by E. D. Baker
One afternoon she was sweeping the cottage floor when Boris shouted that she had a visitor. Opening her door, she saw a woman standing by the gate, holding a small basket over her arm. Although the woman looked horrified when she had to lift the bone latch to come into the yard, she seemed to find the cottage fascinating, ogling it as she approached the door.
Handing Serafina the basket, she said, “Here you go. These fruit tarts are for you. I want the basket back.”
“Won’t you come in?” said Serafina, stepping out of the way so the woman could get past her.
“I’d love to,” the woman said, her gaze darting from the stove to the table to the bed. “It’s a cozy cottage, perfect for a woman by herself. Wouldn’t do for a family, though. Oh, look. You have a cat. No one mentioned that.” With a rustle of full skirts, she swept toward the bed and reached out to pet Maks. The cat drew back and hissed, swiping at her with his claws. Jerking her hand away, the woman looked at Maks with distaste. “Not a very friendly animal. I wouldn’t allow a cat like that in my house!”
Maks sat up on the bed and narrowed his eyes at her.
As Serafina hobbled to the table to set down the basket, the woman crossed to the cupboard and opened the door. “So many things for one person! This is different,” she said, plucking a colorful jar from one of the top shelves.
“It’s nothing special,” Serafina said, moving as quickly as she could to the cupboard. Taking the jar from the woman, she returned it to the shelf, though it hurt her back to stretch so high. She had to nudge the woman out of the way to close the cupboard door. Stepping in front of it, she blocked the woman from opening it again. “So, did you come to ask me a question?”
“Oh no,” said the woman. “I just came to meet you. I’ve heard about Baba Yaga from so many people that I thought it was time I saw you myself.”
Serafina blinked, not sure what to make of that. The woman made her sound more like an oddity than a person.
“I never did believe in you,” the woman said, turning to Serafina. “No one in their right mind did. I mean, the same people who believe in fairies or wood nymphs or those horrible Vilas who supposedly kill hunters believe in Baba Yaga, and we all know how naive and unsophisticated people like that are. But then when the prince made his announcement! Why, that changed everything! I mean, if the prince says Baba Yaga is real, then she must be. Er, I mean, you must be.”
“What announcement?” asked Serafina.
“So, as I understand it, if I ask you a question, you’ll tell me the truth, which could be horrible or wonderful, depending on the question. And I get to ask only one question my entire life, so it should be something very important.”
Serafina nodded. “That’s true.”
“Well, I don’t know what my important question will be yet, so if I say something that sounds like a question, don’t pay it any mind.”
“I can’t do that,” Serafina told her. “If you ask me a question, I will answer it and it will be your only one.”
“Then I’d better be careful what I say!” the woman said with a laugh. “You should offer me tea. People who visited you told me that you do that sometimes.”
“Well, yes, but …”
The woman crossed to the table and pulled out the seat where Baba Yaga always sat. “Take your time,” she said, sitting down. “We have so many things to talk about.”
“We do?” Serafina said as she opened the cupboard door to take out two cups. She glanced back when she heard a retching sound. Maks was sitting beside the woman’s foot, coughing up a hairball onto her shoe.
The woman shifted in the seat, moving her feet out of the way. She gave the cat a disgusted look and turned back to Serafina. “Everyone says that you consulted with Prince Cynrik and predicted that he would win the war.”
Serafina shut the cupboard door to face her guest. “That’s not exactly—”
“My husband was at Demetr’s Valley. The night before the battle, Prince Cynrik told everyone about it.”
“Oh, really?”
The woman nodded. Her gaze fell on Serafina’s book, and she reached for it across the table. Serafina moved faster than she had in ages, slamming the two cups down on the table and grabbing the book from the woman’s hands.
“Well!” said the woman, an injured expression on her face.
The cat jumped up on the table and glared at the woman while Serafina wrapped her arms around the book and shuffled to the other chair. Her back was really hurting now, and she’d pulled something in her leg when she’d moved so fast. “You were saying …”
“Oh, just that your little prediction boosted our men’s spirits so much that they fought harder than ever. And then you turned up on the battlefield at precisely the right moment, and, well, our army couldn’t help but win.”
“I don’t think that’s—”
“Hmm,” murmured the woman as she reached for the basket she’d brought. “If you’re not going to eat these, I might as well.” Opening the basket, she took out the larger of the two tarts and bit into it. A look of pleasure appeared on her face. “These are so good!” she said through a mouthful of food. “I’m an excellent cook. Anyway, everyone is saying that we won the war because of you, so it must be true.”
Maks had started walking back and forth only inches from what was left of the woman’s fruit tart, shedding a trail of black fur.
“I really don’t think that—” Serafina began.
“What is wrong with that cat?” said the woman, glaring at him. “Wait! That’s not a question!” The dismayed expression on her face when she turned to Serafina was almost comical.
The cat sat down, looking satisfied when Serafina said in her Baba Yaga voice, “Nothing is wrong with the cat. He doesn’t like you and thinks that you are a very rude person. He wants you to leave and is trying to make you go.”
“Well, I never!” the woman said, getting to her feet. “And after I brought you such a delicious treat!” She was storming out the door, her basket in her hand, when she stopped suddenly and glanced back at Serafina. “Does this mean that you won’t answer my question when I think of something important?”
“I’m afraid so,” Serafina replied, not even trying to look sorry. After closing the door behind the woman, she shuffled to her chair and sat down with a groan. “So, according to her, more people believe in Baba Yaga now. I wonder if the prince’s announcement will make it easier for my parents to believe in magic. Ah, I have to thank you,” she told Maks, who had come over to rub against her. “I don’t know how I would have gotten rid of her if you hadn’t been here to help. You surprised me, though. I didn’t know you could shed when you wanted to.”
“There are a lot of things that you don’t know about me,” said the cat. “For instance, did you know that I was able to get the last tart out of the basket before she left? If you don’t want it, I’d be happy to eat it for you!”
Even though Serafina doubted that a week was long enough for Alek to find everything she needed, she couldn’t keep from hoping that he’d be in Mala Kapusta when she arrived. When he wasn’t, she went away for another week. The next time she returned, he still wasn’t there. Although people had started rebuilding the town, Serafina spotted a group of rough-looking men and decided that she didn’t feel safe. She left the town again. When she returned the third time, men were working on a new tavern, which was going to be larger than before.
Serafina stepped into her yard to look around, but there was still no sign of Alek. She stood watching the activity at the tavern for a few minutes before glancing across the road. The tree was gone, but Serafina was sure she spotted blue ribbon draped across the stump. Alek must have left her a message!
Serafina moved at a much slower pace now, her aging bones and muscles unable to carry her as quickly as her still-young mind wanted to go. As she hobbled across the road, leaning on her cane, she thought about the first time she’d found a letter from Alek in the tree. “The world was so different
then,” she murmured. When she saw a blue ribbon tied around a piece of parchment, her heart jumped and she felt almost young again.
Serafina was bending down, reaching for the parchment, when she heard a sound. Thinking it might be Alek, she turned around, a smile on her face.
It wasn’t Alek. Three rough-looking men had emerged from the tavern, and all of them were staring at her as they walked in her direction. When they saw her looking their way, they stopped trying to be quiet and began to run across the street.
“Come back inside the fence quickly!” shouted Boris.
But Serafina’s body was too weak to be quick. She had taken only a few steps when the men were upon her, hustling her into a carriage that had emerged from behind the tavern. The skulls began to scream the instant the men touched her, making town dogs howl and a flock of crows take to the air. A burly man with shaggy brown hair and a thick red beard followed her through the carriage door and sat on the seat across from her, closing the door behind him and muting the racket of the skulls, who hadn’t stopped screaming. With the coachman’s shout and crack of a whip, the horses started off.
“What do you want of me?” Serafina asked the man.
“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s Lord Zivon who wants you. I’m just taking you to him.”
“I’ve never met Lord Zivon. Why would he do this?”
The man snorted and shook his head. “You insulted the man and made him angrier than I’ve ever seen him, but you don’t even know who he is. You met him once months ago.”
“My memory isn’t as good as it used to be,” she said, although it wasn’t true. “Please, if you would be so kind, at least tell me what he looks like?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” said the man, ignoring her when she tried to talk to him again.
Chapter 17
Since the man refused to talk to Serafina for the rest of the trip, she was left to figure out which of her visitors was Zivon. She knew that she had angered some people with her answers, but only a few had acted as if they hated her enough to have her kidnapped. And there was that man who had sent those awful people to grab her in the marketplace. Could Zivon have been trying to abduct her even then?
It was dark when the carriage finally rolled to a stop and the man opened the door to jump down. Although the sign was gone from the front of the building, Serafina thought that it had probably once been an inn. She was still eyeing the building and the people lounging outside when the man who had ridden with her reached into the carriage and picked her up as if she were no heavier than a sack of potatoes. Crinkling her nose at his sour smell, she struggled to get down and even tried thumping him with her cane. The man cursed under his breath and took the cane from her. After tossing it to the ground, he carried her out of the carriage to the door of the inn.
“Here she is, Chorly,” he said, setting her down just inside the door.
Serafina glanced at this second man. He had a long burn mark on his face and he was scowling as if he had seen something loathsome. “That’s her, all right,” said Chorly. “She’s older now, but I’d remember her anywhere. Take her downstairs.”
Hefting her over his shoulder again, the man who had abducted Serafina carried her down a set of rickety stairs to a cool, dark room where a smoking torch mounted on the wall provided the only light. After setting her on a wooden bench, he plodded up the stairs, closing the door at the top behind him.
Rubbing her ribs where they’d pressed into the man’s shoulder, Serafina studied the room. She could tell that she was in a root cellar from the barrels lined up against one wall and the few dried apples and pieces of broken carrot on the dirt floor. The room was chilly and smelled like soil and onions and had the musty odor peculiar to old storage spaces. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, hoping that her captors wouldn’t make her stay down there for long.
The door above opened, and Serafina looked up to see feet descending one slow step at a time. As the man came farther down the stairs, she saw that it was Chorly with a candle in his hand. He was limping badly, and suddenly Serafina remembered him screaming as he fell out of her lurching cottage. This man had been one of the thieves who had forced their way into her home.
Chorly had almost reached the bottom of the stairs when three others clattered down behind him. Serafina watched as a taller man came forward and the light of the candle fell on his face. The scar crossing his lips looked even more sinister in the flickering light than it had inside her cottage.
“I wondered when I’d see you again,” he said. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you the last time we met. You’re going to be quite useful.”
“How is that?” asked Serafina. “Do you want me to answer a question for Lord Zivon?”
One side of the man’s lips pulled back in a scornful sneer. “You already answered a question for me, remember? It wasn’t even the one I really wanted.”
“You’re Zivon?” she said, sounding surprised. “I thought you were a thief.”
“Lord Zivon,” he corrected her, his eyes turning cold and hard. “We all play different roles when necessary. And now your role requires that you answer questions. Chorly, who is our first volunteer?”
Handing the candle to one of the other men, Chorly limped to the bottom of the stairs and barked an order at someone standing above. A thin man with a dirty bandage wrapped around his head crept down the stairs. He kept his eyes on Lord Zivon like a mouse might watch a cat. When the man paused at the bottom of the steps, Chorly shoved him toward Serafina, saying, “Go ahead. Ask your question.”
The man stumbled into her, then took two steps back and turned so he could still see Lord Zivon. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he said in a shaky voice, “Did you really tell Prince Cynrik that he would win?”
“I told him what he would need to do to end the war,” Serafina said in her Baba Yaga voice.
Lord Zivon nodded. “Pay him off, Chorly.”
Chorly handed a coin to the one who had asked the question and then motioned toward the door. The paid man scurried up the stairs without a backward glance. A moment later another man came down the stairs to take his place. Dressed in homespun clothes and dirty sandals, he looked like a farmer.
“Go ahead,” said Chorly.
The man hesitated, looking down at Serafina, who could see the indecision in his eyes. Before he could begin, she met his gaze directly and said, “You do know that if you ask me a question on Lord Zivon’s behalf, you’ll never be able to ask me one of your own? Is it really worth a coin to lose the chance to ask me something that is important to you?”
“Don’t listen to her,” snapped Lord Zivon. “Ask the question before I lose my patience.”
The man bit his lip. Taking a deep breath, he said all in a rush, “King Borysko has signed a treaty with King Kolenka, but he’s labeled Lord Zivon as a traitor. He has already confiscated Lord Zivon’s lands and robbed him of his titles. What must Lord Zivon do to get his lands and titles back?”
“Because of Lord Zivon’s heinous crimes, there is nothing he can do to regain his lands, his titles, or his position in King Borysko’s eyes,” Serafina said in her Baba Yaga voice. “However, in three generations’ time, a member of Zivon’s line will distinguish himself in battle fighting for King Borysko’s descendant. Some of Zivon’s lands will be returned to his descendant then.”
No one looked happy about her answer, least of all Zivon. As Chorly hustled the farmer from the room, Zivon’s sneer became more pronounced. “That answer must make you very happy.”
“Not at all,” said Serafina. “I just give the answers. They have nothing to do with me.”
“I’m sure you were happy to tell Cynrik how to win.”
Serafina shook her head. “I don’t like it when people fight for any reason.”
The sound of thudding feet came from above. Chorly whispered into Lord Zivon’s ear, and then all the men climbed the stairs, taking the candle with them. One of them shut the door, and Serafin
a was left alone, straining to hear any sound. She doubted that Zivon was finished with her yet.
Minutes passed as she listened to people moving above her. Then suddenly it was quiet and she wondered if they had gone. Serafina eyed the stairs, thinking about how hard it would be to climb them, but before she’d gotten up from the bench, the door creaked open and closed again.
Serafina held her breath as the burly man who had carried her into the room came down the stairs. “I’ve come to ask you a question,” he said in a near whisper, “but we have to be quick. There’s no telling when they’ll be back. My friends and I want to know—what will happen to us if we stay with Lord Zivon?”
Serafina sighed. She was getting frailer with each question, and her back now had a pronounced curve. Speaking in her Baba Yaga voice, she said, “If you stay with Zivon, you and your friends will be hunted down like wild beasts and die in disgrace. Should you leave now, you can return to your families and no one will know that you sided with a traitor.”
The man nodded as if she had confirmed something he was already thinking. “Then we’d best go now before Zivon comes back,” he said. “He isn’t going to like this one bit.”
He was halfway up the stairs again when Serafina called out, “If you’re leaving, could you take me with you?”
The man stopped long enough to shake his head. “If I leave, he’ll be angry, but he won’t come after me. If I take you with me, he’d hunt us both down, but I’m the one he’d kill.”
This time when he shut the door, Serafina could hear the scrape of a bolt as he locked the door behind him. She rubbed her arms again, trying to chafe away the chill. With the door locked, there wasn’t much use climbing the stairs. She’d just have to wait for another opportunity.
