Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

Vasilisa turned to Ivan. He’d been watching it all silently. Now he stood and gave Vasilisa a warm smile.

“They say you areaprince,” said Vasilisa. “You look like a prince.”

“I am Ivan. It is a pleasure to meet you, Vasilisa.”

Billi’s clothes had been swapped for a white shirt and baggy cotton trousers. She got out of bed, and her legs almost gave way. Ivan grabbed her. She was still weak from last night’s battering. “I need something to drink,” she muttered. She licked her lips. “More food, too. Meat.” Her tongue ran over her teeth. She wanted to tear at a big juicy steak.

Billi didn’t miss the look from Svetlana. Billi was turning into one of them, but the young woman saw only a rival. If Svetlana wanted a fight, that was just dandy. Weak as she was, Billi’s heart pumped with desire. She put her hand against her chest. She knew what would happen if she gave in to the anger. Elaine had warned her.

“The wolf you killed, Silver Paws, was a pack elder and her bite was particularly infectious,” said Vasilisa. “The other wolves are amazed that you’ve not transformed already. It takes a lot of willpower to fight it.” Vasilisa paused, screwing up her eyes. Her lips lost their color and she swayed. “Fight it,” she whispered to herself.

Billi grabbed her wrist. “Vasilisa, you okay?”

The girl rubbed her head. “SiCk, BiLLi. She IZz . InSide.” Her voice became distorted as dozens of others spoke through her. Billi heard the accents of other languages, of the old and the young-male and female.

Vasilisa’s pixie face wrinkled, and her big eyes filled with tears. Her body trembled. “Oh, Billi. They won’t stop talking.” She gazed at Billi, her voice quiet and intense. “Please, don’t let her eat me.”

Billi shot an angry look at Svetlana, but said, did, nothing. She didn’t want to scare Vasilisa.

“She won’t.” One way or another.

So Baba Yaga was in there, digging away. All psychics endured the voices until they grew powerful enough to shut them out. Being a telepath, Kay had had it real bad. As a child he’d spent weeks living in isolation, trying to cut off the invasion of other people’s thoughts and dreams. Words and voices had spilled out of him, gibberish that had almost driven him mad. More than one asylum had a psychic patient deranged by all the voices that never quieted.

Olga entered. The old woman wore a long dress made of animal skin and studded with beads. Her feet were in beautifully embroidered fur-lined boots. Heavy bronze bracelets rattled on her wrists, and faded blue tattoos covered her wiry bare arms. “The Great Mother wishes to speak with you, Templar,” she said.

The two Polenitsy put themselves between her and Vasilisa.

Olga stepped forward. “We must go now.”

Billi stood fixed to the spot. Baba Yaga wanted to see her. She thought of the dreaded power that had risen out of the forest. Then she’d only caught a glimpse of the Dark Goddess, and it had overwhelmed her; now she was going to stand face-to-face with her. Goose bumps rose across her skin.

“What does she want?” Billi asked. Ivan tightened his hold on his crutch. He glanced at her, and there was fear for her in his eyes.

Olga pulled back the tent flap. “Come-now.”

They want us to be afraid.

Baba Yaga wanted to see her. That didn’t sound good. Billi couldn’t change that, but she could either go cowering, or with her head up. She steadied herself against Ivan, then let go and stood on her own two feet. Like a Templar should.

“No point keeping the old girl waiting,” she said. Olga pointed at a pair of fur-lined leather boots by the entrance. On the stool lay Billi’s red coat, but it was badly torn and all the buttons were missing. She put it on and then pulled on the boots.

“You too,” said Svetlana. She grabbed Ivan and dragged him off his stool. He slapped her hand away, and Red’s hand sprang up, each finger tipped with an ivory claw.

“Svetlana!” snapped Olga. Slowly, Red lowered her hand. Billi helped Ivan up and passed him the crutch.

“Ivan?”

Ivan wasn’t listening: his attention was focused purely on Olga.

“Do you know who I am?” he snarled. Despite the injured leg, Ivan smoldered with anger; every muscle was tensed for battle, and his eyes darkened like an advancing hurricane.

Billi stared at him and the old woman. Oh, Jesus , she thought. Olga killed his father.

Olga nodded. “The son of the old tsar.”

“Son of the man you killed.”

Billi took hold of Ivan’s wrist. “We’ll pick our moment, Ivan.” His head snapped in her direction, and for a moment Billi thought he’d break free and attack. But then his rage cooled and he gave a single nod. He looked back at Olga.

She smiled wryly. “And I will be waiting, boy.”

As they left the tent, Billi’s hair blew loose in the wind. Out of habit she tucked her collar around her neck, but she didn’t feel the cold much. Was this part of the infection? The change was coming: first rage and blood thirstiness, the emotions evolving into those of a predator. The physical change was last of all. But she couldn’t give in yet. She still had work to do.

Ivan took her hand.

“Follow me,” said Olga.

Billi and Ivan went next, and Svetlana brought Vasilisa a few paces behind. Billi looked over her shoulder to see Vasilisa moving stiffly, eyes gazing into the forest ahead. Her breath came out like steam, in short desperate gasps, clearly petrified of what lay ahead.

“Vasilisa…” Billi wanted to comfort her, but there was nothing she could do. She knew it, and so did Vasilisa.

The camp was large-about thirty or forty tents spread across a clearing within the heart of the forest. Lavish flags and totems hung from banners in front of most of the tent entrances. Others were customized with furs and beaded curtains, their exterior walls painted with shamanistic symbols that Billi didn’t recognize.

Aman with long black hair and a heavily tattooed face stood in front of a tent that had stick figures being chased by giant wolves painted across the material, a sickle-edged moon hanging overhead. The man glanced at them, then turned his attention to a golden eagle watching from a high branch. Small silver bells tinkled from tassels around its leg. The man raised his left fist, bound in a thick leather glove, and gave a curt whistle.

The eagle dived straight down toward them. At the last instant its wings spread, bringing it to a dead stop, and it landed delicately on the man’s fist. The bird flapped its huge wings, tip to tip, well over Billi’s height, and she wasn’t short. Its feathers rippled, their sheen moving from gold to orange to deep rich brown. Its head darted from side to side, and it screamed angrily, bothered perhaps at having to come down from its royal perch high in the stars. The man gently stroked the irate bird, humming soothingly.

Next to the tattooed man were a couple of blond Scandinavians, bearded bears of men, each wearing sleeveless undershirts. They tinkered with the engine of an old Land Rover.

“All werewolves?” Billi asked.

Olga shook her head. “No. These men are merely consorts. Our bite awakens only women,” she answered with a hint of pride.

“Turns them into monsters, you mean?”

Olga smiled at her. Billi had thought she’d be angry, but the old woman seemed to find Billi’s comment amusing.

“Tomorrow you will feel differently, I promise you.”

They left the light of the campfires and entered the surrounding forest. The darkness didn’t bother Billi. Even with the moon cloaked behind clouds she could see the black roots, the frost-coated rocks, the patterns on the bark. Large boulders, dropped here from some glacial retreat, bore ancient claw marks and faint traces of paintings-strange spiral patterns and images of beasts and witches.