Dark Goddess

Olga lowered the bowl from her lips. “Look at us, Templar. What do you see?”

Billi’s first reaction was to say a bunch of howling monsters, but that wasn’t true. The Templars had taught her to believe that werewolves were the Unholy-creatures who had to be destroyed at all costs-but why? She saw women, powerful warriors, and a tribe of hunters. She saw the respect they had for each other, and the strength of their beliefs. They were fighting for a better world too, just like the Templars.

They weren’t so different. Billi laughed to herself. And tomorrow she’d be no different from them at all.

“We are so few. If mankind continues on his path, we will die.” Olga put down the empty bowl. “Year by year, the forests shrink and the trees fall. What is left for us?” The old woman stared at the ash of the fire, nudging it with her boot. “Baba Yaga will save us. The only reason you are being kept alive for now is so you can see this.”

“If she knew how to save you, why wouldn’t she say how?” Billi said. “She’ll summon the global winter and hibernate until it’s over. Civilization will be gone. Every species of this planet decimated. She isn’t just planning to sacrifice Vasilisa-she’s wants to sacrifice everyone.” Billi met the old woman’s gaze. “Trust me. I’m telling you the truth.”

Olga stood, snarling. “Trust you? There is no trust between men and wolves.”

“I am not a man,” Billi replied plainly. “There is only one way you can save the Polenitsy.”

Two tall women entered the ger. Each was nearly seven feet tall and made of hard, wiry muscle. Both were dressed in long, ankle-length cloaks of hide and fur. One wore a necklace made of claws and animal bones, and had her long blond hair strung with beads and feathers. The other, dark-skinned, had her face marked with tribal tattoos.

“Olga,” said the dark-skinned woman. “We must move the camp.”

“Why?”

The woman cast a hateful look at Billi and Ivan. “These two humans must have been followed. Men come. Many men.”

Olga tossed the bowl away. “What men?”

The woman’s eyes darkened. “Bogatyrs.”

38

VEHICLES JOSTLED ON THE FRINGES OF THE CAMP. Fires blaszed and tents collapsed as the Polenitsy prepared to leave. The night was thick with tension. Billi and Ivan were cut free and taken out of the ger, flanked by the two Polenitsy. One handed Billi a long black nomad coat and a strip of red cloth to use as a sash. Billi wrapped it twice around her waist and knotted it.

“Where are we going?” Billi asked Olga.

“We cannot risk the ritual being disrupted by the Bogatyrs.” Olga pointed into the darkness. “The forest is deep and we know how to hide.”

The Russians were coming for Vasilisa. Maybe if there were enough of them, they could overcome the Polenitsy, but it would be a bloodbath.

Could Billi escape if it came to a battle? Find Baba Yaga in the confusion and kill her? Unlikely. The Polenitsy would defend Baba Yaga to the last. She needed Baba Yaga with her guard down if she was going to succeed. And what of Vasilisa? The Bogatyrs still wanted to sell her to the ghuls.

“So Koshchey survived,” said Ivan as he joined her. He’d covered himself with his deep blue coat, and his hands were tucked into the sleeves. The Polenitsy didn’t trust him with his crutch anymore, but though Ivan moved slowly, he didn’t show any weakness, just gritty determination. He squinted as the freezing air blew into his face.

“It could be one of the others,” Billi replied.

“No. He is Koshchey the Undying.” He pulled out his hands and flexed his fingers. Despite the wounds Ivan had suffered, Billi could see the power in his hands as he clenched them into fists. “I let him escape once.”

“Baba Yaga’s the priority,” Billi reminded him.

Ivan shook his head. “No, stopping Fimbulwinter is the priority. Listen”-he held her arms and looked at her, hard-“you go after Baba Yaga. But if you fail, we cannot permit her to complete the ritual.”

Billi nodded grimly. “Then you’ll finish the job for me?”

“Da.” He sighed. “I am not happy about this, but while both Vasilisa and Baba Yaga live, we are in double the peril. We have a greater responsibility than just saving the life of a small child, no matter how innocent.”

“Wow.” It was like having Arthur addressing her. Ivan had leader in the making written all over him.

Howls came from all over the camp. Figures moved like shadows on the fringes of the campfires, silhouettes creeping in and out of the stands of tall birch trees. The forest was thick with them. Billi watched as two of the Polenitsy threw off their cloaks, hunched down on all fours, and went from human to beast within a few paces. Some children stood by their tents as their parents packed. Billi watched one child, his shaggy black hair decorated with strips of bright cloth and plastic beads, yelp with laughter as his mother lightly cuffed him into the snow. The boy rolled around happily, wearing nothing but a pair of cotton underpants. Then his mum hauled him up and kissed his eyelids.

Jesus. The Bogatyrs and Koshchey on one side, and Baba Yaga on the other. Where the hell was her dad? She couldn’t fight everyone alone.

“He’s dead, you know that?” Billi said to Olga. “That boy over there-and his mother. You’re all racing off to your deaths.” Olga tried to turn, but Billi just blocked her path. “Fimbulwinter is coming unless we do something.”

They’d stopped beside a rusty-looking van. Two men loaded chests and boxes on to the roof rack. A man in a parka attacked the deep snow with a shovel, hacking at the thick ice that had set around the wheels. The night echoed angrily with the bedlam of machines and wolves. Olga shoved the rear door open. “What’s your answer, then?”

“All I know is that we need to stop this… madness.”

“It is not madness. It is the will of the Great Mother.”

Olga held the door open for Billi. “Do you not have a similar saying? Deus vult?”

Billi stepped into the van, followed by Ivan. A man was already sitting in the passenger seat, a big Swede. There was steel mesh between them. He glanced at Billi and Ivan, then pulled his thick parka closer around him. Olga climbed into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. The headlights came on and the vehicle shook itself into action. Snow slid off the hood as the van climbed out of the snow-packed trench. Olga glanced at Billi through the rear-view mirror.

What is she thinking? Billi wondered. Olga wasn’ta blind fanatic like her granddaughter. She was the Polenitsy pack leader and took her responsibilities seriously. The survival of the pack was paramount, but loyalty to Baba Yaga had been bred into the Polenitsy for thousands of years. Olga looked away, and the van began to move, bouncing over the rough snow.

Billi felt the Venus figurine in her pocket. She shifted closer to Ivan and put her head on his shoulder. His arm came up around her, and they settled into silence together.

She sniffs the air and growls to her sisters. Mingled with the fresh scent of the forest is ash, the smell of burning, of man. She flexes her claws and peers into the veil of snowflakes that drift from the moon-bright sky.

There, at the edge of the trees. She sees light come from a window and hears the sounds of singing and music. But it is a harsh sound that hisses and crackles-men and their false voices and noises. A thin spiral of smoke rises from the stone chimney.

Billi steps over the low fence and comes to a wall of cloth. The human woman has hung out the sheets, though they are brittle with frost. Billi sniffs the white cloth and her head swims with the soft, milky odor of a suckling baby. She licks her lips.

Her sisters creep beside her as they approach the front door. Through the glass, Billi sees the family sitting in front of their glowing box of colors. She blinks. The light is painful and the noise tears at her sensitive ears. No