The Trials of Ascension

Chapter 1 – Wacław

Chapter 1 – WacławI could fly forever.

THE WINDS DANCED AT MY FINGERTIPS, willing followers more than obedient servants as I raced over the peaks of Perun’s Crown. A laugh escaped my lungs and formed a thick fog that joined with the clouds around me. To fly was to be free of Jawia’s pain for mere moments. It was bliss—but joy was as fickle as the gales.

I had slept by a tree each day since we’d found the clans. It was foolish, but whenever I laid my hands on one’s bark and thought of the roots stretching deep below, Otylia didn’t seem so far.

An unconvincing lie. Otylia was more distant than ever before, dragged to the depths of Nawia by Jaryło.

In recent days, I had defeated Marzanna’s płanetnik called Eryk, negotiated a peace between our Krowikie tribe and the clans, and traveled through lands I never thought I would see. None of it mattered. The world was empty knowing Otylia was alone with Jaryło and Weles, who her mother had fled for years. I’m coming for you, Otylka, whether Weles likes it or not.

A cluster of cottages appeared through the clouds. Nestled among the hills covering southern Astiw was the village of Likiec—Eryk’s home. The płanetnik had hung himself in hopes of saving his daughter, Yeva, years ago. In return for his loyalty, I had promised him I would help him free Yeva from her husband’s abuse.

After losing Otylia, Kuba, and so many others on our journey, I didn’t wish to fight, but I had given my word. Marzanna had not honored hers. I would not make the same mistake.

Dark clouds swirled north of the village. Lightning cracked and thunder rolled, feeding the power that surged through me as my fellow demon drew near. Revenge had a spirit of its own, but this was more than vengeance. There was love in Eryk’s eyes.

“Wacław Lubiewicz,” Eryk said as his wooden staff and scraggly, gray beard broke through the wall of clouds. “You have found my village, my home. For so long, it’s been hidden from my memory, but you have brought me back to my Yeva.”

As he drew near and knelt before me on the winds, I winced at the charred blood moon arcing from his temple to the base of his cheek—my mark. Jaryło had scolded me for letting the demon live, but what I had done was no mercy. That mark placed him under my influence. He had once served Marzanna, and now he served me. Did I deserve that service?

“Are you certain your daughter is still here?” I asked, motioning for him to rise.

He drew a heavy breath and gazed down upon the village. Anticipation filled his gray eyes, and I worried he would be disappointed after ten years. “You either leave Likiec by fire or the spear. If Yeva still lives, she will be here.”

“Do you wish to confront the man alone?”

“I will have you at my side, if you choose to do so.”

When I nodded, he clutched his staff and dove with the fury of the storm. I followed, and the air tore through my hair and loose tunic as we shot toward the edge of the village. My hand drifted to Kwiecień, the golden Moonblade of the fourth moon, at my back. I had yet to use Jaryło’s sword in battle. I hoped tonight would not be the first.

Eryk landed in a wooded patch just south of a lonely cottage. It was no larger than Mom and my single room house in Dwie Rzeki, and smoke billowed from a window facing us. To the northeast lay a fallow field, where barley or wheat would’ve normally been planted if not for Marzanna’s extended winter. It was deep in the night. Beyond the sound of the storm, it was eerily quiet, and a fog hovered as the dark clouds neared.

“I’ve waited too long for this moment,” Eryk said as I slid through the shadows behind him. “It seems a dream.”

“I don’t dream,” I replied. Though it was meant to be a joke, it didn’t come off as one, and his gaze met me with narrowed eyes.

“If only I didn’t.” The storm swelled around us with each of his breaths. “Each day, when I shut my eyes, I see only Yeva’s face. But because of you, now, I can have peace.”

If only peace was so simple.

Part of me believed that finding Otylia would calm my soul, but I knew better. After all Marzanna had done, I could not rest until her looming threat was over. My chest tightened at the thought of what I might become in the process.

Eryk stepped into the light of the waxing moon. His gray cloak dissolved into the fog and remained barely visible as I followed mere strides behind.

Whispers circled us on the winds, strengthening as we approached the cottage. “Kill him,” they hissed. “Make the fool suffer.”

As Eryk pulled open the door, they pounded my ears, my mind—not the gods of the winds but dark spirits, feeding on revenge.

“Mutilate him! Ensure he never sees the grasses of Nawia. Make him like us…”

Screams echoed in the confined space as gusts tore through the house, extinguishing the hearth and sweeping bowls and mugs off the table. A man clothed in nothing but a pair of roughspun trousers staggered back as he clutched a spear.

Behind him cowered a frail woman. She stared up at Eryk with an unknowing gaze, and I thanked the gods I was invisible in my soul-form.

“Out, demon!” the man shouted, jabbing the tip of his spear at Eryk.

It was no use. Eryk charged forward and wrapped the man in the winds. He pulled the air from the man’s lungs, slowly suffocating him as Yeva pled for it to stop, but despite her cries, the spirits were louder, their wills stronger.

“Hang him! Let his breath linger only enough for him to live in agony.”

The voices prodded at me. They wanted my rage, my hatred, but unleashing that power would only bring pain. So, I turned away from them, grabbing Eryk’s arm as his hand closed around the man’s throat. “If he becomes a demon like us, then she’ll never rest.”

“Death is too kind an ending.”

“What good is revenge if you sacrifice Yeva to get it?”

Eryk looked at Yeva, curled up in the corner with an amulet of Mokosz clutched in her thin fingers and a prayer to the goddess on her lips. He winced before loosening his grip on the man. “Go far from this place. Take nothing and leave my daughter. You shall never harm her again.”

The man stumbled back, gasping for air. His breaths were weak as the winds tore around him, but hatred filled his eyes. “You haunt me, old man?”

“Father?” Yeva asked. “Father!” She pushed past her husband and embraced Eryk, who clung to her like a father to a newborn child.

Eryk glared at the man over his daughter’s shoulder. “Go, before I question my mercy!”

The man lunged for his spear, but before his fingers graced its shaft, lightning arced from Eryk’s palm. He didn’t have the chance to scream.

Around us, the spirits howled in dismay at the man’s quick death. They broke from the winds and swarmed us in a tide of black smoke as Yeva screamed and tried to hide.

“You deny us the man,” they hissed, “so we will take the girl.”

A force threw me into the wall. It was impossible to see the spirits in the dark, and their talons ripped through my tunic as I froze, my breaths caught in my throat. I can’t fight them… Not now…

Their strikes sent visions of Otylia’s death rushing through my head. The blood. The fear in her eyes. It was too much… I couldn’t save her…

“Run!” Eryk shouted to me, bursting through the door with Yeva.

I shook myself from the shock and followed. Disoriented, I caught hold of the winds as I reached the doorway. They were weak, more distant than before, but when the spirits dove ahead, thrashing at Yeva, I drew Kwiecień and took flight. The sword shone in the moonlight, all its power radiating from its sharp edge as I swung at the first visible spirit. Its shrieking tore at my ears, but the blade didn’t waver. Gold sliced through the wisps of black.

The stench of death hung in that vapor, and dread rose within me once again as the four remaining spirits flooded the open air. Their bodies seemed to fade in and out of reality, their feathered, black wings snapping through the air as talons extended from their hands and feet. What are they?

Rain poured as Eryk spun his staff and called the winds to deflect the spirits’ attacks. But they were quicker than Eryk’s gusts, slipping through his defenses and grabbing hold of Yeva.

I hesitated before following. Each movement felt forced, as if I were swimming upstream. The rage lurking within hammered my head, but I ignored its call as I skipped above the spirits. That pain would destroy me. I wouldn’t let it—not with Otylia and so many others relying on me.

With the spirits below, calling a lightning strike was tempting, but just keeping myself airborne was a struggle. I couldn’t afford to drain my žityje—my life force—as I had twice before. Though I’d focused on that energy during our time with the clan, I still had little grasp of it beyond sensing roughly how much I had left while in my soul-form.

Two of the creatures carried Yeva into the sky as the final pair split and lunged at us. I blocked the first’s strike with Kwiecień before countering. The blade felt light, nimble compared to the winds, and I let my instincts from years of Xobas’s lessons guide me. When its talons swiped at my head, I followed its movement, ducking before sending Kwiecień’s tip through its heart—if it had one.

My cheeks burned with the chilled gales. Below, Eryk’s wind blast killed the other spirit, but the final two were little more than flickers of black in the dim light. If Yeva hadn’t been thrashing, they would’ve slipped away. She did, though, and her kicks dislodged one of the creatures, distracting it long enough for Eryk to close in and send a bolt of lightning into its head.

The spirit dissolved as the remaining one climbed ever higher. Yeva screamed, but it gripped her wrists, not giving her a chance to fight free. Though Eryk’s winds swore and cursed the spirit, it increased its pace.

Why am I so slow? I was a płanetnik, a demon of the winds, yet they gave no heed to my call.

Clouds soon enveloped Yeva’s dress. I flew on without direction, and when lightning cracked, it revealed nothing but rain and a sea of gray.

“Follow, my boy!” Eryk’s shout rang from below. Sweeping past me, sparks cracked from the end of his staff.

His energy pulled me through the clouds, battering me against the turbulent air within. I had no idea how Eryk knew where they’d gone, but he charged on without hesitation. Only the winds’ senses guided me behind.

A disturbance split the clouds ahead and tore the storm from our control. I fought, but the winds defied me. Without their lift, I dropped like a stone.

What is this?

A scaled, wingless beast of deep gray hovered above. Yeva screamed from the serpent’s coiled grasp as it roared, displaying jagged teeth and lightning cracking within its maw. When the snap hammered my ears, I dove to the side. Not far enough.

The bolt shot toward my chest as I raised Kwiecień into its path. Lightning met Moonstone in a blinding flash, sending me reeling.

My mind spun and the ground rushed ever closer. I called for the winds. For north’s power. For south’s heat. For northwest’s tempests. None answered my plea until panic snapped through me as I reached the treetops. Cervenko’s east and Dogoda’s west winds collided to stop my fall. The impact sent a shock up my spine, but I rolled on the soft west wind as another bolt shot past. Static made my hair stand on end.

Why’d you wait so long? I asked the winds. Why respond now?

Answers would have to wait since, above, the serpent roared and Eryk wielded the tattered rope that had once entrapped his throat, throwing it over the beast’s head. I took a relieved breath, but the serpent swung its tail and clattered the płanetnik in the throat. His storm faded as he tumbled.

I sent the west wind to cushion his fall. Žityje poured from me, far more than I should’ve needed for such a simple command, and with the serpent’s control of the storm, I struggled to fly toward it. Fear rose within me. The serpent had turned to flee, Yeva still in its grasp, and it would be out of sight in seconds. I couldn’t fail. Not again.

But no matter how hard I tried, the winds wouldn’t answer. Tears stung my eyes watching Yeva disappear into the storm, her face flickering to Otylia’s before vanishing completely. I pushed them away. Sorrow wouldn’t save Yeva or Otylia. I had to be stronger, to overcome the weakness that had allowed Jaryło to take Otylia from me.

It wasn’t enough.

A sea of black met me on the other side of the clouds. Still, I flew on for some time until I was far from Likiec and the storm, but there was no sight of Yeva or the serpent anywhere. I’d lost her.

My grip grew limp on Kwiecień as I stopped and stood on the air. It was quiet here, peaceful, but my souls were at war as I contemplated defeat. The demon’s rage and the mortal’s loss. Both felt like a hot iron driven into my skin, so I ignored them, drove them deep into me until nothing remained but a cavern in my chest. Empty like the sky.

Eryk reached me sometime later, bringing the rain clouds with him. I didn’t know how long it had been, but Dadźbóg’s sun peeked over the mountains in the east. I don’t want to go back.

What did I want? To save Otylia, bring peace to Jawia, save my tribe and the clans, or just float through the sky, feeling nothing but the gentlest breeze against my skin? I didn’t know.

A new surge of pain clutched me as Eryk stared into the distance, blinking away tears. Sorrow, raw and unyielding. Its weight tore me down less than a moon after losing Otylia, but Eryk had waited years to see his daughter again. Did the longing dominate his mind too?

“I’m sorry,” my voice said, lost on the winds.

He took a heavy sigh as the rain fell upon us. “Wacław, this is not your doing. In taking your mark, I was able to see Yeva again, to see the woman she has become. Words cannot express how thankful I am.” His voice cracked as he dropped to a knee before me, and I looked away so my heart wouldn’t shatter with it. Not now. “My curse erased the location of my home from my mind, but you returned me here. Yeva is not gone forever. I will search for the chała that stole her from me, and I will ensure she has the life she deserved.”

“Please, don’t kneel,” I said. “You took my mark in return for a promise—one I failed to uphold. You are free from my will. If I were to force you to endure this bond, then I would prove myself a real demon.”

Standing, Eryk raised a hand to his marked cheek. It was odd to know I had done that to him, as if I had some right to claim him as mine, like Marzanna had done to me. “I will serve you once I find her,” he said. “Whatever you ask, I will do what I can as long as it is within my power.”

I looked to the mountains of Perun’s Crown with the cold rain trickling down my face. It stung, but I invited the distraction from the resentment growing within me. At Marzanna for the destruction she’d wrought. At Father for abandoning me, abusing me. At Jaryło for taking Otylia from me. And at myself for failing to stop him and Yeva’s abductors. My demonic soul fed upon that anger, demanding it fester. No, the void in my chest was better than that craving.

“You aren’t my servant,” I insisted, holding my Frostmarked hand into the rain and letting it slip through my fingers. “That mark would allow me to influence you if I wished, but I wouldn’t be much different than Marzanna if I did. Go, find your daughter. When you return, it is your choice what you wish to do. Gods know Jawia has enough people forced to fight against their will already.”

“If you were not so young,” Eryk said with a nod, “I would have offered Yeva’s hand to you in repayment for what you’ve done. To not only avenge my death but to help me fight the chały that threatened my daughter…”

My mind turned to Otylia again, and I closed my eyes for a moment as another wave of sorrow hit me. “Even if that were Yeva’s will, I couldn’t have accepted anyway. There’s… another…” I shook my head. Focus. “You mentioned chały? The one Marzanna sent before was nothing like those.”

“Demons are not all alike. Chały are shapeshifters and dark spirits. They are the foes of we płanetnikami. We are meant to build the clouds and lead the storms—when not abused by rogue gods—but they only destroy.” With a stab of his staff into the clouds, he hummed in thought. “The morning comes.”

“It does,” I said with a sigh. The others would be expecting me. In recent days, Ara had expressed fears I was spending too much time in my soul-form. She believed it dampened my mind and mortal soul. Perhaps it did, but it was an escape I needed. Others had dreams. I had only the winds.

Eryk laid a hand on my shoulder. “I wish I could offer you more assistance in finding the girl, but Cervenko may know more. Seek him on his eastern wind. Then, pray we both find the ones we love.”

I nodded, and he flew into the clouds.

At first, I moved to return to the clans, but I let the rain fall upon me a few minutes more. In the east, Dadźbóg’s early light cast a golden halo over the mountains, splitting into a rainbow of a hundred colors as the clouds drifted away. To gain hope from such a thing was childish, but I let it cover my hurt and regret.

My hand closed around the bow of Dziewanna at my chest—Otylia’s amulet—and I prayed to both mother and daughter, “May the coming day bless us with hope and the night gift us peace. Show me the way to you, my Otylka, and let me stray from that path under neither sun nor moon.”