Sarwat Chadda: Dark Goddess

“How long do we have?” Billi asked.

“Five, six minutes,” growled Old Gray, listening hard to the sound of the oncoming army. She snapped her teeth as they grew in length and sharpness.

“We need to give ourselves some space.” Billi searched around: three roads led from this park, giving them options. “Keep the engine running in case we need a quick getaway.”

Olga laughed. “We are not getting away, young Templar. This is where we die.”

“Maybe, but let’s take the old witch with us.” Billi pulled out a stone-tipped arrow. “I just need Baba Yaga out in the open and close, that’s all.”

Old Gray growled as steel scraped across steel. Billi spun around, arrow drawn, as a figure emerged from behind them.

Arthur drew the Templar Sword from his scabbard as he approached. He wore his own mail, covered with a patched-up leather coat. Snowflakes sprinkled his black beard, and his scars were paler than normal, stark white in the frosty, weak sunlight. Gareth joined him, fingers in his composite bow. He saw Billi’s own bow and nodded with approval. He had his quiver strapped to his belt, all the fletching made up of black eagle feathers.

“Hope we’re not too late,” said Arthur.

Mordred, the tall, elegant Ethiopian, stood nearby, his hands eager and anxious around his spear shaft. Hanging from his hip was a quiver, and slung over his back a longbow. He’d wrapped a scarf around his face and had his woolen cap pulled low so only his deep brown eyes showed. With him were Gwaine and Lance. They’d survived, thank God.

Gwaine had taken a battering: there was a clean bandage across his forehead, and his mouth, usually so thin and grim, turned slightly. It could have been a smile, the first Billi had from the old warrior. On his back was a bow and quiver of arrows. In his hands he held a hefty battle-ax and hada dented steel breast plate strapped on. A crude red cross had been painted high on the left of it. A Templar to the last.

“ Bonjour , Bilqis,” said Lance as he smoothed out his long brown mustache and bowed. The Frenchman had found a knee-length mail hauberk, older and heavier than Billi’s, and on his left hip he had a longsword. He carried a shield, white with a black band across the top: the argent field and sable fess. The battle banner of the Templars. He looked like he’d stepped out of the Crusades.

Billi’s throat was tight, clogged with relief. She wet her dry lips. “About bloody time.”

LANCE KISSED HER ON BOTH CHEEKS.

Billi grinned. “You made it. How?”

Lance looked surprised. “Why would we not make it?” Mordred shook her hand. “You look ready to cause trouble,” he said.

Billi laughed. She had her quiver and bow on her back, a suit of fine chain mail, and a sword and dagger tucked into her belt. “Trouble’s coming,” she said.

Gwaine stopped and looked down at Vasilisa. “She still alive?” He spoke as though she weren’t there. “Why haven’t you killed her?”

Billi drew Vasilisa close beside her. “I’ve found a way to kill Baba Yaga. But I need her close. If we hang on to Vasilisa, she’ll come close enough to give us a chance to be rid of the old witch once and for all.”

“She’s bait, then?” Gwaine said.

Vasilisa flinched as he said it. She pushed Billi’s hand away and stepped back, gazing at the Templars. Billi bent down and faced her.

“Vasilisa, we’re here to protect you, I swear it. But you’ll need to play along.” She looked over at her dad, who watched impassively. “When Baba Yaga comes, we will destroy her.”

“And if you don’t?” asked the Spring Child. “Then we will have done our best.” Billi touched Vasilisa’s cheek.

The other Templars gathered warily around Old Gray. She’d not fully transformed, but her skin was covered in fur, and her skull had elongated to accommodate a snout and a line of fangs. She barely acknowledged them.

Arthur slapped Billi on the back and inspected her armor, nodding with satisfaction. “Well done,” he said. He nodded at Lance. “Get the car ready. I want to be able to make a quick exit, if need be.”

“ Bon ,” said Lance. He took Vasilisa’s hand and patted it between his palms. “It is good to see you again, Vasilisa.” Then he slung his shield over his shoulder and disappeared down an alleyway.

Billi looked at her dad and held up her arrow. “This is tipped with meteoric rock from the blast. I made it from the Venus figurine.”

Arthur took the arrow and pressed his thumb against the tip. “Elaine told me the statue’d been left in London. You found it?”

Billi gestured to the small girl. “Vasilisa had it all along.”

Arthur handed it to Gareth. “What do you think?”

Gareth, the Templars’ best archer, rolled the arrow in his fingers, testing its weight. He put the arrow to the string, and the bow creaked as he drew it back to his cheek. “Good for thirty, forty yards.”

Billi took out the other two stone-tipped arrows and handed them to Gareth.

“This all?” he asked.

“Sorry, it wasn’t a big piece of rock.”

Gareth checked all three arrows and handed one back. “The head’s too loose on this one-won’t fly far. I’ll hang on to these two.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” asked Gwaine. “What about the girl?”

“If that doesn’t work, we fight to the last man,” said Arthur. Unconsciously, he ran his thumb over the engraved pommel of his sword as he scanned the battleground, tracing the emblem of the two knights on a single horse. He pointed to the school building. “What do you reckon, Gareth?”

“I’d prefer a grassy knoll, but that’ll do.” He sprinted off, bow in one hand and his quiver in the other. Billi held Vasilisa’s hand and drew her saber. “Stick close to me.”

Vasilisa responded with a squeeze.

Arthur turned to Ivan. “And you are?”

Ivan straightened. “I am Tsarevich Ivan Alexeivich Rom-”

“But you can call him Ivan,” Billi interrupted. She wiped the sweat off her forehead. Arthur took her arm, seeing the bandages.

“You’ve been injured? How bad?”

“Werewolves. Pretty bad.” She pulled up a corner of the bandages. The bite marks were black circles now, but thin, dark veins ran just under the skin. “She took a big bite.”

“Where are Elaine’s poultices?” Arthur asked Mordred. The young squire sprang to attention.

“In the car, sir.”

“Then take Billi over there right now. Just get her-”

“Eyes front,” said Gwaine.

They came. Engines died as one by one the followers of Baba Yaga stepped out of their vehicles. Packs of wolves crept out of the woods and through the sprawling amusement park. Then the Polenitsy stopped, and Billi watched their skin ripple as the wolves became women. They approached, chests heaving and blowing big clouds of steaming breath in the frosty air, eyes on Billi and the others. Closest was Svetlana. Her body shone with sweat as she stood on top of a car, staring down at them. Her face turned to horror as she saw her grandmother. Then the horror gave way to fury as she realized she was there of her own free will.

But the younger wolf didn’t even have to voice her rage before the land around them came alive, silencing them all. The trees shook. Their burden of snow tumbled down over the gathered crowd. Their boughs creaked and their branches rustled, as though whispering to one another.

“What’s happening?” said Arthur as he backed away. He gestured to the other Templars, and they formed a line alongside him, Billi and Vasilisa behind them.

“Baba Yaga,” said Vasilisa.

Old Gray crouched. Her hands had fully changed into claws, and she flexed them, prepared for the attack. Gwaine took a wide stance as the ground trembled under him. Mordred’s hands wrung the spear shaft while Arthur kept his sword low but ready.