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  “It’s Koleda now, huh?” Because this afternoon Grant’s life was definitely feeling down-the-rabbit-hole-ish. He blamed the cute waiter.

  “It is. Some parts of that festival were later adopted by a new religion and became part of Christmas. But the youth lived in the time of old gods. And one of those gods… well, perhaps he took pity on him. Or perhaps he was simply weary of being a god. It gets tiresome.”

  “Like being head of human resources.”

  Perun chuckled. “Just like that. This particular god, the one who found the dead youth, he… resigned, I suppose. Handed his position over to the youth. Which was very much better for the youth than being dead, I assure you. Although it did not cure his loneliness. And other gods demanded he pay a price for the honor—demanded he take their place as well.”

  A butterfly flitted over and landed on a nearby leaf. It looked like a monarch, but in black-and-white, and it seemed to regard them for a moment before flying away. “So this poor kid had to do the jobs of three gods?” A similar thing had happened to Grant when his company downsized a few years earlier.

  “Yes, but not all at once. Most of the time, he was the first god, the god who found him. Perun. But as Koleda neared, he became the second god, Hors, the dying sun. And soon after, Dazhbog, the reborn sun.”

  Grant gave Perun a long look. “So this is your story. You were the kid who died, and now….”

  “Now I am Perun. Until tomorrow.” He shrugged.

  “I can’t—” Grant stopped, chewed his lip, and tried to gather his thoughts. “I can’t believe this. I’m drunk, maybe even drugged or something, but gods who bring back the dead and make them into gods, that’s just too…. And we’re in Hawaii!” He wasn’t sure why that last bit was relevant, but he added it anyway.

  “I understand. But thank you for listening to me. I have very much enjoyed talking with you.”

  Grant was hesitant to remove himself from Perun’s half embrace, but he couldn’t sit there all day. Soon the rest of the wedding party would return. “Do you want to walk back with me? We could have a drink. Um, nonalcoholic for me, I think.”

  Perun almost looked as if he might cry. “I cannot. This time of year, I cannot go far from my tree.” He waved to indicate the oak.

  “But if you’re a god, shouldn’t you be able to go wherever you want?” Grant tried some of Perun’s logic.

  “A very old god, and far from omnipotent. I can come here only because this place is powerful. And because it is Koleda.” He sat alone on the bench, hands folded in his lap and head slightly bowed.

  “Why did you come here?”

  Perun’s brow furrowed slightly. “I… am not certain. It called to me.” He brightened. “I am glad I did come. It is so beautiful here. And warm! And I met you.”

  Grant thought about what Perun had told him about being murdered soon. “I’m worried about you. Please won’t you come with me?”

  Perun shook his head. But he also stood and closed the distance between them, his face glowing with happiness. “Thank you,” he said as he gathered Grant into a hug. Perun was broader than Grant and taller by a few inches, a true bear of a man. But his embrace was gentle.

  “Thank you for what?” Grant asked.

  “Worrying. Nobody has in a very long time. I think of my bones sometimes, now buried by the centuries, and how cold they are beneath the ground. I wish someone had held me when I was alive.”

  “Like this?”

  “Yes.” Perun buried his face in the crook of Grant’s neck, and they remained in each other’s arms for a long time. Finally, though, they pulled apart.

  “Are you certain you can’t come with me?” Grant asked, knowing the answer but hoping for better.

  “Certain.” Perun firmed his chin. “Journey safely, Grant. Find your place in life. Find love. And perhaps… think of me sometimes.”

  “Don’t let that guy, uh, Chair, uh….”

  “Chernobog,” Perun said with a slight smile.

  “Yeah. Him. Jeez, Perun, don’t let him hurt you.”

  “He shall kill me. It is his role, as it is mine to die. But I shall be reborn.”

  Grant sighed. “Can’t you resign too? Like the original Perun did?”

  “I do not know how. And then what would become of me?”

  Grant understood. He’d considered quitting his job, but he didn’t have a clue what he’d do afterward. He’d saved enough money to support himself for maybe a year—if he avoided more trips to Hawaii—but then what?

  He reached up and stroked Perun’s smooth, pale face. “I hope you find a way,” Grant said.

  “I wish the same for you.”

  After one last caress of his thumb along Perun’s cheekbone, Grant turned and continued down the path.

  THE WOMAN at the resort’s front desk wore a bright muumuu patterned with white flowers. “Are you enjoying your stay, Mr. Beaudoin?” she asked as Grant approached her.

  “Yeah, everything’s great. Um, but there’s this thing.” He winced in anticipation of what he was about to say.

  “Something’s wrong?” She looked genuinely concerned.

  He focused on the white flower in her gray-streaked hair. “Um, I don’t know. It’s just… I went for a walk in the rain forest. And I ran into this guy who was sort of… weird.” Grant winced again and decided to skip the part about the deities. “He seems to think someone’s going to kill him. He wouldn’t come back here with me, though.”

  The woman looked sad rather than surprised. “You met Perun,” she said.

  “Yes! You know him?” Maybe he was a local character, like the older guy in Grant’s building who wore an orange parka even in the height of summer and who often sat in the lobby for hours with a bouquet of carnations in his hand.

  “I know of him. He’s visiting us this year, just like you.”

  “Is he okay? Safe, I mean.”

  She gave a gentle smile. “It’s nice of you to care about him. He’ll do what he has to, I suppose.”

  “But he says he’s going to be murdered!”

  She shrugged. “There are worse things. Do you know about the ao-kuewa?”

  Grant shook his head.

  “They’re a kind of ghost,” she explained. “Spirits who had no friends when they were alive, and now they wander the islands with no home and no family to worship them. Better to be killed once a year than stuck being ao-kuewa.”

  He stared at her. Maybe she’d had some of that special green drink too. Maybe all of this was some elaborate joke played on mainlanders. Finally he sighed. “You can’t help him?”

  “Nobody can help him. But I think he’s enjoying his stay here, and he’ll be able to enjoy it some more after he resurrects. I hope you have a good holiday with us too.”

  There didn’t seem to be any point in pressing the matter, so Grant nodded and walked away.

  THE WEDDING party had chartered a catamaran to take them to a secluded bay where they spent the day snorkeling. Uly smiled at Grant, the bonfire casting dancing shadows on his face. “I’m glad you came with us today. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” The water had been so clear and the fish so numerous that it was like swimming in a giant fish tank. A pod of spinner dolphins showed up to keep them company for twenty minutes or so, getting close enough to the boat to splash Grant as he stood near the rail. He would have called the experience magical, but even dolphins were mundane compared to the previous day’s encounter in the rain forest.

  Grant turned to his twin, who held hands with Filip. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a stick-in-the-mud. I really am happy for you guys.”

  “We know,” Uly said. “And we also know you’re making an effort for us, and we appreciate it. Hell, just dragging yourself to Hawaii was a big deal.”

  “Not exactly painful, though.” Grant waved his arms to indicate the ocean, the soft-sanded beach, the brightly lit bar where the cute waiter bustled around the tables. A band played nearby, deftly giving their
covers of classic rock standards a Polynesian twist. “Paradise, right? We could all be battling hypothermia and cabin fever back home, and instead here we are in shorts. We don’t even need this fire to keep warm.”

  “But a fire is traditional,” said Filip. “At least it used to be, for my ancestors at this time of year.”

  “Your ancestors lived in a considerably colder climate.”

  “True.” Filip let go of Uly’s hand, but only so he could fling an arm around Uly’s waist and draw him closer. “But also this is holiday.”

  “Duh,” said Uly. “Christmas.”

  “No, older holiday.”

  “Koleda,” Grant said. They both looked at him in surprise. “It’s Koleda, right?”

  A grin split Filip’s face, revealing his slightly crooked teeth. He wasn’t especially good-looking, but Ulysses considered him an excellent catch, and Grant had to agree. “You know of Koleda?” Filip asked.

  “Not much. I just heard about it yesterday. It has to do with the solstice, right?”

  “Yes. Today it is part of Christmas celebrations, but once it was festival for Veles, god of underworld. It was end of world and beginning of new world.”

  “And Hors dies?”

  Uly blinked at Grant, but Filip had an odd expression, somehow solemn and astonished and pleased all at once. “Hors dies,” he affirmed. “How do you know this, Grant?”

  “I went for a walk yesterday and ran into a god.”

  When Uly made a sound of protest, Filip silenced him. “Shh, dragi. Your brother is saying something important.”

  “It’s something crazy,” Grant said. Then he rubbed his face. “But he told me these crazy things, and I don’t even know how to explain it. He got under my skin.”

  While Uly seemed to be considering whether Grant should be institutionalized, Filip was serious. “I know about Perun. And about Hors and Dazhbog. My people became Christian in eighth century, but this story is older than that, and we tell it every year. I remember standing by fire like this one—but of course air was cold, and Mama bundled us in coats and scarves and hats so the propuh would not kill us. Croatian mamas think cold wind is deadly.”

  Uly laughed. “That’s true. When I visited last winter, I was worried she’d freak because her son was engaged to another man. But all she did was insist I never step outside without multiple layers of clothes.”

  “And see?” Filip said, laughing and giving Uly’s cheek a quick kiss. “You survived.” Then he returned his attention to Grant. “Every Koleda, we danced and sang and adults gave children sweets. And as we stood by fire, my baka—grandmother—told us of Perun, Hors, and Dazhbog. She said if we listen during night, we might hear Hors and Chernobog fighting.”

  “Did you?” asked Grant.

  Filip shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe it was only wind.” He didn’t look as though he believed it was the wind; he looked as if he was sure he’d heard the gods. But then, Filip also claimed to be a wizard, so this wasn’t such a stretch.

  “I want to stop it,” Grant said softly, shocked at the pain in his own voice.

  “You cannot. We are only humans. But you must remember end of story. Dazhbog is born, winter ends, Perun lives.”

  Impulsively, Grant grabbed both of them for a quick hug. “You guys are great, but I think I’m going to hit the hay.”

  “Yeah, get some rest. The wedding rehearsal’s tomorrow. I wouldn’t want my best man to forget his lines.” Uly winked at him. The ceremony was going to be simple, and as far as Grant could judge, the rehearsal was mostly an excuse to eat a fancy dinner together.

  Grant said his good-nights to the rest of the wedding party. He seriously considered taking a walk in the rain forest, but it would be pitch-dark in there, and he was genuinely exhausted. He returned to his room instead and quickly fell asleep. His dreams were filled with forests.

  GRANT SPENT most of December 22 wandering up and down the beach. He ventured into the rain forest twice, but both times the path took him swiftly through to the other side. He didn’t see any gods. He didn’t see an oak tree either, just the array of tropical plants he would have ordinarily expected. He had a grueling workout in the resort fitness center, where floor-to-ceiling windows offered expansive views of the Pacific, but then he ate a plate lunch—complete with macaroni salad and two scoops of rice—and that pretty much negated his time on the treadmill.

  The rehearsal for the minimalist ceremony went quickly. Uly and Filip beamed at everyone and everything, their joy so transcendent that even Grant’s shriveled heart expanded. Then everyone piled into rented cars and drove to a nearby restaurant, where they gorged on seafood as they watched a stunning sunset. Grant drank nothing but water, yet he felt oddly light-headed, his thoughts as skittery as mice. But he smiled and chatted and had a good time.

  Back at the resort, most of the group headed for the bar. “Coming with us?” Uly asked as they stood in the lobby.

  Grant hesitated. “I know it’s kind of your bachelor party, but do you mind if I beg off?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just been feeling kind of weird. I’ll get some rest before your big day tomorrow.”

  Uly stepped closer and dropped his voice. “Filip told me all the details about the god stuff.”

  “I promise I’m not losing my mind. At least I don’t think I am.”

  “Look, ever since I met Filip, I’ve started believing in all kinds of mythical things. Like true love.” Uly grinned. Until Filip, he’d called himself the most unromantic man on earth. His dating record was even worse than Grant’s, full of hookups and one-night stands. He gave Grant’s arm a squeeze. “You’re not crazy. You’re just having a vacation from your ordinary life, and that’s cool. It’s the right time of year to celebrate the unusual.”

  “Happy Koleda,” Grant said, managing a small smile.

  “Exactly. Now go get some rest. Tomorrow we’re all gonna party.”

  Instead of a standard hotel room, Grant had splurged on one of the resort’s little bungalows. Yes, it was pricey, but the bungalow had a private lanai with beach views, plus an outdoor lava-rock shower. Minneapolis didn’t offer many opportunities for outdoor showering, so Grant decided it was worth the money. He also liked the privacy of the bungalow. It was as if he had his own personal bit of the island.

  After saying good night to Uly, Grant went to his bungalow, opened the sliding windows, and lay fully clothed on the bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate slowly. After a while he felt as if the fan were staying still and he was spinning, his body wheeling through space like a constellation. He imagined himself in a remote section of the galaxy, somewhere far from other stars. The idea made him shiver.

  When the sounds first reached him, he assumed it was the drone of voices from the bar or perhaps wind rustling the palm fronds outside his windows. The faint noises were nearly smothered by the pounding surf. But he couldn’t ignore them, and after a time, he sat up and tried unsuccessfully to identify them. A glance at the clock told him midnight was approaching, yet he slipped into his shoes and went outside.

  He headed directly to the rain forest.

  The night was clear but lit only dimly by a crescent moon, so darkness enveloped him as he entered the trees’ canopy. If he’d thought to bring his phone, he could have used the flashlight app. Somehow, though, he kept his footing and found his way, the plants seeming to whisper encouragement as he passed. The scents of the flowering plants were enough to make him giddy. As he walked the sounds grew louder and, finally, he recognized them: breathless shouts in a foreign tongue and the clash of metal against metal. He hurried his pace.

  A reasonable man would have assumed the faint light in front of him came from the other side of the rain forest. Parking lot lamps, perhaps, or the windows of some night owl’s bungalow. But Grant knew better, and when he stumbled into the space under the branches of the oak, he wasn’t at all surprised to discover everything suffused by a soft glow, like the last rays of a setti
ng sun. He was surprised, however, when he saw the glow came from a human form.

  The man was naked, his skin almost white except where it was covered with blood. He had long straight hair of palest yellow. He was an old man, painfully thin, and his sticklike arm shook as he held a battle-ax aloft. But despite the change in appearance, Grant recognized the man’s blue-green eyes. They were Perun’s.

  Perun—no, Hors—didn’t see Grant. His attention was focused on a powerful man with jet-black hair and whiskers, wearing what appeared to be a bearskin. Chernobog, of course, and he wielded an iron sword that looked as if it weighed more than Grant.

  Hors was badly wounded. Vicious slices were cut deeply into his torso and limbs, leaving his left arm hanging uselessly. He kept shaking his head to clear blood from his eyes, splattering nearby leaves with tiny droplets. But he gripped his ax and showed no indication he would back down.

  As Grant stood, rooted with shock, Hors yelled what sounded like a challenge at Chernobog. Chernobog roared back and swung his sword. He nearly connected with Hors’s neck—a move that would surely have decapitated him—but Hors ducked and turned, taking the blow on the shoulder of his good arm instead. His axe fell to the ground with a muted thud, and Hors staggered back until he leaned against the oak’s massive trunk.

  Chernobog strode forward, sword raised.

  “No!” Grant screamed.

  Chernobog froze with his arms in the air, and he and Hors both gaped at Grant.

  “Please!” Grant cried. “Don’t kill him.”

  Hors shook his head and allowed the tree to bear his weight. “He must,” he said to Grant. A small bubble of blood appeared on his lips as he spoke, then burst to trickle down his chin. “I must die tonight so the sun can be reborn tomorrow.”

  Grant felt sick. “I don’t want you to die.”

  Hors flashed a bloody smile. “Thank you. I am so glad to have met you.” Then he turned to look at Chernobog again. “Finish it!” Hors yelled, leaping forward.