the chill in a blinding flash. When the light faded, my shaking hand drifted through empty space. Mother’s wisp was gone, and tears streamed down my face. No more willow brown. No more dynamic energy. Just darkness punctured by the light pulsing from my skin and rising in silvery strands.

I yelled through the night, my rage echoing for eternity. Then I dove toward my mother’s prison.

Spear in hand, I crashed into the blue ice dome, and its silver tip plunged through the barrier, shattering it the moment I struck. Power surged from the weapon. Light and endings both as dark wisps collided with me midair.

Screaming, the vapored forms of a hundred demons passed through me in search of escape. Each brought another onslaught of visions. Of their mortal death. Of the unnatural elements tethering their undead souls to Jawia. And of Marzanna’s promises to fulfill their desires for freedom. Oaths unfulfilled. Minds corrupted.

The towers of ice I’d faced in Death’s Trial rose above the ruins. Sharp and unnatural, they encircled me for over fifty strides in each direction. The moonlight above fractured through what remained of the dome. The ice and snow seemed a hollow gray with only the cores of the towers offering blue to break the colorless void. What unfiltered light remained covered me. My glow no longer pulsed, instead absorbing the moon’s power and growing with my anger. I’d kill Marzanna for what she’d done. I’d torture Czarnobóg for a thousand lifetimes more. Once I freed Dziewanna and restored her power, the dark gods would truly understand wrath when they faced mother and daughter together.

Yet the air hung still. Impossibly cold against my skin, it stayed, as if trapped in time. Wacław slowly descending to my side broke the motionless space, but the eerie sensation remained. End’s wisps had shown the demons within the dome. Where were they?

I opened my mind to the Threads of Life, but there was only a single source beyond the two of us. A figure lay in shadows at the ruin’s far end. Her dim Thread wrapped her body before stretching out in only a few directions. The brightest one connected us, and my tears began again as I stared down at Mother’s crumpled body. My power confirmed she lived, but what had Marzanna done to her? Why was she left unguarded?

Czarnobóg isn’t here, I stammered through gritted teeth. Why? Dziewanna is the only one who can stop Marzanna.

Wacław laid a hand softly on my back. His other still clutched the dagger. I don’t know, but I don’t like this. Go to her. I’ll watch to make sure there aren’t any lingering demons.

I dismissed my spear into a puff of light before dropping to the snow strides from Mother. Her appearance was the same as during the Trial, tearing at my heart. A few stray dark veins like Wacław’s crossed her pale face, and her crown of antlers was broken as her brown hair hung mangled over a ripped, deep green dress. Her skin and bare feet were bloodied when they’d once been unblemished. She was a queen stripped of her wild throne, a goddess drained and broken. She’d suffered here alone because of Jaryło’s betrayal.

She’d never be alone again.

As I approached, the shadow over her didn’t shift. There was no żmij. There were no demons. Marzanna had drained her and left her here to rot, and none of the gods had bothered to save her. Neither her father Perun nor her husband Weles could turn from their simmering war. Cowards.

Mother? I pled, kneeling beside her and taking her hand in mine. It was cold and limp. Her chest rose with each breath, but barely. Mother, it’s me, Otylia.

No reply came. Sorrow crept into my rage, forcing me to choke on my tears as I screamed and begged for her to answer. For years, I’d wished to just see her again, but now that I could, I was forced to watch her suffer Marzanna’s Curse for a second time.

No, I muttered. "I couldn’t save you before, but this is different now. I’m different now."

I squeezed my Bowmark amulet like I had so many times, allowing its sharp ends to jab into my palm until blood seeped free. Žityje-filled blood. Holding my hand over her lips, I forced the trickle into her mouth and whispered a prayer I’d used as a szeptuchy to make sacrifices at her altar. The words in the old tongue spilled from my mouth, sloppy and ill-timed. Power flowed through them regardless, and Mother’s Thread slowly glowed stronger.

Come back to me, I told her. "You taught me to fight, and I haven’t stopped since you died. But I need you now. The wilds need you now. Please, Mother, wake up!"

With those final words, I pressed my hands to her chest and sent the force of a moonblast directly into her. The ground shook beneath us as the spell scattered snow and cracked ice. I sensed Wacław’s concern through our bond, but he didn’t intervene as my light faded slightly. My breaths became chilled, forced. Though the blast hadn’t taken everything, a cold sweat clung to my skin and žityje no longer flowed as freely from my fingers. It was a last effort to wake her—one that had failed.

Uh, Otylka? Wacław called.

I shivered, unable to reply as I stared down at Mother’s unmoving body. Light emanated from her core, but nothing changed. Then that light disappeared completely, enough to make me fall back with my knees tucked in like a weeping child. What else could I do? I’d Ascended and fought across two realms to save her, and none of it mattered. Without her, spring would never return. Jawia would perish, and everyone I loved would die with it.

What good is the end if nothing comes after?

Light burst from behind my tears. I scrambled to my feet, wiping my eyes as every part of Mother exuded radiant white light. The Threads connecting us shone brighter than any I’d ever seen, and her body lifted into the air as the air shook around me. I felt her power pulse with mine. A steady rhythm, it grew with every beat until she awoke with a gasp, dropping hard to the now snow-free earth and stumbling. I caught her, and her green eyes widened as she looked up at me with the smile only a mother can give.

Otylia, my Otylia! You came! She said, her voice raspy as she looked up at the ice towers nearby. Did you kill them?

Kill who? I clutched her as she squirmed. Mother, Czarnobóg is gone.

She tensed. "Not him. Them!"

My joy faded as she looked at Wacław. Dark, lumbering figures surrounded him. They crawled from the cracks in the ice with limbs broken and darkness swirling at their feet—demons, hundreds of them. And they were coming straight for us.

Chapter 3 – Wacław

Of course she laid a trap.

I CHARGED THROUGH A SEA OF DECAYING BEASTS, slashing with Grudzień in one hand and my dagger in the other. A dance of blades and talons, darkness and wind. No matter how many I felled, their claws raked across my limbs as I rushed toward Otylia and Dziewanna.

We need to get out of here! I shouted.

The ferocity of the unquiet dead surrounding me was unmatched by any demon I’d seen. They resembled zmory, with gray-black decaying skin and puss oozing from wounds scattered across their forms, but their ears were pointed and large feathered wings stretched from their backs. Some scrambled with misshapen limbs like their nightmarish cousins. Most, though, ran faster than the winds. They fought as a swarm, flashing fanged teeth and threatening to pull me to the ground.

I couldn’t fight them all.

Black blood covered me, both the demons’ and my own. I heard nothing but their snarls, saw nothing but their hideous forms. Beneath it all, a dull excitement pulsed in my core.

Grudzień sliced clean through a demon’s neck, the sharp teeth upon its edge biting through flesh and bone with ease. It was a god’s sword—a shard of the Alatyr Stone that had created dragons, gods, and demons alike—but in my hand, it was a butcher’s cleaver. The mortal part of me hated such death. The demonic one thrived among the slaughter.

Control it, I told myself.

But I needed my demonic soul to survive. Monsters lunged at me from every side. It took all my skill with a blade and grip of the winds to just hold my ground. I considered taking flight, but they had wings. The ground protected me against attacks from below. In the sky, I’d be truly surrounded.

Otylia! I yelled through our bond. I can’t do this much longer.

Mother’s awake, she replied, tearful. But her power’s gone.

A demon’s teeth pierced my shoulder. My grip on the rage faltered. I unleashed it, biting my cheek hard enough to draw blood before turning and throwing lightning directly into the beast’s chest.

Blue light streaked from my blades and scattered over the closest demons. The one that had bitten me shrieked as the bolt shot straight through its torso and into those behind. It arced between each, splitting into smaller bolts that stunned enough of my foes to give me a moment to breathe. A moment would have to be enough.

Fly her out! I told Otylia. I’ll distract the demons.

Wašek, they’ll kill you!

They’ll surely try.

The lightning dissipated just as I leaped over the demons and flew toward the opposite side of the ice ring. Despite losing the ground’s protection, this was our only chance. Otylia would struggle to fight while focusing on Dziewanna. With the demons flying after me, she could escape, and then I would outpace my pursuers once she was far enough… I hoped.

My view from above only revealed how dire the threat was. Demons filled the entire ring, and more climbed the towers, baring their teeth as I neared. Not hundreds, thousands. Czarnobóg no longer guarded the wild goddess’s prison, but Marzanna had left an army.

The demons’ owl-like wings extended as they followed me, filling the moonlit dome with a writhing mass of darkness. Alone at its center, I tightened my grip on my sword and dagger.

I’d drawn most of the demons to me, but as Otylia and Dziewanna rose in a dim glow, my heart sunk. At least twenty beasts followed them. At the attackers’ head flew three larger ones, their bodies more intact with žityje emanating from their hands—Nawie.

This was a terrible plan.

The demons encircling me grew closer, trying to block my escape from above and below. There would be no chance to flee from an extended fight. I could join Otylia now and hope for the best or leave us to die separate. Why had I thought this was the right option? Separation had brought us nothing but pain.

I burst upward as the demons closed their trap. Grudzień cut demonic flesh, but their teeth and claws tore into me. Žityje and blood alike poured from me as I fought to free myself from their grasps.

It wasn’t enough.

Each time a demon fell, another replaced it. They closed around me. Suffocating. Deafening. I couldn’t think. Every movement was instinct from Xobas’s trainings or simply my body’s desperation to survive. I had no grasp on my remaining žityje nor how far I was from the cracks in the ice dome. All I knew was I had to fight to reach Otylia, so I embraced the storm in my soul.

Lightning cracked across my skin, the only light in the ball of darkness formed by the demons. I numbed to their bites that sucked my blood and claws that sought to pull me to my demise. I no longer felt the cold hilt of my dagger or Grudzień’s pulsing, unreachable power. I lost myself to the storm. Entrapping it in my soul, I sensed everything the winds touched. The writhing demonic mass. The Nawie chasing Otylia and her mother. The blizzards rushing toward us. And finally, myself.

The moment the winds met my skin, I released the lightning through my veins. Sparks snapped across my skin. Burning pain came with it, but I smiled at the sound of screaming.

The demons touching me reeled back with their fingers blackened and charred. I’d lacked the žityje for another lightning strike. Luckily, I’d only needed another moment to break free, and I took advantage. With one last spinning strike with both Moonblade and dagger, I rushed after Otylia.

Exhaustion crept over me as Otylia and her mother passed out of the dome. We’d come so far to save Dziewanna. Each step we’d taken had been to find her, but the sight of the antlered goddess fleeing severed my hope. She was powerless. If she couldn’t defeat her sister and Czarnobóg, then we were no closer to victory, and the Frostmarked Horde knocked at Krowik’s door.

That exhaustion only grew by the time I reached the rear of the demons that had followed them. Wearily, I readied my weapons.

These, though, showed little interest in me, even when I struck down the closest of them. Whether they sensed I was drained or were too focused on preventing Dziewanna’s escape, I didn’t know. I took a wide route either way, catching my wide-brimmed hat as it threatened to drift into the storm. A bad sign. The winds got clumsy when I was running out of žityje, but we had a way to go if we were going to escape.

Otylia glanced back at me when I caught up, her expression shifting from relief to frustration. Any other ideas, or are we going to flee together like we should’ve in the first place?

I… My attempt to defend myself faded as Dziewanna regarded me with interest.

Despite the blackened veins visible at her collar and cracked antlers that seemed to grow from her head, she had a stunning presence. It didn’t matter how beaten down she was. It didn’t matter that Marzanna had drained her power. Dziewanna was still a goddess, and she shared Otylia’s sharp green eyes that bore into my soul.

There’s no time for arguing, she said, stifling a cough as we flew over the shadowed forest. We’d quickly left the ice ring behind, but when I glanced back, the demons showed no signs of giving up.

You’re right, I replied. "My žityje will run out soon. I barely have enough to fly."

Otylia shook her head. I told you to track it better.

That’s probably true, Dziewanna said before glancing at the empty trees below. "But even with Wacław’s power and mine, it would take an immense amount of žityje to defeat this many strzygi. They’re foul demons, and our only hope is to escape their sight."

Where? Otylia asked. We’re faster than them, but they’ll catch us eventually.

She was right. Though the dark forms of the strzygi were falling further behind, I could still clearly see the individuals among them, and their Nawie leaders had almost kept pace with us. Any thrill I’d felt from the melee disappeared. For once, I was the prey.

Dziewanna pointed toward a batch of willows alongside the western river. Take me to the trees. I may lack my connection to my force, but the wilds will protect us. Hurry! I have no desire to return to that accursed palace anytime soon.

Otylia dropped instantly with Dziewanna, but I remained in the air a moment longer. Something held me there. Not a force or magic, but a desire in my heart. To see the other Nawie closely. To understand what we were and why we were. Our second souls were corrupted, yes, but I still didn’t know why we’d been born with another soul at all. Was it just the blood moon? A part of me needed a reason more than coincidence. Surely, the timing of my birth alone couldn’t have determined my life’s fate?

The lead Naw stared at me as the others strayed after Otylia. This one had long fangs and owl wings of the other demons, but its eyes revealed a life within. Or her life within. The strzyga had long auburn hair that tangled and matted itself over her decayed skin, and she wore a ripped dress, unlike the undead of her kind. I wondered if she’d struggled against her demonic soul too, if she’d thought herself simply cursed before the rage overwhelmed her. Was this the end for all Nawie without a goddess to redeem them?

Otylia’s voice called through our bond. I’d lingered too long, but I had no regrets. There was an understanding in the strzyga’s gaze as I fled. I mourned for the life she’d once lived and for the mortal soul trapped within her. For now, though, there was nothing I could do to save her. I promised myself I’d find a way for others.

The goddesses landed along the shore of the river before tucking beneath the arcing branches of a weeping willow. Naked, the tree offered little protection. Dziewanna had been sure, though, so I landed beside them and crouched, waiting for some aid from the forest.

Stay silent, she commanded with a hand on the willow’s trunk. This is not our home, so we must be invited in.

Her whispers in the old tongue drifted over us, and the branches swayed against the force of the oncoming blizzard. The trees here were dead. Neither fish nor ducks swam the waters. Yet beneath that willow, I felt the warmth of life like a beating heart. It grew faster and faster until a creaking surrounded us.

Roots shot from the ground and ensnared my ankles.

Uh, what’s happening? I asked. They crept up Otylia’s legs too, but as I prepared to swing Grudzień, Dziewanna raised her hand sharply.

I said to be silent! she snapped. The mistress of this willow demands our respect. Remain still, and all will be fine.

I bit my tongue, but I had little choice to move anyway. The roots had already wrapped themselves around my legs and were pulling me toward the base of the tree. My feet disappeared into the earth. Then my calves.

I looked at Otylia, expecting her to feel the same fear as I did, but her eyes were shut. Though the roots grew over her neck and pulled her ever deeper, a smile twitched at her lips. She laid her head back.

Then she disappeared beneath the tree.

Chapter 4 – Otylia

Marzanna took her power... What’s left?

DZIEWANNA, GODDESS OF THE WILDS and the mother I’d lost years before, knelt beside me on the frozen, dead earth that should’ve been the abode of an ancient nymph. Instead, it was dim as Mother’s skin stung cold against mine. Life filled her eyes again, but they were tired with black rings sunken above her cheekbones.

My battle rage crumbled in her arms. Unfortunately, the strzygi weren’t the pressing issue.

Explain yourselves!

A frail nymph’s yell echoed through the small, circular room. Bark and vines formed its walls, and branches stretched across the tall ceiling that rose high above. I’d known about the existence of nymphs’ homes, but it amazed me to finally be in one. They were supposed to exist somehow on Jawia yet not entirely within it, as even this cramped space was larger than the willow itself.

Mother rose to meet the nymph. Without žityje or any connection to her power, she lacked the radiant glow I’d come to expect from Dziewanna, but there was a force to her now. The roots below seemed to weave into the shredded ends of her earthen dress. She looked upon the nymph with a fierce, unwavering gaze.

We thank you for inviting us into your home, mistress of the willow, she said, her voice cautious yet firm. However, I am the Lady of the Wilds, and you will not shout at me.

The short nymph huffed and crossed her arms, her wings fluttering enough to raise her to Mother’s eye level. Dziewanna is dead. Don’t you see what has become of me? I’ll starve like the others before long, and now you bring this fiend into my trunk? She pointed at Wacław. Be glad I let you live.

I shot to my feet, any calm I’d felt around Mother gone in an instant. My silver spear fell into my grasp as I advanced. "Threaten us again and see what happens. My mother is Dziewanna, and I am Otylia, goddess of endings. You offered us kindness by taking us in. Let us return the favor with our story before you call us liars."

The nymph fluttered back into the wall. Fear filled her eyes, reflecting the moonlight pulsing from me. You… You truly are goddesses?

Mother pushed down my arm with a look that told me to back away. We are, and we are no threat to you. My role is to protect your kind. I confess I’ve failed at that, but I was alone in my fight to stop this winter. Take your anger out on my bastard of a brother, Jaryło. He released the dark żmij and allowed Marzanna to break her binds. She offered the nymph her hand, cupping her cheek with the other. What is your name?

The nymph dropped to her knees, ignoring Mother’s hand. Liuda, my lady. I apologize. I couldn’t sense your power; though, your daughter’s is obvious enough.

My force does not answer my call. Mother turned to me as tears suddenly ran down her face. "The wilds are dead, yet I live. Corruption taints everything he touches. Even me."

I ran my fingers over her blackened veins. They were far fewer than Wacław’s, but she was a goddess. How could she endure demonic corruption?

She coughed and held my hands. "I see the questions in your gaze, my child. No, I’m not like Marzanna. Jaryło’s betrayal corrupted her, but she let her anger consume her divinity. This… This darkness is a remnant of her power joined with Czarnobóg’s. They took turns draining me of žityje, but there was something more. It was as if they stole fragments of my soul, leaving behind their corruption until they were whole again."

Wacław finally stood with his head bowed. Lady Dziewanna, is that how Marzanna has extended her control beyond the equinox?

Yes. Mother studied him with pursed lips. A curse weakens both Marzanna and Jaryło while the other lives. It prevented her from surviving the equinox for centuries. When Jaryło aligned his Moonstones with hers to release Czarnobóg, I was powerless to stop them both without my brother’s aid. Jaryło has always been a coward, but he’s gone too far this time. I knew his scheme, so he left me to die. I doubt he knew what Marzanna could do to me.

Liuda paced across the room, nibbling on what looked like a nut before looking up at Mother. Excuse me, my lady, but this sounds as if everything has gone horribly wrong. She paused with a regretful look. What… What does this mean for us? We’re bound to these trees, and even if we leave, we’ll perish with them when their last bits of life fade.

Now that Otylia has freed me, I will do what I can to return life to the wilds. But much damage has been done. In order for the seasons to return, Marzanna must relent or die.

I took her hand, remembering the chill I’d felt touching her wisp. "End showed me what happened, but how could a goddess drain you entirely? We can only take žityje from offerings."

Mother sighed and leaned on me, suddenly shaky. Unlike the powerful goddess I’d followed and strong mother who’d raised me, her cheeks were sunken and her arms bony. I couldn’t help but feel like a failure. I’d been her only szeptucha, and I hadn’t even learned about her imprisonment until moons after the equinox.

Żmij and corrupted Nawie face no such restrictions, she said. "I’m sure you’ve become familiar with Wacław’s abilities if you’ve made it this far alive. Now imagine a being who shares a goddess’s power and a demon’s hunger, free from the restrictions Rod has placed on our kind. To Marzanna and Czarnobóg alike, I was a supply of žityje greater than any other they could find."

I scoffed. And Jaryło just abandoned you.

As did Perun and Weles, Strzybóg too—as he’s ignored his responsibility to fly me to Marzanna’s palace for decades. Lazy old man… I am not surprised my father would ignore my plight after I rebelled against him, but Weles had promised to protect me as his wife.

Mother shook her head and stared at the branches above. The