by E. D. Baker
Serafina must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, men were shouting upstairs and making the floor above her shake as they ran. She wondered how long it would be before they came to see her again and wasn’t surprised when Zivon came running down the steps, stopping partway when he saw that she was still there.
“Did my men talk to you while I was gone?” he demanded, scowling.
“Yes,” she said.
“And what did you tell them?”
“Very little.”
Zivon came down the rest of the steps, glaring at her the whole way. “If you don’t answer my questions, old woman, I’ll have Chorly make you, and there’s nothing he’d like better.”
There really wasn’t any point in keeping it a secret. Zivon had probably already guessed what had happened and just wanted her to confirm it. “I told them the truth, of course. Then the man said that he and his friends were going to leave.”
Zivon swore under his breath, glaring at Serafina as if he wanted to throttle her. “You are not to talk to my men anymore.”
“I can’t help but answer their first questions,” she warned.
“They won’t be asking you anything,” he declared, and turned to go back up the stairs.
Although Zivon closed the door behind him, Serafina could make out some of what he shouted at his men. No one was to speak to her at all, and anyone who dared to ask her a question would have to deal with him.
Once again she was left alone, and once again she dozed. The torch was guttering and about to go out when Chorly brought down a chunk of stale bread and a bowl of cold boiled cabbage. He also brought her a thin blanket, which she wrapped around herself, grateful for even that small bit of warmth. Chorly looked at her as if daring her to try to talk to him, but all she did was thank him and start nibbling the bread.
Sitting alone in the quiet cellar, Serafina found her mind wandering. She remembered Widow Zloto’s warnings about bad luck and how everyone had laughed at her superstitions. Maybe the old woman had been right. Maybe her superstitions really did tell people how to avoid bad luck. Viktor’s whistling in the tavern could have been the start, but whatever the cause, Serafina’s luck couldn’t have gotten much worse. If only Widow Zloto had spent as much time talking about good luck as she had about bad, Serafina might have figured out a way to change her luck.
Something scurried in the dark corner of the cellar, and Serafina turned to look behind her. Rats, she thought. This cellar is probably full of them. Pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, she lay down on the bench, not wanting to sleep on the floor if there were rats.
Serafina dreaded the long, cold night ahead. She had so much on her mind that she was certain she wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Since the day Alek asked his question, she’d been excited about the future, but now she had nothing ahead of her except whatever terrible thing Zivon had planned. Even if she didn’t die of old age soon, she doubted he was going to let her go. And because no one knew where she was, no one was going to come looking for her.
Chapter 18
Serafina dozed off and on that night and finally woke to the sound of hesitant footsteps on the stairs. Rubbing her eyelids, she turned her head to look up. A pool of torchlight spilled down the steps, growing larger as the person carrying it came nearer. It was Chorly with another man close behind him.
Serafina shivered. Stiff and sore, she sat up slowly as Chorly replaced the torch on the wall with a fresh one.
“Payment first,” he told the man who had followed him down. Holding out his hand, Chorly gave the other man an expectant look.
The new man handed him some coins, then waited until he and Serafina were alone before saying, “If it’s true that you’re Baba Yaga, I have a question for you.”
“Go ahead,” she said, suddenly certain of the fate Zivon had planned for her. If he had his way, she would stay locked in his cellar for the rest of her life so that people had to pay him before they could ask her their question.
“My father buried his gold on his farm before the war. He died just before the war ended without telling us where to find the gold.”
“And your question?” said Serafina.
“Where’s the gold?” said the man, sounding impatient.
The man’s question reminded Serafina so much of similar questions she’d been asked in the past that she felt as if in some ways nothing had changed. After answering him in her Baba Yaga voice, she thought about asking him for help, but from the occasional creak at the top of the stairs, she was fairly sure that Chorly was listening. Her captors had also learned where the gold was buried.
Three more people with questions came down the stairs in quick succession after that. All three wanted to know about lost relatives. After the third one left, Chorly brought Serafina more stale bread and a mug of tepid water. She spent the rest of the day seeing one person after another. By the time the last person left, she was so tired she could scarcely keep her eyelids from drifting shut. Her joints ached and her knuckles were swollen. Glancing at her hands, she saw that her fingers were no longer straight. Answering so many questions was making her body age faster than it ever had before.
When the door at the top of the stairs opened again, the smell of roasting meat wafted into the cellar. Serafina perked up, looking forward to dinner. Time seemed to crawl as she waited for Chorly, but when he came down the stairs, all he brought was cold boiled cabbage. She knew it would do no good to protest.
The next two days were just like the first. So many people came to see Serafina that she began to wonder how the men were finding them all. Some paid with coins; others brought old family jewelry, treasured bits of lace, even a pair of good shoes.
Although more than one person asked her how to find a family fortune, the most-asked questions were about missing relatives and friends. Each piece of bad news she gave depressed her even as it made her body age; she dreaded seeing the next person on the stairs. Her hearing was getting bad, and she had to ask people to repeat their questions. Tiring easily, she dozed between visitors, waking when Chorly shook her shoulder. Her back hurt so much that it was hard to get comfortable, and her knees were sore all the time. She was so achy that walking was a chore, although she tried to pace when she was alone at night before the torch went out, hoping to relieve some of the stiffness in her legs. If she was going to escape, she would have to do it soon.
By the afternoon of the fourth day, the number of people coming to see Serafina had trickled to a few each hour. Chorly didn’t seem happy at the decline in income, and she wondered just how long she would be allowed to live once there was no one left to ask questions. Although Chorly still hadn’t had a conversation with her since Zivon ordered him not to, at least he hadn’t been uncivil. Now he was becoming abrupt with her, showing little patience when she dozed off or needed a question repeated.
“You can’t blame me!” she finally said when he snapped at her. “My body gets older every time I answer a question.”
“I can blame you for whatever I want,” Chorly snarled. “It’s your fault I have a gimpy leg. Your cottage dumped me out and I broke my leg in three places!”
Serafina closed her mouth and turned away.
Late that afternoon, Serafina was answering another farmer’s question when they heard a commotion upstairs. Men shouted and ran across the floor overhead, shaking the floorboards so that dirt filtered down from the ceiling of the root cellar. She was still talking when Chorly bellowed from the top of the stairs, “Dorek, forget the crazy old bat and come up here now!”
Serafina’s visitor looked nervous, but he waited for her to finish, his gaze flitting from her to the stairs and back again. When she stopped talking, he pelted up the steps as fast as he could move. Listening intently, she did not think she heard the door close behind him.
It was quiet now, without even the usual creak of people walking from room to room overhead.
Serafina struggled to her feet. She was weak, as much f
rom poor food as from the magical aging, and the walk to the stairs was long and slow. Her feet were unsteady and her balance was poor; if only she still had her cane! When she finally reached the steps, she looked to the top and saw light through the open doorway. The inn itself was quiet, although she could hear that something was going on outside.
Gripping the railing with both hands, she raised her right foot up a step, then her left to the same step. Ever so slowly, she climbed the stairs, afraid that at any moment someone would appear in the doorway. She paused often to rest, but no one came and she finally reached the top unnoticed.
The noises outside had grown louder as she climbed the stairs, and now she could hear them quite clearly. It was the sound of battle—men shouting, horses screaming, the clash of swords, and the pounding of hooves. Standing at the top of the stairs, Serafina peered into the doorways of the rooms around her. The dining hall, the kitchen, and a storage room stood silent and empty.
She saw her cane leaning against a nearby wall. Weary from her climb, she shuffled across the floor to wrap her fingers around the stout wooden stick. The cane made walking easier as she crept to the front door and looked out.
It had been dark when she’d arrived at the inn, and she hadn’t been able to see much. Now she could see that it was a stopover on a lonely stretch of road far from any towns. The forest had been cut back to accommodate the inn, a stable, and a small fenced field. A cow and two horses stood in the field, watching the men who had broken part of the fence as their fight moved down the road.
Serafina was considering hiding in the woods until the fighting was over when she noticed that one of the knights had raised his helm to wipe the sweat from his face. It was Prince Cynrik, looking older and more worn than the fresh-faced young man who had come to see her.
The prince had lowered his helm and ridden back into the fray when a horse at the edge of the fighting reared, dumping its rider on the ground. Serafina gasped when she saw that the man who had fallen off his horse was her father. Master Divis was trying to catch his mount’s reins when the fighting surged in his direction. A big man, taller and broader than the rest, hurried to stand between Serafina’s father and Zivon’s men. She recognized Alek, who was wearing a boiled leather vest and wielding the biggest broadsword she’d ever seen. Toman Damek, the man who used to be the sheriff from Vioska, was there as well, running to help defend Serafina’s father.
Serafina watched as Alek drove three of Zivon’s men back, raining blows on them with his broadsword. The fighting had moved far enough into the field to trap two loose horses in a corner. Frightened, one of the horses knocked a man down and galloped across the field, throwing up clods of dirt with his hooves as he came between Alek and the men he was fighting. When two of the men backed away from the horse, they met Toman Damek, who came after them with his sword. Serafina watched until Alek fought the last man so fiercely that the man turned and ran away.
Relieved that Alek was able to defend himself so well, Serafina headed around the side of the inn. Although she couldn’t do anything directly for Alek or the others herself, she had an idea that just might help.
Serafina was staggering when she reached the back of the inn. Chickens scratched the ground outside a coop only a few yards away. Beyond that, the clearing extended another hundred feet to the forest that loomed dark and unwelcoming.
Locked in the root cellar, Serafina had been certain that she was going to die soon. Even so, she had tried to remember what she had learned about her abilities as Baba Yaga, hoping that one of them might help her. There was something that the cat had said that she hadn’t thought much of at the time, but now it made her wonder. Maks had told her that the cottage and Baba Yaga were linked and that she could tell it what to do. She had thought that meant she could tell it when to go or how to walk. Now she wondered if it might mean more than that and just how strong that link might be.
Serafina reached the edge of the woods, prepared to hide if Zivon or one of his men came looking for her. Turning around so that she faced the clearing, she declared in a loud voice, “Chicken hut, chicken hut, come here to me as quickly as you can!”
“And now,” she said, stepping deeper into the shadows, “all I can do is wait.”
Chapter 19
Serafina sat on the ground with her back against the broad trunk of an old maple. She could barely hear the fighting, the sound muted by the trees and her failing hearing. Exhausted and aching all over, she dozed after a time, her eyes shifting behind their lids as she dreamed of happier days. She saw Alek’s laughing face as they ran hand in hand to their favorite pond one summer afternoon. She saw her sisters arguing good-naturedly as they shelled peas for supper. She saw her parents seated in front of the fireplace, sharing stories about what had happened that day. She saw the cat curled up on the bed in a patch of sunlight as the cottage strode from one place to another. And she saw the giant’s smile when he learned that he might be able to see his family again.
“I found her,” said the giant, which didn’t quite fit in with her dream.
Serafina stirred when strong arms picked her up as gently as if she were an infant, but she didn’t open her eyes. She turned her head toward the coarse fabric of a tunic when the same arms carried her through a doorway, but she still didn’t open her eyes. Even when the arms lay her down on a familiar bed, she kept her eyes closed. It wasn’t until Maks jumped up beside her and she felt his rough tongue on her cheek that she blinked her eyes open.
“You’re here!” she cried as she struggled to sit up. When she glanced out the window and saw that the sun was still shining, she turned back to Maks. “I didn’t expect you so soon. And you brought Auster!”
The giant was crouched in the corner, bent nearly double under the too-low ceiling. When Serafina looked his way, he grinned and waved, knocking the broom propped against the wall halfway across the room. “Oops!” he said, looking sheepish. “Sorry!”
“That’s all right,” said Serafina. “I’m just surprised that you fit through the doorway.”
Auster rubbed the top of his head and his smile grew broader. “It wasn’t easy.”
“What did you do after those men kidnapped me?” Serafina asked Maks. “How did you end up with Auster?”
The cat licked his paw, then inspected it closely. “You aren’t the only one with a link to the cottage,” he said, sounding smug. “When the Baba Yaga is gone or unable to take control, I can tell the cottage what to do. After the men carried you off, some of their cronies tried to break into the cottage, so I told it to go somewhere safe. It went to the cliff where you met Auster. When a nymph came looking for you, I said you weren’t there and told her what had happened. She left and sent your giant friend to me. We were talking about what we should do next when I decided to see if the special link the cottage has with you would help. I told the cottage to go find you, but I don’t think it would have worked if you hadn’t done something Baba Yaga–ish.”
Serafina nodded. “I did answer a lot of questions over the last few days, although fewer people came today.”
“That explains it. The cottage walked to this forest and kept circling. Then all of a sudden it started running.”
“That was probably when I called to it,” said Serafina.
The distant sound of shouting finally caught her attention, and everything came back to her at once. She wasn’t dreaming and the men were still fighting! Serafina stood up so abruptly that she knocked Maks over. “You can tell me later! We have to go help Alek, and my father, and the prince, and Toman Damek!”
“What do they have to do with anything?” asked Maks.
“They’re fighting the men who kidnapped me, the same ones who broke into the cottage. Zivon was behind it all! Chicken hut, chicken hut, get on your feet and hurry!”
Serafina grabbed hold of the headboard as the cottage scrambled to its feet. She waited until the floor had leveled off before she shuffled across the room to look out the window. “Go to
ward the road and look for the inn. That’s it over there!” she shouted. “Go left to where those men are hacking at one another with swords. Very good! Now stomp around. I want you to scare them but not actually hurt anyone.”
“Which one is Alek?” Auster asked, peering out the window beside her. Although he was kneeling on the floor, he was still taller than Serafina.
“There, the handsome one fighting the man with the red cap. Oh no! Alek, look out!”
Although most of the men on the field were running from the cottage stomping around on chicken legs, the man fighting Alek wasn’t one of them. He was swinging his sword with all his might when Alek jumped out of the way.
Auster grunted and walked to the door, still bent over. “I can put an end to this,” he said, and tried to lift the latch. When it wouldn’t open, he gave it a shake and bellowed, “Open your door, hut, or I’ll rip it off!”
The door opened with a crash, hitting the storage trunk behind it and bouncing back. Auster put up one hand and blocked the door from closing again. The hut was still stomping across the battlefield when the giant shuffled to the threshold and jumped, landing upright with a ground-shaking whump! that made everyone stop and stare.
“Enough!” he bellowed loud enough to make the cottage walls rattle. “The next man to swing a sword is going to answer to me! Drop your weapons now!”
There was a loud clatter as every man on the field dropped his weapon. Serafina noticed that even her father, who wasn’t carrying a weapon, stared down at his hands as if he wished he had something to drop.
“Where’s the prince?” Auster demanded as the men in front backed away from him.
Prince Cynrik nudged his horse toward the giant with Toman Damek close behind. “I’m right here!” called the prince.
“If Zivon knows what’s good for him, he’ll admit defeat and his men will turn themselves in. When they do, your people can round them up.”