Season of the Witch part 9

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Season of the Witch part 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?

Season of the Witch part 7

My mirror opened up in the corner of the Red Square, and I collapsed out onto the cobblestones, holding my gut in pain and waiting for it to subside.  Thankfully, I managed not to even dry heave, and after the shaking and agony and feeling like my insides had been mercilessly played tug-of-war with had dissipated somewhat, I found myself being helped to my feet by what appeared surprisingly to be a human tourist of some kind.
“S toboy vse vporyadke?”* she asked, looking at me with concern.
“Da.  Bolshoe spasibo,”** I reassured her, raising a claw and nodding.  She looked me up and down, not convinced, and commented that I looked terrible.  I just said that travelling made me nauseous sometimes.  The tourist laughed, and said that she understood how I felt, before asking if I was sure she couldn’t take me to my hotel or something.  I said that no, I’d be fine in a moment, but thanked her again for her time.  She walked off with a smile over one shoulder and a parting “Dasvidaniya!”***

***

St. Basil’s Cathedral was just across the way.  And since it was a Monday in June, and therefore not the tourist season, it was relatively easy for me to walk towards it, and buy an admission ticket at the western church.  So far, so good.


Once inside the cathedral, I went to the basement (not bothering with a tour guide), admiring the art and architecture as I went.  It really is a beautiful place; despite the direness of my reason for being there, I couldn’t help noticing the fake brick paint job (also known as pod kirpich), the places with the genuine brick walls, the gold-covered artwork, and the walls decorated with fancy flowers.  But I didn’t have time to admire it long-I had a sword to find.


Baba Yaga had instructed me to examine anything with a possible aura on it.  She also knew about my ability to see magic, and had cooked up (almost literally) a spell to make it even better for this situation.  It came in the shape of a pair of fake eyeglasses; when I put them on, they allowed me to distinguish what different magical auras meant, and would light up accordingly.  Red meant a trap, green was just a concealment or enchantment, blue was a little bit of both red and green-type spells, and yellow sparks me showed where the spell could be disabled, if possible.  It made me question whether she really hadn’t seen Mission: Impossible.


Most of the spells I found, around certain objects, and even on some of the cobblestones, were red.  None of the green ones that I’d tried so far was what I was looking for.  If this were any other case, I would probably have given up in frustration, and tried again tomorrow.  But the freedom of someone that mattered a lot to me was at stake; I couldn’t afford to waste even a second trying to find the entrance to wherever Mr. the Deathless kept that sword.


And then, finally, it appeared that I had found something.  In a corner of one of the rooms, under a window, there was a set of brick stairs.  That was already strange enough, unless they opened and closed the window with the benefit of gnomes; however, there was the added peculiarity that the stairs were glowing blue.  Just in case it was a fluke of some kind, I peered over the tops of my glasses at them.  Without the glasses, I could still see that there was a spell.  Put them back on, and the blue color showed up again.  On a wild hunch, I decided to see if this was the opening I needed.  I didn’t know how it was possible, but it was worth a shot.  Reaching into my pack, I pulled out a few of my supplies: a skeleton key (literally made out of bone), a ball of pure white, unblemished yarn, four silver thumbtacks, and a black-and-white PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign (in several languages).  Then I set to work.


The trick here, which could play an instrumental part in my getting out of here alive, was getting past the spell without Koschei ever finding out I was there.  If his spells were disturbed, then he would definitely know someone was messing with them, and even with my little bag of tricks, I would probably end up a gone goose.  As it was, I had to be careful how I touched the thing while I worked.


First of all, I hung the PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign on a convenient peg on the wall; even though those things mainly seem to tempt people to do just that, they are still useful in their own right.  Besides, this one was enchanted to automatically encourage people to obey it.  Then I pulled out one of the thumbtacks, and gingerly, trying to keep my claw from trembling, I set it down in the upper right hand corner of the stairs.  Where it touched the spell, it hissed and fizzled, causing a few more yellow sparks to appear.  I froze in alarm; I didn’t want it to disintegrate the spell entirely, no no no…
After a tense second, the rest of the spell sort of bubbled up around the needle part of the tack, leaving just the plastic sticking out.  I exhaled slowly, and then completed the process with the other tacks in the other corners.  I then unwound some of the yarn, enough to leave a long tail, and then wound the beginning of it around one of the tacks.  Once I felt it was secure, I pulled it out to the tack opposite, and wound it around that tack, etc.


Once I had finished, I had what appeared to be a square laying on top of the spell and stairs, just big enough for me to go through if I tucked in my wings a little bit.  Now for the last stage.  Using one of my claws to cut the yarn, I stowed the remainder of the ball in my pack, and produced the skeleton key.  Looking around, I decided to insert it in the left side; as I brought the key close, a keyhole appeared in the spell.  I inserted the key, and turned it until I heard a click, before pulling it up.  And lo and behold, the spell moved up with it, having turned into a sort of trapdoor.  Mission partway accomplished.


I glanced over my shoulder, to see if anyone was watching me.  Fortunately, there was nobody visibly paying attention to me.  And if they were, well, too late to do anything now.  It was now or never.  So I reached under the new door, being careful not to touch the upper side, feeling some relief when my claws touched brick, and lowered myself inside feet first.  Unfortunately, I had to let it close over me, and could only hope that either it lasted long enough for me to get out, or if the spell absorbed it, then I could find a new exit.

*Are you all right?
**Yes, I’m fine.

***Now I hear you wondering what is wrong with this picture: why would a human woman not be alarmed at the fact that she was suddenly talking to a gargoyle?  The answer, again: a highly useful spell Calla created that I keep in my pocket for special occasions.  It means that humans see me as just another roguishly handsome human.  Even if I am rather scruffy. Very useful for these kind of situations.  Every non-humanoid monster should get one.

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.

*/*/*/*

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.

The Looney Writer's Latest Looney Obsession

Some of you may be wondering why I haven't been posting lately, and where I've been.  Well, part of the blame rests on school, or other writing.  Sorry.

To make up for it, I would like to introduce you to the music I have been listening to lately, more than anything else.  Yes, if you haven't guessed already, it's the new Broadway musical Hamilton.

Hamilton is amazing; it tells the story of Alexander Hamilton (spoiler alert: Aaron Burr kills him at the end) using hip-hop, rap, and bluegrass-esque music, all mixed together.  It's kind of like 1776 with modern music.  What makes it even cooler to me is that the guy who wrote the musical, Lin-Manuel Miranda, personally takes on the role of Hamilton in the original cast.  Also, Aaron Burr is not completely vilified; he gets several very fabulous songs, as well as being the narrator for the whole play.  And Jonathan Groff, renowned for the voice of Kristoff in Frozen, has an outstanding performance as crazy King George III (with three songs of his own).

There is probably no way that I can get to see it anytime soon; I think they're sold out for the next six months or something.  So I have to make do with the entire soundtrack being on YouTube, and whatever clips or photos I can find online.

Warning: there is cursing, so I would not advise listening to it in front of children.  And it addresses the Hamilton-Reynolds scandal, which I am still ashamed of Hamilton for.  Other than that, this show is golden.

Link to the Soundtrack, if you're interested

Season of the Witch part 5

I could understand the logic behind her wanting me to be her champion.  Koschei’s home was probably heavily fortified against her and any other powerful magic user.  I’m not a magic user, so it would possibly be easier for me to slip inside somewhere.  I am also a detective from another country, with experience in sneaking in and out of tight places, so it might throw Koschei off a bit; since I was unfamiliar to him, it might be harder for him to trace me back to his rival.  He might even mistake me for a hero of some kind; they and Baba Yaga are the only ones who might be powerful (or stupid) enough to steal from him.  I could go off on a long rant about my opinion of heroes, but you’re probably not interested.  So back to the story.


The witch’s nostrils flared, and I saw her fingertips start to tingle with magical aura.  I realized that she was about to cast a spell of some kind, or at least contemplating it; I glanced at Calla, and inclined my head toward the door.
Time to go.
Even without reading my thoughts, she understood them.  I began mentally calculating how far we’d have to run until we could reach the nearest town; we were somewhere up in the Ural Mountains, so it would be easier if we flew.  Hopefully there’d be a place with public teleportation mirrors readily available.  I had a few universal tokens left in my wallet, so if we moved quickly...she was pretty fast in that mortar and pestle, I didn’t know if I could outfly her...maybe if we started out high, and then dived through the trees, it would be harder for her to follow...there was also the problem of how to get out of here alive, now that we’d snubbed her…


“Well,” I said, getting up with false cheerfulness, and pushing in my chair, “it’s been nice chatting with you, but we’d better get back home and not waste anymore of your time, so-”
A bright orange light burst from her fingers, splatting over the door and the windows.
“You are not going anywhere, Chernobyl,” said Baba Yaga through her iron teeth.
I glanced at Calla; to my relief, she had leaped up and was already trying to break open the seal that had surrounded the door.
“Ma’am, please,” I said, getting up myself and moving to shield her, “this isn’t a part of my job description.  I’m a detective, not a thief.  If you really want someone to steal the sword, I’d advise finding someone like that.  I can think a few people who’d be perfect for the job, even though they’re in prison at the moment-”
“I want you to do it.  And you are going to do it, unless you want me to keep your assistant instead.”
D___.


She smiled grimly at my expression.
“It’s a simple decision for you, Chernobyl.  The sword, or the girl?”
Even for Baba Yaga, this seemed a little ludicrous.  Calla, I saw in my peripheral vision, had paused in her work for a second when she heard what we said, but was now trying even more frantically to undo the spell.  The witch watched her work with a placid smile, making no attempt to stop her.  I knew she wasn’t worried; Calla and I could probably make a new way out of here, by smashing through the wall or something, but she would just follow us, or have a new spell set up to stop us already.  Even if we did get away, it would cost a lot of time and effort…
“Let me talk with Calla for a moment,” I said.  “In private.”


Baba Yaga allowed me to draw my assistant into a corner.
“Thoughts?” I whispered.
Calla created a small bubble spell so the witch couldn’t listen in, and answered, “I don’t want her to take me.”
“I know.  Any ideas about how to get out of this one?”
Her eyes widened.  “You don’t have any?”
“I have a few thoughts, I just wanted to know if you have any input.  I’m not the only one capable of thinking up brilliant schemes at a moment’s notice.”


Looking mollified, Calla glanced over at Baba Yaga.  The witch waved.  She turned back to me.
“Do you think you could find Koschei’s home and get the sword from him?”
“How do I know?  I know nothing about his hideout or what guardians he might have surrounding it.  Besides, are you willing to take that risk?  If I fail, she’ll probably use it as an excuse to keep you here forever.”
“Ask her about it first.  Maybe she’ll let you take three items or something like that to help you.  If so, I think you should do it.  Because honestly-” she paused- “I want to find out why she wants me.  It seems a bit deeper than just wanting to add me to her collection; maybe I can figure out what she has in mind.”


That attitude really surprised me for a second.  Seeing it in my face, Calla added, “It might be handy to understand what she wants.  You’d probably want to find out if it were you.”
Well, yes, I would...it was just that, in my experience, Calla wouldn’t.  She was the slightly-more-sensible one, the one who worked with Xen to warn me when I was getting a little out of control and doing something stupidly daring.  Of course, there was that time when she had attacked the leader of a pack of Ghuls to get them to let us go free, but that level of boldness didn’t happen very often with Calla…
Maybe it was a bizarre time for me to see it, but I suddenly had a glimpse of how very grown-up Calla was becoming.  I mean, yeah, she was almost twenty, so she was already grown-up, but I mean in the emotional sense.  She was no longer just the terrified, traumatized girl I’d rescued from the remains of her house.  To an extent, that girl was still there, but she had become more independent, and with her own brand of courage.  And I felt a warmth in my heart to see how strong she had become.
So it was that I gave Calla the signal to dissipate the bubble, and then stepped forward, asking Baba Yaga, “Where does Koschei live?”

Season of the Witch part 4

The place positively reeked of magic.  It reminded me of being in the forest, or in the presence of Mayor Bodmin: it was covered in older magic, the sort that had been around since probably the dawn of time, and would still be here long after I finally became a statue for good.  It wasn’t evil-magic is not good or evil, even the kinds that are forbidden, like blood magic.  But it was extremely strong, and if someone wanted to use it for evil...just thinking about it made my fur stand on end.  This was why the most powerful monsters-alchemists, sorcerers, elder dragons, sidhe, certain types of demons-all freaked out us more garden-variety monsters.  It was people like them who had caused major problems in the past, setting themselves up as gods, exacting horrible punishments on anyone who disagreed with them, and in general causing havoc.  Don’t get me wrong, any monster with a mind to can cause havoc; case in point, Desmond Jessup.  And we try not to actually discriminate against them, since it was discrimination that drove all of us into hiding, and we know how that feels.  But among those monsters history and mythology consider to be bad...these were the Big Bads.  So it’s hard not to be wary of them, and in many cases that wariness is justified.


Speak of the devil, as I removed my sunglasses the spell dissipated, and I finally got a good look at the witch herself, who was sitting at an old wooden table in the center of the room.  I’d seen her once before, years ago at a diplomatic party that my dad dragged us to in St. Petersburg.  As far as I could tell, she hadn’t changed a bit.  Still a tall, skinny old woman dressed like a traditional Russian grandmother: old black dress, dark gray shawl, blood red head scarf fastened with a brooch shaped like a skull (the skull is not necessarily traditional)-just how people imagine she looks.  Her gray-and-white hair hung underneath the scarf in two long curtains, framing her pale face.  Burning red eyes, a long icepick of a nose, and a thin-lipped mouth filled with sharp iron teeth (which seem awfully impractical to me) finished up the ensemble.


The hut, I saw, was a mess.  Dust covered the floor, the table, the enormous wardrobe in the corner, the spare chairs, the enormous stone fireplace, the giant mortar and pestle over in the opposite corner-basically everywhere and everything.  A tall black sunflower grew in one corner of the room; the ground around it was littered with fallen petals.  There were spills and crumbs everywhere, in many interesting hues.  Remembering the stories I’d read about Baba Yaga, I wondered if she was going to force us to clean for her.  I hoped not.


“Welcome,” she said with a smile that she probably thought looked benevolent.  “Who is your lovely companion?”
As if you didn’t know.
“My assistant, Calla Gardiner.”  She probably expected me to bow or something; well, good luck with that.  Even if I was on my best behavior at the moment, that didn’t mean I was going to go that far.  I just stood there as Calla joined me, standing at my side.
“Hello,” she said softly, nodding to the witch while avoiding her eyes.
Baba Yaga made a gesture with an emaciated hand, and two extra chairs appeared at the table.
“Please, sit.”
After a cursory glance confirmed that they were safe, we sat down.

As soon as Calla was in her chair, the witch suddenly reached out and pinched her arm gently.  I had to remember Xen’s warning not to start anything so that I wouldn’t swat her hand away.
“Hardly any flesh,” she said in an almost disappointed tone.  Her nose twitched, and I remembered that she was reputed to have an exceptional sense of smell.
Calla flinched away. “Sorry.  I don’t gain weight easily.”
Baba Yaga withdrew her hand, before abruptly saying, “You are a very interesting person, Miss Gardiner.”
“Am I?” my assistant asked.  She glanced up at the witch, unnerved at how closely she was being stared at.
“You have the blood of the vurdalaki in your veins.”
“The-”  Then Calla realized who she was referring to, and nodded with a timid smile.  “Yes, I suppose I do.”
“In all my years, I have never met someone who has bonded with one.  Most fascinating.”
Mentally I cursed; it appeared that Calla didn’t even need to demonstrate her eye powers to be interesting to her.
Baba Yaga went on, “And if I did, I would not expect them to have a soul so...relatively unstained.  Even though there is blood on yours, it’s hardly as much as I would expect.”
Any ease Calla had been feeling vanished; her face went white, and her heart rate increased at the mention of the one life she had taken.  I felt a rush of anger that the witch would dredge up that old wound, and decided to intervene.


“What’s the issue?” I interrupted.
Baba Yaga looked disappointed at my butting in, but she just gave a small nod and said, “There is something I need you to retrieve for me.  It is a sword being kept in the home of Koschei the Deathless.”


If Baba Yaga was Russia’s most powerful witch, then Koschei was its most powerful sorcerer.  Legends said that he’d extracted his own soul from his body, and put it where nobody, human, animal, monster or Reaper, could ever find it-making himself basically immortal.  He was well-versed in the magical arts, and exceedingly rich.  And since he was so powerful, it only followed that he and Baba Yaga would become bitter enemies, constantly squabbling over treasures and territory.  In a way, it was a blessing, because if they ever decided to work together, they would probably think to try to leave Russia and take over the world.  At least this way they were just holed up in one country.
She dragged me out here to become a part of her petty squabble with Mr. the Deathless?!  Heck no, babushka, I am not your errand boy!


I didn’t say that, of course.  Instead I asked, “Did he steal it from you?”
Baba Yaga gave me a scornful look at the implication that anyone would be able to steal from her.  “Of course not.”
“Has the sword in any way, shape or form been your legal property before coming into his possession?”
She finally realized what I was getting at; her red eyes narrowed into slits, and a slight angry hiss came from her mouth.  But she tried to calm down again, and said in a reasonable tone, “You don’t understand.  This is not just any sword.  It is the sword Kladenets, which gives untold power to whoever wields it.  If Koschei has it, think of what he might be able to do.”
And that’s better than you having it, how?  I’m not sure which of you is worse, but I don’t need to get involved in this.  It’s not my country.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this job is not in my jurisdiction.  If the sword is not your property, then I can’t do anything.”