Dark Goddess

The old crone coughed. It was a small weak noise, as if she were shaking a seed out of her gullet.

Her hand touched the arrow shaft jutting out just under her chin. She snapped it and tossed it to the ground, then sank to her knees. One by one the werewolves paused in battle.

The blood was flooding out of Baba Yaga’s neck, great gushes with every heartbeat, spraying over Vasilisa’s limp and exhausted body. The young girl blinked, awake.

Billi stumbled over the broken wall to try to reach her.

Vasilisa slowly rose and wiped the blood out of her eyes. Then she saw Baba Yaga.

“I am here, Babushka,” she said.

Baba Yaga hissed as she lowered her head; blood covered most of her chest. Vasilisa reached up and stroked the monster’s face, carefully drawing the broken arrow out.

Billi cautiously made her way toward them. She could hardly breathe after having been crushed under the collapsed roof, and her head swam with exhaustion and pain.

Blood formed soapy bubbles around the old crone’s mouth. Baba Yaga stretched out her fingers, and Vasilisa put her hand in the Dark Goddess’s.

“Vasilisa, get away from her!” Billi dropped her bow and began to run toward them.

“Child …” said Baba Yaga. She gazed at her huge palm. Then, through the crevasses of wrinkled skin, a thin green shoot unfurled itself. Baba Yaga gasped.

The green veins spread along Baba Yaga’s fingers and up her arm. Billi watched as a string of flowers sprouted across the witch’s fingertips. Vasilisa kept her small hand in Baba Yaga’s even as it began to transform, her skin thickening into deep wrinkled bark. Her arms turned into thick, long boughs, and her fingers burst with bright green leaves until her body was covered in lustrous foliage. Baba Yaga’s black eyes flowered with purple irises. Her iron teeth closed forever, and her blood turned to moss.

A wolf crept up to the bent oak tree. It sniffed around the trunk. It whined and molded its body from wolf back into human. Others gathered around, some as wolves, some in human form. Olga was nowhere to be seen.

“My God. It’s over,” whispered Billi. Baba Yaga was gone. Vasilisa stumbled toward her, and they hugged. Billi bent down and cupped Vasilisa’s bloody face. “We did it, Vasilisa. We-”

Koshchey strode toward them, surrounded by what remained of his army-ten or so men. The Bogatyrs had been decimated in the battle, it seemed. They stopped six or seven yards away, and Koshchey pointed his pistol at Billi.

“Give me the girl,” he said.

No, not after all this. He was too far away for her to attack, and at her first move he’d put a bullet in her head. But she didn’t care. “Forget it, Koshchey. You can kill me, but you won’t get a dozen feet before the werewolves rip you to pieces. If they don’t, the Templars certainly will.”

“You have cost me too much, Templar, for me to walk away empty-handed. I have lost half my men getting here. Give me the girl. What I get from the vampires for the Spring Child will barely cover expenses.”

“You will not have her.” Billi’s heart pounded in her chest, and hot blood began to course through her body, filling her muscles with fiery strength. The Beast Within sensed victory.

Koshchey gazed at her, then at the werewolves gathered around him. Nobody would come out of this a clear victor. The bloodbath wasn’t over yet.

Koshchey nodded. “You are right, Templar.” He raised his pistol. “But if I can’t have her, no one can.” A shot rang out, and Billi gasped. Vasilisa let go of Billi and put a hand to her chest. She looked quietly surprised. A red spot grew on her white smock. She tilted away and fell.

Koshchey fired once more, and Vasilisa twitched. Then stopped.

“She’s all yours,” he said.

45

WHAT?

What?

Billi stared at Vasilisa. Then at Koshchey.

What?

Adeep, threatening growl rumbled in her throat as she stood and turned toward him. Koshchey backed away into the protective circle of his Bogatyrs.

“Do not try it, little Templar.”

Billi stepped forward. It really didn’t matter now, but she was still going to kill him. Koshchey pointed the pistol at her head. At this distance he could hardly miss.

“I will warn you only once.”

Billi had one weapon left-her dagger. She pulled it out and held it in her fist. If she died, she’d make sure she took him with her. The power racing through her meant she’d leap the few feet between them easily.

“BILLI.” A hand, wet and sticky, touched her arm, and she turned. “STEP AWAY.”

Vasilisa stood in the red snow. She was covered in blood and there was a burn hole in the center of her smock. She looked up at Billi and smiled, a guileless child’s smile. But the eyes were aged, not just a few years, but many, many thousands. They were black and as deep as eternity. Billi glanced at the Bogatyrs, then stepped away, retreating from the young girl who’d now become so much more. Baba Yaga had tried to consume Vasilisa, but instead Vasilisa had consumed her. All the Spring Children now inhabited the body of a nine-year-old. And so did all their powers.

Vasilisa stepped forward and faced Koshchey. “KOSHCHEY THE UNDYING,” she said in a chorus of countless souls.

Koshchey fired. His men fired. Bullets shattered against Vasilisa’s body as she held out her arms. Billi ducked behind a rusty car as the bullets rebounded off the invulnerable avatar. The gap between them filled with smoke and the stench of gunpowder. When Vasilisa lowered her arms, Koshchey was staring at her in mute horror.

Vasilisa looked to the surrounding Polenitsy. “COME, DAUGHTERS, FEED ON MANFLESH.”

“Wait!”

The command was clear and imperious. Ivan hobbled out of the rubble. His chest was a mess of tattered cloth and blood, and he dragged his leg as he walked.

“Ivan?” Billi blinked. He was alive. She reached for him, but his eyes were on Koshchey. Her heart trembled. Koshchey’s men outnumbered him-he would lose. Couldn’t he see that? Billi bit her lip and stopped. She wanted to run to him, help him, but this was not the time. He had a score to settle. All she could do was stand by and watch.

Vasilisa raised her hand, stopping the Polenitsy.

“TSAREVICH.” She acknowledged his presence and his right.

Smashed and battered as he was, there was almost demonic determination in Ivan’s eyes as he gazed at Koshchey. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”

Koshchey’s eyes narrowed. “A duel, perhaps? For what, Tsarevich?”

“If you win, then you go free.”

One of the Polenitsy shouted, but Vasilisa nodded in Ivan’s direction. “SO BE IT.”

Koshchey laughed. Hands on hips, he threw back his head and bellowed.

“You want to fight me? You can barely-”

The gun boomed once, and Koshchey fell. The thunder of the gunshot echoed across the city. Ivan stood, the big revolver perfectly still in his hand, the smoke whispering out of the long, shiny barrel.

“I want you dead,” he said. “And that is all I want.”

The Bogatyrs stared at the body of their leader. Then back at Ivan. They were a tight unit, but suddenly they looked lost and not a little frightened.

“Go now,” he ordered. He tossed the empty gun aside and cleaned the sweat from his forehead. The Bogatyrs, throwing their weapons away, fled.

Billi ran forward into his arms. “Thank God. I thought you were dead.”