THIRTEEN


•••

THE FIRST BLOW LANDED at her temple. Head spinning, she tried to keep herself standing, emitting a harsh bark of laughter at their efforts. If only she could move her hands, then they would be sorry. If only she could move her hands, then they would beg on their knees for mercy.

She'd already decided that all mercy had abandoned her. If they wanted to play dirty, then the game was changed. And in this game, nothing was out of bounds, no rules were there.

All there was was pure destruction.

More punches slammed into her stomach, the glare of a blade in the light of their lanterns glinting in her eyes. Pressing against her bearings, Yaga hissed as spit landed on her face. She soon recognised the source as a vaguely familiar man, though she couldn't name him, she'd seen him around the village.

Teeth bared, she lunged forward, struggling in vain. This wouldn't be like the first capture, when she'd stood helpless. Tonight, she would fight, strong and stubborn and proud, with her head held high. Tonight, she was a warrior, nothing else.

No longer Yaga Izeva, no longer the tailor's girl, but also no longer their villain, the witch.

No, she wouldn't be anyone that they thought they knew.

She trashed, howling and kicking and screaming as blurry faces appeared in spots of her vision. Unconsciousness washed over her reluctantly with the staggering force of each hit that smashed against her bones. The tragedy was almost funny, how weak and unstable she was.

It was becoming clearer with every passing moment that she was nothing without her power. Not that she'd ever been anything but nothing - no, that too, was evident. With a choked sob, she let herself be slammed against the half-frozen ground.

"You're not gonna stop, are you?" she croaked out, licking her cracked lips. "You're going to hit it until it breaks, and then some more?"

Their ringleader stepped forward, face darkened with a grim expression. Dimitri's eyes were hollow as he spoke, "Hit it till it breaks, Yaga? No. You broke yourself. You were born broken. You have been broken for all eternity."

This time, her rage overpowered her, and she jumped from the floor with a mighty roar that turned Dimitri's tanned face an ugly ashen colour.

Though her hands were tied, before arms could grab her, she leaned below his face, breathing heavily into the furs covering his chest. Swiftly, just as he tensed in confusion, she brought her head up in a sharp arc, hard. Dimitri growled, clutching his broken nose, the smell of blood filling the air.

"You are not untouchable. You are not unbreakable." Yaga smirked in icy satisfaction. "Now? Who is next to challenge me? I was merciful to him. You will not be as lucky to crawl away with a mere broken nose."

"How about your spine? Hear. It. Snap." Her foot stomped on the ground, snapping a twig. "Like. That."

As though lost in her words, no-one touched her.

"So? Would you like it?" she circled them as one by one they clicked into motion.

Another man, a fairly young man a decade or so older than Yaga, was the first to speak.

"Who are you?"

"Who am I?" Yaga's lips drew apart in a bitter grin. "Shouldn't all of you be asking yourself that? You think of yourselves as Kingmakers, but do you know what you breed?

The hate that you carry, that weight on your shoulders, it breeds monsters.

This is the monster that you have created. Look at me."

Kazimir bristled. "We have looked too long, Yaga." He looked pained. "Yet we have no answer. No avail."

"We all want answers, Kazimir. That doesn't mean we get them."

And everything faded away until it was just her own sluggish breath.

•••

WHEN SHE WOKE up, she was even more wretched than before. Tied to the back of a stallion, as magnificent as he was, was only a sign of her weakness and her failure. Of course, her hands were bound, and a tight, thick cloth around her neck kept her on the horse. If it moved too quickly, her neck would snap.

Where she should've felt shame, sadness even, Yaga only felt anger.

How could these people do this to someone?

How could they sleep at night thinking that they were doing good?

Didn't they see what they were truly doing?

They were blind, wandering into the dark with eyes clouded by hatred and judgement. There was no kindness in their sharp gazes, just fire and ice.

But perhaps the most unsettling and infuriating was that of a stunningly beautiful girl, with feline green eyes and golden coils of hair.

Milena's lips tugged into a little smirk, resting comfortably on her mesmerising face. The face that she'd stolen - it was that of gods and monsters, something too perfect to be real. It was otherworldly, ethereal.

But the part that truly satisfied Yaga was the hideous gaping wound taking up most of her left cheek, blood trickling on the bandages that attempted to cover it. Infection would arrive soon on a puncture that bad, and she wouldn't be able to mend herself, not without being caught.

A bitter laugh escaped her as she met Milena's emerald eyes, cold and unfeeling.

"Such a pretty face," Yaga called mockingly. The cloth around her neck gave a tug as the horse stopped suddenly, neighing bleakly.

As commotion gathered around them, only she and Milena remained on their horses, unable to move for the ropes binding them, though Milana's were noticeably weaker, less cruel.

"What's going on?" Milena asked sweetly, leaning forward. Her neck was bare with the plunging neckline of her simple tunic, shoulders heavy with a fur-lined cloak. Breath came from her lips in spiralling clouds as she spoke.

Yaga restrained the urge to slam all the breath out of the golden-haired girl's body.

No answer came as the men wordlessly slipped from their horses, standing in a circle. Their faces paled, and several drew daggers and pistols tentatively. An old man, Constantin, murmured something about curses.

"Something is in the air. Something terrible," he said gruffly, jabbing the barrel of his rifle against the ground. He stepped aside to pace around the perimeter, giving Yaga a view of what they were looking at.

Pools of blood were on the ground, soaked into the frozen dirt. As her eyes followed the trail, her heart sank to her feet, and her stomach twisted in pain. A body was on the ground, dead. The woman hadn't been dead for long - she wasn't yet decomposing, but she didn't have the look of a fresh corpse, of one still clinging to life.

There was no saving her, no ritual to protect her soul - the afterlife had already claimed her for whatever her purpose was to be. The most unsettling detail was how familiar her face was, the wide brown eyes and black curls, though cut far shorter than Yaga had ever known.

Dimitri answered her unspoken question.

"Lilyana."

Yaga was first to notice the snuffling lump next to her, wrapped in vain in a length of fur. As futile as the effort had been, the bundle was shifting - in her last moments, Lily had succeeded.

"Look," Yaga called out, neck stinging with her restraints as she indicated the bundle with her head. Slowly, Kazimir stepped forward, cheeks streaked with tears. With shaking fingers, he began unwrapping the fur.

Soon, tiny features began to poke out, the soft tuft of a minuscule nose, closed eyes, blue-tinged skin.

A child, Yaga gasped. No more than a few days old.

And it was still alive -- barely.

She could sense the life radiating from it.

•••

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