“You know-” Calla gasped as we ran faster- “I think I had-a dream about this once.”
“Really?” I puffed back.
“Yeah. When I was-maybe five. I don’t remember everything-just being chased by the house.”
“Did it have chicken legs?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes widened. “Maybe-an early vision?”
I shrugged, wincing at my already-aggravated broken wing.
“Wouldn’t-be surprised.”
I awkwardly pulled the towel out of my shirt,* and threw it over my shoulder.
“What’s that for?” Calla yelled.
“Is it doing anything?” I yelled back.
There was a gasp. “Yes!”
Just in case, I looked over my shoulder. And yes, just as I’d hoped, it had become a vast, glassy lake, right there in the forest.
Why Baba Yaga kept items in her hut that could be used against her, especially in easy reach of others, was anybody’s guess. And you’d think she’d have learned from previous times dealing with people who used the same trick. But maybe it was for the same reason that she wanted to steal the sword. Arrogance. Or following the proverb of “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
It slowed her down as we kept running; Baba Yaga couldn’t swim, and as I suspected, she didn’t have the patience to go around. So I saw her forcing the hut to wade into the lake. The hut didn’t like it; it squirmed, and shook, and finally jumped out of the water and refused to go back in, water dripping from the floorboards.
“You okay?” Calla suddenly asked. Since the witch was briefly inconvenienced, we were going a bit slower-though not slow enough to be overconfident.
“...You’re asking this now?”
“You look pale. And I’m not having to struggle to keep pace with you. Tristan, I think your wound’s worse than you’re acting.”
“I’m fine, kid. I’ve got my adrenaline-”
Which is when I started to see colored spots before my eyes. Because whoever is control of these things loves their moments of irony.
Calla muttered something that was almost a curse, but not quite, and then grabbed my arm, draping it over her shoulders.
“That’s gonna slow you down,” I protested.
“I’m not leaving you. Xen would never forgive me.”
“Better get this out, then.” I fumbled around until I got the comb. “Lake’s probably not gonna hold her for long-”
Sure enough, we heard the sound of the mortar riding the wind across the lake. I didn’t bother to look this time, focusing on running.
Calla said indignantly, “It flies far better for her than it did for me!”
“Well-” I gasped- “it is her mortar.”
Time for the comb.
I tossed it, just long enough to see it starting to grow into a giant impenetrable forest,** and kept going without looking back.
***
Much to my relief, Baba Yaga did not continue chasing us. At least, not that I could sense, even though my abilities were a little off par at the moment, so she could have flown past us dressed as a belly dancer playing an accordion, and I might not have noticed.
Eventually we made it into a town with a teleportation mirror, and took the first opportunity to get home. We materialized in the kitchen...where I’m ashamed to admit that I promptly passed out.
Hey, it had been a long week for me, okay? And I’d just gone through a lot of physical exertion while suffering from severe blood loss; don’t judge me.
My last conscious thought was, Well, I can add this to my list of Times Tristan felt Useless.
It seemed like all I’d done the entire time was be captured/at the mercy of more powerful beings, and rely on others to do things for me. I mean, it’s not that I wasn’t grateful to Xen, Morgan and Calla for finding out what I wanted to know, or the vodyanoy-duck for leading me to where the soul was kept...I just felt like I spent more time being acted upon than doing any acting of my own. Definitely not my finest hour.
I regained consciousness to find myself in bed. My limbs felt heavy, making me realize after a moment that Xen must have bitten me to keep me paralyzed for some reason.
How long have I been here?
My eyes slowly flicked open, and caught sight of Xen sitting by the side of the bed, glaring at me in a way that made me nervous.
Seeing I was awake, before I could even try to speak, she leaned down and kissed me. Which felt wonderful, after everything I’d been through.
When she finally stopped, I gasped, “For a moment I thought you were going to hit me.”
“I did consider it. But decided I’d rather do this.”
“Is there a reason why I’m paralyzed?”
“So you stay in bed until your blood cells have sufficiently multiplied.”
“Geez, doc, you’re taking your practice very seriously.”
She glared at me again. “You have a bad habit of underestimating the extent of your injuries. While that can be an admirable quality, it also makes me occasionally want to strangle you.”
“...How’s our son?” I asked.
Xen finally smiled. “Waiting for his daddy to get better. He keeps wanting to come in and play with you. I had to be firm and tell him to let you sleep.”
My throat constricted. “Well...can I at least see him before bedtime?”
“Of course. Until then, go back to sleep.”
“Yes, boss,” I sighed.
***
So far there have been no nasty repercussions from Baba Yaga or Koschei the Deathless. But we’ve been on alert, just in case. And trying our best to recuperate. Xen’s had me on a lot of bed rest while my blood cells regenerate and my broken wing finishes healing. Phil plays with me as often as he can, and hopefully soon I’ll be strong enough to carry him on my shoulders again. Calla’s been very quiet and thoughtful about whatever the witch told her. I haven’t pushed about it, figuring she’ll tell me if she wants to, but I am undeniably curious.
For now, though, I’m trying to enjoy life with my family until some new catastrophe hits us.
* Snapping off a button in the process; dang it.
**Which, if the story was correct, she wouldn’t be able to go through, and every time she tried to fly over it it would just grow higher. And trying to chop down the trees with her iron teeth would just result in splinters in her mouth. Hopefully she wouldn’t try her magic instead; I wasn’t sure if it was resistant against that.
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!”
***
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.
Calla’s eyebrows scrunched together, and then raised. “She’s real too?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s real, powerful, and dangerous.”
“And she-and she wants you to come solve a case for her?”
“That’s not exactly what she says, but-oh, here.” Xen passed her the letter. For those of you readers who are irritably wishing for me to just say what’s in it already, you may read along with Calla.
Dear Chernobyl,
I need your help. You must come to my cottage at once; this letter, when burned, will open a gateway. Time is of the essence, so I suggest you do it soon.
I await your arrival.
Typically for her, the note was not signed. I sighed. As much as I knew that I didn’t trust the old witch, Xen was right about my curiosity being piqued. If she claimed to need my help, then it had to be something big. Maybe. People with that level of power can afford to obsess over extremely petty things; just read the ancient Greek myths sometime. Nevertheless, the idea that it could be important meant that I really, really wanted to go and find out.
“Why does she call you Chernobyl?” Calla asked, passing the letter back to me.
“It’s Russian for Wormwood.”
“Whoa, really?” My assistant chuckled. “That’s kind of appropriate, actually.”
“Very funny.” I smiled as I went to the cupboard, and grabbed the matchbox. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. It depends on what she wants.”
“Why can’t she just come here?”
“It’s complicated, kid.”
“Do you have to go now?” Xen gave me a slightly pleading look. I immediately felt guilty; even though she was used to my job taking me off into dangerous situations on short notice, it definitely wasn’t easy on her. Especially now that we also had a baby to look after.
I set down the matchbox, and put my arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Should I wait until tomorrow?”
After hugging me back for a second, Xen placed her palms on my chest, gently but firmly pushing me away.
“She’ll probably just get cranky and retaliate somehow. You’d better strike while the iron is hot.”
“Xen-”
“I’m fine,” she lied. Seeing my expression, she amended, “Okay, I’m not fine, but that’s not important at the moment. Go see what the old witch wants.”
My heart stung, even though I knew she was trying to do what was best at the moment, and I promised myself that I’d do something about it the first chance I got.
“Should I-” Calla began.
I quickly jumped in, turning and pointing a decisive claw at her.
“You are definitely not coming.”
Calla looked both confused and hurt, and I regretted the abruptness in which I had spoken.
“Why not?” she whispered. It sounded almost like she was about to cry; maybe a bit of an overreaction, but she just wasn’t used to me talking to her like that.
I slowly crossed to the other side of the table and plucked Phil out of his seat, cleaning him off as I explained.
“Sorry I said it like that, kid. I didn’t-it’s not that I wouldn’t want your company. But I don’t think it would be safe for you. Baba Yaga has this bad habit of collecting rare and interesting objects. And to her, that includes people. I think that if she knew about your eyes, she would all too happily add you to that collection. It seems a lot easier in the long run if you just sit this one out.”
The hurt was still there, but now that she better understood the situation, it had faded somewhat. Calla nodded.
“Okay.”
“If I need your help, I’ll text you.” I extracted the washcloth from between Phil’s fangs, and handed him to Xen.
“Okay.” My assistant sat down, combing her hair with a few fingers.
I kissed my wife goodbye, trying not to think that I was like Hector just before he went back outside the walls of Troy.
“I’ll let you know what happens, okay?”
“Okay. And try not to start another international incident, would you? We don’t need Russian spies as well as British ones persecuting us.”
“You kidding? Baba Yaga won’t need to hire any flunkies to persecute me, she’ll just-”
A claw covered my mouth.
“Try not to start anything. Capisce?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Thank you.” She lowered her claw, and kissed me once more for luck. Then I struck a match, and set the letter on fire. Instantly it began to glow, and the ashes formed a portal which sucked me up, up, up and away…
I should have had a sense of foreboding when I saw the letter for me on the table next to my dinner plate. I should have known the nerve-wracking horrors it would create for me and Calla. As it was, all I saw was a black envelope with my name written on it in bright white letters, and a seal on the front that looked as though it were made out of clotted human blood. Now, if it had been just a plain white envelope, then I would have had cause for alarm; those generally mean trouble. As it was, when I saw it I just thought it might be a prank letter from Morty or something, and so picked it up with no cause for alarm at first. Then I got a close look at the seal, and began to feel some misgivings; there was a picture of what appeared to be a mortar, with a pestle and a broomstick crossed in front of it. That reminded me of something, something important…
Then I opened the letter, and after scanning it, gave my assessment of the situation.
“Oh, heck no!”
I flung the letter back down onto the tabletop, prompting startled looks from Xen, Calla, and Phil. They jerked up from their respective dining activities and gave me the looks of frightened meerkats, attempting to assess if there was danger here.
“Sorry,” I said, picking up the letter from where it had landed in the gravy. As I pulled it out, it turned as clean and fresh as before. Typical.
“Who’s it from?” Xen asked, cleaning food off Phil’s face.
“Someone very important, especially in Russia.”
Looking very interested now, Calla asked, “One of the former czars?”
“Bigger.”
“Prime Minister?” Xen asked.
“Bigger.”
“Russia! Russia!” Phil proclaimed, evidently liking the sound of that. I smiled at the delighted way in which he said it, and at more evidence of his being an early talker, feeling some of my sudden black mood dissipate at his adorableness (even with gravy and pieces of shredded beef all over his face). Meanwhile, I noticed that Xen’s eyes were lit with both clarity and alarm.
“Her? She wants your help?”
“Indeedy-do.” I handed over the letter for her to see; she took it in curious claws, and read through it.
“What would she need from you? No offense, but she doesn’t seem like she’d need anyone or anything. Least of all a detective.”
“Yeah, I know. Do you think I should find out?”
“Even though you’re being cranky about it, I know you’re curious. So you probably should, if you’re to have any peace.”
“Sorry, but who are you talking about?” Calla piped up.
I cleared my throat, and then asked, “Kid, have you ever heard of Baba Yaga?”
