by Karah Sutton
Ivan was muttering to himself now. Baba Yaga crept closer.
“Baba Yaga,” he said.
She caught the words, but wondered if she’d imagined them.
What did you say? she asked breathlessly.
“Baba Yaga,” he repeated. He ran a nervous hand through his straw-colored hair. “My grandmother used to tell a story about how our family lost its home many years ago. It was the fault of the witch Baba Yaga.” He heaved a sigh that was filled with regret, not his own, but passed down through generations. His grandmother’s resentment lived on in him. “I love the home I grew up in here on the edge of the forest, but my grandmother could never forgive the witch for taking our old home away. She wanted to punish Baba Yaga, to seek vengeance for destroying what was ours.”
He began to pace again, nervously twisting a ring on his finger. His loping steps indicated that he had grown taller only recently, and he hadn’t yet gotten used to the movement. Baba Yaga glanced at her own legs and tail, so new to her as well, masking the witch inside. Despite appearances, Ivan was just a boy.
“Where did you get that ring?” asked Baba Yaga.
He looked down at the large ruby sparkling against his hand. “My grandmother gave it to me. She used to say she’d tell me one day where it came from.” A dark cloud passed over his face, and he continued, “She died three days ago. It’s why I left my home—I’m going to the city in the south to help my family.” He shuddered, though from sadness or fear it was hard to be sure. “But I’d rather not—I want to do what my grandmother couldn’t. I wish to go to Baba Yaga.”
And what will you do when you meet her? said Baba Yaga, careful to keep her tone smooth and disinterested.
“I don’t know,” said Ivan. “My grandmother was a strong woman, much stronger than me.” He paused, his eyes heavy with sadness and admiration. “She didn’t just want our home back, she wanted revenge against the witch for taking what was ours.”
And is this what you wish to do? said Baba Yaga.
“I don’t know,” he said again. He took a few uncertain steps down the road, as though he might go to the city after all. “I want to honor my grandmother. But I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t know what I’ll do,” he repeated. “But I need to face her.”
Baba Yaga let out the breath that she’d been holding. A plan had begun to form in her mind. I can take you to the witch’s home, the house on chicken legs. I cannot deliver her to you.
“How do I know I can trust you?” said Ivan, continuing to walk along the road.
You do not, said Baba Yaga. You must choose to trust.
Ivan stopped walking. They had reached a fork in the road. To the left, the road departed the forest, leading toward the city. To the right was a path that wound around the forest’s edge toward the castle.
He stared at the junction as though his two choices were spread out before him. He looked back the way he had come. “My mama wants me to go to the city to seek my fortune. I wish I could stay and live by the forest—I don’t want to leave.”
Is that what you want, to explore the forest? said Baba Yaga. If you come with me, you will have it, and the home your grandmother longed for, and the fortune your mama desires. She turned toward the trees, beckoning him to follow her. Your choice is not between your home and the city. There is always a third choice, for those brave enough to seek it.
Ivan stared at the roads, then slowly, silently, moved his boot off the path. He observed his feet as though surprised at what he was doing. But he raised his gaze to meet hers. “I will follow you,” he said. “Take me to Baba Yaga.”
Dozens of families from villages Nadya had never seen or heard of stood in a line that wove toward the arched doorway to the castle, all clutching wedding gifts for the tsar and Katerina.
As the crowd moved through the entryway, guards stationed along the line snapped at people, warning them not to touch any of the painted walls or sculptures. The ceiling twinkled with floating crystals. Carvings of flowers and vines flowed down the walls, waterfalls of beauty and color. Nadya had never seen anything like it. It was hard to believe that Katerina now lived in a place like this.
The thrill of her having met Baba Yaga, and the anxiety about how she would be received now that she was at the castle, swirled together in her stomach. She tightened her grip on the dagger. She could feel the hard bone and metal through the thin cloth.
At long last, she entered a receiving room. Courtiers in furs and glittering gowns lined the walls, moving with such grace that Nadya almost wished she were invisible. Katerina could play the part of a tsaritsa, but everyone would recognize Nadya for what she was in an instant—an orphan from the edge of the forest, with no family and no home.
The line moved, and the far wall came into view. At the foot of an enormous tapestry stood two silver thrones. On one sat the tsar in black furs with red jewels glittering on his fingers.
The other throne was empty.
Nadya clutched the dagger even tighter, its rubies digging into her palm. Where was Katerina?
When it was her turn, she bowed and looked up at the tsar.
He wore a bored expression as he stared out across the room—almost as if he didn’t see the mass of people assembled before him. A goblet was handed to him by a servant and he swirled it before taking a delicate sip. Scarlet droplets clung to his beard. He sniffed before turning to her.
Nadya waited for recognition but it did not come.
“Excuse me, your illustrious highness, but where is Katerina?” she said. She fought to keep the shaking from her voice. The tsar knew her; he had to be delighted to see her.
His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember, then at last they brightened.
“Ah, Nadya, you have come to us,” he said. His voice was dry and crisp, as though it might snap.
An icy feeling crawled down Nadya’s spine. The tsar had not been exactly friendly to her before, but he’d never been so cold. His power and authority filled the room, so strong she could almost smell it. All traces of warmth were gone.
“Yes, your illustrious highness,” said Nadya, giving another bow and doing her best to play the part of someone at home among the splendor. “I have brought your wedding gift, but I also came in the hopes of accepting Katerina’s offer to stay with you.” It was a bold thing to say, pretending as though he’d already confirmed she could stay, but Katerina was not there to correct her, nor Mrs. Orlova to give her assessment.
The tsar’s lips twitched. “I am afraid my dear Katerina is ill, and unable to receive visitors,” he said, as though the words meant nothing.
But comprehension tightened around Nadya’s neck like a snake. Katerina unwell? Nadya had never seen Katerina have so much as a sniffle. “I am an excellent healer,” she said, which was a stretch but had a crumb of truth. She had helped Katerina bandage the broken arm of a girl in the orphanage once. “May I see her, your illustrious highness?” Nerves made the words twist on her tongue.
“You have brought us a wedding gift,” said the tsar, ignoring her question. “I am eager to see what you have brought.”
Nadya looked down. The hilt of the dagger peeked from its cloth wrapper, and a ruby glinted in the dim light. She shifted the bundle in her arms to hide it.
“It is my wish to present it to both you and Katerina,” she said.
The tsar stiffened.
Nadya felt her knees weaken. She had gone too far. No one would dare to deny the tsar his demand.
The tips of his fingers tightened around the stem of his goblet. “Of course,” he said. “You are eager to see your friend. And I would not deny her the pleasure of your visit. Anything for my beloved.” Nadya didn’t like how he said the word “beloved.”
He snapped his fingers and a guard appeared at his side. The guard’s blue-and-white tunic was trimmed with gold and draped down his short legs to his knees. Eyeglasses perched on the guard’s broad nose. “Izel, take this young lady to see Katerina.”
&n
bsp; Confusion crossed the guard’s face, though he clearly dared not contradict his master.
The tsar waved a hand, gesturing for Nadya to follow the guard. As she stepped closer, the tsar’s voice slithered toward her, low enough that only she could hear. “You might find her quite altered, since you last saw her.” Nadya recognized in his face a hint of worry. “It is my greatest hope that she will not be unwell for our wedding. Perhaps a visit from you will revive her,” he said.
Maybe it was his fears that made him so altered. If Nadya could help heal Katerina, everything would be as it should.
With that whispered wish, he dismissed her.
* * *
—
“Excuse me!” said Nadya, trotting to keep up with the guard as he took quick, purposeful steps down the long and twisting corridor.
“Yes?” he said, turning to her. Nadya felt like she could trust the expression in his dark eyes. His kind face, with the bronze cheeks of a man from the southern plains, was surrounded by straight black hair.
“What did the tsar mean that Katerina is ill? What’s wrong with her?”
“I wish I could tell you, young mistress,” he said. He removed his eyeglasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “She’s not been well ever since she arrived. There’s been no word from any of the castle healers as to what’s ailing her. I am surprised that he’s allowing you to see her.”
“What do you mean?” Her cheeks warmed with sudden worry.
The guard stopped. He tugged on his uniform to straighten it. “No one else has been permitted to approach her rooms. We soldiers have taken shifts guarding the door, to prevent anyone from entering.”
Heartache stabbed Nadya, sharper than the dagger in her hands. Katerina, locked away, ill, with no one to see or comfort her. Well, Nadya was here now. She was grateful to the tsar for letting her visit Katerina.
Izel marched Nadya past two guards stationed at a final door. With a nod to one of them, he turned the handle and allowed Nadya to slip past him inside.
The room could have held the entire orphanage, including the chicken coop in the yard. Ceilings soared overhead in great swooping arches. Nadya had never cared much for weaving or sewing, but she couldn’t help admiring the lush fabrics upholstering the furniture and draped around the large bed in the corner.
The guard stooped to speak to her in a low voice. “I hope that you give her strength.”
As quietly as she could, Nadya approached the bed. “Katerina?” she said cautiously. “Katerina, are you awake?”
“Nadya?” said a voice. “Is that you?”
The words were hardly a whisper, as though Katerina’s once-musical voice had waned to only a trace of itself.
Nadya quietly leaned in. The face that greeted her was barely recognizable. It seemed wilted, the once-full lips and cheeks now sunken and worn.
Nadya fought against the twisting of her insides, the demon that dared to whisper that Katerina—perfect, unstoppable Katerina—was dying.
“Oh…Katerina…,” said Nadya. She wanted to throw her arms around her, but was afraid that the force of it might crush her. So instead, she patted Katerina on the arm. “I am glad to see you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” said Katerina.
In that moment all memories of the promise Nadya had made to Baba Yaga were forgotten, so consumed was she with worry and concern for her friend.
The sun had set, and still Zima had seen no sign of Nadya. The girl had said she would return. What if something had happened to her? Or worse, what if she had lied, and it was never her intention to help stop the hunt?
The second thought sprouted a seed of fear. It twisted and tangled like a weed. The girl had seemed like she was telling the truth, but she was still a human. Grom always said that lies came naturally to humans.
Nothing good had come from Zima’s interactions with humans. First Grom had punished her for sparing Nadya’s life, and then the hunter had stabbed Leto. Baba Yaga herself had even told Zima not to speak to any humans, and Zima hadn’t listened.
You let your fears control you, Grom had told her once, and that’s exactly what Zima had done by sending Nadya to the castle while she stayed in the hut.
She had to do something. She couldn’t let fear stand in her way any longer.
But what could she do? Nadya had said that no one would listen to Baba Yaga, that Katerina was too afraid of her.
For a moment Zima remembered how she’d pretended to be frightening to Veter. She’d convinced him to seek safety by pretending she was going to curse him. She could do the same for Katerina. She could pretend that she truly was the dangerous witch Baba Yaga. Maybe if she pretended to be fearless, it would almost start to feel like she was.
She swallowed. She wouldn’t let fear control her.
Come morning, she would go to the castle and talk to Katerina herself.
* * *
—
The raven still had not returned by the time she woke, but Zima was glad he was gone. She didn’t need him telling her what a dangerous plan this was, or that it was in violation of Baba Yaga’s instructions. She’d already broken the rules by moving the hut and speaking to Nadya, so she would just have to bear the witch’s wrath if she ever returned.
Her cane thudded against the soft wood as she descended the steps. The crackling sound of the leaves beneath her feet put her on edge. When she reached the ground, the hut pulled up its steps and retreated into the shadows, its chicken legs tiptoeing to avoid footprints. She could just see its windows, glittering like eyes in the darkness, but the fanned branches of fir trees shielded it from the view of those who didn’t know where to look.
A road snaked toward the castle gate. It wouldn’t take long to get there from her place on the edge of the forest. The gate was closed, as it was early morning, and the road not yet bustling with humans taking their wedding gifts to the tsar. The time to go was now.
She took a deep breath. Her body wanted to feel scared. It wanted to shiver and twitch, to retreat to the safety of the hut. For the first time in her life, she would approach the humans by choice.
Did Baba Yaga feel this scared when she left her hut? Zima tried to imagine herself as a formidable witch, capable of cursing anyone who dared stand in her way. Katerina would end the hunt because she demanded it.
Zima moved to the road and followed it to the gate. The castle seemed to grow taller as she drew nearer, until it blocked the sun and the sky entirely. There was nothing else in the world but this giant place, and the people inside who had the power to save or destroy everything in the world that mattered to Zima.
The gold bars of the gate formed an emblem of two eagles, each with one wing outstretched. It looked familiar, though Zima couldn’t say from where.
A human was visible through the bars. Zima took a breath. She was Baba Yaga, feared throughout the forest.
“Hold, Grandmother!” boomed a voice. “If you are bringing a wedding gift for his illustrious highness, the gates will open at midday.”
A man watched her from just behind the gate. He was stout with a round trunk-like chest. Balanced on his nose were two pieces of glass, like the windows in Baba Yaga’s hut, held up by golden wires. They enlarged his eyes, giving him the look of an insect.
“What business do you have here?” the man demanded.
With a final steadying breath, Zima said, “I am Baba Yaga.” She tried to sound as threatening as possible, but her voice came out as a croak. She coughed to clear her throat. “And I am here to see Katerina.”
The man’s jaw slackened. “You’re—you’re…,” he stammered, and Zima couldn’t tell if it was in fear or surprise. Then in a low voice he said, “You’re Baba Yaga?” He held up his hands in submission. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
Zima nodded. “If you take me to Katerina, I shall not harm you. Now let me in!” She tried to remember how Baba Yaga had looked and sounded in her most intimidating moments, and extended a crooked finger at the gua
rd. It was almost threatening.
It worked. With trembling hands the man pulled out what looked to be a set of metal twigs on a metal ring. “You won’t curse me?” he asked, one of the metal twigs pinched between his fingers.
“Not if you do as I ask and let me inside,” she said, her confidence swelling a little.
The man nodded, and he shoved the metal twig into a contraption on the gate, then turned it. It clicked, and the gate swung open. “We will need to be quick and go through the servants’ wing. I will explain why inside.” He watched her in a sort of fearful excitement. “You will want to cover your face as best you can,” he said, pointing at the cloth wrapped about Zima’s neck and shoulders. He helped her to tug it over her hair and around her mouth.
Zima was almost as surprised as he appeared to be. She was going to see Katerina! This was going better than she could have hoped.
Through the gate she found herself in a cluster of low buildings. People scurried around, hauling sacks and pulling carts stacked high with wood. It was busier even than the village had been on the day Leto was injured, with people crowding the paths, their eyes narrowed with concentration.
Once or twice another guard marched past, and each time Zima’s guard steered her in a different direction. Zima was too pleased at her good fortune in being taken to Katerina to worry.
But as the path turned, Zima stopped still, breathless.
Row after row of animal pelts were hung up to dry in the sun. The skins were stretched across wooden beams, a faint breeze rippling through the fur.
The full weight of her mission pressed on Zima. This was a horrible place, a deadly place. For a moment she thought she might be sick. But the guard urged her to follow him quickly, and she tore her eyes away from the disgusting sight.
