Season of the Witch part 16

Unfortunately, I didn’t get that far.  Probably that had something to do with my being both outnumbered and woozy from blood loss; whatever the reason, I found myself being frog-marched (pun totally intended) into one of the blocked-off-from-tourists rooms in the Kremlin.
It was like entering a totally different place.  Like a palace.
The floor was paved with shiny gold tiles, in different shades, in some kind of diamond design.  Elegant tapestries depicting events long past covered the walls.  Old-fashioned electric lamps shone here and there, making my eyes hurt even with the shaded glasses.  And sitting at the other end of the ridiculously long room was Mr. the Deathless, sitting on a gilded throne.  He was wearing another suit, still old-fashioned, and a heavy-looking diamond-covered crown.
“You heroes are so stubborn and reckless,” he said with a sigh as I was dragged close.  “I was almost done deciding what to do with you.”
I wasn’t going to wait around for you to make up your mind, you dried-up bag of bones! I snarled internally.  But since I was still cursed with silence, I could only give him the message by glaring venomously.
“You’re that anxious to steal this sword?”  Mr. the Deathless produced Kladenets and waved it around, taunting me with it.
I gave him a look, and with a sigh he removed the spell from my throat, allowing me to croak, “If I thought I could get it from you any other way, I would.”
“Really?”  He leaned forward on his throne.  “What’s Baba Yaga going to do to your assistant if you don’t get it?”
“That’s none of your business!”*


Koschei gave me a knowing smile which I figured must have taken him centuries to perfect.  Whether or not he actually had figured out my reasons was irrelevant; as long as he acted like he did, he had the satisfaction of feeling superior and trying to make me squirm.  I knew that trick, however, being very much the connoisseur of it myself, so I kept my face blank.
“This is most entertaining, Mr…?”
He left the phrase hovering, waiting patiently for me to complete it.  I finally said, “Tolstoy.”
One bushy eyebrow rose in a skeptical arch, but I didn’t change the pseudonym.
Unless you plan on feeding me phoenix blood again, I’m not volunteering raz”yem.**
Mr. the Deathless finally sighed.  “Very well, Mr. Tolstoy.  If you insist on using that name.  How about we make this interesting?”
Not another one.
“How?”
He stood up, tossing his robes back from his shoulders and twirling the sword again.
“I’ve been waiting for Baba Yaga to entertain me by trying to get this sword back.  You appear to have been a godsend, Mr. Tolstoy; being immortal can be so boring sometimes.  You might not have noticed, but people of my age like to play games with people like you.”  Ignoring my snort, he continued, “So, I will give you this sword freely-if you can find my soul.”


For those of you with more sensitive eyes, I will refrain from writing the string of curses that ran through my mind at this news.
As best I remembered, Koschei’s soul was kept inside a duck that was inside a rabbit inside a giant egg in an obscure tree, or something like that.  This was next to impossible.
But I conjured up an image of Calla, of her big brown eyes and her kind spirit and all the hell she’d gone through already, and asked, “How long have you kept me here?”
The old sorcerer looked down at me and said, “Ten years.”
My legs buckled, and I almost didn’t hear his laughter as he said, “Just kidding.  Around two days, I believe.”
That means I have about three days left.
“Give me two more days to find it,” I said, hating how pleading I sounded, since it would probably give him an edge over me if he knew I had a time limit.
“You’re not asking for three?”
“Everyone asks for three.  I need two.”
Hopefully I can find it before then, but let’s not trust to miracles.


That smirk was back; he probably at least suspected why I was so anxious.  I hurriedly added in, “And give me back the pack of Baba Yaga’s things.”
Leaning on the throne, Koschei asked, “Why should I give anything to the thief who invaded my home?”
“Because there are rules to this sort of thing.  And I’ll be far more entertaining if I have supplies that I can try to fight with.”
He didn’t look quite convinced, but at least my attitude seemed to amuse him again.  “Deal.”

***

Koschei didn’t bother with a contract.  He just had some of his henchfrogs give me the pack, and then I was booted out of the Kremlin.  That at first made me wonder if maybe the soul was inside the place, but that seemed a little obvious.  So, I went to a nearby restaurant, got a bowl of borscht and some bread, and sat outside eating (wolfing, really, since it was my first time eating in days) while I thought about where to look.
In the stories I’d heard, it was on an island somewhere.  And was the rabbit inside the duck, or the duck inside the rabbit-?
Eventually I gave up and bought a book that talked about Russian fairy tales from a convenient store.  According to it, there were different stories about where the soul actually was (Igor Stravinsky’s “Firebird” being just one example), but the general theme persisted of it being kept inside an egg, in a casket, inside a tree.  And in some versions, the egg was inside a duck which was inside a rabbit.***
Leaning back in my chair, I thought about this.  Since whoever could get hold of the soul could control Mr. the Deathless, odds were that he would want to keep it close by, just in case some fool would be lucky enough to stumble across it.  So, since he seemed to have such a tree fetish when it came to his soul,**** the best place to start looking was the nearby forest.
Better get started.

*Hopefully none of you are surprised by my tendency to mouth off in tight situations by now.  If so, then you really haven’t been paying attention if you’ve read my previous books.
**Jack
***Either it had to be the world’s largest rabbit, or the world’s smallest duck.  And how would he get the rabbit to swallow the duck either way?  Wait, stupid question: magic.
****I idly wondered if he’d liked to climb trees when he was younger, before he pulled out his soul and hid it, and that was why he kept it in one.  Assuming that it was actually there.

TANSTAV part 36

Chapter 10 part 2

As bad as that sounds, it was very necessary.  She had to check and make sure there was no shrapnel or remains of bullet left in my body, before she could do any real healing.  How can I describe the process of being vivisected while one is still alive and mostly conscious?  Let me see...oh, yes.  As I once said to an annoying reporter during the rare moment I agreed to an interview, even a masochist would find the process impossible to enjoy.  Xen has also told me that it’s basically the most disgusting thing she has ever done, but she knew she had to in order to save my life.  Some of the experience’s kind of hazy, and I think I blacked out once or twice, which was probably a blessing.  One of my more vivid memories is Xen reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small packet of white powder.

"What's...that?" I managed to gasp.

"Powdered Yoon bone," she replied, opening it.  "It'll help regrow your ribs and clavicles."

"They...shattered?"

"Oh, yeah.  Big time."

Despite the distressing circumstances, Xen kept her voice calm.  I admired her self control, and that she was trying to act like a doctor.

She took out a pinch of bone, and gingerly placed it in a few select places.  I idly wondered where she'd gotten it.  I hoped the Yoon it belonged to was already dead, or that the bone had had to be surgically removed, or something.  As the powder got in my system, the sharp pains I was feeling began to go away.  Ah, good, the stabbing sensation in my lung had dissipated, and with some spit, Xen plugged up the hole.  As soon as she was sure all the bones were put back together, after adding a bit of her blood to prevent infection, she coughed up a large glob of spit (also very gross), and began dribbling it into my wounds.  Once in a while, I would point out a spot that Xen had missed, or groan in pain, but other than that, things were going pretty quietly.  I noticed that Calla had freed the other prisoners (except Jessup, thank heavens), and had also moved Fleming, who was unconscious and bleeding, into another cage.  She came over to where we were.

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's on the mend, thank heavens," Xen replied.  The girl's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief.  It was then that I drifted out of consciousness again.

It didn't seem very long before I woke up again, but it must have been, because I felt a lot better.  Granted, I was still weak, and I once again felt like I had after being thrashed nearly to death by those hired goons (No, I am still unwilling to tell you about it; it was very humiliating for me); but I could tell that the holes in my guts and shoulders had closed up, and my insides felt good as new.  I slowly opened my eyes, and saw Xen staring anxiously down at me.  I was abruptly a bit anxious myself; having to save someone’s life by tearing them open, and then putting them back together, is a very intimate, personal process.  What if she was so repulsed by what she had to do that she no longer loved me?  Seeing me awake, she smiled with relief; but what if she was just trying to keep me happy?  Behind her, I saw Calla, who wiped her eyes, and cried out, "He's alive!"

I smiled weakly, hoping it wasn't showing my fear, and whispered, "Hey, Xen."

"It's about time," she replied.

Then, remembering something she'd said while attacking Fleming, I said, "Uh, Xen, technically I'm not your-"

"Tristan," she interrupted, "shut up."

And then she kissed me.  I shut up.

When I was finally allowed to talk again, the first words out of my mouth were, "Marry me, Xen.  Please?"

I know, this was not in my original plans.  But I couldn't wait.  I had to ask now, before something else happened.  She stared at me in shock. A full ten seconds passed, making me nervous.  Maybe she was too grossed out to still want me.  Then, with an expression of utmost delight, she cried, "Land sakes, Tristan!  I thought you'd never ask!"

Pulling me up, she hugged me.  I asked, "Does that mean yes?"

She sat back, and scrutinized me, trying to see if I was serious.  Realizing I was, she looked me right in the eyes, and said slowly, "Yes, Tristan.  Yes, I will marry you."

That made everything all right.

After a long, long while, I finally thought to see what Calla was doing.  I glanced over in her direction, and saw that she was standing by the altar, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling.  She was humming slightly, and I got the impression that she was embarrassed.  I tried to stand up, and felt my limbs all simultaneously collapse.  Thankfully, Xen was there to catch me before I could do a faceplant, and drape my arm around her shoulders.

"Take it easy," she cautioned me, "You just nearly died.  Give yourself some time."

Slowly we shuffled over to Calla, and I held out my other arm to her.  At least, I made a gesture at her with my free hand.  She came over, and hugged me around the chest, not caring about my bloodstained clothing (don’t worry, after gargoyle blood cools down, it’s safe to touch).  With effort, I returned it.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she murmured.

"Hey, I wasn't gonna leave that easily," I replied.  "Someone's got to be there to look after you."

Calla gave a small laugh, the first I'd ever heard from her.  It was sweet.

At that moment, the police finally arrived.  Ishida burst into the room, with what seemed like half the police force in tow.

"What the devil is going on here?!" he barked.  "What happened?  What's all this mess?"

Xen pointed at Fleming, and said, "He's the one you want."

I added, “You’ll want to arrest him for kidnapping, attempted murder, theft, necromancy, and deception.”

“Deception is not against the law!” Fleming, who was finally awake, squawked indignantly.

“True,” I shot back, “but it is a commandment.”

“The ninth, to be precise,” said Calla.

I nodded to her.  “Thank you, Calla.”

Two cops headed for the cage; I asked the chief, "How did you find us?"

"We traced the last signal we'd gotten from your phone, and-"  Ishida stopped, and frowned at me, looking confused.

"Why do you have blood on what remains of your shirt?"

"It's...complicated, chief.  I'll tell you in the report.  Just know that you've got two new prisoners, one of whom needs to go back to Chernabog, ASAP.  And let me know if you find a hooded cloak, or if Fleming has any notes about this.  I need something to add to my collection."

(I keep little mementos from all my cases in a file cabinet at work.)

With the help of the girls, I shuffled over to the cage where my enemy stood, glaring at me, his handsome face contorted with a paroxysm of deepest rage.

"Hi," I said.  "You know, being behind bars really suits you."

"This isn't over, Wormwood," Jessup hissed, "I'll get out again, and when I do, I'll come for you, and your lady friends, and make sure that before you die you watch them undergo the most horrible, painful-"

"Spare me.  If I had a dime every time someone threatened my life, I’d have-” I did a quick mental calculation- “about twenty dollars.”

“You've been threatened by two hundred different people?” Calla gasped.

“No, some of them repeated themselves.  Anyway, Jessup, you don't have a snowball in Texas's chance of getting out.  And if you do, I'll be waiting.  You name the place."

"Yeah.  We'll be waiting too," growled Xen.  She bared her fangs at him; I noticed that Calla, though looking a lot less intimidating, did have her best glare on.  She whispered, "I hope you enjoy prison, sir."

It was then that we decided to go home.  I'd had enough for one day, and besides, we had some plans to make.