Lukasz was risking life and limb for his brother. It seemed very sad that Koszmar didn’t feel the same way. For some reason, it made her like him more. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault, that he could be so mean. And anyway, she’d forgiven Jakub for trapping Czarn, and whether she liked it or not, she knew she’d eventually forgive Lukasz.
Surely she could forgive Koszmar for being unhappy?
As if he read her thoughts, he laughed quietly. Ren looked up.
“Who would have thought?” he muttered. “A monster and a failure, searching our souls in a place like this.”
Ren smiled, even though she did not find it remotely funny.
“And why shouldn’t we?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice light. She couldn’t bear the thought of making him any sadder. “According to Jakub, we have so many souls, after all.”
“Ah yes,” he whispered. “The duality of souls. What a beautiful thought. To think any one of us could be a monster.”
“But Jakub doesn’t believe in second souls,” said Ren thoughtfully. “He thinks that saying someone is predisposed to evil is just making excuses for their poor character.”
“Maybe,” said Koszmar. “But it doesn’t make it untrue.”
“Perhaps you’re right.”
Ducha swooped suddenly overhead, and Ren ducked. Koszmar didn’t even flinch. Only looked up, a strange, lazy admiration in his eyes.
“The eagle told Felka that things are worse in the village,” he said after a moment.
“I know,” said Ren, remembering the Leszy’s comments. “We need to get to that Mountain.”
They both fell silent. Ducha landed near Koszmar, and to Ren’s surprise, he stroked her sleek head. He smiled at the eagle. Or at the forest. She wasn’t sure.
The forest liked Koszmar. In a strange, luminous way, it suited him.
It entwined its dark fingers in his light hair, it settled in the crook of his arm in the twilight, and with him in it, it sang with life. His skin had faded to gray and his hair had diluted to silver. He practically glowed. Sitting here, in the darkening firelight, Ren felt like an intruder on their quiet understanding.
Koszmar hadn’t belonged in Granica. He hadn’t belonged in Miasto. But here . . . but here he had changed. Become handsome, braver, perhaps even . . . kinder? Perhaps here was where he could belong. Perhaps here was a place he could love as much as she did. Enough to live out his days here.
She’d welcome him, she realized. Like any lost bird, any cranky badger. She’d let him stay, if he wanted. And, as she drifted off to sleep, Ren had the sudden conviction that he would like that, too.
27
A SHOTGUN BLAST JOLTED LUKASZ out of sleep, left him cold on the ground.
He came to slowly, pushing himself to his elbows, vision not yet clear. He was vaguely aware of movement, of screaming, of scaly bodies and blast after shattering blast as rifle fire tore through the night. He ran a hand over his eyes. What was happening . . . ?
Sharp claws dug into his shirt, dragged him upright. The creature pushed its face into his.
“What the—”
Lukasz tried to scramble back, but the strzygoń sank its claws deeper. Yellowish drool coated what was left of its face. Its nose had lengthened into a beak. Scraps of embroidered cloth hung from its shoulders, but that was the last human thing about it.
“Get off—”
He swore, tried to reach for his gun. But the strzygoń had enough humanity left to recognize the gesture. Claws sank into his forearm, and it snarled.
Another blast. The creature exploded in a spray of blood and legs.
Lukasz shook off what was left of it. There was a scrape on his forearm, but he was otherwise unharmed. Thank God, he thought. He scrambled to his feet.
Strzygi vaulted across the campfire, scattering the coals. Jakub had his shotgun, blasting them away and reloading as fast as he could. Felka stood beside him, one of Koszmar’s revolvers in her hand. There were too many of them. They lurched, screeching and slavering. They swarmed in flashes of dirty red hair and gray, peeling bodies. Czarn and Ry? leapt among them, snatching them out of the air, dragging them to the ground. The strzygi were all claws, all jaws, all dark rolling eyes and echoes of this last, horrible bit of humanity.
Across the seething mass, Lukasz saw Ren.
She had his rifle, and now she threw it up to her shoulder and fired again. The blast scattered a horde of strzygi clustered over Koszmar. A single hand emerged from