no one to stop us.
—Passage from an anonymous account of a worshipper of Chyrnog
Tranavia would burn if Chyrnog had his will, devoured right alongside Kalyazin. Malachiasz couldn’t stop this, it was hopeless. Chyrnog had him in all the ways that mattered. With each awakened one devoured, he would only grow stronger.
But Malachiasz would grow stronger, too. He liked to think the god was underestimating him like everyone else did.
He had considered leaving Serefin after Ruslan struck. It had taken no effort to take down Chyrnog’s priest and leave him unconscious in the study. He’d considered killing him, but the thought of Chyrnog’s retaliation stayed his hand. Killing him wouldn’t have stopped the spell he’d set into motion anyway. Malachiasz should have run, but he’d returned to the sanctuary with its marble floors and cracked walls and watched as something unmade the witch.
He was in so far over his head.
He still had the book Ruslan had shown him, slipped into his pocket with the hope that the boy wouldn’t notice its absence. He wasn’t planning on giving it back.
Ruslan had recovered fast and entered the sanctuary, looking perturbed that his attempt to kill everyone had failed.
“Did I make my point?” he asked Malachiasz pleasantly. He was cradling his bloody hand, another finger gone.
Olya hadn’t yet woken and Malachiasz was dreading when she did. He swallowed, fully understanding what it was Chyrnog could do. If he had hesitated, the witch would have been destroyed, and his brother and his lieutenant would have been next.
Ruslan had made his point.
“What now?” he’d asked, ignoring the despairing look Serefin gave him.
Malachiasz never did have to worry about the witch’s reaction to losing her hands. Ruslan had his cultists remove her from the sanctuary, sadness in his expression. Malachiasz couldn’t parse if it was genuine.
“I considered us friends, when I traveled with her band,” he said. “I suppose not anymore. Ah, well, the things one does for their god.”
“What will happen to her?” Malachiasz asked.
Ruslan frowned. “She wasn’t supposed to be caught in that, but it was Chyrnog’s will. I’ll have her returned to her village.”
Where she’ll have to live with no hands. Malachiasz bit back the comment. Plenty of people lost limbs at the front and returned home to live without pieces that had seemed so necessary once. There were a few Vultures with complicated hooks for hands or braces strapped to the stumps of legs that worked just as well. That wasn’t relevant. What mattered was she never should have been put in this position. Ruslan never should have been able to use Chyrnog’s power. Chyrnog never should have woken up.
“Another awakened one has been found. You’re coming with me,” Ruslan said.
And because Malachiasz didn’t want to risk Ruslan turning on Serefin, he agreed and tried not to think about what he would be forced to do.
* * *
Apparently the second awakened one was close. They would travel by night to avoid the sun. Malachiasz hated it.
Snow piled up so high that it was difficult to walk. They were so far from civilization that the roads weren’t tamped down by the feet of travelers. They had left behind the dark forest for wide, dead, untouched plains.
“How does it work?” Malachiasz asked.
“What?” Ruslan cast a wide-eyed glance up at him.
Ruslan had done some complicated magic that Serefin had complained about the entire walk, claiming it felt like being chained up.
He folded his hands behind his back. “The magic.” He wished he had his spell book. He wanted to take note of these strange divergences of power, but also Ruslan had a fascinating face and he wanted to put it to paper. And there were so many sketches of Nadya folded in those pages and he wanted desperately to cling to her memory.
A fracture, another piece crushed, another loss. She was clever and strong, and her power skirted the edges of what Chyrnog’s power tasted like. How could she have been cut down? What had happened?
What if…? But no. His death would not have been enough to force her hand. She would have moved on without him, been fine. She had practically plunged the knife into his chest herself. She was stronger than he would ever be. She wasn’t sentimental like him.
Ruslan was talking and Malachiasz tried to focus as the boy explained the same scenario Nadya had described when using her divine magic. Interesting.
If Ruslan was able to channel Chyrnog’s power, then why did they need Malachiasz at all?
He didn’t wait for the god to