Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 38711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
“That bad?”
“Mhm. Take it from me, kid. You don’t need that story in your life. Now, he is supposed to be much more powerful than he is.”
The melalo gulped the feed, choked, and kept eating.
“I don’t know why the hell he is like this. Maybe because one of his heads died or maybe not enough people believe in him anymore.”
“You don’t like him.” Finn tilted his head.
“I don’t.”
“Why do you have him if he’s that bad then?”
“He showed up on my doorstep half-dead, crawled to my boot, and clung to it. What was I supposed to do, toss him into the garbage?”
Roman poured a little more milk into another bowl and set that on the floor. The cabinet door under the sink opened, and the anchutka crawled out and headed for it.
“And this one?”
“An anchutka. They get a bad rep, but they are just small magic critters. Similar to lesser fae. Don’t like salt or iron. Mostly keep to themselves. They only get agitated when people encroach on their territory, and even then, all they do is try to scare you with eerie noises and stare at you from the darkness. They’re cowards. After this one eats, she will crawl back into her cabinet and we won’t see her until everything is over.”
A low whine rolled through the house.
“And that?”
“That’s Roro. Roro will get to come out after everyone eats. If I let her out now, she’ll tear through here like a wrecking ball, and I don’t have time to clean up that mess.”
Roman took another pot off the stove and ladled out two bowls of stew. He’d made a big pot yesterday. With his mood getting worse and worse, he knew he wouldn’t feel like cooking. Warming up the leftovers for the next three days would be about all he was capable of. Except now things had shifted.
“This is for us. Venison and wild mushrooms. Don’t give any to your dog. Mushrooms aren’t good for her.”
They took their food into the living room. Finn sat on the couch, brought the first spoonful to his lips, tasted it, and began shoveling the stew into his mouth. He mustn’t have eaten for a couple of days, but he’d fed the nechist first without complaining. Maybe there was something to this kid.
Roman walked over to the window. Night had fallen, the snow a ghostly blue blanket on the ground. He concentrated. The darkness parted before his eyes. The mercenary assholes had gone to ground just beyond the property line. They were checking their crossbows.
“Our friends are thinking of invading.” He tasted the stew. Mmmm, good. His appetite was back. How about that?
Finn raised his head from his bowl.
“Let’s see if we can’t discourage them a bit.”
Roman twisted his left hand in their air, reshaping the magic, and gave it a push. A ball of blue fire shot out from his chest through the window and unfurled about ten feet above the snow, flowing into a six-foot-tall skull made of magic glow. The skull’s lower jaw swiveled as if laughing. The four sabertooth fangs on the top and bottom rows cracked against each other loudly.
The mercenaries hit the snow in unison.
The skull exploded into a dozen spheres of ball lightning. The shining clumps streaked in a semicircle and broke against skull torches that slid out of the ground. The carved skulls atop the eight-foot poles ignited, bathing the front yard in an eerie neon light. One of the balls perched atop the Christmas tree. Roman pulled a bit more magic from it and scattered small bits of glow throughout the branches.
Nice.
Finn’s jaw hung open.
“Fancy, no?” Roman chuckled.
Finn remembered to close his mouth.
The mercenaries stayed down. Heh. That’s right, enjoy the snow.
“Is that so you could see them?” Finn asked.
“It’s so they can see each other. I don’t need light. I know exactly where they are.”
“I don’t get it,” Finn said.
“They thought they would be slick and sneak up on me in the dark. Now the yard is lit up, so they don’t have cover anymore.”
Roman dropped into a chair and started on his stew.
“But couldn’t you just pick them off in the darkness?”
“I could,” Roman agreed. “But I told you, taking a human life comes with a cost. You should only kill when you have no choice.”
Finn had stopped eating. He was looking into the fire, lost in thought.
“What is it?” Roman asked.
“Your god is an evil god.”
“Chernobog is a dark god, technically.”
“When you healed the dog, you told him he was evil enough. You didn’t heal me with that magic because I’m not evil enough.”
“It’s more complicated than that, but go on, make your point.”
“Why take care of all these creatures? Why not sacrifice them? Why wouldn’t you kill those people out there? Shouldn’t that be something your god would like?”
Roman sighed. “You’re confusing darkness and death with the profoundly immoral. The Slavic pagan world has three parts, the Tri-world, made up of Yav, Nav, and Prav. Yav is the realm of humans. Prav is where the light, good gods live; deities like Svarog the Smith, God of Fire, and Belobog, God of Light and Creation. Then there is Nav, the death realm, where the dark, evil gods dwell. My god is Chernobog, Belobog’s twin. God of Darkness and Death. Do you know what’s beyond Nav?”