by Karah Sutton
Zima’s tail curled. You have seen the traps. You heard those arrows. We will not win a fight with them.
A growl rumbled in Leto’s throat, too big and threatening a sound to come from such a small wolf. You would rather run away than defend our pack from the humans invading this forest. He bent his forelegs and stared down his muzzle at her, ready to fight. Zima stared into his blue eyes, trying to calm him, to show that she didn’t plan to fight back.
That is your weakness, Leto said. You refuse to fight.
The sound of thrashing trees made them all turn around.
The young human man, the one who had held the little boy’s hand, burst through the wall of branches surrounding them. His jaw was rigid, and his hands clasped a bow with a ready arrow nocked to the string. He didn’t leave the protection of the trees, and instead stood nestled between them. But he pointed the arrow directly at Zima, his hands shaking.
Her ears flattened, Zima stared down the long shaft of the arrow. The hairs on her neck stood on end.
Zima fought to think clearly. If she stayed put, the hunter could hurt them all. If she moved first, the hunter would surely kill her, but it might give Leto and Veter time to run away.
She crouched, her eyes fixated on the hunter’s throat, but before she could leap, there was a flash of fur as Leto vaulted over her. He roared and snarled as he flew. A howl tried to escape from Zima’s throat, but nothing came out. The hunter threw aside his bow, and together man and wolf wrestled, growls and shouts filling the air.
Then Zima saw it. The silver glint as the sun flashed against the hunter’s knife.
Without thinking, she lunged toward the hunter. She snapped at the hunter’s legs and hands, and at Leto, trying to pull him away from the human.
A yelp pierced the air and Leto went limp. The hunter shoved the young wolf off of him, wiping blood from his face. He stumbled to his feet and bolted away from her through the trees. Zima leapt forward to follow him, but a groan from Leto made her stop. She caught a final glimpse of the hunter as he fled, and then turned to look at her fallen brother.
Leto lay crumpled like a wilted flower. His gasping breaths filled the clearing.
Zima rushed to his side, sniffing, licking away the flecks of blood on his fur. She hoped it had come from the hunter.
And then she saw it. A gash in his side oozed blood, the tangy scent filling her nose. Leto lifted his head and attempted to flop over, then winced, his eyes rolling back. His head hit the ground hard.
She had to get Grom.
But what could Grom do? He could only clean Leto as she could. If Leto stayed like this for long, he would die.
She needed someone who could do more, someone with power. She needed someone with magic.
The grim choice taunted her. Only one person had the power to save Leto: Baba Yaga. And Baba Yaga had come to Zima for assistance. If Zima agreed to perform the witch’s task, the witch might heal Leto in return.
But Grom’s warning echoed in her ears: If I ever find out you have spoken to that witch again, you will be banished from our pack. She would never regain his trust if he knew she’d gone to the witch for help.
None of that mattered now. Leto was bleeding too heavily. If saving him meant losing her place in the pack, then that was what she had to do.
Zima turned to Veter. The lone wolf stood at the edge of the clearing, watching in horror as the blood pooled on the ground. I know where we have to go, she said. Help me carry him.
As gently as she could, Zima clutched the nape of Leto’s neck between her teeth. Fortunately, her brother was still small enough that she could drag him this way without hurting him. Veter’s whole body was shaking, but he moved to imitate Zima, grabbing at fur near Leto’s leg. Together they heaved back, pulling Leto along the ground.
Grunting with the effort, the two wolves trudged through the forest. It was awkward, and they moved unbearably slowly, but step by step they advanced, toward where Zima had smelled the witch only the day before. Veter followed Zima’s lead, not asking where she was taking them or who it was that Zima thought could help. Nearly there, Zima whispered to Leto when he whimpered, though their journey had just begun.
When they first caught the scent of magic, Veter gave Zima a hard, questioning look, as though she’d revealed that she was a witch. His nose wrinkled, and he let go of Leto. Where are you taking us?
Zima avoided his gaze. She didn’t answer.
You seek the witch? Veter asked, his jaw trembling. Zima, have you lost your senses?
Zima snorted. Maybe she had? Only a few days before, she would never have considered going to a witch for help.
But Veter stopped walking and gave her a look so serious it made her insides squirm.
Zima, listen to me. I cannot go with you to the witch. And you must not go either.
Only she can save Leto, said Zima. And I will do what I must to keep my brother alive.
She will change you, Zima, Veter whimpered. Your pack must know the same stories as mine. Wolves who sought that witch’s magic, despite the warnings, and came back altered. Cursed. You cannot trust her—
Then leave, she cut him off. Go to Grom. Tell him what happened. But I am going to her.
With more effort than she thought possible, Zima moved one paw after the other. Step by step, away from Veter, until she was dragging the whole of Leto’s weight. She turned her head from Veter, fighting the urge to beg him to come with her, to say that she was too scared to go alone. But after an endless moment he scampered away, back to safety, to tell Grom what she’d done.
One paw and then the next. It was hard to know where she was, but the strong smell of magic told her that she was moving in the right direction.
Zima peered ahead, and saw a looming form. It was a hut, Baba Yaga’s hut. It was smaller than she’d imagined, but there was no mistaking it. The hut was raised, balanced on long legs as tall as the trees. Like chicken legs, they were bony and ended in clawed feet.
This was it. One more step and Grom would never forgive her.
Behind her, Leto groaned.
Zima took a deep breath to calm the pounding of her heart and pressed forward.
A tapping at the window made Baba Yaga twitch. It was only the raven, of course, but every time she heard a sound, she felt a stab of dread that a visitor was trying to make their way inside. She slowly pulled herself to her feet and moved to open the window.
The raven hopped over the sill, his sleek feathers glinting purple and turquoise in the firelight. He bowed his head and folded his wings respectfully before lifting his beak to face her again. He blinked, his black eyes unusually grave. They’ve gone, he said.
“What do you mean?”
They left in his carriage. It is headed for the castle.
Baba Yaga stamped her foot, sending a shock up her bones. She could not allow the tsar to defeat her. She would not.
Wolf or no wolf, she had to end this.
Baba Yaga paced in front of the window, her cane clunking with each step. She knew what she had to do, but she had no idea how she could achieve it, not in the time left until the full moon. She turned to the raven. “I need to find the family.”
The raven scratched at the wooden sill with his claws. But you don’t know where they are. I’ve visited every village around the forest, and I’ve uncovered no trace of their whereabouts.
“I must find them. They are the only ones hungry enough to take his castle from him.”
But how? The forest cannot see them. They are concealed from its magic.
A howl from outside the hut rattled the thin floorboards. There were scratching and scuffling sounds below.
She moved toward the window. Her eyes struggled to bring the figures outside into focus. There were two of them, light- and dark-gray, the smaller one lying motionless on the ground. Then something in the movement of the larger one caught Baba Yaga’s eye. It was the female wolf she’d met, the one who had been in the clearing with the little huma
n girl.
The wolf had changed her mind after all.
Baba Yaga retrieved the dagger from its hiding place. All the pieces were coming together, a picture of a plan forming in her mind.
She turned to the raven. “Not sight,” she said, smiling. “Smell. I know how I’ll find them.” She lifted the dagger to admire the gold inlaid along its blade and the blood-red jewels on the bone handle.
“I will smell them.”
Zima howled. She dashed around the legs of the hut, looking for an entrance. She yipped and jumped, scratching at the chicken legs with her claws.
A groaning sound from above shook her bones. Zima scampered back, away from the legs. As she looked up, she could see two windows glaring down at her. There was no door.
Zima shuffled her feet and a paw accidentally nudged Leto’s side. He gave a moan of pain.
With much creaking and squeaking, the chicken legs slowly bent, lowering the hut to the ground. Steps folded down from between the watching windows like a mouth opening its jaw, revealing the door.
Her eyes were drawn to the entrance. She stood captivated, too afraid to move for a moment, then looked to Leto. His breathing was slow and shallow. She grabbed his scruff with her teeth and tried to drag him closer to the hut. A trail of blood stained the ground behind him.
As she tugged, the door crashed open. The powerful scent of magic seeped from the entrance.
“Were you forced to come here,” the witch croaked, “or did you choose to come?” She smirked, and her mouth was as crooked as a winding stream.
I chose…but I was forced…, Zima struggled to answer. My brother is hurt, and I need your help….
“Why should I help you? You refused to help me.”
The words froze Zima’s heart. The witch had no feeling, no kindness. Veter was right.
I need you to save him, Zima said. I will give you anything.
Baba Yaga held up a hand to silence Zima. Her eyes were bright, and that crooked mouth stretched into something that might have been a smile.
Hope tugged at Zima’s chest. This was it. The witch was going to save him.
The witch pointed a finger at Leto, lying on the ground, and made a beckoning gesture. Zima started to explain again that Leto couldn’t move, but the crone shushed her. Baba Yaga turned around and shambled back into the hut. With a crack and a snap that sliced the silence, grass and vines sprouted from the ground, lifting Leto into the air. In a wave, the grasses carried him along, past Zima and toward the steps. Zima stared. Long vines lifted him up the steps and into the hut.
Without waiting for an invitation, Zima took a deep breath and followed.
The magic odor worsened. It oozed from the walls and clogged the air. Zima’s eyes watered; she coughed and blinked to try and clear them. The inside of the hut was cluttered with shelves that bowed under the weight of many containers and jugs and, Zima noticed with alarm, a pile of skulls. Beneath the shelves was the giant stone bowl that had flown when Baba Yaga sat inside it. A dirty table stood in the middle of the room, and a fire burned in the grate, warming a cauldron filled with some lumpy sludge. The surface swirled with bubbles that burst with high-pitched squeals.
The witch raised her hand, and Leto rose through the air and came to rest on a rug before the stone fireplace. Her probing eyes found Zima. Black pupils glistened in eyes flecked with purple. The air around Zima grew cold, even with the fire burning, and she shifted uncomfortably under the witch’s gaze.
“So, you’ll do anything to save him…,” the witch said.
Zima’s skin jumped. There was a hunger in the witch’s words.
But then she spied her brother’s limp paw, splayed across the rug. This was no time for fear. She puffed out her chest and met the old crone’s eyes without blinking.
The witch continued, “Then I’ll grant your spell, if you grant mine.”
Zima gasped. Her mouth was hot and her head light. I do not understand…
“I must become a wolf. Yet my magic does not allow me to simply transform. I am bound by the laws of the forest, and my magic is always a trade. I need a wolf to switch bodies with me, willingly.” Her eyes brightened as she spoke.
Whatever Zima expected the witch to reply, it wasn’t this. Let the witch have her body?
And if I give you my body, you will heal Leto?
The witch nodded.
A horrible thought struck Zima. If she agreed to switch places, Baba Yaga could pretend to be Zima. The witch could say anything, do anything, and everyone would assume it was Zima doing those things.
What about the rest of my family? Zima said, her panic rising. You must stay away from them!
“My plans do not involve your family,” the witch said, her voice tinged with impatience. “Do we have a deal? Your brother does not have much time left.”
Zima’s breath came in short gasps. The air in the hut was so hot, it burned her lungs. She looked again at Leto’s limp paw. She clenched her jaw and nodded.
“Good!” Baba Yaga declared. She slapped her hand against the table, causing Zima to jump.
Then the witch shuffled toward the fire and knelt down to examine Leto. She poked and prodded him, lifting his paw and letting it fall, jabbing him in the stomach and listening to him groan….Zima moved to stop her, but Baba Yaga held up a hand.
“You brought him just in time. Any longer, and it would have been too late to save him.”
Zima’s heart missed a beat. What do you mean?
Baba Yaga straightened and began pulling jars from the shelves, and bunches of herbs and fungi from the rafters. She sprinkled them into a bowl, then used a wooden rod to grind them up. “My magic cannot create or destroy, it can only alter. I cannot kill, likewise I cannot create life where there is none.” She lifted her gaze to Zima, her eyes heavy with meaning. “I cannot bring a wolf back from the dead.”
Before Zima could respond, the witch was back to her work. With surprisingly delicate fingers, she scooped up the ground mixture and began applying it to Leto’s wound. An earthy mushroom scent filled Zima’s nostrils.
Is that the spell? Zima asked, curious in spite of herself.
“This?” Baba Yaga chuckled. “No, this is medicine. I do as much as I can without magic.”
Why?
“My power comes from the earth, from this forest. It is wild and untamable, and sometimes unpredictable. I am the riverbed, but the magic is the water. I can try to direct it, but sometimes it acts on its own.”
She continued to apply the medicine to Leto as she spoke. Leto’s breathing was slow, but it stayed steady.
“All I can do is ask the forest to save him. It does the rest.”
Will the forest listen? Zima said.
“The forest is always listening, even to those who don’t wield its magic,” said Baba Yaga. “But magic is much easier to handle when you have what a spell needs,” she said, a wicked smile twitching at her lips.
What does a spell need? Zima asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.
The witch chuckled, her eyes flashing at Zima before returning to Leto. “Heh ho, wouldn’t you like to know? I don’t want you doing magic in my body. You’ll just hurt yourself.”
Gripping her cane, the witch leaned closer to Leto and placed her other hand on his stomach, mumbling words under her breath. They sounded no more magical than a simple plea: “Please…heal him….” The herbs crackled and sizzled. The rhythm of the witch’s words was like a heartbeat. “Heal him, heal him….” For some minutes there was nothing but the drone of her voice and the heat of the fire. Finally: silence.
The witch released her hand and turned to face Zima. Baba Yaga’s eyes were grim and determined. The table separated them, but she reached across it to place her hand on Zima’s head, and before Zima could even say a word in response, Baba Yaga began to chant again.
Zima instinctively tried to duck away, but the witch jabbed her cane at Zima’s side, and tightened her grip on Zima’s head. Z
ima bit back the fear rising in her throat. She kept her eyes on Leto, watching his stomach rise and fall as he breathed, in and out, in and out.
Then, to Zima’s amazement, her brother moved.
Zima’s head spun and the room blurred. For a moment she was lost in a thick fog, then Leto groaned, and her eyes cleared. Baba Yaga’s grip on Zima’s head loosened and fell away. The smell of magic, which had been overwhelming only a second before, had all but disappeared. But there was a strange new sense: a low hum seemed to buzz inside Zima, like whispers too soft for her to make out the words. The whispers filled her and flowed through her.
Zima darted forward to her brother. She nearly fell over her own strange new feet. Zima looked down. She stood on upright legs. Held out her arms and saw withered witch hands. She reached up and touched the leathery skin on her face and neck.
She looked with horror at the figure facing her. The witch had completely transformed into a wolf with Zima’s exact silvery-gray coloring and the black streak along her back. Her paws rested casually on the table, her orange eyes cold.
The witch gave Zima a sharp look, and her wolf lips stretched into a satisfied grin. She leapt forward, around the table, her paws thumping on the wooden floor. In a voice that was like Zima’s, but also sharper and older, she said, Do not leave this hut while I am gone, do not admit any visitors. The humans cannot know that you are not the true Baba Yaga.
Then she bounded through the door and down to the ground, disappearing from sight.
“Wait!” Zima shouted. The words scratched at her throat. She fumbled for the doorway and stood peering into the darkness. “How long will I be like this?”
The witch had abandoned her!
She could barely walk, knew nothing about magic, and had no knowledge of what the witch planned to do in her body.
