The afternoon found Harry and Tony stuffing their faces at the village pub. The Moravetz thugs were being attended to by a healer and some impromptu wardens in a barn on the outskirts and awaiting tomorrow when Aurors would be called to arrest them. Harry figured he and Tony might as well enjoy themselves for the time being—after learning of their role in subduing the mobsters, the red-haired barkeep, who'd introduced himself as Miroslav, insisted on treating them to every local specialty and refused to take a single Knut in payment.
The atmosphere was markedly different from their previous visit. The conversations of the patrons melded into a comfortable murmur, and a peppy waitress wove between the tables hauling trays of food and drink. Harry gorged on sauerkraut soup, potato dumplings with sheep cheese, and other dishes she deposited on their table one after another until he felt he'd burst if he had another bite. It was satisfying to fill his belly with real food after subsisting on premade meals, tolerable as they had been.
"It was great, cheers," he told Miroslav, who'd come up to ask if everything was to their liking. "I especially liked the... those sweet buns." He drew a circle with his finger.
"Parené buchty?"
"Bless you," Tony said, making Miroslav cock his head in confusion.
"Anyway, it's been a pleasure," Harry said, rising off his chair with some difficulty, "but we better make ourselves scarce before the Aurors arrive."
"Oh no, you can't leave yet," Miroslav said. "We must drink to our new friendship first!"
Harry exchanged a look with Tony. "A couple drinks won't hurt, I suppose."
The barkeep nodded. "Come, you must try our slivovica. Made right here in Zubrovec!"
They walked up to the bar where Miroslav produced three shot glasses and filled them with an amber liquid from a dusty unlabeled bottle.
"From our own Babička Jana. Tourists never get this, only friends. I know she has to be using magic for it to come out this good, but she keeps her recipe secret." He raised his glass. "To friendship!"
"Friendship," they echoed.
Miroslav downed the shot without batting an eye. Not to be outdone, Harry mimicked the motion. Something resembling plummy jet fuel burned its way down his gullet, and he started coughing uncontrollably, slamming his empty glass on the counter.
"Strong, yes?" Miroslav said proudly and poured him another. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but only a weak groan came out. "Come on, drink, drink. Na zdravie!"
Blinking tears out of his eyes, Harry regarded the glass with reluctance. Rescue came in the form of the doors creaking open, and swiveling on his stool, he spied the village elder entering the pub. They had last seen the rotund man an hour ago, deep in conversation with the harpy queen, his head no longer bandaged after yesterday's altercation.
The elder trudged up to the bar and adjusted the tails of his robes before slumping down a couple seats away. Giving the Englishmen a cagey glance, he spoke several sentences to Miroslav. The barkeep pulled a face, produced another glass, and filled it up without a word.
"What's up?" Tony asked with the subtlety of a Reductor Curse.
The elder exchanged a glance with Miroslav before waving them off. "Nothing... nothing is up, friends. Please, just enjoy your stay. You don't have to worry about anything. It's the least we can do in thanks."
Harry tossed his drink back with a cringe. "Oof. Help me understand, John—"
"It's Ján," the elder said mournfully.
"Uh-huh. The way I see it, we saved the day, the bad guys are getting tossed in jail, and you and the harpies can live in peace and harmony. So why the long face?"
Ján eyed his drink before taking a sip. "I shouldn't... It is not for strangers to know. You've already done a great deal for Zubrovec... I can't possibly trouble you further..." He polished off his glass.
"Oi, get this chap another drink." Tony migrated to a stool adjacent to Ján's and clapped him on the back. "Look, Harry and I, we can keep a secret—and to be blunt, after all we've been through, we deserve to know. What's the deal with this village? Why are you protecting the harpies?"
Miroslav refilled the glass without a word, and Ján stared at it glumly for a minute before speaking. "It is they who protect us, not the other way around... at least, that's how it was originally."
"Ján," Miroslav said.
"Som stratený, Miroslav." The elder sighed and finished his drink in one gulp. "Maybe an outsider's perspective is what we need."
Miroslav shook his head, set the bottle down before him, and left to tend to other patrons. Harry sidled closer as Ján gathered his thoughts.
"Zubrovec is old, very old," Ján began. "It wasn't always the small village you see today... During times of war and famine, people flocked here from all over, because when others starved, we always thrived. And being surrounded by mountains is only a part of the reason why. Mountains don't stop wizards and witches... It was because we were protected.
"It was my many-times predecessor, a great man, who forged the accord between our tribes. Our ancestors were fleeing the Avars, and theirs were seeking a new home after being chased from their nesting grounds down south." He shook his head ruefully. "Centuries have passed, but men's greed remains the same."
Tony shifted in his seat as the silence stretched on. "He made a pact with the harpies?"
Ján nodded. "If it was ever put to parchment, it's long gone now, but its spirit endures. They sing rain onto our pastures and fields, and ensure clear skies during harvest. My predecessors' journals claim they're obligated to defend us against invaders, but we've been blessed with peace for decades. It may be wrong of me to say this, but sometimes I wish it weren't so. The village always shrinks during peaceful times, with young people seeking excitement elsewhere, and I fear... I fear it will be in my lifetime that the accord will be broken at last."
Harry furrowed his brows. "I take it their weather-working services come at a price?"
"A steep one," Ján said, his shoulders drooping. "We only have to send tribute once every generation, but this time, we don't have any volunteers. I've stalled Lenka for as long as I could, but now the queen herself has come to demand a suitable mate to be chosen by this evening."
Tony's jaw fell open, and he exchanged a look with Harry before throwing up his hands. "Score!"
Harry chuckled in disbelief. "You've got to be shitting me. This kind of stuff doesn't happen in the real world."
Scowling, Ján half-rose from the stool. "You mock our misfortune? Telling you was a mistake!"
"Settle down, John, please," he said, swallowing back laughter. As outlandish as the elder's story sounded, he would withhold judgment until he heard it in its entirety. "How can you have no volunteers? I mean, isn't their job to... you know... with that queen?" He mimed breasts before his chest.
Ján stared at them in turn; Harry schooled his expression while Tony seemed unable to do anything but grin like a loon. At last, the elder sighed and sat back down.
"Ah, I see. You're young, and this all seems like... how do you British say it... a lark." Ján almost spat the word out. "That is not so. The men who are chosen, they never come back."
Harry gulped. "Do they eat them after they're done or something?"
"Never that! The Búrkový Vrchol—the Storm Peak, as you'd call it—is hidden from human eyes, but those who gaze upon it once can always find their way back. The tribe fears that should a man leave, he might lead others to ravage their nesting grounds... Given what happened today, I do not blame them. And so the men sent as tribute are doomed to live out their days on the mountain, never to see their families or indeed another human face, only kept alive for breeding."
"Sounds terrible," Tony said with a cheek-splitting grin.
Nodding absently, Ján set about refilling his drink. He knocked the glass back and said hoarsely, "Now you know why I am devastated, friends. I have to be the one who breaks a centuries-long accord... Or the one who coerces a young man to sacrifice himself for the good of the village. Neither choice appeals to me."
"Gee, what a predicament." Tony tapped his lips with a finger before addressing Harry. "Do you want to say it or should I?"
"Do you have to?" He sighed good-naturedly. "Oh, go ahead."
"I volunteer!" Tony cried, bolting to his feet. "I volunteer as tribute!"
"Hmm, seven out of ten," Harry said, high-fiving him.
The babble in the pub quieted before growing in volume again. Ján goggled at their antics, then barked out a mirthless laugh.
"You still don't understand. The harpies don't live like we do—their only family is the tribe. Your position would be like that of a ram in a flock of ewes. After they get what they want, you'll be nothing but a mouth to feed until the next rut."
"But you don't really know that, do you?" Tony asked. "Seeing how no one's ever returned and all."
"I know enough," Ján said darkly. "The journals speak of a time the tribe came to request an early tribute, as the previous one had hurled himself off the mountain. They assured the then-elder that they'd taken... measures so that doesn't happen again."
As Ján hunched over his drink, Tony caught Harry's eye, mimed flying a broom, and tipped his chin up in question. Harry did a quick mental inspection, then nodded, causing his eyes to light up.
"You've certainly put this into perspective." Tony sounded like he was struggling to keep a sober tone. "And we still want to go."
"After everything I told you?" Ján's hands shook as he clasped them together. "In good conscience, I can't let you do this..."
Tony leaned closer, his eyes burning with unholy fervor. "Think of your village," he crooned. "Let us go, and the accord is held up for at least another year. No one will miss a pair of strangers. Everybody wins."
"You would do this for us? Truly?" A tear rolled down Ján's fleshy jowls.
Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "What are friends for, eh? We'll take one for the team."
Ján turned his misty eyes on Harry, and after receiving a nod, rose to his feet unsteadily and clasped his hand with both of his. "Oh, thank you, thank you! Miroslav, do you hear? Zubrovec is saved! These kind men saved us again!"
The bartender stared at them with his brows furrowed. "Insane men, if you ask me. Drink your fill this evening and take as much as you can with you. I'll get Lenka to ferry you a few bottles whenever she comes down. No man deserves to live without proper drink."
Ján bobbed his head. "Yes, yes... And you'll need spices, salt, and winter cloaks, and... I must tell everyone! Bože môj, it's a weight off my chest! We're going to have a celebration!" He pumped Harry's and Tony's hands vigorously, then rushed out of the pub, leaving them to be swarmed by curious patrons.
The sun was sinking beyond the horizon when the locals began congregating in the square, setting up tables and heaping them with food, drink, and sundries. Miroslav rolled out a keg of beer to boisterous cheers, and the magicals among the crowd lit the place up with floating candles. One man was twiddling with a carved flute as tall as himself, producing a melancholic tune that reverberated in the air.
A procession of villagers approached Harry and Tony to convey their thanks. Among them was the balding shopkeeper who apologized profusely as he shook their hands, the bloke who had directed them to the pub, and many more. Most didn't speak a lick of English, so all Harry could do was nod and smile, but the gratitude in their voices was unmistakable.
Many came bearing gifts. An elderly woman pressed a fat jar of pickles into Tony's hands as she blubbered her thanks.
"My son is without wife... If you not go, they take him away... Thank you, ďakujem z celého srdca..."
Tony inclined his head. "I'll bear that burden in his stead."
When the stream of well-wishers dwindled, Miroslav presented Harry and Tony with brimming goblets and ushered them into the middle of the crowd. Ján clambered on a chair to make a speech, which ended with everyone hailing them loudly.
"Is this what your life was after bumping off Voldemort?" Tony yelled into his ear. "If so, I'm never letting you complain about getting mobbed wherever you go again."
"It gets old." Taking a long draft from his goblet, he smacked his lips. "Oi, Miro! What am I drinking?"
"Best mead this side of Tatry," the barkeep said, shouldering his way through the throng. "Like it, friend?"
Harry had barely dipped his head in agreement when his goblet was filled to overflowing once more. He toasted Miroslav and quaffed the honey-flavored drink.
As the revelry went on, his goblet never seemed to empty, and with him already buzzed from that afternoon, the evening passed in a pleasant haze. Before he knew it, the first stars twinkled in the darkening sky, and Ján was craning his neck toward the mountains with increasing regularity. When a faraway cry came from that direction, a hush fell over the square.
"It is time," Ján said gravely. He clapped once and spoke in his language, sending everyone into a flurry of activity. "Come, friends, we'll see you off."
They followed him through the crowd receiving sympathetic farewells, pats on their shoulders, and in one case, vulgar advice on handling their upcoming duties. The man who offered that particular suggestion was cuffed on the back of his head by a woman beside him, resulting in amused laughter.
Ján tarried at the edge of the square until they were joined by Miroslav and two blokes whose names eluded Harry, their arms laden with gifts. In contrast to Harry's and Tony's grins, which hadn't faded the entire evening, the faces of their escorts were positively funereal.
They stepped off the pavement and onto a trail leading up the meadow, and Ján lit his wand, chasing away the darkness but not the chill that came with the nightfall. Harry did up the top button of his casual robes and stuffed his hands into his pockets, his breath coming out in wisps of steam.
"This is where we bid goodbye." Ján huffed and puffed for several more steps, rising to the crest of the hill, where he waved his wand over his head. "They will be coming... Short-lived as your stay was, it was nice knowing you, friends."
"The pleasure's all ours, believe me," Tony said, shielding his eyes from the Lumos to stare at the sky.
Harry fidgeted, deliberating on whether to voice his concerns, but seeing the mournful demeanor of the locals, he just couldn't leave them thinking he and Tony were some kind of martyrs. He coughed once.
"Look, fellas... this is off the record, but you'd do well to figure out the accord situation by next year. Break it, abandon the village, send in another chump—it's all the same to me. Just be ready, yeah?"
Ján considered him before slowly shaking his head. "The sooner you do away with your false hopes of escaping their clutches, the easier it will be to settle into your new life."
Harry shrugged at the pitying looks the locals directed his way. "Just giving you a heads-up, mate. It's your village."
Ján looked like he wanted to say more, but a flapping of wings came, and everyone tilted their heads back to watch multiple harpies descend from the navy blue sky. Five alighted in a semicircle before the men, and in their midst landed the queen. Ján gave a short bow and spoke in Slovak; the queen's amber eyes lingered on Harry and Tony before she responded in kind.
Seeing Lenka among the queen's retinue, Harry gave her a jaunty wave. She glanced at her sisters, then broke rank and slunk up to him.
"Why you here?" she hissed.
He grinned. "I think you know already. We'll be seeing a lot more of each other."
"You not understand—"
Melodious laughter rang out, and the queen walked up to Harry in a bouncy gait that did wonderful things to her breasts. Lenka glared at him before scooting out of the way.
"I could have never foreseen this, but it is not an unpleasant development," she said, looking him over. "Yes... I've witnessed your prowess first-hand. Should you prove as virile as you are powerful, you will have the honor of siring my heir."
"What about my prowess?" Tony piped up.
The queen gestured at the harpies behind her. "My kin number in the hundreds. They will be delighted to have a strapping man like yourself attending to them."
"I'm not dreaming, right?" he breathed, pinching his forearm.
"But tell me, young warriors," she continued in a more somber tone, "are you truly ready to give yourselves up for Zubrovec? You are not even of this land."
"As a man, I simply can't abandon you after hearing of your plight," Tony said solemnly.
The queen laughed in delight. "I do not recall ever having such willing volunteers. Will you prove your resolve by relinquishing your wands?"
"Er, how come?" Harry asked.
"We cannot risk your mighty magic interfering with the enchantments concealing our eyrie. It is the only place we can live free of persecution, after all." She spoke so smoothly it felt like a well-rehearsed pretext. "Fear not. We shall keep them safe and return them as the need arises. We simply do not want any mishaps."
"You ladies can have my wand anytime," Tony said, wagging his eyebrows. At the queen's gesture, a harpy hopped closer and snatched the wand from his extended hand.
Harry suppressed a groan; he'd pilfered more than enough substitutes from the bandits. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he materialized one at random and presented it to the queen with a mock flourish. Lenka came up to take it, furrowing her brows at the stubby walnut shaft in his palms yet not commenting.
"Excellent," the queen purred. "Now we return home and give our new consorts a warm welcome. Our agreement stands, people of Zubrovec, for as long as these two can fulfill their duties adequately."
The villagers handed over the gifts, and the harpies split up, one taking a great sack of luggage, and two standing behind Harry and Tony each. Tony was rolling on the balls of his feet and glancing over his shoulder, barely paying attention as the men exchanged hurried handshakes.
"Remember what I said," Harry whispered as he pulled Ján closer for an instant.
The queen gave a musical trill, and the harpies took off in a gust of wind. As their feet clamped on Harry's shoulders, he yelped and grabbed onto their pebbly ankles to take some weight off. The pain of the talons digging into his flesh passed as an uncanny lightness spread through his body, and before he knew it, his feet were dangling high above the ground, rhythmic flapping filling his ears. He glanced up before quickly ducking his head; while the view was rather intriguing, the blast of air to the face was less so.
He let go with one hand to wave at the meadow. The figures of the villagers shrank with every labored beat of the harpies' wings, until only a pinprick of light remained visible, staying still for a minute before drifting back to rejoin the brighter glow of Zubrovec. Then the harpies exchanged cries and changed course, and Harry was left facing blackness.
He blinked as his glasses revealed a dark mountain before them, thinking that to be their destination, yet the harpies turned west and skirted it. A little ways ahead, Lenka toiled to carry the bundle of goods from the village, while Tony and his bearers were bobbing up and down below. A glance over his shoulder revealed the queen trailing their small cortege, her ivory feathers standing out in the night sky.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Alright, Tony?"
Tony's straw hair shifted. "You kidding? This is the best day of my life!"
Chuckling, he blew on his hands for warmth. They were still gaining altitude, and the cold nipped at his skin despite the alcohol warming his stomach. His breaths came deep and fast, the crisp air scouring his lungs.
"Pay heed, humans." The queen's dulcet tones carried easily to his ears. "This is a sight few of your kind get to witness."
Frowning, Harry searched the nebulous skies for anything out of the ordinary. They were flying above a plateau now, the next peak still far ahead and hardly measuring up to the one they left behind.
The queen sang a sequence of sharp notes, and the air ahead blurred as a wall of roiling black clouds was superimposed over the starry sky. Harry gaped, suspecting it to be an illusion, but the icy mist washing over him as they crossed the shimmering boundary disabused him of that notion.
He sputtered and shook his head. Droplets of water rolled across his glasses, and he lost sight of Tony, barely making out Lenka's silhouette ahead. Unpredictable winds buffeted them from all sides, and he held onto the harpies' ankles as they dipped suddenly before regaining control.
The storm ended as abruptly as it had begun, the surroundings brightening as they burst out into clear skies. Ahead loomed the largest mountain Harry had ever set eyes upon, starkly outlined in the moonlight. A coniferous forest covered a quarter of its height, and the rest was grey rock and snow, dotted throughout with flickering orange lights. The impenetrable black clouds behind them were already fading back into a starry sky.
The queen spoke with pride. "No one can find this place, save those who we welcome, and flight is the only mode of transportation permitted. This is our home, and yours from now on, humans."
"The name's Harry," he said absently as he drank in the sights.
The incessant bobbing that had accompanied the journey ceased as his carriers spread their wings to their full breadth and glided towards the looming mountain face. Lenka and Tony's duo kept flapping, separating from Harry's group.
"Oi! Don't forget to stay hydrated!" he yelled at their retreating backs. The distance grew so quickly he didn't hear Tony's answer, if there was one.
Their descent gained momentum, the wind whooshing in his ears and ruffling his hair. Spying a shadowy cave in the precipice they were hurtling toward, and then a small ledge jutting out below, he bent his knees in preparation. They plunged at stomach-churning speed before the harpies whipped their wings and came to a rough halt mid-air. Pain lanced through his shoulders, but before he could so much as make a noise, their talons loosened.
Dropping the last few inches, he stumbled on the crumbling ledge, his body suddenly heavy and cumbersome. He glanced over his shoulder at the three harpies hovering above a dizzying drop, then gulped and stepped into the cave. Rusty iron bars were set into the rock at the entrance, with a matching door that was currently ajar; he stared until someone shoved him in the back. Turning around, he scowled.
"Forgive this youngster her impudence," the queen said, landing next to the two carriers. She swatted the culprit's rear, making her squeak. "She does not speak your language and is ignorant of the ways of humans."
He jerked his chin at the bars. "And this?"
She spread her hands. "Merely a measure of safety. Your well-being is crucial to the tribe."
Snorting, he stepped through; with a wand, these wouldn't even slow him down, but he had been curious to hear her justification. A fur curtain hung beyond the bars, and he pushed it aside to discover a lukewarm cavern lit dimly by a hearth of dying embers. Animal pelts were scattered across the floor, and a crooked shelf stood against one wall, stocked with pots, bottles, books, and other paraphernalia. A sound of trickling water came from somewhere not immediately obvious.
The queen squeezed past him. "This nest has been furnished anew, although we kept the books. Should you prove cooperative, you can have your wand to adjust things to your liking."
"Cooperative, huh?" He grinned, facing her. "Won't be a problem."
Her lips stretched into a sultry smile, and she tossed her damp hair back before combing it with her fingers. Dew clung to her fair skin and fairer feathers, glistening in the firelight.
"I intended to allow you your rest tonight, but flying through the barrier is so... invigorating." She stepped closer, and the temperature in the cave seemed to spike. "Don't you agree?"
He tugged at his collar, inhaling the scent of spring rain and wildflowers. "Uh, absolutely."
Gripping his lapels, she yanked him in for a hungry kiss. Without warning, her talons raked his chest, and the buttons of his robes clattered to the floor. He gasped and pulled back, staring into her half-lidded eyes. Perhaps because of the rarefied air, his head was spinning, so when she shoved him, he plopped down on a fuzzy pelt without resistance.
The queen pounced and straddled his waist, a bead of moisture falling from the tips of her white hair onto his bare chest. She rocked against him, her predatory smile widening.
"Some men have trouble performing, given our appearance," she said huskily. "I'm glad you're not one of their number, consort."
"It's Harry." Despite his petulant tone, he was grinning.
"Humans are so forgettable." She leaned over, her hot breath tickling his ear. "If you wish to be addressed by name, give me something to remember you by."
"That's the plan," he murmured.
He ran his palms up her smooth thighs, pausing curiously when they brushed the patch of fluff extending up to her navel, but before he could explore further, a movement in the corner of his vision drew his attention. The other two harpies perched on the floor nearby, watching with dark eyes and pink cheeks, their dewy wings folded over their bodies like cloaks.
Meeting the queen's amber gaze, he tipped his head right. "We, ah, have an audience."
She spared the two a glance. "My kin await their turn. They worked hard to carry you here—surely you won't deny them their prize?"
"Gee," he said, ogling them, "if you insist."
One harpy ducked her head and tightened her wings around herself, shooting him an upturned glance, while the other licked her lips and bared her teeth.
A taloned hand slapped his chest, forcing him to look up.
"Enough! You service me now, understand?" The queen's lips were set in an entirely unqueenly pout as she slid backwards, her downy feathers tickling, and burrowed her fingers under the waistband of his trousers. "The wait has been too long. I do not intend to leave until I am satisfied, consort."
"I told you, it's Ha—"
He yelped as her talons raked down, slicing fabric and grazing skin. Glowering, he opened his mouth to give her a piece of his mind, but then she sank down on him, and such trifles no longer mattered.
