Diary of Anna the Girl Witch 2: Wandering Witch

by Max Candee

  My head was starting to hurt.

  “Do you think you’re wise?” the cat asked.

  “Not at this very moment!”

  “Mrrr. You said an action could be both wise and unwise. Do you think there’s such a thing as an action that’s only one or the other?”

  I thought about it. “I’m pretty sure it would always be unwise to stick your hands in a fire.”

  “What if there was a baby in the fire and that was the only way to get it out?”

  “I… It would be brave, but that’s not the same thing as wise. Is it?”

  “How should I know? You’re the one who bears the name of Wisdom,” he mocked. He rolled over on his side again, still looking at me. And then, unexpectedly, he started singing again.

  “Rastsvetali yabloni i grushi,

  Poplyli tumany nad rekoy;

  Vykhodila na bereg Katyusha,

  Na vysokiy bereg, na krutoy…”

  I knew the tune; I’d even heard it recently. Some blonde woman on Granny’s TV had been singing it, wearing a pretend military uniform with an especially short skirt. It had set Granny off on a fine rant. But I’d never heard that energetic song — about saying farewell before going off to war — sung so sleepily before.

  “Kot Bayun?” I said, wondering if his singing meant the game was over. Was he hinting it was time for me to go?

  “Yes, little mouse?” he replied.

  That epithet answered my question before I could ask it. Quickly I found something else to say. “I’ve never met a singing cat before.”

  “Mrrr. Many creatures sing, Anna Wisdom. Even mice sing. Even moths. Apparently, wise Uncle Misha didn’t teach you everything after all.” He yawned. “Do you know anyone else who’s wise?” he asked.

  “Well, my father, of course,” I said.

  Evidently, that was a wrong answer. Kot Bayun leaped to his feet, his back legs crouched, ready to spring at me. My heart pounded with fear. I knew if he decided to attack me, I couldn’t do anything about it. He was right; there was something about this place that completely blocked my magic. I couldn’t feel its energy at all.

  Kot Bayun’s eyes narrowed as he looked at me, and I knew that I had to answer his next question very carefully.

  “You think Koschey is wise, little mouse?” he hissed. “How wise do you have to be to get yourself locked up in a cage, forced to send your helpless daughter to do your dirty work for you?”

  “I’m not helpless!” I protested before I could think.

  He hissed again. “Oh yes, you are, little mouse. Right at this moment, you are. And do you think it was wise of you to agree to do his will?”

  “I chose to myself,” I said. “If I succeed, that will prove he was wise to ask me, won’t it?”

  “So you can only judge the wisdom of an action afterward? You can’t predict? Are you trying to tell me that whoever succeeds is wise, and whoever fails isn’t? That wisdom equals pragmatism?”

  “Well … no, that can’t be right. Because then … well, then Granny would be wise right now, but if suddenly Koschey beats her, she will no longer be, and he’ll suddenly be wise again and…”

  Kot Bayun purred but did not relax. “Are actions wise?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, suddenly certain. “People are. But you can tell if people are wise by their actions.”

  “Mrrr.” He settled on his haunches, slightly less threatening. “So let’s see if you merit your name, Anna Wisdom. On this little quest of yours, have you done anything wise?”

  “I… I don’t know. Some things turned out well. I helped a bluebird, and that was a good thing to do. She helped me afterward.”

  “Mrrr. Delicious things, bluebirds. So that was a wise action, was it? Was that how you thought of it?”

  “No. I just wanted to help. It was … well, being kind, I guess. I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”

  “So it was wise of you to be kind?”

  “As it turned out, yes.”

  “Would it still have been wise if the bird hadn’t helped?”

  “I don’t know, but it would still have been kind.”

  “Mrrr. So you didn’t know if what you were doing would help you. Does that mean you can be wise without knowing it?”

  “If … if helping her counts as wisdom, then I guess so, yes.”

  He purred and lay down on the grass. There was a daisy near him, and he began to slowly stretch a paw toward it. Finally, he spoke again, his eyes fixed on the flower. “Do you think it’s wise of you to be on this mission?” He extended his claws and started poking at the daisy with one of them.

  “No,” I said. “But it’s right.”

  “Oh, I’m much too tired to debate the nature of right and wrong right now,” he said, looking over his shoulder at me. “All those twists and turns…” He yawned, his teeth glinting in the sunlight. “So why are you doing it?”

  “To save a friend,” I said. I didn’t trust this cat enough to tell him that I wanted to bring down Baba Yaga, though he’d probably guessed that already by now.

  “Why?” He sounded bored and continued to prod the flower.

  “Because she’s my friend,” I said.

  “So? Those are only your feelings. Bit selfish, aren’t you?”

  “Because I’m her friend. And because she should be saved.”

  “Do you think it’s wise to save her?”

  I flared up. “I don’t care if it’s wise or not.” I was starting to get sick of this cat. “I’m going to do it.”

  “Not if I don’t let you pass,” he said casually. He snipped the daisy off its stem. Then he rolled over and picked up his song again:

  “Vykhodila, pesnyu zavodila

  Pro stepnogo, sizogo orla,

  Pro togo, kotorogo lyubila,

  Pro togo, ch’i pis’ma beregla.”

  It was a sad song about a woman waiting for her beloved to return from war… I wondered if the cat was hinting that Lauraleigh would be waiting for me in vain.

  “Kot Bayun,” I said, trying to keep my impatience and growing anger out of my voice, “what would it take for you to let me pass?”

  “Are you trying to bribe me, little mouse?”

  “No,” I said, thinking fast. “I am trying to grow wise.”

  He snickered. “Do you think you can be taught to be wise?” he asked.

  “I don’t know if knowledge is wisdom,” I said, “but it can’t do any harm.”

  “Is it wise to be knowledgeable?”

  “Yes. But I’m not going to say it’s the only way to be wise.”

  “You’re growing subtle, Anna Wisdom.”

  “It must be your influence, Kot Bayun.”

  He stretched out in a pleased sort of way. “Do you think it is wise to flatter?” he said.

  “Wiser than not to do so.”

  “Mrrr. This friend of yours. Why is she so worth saving?”

  “Because of who she is. Because of how kind she is.”

  “Kindness again, mrrr. We seem to be coming back to that. So she’s kind, then. Is she wise?”

  “I don’t know. If kindness is wisdom, then yes.”

  “But is kindness wisdom, or wisdom kindness?”

  “I don’t know, Kot Bayun!” I shouted, half in desperation and half in anger. “She would have helped the bluebird too; that’s why she’s worth saving.”

  “Why, because she’s as kind as you?”

  “No,” I said, “because she’s kinder.”

  “You humans and your kindness,” said Kot Bayun in a bored tone. “It’s really quite remarkable your race has lasted this long.”

  “Maybe we’re wiser than you think.”

  He made a curious little noise and started batting the apple around again.

  I couldn’t take it any longer. “Are you wise, Kot Bayun?” I asked.

  “You’re getting the hang of this game, little mouse. Mrrr. Certainly I seem to be wiser than you.”

  “Do you think it wise
to anger me, knowing who my parents are? What’s to stop me from bringing Koschey or Baba Yaga down on you?”

  He laughed sharply. “For starters, you can’t leave the island unless I let you. Second, Koschey’s in a cage. Third, the dear old hag will never attack me. I know too many of her secrets.”

  “If I freed Koschey—”

  “If you freed him, what?” Kot Bayun spat, suddenly on his feet again, his fur bristling and his eyes on fire as he snarled at me. “Have you really fallen for the idea that Koschey is some sort of untouchable, omnipotent being? Oh, he has a fine self-image, I’ll grant you that. He thinks he’s so powerful with what he does when the lot of you die and you run around like a mouse between a cat’s paws, yowling ‘Oh no, I’m dead!’”

  Kot Bayun moved a step closer to me. “He helps you find where you should fit in the choir of existence — if you should be crushed in the depths and growling with the basses, or become some crystalline treble half-vanishing into nothingness! He likes to think he has some say in the matter, that he’s not merely a guide leading you to where your own actions have already marked you as belonging. Ha!”

  The force of his anger sent me scurrying away from him until my back hit a tree and I couldn’t get any farther from the screaming beast in front of me.

  He growled like a small lion, sending shivers of terror down my spine. “But when I rip your soul from you, Anna Wisdom,” he said with a cold, threatening undertone in his voice, “I’ll drag it to whatever layer of the afterlife I choose. And even if he were free, he could do nothing about it, daughter or not. Don’t try to frighten me with Koschey the Blusterer, little mouse. It won’t end well for you!”

  There was nothing lethargic or cuddly about Kot Bayun now. He was nothing but an incarnation of fury, his every hair on end, his claws out and sharp as nails, the daggers of his teeth flashing as he raged at me.

  I had never been so frightened of any being in my life. Not the Montmorencys, not the Black Horseman, not Vodyanoy as he tried to drown me, not even Granny. I realized I had absolutely no idea what this cat might do next, no way to tell if he was about to come and curl around my ankles or tear out my throat. Not only was he clearly afraid of nothing but he was also unpredictable — and that was the scariest thing of all, even scarier than the fact that I had no magic to use against him.

  My terror must have been evident as I clutched at the tree behind me to stay upright.

  He smiled. “Now then, little mouse, do you think that was wise of you?”

  “N-no,” I managed to stutter, “no, Kot Bayun, it wasn’t.”

  He paced closer to me, his tail swishing from side to side, his claws still extended, his fangs all too visible. “Do you think you’ll do it again?”

  “No, Kot Bayun.”

  “Well then… Can wisdom be taught?” He had sat down on his haunches, looking up at me, and he was starting to look like just an oversized house cat again. But I was not reassured.

  “Sometimes, Kot Bayun,” I said. “It looks like sometimes it can be.”

  He purred. And then he rubbed the top of his head against my knees.

  I would have scratched behind the ears of any other cat who did that, but not Kot Bayun. Never.

  He was sauntering away from me again now. I didn’t move, trying to get my breathing back under control.

  He started singing again:

  “Ne odna, ah ne odna,

  Ne odna vo pole dorozhka,

  Ne odna dorozhen’ka…”

  I wondered if there was any significance to the things he was singing, if the songs could be hints to the game. What was this one? “There is not one path through the field, not one, not one little path…”

  I had no idea if that meant anything at all.

  Then something he had said during his fit sank into my mind. “Kot Bayun…” I said. “Did you say that my father leads the dead to … well, guides them after they’re dead?”

  “Mrrr. Didn’t you know? They have left you ignorant, haven’t they? To put it in terms your feeble little brain might understand, he helps them settle down in heaven or hell, wherever might be suitable for them.”

  “But … is that for everyone who dies? I mean, does he meet … everyone?”

  Kot Bayun looked at me and yawned with disdain. “Why yes, little Anna Wisdom. I daresay that was where he saw your mother for the last time, and I daresay that was how he found out she was dead. And yes, before you ask, he treated her just the same as everyone else. Not that he’d have done any differently even if he had the chance. Cold as a witch’s kiss, your father.”

  “But that’s … horrible,” I whispered.

  Kot Bayun gave me a look I knew only too well from Sister Constance. “Really, Anna Wisdom, have you not yet worked out that everything about your extended family is horrible? Mrrr?”

  “Lauraleigh isn’t,” I said quietly. “She’s not family, but she might as well be. And she makes it better.”

  He grinned. “What a pity she’s going to be dinner, then. Chomp-chomp-chomp.”

  I wanted to scream at him, but I didn’t dare. “What must I do for you to let me pass?” I asked.

  “Finish the game, little mouse,” he said. “You only have to finish the game.”

  I swallowed. “Then keep playing,” I said. “Ask me again.”

  “What?”

  “Anything.”

  “Mrrr. No. No, I think it’s your turn to ask.”

  “What should I ask you?”

  “Telling you would be cheating,” he said with a lazy smile.

  I slumped to the ground. I was exhausted. I had no idea what to ask him. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep forever. I almost didn’t care about what I had to do anymore. Realizing how Dad had found out my mother was dead and what he must have felt guiding her soul to its final destination, was just too awful.

  Mom … oh, Mom.

  “Kot Bayun,” I said. “Did my grandmother kill my mother?”

  His tail swished from side to side, but the rest of him was completely immobile. “Does it matter?” he said.

  I bit back what I wanted to yell at him for being so callous. “You’re not supposed to ask questions,” I said as steadily as I could, “you’re supposed to answer them.”

  “What makes you think I’d know?”

  “Because you know so much. I never told you Koschey was in a cage. I never told you my friend had been captured by Baba Yaga, and yet you knew she’s in danger of being eaten.”

  “Mrrr. Perhaps you’re not completely un-clever, then. But my question remains: Does it matter? How do you assign blame? Baba Yaga did not technically kill Sereda. She did not murder her directly. Oh, when Sereda died and released all that lovely energy the old hag finds so tasty, I don’t doubt she feasted on it, but that’s profiting, not causing.”

  “What?”

  “You really are stunningly ignorant, aren’t you? That’s what Baba Yaga likes most of all. When people die, they let off so much more energy than at any other time in their life. Mrrr. The old hag is responsible for the transition itself before Old Bones shows up, so I imagine that’s where she acquired such a taste for it.”

  “And you think she’d have done that even with her own daughter?” I didn’t even know what to feel: revolted, angry, sad, stunned. Every time I thought I’d found out the worst thing about my grandmother, something came along to top it.

  That wasn’t about to change.

  Kot Bayun looked at me with some pity in his colorful eyes. “You are a naïve child, aren’t you, little mouse?” he said. He yawned. “Oh, dear, it really is much past my bedtime.”

  “The game’s not over yet,” I said sharply. “What did you mean, Baba Yaga didn’t kill Sereda ‘directly?’”

  “Mrrr. Well, think about it, Anna Wisdom,” he yawned again, stretching out on the grass. “Do you really think Granny Dearest couldn’t have kept Sereda alive if she’d wanted to? Cured her or whatnot? Really, now. All the Iron Queen had to do was r
aise a finger, and her child would have remained safe, whether Sereda wanted to be kept healthy by her or not.”

  He closed his eyes and hummed as I tried to deal with my horror.

  I stumbled toward him. “You mean she wanted Sereda to die?”

  “Mmm?” Kot Bayun lazily opened one eye. “How should I know? I’m just a cat. She may have thought of it as letting nature take its course. But then again, how often have you seen the old hag do that, with her hut on chicken legs, her flying mortar, her guard-skulls…”

  He seemed to be drifting off to sleep. I couldn’t stop myself from shaking.

  “But Kot Bayun,” I whispered, “how could she…”

  He rolled over. “Maybe,” he said, “people aren’t kind.”

  “Does that mean people aren’t wise?”

  “Did we ever decide if one was necessary for the other?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know, Kot Bayun. I don’t remember.”

  He seemed amused. “You know, I met your mother once or twice,” he said.

  “Really?” Why was I surprised?

  “Yes, mrrr. She had this dreadful habit of—” he shuddered — “cuddling me.” He extended all his claws and opened his mouth wide to show his teeth. “Do you think that was a wise habit to have, little mouse?”

  “It depends, Kot Bayun. Did you greet her cuddling with your claws like that?”

  He purred noncommittally.

  “I’ve heard my mother was kind, Kot Bayun,” I said. “Was she wise?”

  “Was it wise to refuse your grandmother?”

  “Was it kind of Baba Yaga to do that to her daughter?” I snapped.

  He gave a gentle snort. “Of course not. All her kindness is hidden on this island.”

  I felt a lurch in my chest. “So her heart is here!” I burst out.

  Kot Bayun rolled his eyes. “You are slow for a child of your parentage,” he muttered with disgust. “As well as ignorant.”

  I ignored his rudeness. He wasn’t answering my questions. Did that mean he was giving up on the game?

  Now I knew that Baba Yaga’s heart was here. I had even more reasons to want to get it now. And yet … some of the things Kot Bayun had made me think about were still running through my mind.