There seemed to be a million trees in this forest. I knew it was a fool’s errand trying to find the right one in so little time; Koschei covered his tracks so well. It wasn’t like he made frequent visits here, either, so any traces would have been washed away by the elements centuries ago. If I had more time to research, then maybe I would be able to find it more easily, but so far I was on a tight schedule, and so far I was getting nowhere.
Well, what a great hero I’ve been. I made it into the lair and got my claws on the sword, only to get captured, tortured, and lose any connection to anyone who might help me. And now I’m blundering around in a forest, without much hope of finding what I seek in time.
I wasn’t giving up...but I sent out a silent plea to anyone who might listen.
Help me. Please. For the sake of my family. That includes Calla.
As if on cue, a few minutes later my ears picked up the sound of wings flapping. Ungainly-sounding wings, accompanied by a squawk, then a crash up in the branches above me. I looked up...just in time for a duck to land on my head.
This is not a typical occurrence in my life. It was messy and feathery. And smelled like pond scum. I hurriedly clawed it off (without actually harming it), and held it at arm’s length.
Something was odd about this duck, as I took a good look at it. It was an unusual shade of green all over, and something about its feathers seemed more like they should be scales. The bill was all flattened out, making it look like a frog masquerading as a duck, and its webbed feet a murky green. In some ways, this was the ugliest duck I had ever seen.
It looked at me out of big golden eyes (also unusual for a duck), and quacked at me.
“...What’s up, duck?”
It quacked again, and squirmed indignantly until I set it down on the forest floor. Taking a second to get its feathers back in order, it then waddled up and grabbed my pant leg in its bill, tugging. I tried to shake it off, but it tugged more insistently.
Hmm…
“If this were a fairy tale,” I said aloud,* “following you would help me to find the tree where Mr. the Deathless keeps his soul.”
The duck nodded its head excitedly, and continued pulling.
This could be a trick by Mr. the Deathless. But really, what have I got to lose?
“Okay. I’ll come. But if you’re here to lead me astray, I’m having duck a l’orange for dinner. Got it?”
It nodded again, and began waddling away. This time, I followed.
After a while, I realized that it would be faster to carry the duck, and have it nudge me whenever we needed to make a turn or something. It did seem to appreciate not having to waddle across the forest floor, and even nestled itself into my side.
And finally, we found the tree, next to a rushing stream.
*In Russian, just in case.
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Season of the Witch part 19
Morgan and Xen had been digging for half an hour through ancient transcripts and texts. When the little ones complained of hunger, Morgan gave them packets of fruit snacks and told them to go play again. But she knew that sooner or later they would have to go home.
Xen hadn’t stopped to eat. She didn’t even notice what her companions were doing; she was reading frantically through everything, claws tapping agitatedly and chewing her lips, not paying attention to the amount of blood she was drawing.
Suddenly, she made Morgan jump with the loud whisper of “I’ve found something!”
“What?”
She shoved the vellum manuscript under Morgan’s nose. Pushing it back so she could actually read it, Morgan said aloud, “The writings of Bogdana Ivanovna Volkana.”
“Yes! Look down there!” Xen jabbed an excited claw at a particular paragraph.
Scanning it, Morgan saw that-once again-it had to do with Koschei the Deathless. But it was the story of how he first hid his soul.
“The only creature that saw him do it,” she read, “was a vodyanoy that happened to live in the nearby stream, and knew the woods like the back of his webbed hand; he saw the exact place where the chest was hidden. But when Koschei realized that he had seen, and because the vodyanoy had been charmed by another sorcerer long ago, so he couldn’t kill him, he instead sent him far away, to a part of Russia where nobody would dare go: near the home of his rival, Baba Yaga.
"When the hero Ivan accidentally freed Koschei many years later, however, he and Marya came to the vodyanoy for help, because they found out that he knew where Koschei’s soul was. They went to the place the soul was kept, stole it, and controlled Koschei into giving up his hold on the couple. They intended to destroy the soul, but the sorcerer successfully stole it back; after that, Koschei realize who had told them about it, and this time locked the memory away in the vodyanoy’s mind, so it would never be spoken again.”
Xen’s eyes sparkled feverishly. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
Morgan pulled out her phone and rapidly texted the information to Calla. That done, she said, “I need to get the kids home now. But call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” After a pause, Xen became perturbed. “I should see how Mom and Phil are doing…” She looked torn between wanting to further help her husband, and taking care of her son.
Her friend gently reassured her, “There’s probably nothing more to be done for Tristan. But you can take care of your son. It will probably help.” She didn't have to disguise the longing in her voice. Xen knew how much it had affected Morgan to lose her baby three months into the pregnancy.
She nodded slowly. “You’re probably right.” Then, with a sigh, she looked at the piles of books and manuscripts sprawled across the table. “Do you think if we hurry, we can get away before the librarians see the mess we’ve made?”
“Bet I can beat you to the door!”
“Not with two girls to supervise, you can’t!”
Thinking that made it sound a little silly for her to be so disgusted with herself; of course it would be difficult to do anything when going up against Baba Yaga. But-but she’d fought Desmond Jessup once. Sort of. She’d pushed him into a cage. Even if he didn’t have much magic, he was crazy and evil on a level equal with the witch’s power. Surely if she could handle him, she should be able to take down Baba Yaga. Instead she’d let her break the scrying glass, and was powerless to do anything about it. Useless.
I’m not doing a very good job of not thinking about this.
Just then, her phone buzzed. New text message.
Stopping the mortar (and giving it a stern rap with the pestle so it wouldn’t drop and lose altitude on her), Calla slowly pulled out her phone and read the message.
As she did, the despairing glaze fled her eyes, and a new fire erupted in her belly.* Her body moved out of its hunched-over state, and she shoved the phone into her pocket, seizing the pestle and frantically changing direction until she was pointed towards the lake.
It seemed like an unbelievable coincidence...but something in her gut told her it was the case. He’d been there for such a long time, and while vodyanoi weren’t that uncommon in Russia, perhaps he’d at least know who she meant if it wasn’t him.
Barely remembering to tie up the mortar, Calla leaped out of it and ran down to the lake.
“Pavel!” she shouted.
Nothing but bubbles in the water.
She spun a hand over it, creating a sort of tunnel, and shouted the name again, before closing it up over the sound.
Five seconds...ten...twenty…
Three red heads poked up out of the water. The heads belonged to three beautiful young girls, all with fetching green eyes (with slitted pupils), pearly skin, and wide grins filled with sharp teeth.
Staring up at her, they giggled behind their pale webbed hands.
“Where’s Pavel?” Calla demanded, using her best Russian.
“Why do you want that sack of lard?” one of the rusalki giggled.
“He’s no fun at all to talk to,” another said.
“He smells like the moss he lives in,” the youngest-looking squeaked. Even though their insults weren’t particularly clever, they all laughed, with high, musical voices.
But Calla was out of patience, and knew she was running out of time. She flung out a hand, and a spell wrapped itself around the first rusalka, lifting her squealing all the way out of the water.
To Calla’s hidden relief, she was wearing what appeared to be a kind of sarong. It showed off her long legs and big webbed feet, as well as quite a bit of the rest of her, but better than nothing.
The other rusalki screamed, and grabbed her around the legs, trying to pull their sister back into the water. Calla just used the spell to pull tighter, and asked again, in a clipped tone of voice that really wasn’t like her, “Where’s Pavel?”
“He-he’s in the middle of the lake somewhere! Probably taking a mud bath or something!” her prisoner (it made her feel guilty to think of her like that, but she had to admit that it was probably true) wailed.
“Go and get him for me, now.” After a second, Calla added, “Please.”
She released the rusalka, who fell into the water with a splash, and was off like a shot, sisters in tow.
Calla waited, hoping that they weren’t just running away, so she wouldn’t have to chase after them.
Finally, the waters parted, and the familiar frog-like head rose up into the air.
With a sigh of relief, Calla dropped to her knees beside him, and without preamble, placed her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes.
The vodyanoy was astonished. Had she really threatened the rusalki?
Calla admitted that she had, kind of. But she wouldn’t have actually hurt them, she just needed his help. Did he know where the soul of Koschei the Deathless was being kept?
Pavel froze. He tried to deny it, shivering in repressed fear. But thoughts can’t lie, and there was something, back in a corner of his mind…
Calla touched the area, covered as it was by black shadows and chainlike spells. Where was the weakness...show me the weakness...there. It was powerful, but also old and frail from lack of use. She had done this before; granted, it had been one she had made herself, but still. She broke it open, releasing the memory.
Pavel gasped with relief. Yes. Yes, he remembered the place where the soul was. He hadn’t been there in years, but he could point out the exact tree. He hadn’t spoken of it since he’d met that nice couple ages ago who needed help finding it.
If I sent you there now, could you help my friend retrieve it?
The vodyanoy was hesitant. If Koschei found him, he might actually kill him this time, regardless of the consequences. Besides, it would be hard if he couldn’t get out of this lake…
Leave that to me.
*This one slightly more pleasant than her previous rage.
Xen hadn’t stopped to eat. She didn’t even notice what her companions were doing; she was reading frantically through everything, claws tapping agitatedly and chewing her lips, not paying attention to the amount of blood she was drawing.
Suddenly, she made Morgan jump with the loud whisper of “I’ve found something!”
“What?”
She shoved the vellum manuscript under Morgan’s nose. Pushing it back so she could actually read it, Morgan said aloud, “The writings of Bogdana Ivanovna Volkana.”
“Yes! Look down there!” Xen jabbed an excited claw at a particular paragraph.
Scanning it, Morgan saw that-once again-it had to do with Koschei the Deathless. But it was the story of how he first hid his soul.
“The only creature that saw him do it,” she read, “was a vodyanoy that happened to live in the nearby stream, and knew the woods like the back of his webbed hand; he saw the exact place where the chest was hidden. But when Koschei realized that he had seen, and because the vodyanoy had been charmed by another sorcerer long ago, so he couldn’t kill him, he instead sent him far away, to a part of Russia where nobody would dare go: near the home of his rival, Baba Yaga.
"When the hero Ivan accidentally freed Koschei many years later, however, he and Marya came to the vodyanoy for help, because they found out that he knew where Koschei’s soul was. They went to the place the soul was kept, stole it, and controlled Koschei into giving up his hold on the couple. They intended to destroy the soul, but the sorcerer successfully stole it back; after that, Koschei realize who had told them about it, and this time locked the memory away in the vodyanoy’s mind, so it would never be spoken again.”
Xen’s eyes sparkled feverishly. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
Morgan pulled out her phone and rapidly texted the information to Calla. That done, she said, “I need to get the kids home now. But call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” After a pause, Xen became perturbed. “I should see how Mom and Phil are doing…” She looked torn between wanting to further help her husband, and taking care of her son.
Her friend gently reassured her, “There’s probably nothing more to be done for Tristan. But you can take care of your son. It will probably help.” She didn't have to disguise the longing in her voice. Xen knew how much it had affected Morgan to lose her baby three months into the pregnancy.
She nodded slowly. “You’re probably right.” Then, with a sigh, she looked at the piles of books and manuscripts sprawled across the table. “Do you think if we hurry, we can get away before the librarians see the mess we’ve made?”
“Bet I can beat you to the door!”
“Not with two girls to supervise, you can’t!”
***
It was quiet up here. Nothing but the wind, and the occasional bird, and the repetitive motion of paddling the mortar through the air (Calla’s arms had finally stopped aching after every trip she took in it), and wisps of clouds overhead. No need to think. Just row, and stare out at the vast Russian landscape. Focus on what you can control, not on the fact that you’re a useless weakling who can’t even stand up to the most powerful witch in Russia.Thinking that made it sound a little silly for her to be so disgusted with herself; of course it would be difficult to do anything when going up against Baba Yaga. But-but she’d fought Desmond Jessup once. Sort of. She’d pushed him into a cage. Even if he didn’t have much magic, he was crazy and evil on a level equal with the witch’s power. Surely if she could handle him, she should be able to take down Baba Yaga. Instead she’d let her break the scrying glass, and was powerless to do anything about it. Useless.
I’m not doing a very good job of not thinking about this.
Just then, her phone buzzed. New text message.
Stopping the mortar (and giving it a stern rap with the pestle so it wouldn’t drop and lose altitude on her), Calla slowly pulled out her phone and read the message.
As she did, the despairing glaze fled her eyes, and a new fire erupted in her belly.* Her body moved out of its hunched-over state, and she shoved the phone into her pocket, seizing the pestle and frantically changing direction until she was pointed towards the lake.
It seemed like an unbelievable coincidence...but something in her gut told her it was the case. He’d been there for such a long time, and while vodyanoi weren’t that uncommon in Russia, perhaps he’d at least know who she meant if it wasn’t him.
Barely remembering to tie up the mortar, Calla leaped out of it and ran down to the lake.
“Pavel!” she shouted.
Nothing but bubbles in the water.
She spun a hand over it, creating a sort of tunnel, and shouted the name again, before closing it up over the sound.
Five seconds...ten...twenty…
Three red heads poked up out of the water. The heads belonged to three beautiful young girls, all with fetching green eyes (with slitted pupils), pearly skin, and wide grins filled with sharp teeth.
Staring up at her, they giggled behind their pale webbed hands.
“Where’s Pavel?” Calla demanded, using her best Russian.
“Why do you want that sack of lard?” one of the rusalki giggled.
“He’s no fun at all to talk to,” another said.
“He smells like the moss he lives in,” the youngest-looking squeaked. Even though their insults weren’t particularly clever, they all laughed, with high, musical voices.
But Calla was out of patience, and knew she was running out of time. She flung out a hand, and a spell wrapped itself around the first rusalka, lifting her squealing all the way out of the water.
To Calla’s hidden relief, she was wearing what appeared to be a kind of sarong. It showed off her long legs and big webbed feet, as well as quite a bit of the rest of her, but better than nothing.
The other rusalki screamed, and grabbed her around the legs, trying to pull their sister back into the water. Calla just used the spell to pull tighter, and asked again, in a clipped tone of voice that really wasn’t like her, “Where’s Pavel?”
“He-he’s in the middle of the lake somewhere! Probably taking a mud bath or something!” her prisoner (it made her feel guilty to think of her like that, but she had to admit that it was probably true) wailed.
“Go and get him for me, now.” After a second, Calla added, “Please.”
She released the rusalka, who fell into the water with a splash, and was off like a shot, sisters in tow.
Calla waited, hoping that they weren’t just running away, so she wouldn’t have to chase after them.
Finally, the waters parted, and the familiar frog-like head rose up into the air.
With a sigh of relief, Calla dropped to her knees beside him, and without preamble, placed her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes.
The vodyanoy was astonished. Had she really threatened the rusalki?
Calla admitted that she had, kind of. But she wouldn’t have actually hurt them, she just needed his help. Did he know where the soul of Koschei the Deathless was being kept?
Pavel froze. He tried to deny it, shivering in repressed fear. But thoughts can’t lie, and there was something, back in a corner of his mind…
Calla touched the area, covered as it was by black shadows and chainlike spells. Where was the weakness...show me the weakness...there. It was powerful, but also old and frail from lack of use. She had done this before; granted, it had been one she had made herself, but still. She broke it open, releasing the memory.
Pavel gasped with relief. Yes. Yes, he remembered the place where the soul was. He hadn’t been there in years, but he could point out the exact tree. He hadn’t spoken of it since he’d met that nice couple ages ago who needed help finding it.
If I sent you there now, could you help my friend retrieve it?
The vodyanoy was hesitant. If Koschei found him, he might actually kill him this time, regardless of the consequences. Besides, it would be hard if he couldn’t get out of this lake…
Leave that to me.
*This one slightly more pleasant than her previous rage.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Season of the Witch part 18
Calla felt a sudden stirring of hope. If Tristan could find the soul of Koschei, then he could get Kladenets, and then they could go home. The problem, of course, was getting the information to Tristan once they had it. This scrying glass only appeared to be a one-way model, so she could see Tristan, but couldn’t communicate with him.
Or could she?
Thoughtfully, Calla pushed on the edges of the glass, using it to zoom in on the detective’s face. And, despite her hesitation, on his eyes.
There was no way it would work. At least, it didn’t seem possible, since she’d only ever thought she could do it while in close contact with the other person. But somehow, she was suddenly sharing thoughts with Tristan.
Naturally, she felt his alarm and instant attempt to escape what he assumed was an attack. But she hurriedly thought at him, Tristan, it’s okay! It’s me!
...Calla? How the blazes-
I’m using a scrying glass. Apparently this...thing I do can work through that.
Interesting.
They spent a moment immersed in each other’s thoughts, looking at what had happened to each other in the last few days. Calla was shocked and affronted by seeing how Koschei had tortured Tristan, and when she examined the physical and mental state he was in. Then she caught a glimpse of a memory of his reflection that he’d seen in a window.
You look terrible.
Thanks. At least his sarcasm was still intact.
Sorry.
Don’t be. Tristan saw that apparently Xen and Morgan wanted to help. You think they’ll find out how to find the soul?
Hey, if we find something it’ll make your job easier. And it’s better than just sitting and doing nothing. Xen’s been researching the different stories about Koschei’s soul, where it’s kept.
Tristan scanned the results thoughtfully, then gave a mental nod.
I’m thinking the best place to start looking might be the oldest part of the forest. I’m going to head over there, look in any hollow trees I can find.
Good idea. We’ll keep you posted on anything we find out-
The scrying glass shattered itself into hundreds of pieces.
She was gone. There had been a crashing sound, and her presence had vanished from my mind. A lot of words ran through my mind, making it possibly for the best that she was no longer there.
She must have gotten caught. Confound it all!
I hated that witch. Hated Baba Yaga and Koschei and the whole bloody pack of Russians who were making my life miserable right now. Especially when I opened my pack to try using the glasses which would help me decipher the types of spells present here, and found that the lenses had been conveniently removed.
Right then. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.
With a growl of frustration I made my way (silently, though) into the oldest part of the forest, where the smell of magic was the strongest. It had to be here. Somewhere.
Baba Yaga glared back, her hair billowing wildly, even though there was no wind in the hut. Her eyes glittered with red fire, and her iron teeth gnashed in a snarl.
“No fair helping Chernobyl,” she said softly. Even though it wasn’t a shout, the words chilled all the way to Calla’s marrow.
“That wasn't in the contract.” Calla surprised herself with her own boldness. “There’s nothing in there against my offering him assistance or information.”
The witch looked like thunder, and for a moment Calla thought that she was about to be smited (Smitten? It was hard to tell which word was more appropriate under the circumstances) into ashes. Instead, after a second, her bony shoulders relaxed, and she smiled.
“Too bad the imp that controlled the glass is gone, then,” she said with a bit of a chuckle at the end. “Good luck helping him now, myshka.”
And she went into her room for her afternoon nap, shutting the door behind her.
Calla sat there for a second, perfectly still. Then a fire lit in her stomach; a hot, burning coal, that rushed up her back and into her arms and through the veins of her neck into her brain. She was about to explode. She needed to do something-anything-to make it stop, before she let it loose and seriously hurt someone like last time don’t think about it you might make it happen something needed to happen NOW-
She leaped to her feet, and her hand slammed onto the witch’s table, sending the raging magic fueling her at the moment into the wood and everything on the table, blasting it with what felt like the strength of a nuclear blast in concentrated form.
A moment later Calla was standing next to a pile of ash. She dropped to her knees into it, heedless of how it affected her jeans, slamming her fists into the floorboards. As soon as the anger came, though, once it was purged it was replaced by cold, numbing-defeat.
It wasn’t like she knew how to summon an imp and trap it in a scrying glass; that was something she had never really wanted to learn, since it was basically slavery. And sure, there were other ways to send a message, but she needed something that would do so quickly. Tristan didn’t have much time left. Even if Morgan and Xen found the information now…
Finally Calla stood up again, and used a spell to repair all the damage she’d done. Then, feeling that* blanket of numb complacency and resignation covering her again, she slowly walked out the door, climbed into the mortar, and methodically began paddling her way into the air. Part of her considered trying to go to wherever Tristan was, but had the feeling Baba Yaga would stop her somehow. So she just steered blankly into the sky, not caring where she went. She should probably get used to this thing, just in case. Even though it continued to be uncooperative.
*Eerily familiar
Or could she?
Thoughtfully, Calla pushed on the edges of the glass, using it to zoom in on the detective’s face. And, despite her hesitation, on his eyes.
There was no way it would work. At least, it didn’t seem possible, since she’d only ever thought she could do it while in close contact with the other person. But somehow, she was suddenly sharing thoughts with Tristan.
Naturally, she felt his alarm and instant attempt to escape what he assumed was an attack. But she hurriedly thought at him, Tristan, it’s okay! It’s me!
...Calla? How the blazes-
I’m using a scrying glass. Apparently this...thing I do can work through that.
Interesting.
They spent a moment immersed in each other’s thoughts, looking at what had happened to each other in the last few days. Calla was shocked and affronted by seeing how Koschei had tortured Tristan, and when she examined the physical and mental state he was in. Then she caught a glimpse of a memory of his reflection that he’d seen in a window.
You look terrible.
Thanks. At least his sarcasm was still intact.
Sorry.
Don’t be. Tristan saw that apparently Xen and Morgan wanted to help. You think they’ll find out how to find the soul?
Hey, if we find something it’ll make your job easier. And it’s better than just sitting and doing nothing. Xen’s been researching the different stories about Koschei’s soul, where it’s kept.
Tristan scanned the results thoughtfully, then gave a mental nod.
I’m thinking the best place to start looking might be the oldest part of the forest. I’m going to head over there, look in any hollow trees I can find.
Good idea. We’ll keep you posted on anything we find out-
The scrying glass shattered itself into hundreds of pieces.
***
Calla? CALLA!She was gone. There had been a crashing sound, and her presence had vanished from my mind. A lot of words ran through my mind, making it possibly for the best that she was no longer there.
She must have gotten caught. Confound it all!
I hated that witch. Hated Baba Yaga and Koschei and the whole bloody pack of Russians who were making my life miserable right now. Especially when I opened my pack to try using the glasses which would help me decipher the types of spells present here, and found that the lenses had been conveniently removed.
Right then. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.
With a growl of frustration I made my way (silently, though) into the oldest part of the forest, where the smell of magic was the strongest. It had to be here. Somewhere.
***
Slowly, Calla looked up from the remains of the glass.Baba Yaga glared back, her hair billowing wildly, even though there was no wind in the hut. Her eyes glittered with red fire, and her iron teeth gnashed in a snarl.
“No fair helping Chernobyl,” she said softly. Even though it wasn’t a shout, the words chilled all the way to Calla’s marrow.
“That wasn't in the contract.” Calla surprised herself with her own boldness. “There’s nothing in there against my offering him assistance or information.”
The witch looked like thunder, and for a moment Calla thought that she was about to be smited (Smitten? It was hard to tell which word was more appropriate under the circumstances) into ashes. Instead, after a second, her bony shoulders relaxed, and she smiled.
“Too bad the imp that controlled the glass is gone, then,” she said with a bit of a chuckle at the end. “Good luck helping him now, myshka.”
And she went into her room for her afternoon nap, shutting the door behind her.
Calla sat there for a second, perfectly still. Then a fire lit in her stomach; a hot, burning coal, that rushed up her back and into her arms and through the veins of her neck into her brain. She was about to explode. She needed to do something-anything-to make it stop, before she let it loose and seriously hurt someone like last time don’t think about it you might make it happen something needed to happen NOW-
She leaped to her feet, and her hand slammed onto the witch’s table, sending the raging magic fueling her at the moment into the wood and everything on the table, blasting it with what felt like the strength of a nuclear blast in concentrated form.
A moment later Calla was standing next to a pile of ash. She dropped to her knees into it, heedless of how it affected her jeans, slamming her fists into the floorboards. As soon as the anger came, though, once it was purged it was replaced by cold, numbing-defeat.
It wasn’t like she knew how to summon an imp and trap it in a scrying glass; that was something she had never really wanted to learn, since it was basically slavery. And sure, there were other ways to send a message, but she needed something that would do so quickly. Tristan didn’t have much time left. Even if Morgan and Xen found the information now…
Finally Calla stood up again, and used a spell to repair all the damage she’d done. Then, feeling that* blanket of numb complacency and resignation covering her again, she slowly walked out the door, climbed into the mortar, and methodically began paddling her way into the air. Part of her considered trying to go to wherever Tristan was, but had the feeling Baba Yaga would stop her somehow. So she just steered blankly into the sky, not caring where she went. She should probably get used to this thing, just in case. Even though it continued to be uncooperative.
*Eerily familiar
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