Calla felt a sudden stirring of hope. If Tristan could find the soul of Koschei, then he could get Kladenets, and then they could go home. The problem, of course, was getting the information to Tristan once they had it. This scrying glass only appeared to be a one-way model, so she could see Tristan, but couldn’t communicate with him.
Or could she?
Thoughtfully, Calla pushed on the edges of the glass, using it to zoom in on the detective’s face. And, despite her hesitation, on his eyes.
There was no way it would work. At least, it didn’t seem possible, since she’d only ever thought she could do it while in close contact with the other person. But somehow, she was suddenly sharing thoughts with Tristan.
Naturally, she felt his alarm and instant attempt to escape what he assumed was an attack. But she hurriedly thought at him, Tristan, it’s okay! It’s me!
...Calla? How the blazes-
I’m using a scrying glass. Apparently this...thing I do can work through that.
Interesting.
They spent a moment immersed in each other’s thoughts, looking at what had happened to each other in the last few days. Calla was shocked and affronted by seeing how Koschei had tortured Tristan, and when she examined the physical and mental state he was in. Then she caught a glimpse of a memory of his reflection that he’d seen in a window.
You look terrible.
Thanks. At least his sarcasm was still intact.
Sorry.
Don’t be. Tristan saw that apparently Xen and Morgan wanted to help. You think they’ll find out how to find the soul?
Hey, if we find something it’ll make your job easier. And it’s better than just sitting and doing nothing. Xen’s been researching the different stories about Koschei’s soul, where it’s kept.
Tristan scanned the results thoughtfully, then gave a mental nod.
I’m thinking the best place to start looking might be the oldest part of the forest. I’m going to head over there, look in any hollow trees I can find.
Good idea. We’ll keep you posted on anything we find out-
The scrying glass shattered itself into hundreds of pieces.
***
Calla? CALLA!
She was gone. There had been a crashing sound, and her presence had vanished from my mind. A lot of words ran through my mind, making it possibly for the best that she was no longer there.
She must have gotten caught. Confound it all!
I hated that witch. Hated Baba Yaga and Koschei and the whole bloody pack of Russians who were making my life miserable right now. Especially when I opened my pack to try using the glasses which would help me decipher the types of spells present here, and found that the lenses had been conveniently removed.
Right then. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.
With a growl of frustration I made my way (silently, though) into the oldest part of the forest, where the smell of magic was the strongest. It had to be here. Somewhere.
***
Slowly, Calla looked up from the remains of the glass.
Baba Yaga glared back, her hair billowing wildly, even though there was no wind in the hut. Her eyes glittered with red fire, and her iron teeth gnashed in a snarl.
“No fair helping Chernobyl,” she said softly. Even though it wasn’t a shout, the words chilled all the way to Calla’s marrow.
“That wasn't in the contract.” Calla surprised herself with her own boldness. “There’s nothing in there against my offering him assistance or information.”
The witch looked like thunder, and for a moment Calla thought that she was about to be smited (Smitten? It was hard to tell which word was more appropriate under the circumstances) into ashes. Instead, after a second, her bony shoulders relaxed, and she smiled.
“Too bad the imp that controlled the glass is gone, then,” she said with a bit of a chuckle at the end. “Good luck helping him now, myshka.”
And she went into her room for her afternoon nap, shutting the door behind her.
Calla sat there for a second, perfectly still. Then a fire lit in her stomach; a hot, burning coal, that rushed up her back and into her arms and through the veins of her neck into her brain. She was about to explode. She needed to do something-anything-to make it stop, before she let it loose and seriously hurt someone like last time don’t think about it you might make it happen something needed to happen NOW-
She leaped to her feet, and her hand slammed onto the witch’s table, sending the raging magic fueling her at the moment into the wood and everything on the table, blasting it with what felt like the strength of a nuclear blast in concentrated form.
A moment later Calla was standing next to a pile of ash. She dropped to her knees into it, heedless of how it affected her jeans, slamming her fists into the floorboards. As soon as the anger came, though, once it was purged it was replaced by cold, numbing-defeat.
It wasn’t like she knew how to summon an imp and trap it in a scrying glass; that was something she had never really wanted to learn, since it was basically slavery. And sure, there were other ways to send a message, but she needed something that would do so quickly. Tristan didn’t have much time left. Even if Morgan and Xen found the information now…
Finally Calla stood up again, and used a spell to repair all the damage she’d done. Then, feeling that* blanket of numb complacency and resignation covering her again, she slowly walked out the door, climbed into the mortar, and methodically began paddling her way into the air. Part of her considered trying to go to wherever Tristan was, but had the feeling Baba Yaga would stop her somehow. So she just steered blankly into the sky, not caring where she went. She should probably get used to this thing, just in case. Even though it continued to be uncooperative.
*Eerily familiar
Chapter 6 part 3
Carefully, quietly, I opened the door to her room a crack. Then, once I remembered that there was no need, since none of the lights were on, I opened it all the way. I saw Calla lying curled up under the covers, with just her head sticking out. I slipped in, and approached. She looked better; the bruises had faded substantially, and her face had become relaxed in sleep, making her look like a little kid. But she was way too pale, in my opinion; even though gargoyles don't like to go out in the sun, it's perfectly natural for humans to do so, and Calla was practically the color of a sheet of paper. As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was also the fact that she looked ten pounds underweight, if not twenty. I also noticed several wet trails down the sides of her face. Because she was lying down on her back, they had come from the corners of her eyes, trickled down over her ears, and soaked her pillow. I sighed. Poor kid. It seemed a shame to wake her, but this was important. I tried not to imagine all the possible negative repercussions that could occur.
I reached out, and gently poked her in the shoulder, mindful of my claws. At once her eyes flew open, and involuntarily met mine for the first time. The moment they did, one of the strangest experiences of my life occurred. Thoughts flew into my mind which were not my own; I felt strange alarm, confusion, and sudden horror in my heart.
What's happening? Where am I? What-
Oh. It's him. The strange man-or gargoyle, I guess-who saved me from-
Oh, no. No! Got to stop! It's too late, but maybe I can convince him it's a mistake!
Why hasn't he tried to break the connection? Isn't he shocked and disgusted? He's not even scared!
It was suddenly clear to me what was going on. I was hearing Calla's thoughts! And after a moment, I also realized that she was hearing mine! It was then that her eyes snapped shut; her thoughts and feelings vanished from my mind. She began trembling violently, hands clutching convulsively at the blanket. Moisture spilled out from behind her eyelids again.
"Have you always been able to do that?" I asked curiously.
Her eyes fluttered opened again. She looked in my general direction, bemused.
"You-you don't mind?" she whispered. Her voice was hoarse with tears.
"Nah, lots of monsters can do stuff like that. Granted, I don't know of anyone who can trade thoughts with someone else, but heck, there's a first time for everything. In fact, I think it's kind of cool."
"That's because you don't have it," she whispered. "I can't control it, and it never turns off. If I ever look someone in the eye, that happens. Always. So I just learned not to do it."
"Well, with me, it doesn't matter."
I placed a hand on her shoulder, and gently shook it. She flinched slightly at the contact, so I withdrew my hand. Should have remembered she might not be ready for that.
Then, hesitantly, she looked up into my eyes again. She seemed less afraid now. I felt waves of relief emanating from her, and almost something resembling happiness. Of course, I had to ruin it by thinking, Did her dad know about this?
Suddenly, my mind was set upon by a memory. A very vivid, bad one.
A big man, eyes bloodshot and wicked-looking, a bottle clutched in one meaty hand, advancing towards me.
"So there you are, you little freak! What'd I tell you about going out, huh?!" he barks.
There's nothing to say. I was here; he just was too drunk to notice. Maybe better to stay silent. Silence works, sometimes. Better than talking back, anyway.
"ANSWER ME!! Don't just stand there and ignore me, answer me! And look me in the eye when I'm talking to you!"
No. Too risky. Only time that happened, when we shared thoughts, could barely move for days afterwards. It was after that when he started calling me a freak. Better just to close eyes, and hope it's over quickly. Blackness as eyes slide shut, shake head no. Suddenly, pain as he backhands me to the floor. Then feel his boot catch me in the ribs; thankfully, not hard enough to crack. Just enough to bruise, I think.
"I-told-you-to-look-at-me! Look at me, you freak, look at me, d n you!" He's grabbed my throat, hard, and jerked me up again. Now he's trying to force my eyes open with his free fingers. It hurts, of course. I resist, though; what's wrong with me? Why even bother? Sooner or later he'll get his way, anyway.
Without warning, a strange feeling, one I have never really experienced, begins in my stomach. It's a sort of...burning, as if my insides are on fire. There's a roaring in my ears, and my hands are clenching. It takes a moment for me to place it; odd, since I've been the brunt of it from another source for so many years. It's called anger.
"No," I whisper.
"...Excuse me?" His voice has become quiet. Normally this would scare me more, since it means there's a storm coming. But right now, I am far too angry to care.
"No," I say, louder. "No. I won't. You can't make me." I open my eyes, and suddenly twist myself out of his grasp, and jump away. Shocked, he mutters something unrepeatable. This is the first time I have ever defied him, and he's unsure how to react. But then, like an enraged bull, his instincts take over. Getting to his feet, he charges, swinging a fist. I manage to duck.
"Stop it!" I cry.
I don't see his other fist coming. It catches me right in the eye, knocking me back.
He advances, the bottle on the ground, forgotten.
"You dare talk back to me, you freaky maggot?! I'll teach you to-"
"No you won't!!" I've had enough. I'm not going to take this anymore. This is the end.
I scream at him, "Go away! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
With that shriek, I feel something strange and terrible burst out of me. There's an exploding sound, like ten million cannons going off at once, and something slams into me from above. Then darkness...
I pulled out of her head (figuratively speaking), jerking my own away. When I looked back, Calla had hunched into a ball of misery, sobbing hysterically.
"I didn't mean to," I managed to make out. "I didn't mean to!"
Gently, I put my arms around her shoulders, and just held her. I decided to hold off on asking her to hold the magic, on the instinct that it would not go well.
