2017 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide

by Maggie Allen

  “Vasilisa, tell us a story about Baba Yaga,” pleaded Eugene. She moved the stool closer to the two boys' bed and began to recount the tale her mother and grandmother told about that old forest hag. Vasilisa wove a story about bony-legged Baba Yaga who lived in the forest in a house that stood on chicken’s legs in the glow of magic candles. Her wicked deeds were many, be they the kidnapping of children, the stealing of maidens, or the tricking of travelers. She flew through the woods on a mortar and goaded it through the rank trees with a long pestle. So many deeds and misdeeds had Baba Yaga done to the people of Rus that the boys had yet to hear the same story twice. Even in whispers her voice filled the loft and was joined by the occasional knocking of knuckles on bed posts as Baba Yaga vaulted her way through the forest with her pestle. As she murmured to her brothers, Vasilisa's own thoughts murmured within her head: had she ever repeated a story she heard from her mother or grandmother, or did some engine within her write its own tales as tirelessly as horses galloping the steppe? And was she too building a new machine, piece by piece, for her brothers to turn and crank infinitely in their own homes one day?

  Soon the boys were asleep, and the firelight flickered over their soft eyelids. Vasilisa slowly rose from the stool and climbed down the loft ladder. Her grandmother stood waiting in the shadows and led her to the basement where Vasilisa’s father in turn waited. The concrete room was old, made by machines that now rusted in the snow outside the farmhouse, fuel-less. Vasilisa’s father wore wrinkles of worry as he told the two women that the reactor powering the house would soon fail. Once it did, they would lose light and electricity for the algae incubators.

  “Then, Papa, we must move,” said Vasilisa.

  Grandmother lamented, “How? We can’t share one horse between the boys and your mother. And none of them can walk far in this weather.” The three stood in silence and watched their soft breaths turn to ghosts. The winter winds outside scurried and gnawed over the house while just beyond the basement walls, the roots of the poisonous black birches grew closer towards the home.

  Grandmother broke the silence and spoke, partly in a daze: “When the ship crashed into the bog, the ship’s doctor escaped with the exploration pod. Could there be spare reactors in that pod? Vasilisa, might you find the pod and salvage a reactor?” Father did not believe Grandmother. The ship had crashed more than sixty years ago, he reminded them, and she had been just a little girl.

  “My son, do not doubt the mind and will of a woman,” warned Grandmother. “Why just last summer, when Eugene and I searched for mushrooms, we found a great path of shattered branches running through the forest. I did not want to alarm the family, but we know that the remaining survivors do not go into the woods. It had to be her—the doctor.” Father did not like it. He was loath to send his daughter in his stead, and the shame mounted higher each time he looked down at the bandages wrapping his own foot. These were witching times, and all seemed bootless except the will of his daughter. Out of love he would never agree, but out of fear he could not deny. The three went back upstairs, and their father climbed the ladder to join the boys. Vasilisa joined her grandmother and mother on the first floor and fell asleep to the hush of falling snow and women's prayers.

  Vasilisa woke up early the next day and set out into the forest. She carried her food in a small satchel and rode, bundled in the warmest of overcoats, atop her horse. The black birches cast shadows under the weak winter sun. Occasionally a boar with golden bristles would rustle in the thicket, but Vasilisa let it pass in peace. One the first day of her travels, Vasilisa found no trace of the pod. She rested under a thicket where her horse's engine could keep her warm and, while lying there, she found a golden feather.

  Vasilisa woke up early the next day and set out deeper into the forest. The black birches cast shadows as she passed underneath their boughs. She reached a wide frozen lake. A bear with iron fur sat in the middle of the lake watching its flat domain, but it let Vasilisa pass in peace. On the second day of her travels, Vasilisa found no trace of the pod. She rested under a fallen tree where her horse's engine could keep her warm and, while lying there, she found a golden feather.

  Vasilisa woke up early the next day and set out deeper into the forest. Under the jagged shadows of black birches the ground smelled rank. Silver mushrooms grew between the stumps and roots. No beasts left their tracks in this region of the forest. The mushrooms seemed to whisper to each other, but they let Vasilisa pass in peace. A single golden feather swirled down from the canopy, and Vasilisa caught it. As the sun set, Vasilisa found the exploration pod in a clearing.

  The pod was an immense geodesic sphere without windows or doors. It rested on large mechanical legs that had sturdy, muddy, walking claws. Around the pod glowed several smaller spheres pulsing with dull orange light.

  “At least it still has power,” said Vasilisa, speaking for the first time in three days.

  “Yes, my beloved, plenty of power here.” Vasilisa fell from her horse, nearly dead with fright at the sound of a voice as clear as glass with a sting like vodka. The dirty ice on her face broke her shock, and she rolled over to look up at the speaker. Above her was another woman bundled in black with wild curls of white hair, standing atop a gray saucer that hummed.

  The woman lowered a silvery pole. “Hold on, deary, let me pull you up.” The woman was surprisingly strong and hoisted Vasilisa back to her feet with one long tug.

  When she found her voice, Vasilisa asked, “Are you the doctor from the colony ship?”

  “My beloved, you are so young—how could you know about the ship?”

  “My grandmother told me about you. She sent me to ask for another reactor. Please. Ours is about to fail!”

  “Did she now? No harm helping a neighbor.” The saucer rose into the air, and the girl stepped back. “Well, why don’t you come inside, and I will check my inventory.”

  “What about my horse?”

  “My servants will watch your beast.” The doctor grabbed Vasilisa’s arm and hoisted her onto the hovering machine. The young girl feared she'd slip off, but the woman clenched her tight as they floated to the apex of the sphere, where a small hatch opened at their arrival. The doctor called to her servants from the top of the pod and bade them to tend to the horse. She then climbed down the hatch. As Vasilisa descended, she looked at the forest one last time, and she saw three mechanical men emerge from the tree line and walk to her horse.

  The pod had a central ladder and was separated into two floors. The doctor called her to the lower floor, whose walls, on account of the curvature, wrapped up and outward like a bowl. The lower level held the living quarters, with a kitchen, samovar, curved benches along the rim, and a table littered with scholarly debris. Then the doctor climbed up to the second floor and could be heard rummaging about. She soon returned to Vasilisa.

  “You are in luck, my beloved; I have a spare reactor. However, I will require payment.” Vasilisa’s heart shrank at the hag’s request―her family had nothing. The doctor took no notice and continued, “I will need you to deliver three of my experiments to the Captain in the old, abandoned ship. Tomorrow, I will send you on your way, but tonight,” her eyes flickered, “I am very hungry, so why don’t you cook us a grand meal?” Vasilisa humbly obliged. She took inventory of the kitchen and searched through baskets of onion skins and shriveled potatoes until she found enough un-rotted food for a dinner.

  When she finished cooking, she drew drink from the samovar and then set about the difficult task of clearing the table of books and papers printed with strange graphs. The doctor came down for dinner without needing a call, and the two ate silently. After the last potato went down her wrinkled throat, the doctor announced that Vasilisa might sleep along the benches after she finished cleaning the table. Then the doctor exited, and Vasilisa watched her white hair bounce as her pear-shaped body climbed up the ladder to the second floor. Something in the pod locked shut for the night.

  Vasilisa cleaned the table as well a
s the kitchen, then fell into a deep sleep on the uncomfortable bench. She awoke early the next morning, and although she did not remember, noxious smells had given her unsettled dreams. After washing up at the sink, she put on her overcoat and climbed out of the pod. The doctor was already humming around the clearing, and the mechanical men were using axes to knock ice from the sphere. The horse waited under the pod’s hydraulic legs. The doctor entrusted the girl with three parcels: an egg, a duck, and a hare, each in its own box, and helped her secure them to the horse.

  Vasilisa set out for the derelict ship. The black birches’ shadows and rank smell surrounded her once more. This time golden mushrooms carpeting the earth released spore clouds whenever the horse passed the patches of fungus. Vasilisa coughed and sneezed all day, as the spores made it difficult to breathe. By nighttime, she cried from the burning pain in her lungs as she fell asleep alongside a fallen tree.

  Vasilisa woke up early the next morning and set out toward the derelict ship. She checked on the egg and fed both the duck and hare. She reached a rushing river. As she sat on her horse, deciding on a plan, the duck quacked in the morning air. The horse could cross on those rocks, but if she rode it, they might be too heavy and slip into the icy water. After doubly securing the boxes to the horse’s saddle, she sent the beast across the swirling water. Suddenly, a silver-furred bear roared over the clearing and charged at Vasilisa from the forest behind her. She ran along the bank of the river while the raging animal pursued. She spotted a black birch log up ahead that had jammed itself between the rocks and bridged the river. Without pause she crossed the log bridge in three great bounds. The silver-furred bear tried to follow her, but as it leapt onto the log, the rocks released their grip, and the bear and timber tumbled into rushing river. Vasilisa limped back to where her horse waited farther upstream. By nighttime, she cried from the burning pain in her legs and feet as she fell asleep under a thicket.

  Vasilisa woke up early the next morning and set out toward the derelict ship. She checked on the egg and fed both the duck and hare. She reached a vast bog full of marsh grasses and black pools where chunks of murky ice bobbed in the wind. The earth was warm here, so Vasilisa took off her gloves and head-wrappings. Slowly, she trekked through the bog toward the foggy outline of the old ship that had failed to launch back into space. It lay partially sunk in the mud, abandoned—so Grandmother said—by all except the Captain.

  Vasilisa heard grunting and turned to see a boar with iron bristles charging at her. It chased her through sedges and mud banks until the two approached a wall of nettles and thorns. The boar was too close, and the horse galloped too fast for Vasilisa to change direction. The mechanical horse did not hesitate to charge through the bramble. Barbs and bristles clawed at Vasilisa’s hands and face. The boar squealed in anger but did not follow them through the stinging copse. The cuts on Vasilisa burned and bled as red trickled down her brow and ears and chin.

  When horse, rider, and packages burst out of the bramble they discovered a gaunt figure watching them from across a pool of water. The figure wore a terrifying mask made of tubes and cylinders and mesh, and where the straps and buckles ended, long and greasy hair emerged from the being's head and extended down to its hips. The body walked as if on marionette strings along the edge of the pool towards the girl. Stifling tears, Vasilisa saw an old rifle with a strap slung on the figure’s back.

  Fearing for her life, she called out, “Are you the Captain?” The figure continued to move closer, and she saw how its thin legs left no marks in the muddy grass. Vasilisa summoned courage and stood her ground; the duck quacked. Even though she stayed mounted on her horse, the figure loomed over her. Then the body bent over to make a great bow, crossing one leg behind the other in the vein of long-forgotten nobility. When the figure rose back up, Vasilisa studied the cylinders and cones making up the respirator where a nose might be and the opaque orbs of glass where eyes ought to peer. A muffled sound from the respirator announced that this was the Captain and that the Captain would lead the delivery girl to the ship.

  “Not many visitors these days, not many at all. There used to be poets, and how we would walk these marshes and sing our elegies! Do you know any poems?”

  Vasilisa felt the horse's engine humming beneath her. “No, I have never heard a poem.”

  “A shame… a fine young woman ought to know the arts. Would you like to hear one?”

  “Yes please.” The two walked along the ship's immense hull. Weedy mosses and ivy grew arabesque over the surface of the ship. Looking closer, Vasilisa saw insects and small flowers making living mosaics in the rust of the hull as they feasted on one another. Above their heads the letters Petersburg were wrought in fading, gilded paints, and the image of a bronze horse and rider struggled to keep their heads above the rising flood of green.

  “You know, I just don't remember any right now.” But by then, the Captain had already unlocked a wide square hatch, and the two went inside with the packages. They put the packages on a work counter in a dimly lit room. The Captain then proceeded to remove the face mask, rifle, and overcoat. The face was dried and wrinkled beyond measure, ancient skin draped over a long skull without gender. Vasilisa dared not look straight at the face and only nodded when the Captain bade her to stay in the work room while they performed a proper examination of the packages.

  The figure picked up the box containing the hare and left the room. Vasilisa eyed the rifle on the counter and wished she had a weapon for the boar. Soon the Captain returned and took the package with the duck, who had yet to quack within the dark chamber. Vasilisa eyed the wooden pole and thought how it would have helped her vault the river. The Captain again returned and took the final, smallest package containing the single egg. Vasilisa now eyed the face mask, thinking about the cloud of spores that burned her nose and throat.

  The Captain returned one final time with a smile so wide that the paper lips almost cracked. The joyful mouth thanked the girl for her work and offered her space to spend the night along with stew, meats, and marsh cakes. Vasilisa respectfully declined because she needed to return home quickly to fetch her reward. But before that, she offered a trade: three of her golden feathers for the mask, rifle, and pole. Upon seeing the beautiful sparkling feathers, the Captain accepted the trade.

  Vasilisa headed off into the night as fast as her mechanical horse would go. The boar with iron bristles again returned, but this time Vasilisa shot it. Its body rolled into the mire, and the brave girl stayed awake and continued on her way. At the river, she once again sent her horse over the slippery stones. Then, taking the wooden pole in her hands, she vaulted over the icy eddies. She began to tire but refused to make time for rest. When she entered the patch of mushrooms she donned the mask and tightened the straps behind her ears to breathe easily amongst the clouds of spores. It was the dead of night when she reached the pod suspended in electric dreams upon mechanical legs. She banged against the sphere, calling for the doctor. The old hag descended from the hatch on her hovering machine.

  “My beloved!” cried out the doctor, “It’s late, come to bed, and you can cook me a great feast tomorrow.” Vasilisa cried out that she had to rush back and deliver the reactor.

  “Fine, then, my servants have prepared the sled and harness to carry the machine. Off you go into the night. Don't be lazy and snooze on the job. Listen to your elders!”

  Vasilisa barely heard these warnings as she hurried into the forest where the silver mushrooms grew. Their whispers kept her awake as the mechanical horse trudged onward. At the frozen lake, Vasilisa again grew tired and began to slump on her horse. The bear with the iron fur began to roar into the night and kept the girl awake as her horse galloped along the lake shore. Finally, the spindles of golden light began to trickle over the horizon and shine through the fingers of black birches. Vasilisa was on the verge of collapsing and falling off her saddle onto the icy ground below. The boar with the golden bristles foraged for food under the shadows of the black birche
s, and his grunts echoed among the tree trunks. Vasilisa’s body ached from a night of riding, but she needed to deliver the new reactor to her freezing family. She got off the horse and began to walk alongside it to stay awake.

  Vasilisa led the family’s mechanical horse up the path, pulling a sled carrying a new reactor. Frozen soil and gravel crunched under the metallic hooves. The dark trees, wanting only silence, glared at their transgression. News of her quest traveled across what few hearths remain on our world. This story I send to the sky, though it ought to be reprised in words finer than my own. I remember when my sister walked into the room and everyone looked at her bruised body and scratched face. Grandmother laughed in joy, for her granddaughter carried what we all thought lost to the stars above: the spirit of the land of Rus.

  I. Will. Not.

  by R.W.W. Greene

  R.W.W. Greene cut his teeth on Robert Heinlein's juveniles (Have Spacesuit Will Travel, The Rolling Stones, Rocket Ship Galileo) and proceeded to read every science-fiction book he could get his hands on. Nowadays, he lives in New Hampshire with writer wife Brenda Noiseux, two cats, and a hive of bees ... and still reads every book he can find. His fiction has been published in Something Wicked, New Myths, and Fiction Vortex, among other places. He Tweets about it all @rwwgreene.

  The impact hurt his hands, but the door was too thick and too well-insulated. No one outside can hear the pounding, he thought.

  Captain Photonic snarled and spun in place, hammering his left heel again and again against the bottom of the door.

  The door stood. The captain dropped onto the thinly padded bunk and stared at the smooth contours of the ceiling, blinking away tears of frustration.