A Dagger in the Winds

Chapter 3 - Wacław

Chapter 3 - WacławI should have listened to Mom.

I SCRAMBLED BACK, my heart racing as the leszy’s long legs stepped toward me, roots and vines twisting as they closed in.

Where’s my ax?

Its iron head glinted against the snow between us. I lunged forward, but the creature’s vines engulfed it, stealing whatever hope I had of putting up a fight.

“No ax,” the leszy said, shaking the trees with his deep voice.

My eyes sought an escape, but trees and undergrowth stretched everywhere I looked. Which way did I come in? With the wind gusts smothering me and the leszy lumbering closer, I had lost my sense of direction. I ran anyway.

Roots snatched at my feet with each stride. Before I could escape the grove, they dragged me into the frost.

I was trapped.

The spirit lumbered within a few paces, and his stench of rotting wood overwhelmed me as I gritted my teeth. “What do you want from me?” I shouted.

“Lady Marzanna has need of you.”

I swallowed and tried to hold my gaze on the leszy’s eyes, but everything on him slithered and creaked. “Why would the goddess of winter want my help?” We were to burn and drown her effigy that night, sending her to the underworld of Nawia until autumn. Why would she speak now, at her weakest?

“She has seen your trials, your pain,” the leszy continued. “The goddess understands what it is to be rejected by those who should show you affection.”

My breaths slowed. I should’ve been afraid, but the guardian’s words touched me and smothered Mom’s warnings. “She’s watching me?”

He seemed to smile. “Marzanna sees the power in you that others are blind to. Follow her words, and she will grant you what you seek. There is a place for you at her side.”

What I seek? Peace? Acceptance? A purpose? Which of my many dreams does she want to grant? I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

A shout rang out from behind me. I spun and studied the tree line, trying to identify where the noise came from. A figure appeared, but it ran through the trees too quickly for me to tell who.

“Obey the words…” the leszy carried on, followed by a gust of air that tickled my neck as the figure reached the grove.

“Half-Chief!” a voice yelled. “What are you doing out here?”

“Otylia?”

The szeptucha narrowed her sharp green eyes as she held out her hand and chanted in the old tongue, the language of the channelers and gods. The roots released my leg at her command, and awe filled me as the muck and earth engulfed them in seconds.

Otylia tossed her long, braided black hair over her shoulder and marched toward me. As she walked, the pendants of various gods clattered at her waist, and her ashen dress trailed behind, biting at her heels. From the furrow of her wide brow, I knew I was in trouble.

I glanced at where the leszy used to be. It had transformed into the buck once again, and it touched its nose to the ground before scampering into the woods. Something glimmered where it had stood. I covered it with my boot as I turned to Otylia.

She watched the deer go with curiosity, then returned her gaze to me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I puffed up my chest, trying to match her intensity. Secretly, though, I was flustered by her sorcery and the array of bone talismans woven into her hair—everyone was. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Yet you won’t,” she replied, circling me, “because you’re afraid of me, just like the others.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re too scared to tell me you spoke with a leszy.” She noticed my surprise and smirked. “I’m a szeptucha, remember?”

I could never forget Otylia was a whispering sorceress—not after that night four years before.

Our fathers had been rivals our entire lives, and Father had seen Otylia as High Priest Dariusz’s way of manipulating me. Still, Mom defied his wishes and allowed me to meet with her most days. When I showed up to the equinox festival the morning after the wolf attack covered with scrapes and scars, though, he called Otylia a cursed witch. I pleaded that she’d saved my life. It didn’t matter to him. He forcefully forbade me from ever seeing her again.

Despite Father’s beatings and my shock at what she’d done, I snuck away to meet Otylia the following days. She told me stories of the gods, their powers, and the szeptucha initiation rituals. I was in wonder of it all. Then Father discovered us.

He landed blow after blow to my arms and torso, where no one would see the bruises, and swore he would exile Otylia to the Mangled Woods if I dared to seek her out ever again. So, I put my head down and backed away. Though the decision had cost me our friendship and turned us bitter toward each other, it was better than losing her forever.

“I followed a deer,” I finally said, the guilt of leaving her weighing heavy on my shoulders. “Then it transformed into a leszy, yes.”

Otylia knelt and ran her fingers through the frost. “That was foolish, but considering it led you here and you’re alive, it told you something.” Her eyes flicked to me, and I could feel her poking at my soul. “What was it?”

“Why would I tell you? You’ll just run to Dariusz so he can use it against Father.” On a day where all the chiefs and priests would be there, I couldn’t let that happen.

“You trust a spirit more than me?” she asked, furrowing her brow as she stood and brushed the snow off her knees. “I would expect a concubine’s son to see me as more than a witch by now. There was a time we trusted each other more than anyone.”

Her words rang true. She was an outsider too, yet ever since Father had forced me to shun her, I had treated her like everyone treated me. All I could do was stammer as I searched for a reply, but I came up empty.

She sighed and shook her head. My heart sunk. Though I could see the burden she carried, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. It was too late. Nothing I could say now would fix four years’ worth of distance.

“You can keep your secret,” she said, “but a fox guided me here. Dziewanna sent me to find you for a reason.”

I searched for a reply, but she clutched her sack of herbs and stomped back into the forest. My throat burned watching her go, as if Swaróg, god of celestial fire, punished me for my silence.

Alone again, I shivered, suddenly aware of how cold I was. I had wandered deep into the woods, fallen into the trap of Marzanna’s messenger, and was now lost with more questions than answers.

My foot’s throbbing reminded me of the object the leszy had left behind.

A small dagger lay buried in the snow. Its hilt was black as the night and a leather sheath covered its blade. When I picked it up, the cool metal hummed in my hands, glowing as I drew it and gasped.

The flat of the dark blade crackled as icy-white designs etched themselves into its surface, forming a set of symbols I didn’t recognize. Our tongue had no written word, but a whisper in my mind told me their meaning.

“Blood.”

The dagger slipped from my fingers as Mom’s warnings echoed in my head. I stared down at the blade, its white letters taunting me in the early morning sunlight, before surveying the forest to ensure no one had seen.

But I was alone. Normally, that would’ve been a comfort, yet as that word haunted me, I wished Otylia hadn’t left. Though our relationship had soured, a channeler seemed helpful when a goddess was demanding my blood.

Why does Marzanna want me?

My breaths shallowed. The blade tugged on my soul, as if the etching was a demand, not a request. I had prayed to the gods all my life for something to happen. Marzanna’s answer was not what I’d expected, but the leszy had said she needed my help—that she wanted my help—and denying a goddess’s call never went well in Mom’s stories.

I gave in and picked up the dagger from the frost and dirt, feeling its dull chill against my fingers. Mom’s voice begged me to stop, but the dagger’s pull grew stronger. I held its point to my palm and tore my gaze away.

“Do it.”

I froze. My fingers gripped the hilt, turning my knuckles deathly white. The thought had not been mine. Whether it was Marzanna, the dagger, or the leszy, it scared me all the same. My hand trembled as I tried to pull away the blade, but it wouldn’t budge.

“You cannot fight destiny, Wacław. Join me, and you will have more than you ever dreamed of.”

A vision tore me into the darkness, tumbling me to its depths until the world swirled to life, too real to be a dream.

I stood on the highest peak of Perun’s Crown. Genowefa smiled at my side, her soft hand in mine as all the lands of the tribes stretched before us in an endless display of their glory. Each breath of the cool alpine air relaxed my mind and soul. And with the winds blowing Genowefa’s golden blonde hair through the warm rays of Dadźbóg’s light, she left me breathless.

The ground gave way. I panicked and grasped her hand, but her fingers slipped from mine, stealing the joy in my heart as I watched her disappear. I shut my eyes.

Seconds later, the smells of alcohol and warriors coated in sweat washed over me. I dared to look, and my mouth gaped.

I sat in Father’s fur-covered chair at the head of his longhouse. In front of me knelt the chiefs of not only the Krowikie but of tribes both east and west—kings and chiefs, warriors and priests. One by one, each set their swords, spears, and axes at my feet. Pride swelled within me as I reigned over them, tasting power for the first time, but then the scene shifted again.

This time, when the ground vanished, I didn’t continue to fall. Instead, I danced through the air over the Krowik River, the wide forests and plains stretching in every direction. At first, I feared plummeting from the sky, but each gust seemed to ask for my command, lifting me as I flew far above the highest of trees. The eight winds were one with me. Each traversed the land as a limb of my body. Is this what it feels like to be a god?

A sharp cold tore me back to reality.

My legs wobbled. I dropped to my knees, desire replacing my fear and pulling my hand to the dagger’s jagged point.

“This will all be yours,” the voice whispered. “All you must do is gift me your blood.”

The sweet visions swirled through my mind as I stared at the dagger, its tip sharp against my palm. I felt cold, empty. Marzanna had shown me a life with power I could’ve only dreamed of. Something in my soul craved it more than anything.

I sliced my hand.

Pain shot up my arm. The dagger slipped from my fingers, dropping to the frosted ground. I staggered back, shocked, as blood seeped over its blade and filled the inscription.

“You have done well,” Marzanna said. “Take the dagger. Listen to its commands—my Frostmarked.”

Frostmarked? Trembling, I held my bleeding hand in the light. Agony tore through me as the cut grew. It spread across my skin like an invisible blade, carving until it formed Marzanna’s Frostmark—a X, crossed at each end.

What have I done?

Father, like the chiefs before him, had banished all Frostmarked to the Mangled Woods. I had become one of them.

It was common for the gods to demand a sacrifice, but we feared Marzanna for a reason. She was the goddess of death and disease as well as winter. And now, I had gifted her my blood.

As another inscription etched its way across the dagger, I slid it back into the sheath, shoved it into my bag, and took a breath. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding it, but my lungs screamed as I clutched my knees. My stomach flipped. I need to get out of here.

Without knowing where I was, I took off in the direction Otylia had gone, hoping I could find a familiar section of the forest.

The chill nipped at my ears as I ran. What scared me most was that I could feel something pulling me back to that frozen patch. Dreams, hopes, passions—they all whispered for me to return, but I kept going. It didn’t matter where I ended up. Anywhere was better than there.

A musty smell soon hit me, and I let out a sigh of relief as I reached the bank of the wide Wyzra River. Hello, old friend. Panting, I knelt by its bank and washed my face with the cool water.

What just happened?

I stared down at my reflection as water dripped from my nose and chin, disturbing the image. Minutes before, I had been searching for wood. Now… It was difficult to know what the leszy had meant. Why would a goddess want my help? Why had I given into her temptations?

I splashed more water over my face, wishing it was all a messed-up dream. But I didn’t dream.

Frostmarked.

That symbol stained my mind, its pain throbbing in my hand. I have to get home.

Father would be upset if I was late to the festival preparations, but I was a long way from the village. Luckily, though, the bubbling, slow Wyzra would guide me back home, where it joined with the Krowik.

Mud caked my boots as I trudged along, trying not to think about the dagger tucked away in my bag and the Frostmark branding my palm.

In the chaos, I had almost forgotten my anxiety and excitement around the Drowning of Marzanna. Those feelings seemed childish now, and I regretted my wish for change and adventure. All I wanted to do was curl up next to our fire and hear Mom’s stories or begin preparing for the spring planting season. Yet, instead of that simple, safe life, I now faced blood magic and the opinions of girls—I didn’t know which frightened me more.

Dadźbóg was well on his way through the sky when I finally reached the gate at the eastern edge of Dwie Rzeki covered in bites and a layer of sweat from head to toe. While Marzanna’s winters brought death and starvation, I wished Dziewanna’s breath of life didn’t awaken the bugs. I hoped no one would see me, especially the girls.

Unfortunately, the trails weren’t as lonely as usual. Even beyond the walls, people hastily walked toward Perun’s Oak at the heart of the village, carrying food, drinks, wood, and materials for Marzanna’s effigy.

Since Father was the high chief, all the chiefs and priests visited Dwie Rzeki for major festivals. Our settlement was the largest in the tribe, yet it rarely had more than a hundred and fifty adults. Within my first few minutes back on the trail, though, I saw at least that many—most of them strangers. Considering what most of the girls in the village thought of me, I welcomed that.

When I was about to turn off the main trail, someone called my name. I took a sharp breath and stopped as Mikołaj, my half-brother, grabbed my shoulder.

“Wacław!” he exclaimed. “Father has been asking for you.” He looked me up and down before pulling back his hand in disgust. “What happened to you?”

I hung my head. Mikołaj was three years older than me, and Father had been grooming him for years to take his place as high chief when he passed. Despite my isolation, Mikołaj had always seen me as his competition for the position, so he never missed an opportunity to show he was better. If I was late, he would be smitten that I’d disappointed Father—again.

“I went to collect some firewood for my mom but ended up a little lost,” I said. “Luckily, I found the Wyzra.”

He smirked and ran his hand through his light brown hair—his mother Natasza’s hair. “Well, go clean yourself up and find Father before he throws a fit. Would hate for the girls to see you like this.”

“Please let him know I’ll be there soon.”

“I’m not your servant. Tell him yourself.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and jogged back down the path he’d come from. I watched his bulky frame go. We’d both inherited Father's height, but somehow, I had missed out on the wide shoulders and firm jawline.

When Mikołaj had turned sixteen and jumped the bonfire, every village girl had descended upon him, trying to seduce the heir of the high chief. In the end, he’d picked the girl everyone had their eye on: Chief Serwacy’s daughter, Kinga. All the other boys had applauded him for snagging the most beautiful of our tribe, but the two of them argued endlessly.

While their union kept Serwacy, the tribe’s third most powerful chief, within Father’s sphere of influence, I doubted their marriage was a joyful one. I didn’t know what I hoped for, but it wasn’t that.

Mom was feeding the horses when I made it back home, her long hair draped freely over her shoulders as she worked—the hair of a woman neither married nor seeking a man.

The chestnut stallion I had claimed as mine, Tanek, seemed to be enjoying the attention and followed her around until he noticed me hopping the fence. With a huff, he trotted over and practically threw his head onto my shoulder.

I chuckled and blew into his nose like mothers did to their foals. “Hey there. Did you miss me?” As he nuzzled my side, I smiled and rubbed his neck. “Sorry, my friend. No treats today.”

Just a magic dagger coated in blood.

Mom finished dispersing the bucket of grain and wandered over with concern in her eyes. “Your hand is bleeding.”

I looked down at my palm and the stream of blood trickling from it. How did I not realize that sooner?

She took my face in her hands. “What happened, Wašek? Talk to me.”

“I’m all right, I think.”

“Then where is the wood and your ax? Did you—”

“Encounter a leszy?” I sighed and stepped back. “Yes.”

Gasping, she held my uninjured hand. Hers shook. “Oh, my son. How did you escape? Why did you follow the voices?”

“There weren’t voices, just a deer and a wind that seemed to drive me deeper into the woods. I thought that maybe it was Perun or Strzybóg leading me somewhere, but when we reached a frozen patch and the leszy appeared, I knew I was wrong.”

She released me and stepped back with fear in her eyes. “Strzybóg’s winds may guide us, but if this beast serves Marzanna… We must speak with Dariusz.”

As she walked past me, I pleaded with her to stop, “We can’t trust him! If you tell Dariusz of this, then he will exploit it to hurt Father.” And he’ll send me away as one of the Frostmarked.

Her thumb dragged across her fingertips as she thought for a moment, staring at the ground. “Your loyalty to your father is admirable, even if he doesn’t reciprocate it. Does anyone else know about this?”

I bit my cheek. “Otylia was there.”

Something glimmered in her eye. “She spoke with it as well?”

“No, only me, as it fled when she arrived. She claimed Dziewanna’s fox guided her to that spot.”

“And what did the leszy speak of?”

I hesitated. Why am I afraid to tell her? Whatever fueled the doubt, I pushed it away. “It said Marzanna knew my pain and the power within me—that she would gift me what I sought. And…” I tried to reach for my bag, but a force held me back as I considered showing her the dagger. “I have no idea what it meant,” I finished.

Compassion filled her face as she wrapped me in her arms. “I am so glad you are safe and alive. Please, though, promise me you will be more careful?” She brushed the strands of my mangled hair back into place with amusement. “You are all I have left, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you to a monster like that.”

“I promise. No more wandering that far into the woods.”

When she let go, she looked to the midday sun. “Thank you for trusting me with the truth. We will try to solve the goddess’s riddle, but for now, it sounds to me like you owe both Otylia and Dziewanna your thanks.”

I must have been scowling, because she lifted my chin and smiled. “Do not allow your Father’s rivals to dictate who are yours. I remember when you two were inseparable. You used to speak of your Otylka day in and day out. Besides, she is a cute girl herself.”

“Mom,” I grumbled. My cheeks flushed as I glanced toward the house, eager to change the subject. “I promise I’ll trade for a new ax, but Mikołaj said Father has been looking for me. I should clean up before I meet with him. Will you be okay without me?”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. Though I knew she didn’t want to let the topic of Otylia go so easily, I was grateful that she did. “You’ll remember this festival for your entire life. You deserve to enjoy it. Just don’t go chasing any deer on your way there.”

Bowing my head, I replied, “I promise.”

She smiled. “And the girls would probably appreciate it if you covered that cut. Unless your goal is to bleed on their dresses.”

I laughed, but my mind drifted to the dagger in my bag. “I’ll wrap it in flowers for them. Love you.”

“Love you too.”