Season of the Witch part 9

Calla was not enjoying her time in Baba Yaga’s clutches much.  This wasn’t all that surprising, since the witch had this habit of near-constantly watching her out of at least the corner of her eye, with a deeply hungry expression that made her shiver.  Even when the mage looked away, she could still feel Baba Yaga’s eyes on her.  On the good side, she didn’t necessarily seem to be planning to eat her-Calla doubted she’d have gone to all this trouble for a meal, when there were so many people available in Russia.  No, she seemed to be studying her for some other reason…


Soon after Tristan had gone, the witch asked Calla to do her a favor, and clean up the cottage a little bit.  Even though she was sure Baba Yaga could do it herself with a wave of her hand, Calla didn’t ask questions-she waved her own hand, and the dust swept itself into a neat pile, before she levitated it out the window.  She conjured up water and a cleaning rag, and wiped up all the spills, scrubbing down every dirty surface and making everything shiny.  She was picking up the black sunflower’s petals and preparing to throw them out the window (which was finally without the force field from earlier), when she was interrupted.
“Wait!” Baba Yaga interceded with a wave of her hand, “I can use those later.  Just put them in this jar, would you?”
She held out a glass jar.  Calla put the petals inside, and the old witch quickly transferred it to her cabinet.
“Thank you.  Now go out and weed my garden.”


A small, rebellious part of Calla which had only recently started to grow wanted to protest this treatment, especially since she was not Baba Yaga’s servant (and hopefully would not become such-though it was jumping to conclusions for her to already be thinking like that, since it hadn’t even been a full day since Tristan left).  But, remembering some of the old fairy tales about people being asked to do things for magical beings, and the rewards/punishments that could come about based on their response, she simply went outside to do as she was told.


The garden was a small plot close to the fence, and appeared to be absolutely overgrown with weeds.  Not to mention the unforeseen problem of the house still being maybe fifteen or twenty feet off the ground, and she hadn’t been able to bring her carpet, because she hadn’t even known she’d be going on this little excursion; she also wasn’t sure that she trusted the house enough to ask it to bend for her.  So, for the first time in a long while, she had to use her own energy, and a spell, to lower herself to the ground as gently as possible.  It put quite a bit of strain on her body-she was out of practice, and it made her arms tremble violently from trying to keep the magic of levitation focused for so long.  But eventually, she was lowered to a point where she could safely drop without breaking anything, landing rather gracelessly on the wild grass and taking a moment to catch her breath.


By now it was getting close to evening; Calla suspected that Baba Yaga’s next request would be for her to make dinner, so she decided to do a preemptive strike.  After casting a spell to make the weeds start pulling themselves up and being discarded in a pile, she picked carrots, potatoes, onions, radishes, garlic and parsley, conjuring up a bag and putting the vegetables in it and across her shoulder.  Then, hesitantly, she approached the house.  She wasn’t sure if she could levitate herself up safely, thinking of how much her arms had trembled on the way down, and she certainly wasn’t going to ask Baba Yaga for help.  Something gave her the feeling that the witch was testing her, wanting to see how she’d handle all of these chores…  Even if it meant nearly falling again, she did the same thing Tristan had: tickling the leg, she chanted, “Izbushka, Izbushka, lower your door to me.”
Calla stepped back, just in time for the house to lower itself to its knees and allow her to climb up the steps.  And unlike when Tristan had been with her, it waited until she was safely inside before rising.  Odd.  Maybe she could have asked it the first time.


Baba Yaga was sitting at the table reading a very ancient-looking book when Calla came in.  Without looking up, she said, “If you’re done with the weeds, I would like you to pick me some vegetables for dinner.”
“Will these do?”  Calla stepped forward and laid the bag on the table.  The witch actually jumped, and stared at the food with eyes widened.  Though she knew she shouldn’t, the girl felt a rush of satisfaction.
After a second, Baba Yaga coughed, and said, “Yes, they will do quite nicely.”  After another second, she added, “Well done.  You’ll find some meat in the icebox behind the cabinet that you can use to make stew.”
Before she could stop herself, unsure she wanted to know the answer, Calla asked, “What kind of meat?”
The witch gave her an iron grin.  “Good question.  It’s hard for me to keep track of what they all are in there.  Just use whatever looks good.”


Thankfully, Calla was able to find, via a spell, some meat that was formerly the shoulder of a cow.  She didn’t check to see what the others were, because she really didn’t want to know.  Instead she defrosted it, chopped it and the vegetables into bite-size chunks, added spices, and after browning the meat, turned everything into an enormous stew.  By now it was close to evening, and so it was with great relief that Calla, stomach growling, placed the cauldron next to the table and announced that dinner was served.


It was lucky for Calla that she took the time to dish out a bowl for herself, because Baba Yaga devoured all the rest.  It seemed inconceivable that such a thin old woman could eat so much, but eat it she did.  When she finished, she gave a tremendous belch, and then retired to her private room at the back of the cottage without so much as saying goodnight to Calla.  She didn’t even put a new force field on the door to make sure her collateral wouldn’t try to escape.  Both the witch and the mage knew there was no need; they’d signed a contract in blood, and in the magical world, the consequences of breaking one of those were uncertain, but definitely bad.


Calla ended up conjuring a downy sleeping bag and plump pillow, and after taking off her shoes, curled up next to the dying fire.  The warm embers were rather comforting, especially since, now that she was no longer being kept busy, she had time to think about just what she had gotten herself into.


There was nothing she could really do about this situation except rely on Tristan to come back with the sword, she realized.  She had to hope that he could do it, and that Koschei wouldn’t find and/or kill him (she didn’t have to worry about him chickening out and deserting her; she knew Tristan too well for that).  And though, of course, she had every confidence in his ability to succeed in stealing the treasure and coming back, a part of her thoughts wondered, What if he doesn’t?
If he didn’t come back, for some reason or other, within the next six days...then Calla would be trapped here forever, as a servant to Baba Yaga.  She’d known the risks when signing the contract...but she hadn’t really thought about the consequences of them.


Up to then, Calla hadn’t cried about her circumstances.  She’d been busy doing what she was told, and therefore distracted from any negative emotions.  Even with magic to make it go by faster, being busy helped.  But now she was alone, she was not quite as full as she would have liked, there was nothing left to do, and it was dark, so before long her eyes were feeling hot, and it felt like a hand was squeezing the inside of her throat, and her stomach was churning.  Not wanting Baba Yaga to hear, she hid her face in her pillow, and felt the tears begin to flow in abundance.
Finally, after she-didn’t-know-how-long, Calla flipped her pillow over and fell asleep.  And, due to one of the few good results of her childhood, she fell asleep almost instantly, and very, very soundly, without any dreams.


She was awakened by a buzzing in her pocket.  Groggily pulling her phone out, she saw that there were two interesting things: 1) it was six in the morning here, and 2) Lars was calling.
“H’lo?”
"Calla, are you okay? I haven't heard from you all day. And I went to pick you up for our date just now but Xen said you were gone."
“Date?  What-”  And then she remembered.  The night of dinner and dancing at Club Lusus Naturae that he’d asked her to go on two days ago.  Her stomach lurched guiltily.  “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, I forgot about it! Sorry, Tristan and I got a case yesterday, and things haven’t quite happened the way we thought.”
"That's all right.”  However, he sounded disappointed.  “Where are you?"
“...Believe it or not, we’re in Russia.”
"... Huh. He has jurisdiction there?"
“Our client requested his help.”  She glanced nervously at the witch’s door, in case her voice woke her.  So far, so good.
"Are you allowed to tell me anything else?"
“I don’t know.  But you might not want to know just yet.”
There was a sigh. "Calla, you're involved. I want to know."
I don’t want you to know, though.  I don’t want to have to know that you’re over on a different continent, freaking out just as much as I am.  But it would be wrong to lie about it, so…
“Have you ever heard of Baba Yaga?”


"Oh man, what are you guys doing with her?"
“I’ll take that as a yes.  She’s having Tristan steal something from Koschei the Deathless.”
The line went quiet. After a moment, she could hear him taking a few deep breaths.  Calla flinched, knowing that was a sign of how upset he was.
Finally she said, “He should be back within a week.”  He’d better be.
"Wait, back? Are you alone with her?"
“...Yes.  It was part of the deal.”  Be honest.  “If she doesn’t get the object, Baba Yaga is going to take me instead.”
"What?!?"
“She wants to add me to her collection if Tristan doesn’t succeed in stealing the item.”


More deep breathing ensued.  Hesitantly, Calla said, “I’m sorry, there was no really good way to tell you.”
He sighed. "I know. Thank you for telling me. Is there anything I can do?"
“I don’t think so.  We signed a contract with blood; I can’t break that.  And even if I could, that wouldn’t be right.  It seems like all we can do now is wait for something to happen.”
"Please be careful, Calla. I love you."
“I know.”  She swallowed.  “Tell Rosie hi for me, okay?  And Isaac.  And everyone else.”
"I will."
“And-and I’ll ask Baba Yaga-if things don’t work the way we hope-to let you come visit me.  I’ll do-I’ll buy her raw dragon livers if I have to, or whatever else she might want in exchange.”
"Calla, if things don't work out, I'll just move to Russia to be closer to you. I won't leave you alone there."
She gave a watery chuckle.  “Hopefully you can learn to speak Russian fast.  Or get a universal translator.”
"Either way, doesn't matter to me, so long as I'm near you."


She really should have been used to that by now-his honest and strong feelings for her.  But her cheeks still felt hot, and she smiled widely as she whispered, “Thank you.”
"Believe me, it's my pleasure."
Before she could think of a reply to that, Calla found herself yawning.
"Oh, I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry."
“S’okay.  There’s a big time difference between there and here, you didn’t know.”
"Do you want to go back to sleep?"
“Kind of, yeah.  Who knows what she’s going to have me do when she wakes up?”
"All right, dear. Sleep well. I love you so much."
“And I-I’ll send you some photos, if I get a chance.”
"I will too. And remember that if you need anything at all or even if you just want to talk, I'm always willing to talk to you. You can call any time and I promise I'll answer."
“Okay.  See you later.”
"I'll see you soon, Calla. Goodnight."
She hung up, and as she sunk into sleep, realized that, what with the talk with Lars and the big cry she’d had earlier, she felt...somewhat better about this whole thing.

Season of the Witch part 3

Usually, Calla does what I ask her to; not just because I’m basically her boss, but because she trusts my judgement and likes to keep me happy.  I sometimes worry about this, due to the danger of her forfeiting her own happiness as a result, but in general, I don’t have to worry about her disagreeing with or disobeying me.  So when I got up from where I had been crouched, squinting in the sudden morning sunlight (wherever I was, it was about ten hours ahead of the time back home), gagging and doing my best to keep down my dinner, and saw Calla getting up behind me, looking dazed...for a moment I was a little nonplussed.


After a moment of staring at her, I spluttered, “What the h-”
“I didn’t come here on purpose, I swear!” she interjected, holding her arms up placatingly, “I was just sitting there, and I think it pulled me in!”
Fact: Calla is well-known for her honesty.  She’s almost too afraid to lie.  Ever.
Fact: She also does not willingly throw herself into danger for a stupid reason, such as doing it on a whim.  There was no reason for her to come with me, and more than enough reason not to.
Fact: Baba Yaga probably has sources that could have told her about Calla; she very well might know about her already, and created that spell to make sure she came too, willingly or not.
Fact: there is a smell of extra magic in the air, and a few fragments on the ground which must have come from the portal-none of them belong to my assistant.
Conclusion: This is Baba Yaga’s fault.  Not Calla’s.


A few seconds later, my phone buzzed.  I got it out, and saw that it was a text from Xen.
The portal sucked Calla in with you-is she with you now?
Yeah, she’s here.
Going to try to send her home?
Debating that now.
I took a deep breath to calm myself, put on my protective sunglasses, put my phone away, and then asked, “How’re your portal opening skills?”
Calla winced.  “Not very good, I’m afraid.”
I shouldn’t even have to ask.  Of course she’ll have lousy portal skills.  But even if she had them, the old bat would probably have some other way of ensuring that she stays here.
I sighed.  “Okay.  Then, despite my wishes, it looks like you’re coming with me.”
Calla looked at me apprehensively.  “Are you-sure?”
I straightened my tie, and texted Xen, Going to just roll with it, and keep her with me.  “I’d rather it were otherwise.  Sorry, I do.  But Baba Yaga obviously wants to meet you.”
“Okay.”  Brushing a twig out of her hair, Calla came to stand by my side.  However, she was caught off guard when I abruptly turned toward her.


“Before we go anywhere, we need to establish some ground rules about when we get to Baba Yaga’s hut.”  I held up a claw.  “One: if at all possible, avoid looking her in the eyes.  Just don’t.  Or any of her minions, if such there should be.  There’s a very, very slight possibility that she doesn’t know about that power yet, and so much the better for us if she doesn’t.  Two (I held up a second claw): don’t touch anything unless you see me touch it first, and you’re absolutely sure it’s safe.”
Calla seemed about to say something, but paused.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You won’t like it.”
“Try me.”
“I-I was thinking that those criteria don’t necessarily go hand in hand.”
She looked down, blushing, but also trying to smother a giggle.  I made a miffed hmph noise, but conceded the point.
“Three (I held up a third claw): don’t eat anything unless absolutely sure it’s safe.  It’s a lot like rule two, and in fact can probably be considered a part of it.  But a fundamental rule of adventures seems to be having things come in threes, and that includes rules that the protagonists need to follow if they want to stay safe.  And besides, Baba Yaga claims that she’s no longer in the habit of eating children, but I’m not sure I trust her enough to believe that.  Got it?”
Calla gulped a bit when I mentioned eating children, but merely said, “Don’t look her in the eyes, don’t touch anything, and don’t eat anything.”
“Good girl.”


The hut was just a clearing away, surrounded by larch and ash trees.  It was made out of black wood, and despite being small, appeared much bigger, due to its standing on an enormous, gangly pair of chicken legs.  The side facing us had a set of steps attached leading up to a door, with two windows right above it, so that it looked kind of like they were wide, staring eyes.  On either side of the door were trees of some kind, which almost appeared to be growing out of the wood; gnarled, wild, twisted things that gave the house an even more freakish appearance than before.  The hut was surrounded by a fence made out of bones, with skulls placed on the tops of the posts for decoration.  As we got closer, I saw that the fence was just two skulls short of a full set-but based on what I knew, it was enchanted so that it always had at least one missing, depending on how many people showed up here, as an unspoken threat.  All in all, I was sure that the whole kaboodle was specifically designed to scare the willies out of small Russian children.


I glanced down at Calla, to see how she was handling this.  She was examining the house with a critical eye (the other one was impressed by it).
“Well, what do you think, kid?”  I waved a claw at the place.
She chewed her lip for a second, then looked around, as if to make sure we wouldn’t be overheard.  “It seems...it’s a little...ostentatious.”
I chuckled.  Calla gave a nervous giggle in reply.  Then she asked, more seriously, “Xen called her a witch.  Was that just intended as an insult?  Because even if it was, it also sounded like she was calling her by a title.  Shouldn’t she be a mage or alchemist?  Or-or even sorceress?”
“Well, she probably is one of those, but she goes by the title of witch.  And she’s so powerful that nobody argues with her about it.”
I straightened my shirt, actually tucking it in, and smoothed back my hair a bit-though leaving it just messy enough to be rebellious.  Show time.


We strode into the yard, marching up the dirt path until we got to the house.  I idly wondered if my next action would be taking a liberty, since Baba Yaga was probably the only one allowed to do it, but I reached out and scratched gently at one of the legs.  As I did, I chanted, “Izbushka, Izbushka, lower your door to me.”
The house stirred in a way that seemed almost surprised, but then, as I took a step back, it slowly bent its knees, until the stairs were just a hop away.
I glanced at Calla, pleased.
“Wow; that worked.”


I jumped onto the first step, giving the kid a hand up.  Though the stairs looked old and creaked when we stepped on them, they were quite sturdy.  We started to ascend them, when out of the blue the house began to rise again.  Of course there were no handrails, so we both lost our balance quite quickly.  I fell forward, landing on the hard wooden stairs, but Calla started to fall back, looking about to go over the edge-fortunately, she created a lasso that wound itself around the tree to the left of the door, and even though it bent and creaked dangerously, she was able to pull herself safely into balance.


As soon as the house, Izbushka, was standing up straight, Calla sat down hard on the steps, taking deep breaths to calm herself; I could hear her heart racing.  Mine wasn’t going that slowly either, so I had to join her in trying to relax, even though the fall wouldn’t have been able to hurt me.
“Stupid house,” I muttered.
“Careful,” Calla reminded me, “she might hear you.”
I was tempted to say, “Let her,” before pouring a larger torrent of abuse on both the house and the witch.  However, that would in all likelihood tempt fate to arrange things so that Baba Yaga would be standing right behind me and listening to everything I said, leading to an embarrassing (if not downright fatal) moment.  So I just shut my trap, and stood up.
“You all right?”
“I’m still a little shaky,” she admitted.  “But I don’t think I’m hurt at all.”
“Good.  That’s good.”  I offered her a claw up after giving her a minute or two to recover.  “Ready to meet her?”
Calla stood, taking a deep breath.  “What if she offers me something to eat?  Won’t it be rude not to accept it?”
“Try to discreetly use a spell, sense if there’s anything wrong with it.  Same if she offers for you to touch anything, or sit down, or anything like that.”
“Okay.  Then let’s go.”


We climbed up the remaining steps, which creaked ominously beneath our feet.  The door’s knocker, I saw up close, was shaped like a golden skull and crossbones.  There was a deep blue aura hanging around it, making me suspect that it was alive, and maybe would try to bite me or something if I touched it.  So I avoided it, and just pounded my fist (though gently-I didn’t want to break the wood) on the door.  At the third knock, fitting with the universal theme of three being the most important number ever, the door slowly and ominously opened.  It was dark inside, and I suspected that there was a spell present, because even with my nocturnal eyes I couldn’t see a thing.
“Come in, Chernobyl,” an aged woman’s voice with a thick Russian accent croaked.
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and then stepped into the witch’s house.