Wickedly Unraveled

by Deborah Blake

  Barbara used the knocker briskly and then stood with her arms folded as they listened to someone clumping in their direction. The door swung open to reveal a short man with a long beard, wearing brown leather pants, a green shirt, a pointed green hat, and an extremely unwelcoming expression.

  “No,” he said. “Whatever it is, no. I’ve already got one, or I don’t want one, or I’ve never heard of it and couldn’t care less. Go away.”

  Babs gave Barbara a wide-eyed startled look, but Barbara just cleared her throat. The dwarf looked up (way up, in this particular case, in as much as he was only about four feet tall, and Barbara was five foot ten).

  “Oh. Baba Yaga. It’s you. I thought it was someone trying to sell me something.”

  “Been getting a lot of that lately?” Barbara asked, looking around at the vast expanse of empty lands that surrounded his house. “I’d hardly think it would be much of a problem for you out here.”

  “Why do you think I moved here?’ Smythe asked.

  “Your former neighbors took up a petition?” she said. Then realized that aggravating the person she wanted a favor from probably wasn’t a good idea.

  “Actually, it is quite the opposite,” she said in a less spiky tone. “I want to buy something from you.”

  The dwarf stomped one wooden clog on the doorstep. “Oh no you don’t. I’m not going to be taken advantage of by some smooth-talking witch. Whatever it is, I don’t have it. If I did, I probably wouldn’t want to sell it. And if I did want to sell it, you couldn’t afford it. Go away.” He started to close the door.

  Barbara pulled a small sack of gold out of her bag and poured the coins into her other palm. “Not even for ten gold pieces?”

  “Real gold?” he asked cautiously. “Not faerie gold that will disappear in the morning?”

  Barbara nodded. “As real as that bald spot you are hiding under your hat.”

  Smythe pulled the hat down a little tighter. “What do you want then? I don’t do adventures, so if you’re thinking of putting together a merry band to go off on one, you can count me right out.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” Barbara said honestly. “No, all I need are a few shards from the eggs of a phoenix. I remembered that you had one nesting in your orchard. Is it still there?”

  “Still there? Still there? I can’t get the dratted thing to leave,” Smythe sputtered indignantly. He reached out and grabbed the bag of gold. “Tell you what. You can take all the shells you want. I’ll throw in the dratted bird for free. Just because I like you.”

  He went back into his house and slammed the door behind him.

  “Yes, I can tell,” Barbara said under her breath. Then she set off across the grass toward an orchard of apple trees that grew in regimented rows, their branches all symmetrical and covered with tiny identical leaves.

  One tree stood out from the others. Its trunk was surrounded by flaming red rosebushes, each thorn longer than Barbara’s thumb and sharper than the sword she wore buckled around her formal “going to court” tunic. At the base of the tree, inside the flames, there were colorful bits of shell, as though someone had smashed an exotic collection of pottery.

  Looking up, Barbara could see a gnarled nest of tightly woven twigs and grasses, all of them smoldering lightly. The bird in the nest was glorious and regal, its bright feathers a splendid array of orange and red, with the occasional hint of gold. Its feathers burned in the crisp morning air like the fire they so resembled.

  Babs looked from the flaming rosebushes to the flaming bird, and then at the shells. “How do we get the pieces of shell we need without getting burned, Baba Yaga?” She bit her lip. “I am small and fast. I can run in and get them for you if you need me to.”

  “That is a very brave offer,” Barbara said. “But I don’t believe it will be necessary.” She lifted two fingers to her lips and let out a loud whistle.

  Up in the tree, the inferno flared momentarily, then died down as the nest’s occupant peered down toward the ground, its coal-black eyes alight with curiosity.

  “Hello there,” Barbara said. “I’m the Baba Yaga, Barbara, and this is my apprentice Babs.”

  The phoenix fluttered its wings and made a melodic chirping sound.

  “Do you speak Phoenix?” Babs asked in a whisper.

  “I’m afraid not,” Barbara said. “It is something of a lost language. Hopefully it understands English. Many of the creatures in the Otherworld do.”

  She bowed in the direction of the tree, since it was fairly impossible to bow upward. “We have need of some of your beautiful shells, if you have no objection to our taking them,” she said.

  More chirping.

  Barbara cleared her throat. “Also, no offence, but I’ve been informed that the man who owns these trees would rather you moved your nest elsewhere. I’m afraid he’s a bit of a neat freak, and your shells and shrubbery, lovely as they are, have got his tights in a twist.”

  The phoenix gave an indignant squawk, and a nearby branch burst into flames.

  “I have a suggestion, if you don’t mind,” Barbara said, holding up her hand. “I know a place where your beauty and rarity would be appreciated, and where no doubt you would be admired on a daily basis. If you would like to follow me, I would happily lead you there.”

  The phoenix chirped quietly for a moment, as if talking to itself, and then rose gracefully from its nest with a flutter of crimson feathers. As soon as it did so, the flames below wavered and died out, leaving a small, fragile-looking pile of egg shards lying in the open. Babs ran over and scooped some into her bag, blowing on her fingers when she was done.

  “Still hot,” she said. “Now where are we going?”

  “We’re going to talk to a tree,” Barbara said.

  “Oh,” Babs responded. “Is the phoenix coming with us?”

  Barbara glanced overhead, where the mystical bird was flying in figure eights as it waited. “Apparently so,” she said. “Let’s hope it doesn’t set the Kalpataru tree on fire. That wouldn’t help us at all.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “It looks like a tree,” Babs said, sounding puzzled.

  “Yes, it does,” Barbara agreed.

  Babs glanced around them. The rest of the growing things that surrounded them seemed well suited for the Otherworld—that is to say, they were bedecked in odd colors and unusual shapes, and often bore very little resemblance to their counterparts on the other side of the doorway.

  The Kalpataru tree, on the other hand, was practically ordinary except for its size. It rose up into the sky higher than any of the surrounding vegetation, and unlike most of the Otherworld plants, its arching branches and gnarled roots were brown and the heart-shaped leaves, larger than Babs’ head, were a mundane green. As they drew closer, Barbara could hear a murmuring sound, as if a hundred different voices were talking quietly all at once.

  They walked underneath the wide spread of its limbs, which formed a canopy so dense you could barely see the sky through it. Thankfully, the phoenix seemed content to perch in a less exotic tree a short flight away. Barbara and Babs came to a stop not far from the massive trunk.

  “It is very beautiful,” Babs whispered.

  “Thank you” a voice said. It seemed to issue from one of the knots on the tree, which opened a tiny bit to let out the deep and sonorous tone.

  “Did the tree just talk?” Babs asked. “How wonderful. I did not know trees could do that.”

  “Most trees cannot,” the Kalpataru said. “But we are not most trees.”

  Barbara bent at the waist in a respectful bow. “Greetings, great and noble one. I am the Baba Yaga, and this small person is my apprentice, Babs. We have come to ask a boon.”

  A sigh seemed to come from many different knots at once. “You want one of our leaves, I suppose. As a Baba Yaga, you know the power they hold. Are you certain this is what you want?”

  “I am not sure of anything, these days,” Barbara said. It paid to be honest with the Ka
lpataru. No matter how painful that honesty might be. “But I am working on a very important spell, and while its chances of succeeding are very slim, without one of your leaves I believe I have no chance at all.”

  “I do not understand,” Babs said, reaching up to touch the gnarled bark reverently. “What makes these leaves so special?”

  The tree made a raspy noise that might have been laughter. Or not. “You are not a very good teacher if your student does not know the answer to that, Baba Yaga.”

  “On the contrary,” Barbara said crisply. “We are here, and she is asking the question. How else is she to learn?”

  “Hmmm,” the tree said. “Our leaves grant wishes,” it told Babs.

  “Any wishes?” the girl asked. “Even small and silly ones? That seems like a waste.”

  The Kalpataru made an approving noise. “You are very wise for one so young. We do not give our leaves away to just anyone,” it said. “We must deem the one who asks worthy, and the request truly deserving of our gift.”

  “Oh,” Babs said. “That makes much more sense.” She looked up at the large leaves, all still firmly attached to their branches. “The Baba Yaga is very worthy, you know. All the Baba Yagas are special, but mine is the most wonderful of them all.”

  Barbara felt an odd pricking sensation behind her eyes. Allergies. That was it. She was probably allergic to the tree.

  “Thank you, Babs,” she said. “I do not ask this wish for myself, mighty Kalpataru. I am trying to right a great wrong, and knit up the unraveled strands of time itself. I am not completely sure how your leaf will help me in this endeavor, but I assure you, without it, I am doomed to failure. There are so many people depending on me, some of whom mean more to me than my own life. Please help me.”

  There was a rustling sound, and the murmurs of many quiet voices as the group mind of the tree conferred with its members. Finally, there was silence.

  “Very well, Baba Yaga,” the tree said. A single leaf floated down to come to rest on her open palm. “Wish carefully. There will be no more after this.”

  Great. No pressure.

  Barbara chose a lengthy path that should have meandered slowly to lead them to the castle late in what passed as the afternoon in the Otherworld. Instead, they came out on the front lawn almost as soon as they had left the forest where the Kalpataru lived. Clearly the Queen had noticed their presence. And decided that they should visit her without further delay.

  There was a servitor waiting for them when they arrived—rather abruptly, as if the universe suddenly decided to zig instead of zag—at the entrance to the castle grounds.

  “Their Majesties are in the throne room,” the servant announced. She was a small brownie with pointed ears, wearing a white frilled apron and a neat white cap. “They are eagerly awaiting your attendance.”

  In short, hurry up. Babs and Barbara hurried, the phoenix flying lazily behind.

  A marbled hallway led from the mammoth wooden front doors to the vast black onyx ones that stood open to reveal the throne room in all its grandeur. A vaulted ceiling rose so high it dwarfed the slender white birch trees bordering the grassy path that meandered through the space. In the middle of the room, a fountain splashed exuberantly, tossing lavender-scented spray over nearby crystal chairs like some exotic spa. In the basin at the foot of the fountain, rainbow-hued fish swam and played.

  Courtiers leaned decoratively against plants that changed their colors to match the nobles’ clothing, as ornate and fanciful as the rest of the surroundings. As Barbara’s party moved through the room, eyes of every color and shape shifted to follow their movements, without in any way deigning to reveal actual interest.

  Eventually, the grass gave way to variegated tiles of green malachite and blue lapis, inlaid with gold patterns whose meanings had been forgotten centuries ago. Barbara and Babs came to a halt before two magnificent thrones fashioned from still-living trees, the roots entwined in complicated designs twisted around large, perfect crystals that seemingly grew out of the ground underneath.

  On the thrones, the Queen and King sat in elegant splendor. The Queen wore gossamer-thin silk robes in vivid royal blue, and her consort’s velvet tunic and tights were the deep dark blues of a midnight sky. As always, they were impossibly grand and imposing.

  “Baba Yaga,” the Queen said in her melodious voice. “We had expected you sooner.” Disapproval hovered dangerously near the surface, and a few of the wiser courtiers standing too close to the thrones began to edge discreetly away. “It is to be hoped that you finally have some answers for Us.”

  Barbara bowed so low, her hair touched the floor. “My apologies, Your Majesties. I assure you, I have been working on the assignment you set me without ceasing. I have not made the progress I would have wished, but I hope that the gift I have brought you will is some small measure make up for my tardiness.”

  The Queen sat up even straighter, if such a thing had been possible in one whose posture was impeccable, and anticipation brought the tiniest hint of a pinkish blush to her pale porcelain complexion. “You brought Us a present, Baba Yaga? How nice. We do hope it is something unusual and interesting. We have been somewhat bored of late.”

  The King nodded in agreement. A nearly immortal life spent in a perfect world had its downsides. He stroked his pointed black beard. “What have you brought Us, Baba Yaga?”

  Barbara pointed upward and the phoenix soared into sight as if on cue. The nearest courtiers murmured in wonderment at its blazing glory.

  “My gift is indeed rare and precious, Your Majesties. May I present to you one of the rarest creatures in your land, the magical phoenix, whose beauty is but a shallow reflection of your own, and yet still fabulous to behold.” She held her breath as the phoenix landed on a lantern hanging from a metal sconce high above and began to preen itself. She had promised it a better home. There was none better than this.

  “How marvelous!” The Queen clapped her slim hands together in glee. “We have many wondrous things here at court, but never before have We had a phoenix of our very own. Well met, my lady,” she cried to the bird. “You are most welcome here.” She snapped her fingers at some servants, sending them off to fetch treats for her new pet.

  “Well met to you as well, Baba Yaga,” the King added. “You and your small apprentice are most welcome too.”

  Barbara let out a breath she hadn’t know she was holding. She suspected the rest of her visit was unlikely to go as smoothly, but at least it was off to a good start.

  Babs tugged on her shirt to get her attention, then pointed unobtrusively to a spot in a nearby corner of the throne room. The three children from the other side of the doorway sat together, playing in a desultory fashion with a pile of bejeweled toys, tended by a dark-skinned goblin nanny not quite as big as the largest child. They seemed subdued and a little vague, far too quiet for youngsters of their age. What little cheerfulness Barbara had felt fell away at this reminder of the price of her failure.

  The Queen shooed away those clustered around the throne, clearly not in the mood to encourage gossip. This left Barbara and Babs standing isolated in a sea of silent disapproval in front of their majesties.

  “Well, Baba Yaga?” the Queen said impatiently. “What news have you for Us?”

  “I have not made as much progress as either of us would wish, Your Majesty,” Barbara said. “But I came to the Otherworld to gather some very special ingredients for a spell I hope might solve the problem.”

  “Might solve it?” the King said, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth. “That does not sound very optimistic.”

  Probably because she wasn’t feeling very optimistic. But now was neither the time or place to admit to it.

  “It has been difficult to make any progress,” Barbara said. “This is, as far as we know, the first time such a crisis has ever occurred.” She thought for a moment. “Of course, if it had happened before and another Baba Yaga found a solution, we would have no way of knowing, since thin
gs would have returned to their proper course.”

  “You are giving Us a headache, Baba Yaga,” the Queen said. Her amethyst eyes narrowed. “Surely you must have something definite to report.”

  “Well, I can tell you that Maya showed up on my doorstep and threatened to harm Babs if I didn’t stop poking my long nose into her business,” Barbara said. “She was quite upset that you had accused her of having something to do with these Human children being brought to the Otherworld in defiance of your laws.”

  The Queen waved her fan through the air. “We did, of course, speak to the rusalka. Your accusation was too significant to ignore. Needless to say, she denied everything, and no one in Our court would admit to dealing with her. Without proof, We had no choice but to let her go.”

  “And did you give her permission to use one of the doorways to return to the Human lands?’ Barbara asked.

  The fan fluttered to a rest. “We did not,” the Queen said. “When did you say she came to see you?”

  “Yesterday evening, Your Majesty. Time flows strangely at times in the Otherworld, but she was angry with me because of your questioning, it must have been after you spoke to her.”

  “How very interesting,” the Queen said, sitting back in her throne. “If she was not given Our leave to pass between the worlds, how then did she arrive upon your doorstep? Clearly this is one rule broken for which you do have proof.”

  “Moreover, my love,” the King pointed out, “the rusalka made threats against young Babs, a Baba Yaga in training. This too is against our laws.”

  “So it is.” For a moment, the Queen almost seemed incline to let Barbara off the hook, at least temporarily. But then she shook her head. “It is not enough. Breaking Our laws in one way, or even two, does not establish that she has broken them in others. Should she return to the Otherworld, she will certainly be punished for crossing the borders without permission, and for menacing a child under Our protection, but unless you can somehow tie her to the theft of these Human children, We will not be involved further.”