To my relief, we appeared right at Baba Yaga’s front gate. Also to my relief, my stomach had not revolted much during the last two trips. Maybe it was just too tired for its normal nausea; I didn’t dare to believe that it was developing a tolerance for teleporting.
Wearily hefting the sword, I set down the vodyanoy, and cracked open the gate. Then, from above and behind me, a voice called, “Tristan?”
It doesn’t sound like she’s gotten older...but you can’t be too careful about these things. It doesn’t prove anything anyway, since she ages so slowly. She could be any age, she could-
A mortar flew over our heads, landing in the yard. And out climbed Calla, looking fresh as a daisy-if a bit dark around the eyes, which were moistening as I looked. She stumbled forward, and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her head in my chest. With my free claw I rubbed her head.
“How...long?” I asked, fearing the answer.
“Two days left,” she murmured. “You’re ahead of schedule; usually the hero shows up at the very last moment.”
“Well, you know me. I’m no hero. I don’t believe in following conventions.”
Calla snorted.
Baba Yaga looked extremely disappointed when Calla and I showed up with the sword.* However, a bargain was a bargain, so she sighed and took Kladenets from me.
“Very good, Chernobyl,” she said begrudgingly.
“Thanks. We’ll be going now,” I said, also returning the pack of supplies. She barely noticed, instead smugly running her long hands over the blade. I had a feeling she was trying to find out what it did. And something told me when that happened, she would be most displeased. So it was probably best to get going now.
On one of the shelves by the fireplace, I noticed a blue towel and fancy wooden comb laying side by side. Remembering an aspect of one of the tales of Baba Yaga, I inched my way over and picked them up, tucking them into my shirt. Since I’d foolishly forgotten to ask Koschei to heal my broken wing, and Calla’s healing skills were erratic at best, we were probably going to have to run soon.
The witch turned to stare at Calla.
“Remember what I told you, myshka. I mean it.”
“Yes ma’am,” she whispered, averting her eyes.
I was curious, but now wasn’t really the time to ask. I caught Calla’s arm, and quickly pulled her out of the house as the witch went back to the sword.
“What’s the rush?” she asked, tapping the door frame; as she did, the house lowered itself, and we jumped out onto the lawn-much better than my previous experience with the place.
“She’s probably about to find out that the sword does nothing but make good borscht,” I explained. “We need to get away before that happens.”
Her little jaw dropped, and she covered her mouth after a second with a slightly hysterical giggle. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s not our fault, but she might try to take it out on us regardless. Go faster.”
We had barely made it into the woods when I heard a horrible, ungodly screech, followed by the thuds of giant clawed feet thumping across the ground.
Shoot. The whole house is coming after us.
Calla gasped.
I risked a glance; if you’ve never seen a house on giant chicken legs chasing after you, it’s hard to imagine.** A little wobbly at first, probably from not having to move so much in such a long time, it thudded after us, giant claws scraping the ground and leaving ditches in their wake. Baba Yaga stood in the doorway, hair blowing back, eyes of fire burning even from this far away. And I could see that her pale face was twisted in a fury that gave me an adrenaline rush.
*The vodyanoy had been returned to the lake, and his true form-though he still disliked the rusalki, he figured it was safer than being somewhere closer to Koschei’s influence. Calla promised to keep in touch somehow, and has even been considering introducing him to the world of the Internet, if she can create a spell to make a computer waterproof.
I asked her later why on earth she made him a duck, of all things. She explained that she’d been trying to make a firebird, for dramatic effect, but his watery nature kept struggling against it, and finally it seemed easier to just make him something actually connected with water. Besides, they were on a tight schedule.
** Unless you have a very creative imagination, or have seen it happen in a movie with very convincing CGI or something.
Showing posts with label sword. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sword. Show all posts
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
Season of the Witch part 21
Koschei was bored. He’d been waiting for almost a full day, and there was no sign of “Mr. Tolstoy.” Not that he expected him to actually find the right tree. He just hoped he’d come back and concede defeat, so he could find something more fun to do with him. The hot blood of gargoyles was said to give them a high tolerance for cold temperatures; it would be interesting to find out just how cold. Or see how strong their tough skin was when faced with the opposite extreme of intense heat.
Koschei had won yet another game of chess played against his oldest and most loyal manservant, Igor. The man had some talent, yes, but he was only a hundred and fifty years old, and his opponent had centuries of experience ahead of him. If he did say so himself, Koschei viewed himself as a chess master.
Sometimes he wondered if he could ever persuade Baba Yaga to play with him again. The crone so hated to lose at anything, and hated even more to admit how talented he was, but they had enjoyed a few games together in their lifetime. Maybe if he gave her the sword willingly, she’d be willing to join him for a few rounds…
The Deathless One sipped thoughtfully at his vodka. There was another day and a half yet; he had plenty of time before-
His body jerked violently, spilling vodka all over himself, staining the fur of his robe. Koschei leaped up, spluttering and cleaning himself off. He’d felt something strange in that moment-something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time…
“Sir?” Igor asked. “Are you all right?”
Before Koschei could answer, his arm moved on its own, and he found himself casting a spell. A spell that opened a portal.
Before he could try to close it, a gargoyle-bedraggled, pale, with one wing dragging broken at his side, covered in mud and blood, and carrying a very ugly duck under one arm-stepped through. In one claw he clutched a golden egg.
Oh, sorry, were you actually interested in reading about that part? About the big, dramatic action scene? So you like reading about me getting beat up by some eldritch abomination and having to scramble frantically to a position where I can dig my claws into its belly and rip it open and pull out its wiring, getting myself splattered with oil and grime and being generally crushed and tossed about the whole time? What kind of monster are you?!
Hefting the egg, I said, “Found it.”
Koschei glared at me. “So you did.”
“Now give me the sword, before I smash it.”
With a world-weary sigh, the sorcerer handed it over. Then he asked, “Out of curiosity, how did you find it?”
I nearly said A little bird told me, but I didn’t want him exacting retribution on the innocent creature, so I said, “Just lucky, I guess.”
His eyes strayed to the duck anyway. And he realized, as I did, that it was under a spell of some kind, and his face twisted with a kind of dark hatred. “You!”
Whatever connection he had with it escaped me, but I quickly stepped back and brandished the egg. “You’re not allowed to do anything to hurt this creature, in duck form or whatever its original form is. Or come after me, or my family or friends. Promise you won’t do any of those things, and you can have this back.”
Koschei blinked. Then he said, “Then why bother returning it at all? It’s nothing short of foolish. And you could have all you want and more if you just keep my soul.”
Meaning he’d be my servant, like the Dark One’s dagger.* But I just said, “I don’t think I’m qualified to bear that kind of responsibility.” Then, more firmly, “Deal?”
He sighed. “Deal. I will not do anything to harm you, those you care for, or this-” his lip curled- “vodyanoy.”
So that’s what it is.
“You also need to promise not to entice anything to harm any of us, or act in any way, shape or form that will do so.”
Maybe I should have created a contract.
Looking exasperated, Mr. the Deathless agreed to all my terms. Once I was sure that the bases were covered, I started to place the egg in his hands. But then I hesitated.
“One more thing. What’s Kladenets do?”
He grinned mirthlessly. “It gives the bearer the gift of making very excellent borscht. Nothing else.”
You have got to be kidding me.
“Is that the truth?” I jiggled the egg a bit.
Koschei flinched, but told me, “I swear it on the souls of my ancestors.”
Dramatic, but I decided to believe him. I placed the egg in his arms. And for a split second, I saw a bit of a change in him. The washed-out-ness faded a bit, and I saw something more...human** in him. Then he glared, and opened a new portal, which swept me and the vodyanoy-duck away.
*From Once Upon a Time, a human TV show that was good, but sucked after season 3.
** For lack of a better word
Koschei had won yet another game of chess played against his oldest and most loyal manservant, Igor. The man had some talent, yes, but he was only a hundred and fifty years old, and his opponent had centuries of experience ahead of him. If he did say so himself, Koschei viewed himself as a chess master.
Sometimes he wondered if he could ever persuade Baba Yaga to play with him again. The crone so hated to lose at anything, and hated even more to admit how talented he was, but they had enjoyed a few games together in their lifetime. Maybe if he gave her the sword willingly, she’d be willing to join him for a few rounds…
The Deathless One sipped thoughtfully at his vodka. There was another day and a half yet; he had plenty of time before-
His body jerked violently, spilling vodka all over himself, staining the fur of his robe. Koschei leaped up, spluttering and cleaning himself off. He’d felt something strange in that moment-something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time…
“Sir?” Igor asked. “Are you all right?”
Before Koschei could answer, his arm moved on its own, and he found himself casting a spell. A spell that opened a portal.
Before he could try to close it, a gargoyle-bedraggled, pale, with one wing dragging broken at his side, covered in mud and blood, and carrying a very ugly duck under one arm-stepped through. In one claw he clutched a golden egg.
***
Believe it or not, getting ahold of the soul was the easiest part of my trip. Because yeah, I broke my wing and lost some blood I couldn’t afford to lose fighting a giant rabbit-duck automaton that sprang out of the chest when I opened it, but the solution for that was simple: destroy it before it could destroy me, then remove the egg from its innards.Oh, sorry, were you actually interested in reading about that part? About the big, dramatic action scene? So you like reading about me getting beat up by some eldritch abomination and having to scramble frantically to a position where I can dig my claws into its belly and rip it open and pull out its wiring, getting myself splattered with oil and grime and being generally crushed and tossed about the whole time? What kind of monster are you?!
Hefting the egg, I said, “Found it.”
Koschei glared at me. “So you did.”
“Now give me the sword, before I smash it.”
With a world-weary sigh, the sorcerer handed it over. Then he asked, “Out of curiosity, how did you find it?”
I nearly said A little bird told me, but I didn’t want him exacting retribution on the innocent creature, so I said, “Just lucky, I guess.”
His eyes strayed to the duck anyway. And he realized, as I did, that it was under a spell of some kind, and his face twisted with a kind of dark hatred. “You!”
Whatever connection he had with it escaped me, but I quickly stepped back and brandished the egg. “You’re not allowed to do anything to hurt this creature, in duck form or whatever its original form is. Or come after me, or my family or friends. Promise you won’t do any of those things, and you can have this back.”
Koschei blinked. Then he said, “Then why bother returning it at all? It’s nothing short of foolish. And you could have all you want and more if you just keep my soul.”
Meaning he’d be my servant, like the Dark One’s dagger.* But I just said, “I don’t think I’m qualified to bear that kind of responsibility.” Then, more firmly, “Deal?”
He sighed. “Deal. I will not do anything to harm you, those you care for, or this-” his lip curled- “vodyanoy.”
So that’s what it is.
“You also need to promise not to entice anything to harm any of us, or act in any way, shape or form that will do so.”
Maybe I should have created a contract.
Looking exasperated, Mr. the Deathless agreed to all my terms. Once I was sure that the bases were covered, I started to place the egg in his hands. But then I hesitated.
“One more thing. What’s Kladenets do?”
He grinned mirthlessly. “It gives the bearer the gift of making very excellent borscht. Nothing else.”
You have got to be kidding me.
“Is that the truth?” I jiggled the egg a bit.
Koschei flinched, but told me, “I swear it on the souls of my ancestors.”
Dramatic, but I decided to believe him. I placed the egg in his arms. And for a split second, I saw a bit of a change in him. The washed-out-ness faded a bit, and I saw something more...human** in him. Then he glared, and opened a new portal, which swept me and the vodyanoy-duck away.
*From Once Upon a Time, a human TV show that was good, but sucked after season 3.
** For lack of a better word
Saturday, October 8, 2016
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.”
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.
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.
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Season of the Witch part 14
I awoke with a jolt. A second of confusion, and then everything flooded back to me: Baba Yaga, Calla, Mr. the Deathless, the sword, capture, bleeding-how long had I been asleep?!
I jumped up, feeling an adrenaline rush-and nearly fell over as my vision became covered with colored spots. I used my left hand to grip the chair, but finally had to slump to the floor and lie down for a few minutes until I could see straight again.
Right; let’s try this again. First of all, better check my hand.
I pulled it up from my chest, where somehow I’d been able to keep it for all this time, and took a look. Thank goodness, the bleeding had stopped. Now it was just clotted with a lot of dried blood.
I miss Xen.
I tried to make some sort of noise; the spell, however, had not worn off, making it impossible even to croak. Not that I really needed my voice at the moment. It would just be nice to have it back eventually, you know? I decided to focus on getting out of here.
Now that I was actually free, and wearing the shaded glasses, I could see that my prison was made out of some kind of stained glass. It was actually quite pretty, now that it wasn’t searing my retinas and I wasn’t tied to a chair. The voices were back, too; to my surprise, their conversation made me suspect they were the voices of tourists.
“Come look at this!”
“How long do you think it took them to make that?”
“Derek! Come back here!”
“I’m bored…”
“Do you know if we can take pictures? All the signs are in Russian.”
And those were just in the languages I could understand.
My sense of smell was cut off by the glass, so I couldn’t tell if it was all an illusion or not. So I began looking around the room, trying to find any other potential spells or curses that might be set up. Eventually, in the far corner I found what looked like an alarm spell-probably set to go off if I broke the glass, since it hadn’t been triggered by my freeing myself from the chair.
Unless I just didn’t notice it went off, and he’s now watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do…
I’ve got to take that chance.
Quickly I found the loophole in the spell, and unraveled it. A very big risk, but it might buy me some time. Then I crouched down, and smashed a hole in the floor with my uninjured claw.
It turned out that I was forced to break a few more holes before it was big enough for me to squeeze out. But once I did so, I leaned my head and shoulders out, bracing my arms against the sides. Beneath me there appeared to be an entire horde of giant people walking around, examining Russian artwork. This startled me, before I realized: They aren’t giants. I’ve been shrunk!
One of the people had noticed the little shards of broken glass that had fallen, and had gone to a security guard; he was pointing at where I was, and I could make out the words, “...think the bulb burst...might want to get that fixed…”
I’m in a lightbulb? Must be something like that-those fancy stained glass light fixtures up top would do the trick, if Mr. the Deathless kept a tiny dimension or something inside one, like a genie bottle...Well, better get out of here before they come to investigate.
I jumped out of the hole I’d made in the glass, and glided down to the ground, ignoring the wave of dizziness that overcame me as a result. I landed in a corner of the room, by the doorway; a good thing, too, because a few seconds later I found myself growing back to normal size (thankfully along with my clothes).
That makes things a bit easier. Now, question: am I still in the right place?
I suddenly heard a voice call, “Stop that man!” and saw two frog-headed men* in Russian guardsman’s uniforms running toward me.
Yup, I’m in the right place.
Barely taking time to look at my surroundings, I turned into the first corridor I could find and ran.
*Disguised to any humans, of course.
I jumped up, feeling an adrenaline rush-and nearly fell over as my vision became covered with colored spots. I used my left hand to grip the chair, but finally had to slump to the floor and lie down for a few minutes until I could see straight again.
Right; let’s try this again. First of all, better check my hand.
I pulled it up from my chest, where somehow I’d been able to keep it for all this time, and took a look. Thank goodness, the bleeding had stopped. Now it was just clotted with a lot of dried blood.
I miss Xen.
I tried to make some sort of noise; the spell, however, had not worn off, making it impossible even to croak. Not that I really needed my voice at the moment. It would just be nice to have it back eventually, you know? I decided to focus on getting out of here.
Now that I was actually free, and wearing the shaded glasses, I could see that my prison was made out of some kind of stained glass. It was actually quite pretty, now that it wasn’t searing my retinas and I wasn’t tied to a chair. The voices were back, too; to my surprise, their conversation made me suspect they were the voices of tourists.
“Come look at this!”
“How long do you think it took them to make that?”
“Derek! Come back here!”
“I’m bored…”
“Do you know if we can take pictures? All the signs are in Russian.”
And those were just in the languages I could understand.
My sense of smell was cut off by the glass, so I couldn’t tell if it was all an illusion or not. So I began looking around the room, trying to find any other potential spells or curses that might be set up. Eventually, in the far corner I found what looked like an alarm spell-probably set to go off if I broke the glass, since it hadn’t been triggered by my freeing myself from the chair.
Unless I just didn’t notice it went off, and he’s now watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do…
I’ve got to take that chance.
Quickly I found the loophole in the spell, and unraveled it. A very big risk, but it might buy me some time. Then I crouched down, and smashed a hole in the floor with my uninjured claw.
It turned out that I was forced to break a few more holes before it was big enough for me to squeeze out. But once I did so, I leaned my head and shoulders out, bracing my arms against the sides. Beneath me there appeared to be an entire horde of giant people walking around, examining Russian artwork. This startled me, before I realized: They aren’t giants. I’ve been shrunk!
One of the people had noticed the little shards of broken glass that had fallen, and had gone to a security guard; he was pointing at where I was, and I could make out the words, “...think the bulb burst...might want to get that fixed…”
I’m in a lightbulb? Must be something like that-those fancy stained glass light fixtures up top would do the trick, if Mr. the Deathless kept a tiny dimension or something inside one, like a genie bottle...Well, better get out of here before they come to investigate.
I jumped out of the hole I’d made in the glass, and glided down to the ground, ignoring the wave of dizziness that overcame me as a result. I landed in a corner of the room, by the doorway; a good thing, too, because a few seconds later I found myself growing back to normal size (thankfully along with my clothes).
That makes things a bit easier. Now, question: am I still in the right place?
I suddenly heard a voice call, “Stop that man!” and saw two frog-headed men* in Russian guardsman’s uniforms running toward me.
Yup, I’m in the right place.
Barely taking time to look at my surroundings, I turned into the first corridor I could find and ran.
*Disguised to any humans, of course.
Friday, August 5, 2016
Season of the Witch part 10
Very disoriented…
My head hurts…
Okay, where am I? Need to figure that out. To start with, open my eyes.
Blink.
Instant, blinding, colorful, multi-faceted light.
Return to blackness.
Okay, bad idea. Better to keep my eyes shut. Wherever I am, there’s a lot of light, ugh.
I’m sitting up, in what feels like a chair of some kind. An old-fashioned, high-backed chair that isn’t doing my tail any favors. Or my wings, come to think of it...they’re going to get really cramped if I’m here long. Can I move? Try.
Slight shifting.
No, evidently not. I’m tied to the chair somehow; it feels too strong for normal ropes, so probably magical. The ropes are around my wrists, and ankles, so I’m bound to the arms and the front legs. It’s starting to get a little uncomfortable.
Probably going to get a lot worse.
No voices anywhere within my hearing range, but do I dare call for help?
Open mouth, try to use vocal chords.
Nothing.
Feels like there’s some kind of spell in my throat that keeps me from speaking; even more effective than a gag. Shoot.
Can I maybe wiggle the chair around? Try tipping it over.
Shove, shift, push.
No good; I think it’s bolted to the floor. That probably means I’m going to be tortured...being alive for all these years, Mr. the Deathless probably has an extensive knowledge of methods of persuasion. This is probably going to hurt. I’ll just have to hold out for...for...oh my gosh, how long have I been kept here?!
I felt a sick wave of horror crash down in my stomach, before slowly rising up my throat and into my ears. What if I’d been in a sleep stasis or something? For all I knew, centuries had passed, and Calla had become the official property of Baba Yaga-
Why would he keep you here for that long?
Maybe he forgot about me.
...Not entirely impossible, but let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. Try to think that there’s still time left. Assuming I get out of here alive.
I was there for hours, feeling my limbs grow progressively more numb and cramped. A few times I dozed off, sleeping fitfully, but for the most part I just had to sit and worry, and wish I’d been able to say a better goodbye to Xen and Phil (among others), and wonder if anyone would ever be able to recover my body.
Finally, I felt my fur stand on end as a spell was enacted, and someone appeared in the room, right in front of me. Someone who smelled like every old person in the world blended together, as well as vodka, magic, a sharp tang of blood, and an overlying malice. I squinted my eyes open, and barely made out a shadowy form before the pain of the light forced me to shut them again. I heard a tongue clicking against teeth, and then a heavily-accented male Russian voice.
“Agh, you gorgul’i* and your sensitive eyes. Fine, maybe this will help.”**
A few seconds later, I felt some glasses being placed over my eyes. I opened them a tiny bit, in case this was a trick; but no, they really were shaded. With a sigh of relief, I opened my eyes all the way, and found myself staring into the face of Mr. the Deathless.
Like Baba Yaga, he was thin and old. Unlike Baba Yaga, whose hair was a mixture of gray and white, Koschei’s hair and long, full beard were mostly black, though still streaked with gray. Which made sense, considering that he was younger than her by a century or three. His eyes were very dark and penetrating, the kind of eyes that women find terribly compelling and attractive in a younger man’s face. His clothes were more modern than Baba Yaga’s: a very expensive suit with the military look common to Russian aristocrats, and nice leather shoes. Granted, he also had a fur-lined robe, and what appeared to be the crown jewels from some bygone era adorning his (extremely) bony frame. As I scrutinized him, I couldn’t help thinking that he seemed almost...washed out. No, no, that’s not the right word-drained, hollow. Like he’d had the vitality sucked right out of him, and was now only the shadow of what he’d once been. Extracting your own soul and hiding it away for hundreds of years will do that to you.
“Why did you try to steal this from me?”
Mr. the Deathless lifted Kladenets, which had been at his side, and brought it right up under my chin.
Really?
I gave him a look to remind him that I was rather incapable of answering any questions at the moment. Even so, it took him a moment to realize his mistake, after which he gave an exasperated sigh, and waved his other hand towards me. The feeling in my throat vanished, and I gave a little cough of relief once I knew that I could make sounds again.
“Why did you try to steal this from me?” Mr. the Deathless repeated, as if he thought I hadn’t heard him the first time.
“You’d be surprised what one of them things will go for on the black market,” I lied, taking on a northern Russian dialect.
Lowering the sword, the old sorcerer reached out and smacked my cheek with the back of his hand. Despite the weakness of his frame, he packed a bit of a wallop, and I could feel my cheek stinging from it. It even appeared that some of his rings had been hard enough to cut me open a little.
“Do you expect me to believe that someone like you, with no powers to speak of and only a few fancy gadgets, would dare attempt to steal from me?”
“It was the last thing you would expect,” I argued, which technically wasn’t a lie.
Koschei narrowed his eyes at me thoughtfully. After a second, he asked, “Who sent you?”
“Nobody.”
Thwack.
“Who sent you?”
“Nobody. I got the idea on my own.”
Thwack. This time on the other side of my face. If he thought this was going to break me, he’d have to try a lot harder. Sure, it hurt, but I’d experienced pain before. Getting slapped several times had nothing on getting shot in the stomach. I sat up straight again, keeping my face carefully neutral.
“Fine. You won’t tell me the truth on your own?” Koschei reached inside his robe, pulled out a glass vial filled with blood red liquid, and pulled out the cork. “I’ll see if you’re lying or not.”
I resisted. Even though I knew it was futile to do so, even though I knew that whatever I did, I was trapped, and that Koschei was going to get that substance into me whatever I did, I tried to squirm away. It was instinctive, probably anyone else in my place would have done the same. And sure enough, the sorcerer waved a hand at me, freezing my head in place. Then he pried my jaws open, and poured the entire substance down my throat.
I don’t know if any of you have ever been force-fed a potentially poisonous potion by a homicidal, practically immortal sorcerer. It is decidedly unpleasant. And it didn’t help that as I was forced to swallow it down, I realized that it was actual blood. Not any blood I was familiar with, but blood nonetheless-that sharp, coppery tang is hard to replicate. And gag and choke though I might, soon enough I had drunk it all.
Koschei stood back with a satisfied smile.
“Do you know what I just gave you?”
He released the spell that had kept me frozen, allowing me to shake my head numbly.
“Phoenix blood. If cooled to room temperature, or at least to the point that it is safe to swallow, it renders the one who drinks it temporarily compelled to honesty. Once it takes effect, you couldn’t lie to me if you tried.”
I didn’t know phoenix blood did that. Cool; I’ll have to remember that for the future.
My head was starting to feel heavy-in fact, my whole body was sort of heavy and sloshy all over, like it feels after you’ve just eaten a big, hearty meal. That didn’t bode well…
“I’ll ask again. Who are you working for?”
Still speaking in my Russian accent (because he hadn’t specifically said anything against that, or even appeared to realize that it wasn’t my native language), I murmured dreamily, “Baba Yaga.”
“I knew it!” Koschei gave a triumphant little cackle. “I knew that old letuchaya mysh’*** couldn’t resist if she found out I had it! Ha ha, perfect!” Then he looked at me thoughtfully. “The question remains, what am I going to do with you?”
“Please don’t...kill me,” I murmured. Talking, even if I had to talk honestly, was kind of difficult. Especially in a different language.
“Can you give me a compelling reason why I shouldn’t?”
“...Hard to say...with one so...old and powerful. But I need...that sword.”
Despite himself, I could tell Mr. the Deathless was curious.
“What for?”
“To save...someone important.”
His eyes rolled. “Let me guess: wife? Girlfriend?”
“No...assistant.”
The eyes stopped mid-roll, and focused back on me with some confusion.
“No romantic relationship at all?”
I shook my head-or at least, I lolled it in such a way that I decided to count it as shaking.
“Not with her.”
Silence ensued. Finally, Mr. the Deathless murmured, “That’s certainly a novelty for a hero.”
I tried to snort and say that I was no hero. For some reason, the words would not leave my lips. So instead I stared at him and tried to determine what he was planning to do.
I wasn’t naive enough to think that my reason for stealing the sword would convince him to let me go. And I had nothing to threaten or bribe him with, either. I was completely in his power, which meant that my situation looked pretty bleak.
My suspicions were confirmed when Koschei stood up straighter and said, “Until I decide what to do with you, I’ll have to leave you here. So just...sit tight.”
Chuckling at his own bad joke, he twitched his hand at me, and I felt my throat clog up again. I strained ineffectually against the spells binding me to the chair, as an image flashed through my mind of Calla, thirty years from now, being Baba Yaga’s slave, helping her to take over the world or something. And it would be my fault for not stealing that stupid sword.
Koschei vanished, leaving me alone with these dark thoughts. At least he’d also left me the dark glasses, so I didn’t have to keep my eyes closed.
*Gargoyles
My head hurts…
Okay, where am I? Need to figure that out. To start with, open my eyes.
Blink.
Instant, blinding, colorful, multi-faceted light.
Return to blackness.
Okay, bad idea. Better to keep my eyes shut. Wherever I am, there’s a lot of light, ugh.
I’m sitting up, in what feels like a chair of some kind. An old-fashioned, high-backed chair that isn’t doing my tail any favors. Or my wings, come to think of it...they’re going to get really cramped if I’m here long. Can I move? Try.
Slight shifting.
No, evidently not. I’m tied to the chair somehow; it feels too strong for normal ropes, so probably magical. The ropes are around my wrists, and ankles, so I’m bound to the arms and the front legs. It’s starting to get a little uncomfortable.
Probably going to get a lot worse.
No voices anywhere within my hearing range, but do I dare call for help?
Open mouth, try to use vocal chords.
Nothing.
Feels like there’s some kind of spell in my throat that keeps me from speaking; even more effective than a gag. Shoot.
Can I maybe wiggle the chair around? Try tipping it over.
Shove, shift, push.
No good; I think it’s bolted to the floor. That probably means I’m going to be tortured...being alive for all these years, Mr. the Deathless probably has an extensive knowledge of methods of persuasion. This is probably going to hurt. I’ll just have to hold out for...for...oh my gosh, how long have I been kept here?!
I felt a sick wave of horror crash down in my stomach, before slowly rising up my throat and into my ears. What if I’d been in a sleep stasis or something? For all I knew, centuries had passed, and Calla had become the official property of Baba Yaga-
Why would he keep you here for that long?
Maybe he forgot about me.
...Not entirely impossible, but let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. Try to think that there’s still time left. Assuming I get out of here alive.
I was there for hours, feeling my limbs grow progressively more numb and cramped. A few times I dozed off, sleeping fitfully, but for the most part I just had to sit and worry, and wish I’d been able to say a better goodbye to Xen and Phil (among others), and wonder if anyone would ever be able to recover my body.
Finally, I felt my fur stand on end as a spell was enacted, and someone appeared in the room, right in front of me. Someone who smelled like every old person in the world blended together, as well as vodka, magic, a sharp tang of blood, and an overlying malice. I squinted my eyes open, and barely made out a shadowy form before the pain of the light forced me to shut them again. I heard a tongue clicking against teeth, and then a heavily-accented male Russian voice.
“Agh, you gorgul’i* and your sensitive eyes. Fine, maybe this will help.”**
A few seconds later, I felt some glasses being placed over my eyes. I opened them a tiny bit, in case this was a trick; but no, they really were shaded. With a sigh of relief, I opened my eyes all the way, and found myself staring into the face of Mr. the Deathless.
Like Baba Yaga, he was thin and old. Unlike Baba Yaga, whose hair was a mixture of gray and white, Koschei’s hair and long, full beard were mostly black, though still streaked with gray. Which made sense, considering that he was younger than her by a century or three. His eyes were very dark and penetrating, the kind of eyes that women find terribly compelling and attractive in a younger man’s face. His clothes were more modern than Baba Yaga’s: a very expensive suit with the military look common to Russian aristocrats, and nice leather shoes. Granted, he also had a fur-lined robe, and what appeared to be the crown jewels from some bygone era adorning his (extremely) bony frame. As I scrutinized him, I couldn’t help thinking that he seemed almost...washed out. No, no, that’s not the right word-drained, hollow. Like he’d had the vitality sucked right out of him, and was now only the shadow of what he’d once been. Extracting your own soul and hiding it away for hundreds of years will do that to you.
“Why did you try to steal this from me?”
Mr. the Deathless lifted Kladenets, which had been at his side, and brought it right up under my chin.
Really?
I gave him a look to remind him that I was rather incapable of answering any questions at the moment. Even so, it took him a moment to realize his mistake, after which he gave an exasperated sigh, and waved his other hand towards me. The feeling in my throat vanished, and I gave a little cough of relief once I knew that I could make sounds again.
“Why did you try to steal this from me?” Mr. the Deathless repeated, as if he thought I hadn’t heard him the first time.
“You’d be surprised what one of them things will go for on the black market,” I lied, taking on a northern Russian dialect.
Lowering the sword, the old sorcerer reached out and smacked my cheek with the back of his hand. Despite the weakness of his frame, he packed a bit of a wallop, and I could feel my cheek stinging from it. It even appeared that some of his rings had been hard enough to cut me open a little.
“Do you expect me to believe that someone like you, with no powers to speak of and only a few fancy gadgets, would dare attempt to steal from me?”
“It was the last thing you would expect,” I argued, which technically wasn’t a lie.
Koschei narrowed his eyes at me thoughtfully. After a second, he asked, “Who sent you?”
“Nobody.”
Thwack.
“Who sent you?”
“Nobody. I got the idea on my own.”
Thwack. This time on the other side of my face. If he thought this was going to break me, he’d have to try a lot harder. Sure, it hurt, but I’d experienced pain before. Getting slapped several times had nothing on getting shot in the stomach. I sat up straight again, keeping my face carefully neutral.
“Fine. You won’t tell me the truth on your own?” Koschei reached inside his robe, pulled out a glass vial filled with blood red liquid, and pulled out the cork. “I’ll see if you’re lying or not.”
I resisted. Even though I knew it was futile to do so, even though I knew that whatever I did, I was trapped, and that Koschei was going to get that substance into me whatever I did, I tried to squirm away. It was instinctive, probably anyone else in my place would have done the same. And sure enough, the sorcerer waved a hand at me, freezing my head in place. Then he pried my jaws open, and poured the entire substance down my throat.
I don’t know if any of you have ever been force-fed a potentially poisonous potion by a homicidal, practically immortal sorcerer. It is decidedly unpleasant. And it didn’t help that as I was forced to swallow it down, I realized that it was actual blood. Not any blood I was familiar with, but blood nonetheless-that sharp, coppery tang is hard to replicate. And gag and choke though I might, soon enough I had drunk it all.
Koschei stood back with a satisfied smile.
“Do you know what I just gave you?”
He released the spell that had kept me frozen, allowing me to shake my head numbly.
“Phoenix blood. If cooled to room temperature, or at least to the point that it is safe to swallow, it renders the one who drinks it temporarily compelled to honesty. Once it takes effect, you couldn’t lie to me if you tried.”
I didn’t know phoenix blood did that. Cool; I’ll have to remember that for the future.
My head was starting to feel heavy-in fact, my whole body was sort of heavy and sloshy all over, like it feels after you’ve just eaten a big, hearty meal. That didn’t bode well…
“I’ll ask again. Who are you working for?”
Still speaking in my Russian accent (because he hadn’t specifically said anything against that, or even appeared to realize that it wasn’t my native language), I murmured dreamily, “Baba Yaga.”
“I knew it!” Koschei gave a triumphant little cackle. “I knew that old letuchaya mysh’*** couldn’t resist if she found out I had it! Ha ha, perfect!” Then he looked at me thoughtfully. “The question remains, what am I going to do with you?”
“Please don’t...kill me,” I murmured. Talking, even if I had to talk honestly, was kind of difficult. Especially in a different language.
“Can you give me a compelling reason why I shouldn’t?”
“...Hard to say...with one so...old and powerful. But I need...that sword.”
Despite himself, I could tell Mr. the Deathless was curious.
“What for?”
“To save...someone important.”
His eyes rolled. “Let me guess: wife? Girlfriend?”
“No...assistant.”
The eyes stopped mid-roll, and focused back on me with some confusion.
“No romantic relationship at all?”
I shook my head-or at least, I lolled it in such a way that I decided to count it as shaking.
“Not with her.”
Silence ensued. Finally, Mr. the Deathless murmured, “That’s certainly a novelty for a hero.”
I tried to snort and say that I was no hero. For some reason, the words would not leave my lips. So instead I stared at him and tried to determine what he was planning to do.
I wasn’t naive enough to think that my reason for stealing the sword would convince him to let me go. And I had nothing to threaten or bribe him with, either. I was completely in his power, which meant that my situation looked pretty bleak.
My suspicions were confirmed when Koschei stood up straighter and said, “Until I decide what to do with you, I’ll have to leave you here. So just...sit tight.”
Chuckling at his own bad joke, he twitched his hand at me, and I felt my throat clog up again. I strained ineffectually against the spells binding me to the chair, as an image flashed through my mind of Calla, thirty years from now, being Baba Yaga’s slave, helping her to take over the world or something. And it would be my fault for not stealing that stupid sword.
Koschei vanished, leaving me alone with these dark thoughts. At least he’d also left me the dark glasses, so I didn’t have to keep my eyes closed.
*Gargoyles
**Just for convenience’s sake, I’m going to translate most of his words into English, okay?
***Bat
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Season of the Witch part 8
Inside this place, wherever it was, it was blessedly dark. I was in a long tunnel, about six feet high and made all out of brick, running away for about twenty feet, and then turning to the left-away from the floor plan of the cathedral. I glanced back at where I’d entered, and saw a faint blue glow lining the brickwork. So for now, there was a way out. Feeling some comfort from that, I settled my backpack more comfortably on my shoulders, and then jogged off, keeping a weather eye out for booby traps. Fortunately, at least to the corner, there were none. When I got there, however, I pulled out a mirror, and used it to look.
No visible signs of anything. That didn’t mean much, though, not in this world. Putting the mirror back in my bag, I had to dig around for a bit, before finding the bag of laever powder.* I scooped a bit of it into my palm, and then gently blew it into the air. And just like in a spy movie, long, weblike threads appeared stretched across the corridor. The image reminded me uncomfortably of spiders, and spider bites. But, sucking it up, I began to maneuver my way through them.
As I went, I entertained myself by wondering how Koschei got past the trap; did he use a spell to make the threads part for him? Or was it set up to only react for other people? Or did he just have a different entrance altogether that only he used, and the whole purpose of this one was to use it to trap anyone who might be breaking in? So many possibilities…
I kept my wings and tail tucked as close to me as possible, and even tried to pull the backpack close against my shoulders so it wouldn’t brush against anything.
Somehow, by sheer luck, I made it through. Just in case, I checked myself all over for any webs or spiders that might have gotten on me; as far as I could tell, though, I was safe. And right ahead of me, just one step ahead, I could see that the ground was absolutely coated in a bright red spell, spilling all the way down the hall and halting only right in front of a thick-looking door. I suspected that, unless this was an elaborate trap of some kind, this was my intended destination.
Just one more obstacle…
Yeah, right. There’s probably going to be a lot more than just that.
I’m trying to be optimistic, okay? Just humor me.
Whatever.
Ignoring my subconscious’s snide commentary, I stretched my arms out, measuring how far apart the walls were. It looked like maybe I could make it...but was it worth the risk, though? Not that I had a choice.
I did a small leap straight up, flinging my arms out and flattening my hands against the walls. Once I had a grip, I dug my feet in too. I was now about a foot above the ground.
Well, here goes nothing.
Barely giving myself a chance to think, because then I’d come to my senses and ask what the h___ I was doing, I began swinging down the hall. I would move forward by the arms for a bit, catch myself with my legs, take a moment to breathe, then swing by my legs and catch myself with my arms. As a result, I was slowly making my way closer to the door.**
I wasn’t in pain as much as many other species would be, since I’m physically stronger than most of them, and even though I’m kind of lazy when it comes to exercise, I’d like to think that I’m decently in shape. So when I finally got to the door, I was only sweating a little bit-which still worried me, thinking about the possibility of a drop landing on the ground and activating the spell.
I hung there for a few moments, catching my breath, and examined the door. There was a heavy iron lock on it, so, bracing my legs for extra support, I used my arms to shift around the backpack, and dug out another skeleton key, which I slid into the lock. It instantly changed shape until it fit, and I turned it. With a happy click, the door swung open, moving inwards; to my relief, the floor inside was unenchanted. Re-bracing my arms, I swung back and forth, gaining momentum, gathering my strength...and then let go, allowing myself to go flying through the doorway into the treasure room, as I saw it was.
I managed, by the skin of my fangs, to land lightly on my feet. I had to sway about a bit, but finally I regained my balance, and started taking a look around, after retrieving my skeleton key and closing the door behind me. So far, this place reminded me of the museum upstairs, only without the plaques or glass cases: everywhere things were put on display, on pedestals, on the wall, in the air above me. Most prominently placed was a Greek-looking pillar in the center of the room, on top of which was an enormous golden egg. The egg’s shell appeared to be decorated in a flame pattern, with hints of red flecked throughout. Based on what I knew of Koschei’s history, I suspected that it was a firebird egg. And I wondered how on earth he had managed to get hold of it.
There was a tapestry on one of the walls close to the egg, that depicted a group of creatures on horseback hunting a zmey (Russian three-headed dragon); as I looked at it, the picture slowly changed, showing that the hunters pursued the zmey all the way to the foot of a mountain, where it was temporarily trapped, until it finally turned around and flamed them all. It was a welcome change from the typical human ending.
Nearby were a gun with an engraving on the barrel that showed it belonged to someone named Chekhov, a golden hourglass that seemed to be frozen halfway through letting the sand fall, a giant frog’s head (stuffed), a long chain with an eye on the end, and numerous other odds and ends demonstrating that, like Baba Yaga, Koschei had a predilection for collecting unusual magical items. Unfortunately, so far none of these seemed like they would be of any use in helping me achieve my goal of finding the sword and getting out of here. By now feeling more than a little exasperated with this whole thing, I expanded my search.
And then I found it. Kladenets was in the farthest, darkest corner of the room, leaned casually against the wall, with only a small, easily dismantled spell covering it. I looked around the surrounding area for any traps that might be connected, or observation spells, or anything at all that could signify a potential trap if I touched that sword. With or without the glasses, I found absolutely nothing. Therefore, I was suspicious. If this sword was supposed to be so special, and Koschei was leaving it hidden in the corner like this, it was either so powerful that he was trying to keep it hidden in plain sight, like The Purloined Letter...or it really wasn’t powerful at all. Either way, at least I’d found the dumb thing.
Carefully I rolled up my sleeves to the elbows, and adjusted the glasses further up my nose. The yellow sparks were up on the guard; I dug one claw in among them, and began to painstakingly pick apart the spell. Before long, I had pulled it free, and the remaining spell residue fluttered to the ground. I checked the sword for any extra spells that might have been concealed on it by the first spell; none in sight, hearing, or smell. Finally, hesitantly, I picked up the sword.
It felt normal. Nothing seemed to be all that special about it. Normally, with very powerful magical weapons, you can feel at least some of that energy pulsing about inside, even if you can’t see the magic itself. Kladenets, however, didn’t feel like much of anything. While considering all the possible reasons why this might be, I opened my backpack, and slid the sword inside, grateful for its being kind of like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag. Then I put it back on my shoulders, and crept to the entrance.
I put the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door. And saw, much to my horror, that the spell covering the floor was no longer on the floor. Instead, it was rising up in an enormous red wave, and was just about to crash down on me.
How did this happen?! What did I do?! I was certain this wasn’t connected to anything-is it the room? Or-
And then, in that split second, I remembered that when I had swung my way into the room, there had been a slight noise, so soft that even I hadn’t really acknowledged it: the sound of the brickwork crumbling, and tiny pieces falling...into the security spell. And it appeared to have been just lying in wait for me to leave the room.
I would like to say that I was able to perform a complicated somersault maneuver just before I could be captured, or that I produced a gizmo of some kind, like the yarn, which would let me cut out a new gateway or in some other way escape at the last possible second. As it was, however, I barely had time to start saying, “Oh, da-” before it crashed down, covering me up and rendering me insensible.
*Laever juice in powdered form, a bit obviously.
**Note: I would not advise trying this at home, unless you have appropriate safety equipment, super strength and/or someone there to supervise you and make sure you don’t dislocate a limb. Just a friendly warning, ‘kay?
No visible signs of anything. That didn’t mean much, though, not in this world. Putting the mirror back in my bag, I had to dig around for a bit, before finding the bag of laever powder.* I scooped a bit of it into my palm, and then gently blew it into the air. And just like in a spy movie, long, weblike threads appeared stretched across the corridor. The image reminded me uncomfortably of spiders, and spider bites. But, sucking it up, I began to maneuver my way through them.
As I went, I entertained myself by wondering how Koschei got past the trap; did he use a spell to make the threads part for him? Or was it set up to only react for other people? Or did he just have a different entrance altogether that only he used, and the whole purpose of this one was to use it to trap anyone who might be breaking in? So many possibilities…
I kept my wings and tail tucked as close to me as possible, and even tried to pull the backpack close against my shoulders so it wouldn’t brush against anything.
Somehow, by sheer luck, I made it through. Just in case, I checked myself all over for any webs or spiders that might have gotten on me; as far as I could tell, though, I was safe. And right ahead of me, just one step ahead, I could see that the ground was absolutely coated in a bright red spell, spilling all the way down the hall and halting only right in front of a thick-looking door. I suspected that, unless this was an elaborate trap of some kind, this was my intended destination.
Just one more obstacle…
Yeah, right. There’s probably going to be a lot more than just that.
I’m trying to be optimistic, okay? Just humor me.
Whatever.
Ignoring my subconscious’s snide commentary, I stretched my arms out, measuring how far apart the walls were. It looked like maybe I could make it...but was it worth the risk, though? Not that I had a choice.
I did a small leap straight up, flinging my arms out and flattening my hands against the walls. Once I had a grip, I dug my feet in too. I was now about a foot above the ground.
Well, here goes nothing.
Barely giving myself a chance to think, because then I’d come to my senses and ask what the h___ I was doing, I began swinging down the hall. I would move forward by the arms for a bit, catch myself with my legs, take a moment to breathe, then swing by my legs and catch myself with my arms. As a result, I was slowly making my way closer to the door.**
I wasn’t in pain as much as many other species would be, since I’m physically stronger than most of them, and even though I’m kind of lazy when it comes to exercise, I’d like to think that I’m decently in shape. So when I finally got to the door, I was only sweating a little bit-which still worried me, thinking about the possibility of a drop landing on the ground and activating the spell.
I hung there for a few moments, catching my breath, and examined the door. There was a heavy iron lock on it, so, bracing my legs for extra support, I used my arms to shift around the backpack, and dug out another skeleton key, which I slid into the lock. It instantly changed shape until it fit, and I turned it. With a happy click, the door swung open, moving inwards; to my relief, the floor inside was unenchanted. Re-bracing my arms, I swung back and forth, gaining momentum, gathering my strength...and then let go, allowing myself to go flying through the doorway into the treasure room, as I saw it was.
I managed, by the skin of my fangs, to land lightly on my feet. I had to sway about a bit, but finally I regained my balance, and started taking a look around, after retrieving my skeleton key and closing the door behind me. So far, this place reminded me of the museum upstairs, only without the plaques or glass cases: everywhere things were put on display, on pedestals, on the wall, in the air above me. Most prominently placed was a Greek-looking pillar in the center of the room, on top of which was an enormous golden egg. The egg’s shell appeared to be decorated in a flame pattern, with hints of red flecked throughout. Based on what I knew of Koschei’s history, I suspected that it was a firebird egg. And I wondered how on earth he had managed to get hold of it.
There was a tapestry on one of the walls close to the egg, that depicted a group of creatures on horseback hunting a zmey (Russian three-headed dragon); as I looked at it, the picture slowly changed, showing that the hunters pursued the zmey all the way to the foot of a mountain, where it was temporarily trapped, until it finally turned around and flamed them all. It was a welcome change from the typical human ending.
Nearby were a gun with an engraving on the barrel that showed it belonged to someone named Chekhov, a golden hourglass that seemed to be frozen halfway through letting the sand fall, a giant frog’s head (stuffed), a long chain with an eye on the end, and numerous other odds and ends demonstrating that, like Baba Yaga, Koschei had a predilection for collecting unusual magical items. Unfortunately, so far none of these seemed like they would be of any use in helping me achieve my goal of finding the sword and getting out of here. By now feeling more than a little exasperated with this whole thing, I expanded my search.
And then I found it. Kladenets was in the farthest, darkest corner of the room, leaned casually against the wall, with only a small, easily dismantled spell covering it. I looked around the surrounding area for any traps that might be connected, or observation spells, or anything at all that could signify a potential trap if I touched that sword. With or without the glasses, I found absolutely nothing. Therefore, I was suspicious. If this sword was supposed to be so special, and Koschei was leaving it hidden in the corner like this, it was either so powerful that he was trying to keep it hidden in plain sight, like The Purloined Letter...or it really wasn’t powerful at all. Either way, at least I’d found the dumb thing.
Carefully I rolled up my sleeves to the elbows, and adjusted the glasses further up my nose. The yellow sparks were up on the guard; I dug one claw in among them, and began to painstakingly pick apart the spell. Before long, I had pulled it free, and the remaining spell residue fluttered to the ground. I checked the sword for any extra spells that might have been concealed on it by the first spell; none in sight, hearing, or smell. Finally, hesitantly, I picked up the sword.
It felt normal. Nothing seemed to be all that special about it. Normally, with very powerful magical weapons, you can feel at least some of that energy pulsing about inside, even if you can’t see the magic itself. Kladenets, however, didn’t feel like much of anything. While considering all the possible reasons why this might be, I opened my backpack, and slid the sword inside, grateful for its being kind of like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag. Then I put it back on my shoulders, and crept to the entrance.
I put the key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door. And saw, much to my horror, that the spell covering the floor was no longer on the floor. Instead, it was rising up in an enormous red wave, and was just about to crash down on me.
How did this happen?! What did I do?! I was certain this wasn’t connected to anything-is it the room? Or-
And then, in that split second, I remembered that when I had swung my way into the room, there had been a slight noise, so soft that even I hadn’t really acknowledged it: the sound of the brickwork crumbling, and tiny pieces falling...into the security spell. And it appeared to have been just lying in wait for me to leave the room.
I would like to say that I was able to perform a complicated somersault maneuver just before I could be captured, or that I produced a gizmo of some kind, like the yarn, which would let me cut out a new gateway or in some other way escape at the last possible second. As it was, however, I barely had time to start saying, “Oh, da-” before it crashed down, covering me up and rendering me insensible.
*Laever juice in powdered form, a bit obviously.
**Note: I would not advise trying this at home, unless you have appropriate safety equipment, super strength and/or someone there to supervise you and make sure you don’t dislocate a limb. Just a friendly warning, ‘kay?
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Season of the Witch part 6
She smiled triumphantly. “So you’ll do it?”
“Ah, ah, ah…” I held up a claw. “I want to set a few conditions before I agree to this.”
Baba Yaga looked ready to point out that I was in no position to be making conditions, but finally decided that well, what was the harm, and gestured for me to proceed.
“I would like to be given as much information as possible on what would aid me in my quest;* traps or guardians Koschei might have, ways to get in to his place, the actual location of his place, where the sword might be, etc.” I sat down at the table, drumming my claws on it. “I would also like to have any items, magical or otherwise, that can help me retrieve the sword quickly and, if I can, without getting caught. And-” I quickly put in- “I’d like you to promise that while I am gone, and after I return, you will not do anything to harm, persuade, trick or coerce my assistant to stay here, since my entire reason that I might agree to do this is so you will let her go.”
She ran through my demands, looking for any potential loopholes. I kept my face blank so that she wouldn’t realize I was doing the same. Finally, the witch nodded with a grin.
“It appears there are laws that even I have to obey in these sort of situations. You have a deal.” She waved her hand, and a long paper appeared. “Here is the contract.”
Just in case, Calla and I read through the contract. The terms were straightforward enough: I had to go to Koschei the Deathless’ residence and steal the sword Kladenets, bringing it back to Baba Yaga within a week, or else she would assume I was dead and/or had chickened out, and Calla would become a part of her collection.** She would provide me with whatever assistance I needed to reach the place, but once I was inside, she could not directly help me, because the sorcerer’s magic would not permit it. The lines at the end where we were to sign our names had a golden sheen to them that I recognized as part of a spell.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to it.
“What? Oh, that.” She smirked at me. “Just a little insurance valve to make the contract binding.”
“Does that mean we have to sign in blood?”
“Why, yes.” She seemed surprised at my having to ask.
I gave Calla a sympathetic glance, since she’s kind of squeamish around blood, and prepared to cut one of my claws. Then, to my surprise, a knife appeared in Calla’s hand, and she was stepping up to where the contract lay.
“Kid, what are you doing?”***
“I should sign too. It was partly my decision.”
Knowing Xen and Lars would probably kill me if they found out, I nodded my head in consent. She had to close her eyes as she stuck herself, but she managed it. Baba Yaga had already sliced open her finger, and after I produced some of my own blood, the three of us allowed our blood to drip onto the lines. As soon as they touched the paper, the drops of red perfectly formed themselves into our signatures. The deal was struck.
flashback flashback flashback
“Koschei the Deathless is in the Kremlin?!”
“Yes,” said Baba Yaga, giving a sniff of disgust, “He always did like to show off.”
I decided not to point out that the pot was calling the kettle black. Instead I said, “Wow, you want me to invade the Kremlin. It’s like I’m in Mission: Impossible or something.”
She looked confused. “Like what?”
“Don’t worry about it. Where exactly in the Kremlin?”
“I don’t know the definite location; I’ve never been able to get close enough to find out. But I think his headquarters is somewhere in that fancy church.”
“St. Basil’s Cathedral?” Calla supplied.
“Thank you, myshka.” The witch smiled at Calla, and actually pinched her cheek. It was like she was trying to act like a grandmother. But she didn’t have that much experience, obviously; when she released Calla, there were a few bloody scratches on her face. She winced, and pulled out her medical kit to fix them up. Baba Yaga didn’t notice.
“So what can you tell me?” I asked.
“The main part of the building where Koschei lives is the Church of the Intercession; however, he has guardians and spells set up throughout the cathedral. The price for their being strong enough to keep me out, however, is that it will be harder for them to keep out anything that seems small and unimportant. Like you.”
“Gosh, thanks.”
Oblivious to my sarcasm, or just ignoring it, she went on, “His security system begins at the walls inside the Kremlin, and has a few more places dispersed throughout the inside.” She conjured up a map to show me, and began explaining the different creatures and spells I could expect to face. For the sake of keeping you in suspense, I won’t go through them right now.
“...I suspect that the sword-and the rest of his collection-are somewhere inside the cathedral. I recommend starting on the ground floor, and working your way up-it might even be inside one of the domes, knowing him.”
“What’s the sword look like, anyway?”
“Oh, silly of me not to show you earlier.” Baba Yaga then conjured up an image of it, like a hologram, which floated above the map, allowing me to get a good look at it.
It was thin, with a simple golden handle, and its name written in the Cyrillic alphabet along the blade, which was about the length of my leg. “So you have no idea what it does?” I asked. “For all you know, it could just be enchanted to help you cut up sushi more efficiently or something.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, “Koschei wouldn’t have it if it was for something as trivial as that. It must wield unimaginable power of some kind.”
end of flashback end of flashback end of flashback Now I was heading for the closest village with a teleportation mirror, wishing that I hadn’t had to leave my cell phone behind. However, the babushka had insisted that Mr. the Deathless could have used it to trace me and or/Baba Yaga. As a result, I’d been forced to call Xen just outside of Izbushka to inform her of the situation, and then leave it behind. Xen was...kind of displeased. But not surprised. And she had to reassure me that she wasn’t mad at me at all, she was mad at Baba Yaga, and she’d ask her mother to come down while I was gone to help out with Phil. I still felt guilty, especially since I’d probably be out of touch with her for a week at most, unless something truly horrible happened, and by thinking that, I knew I was tempting fate again. Thankfully, the closest monster village was within flying distance, and I was using one of my universal tokens to get teleported inside the Kremlin. I can hear some of you asking, “Couldn’t you just fly there?” Yes, I could, but it would mean spending a bit of extra time and energy that I couldn’t afford to lose, and this way I could actually get past the security system on the walls without arousing suspicion yet. Any other questions while you’re at it? Anyone? Okay, you. The question was, “Where was Calla during this?” The answer is, she was staying in Baba Yaga’s hut, as collateral, until I got back. I didn’t like it any more than you do, but she had promised not to do anything harmful or that would force her to stay with her, and even though the old witch was a sneaky, manipulative creature, she could be trusted to keep a bargain. Even if she would be looking for loopholes the entire time, like Rumpelstiltskin in that one TV show.
* Gad, I was thinking of it as a quest now; what was this world coming to?
** And believe me, it did not rankle at all that she was treating my assistant like property. Really.
*** Even though that was kind of obvious.
“Ah, ah, ah…” I held up a claw. “I want to set a few conditions before I agree to this.”
Baba Yaga looked ready to point out that I was in no position to be making conditions, but finally decided that well, what was the harm, and gestured for me to proceed.
“I would like to be given as much information as possible on what would aid me in my quest;* traps or guardians Koschei might have, ways to get in to his place, the actual location of his place, where the sword might be, etc.” I sat down at the table, drumming my claws on it. “I would also like to have any items, magical or otherwise, that can help me retrieve the sword quickly and, if I can, without getting caught. And-” I quickly put in- “I’d like you to promise that while I am gone, and after I return, you will not do anything to harm, persuade, trick or coerce my assistant to stay here, since my entire reason that I might agree to do this is so you will let her go.”
She ran through my demands, looking for any potential loopholes. I kept my face blank so that she wouldn’t realize I was doing the same. Finally, the witch nodded with a grin.
“It appears there are laws that even I have to obey in these sort of situations. You have a deal.” She waved her hand, and a long paper appeared. “Here is the contract.”
Just in case, Calla and I read through the contract. The terms were straightforward enough: I had to go to Koschei the Deathless’ residence and steal the sword Kladenets, bringing it back to Baba Yaga within a week, or else she would assume I was dead and/or had chickened out, and Calla would become a part of her collection.** She would provide me with whatever assistance I needed to reach the place, but once I was inside, she could not directly help me, because the sorcerer’s magic would not permit it. The lines at the end where we were to sign our names had a golden sheen to them that I recognized as part of a spell.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to it.
“What? Oh, that.” She smirked at me. “Just a little insurance valve to make the contract binding.”
“Does that mean we have to sign in blood?”
“Why, yes.” She seemed surprised at my having to ask.
I gave Calla a sympathetic glance, since she’s kind of squeamish around blood, and prepared to cut one of my claws. Then, to my surprise, a knife appeared in Calla’s hand, and she was stepping up to where the contract lay.
“Kid, what are you doing?”***
“I should sign too. It was partly my decision.”
Knowing Xen and Lars would probably kill me if they found out, I nodded my head in consent. She had to close her eyes as she stuck herself, but she managed it. Baba Yaga had already sliced open her finger, and after I produced some of my own blood, the three of us allowed our blood to drip onto the lines. As soon as they touched the paper, the drops of red perfectly formed themselves into our signatures. The deal was struck.
*/*/*/*
Soon enough, I was headed west, with a bag of useful items tucked between my wings, and with the sinking feeling that I was in more than a little over my head.flashback flashback flashback
“Koschei the Deathless is in the Kremlin?!”
“Yes,” said Baba Yaga, giving a sniff of disgust, “He always did like to show off.”
I decided not to point out that the pot was calling the kettle black. Instead I said, “Wow, you want me to invade the Kremlin. It’s like I’m in Mission: Impossible or something.”
She looked confused. “Like what?”
“Don’t worry about it. Where exactly in the Kremlin?”
“I don’t know the definite location; I’ve never been able to get close enough to find out. But I think his headquarters is somewhere in that fancy church.”
“St. Basil’s Cathedral?” Calla supplied.
“Thank you, myshka.” The witch smiled at Calla, and actually pinched her cheek. It was like she was trying to act like a grandmother. But she didn’t have that much experience, obviously; when she released Calla, there were a few bloody scratches on her face. She winced, and pulled out her medical kit to fix them up. Baba Yaga didn’t notice.
“So what can you tell me?” I asked.
“The main part of the building where Koschei lives is the Church of the Intercession; however, he has guardians and spells set up throughout the cathedral. The price for their being strong enough to keep me out, however, is that it will be harder for them to keep out anything that seems small and unimportant. Like you.”
“Gosh, thanks.”
Oblivious to my sarcasm, or just ignoring it, she went on, “His security system begins at the walls inside the Kremlin, and has a few more places dispersed throughout the inside.” She conjured up a map to show me, and began explaining the different creatures and spells I could expect to face. For the sake of keeping you in suspense, I won’t go through them right now.
“...I suspect that the sword-and the rest of his collection-are somewhere inside the cathedral. I recommend starting on the ground floor, and working your way up-it might even be inside one of the domes, knowing him.”
“What’s the sword look like, anyway?”
“Oh, silly of me not to show you earlier.” Baba Yaga then conjured up an image of it, like a hologram, which floated above the map, allowing me to get a good look at it.
It was thin, with a simple golden handle, and its name written in the Cyrillic alphabet along the blade, which was about the length of my leg. “So you have no idea what it does?” I asked. “For all you know, it could just be enchanted to help you cut up sushi more efficiently or something.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, “Koschei wouldn’t have it if it was for something as trivial as that. It must wield unimaginable power of some kind.”
end of flashback end of flashback end of flashback Now I was heading for the closest village with a teleportation mirror, wishing that I hadn’t had to leave my cell phone behind. However, the babushka had insisted that Mr. the Deathless could have used it to trace me and or/Baba Yaga. As a result, I’d been forced to call Xen just outside of Izbushka to inform her of the situation, and then leave it behind. Xen was...kind of displeased. But not surprised. And she had to reassure me that she wasn’t mad at me at all, she was mad at Baba Yaga, and she’d ask her mother to come down while I was gone to help out with Phil. I still felt guilty, especially since I’d probably be out of touch with her for a week at most, unless something truly horrible happened, and by thinking that, I knew I was tempting fate again. Thankfully, the closest monster village was within flying distance, and I was using one of my universal tokens to get teleported inside the Kremlin. I can hear some of you asking, “Couldn’t you just fly there?” Yes, I could, but it would mean spending a bit of extra time and energy that I couldn’t afford to lose, and this way I could actually get past the security system on the walls without arousing suspicion yet. Any other questions while you’re at it? Anyone? Okay, you. The question was, “Where was Calla during this?” The answer is, she was staying in Baba Yaga’s hut, as collateral, until I got back. I didn’t like it any more than you do, but she had promised not to do anything harmful or that would force her to stay with her, and even though the old witch was a sneaky, manipulative creature, she could be trusted to keep a bargain. Even if she would be looking for loopholes the entire time, like Rumpelstiltskin in that one TV show.
* Gad, I was thinking of it as a quest now; what was this world coming to?
** And believe me, it did not rankle at all that she was treating my assistant like property. Really.
*** Even though that was kind of obvious.
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