A Wolf for a Spell

by Karah Sutton

  The air began to glow around the two witches, its light coursing toward Tsar Aleksander. It flowed and rippled like a stream. The light swelled, surrounding them.

  The magic lashed at the tsar. Tendrils flicked at his ankles.

  Something crawled up the tsar’s legs and then down his arms to the tip of his sword. Small shoots sprouted from the sword and his wrists, growing, turning thick and wrinkled. His skin hardened. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged.

  When the chanting stopped, a stately tree stood in the glade, a handful of golden leaves blowing in the breeze.

  Wind swept through the clearing. The fighting stopped. Soldiers stared at the tree that was once their leader. Villagers grabbed the weapons from the soldiers’ hands.

  An old man among the villagers stared at Zima in fear and awe. “You did that to him?” he asked.

  Katerina raised her voice. “She defeated the tsar—the village and the forest are safe!” The villagers’ voices swelled into a cheer.

  Zima looked out over the crowd. Wolves, villagers, and her friends from the castle, the spell could not have worked without all of them. “No,” she said, holding her wrinkled hands out to the crowd, “we defeated the tsar!”

  * * *

  —

  Zima stood silently as Izel introduced Ivan to the villagers as the long-lost heir to the tsardom. A ring he wore, with a ruby and carved eagles, seemed to prove the truth of it. Already Ivan was showing himself to be a good leader—he was listening to the villagers’ concerns and comforting them. With Ivan and Katerina, Zima was sure that a peace between the forest, the village, and the castle was within reach.

  Songs filled the clearing as the villagers celebrated. They danced and played. Even some of the wolves joined in, prancing and wagging their tails. Those that didn’t, like Grom, watched the merriment with quiet elation shimmering in their eyes.

  The wolf Baba Yaga trotted toward Zima. Come, walk with me, said the witch.

  “Wait!” called Nadya, chasing after them, followed close behind by Oksana. Nadya wrapped her arms around Zima’s middle, hugging her. “I know you say you’re not really Baba Yaga, but you will always be Baba Yaga to me. Even when you’re a wolf again.” She pressed her face into Zima’s belly. Her voice was muffled and teary as she said, “You saved us all.”

  Zima opened her mouth to reply, but the words caught in her throat. As a witch, she’d been able to speak to both humans and wolves. But once she became a wolf again, that power would be gone. Her wolf ears wouldn’t be able to make out anything said to her by her new friends.

  Zima looked to Nadya and Oksana and tried to imagine a friendship where they could no longer speak to one another.

  She knelt down, and without a word, wrapped her arms around Nadya again, hoping the hug would convey the feelings thrumming inside her. They might still visit one another as human and wolf, but it would never be the same.

  She stood and wiped a tear from Oksana’s cheek. There were ways to speak without words, and those would have to do.

  At last, they parted, and Baba Yaga led Zima toward the edge of the forest. Pale light climbed the sky from the horizon, turning the world the deep blue of predawn. They were just in time to make the switch.

  You did so much more than I ever expected, said Baba Yaga, taking a seat and curling her tail around her paws. I am grateful to you.

  “And you think this new tsar will make everything better?” asked Zima.

  Baba Yaga nodded. Her tail flicked. I trust the forest. It knew I needed you. Not just to break the spell, but to bring us together. The lightening sky made the silver-gray of Baba Yaga’s fur shimmer as she looked at Zima. It was strange, Zima realized, looking at herself, seeing what others saw. How the outside could both reflect and hide the person within. You can become a wolf again now. I’ve seen the magic you can wield. She moved to face Zima, her paws in line with the tips of Zima’s boots. Cast the spell whenever you wish, said the witch.

  Zima swallowed. She had grown used to her strange life as a witch: having hands that could grip things, enjoying human food and songs, the ability to perform magic.

  But she couldn’t stay a witch forever. Sooner or later, she had to face that reality. She was a wolf, and she needed to be in her old body again.

  She wouldn’t be the same wolf, though. Somehow over this past week she’d joined a world beyond her wolf pack. Wolves and humans, she sat midway between them, belonging to both and also neither. Once she became a wolf again, that door would be closed. That part of her life would be over.

  She looked down at Baba Yaga. “Are you ready?” Zima asked.

  Baba Yaga nodded. Are you?

  In answer, Zima clutched the cane with both hands and closed her eyes. The wood hummed beneath her fingers. Her lips tight, she murmured, “Please…make me a wolf again….”

  A tingling began in her toes and crawled up her legs. It reached her back and shoved her forward, down onto all fours. The cane fell to the ground, sinking into the snow with a soft thud. A shiver crawled up her neck to the tip of her nose. And then it was gone. The chatter of human voices rang in her ears. When she opened her eyes, she was lower to the ground, her vision clearer. Zima lifted her hands…no, her paws, admiring her old claws. Twisting to look behind her, she saw her tail wagging violently.

  Joy burst inside her, spreading into every limb like a stream finding its way through the forest, filling nooks and crannies and flowing onward. She lifted her head and let out a howl.

  The true witch Baba Yaga stood before her. The purple in her eyes glittered, like the last stars in a sunrise. She lifted her cane from the snow and leaned upon it. “It feels good to be my old self again,” she said.

  Zima wondered if she would ever be her old self.

  But now she was something different. Someone new.

  And she liked that wolf better.

  Baba Yaga entered the clearing, the fresh moss on the ground dampening her footsteps. The others didn’t notice her approach. Zima lay with her eyes closed, her tail wagging as Nadya stroked her ears. Behind them Potok and Veter playfully fought over a stick. Only Katerina looked less than relaxed.

  The voices of the forest were singing this evening, a song of mourning and celebration. Soon Baba Yaga would join them.

  The setting sun spilled an orange glow over the trees and the budding crocuses. It was almost time.

  Baba Yaga had known this day was approaching ever since Katerina had made a new magical object to replace her doll: a carved wooden pendant, which she wore around her neck on a chain. She wasn’t a child anymore. She could protect the forest on her own.

  The breeze blew Baba Yaga’s hair into her eyes, strands now so white they were almost see-through. She brushed them away and couldn’t help but notice that her skin had the same translucent sheen. She had taken care with her appearance. A crown of leaves, made by Nadya, was placed upon her head, and around her neck was a garland of flowers.

  She stood in silence a moment longer, watching this unlikely family. Katerina noticed her first, opening her mouth to say something but struggling to find the words.

  Instead, Baba Yaga spoke first. “It is time,” she said.

  The others flinched at the sudden sound of her voice, jarred from their contentment by what they knew was coming. They looked to each other, afraid to move. Baba Yaga smiled. She knew what they were thinking. It was too soon. It was only five moons since the defeat of the tsar, barely enough time to enjoy each other’s company.

  But Katerina would do well, whatever path she chose. She was as caring toward the forest and its creatures as she was toward Nadya. Her experience with the tsar had made her thoughtful, but not distrusting. Perhaps one day Katerina would even decide to marry after all. Ivan certainly seemed interested. He’d been to visit Katerina frequently after getting his family settled at their new home in the castle. Baba Yaga trusted that Katerina would make the right decision. And that meant it was time for Baba Yaga to leave.


  She looked around at them all, and her eyebrow twitched. “Oh, come now, we knew this day would arrive. If you don’t follow me, I’ll have to go on my own,” she said.

  Slowly they all climbed to their feet, sorrow weighing heavily on their shoulders. As they rose, Zima’s other brothers Grom and Leto arrived in the clearing. Baba Yaga was pleased to see them. Though they hadn’t fully warmed to the humans, and probably would never trust them completely, they understood that Zima couldn’t live the life they’d led before. She lived separately from them now, along with Veter and the nervous young Potok. But Grom and Leto clearly loved her and respected her choice, and now they were here to support Zima, knowing how difficult she would find this day.

  In a line Katerina, Nadya, and the wolves followed Baba Yaga as she led the way to the stream. It had formed as the snow began to melt in the spring thaw, and much like how magic coursed through Baba Yaga, it flowed through the forest, forging its own path. The raven hovered above her, ever watchful.

  Baba Yaga turned around to face them all.

  “After three hundred years of living alone,” she said, “I never thought I would have such a somber group beside me on this day.” She held her hand out to Katerina. The young witch took it and squeezed the old woman’s fingers. Baba Yaga chuckled. “Not too hard now—I am very old.”

  Katerina smiled, but her eyes sparkled with tears. The raven opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something pert, but couldn’t find his voice. Instead, he landed and gave her a formal bow.

  Baba Yaga looked among them, and her gaze fell on Zima as she said her final words. “I am the forest. It flows through me. And now, I will flow through it. And in this way, I’ll always be here, surrounding you, a part of you.”

  With those words she turned and stepped into the stream. Its steady flow was soothing. The cool water only came up to her ankles, but her skirts swirled in the current.

  Baba Yaga took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose.

  “I smell…springtime,” she said.

  The waters rose, and little by little, they began to carry her away, wearing her down as though she were made of nothing more than earth.

  With a final contented sigh, the waters took the last of her, and she flowed away from the others, through the forest, one with the forest.

  Zima moved slowly, as though dragging her paws through water. When she paused to look back at the stream where she’d last seen Baba Yaga, Veter stopped and stood beside her.

  She is still here, said Veter. In the trees, and—he turned to Zima with bright eyes—in you.

  Zima bowed her head. I feel like I barely got the chance to know her.

  We are lucky for the time we get to spend with others, said Veter. I know that now more than ever.

  I am glad you are with us, Veter, said Zima. It was hard to feel sad whenever he was around. With me.

  Me too, he replied.

  As the group gathered in the clearing, Katerina took Nadya’s hand, preparing to walk her back to the orphanage, where Nadya was helping Mrs. Orlova with the younger girls. But Nadya shook her head. She said something to Katerina. Zima couldn’t understand the human words. But the ache of not being able to understand was getting a little less with each passing day, even though it would always be there.

  “All right, I’ll sing you a song,” Katerina said. With Baba Yaga gone, she was the only one who could talk to both animals and humans. She took a seat among the roots of an old tree. “After that I’ll walk you home.”

  Zima looked to Grom. He wasn’t usually one for songs. He’d told Zima that he could never bring himself to behave like a human pet. But he met her gaze. On this day of all days, the valley between them had narrowed a little. Sometimes it was wider and sometimes narrower, and Zima had learned to be grateful for the days when she and her brother could lie next to each other as they once had when they were pups, close enough to feel each other’s heartbeat. She wouldn’t trade the changes for anything, but she was glad for the chance to remember old times too.

  Grom approached and lay down next to her. Veter joined her on the other side. Their closeness eased the ache in her heart. But Baba Yaga would still be there, part of the forest. Perhaps she would even listen to the song Katerina was about to begin.

  Katerina reached up to her shoulder as if she expected to pet the raven, but he was gone. Where was he? Zima sniffed, trying to catch his scent. He’d been there only a moment ago. But before she could stand up to look for him, he reappeared, towing a branch in his claws. The tart scent reached Zima’s nose, and her mouth watered. Blackberries!

  He hopped toward Zima, squawking. It made Zima laugh a little. She wasn’t sure she missed being able to understand his sarcastic quips. He broke off a cluster with his beak and placed it in front of Zima. She slurped up a berry, enjoying the tangy juice as the tiny fruits burst on her tongue.

  “There, now,” said Katerina, smiling, and she began to sing. Her voice combined the sweetness of birdcalls with the words of a human, and she sang of a young witch greeting the trees, the stars, the critters and creatures in the forest.

  Zima glanced around the circle at the family she was born into, and the family she’d found. Tonight they were together, both sides of her at once. Her heart swelled with pride and love. This was her pack. And she was home.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Baba Yaga, Ivan Tsarevich, the firebird, and the gray wolf all appear in at least one Russian fairy tale. Baba Yaga and Ivan each appear in many.

  One of those stories that heavily inspired this one is “Tsarevich Ivan, the Firebird, and the Gray Wolf,” where a wolf saves Ivan’s life and wins him the tsardom. But Ivan is different in every story. His name is treated like a placeholder that belongs to any hero—prince or peasant. Ivan could be anyone, which is why he has one of the most common names in Russia.

  Baba Yaga is also different from story to story, though unlike Ivan, she always felt to me like the same Baba Yaga. She has so many delightful details about her across dozens of tales, many of which I tried to include in different drafts of this book but ended up deleting because they were distracting or confusing. I especially love her servants, who ride through the forest on a red horse, a white horse, and a black horse to bring about the dawn, day, and night to the forest. Her hut is often described as “spinning on its legs” and surrounded by a fence of bones. She can also be three sisters, all named Baba Yaga. Sometimes she will give the heroes tools to help them on their journey; sometimes she’s a villain to be thwarted. It was this aspect of her character that became a seedling for A Wolf for a Spell.

  We’re used to the “Big Bad Wolf” in Western folklore. But the gray wolf helps Ivan Tsarevich win everything he desires, similar to the fairy godmother in Cinderella. Like Baba Yaga, wolves can be good or bad.

  These stories of the Big Bad Wolf and our fear of wolves over many centuries have led to many of the world’s wolf populations being hunted to near extinction. Different countries now have environmental movements to protect wolf populations. Wolves are wild, but they are also loving, beautiful, and intelligent. It’s my hope that with this story, you question the fears we have of witches and wolves, and fight for the wolves’ homes, just as Zima would.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  There was a point when writing this book where I couldn’t figure out how all the pieces fit together. My partner and husband, Ralph, asked me to tell him the story out loud. We used props to signify the different characters, with avocados serving as the humans, and potatoes as the witches. Wolves were citrus: Zima and Grom were played by oranges, and the younger wolves were lemons. I moved them around on the tabletop, like pieces on a chessboard, and told the story. The humor of this situation and Ralph’s keen storytelling insight helped us work out together what needed to happen. Ralph, thank you for supporting me through such an intense journey this past decade, for making me laugh, making dinners, and reminding me to go for walks.

  I am lucky enough to have tw
o Katerinas who made this book a reality. Thank you to Katie Grimm, my incredible agent, who showed me a vision for this book that I never dared hope it could be. Your sense of humor and inspiring brainstorming sessions make me so glad to be on your team. And thank you to Katherine Harrison, my brilliant editor, who went completely above and beyond what I ever would have imagined from an editor, offering sharp structural and sentence-level feedback but also packaging this book into something I am immensely grateful for and proud of.

  Pauliina (better known online as Pauhami): I fell in love with your gorgeous illustrations from the moment Katherine sent me your Instagram handle. I tried to tell myself not to be heartbroken if you said no, and I am forever delighted you said yes. Thank you for creating illustrations so perfect and timeless, and thank you to Bob Bianchini for your incredible design. You’ve made something truly breathtaking.

  Thank you to Jake Eldred, Artie Bennett, Marianne Cohen, Iris Broudy, Gianna Lakenauth, and everyone at Knopf Books for Young Readers and Random House Children’s Books who put so much work into this book. I am an author you never met on an island on the other side of the world, and you welcomed me into your family.

  K. C. Held, my Pitch Wars mentor in 2017, granted me the first opportunity to show this book to the world, and saved it from being a complete disaster in 2016 with feedback she was in no way obligated to give. None of the rest of this would have happened without you. And to fellow PW17 mentees who read this book and offered so much support, including Diana, Scott, Arianne, Adrianna, Jennifer, Rajani, and Remy: thank you.