A Dagger in the Winds

Chapter 1 - Wacław

Chapter 1 - WacławFOUR YEARS LATER

He’s winning… again.

“STOP HESITATING,” XOBAS DEMANDED, circling me with sweat beading on his olive-skinned brow and his shield held tight to his chest. When he lunged, his cavalry sword clashed against my shield, knocking me to the dirt. “It’s not your day, Wacław, is it?”

My arms ached as I pushed myself to my feet and sighed. It’s never my day when we’re sparring.

At Father’s command, Xobas had trained me to fight ever since the wolf attack four years before. I was sixteen now. Still, the swordsman repeated the same instructions. Though Father believed his general’s foreign style would teach me to adapt to any opponent, all it had given me was a sore butt.

A wicked grin crossed Xobas’s face as he took his stance. “We go again. It’s time for you to shake off the winter’s chill and become the warrior the high chief expects you to be.”

With a deep breath, I readied myself for the next blow, holding my wooden shield in front of me and my short spear alongside it. The cold shaft burned against my fingers. Despite the sun now hovering at the tips of the trees, its warmth had yet to reach our sparring ring.

“Why must we spar at first light?” I asked. “It’s the equinox, and… you know…”

He advanced, chuckling as he did. “You Krowikie and your festivals. You believe this one is your time to find a girl?”

“Maybe…” I whispered to myself, unsure whether to hope as I thought of Genowefa dancing with the grace of the winds.

Xobas yelled and swung again, catching me in my thoughts. His sword sliced toward my head, and though I raised my shield to block the blow, the force was enough. I stumbled before he swept my legs and sent me to the ground.

His jagged gaze met me as I picked myself up for the fifth time that morning. “You can’t be distracted like that in a battle,” he said. “Solgawi swordsmen won’t spare you if you let down your guard thinking about a girl’s pretty eyes. In solo combat, you must take charge, understanding how your opponent will react.”

I had grown up listening to warriors telling stories of Solga’s many invasions from west of the Krowik River. Our tribe was named after that great river, and only it and a few miles of swampland separated their latest advance from our territory. Father had spent his life as the high chief working to unite the other Krowikie chiefs against the Solgawi. That unity had been enough to maintain peace for the last six years, but warriors in Father’s inner circle were demanding we retake our lost land. I could only hope cooler heads prevailed.

Xobas’s words spurred me. Despite my body aching from the beating, I gripped my spear tighter. He smiled as I shuffled forward, bending my knees so the circular shield covered more of my torso.

While he danced back and forth, I waited for my moment. I had seen this game far too often. He wanted to throw me off balance and strike the opposite direction. This time, I promised myself that I wouldn’t let him.

For only a second, he hopped to the left. Don’t flinch. I held my position as he spun back around, using his momentum to swing the curved cavalry sword. His stomach flashed beneath his tunic as his shield lagged.

Now!

I thrust my spear through the gap, striking Xobas just under his ribs and sending him to the ground.

As he wheezed and pushed himself to a knee, guilt swelled within me. The training spear had a blunt end, but he would be sore through the festival regardless. While he had given me more than my share of scrapes and bruises since we’d started sparring, I didn’t enjoy hurting him.

“That’s more like it!” he said, reaching his hand out to me as the light of Dadźbóg, god of the sun, split through the bare trees.

Grabbing his arm, I pulled him to his feet. He never covered his forearms, and on his right one, a tattoo of a horse traced the lines of a gruesome scar. I had always wondered if it had come from his time with the eastern Simukie clan before he’d joined our tribe. My curiosity had gotten the better of me once, but I had learned my lesson. Little angered Xobas. That question did.

“Have I earned myself a rest?” I asked, failing to hide my anticipation. There was much to do before the start of the two-day spring equinox festival surrounding the Drowning of Marzanna, but Father would be angry if I left before Xobas excused me.

Dirt covered his brown tunic, but he brushed it off without breaking eye contact. “Yes, you may go. It would be a shame if your gods struck me down for keeping you away from your true love.” He chuckled. “Run along. Paint your pretty eggs and set your doll on fire.”

“We’re all part of the egg hunt, but only the girls paint them,” I said, strapping my shield to my back and doing the same with the spear. “And it isn’t a doll.”

He sheathed his sword and crossed his toned arms. “Ah, yes. The burning and drowning of the winter goddess’s effigy sounds like the perfect time to woo a beautiful woman.”

He has a point. I blushed. “Won’t you be coming? Last time I heard the stories, there was no age limit on having fun.”

“But there definitely is on the belief in true love.”

I shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself, but that just means more food for me.”

With that, I took off, racing and sliding through the trees. In our settlement of Dwie Rzeki, there was nothing to do but farm, herd the cattle and horses, and wander the forest. There had to be something more.

As much as I didn’t want to put my faith in a silly festival to fall in love, I would jump the fire tonight and be declared a man, eligible to wed. Our tribe considered the rituals of the summer festivals to be the peak time for couples, but the courting began now.

My doubts slid away with every second that passed. Just the thought of it made me giddy. I listen to Mom’s stories too much.

Brown and gray ruled the forests, but today, the spring gods came with the dawn. Jaryło would bring life to the crops and his golden shield to protect us from our enemies, and Dziewanna would make the wilds bloom and rivers flow.

Each of my steps crunched more of the dried and dead leaves that had been preserved beneath the snow. I leaped with each landing, trying to crush as many of them as I could. Mom always said the forest, not the village, was our home. As I listened to the trees creak in the wind and the leaves crinkle under my boots, I had to agree.

I reached the farmland at the edge of the village and jumped over a log, feeling the breeze skim the back of my neck. The cattle watched me run, but they paid me only a moment of attention before returning to their grass. Just like the girls.

With the trees sparser here, the daylight illuminated the sloped thatch roofs of the wooden houses, sunken below ground to keep in as much warmth as possible during the long winter moons. Besides the sound of my heavy breaths, the winds, and my boots thudding against the dirt, it was silent. I treasured that as I turned down the trail to our home.

There was something magical about the woods beyond Dwie Rzeki’s wooden walls. They brought a peace that the day’s work and busy village center lacked. With nobody around but the trees and birds, I was myself.

That magic faded as I passed the place Otylia and I had entered the forest four years before. Our final late-night journey. My heart ached at the thought. So much had changed since then.

A trail of smoke stretched to the sky ahead of me. Mom’s up.

She was always an early riser, which made life difficult for me. While she found her energy from the second her eyes opened, I struggled to find that morning spark. My nightly wanderings in my soul-body stole that from me.

I hopped down the four steps to our house and pushed open the wooden door. It creaked as I slid inside, setting my shield and training spear on the dirt floor in the corner as the warmth of the stone stove washed over me. The house was only eight strides long and half that wide, so the stove never failed to keep us warm, even in the midst of winter’s grip.

Mom turned from her kettle and smiled, the blaze illuminating her pale skin and loose golden hair. “I was wondering how long Xobas would keep you. Here, I’m sure you’re freezing.”

She handed me a steaming bowl of soup, which I accepted eagerly. As she went about making one for herself, I sat at the small table in the middle of the room and wrapped my hands around the clay bowl, letting its heat flow through my body. For just a few seconds, I didn’t care that it burned my palms. “It took some effort to convince him to let me go this early.”

“Your father will be pleased he’s pushing you,” she replied, sitting across from me.

All my life, she’d referred to him as your father. I assumed it was because Father had agreed to the request of High Chieftess Natasza that he throw us out of the longhouse, ending Mom’s time as a concubine—a secondary wife. I had only been a baby when it’d happened. In a village with little in the name of drama, though, it had apparently been talked about for moons.

I didn’t mind living apart from Father, Natasza, and my five half-brothers and sisters. Mom and I had a cottage to ourselves. We’d been forced beyond the village walls’ protection, but Father’s longhouse wasn’t far. Just distant enough to typically avoid Father’s stern control and close enough to see my siblings—or at least the ones I liked.

I stared at my spoon as it drifted through the steaming liquid. “I doubt my fighting will ever satisfy Father.”

“Jacek is a difficult man to please.” Her gaze dropped to her bowl before she smiled up at me.

Even with nothing but the stove’s aura and the flickering candle on the table to provide light, her eyes were a bright blue like mine. She’s faking joy for me. I let her do it. She wanted me to be happy, but she deserved it too.

“Are you excited for the festival?” she asked.

My heart jumped. I forced myself to sip the soup to give me time to think. All that accomplished, though, was burning my tongue, and I let out a yelp.

“Oh, that nervous?”

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve as I blushed. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, just a mother’s intuition. Is there a girl in particular who has your heart fluttering like the birds? Genowefa? Otylia?”

How does she always know? All the boys wanted Genowefa. One glance from her was enough to make my heart stop. “Does it matter who I’m fond of? Father will probably just marry me off to some chief’s daughter to keep his loyalty, and he’s made sure I haven’t had a real conversation with Otylia in years.”

An understanding smile crossed her face. “I remember jumping the fire with hope in my heart.” Her eyes drifted to the stove. Memories swirled in them. “Jacek was the second-born, like you, and all the girls were fond of him.”

“Not like me…” I mumbled.

Chuckling, she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. It was a small thing, but it calmed my heart. “Oh, my Wašek,” she began. “I would not wish upon you the trials your father faced. With prestige, it’s often difficult to know who truly loves you and whose heart is full of greed. The others may scoff at you because of me, but when you find someone who sees beyond that, you’ll know they’re the one.”

I picked at the calluses on my palm, avoiding her gaze. Being the son of a concubine didn’t make me untouchable, but it was enough. Though I was Father’s second-born, my family name was Lubiewicz, son of Lubena, instead of Jackiewicz, son of Jacek. Only bastards took their mother’s name, and even now the other boys mocked me for it. To them I was the Half-Chief and nothing more.

“But you loved him?” I asked.

“It was hard not to. Your father could charm any girl, but at the summer solstice that year, he chose me.” Her spoon slipped into the bowl. She stared at it for a few moments before letting out a sigh. “Of course, you have heard the rest of the story.”

With a reassuring smile, I shrugged. “He got stuck with wicked Natasza, and you got me to help feed the horses and plow the field.”

“And I thank Mokosz for that blessing.” She tapped the wooden amulet of the Great Mother that hung from her neck, then stood without finishing her soup. As she pulled her dress from around the stool, she glanced at the stove and clicked her tongue.

During our meal, the fire had dwindled, and sorrow filled her eyes when she turned back to me. “I’m sure you would like to prepare for the festival, but can you grab more firewood first? They needed so much for the bonfire, and I—”

“Happy to,” I said as I followed her to the stove. “There’s still time before everything begins, and I’ll never turn down an excuse to wander the woods.”

“Don’t travel too far, and don’t—”

“Follow the leszy’s whispers,” I interrupted again, grabbing the iron ax leaning against my bed, where she’d probably placed it as a hint—one I had missed. Mom had constantly warned me of the forest spirit’s call for years. Not that either of us had ever heard it.

She swept across the room, placing the bowls next to the bucket of water by her bed that she must have already pulled from the well. “I sometimes forget how old you’ve gotten.”

I kissed her on the cheek and headed to the door with the ax swung over my shoulder. “Never too old to love your stories. Be back soon.”

“When you return, I’ll likely be feeding the animals. I love you.”

I flashed a smile in response and climbed back into the daylight. Overhead, the eight winds carried the gray clouds, and I prayed to Perun, god of sky and thunder, that he’d stay his storms.

Please let me have this one day.

As I wandered through the woods, though, the air battered my back. I tried to ignore it as I searched for suitable downed trees to chop, but after a few minutes of enduring the torrent, I stopped and let the head of my ax rest against an exposed tree root. A chill ran up my arms.

“What are you telling me?” I asked Perun as I stared into the sky.

The bushes rustled nearby.

My breaths caught, and I whipped around, ready to fight as I studied the forest. Demons didn’t often attack during the day, but other spirits lurked, and rogue wolves or bears could strike a lone wanderer. I shuddered. Otylia can’t protect me this time.

A buck watched me from less than ten paces away, its eyes full of the fear I had felt moments ago. I loosened my grip on the ax. “Hey there.”

It huffed and swung its head like a restless horse.

“What’s wrong?” Deer weren’t a rare sight, but they normally ran if you got too close. This one just stared at me and repeated the motion. Is it trying to point? I looked to the clouds. “You want me to follow it?”

The buck took off before skidding to a stop and looking back at me. It let out another sharp breath.

I glanced toward our cottage. This isn’t a voice, right? A thrill rose within me as the winds returned, forcing me to stumble after the deer. Soon, I gave in and ran myself. What harm could a deer be?

Dashing through the trees, my arms and legs ached. I cursed Xobas for my soreness as the ax weighed me down. I struggled to keep up with the buck, but whenever it reached the edge of my vision, it stopped and waited, its eyes judging my slowness. “I’m coming!” I called after it.

Am I actually talking to a deer? Is that worse than talking to the sky?

Without answers, I kept running. The air seemed to chill the longer I went, and the ground grew hard against my boots as frost replaced the muck of spring. I knew the forest well, but by now, I had no clue where we were. Wherever the mysterious deer was leading me, I was trapped in its wake.

My patience soon wore thin and my legs tired. I stopped as we reached a rock outcropping, dropping the ax and placing my hands on my knees as I caught my breath. When I looked up, I lost it again.

The deer transformed, morphing into a spiraling tower of bark and leaves, roots and dirt. The creaking deafened me, and I froze to my spot as it grew to over twice my height. It twisted out, forming legs, arms, antlers, a mask of bone, and… No…

From the top of the tower, two green eyes stared down at me. A mouth formed among the vines, and the leszy’s voice rumbled the whole woods when he spoke, “Hello, Wacław. I’ve been waiting for you.”