Chapter 13: There’s a hole in the roof.

Nikola didn't know why it bothered him so much, but there was a hole in the shed outside the cabin.

Dimitri had gone off to hunt the Wendigo just two hours ago, and Nikola had gotten in the shed. He had no illusions that he would become a carpenter overnight, but he hoped that Dimitri's old tools would still be there.

Curiosity killed the cat, the hole in the roof killed it once more.

Nikola was yet to see what was going to be bringing the stubborn animal back.

The place had enough dust bunnies to start a small bunny army and attack a garden.

Preferably an unwatched one with only clay garden gnomes to guard it.

Nikola looked at the saw, which had seen better days. The blade was so rusty, he thought that if he tried to cut something with it, he would end up with rabies.

Not to mention…

He heard a chuckle. A very familiar one.

Slowly turning around, he saw the same man from the yurt. That yurt in the endless grasslands.

His hand went to his crucifix. The man chuckled once more.

"No, please, none of that," he said, as he clapped his hands. "I came to nurture your fire. To teach you, one might say."

"Why?" Nikola knew of more than one demon who said stuff like that. So, as if they were the most logical things in the world.

There was nothing logical about a demon finding you, Nikola thought to himself. He must be reeking of fear to have called the demon to himself.

"Look, you are one of mine. Nothing can change that. Not even the deaf one's cross," Nikola didn't like the creature's tone. Didn't like this blasphemy.

"Besides, according to his bible, you are cursed!"

"There are gay people in the bible. Ones who were not stoned to death," Nikola countered. It was one of the few things he liked about the boring book.

"Yes, but they were warriors. It was hard, stoning them to death. Seeing as they could just as easily stone the people who wanted to dance on their graves if they wished."

Nikola had to agree with that. Still, he refused to budge.

"If I don't train you, then your best bet is for that bed of yours to not fall apart. Because, boy, without guidance, that is the only way you will be able to use your mana, Tree Man," the man was before him in the next second. He flicked him on the nose, of all things. "And if you don't let me teach you, I will give you Tree Man Syndrome!"

Nikola blinked. Just what in the seven hells was that supposed to be?

"For your information," the man said, as he took a step back. "That is, you being covered in tree bark-like warts. It hurts a lot. There is no cure. What is more, it is highly contagious. Even that vampire of yours will leave your pretty ass for greener pastures."

Nikola wanted to defend Dimitri, but he knew that the creature was going to give him this tree man syndrome out of spite if he did so.

"What can you teach me? You are fire, I am soil," Nikola told him, trying to regain some semblance of control.

And to sound more like a druid, but that was neither here nor there.

"Oh? Trying to sound like a certain red witch, eh? Well, kiddo, you are as much soil as I am fire. But that is not why I am here. I brought you some books! The good stuff! From my best shamans across the world!"

The man clapped his hands and a heavy stack of books, some even looking so, as if they were bound in tree bark, appeared.

"Is that… the skin of someone with tree man syndrome?" Nikola asked. The bark looked like one giant wart.

He didn't like it.

"No. Just regular bark from a tree which was grown by a mad druid. You won't get any sicknesses but knowledge out of these books!"

The man spun around and then clapped his hands again. The hole in the roof disappeared. A door appeared on the side of the wall.

One where there was nothing before.

"Ok, you need your study. I will leave the cleaning of this junk to you. But, hey, let it not be said I didn't care for my people."

"Are you… are you really Tangra?" Nikola still refused to believe it, but the evidence was glaring at him. He went to the new door and opened it.

A small study was there. With wallpaper with the steppe on them. There were stars on the ceiling.

Not to mention posters with:

"Praise the sun!"

And:

"Feed the fire! Don't burn the food!"

Nikola looked at the posters once more, then at the man who had made him what he believed was a kindergarten-style room.

"There is something you're not telling me," Nikola said, as he took the books.

One of them opened a mouth on its front cover and tried to bite him.

He dropped the books.

The man was gone.

"Strange," Nikola picked up the books. The one with the mouth was still trying to bite him.

The title was in Bulgarian. Not in the Bulgarian of the time Nikola believed Tangra to come from, but of the modern-day Bulgarian.

It read:

"Plants are Berserkers. Use wisely."

"Bite me again," Nikola said, as he took the book by its binding. "And I will spray you with the best weedkiller money can buy."

The book snapped its mouth shut.

Nikola went inside the study and began to read. In a language, his parents had made him study out of nostalgia. He read; he took notes in the open and empty notebook on the desk.

The sun set. He was still reading. The stars on the ceiling shining a light on him.

He felt happy. He felt whole.

And when he went outside, bathing in the moonlight, he knew just what to do to restore that which had saved his life.

He went to the dead tree. The same one which had taken the Selkie's life.

He bit himself on the hand. Letting his blood fall down.

The tree shuddered. It took moisture from the air.

It regrew.

Nikola smiled.

There was no hole in the roof anymore, but as the song went, he had shit to do.