Itzcoatl and the Lechites escorted Baba Yaga and her apprentices to Medogost's residence. Thanks to that, Itzcoatl not only avoided Citalli's wrath, but even earned a small compliment.
In the hall, the Lechites had arranged several tables covered with various items. Besides the Kniaź and Baba Yaga, there were three other important Lechites present. Medogost began to speak.
"Alright then. Cuathli, Citalli, Itzcoatl—our dear guests. We've eaten, we've drunk, we've had a fine time"—here he winked at Itzcoatl—"so now we can move on to business."
The Kniaź gestured toward the things on the tables.
"These are samples of our tribute. Alcohol—from fruit liqueurs to meads. You've already had the chance to taste them at the feast."
Itzcoatl felt his hangover threatening to return.
"Next: nuts, dried fruits, marmalades, and pickled goods."
Citalli looked over the table of offerings and tried the mysterious marmalades.
"I know dried fruit," she said, "but I've never seen anything like this."
One of Medogost's servants smiled.
"No wonder, my lady. Lechia is much colder than Aztlan. We have to preserve food in different ways—otherwise we wouldn't survive the winter."
Citalli studied the marmalades with approval.
"They're sweet… but I worry about the girls at the temple."
A few Lechites chuckled softly. Itzcoatl caught a whisper that women have an extra stomach for sweets.
Next came textiles. Instead of agave fiber or cotton, they were made from something called linen—either clean bolts of fabric or already-embroidered maxtlatls and dresses.
Citalli turned to Medogost.
"You can be proud of your craftsmen and farmers. These are truly beautiful gifts—but one thing is missing."
The Lechites looked a little downcast. A man wearing an outfit with deer antlers on his head spoke up.
"I've been a priest since early youth. I know well that blood sacrifices aren't foreign to our gods. But here they're rare. The last such sacrifice we made was when we planted the sacred oak—many years ago…"
For a moment, the priest grew somber.
"We have a heart, but… it's best if you see for yourselves."
He waved to a servant, and soon they brought in a young girl in a simple dress, a wreath of wildflowers on her head.
"This is Dziewanna. She is our chosen one."
Citalli looked at her. Compassion appeared in her eyes. When Itzcoatl saw Dziewanna, dread crept into him—not because of her looks. She was a pretty young girl. It was her expression. Itzcoatl had seen that look only once, and he would never forget it: acceptance stripped of any rebellion or resistance.
"I want to speak with her for a moment."
No one objected. The priestess and the girl went into a separate chamber. After a short while they returned. When Itzcoatl saw them again, he swallowed nervously. Some of the Lechites looked away.
Citalli said calmly,"She is worthy. We accept your offering."
Relief flickered across the girl's face. Itzcoatl couldn't believe what he was seeing.
They had been on the road back for some time. They stopped to rest. The Kniaź had provided them an escort for the return journey. Itzcoatl sat by the fire with the Lechites. He wanted to ask them about Dziewanna—he just needed an opening.
First he had to get through their drinking. The Lechites really drank a lot. This time it was a dark liquid that smelled sour.
"What is that?"
"Kvass."
Unexpectedly, Citalli came to his aid.
"You should stop drinking. Otherwise you'll end up like Quetzalcoatl."
The Lechites laughed.
"She talks like my mother when she gets drunk."
They laughed again.
"Wait—what happened to him?"
Citalli told them the story of how Tezcatlipoca, the god of darkness, tricked Quetzalcoatl into getting drunk. At the end she told them to rethink their approach to alcohol and walked away.
"Seriously? He got him so plastered he demolished his own temple, flattened half the city, and plowed his own sister?!"
"I know when someone gets wasted they're bound to do something embarrassing, but that's too much."
"Exactly—couldn't he have just painted something on his face?"
"Or been set up to dance naked in the marketplace?"
While the Lechites competed over what you could trick a drunk person into doing, Itzcoatl stared into the flames.
"Let's change the subject. Can you tell me why Dziewanna is… like that?"
The Lechites fell silent at once. They looked at him. An awkward hush settled over the group. After a moment one of them spoke, resigned.
"Yeah. We should tell him."
"If you say so, then you start."
"Alright…"
The Lechite cleared his throat.
"So—it started sometime in the middle of summer. Or, if you prefer, in the middle of the rainy season. Dziewanna got engaged to our buddy Racibórz. He was a hunter, and she was a weaver."
Someone took a pull from his mug.
"In autumn her parents died from illness."
Someone sighed heavily and drained an entire mug in one swallow.
"She could've survived that, honestly. We all expected it. Their health wasn't great. But then her fiancé was murdered."
The mood shifted instantly.
"Cursed Germans."
"Fucking dogs."
The Lechites radiated a kind of anger Itzcoatl had never felt before.
"They wandered onto our land, smashed Świętowit's statue—and while they were fleeing, they killed Racibórz…"
"They could've just run, but one bastard on horseback turned back and drove a spear into him."
One of the Lechites threw his mug into the fire.
"We shot after him, but he rode off laughing like an idiot."
Another clenched his fist.
"We swore we'd catch that German one day."
"And when we do, we'll skin him alive."
"Or chop him into pieces."
"Or stake him."
Then came a few more descriptions of brutal ways to die.
"And if you never meet him?"
"I don't know—but we remember his face. If we catch him, he'll regret that his German bitch of a mother ever brought him into the world."
Itzcoatl was more than a little shocked. The Lechites had seemed good-natured and calm. Now he knew that beneath their rowdy humor lived a beast you didn't want to provoke.
"I understand Dziewanna is grieving, but…"
The Lechites sighed, their rage fading.
"We know what you mean…"
"Some time after Racibórz died, Dziewanna started acting… strange. She'd always been a cheerful girl, and now… it was like someone had drained her of emotion. She spent all her time at the loom. We thought she was just depressed and it would pass."
One of the Lechites topped up their cups with kvass.
"After a while our local womanizer, Zadrzykiecka, started hitting on her. He hits on every single unclaimed one."
"And with every girl he either hikes up her skirt or gets slapped. One or the other. Nothing in between."
Another Lechite said, gloomily,
"Until recently. Dziewanna ignored him completely. She didn't react to any of his tricks."
"Then we realized something was wrong."
"We tried everything."
"Music."
"Singing."
"Dancing."
"Embroidery contests."
"Alcohol."
"A lot of alcohol."
"Even a few interesting mushrooms."
All the Lechites lowered their heads.
"And nothing worked. We thought the Spring Rites would break through to her, but—nothing."
They looked defeated.
"By Svarog… what happened to her?"
One of the Lechites spoke, hiding his face in his hand.
"Her soul became transparent."
Everyone looked up. Cuathli and Citalli were standing over them. Cuathli spoke in a sage's tone.
"She stopped belonging to the mortal world. As you'd say—she has one foot on the other side."
The Lechites sighed heavily.
Suddenly everyone turned their heads. A pained groan drifted from nearby. It came from a small, chubby creature in a pointed hat and trousers that a huge beer belly spilled out of. On its head was a massive bump. The Lechites recognized it at once.
"A beer-sprite? Here?"
One of them brightened at the sight.
"Hey, Władek! What happened to you—fall into a ditch? Come on, have some kvass."
The little spirit named Władek shuffled over and began gulping down the mug greedily.
"You know him?"
"He's my drinking buddy."
The Lechites shot their friend a knowing look, then laughed.
"That's why it's so hard to find your way home from the tavern."
"So, Władek—what happened? Where'd you get that bump?"
Władek drained the mug and started cursing.
"Germans and Franks. They've camped out over there and I think they're setting an ambush. One of them threw a rock at me."
He pointed at the swelling on his head.
At that, the Lechites began to growl like enraged jaguars.
"Germans, you say…"
"And Franks?"
"Setting an ambush."
Cuathli looked in the direction the beer-sprite indicated, then said,
"If they're looking for a fight so badly, let's give them one."
The Lechites agreed. Everyone—Itzcoatl and Citalli included—drew their weapons. They started toward the enemy. As they moved, Itzcoatl remembered Baba Yaga's prophecy.
The battle was coming.