When Among Crows! Is! Out!
so here's a deleted scene that won't spoil you
Okay, technically When Among Crows came out last week here in the States (and slightly later in the UK), but given the contents of this newsletter, I thought it might be better to wait until the book had some time to settle in before sending it out.
When I turned in the rough draft of When Among Crows, it started one scene earlier than it does in the final draft. I realized I could just start with Dymitr trying to pick the mythical fern flower, instead of starting with a wiła* and otherworldly blessings, as I do below. So if you haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry, this scene won’t spoil you— call it a prologue, if you like.
*you may be more familiar with this creature as a “vila” or “veela"; wiła is the Polish spelling
Before I get to that, though, I want to call your attention to some other goodies that have popped up in the last week:
There’s a When Among Crows playlist up on Largehearted Boy, with my commentary.
I recorded two episodes with the SFF Addicts podcast, one that’s more of a regular interview and one that’s a little class on outlining for disorganized people (“sloppy outlining,” I call it).
When Among Crows got a starred review from Booklist, a great review from the Associated Press, and it’s an Indie Next List pick for June! Hooray!
Also, a huge thank you to everyone who came out to the events last week with me, Andrea Hairston, Nghi Vo, and Rebecca Thorne. They were all such special experiences and conversations— with amazing moderators in TJ Klune, Jacqueline Carey, Christopher Buehlman, T. Kingfisher, and P. Djeli Clark— and we had a wonderful time meeting all of you.
Okay! Prologue time! Enjoy!
In Edgebrook Woods, about a half-hour's drive from the Loop, a group of wiły links arms and trips, laughing, around a fire.
Their voices, raised in song, are unearthly, echoing again and again even here in the open air of the forest preserve, and if there were mortals anywhere near, the sound would give them the sudden urge to get as far away as possible — but there are no mortals anywhere near, at least not any that weren't invited.
Not at 10:30PM on Kupala Night.
As a general rule, wiły don't care one way or another about humanity, but sometimes humans provide useful entertainment, particularly when enchanted. So the sight of a tall man walking in the shadows behind the linked elbows, just out of reach of the firelight, doesn't draw any particular attention.
They're near a pond, which means there are rusałki, too, sallow-faced and greenish cousins of the wiły; and they're hemmed in by trees — oak and pine and maple — which means a leszy, stag horns casting odd shadows on the forest floor and even, lingering in the trees with her wings folded back, a shy alkonost.
The wiły closest to the man separate, the more youthful of the two smiling at him and gesturing him toward the fire.
"Prove your worth," she says to him. "Leap over the flames."
Her voice is teasing, and it also isn't. Whim brings mortals to the wiła fire on Kupala Night, and whim can just as easily send them away. The man seems to understand this. He bends his head to her, a smile curling his mouth, and as the song swells to a spine-shivering crescendo, he does as he's told: he breaks into a run and launches himself over the bonfire. He is young and strong, but the flames still lick the soles of his boots on his descent.
photo by: Valentyn Ogirenko
courtesy of: Reuters/The Atlantic
Still, he lands on light feet on the other side. When he turns back to look at the wiła who bade him jump, she's smiling.
"Well done," she says, as her sisters sing that haunting melody. "Now you may dance with me."
She presents it like a privilege, though it's a curse. She's a wiła, which means her dancing is a trap to the short-lived and the ordinary.
She appears to be younger than the others, with her full cheeks kissed by the sun, her fine strawberry blonde hair brushing her elbows, her crown of leaves and flowers hanging heavy over her brow—but when she raises her hands to him, the rest of the group pairs off to dance even though their singing continues, as if she's their leader. The leszy joins in the revelry, finding a wiła to box step stiffly with, though he's so tall that he has to reach down to clasp her hands. The alkonost, high on her perch, taps a drum with her taloned toes.
The mortal man takes the wiła's hands, and lets her lead him in a dance. His hands are sure, his fingers laced with hers, and his feet find the steps in time, driven not by his own knowledge or grace but by the force of her magic. He will be bound to these steps until she chooses to release him.
"You aren't afraid?" she says, passing a cold hand over his brow.
He offers her the same small smile he gave when she told him to leap over the fire. "Should I be?"
"Greater men than you have died dancing on this very night."
"I don't believe you wish me dead.”
She laughs, a deep, echoing laugh that reveals more of her age than her freckled face.
"Tell me, you who presumes to know my wishes," she says. "What is it I want from you?"
He shrugs a little, and the firelight plays over his face. His eyes— a gentle gray, the color of silver brunia — catch the flames.
"I think you'd like me to seek the fern flower," he says. "Rumored to be carried from our homeland to these woods, long ago."
"Not so long ago, to those who aren't bound by time." She tilts her head, and turns them, swiftly, to dizzy him. "But it's an easy guess. Most mortals who come to this fire wish to find the fern flower, and my kind are forbidden to look for it."
He inclines his head in acknowledgment. "But am I correct?"
"A mortal can have more than one use," she says, and a cruel smile twists her mouth — a little too wide and a little too sharp, making her resemble her rusałki cousins more than usual. "I will enjoy watching you dance yourself exhausted, first."
He's bewitched. It's the only way to account for the slow, lazy smile that returns her own; the way he reacts to the strangeness in her face without alarm.
"Since I am to be useful to you, my lady," he says. "Maybe you would consider giving me a gift."
She continues to steer him around the fire. Over his shoulder, she sees the silhouette of the alkonost's wings against the moon. She sees the leszy's antlers catching a wiła's tight curl as he bends to watch their feet.
"A gift of what?" she says.
"A simple token," he replies. "A sprig of wild wormwood from your crown."
photo by: tengyart
courtesy of: Unsplash
Her eyes sharpen, but it's a simple enough request, one that won't take anything dear from her. And she'd rather have him caught up in revelry than soured by rejection. So she pinches the plain weed flower where it tangles with fern leaves and daisies in her heavy crown. She tugs it free, and tucks it behind his ear, so it hangs over his cheekbone, pale and delicate.
His answering grin is a flash of teeth in the dark.
And then his feet still, and he releases her, of his own accord.
She catches him by the wrist before he can move away, gripping him with inhuman strength.
"What are you?" she demands, in a deep voice like the rumble of the earth. "Why did you come here?"
"I came for the blessing of the flames," he says. "And the free gift of protective wormwood. That's all."
He brings his wrist — and her hand — to his lips, to lay a kiss on her knuckles.
"Thank you for your generosity," he says.
"It is unwise to anger a wiła," she replies, sharply.
"Oh, I know," he says. "But it's hardly the least wise thing I will do tonight."
He clamps his free hand around her arm, and with inhuman strength to match hers, forces her to release him.
Then he disappears into the shadows of the forest preserve, and he's gone.
Get your copy of When Among Crows and follow Dymitr’s journey from Kupala Night and beyond.
When Among Crows was a great novella. It was creepy, but in a good way. I would have personally enjoyed reading this deleted scene in the book, but I have also enjoyed it just as it is. The audiobook is done very well, too, and I strongly recommend that anyone listen to it if they can. I had very little knowledge about Polish folklore, but now I find it to be quite interesting and look forward to learning more. Thank you for another great read, Veronica. I can't wait to hear what you have in store for us next!
I read the book and enjoyed it. I'm no expert, but I think you should have included this scene. It shows us an almost mischievous (fun) side of Dymitr's personality early on and teases that he is not a mere mortal. I believe this scene also sets up the next scene, where he meets the leszy.
As I said, I'm no expert, but I think that you, as the writer, have a vision of the story you want to tell and how you want to tell it, despite what others may suggest. I have a feeling you like this scene and want us (the readers) to experience it. I am curious, though, if I'm right or not in my suspicion, whether it was your decision to cut the scene or someone else's decision. And, as always, I look forward to your next book! Thank you for sharing your imagination with us.