Diary of Anna the Girl Witch 2: Wandering Witch

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by Max Candee




  Diary of Anna the Girl Witch 2

  Wandering Witch

  Max Candee

  Illustrated by

  Raquel Barros

  Helvetic House

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Afterword

  Also by Max Candee

  IF YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK…

  Copyright (C) 2016 by Max Candee

  All rights reserved www.MaxedoutKid.com

  This is a work of fiction. All names, places, characters, and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons either living or dead, businesses, works of art, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Dear Diary,

  The only thing keeping me in this chair in this beautiful Italian villa is that I have two whole hours to wait before we leave for the airport, and it’s jangling my nerves. That’s right; I’m off on another adventure before my visit to Tuscany even gets started.

  All because yesterday, I got a letter from Uncle Misha via a black crow. (Isn’t that crazy? Who sends mail by crow? My Uncle Misha, that’s who.) Here’s what the letter said:

  My dear Anna Sophia,

  I don’t know if you have received my recent letters. I fear not. Forces have been working to keep us apart. Our enemies may have intercepted my mail. But I trust dear Bartholomew, my faithful crow, to find you with this letter.

  I’m afraid he brings terrible news, though. Your father is missing and I fear he may have been taken by the Red Horseman — the Horseman of War. Unsettled spirits watch my every move and I cannot go to his aid.

  I know you have never met your father, and you may feel that he abandoned you. Nothing could be further from the truth. I promise, Malyshka, as soon as I see you, I’ll explain everything. You must hurry. Meet me at Mama Bear’s den by the new moon, or I fear that it will be too late to save your father.

  Trust Monsieur Nolan, but speak of this to no one else. I cannot wait to hold my little Malyshka again.

  Your loving Uncle Misha.

  Things moved really fast after that. Almost panicking, I called Monsieur Nolan, the solicitor in Geneva who takes care of my mother’s estate, and asked him to book me a ticket to Moscow. The conversation went something like this:

  “Hi, Monsieur Nolan, I made it safe to Tuscany, but now I need to go to Siberia. Fast.”

  “Siberia?” he gasped. “I can’t let a child fly to Siberia alone.”

  “Well, I thought we’d fly to Moscow and take a train the rest of the way, or maybe a car with a chauffeur. I really have to go. Uncle Misha found my father and he needs my help. And besides, I’m not a child anymore.”

  “Humph.” Monsieur Nolan has great respect for Uncle Misha, not only for his honesty but also for having found me only a few days after I was born, nestled in a bear den. Mama Bear had adopted me as one of her own and kept me warm. But Uncle Misha knew babies couldn’t live with bears for long, so he took me home to his cabin tucked beside a lake in the woods. Many years later, when I needed to go to school, he took me to Geneva, where Monsieur Nolan set me up in an orphanage and later, at the Collège du Parc Cézanne.

  But you know all that. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve got to keep writing to fill up the time till we leave, or I think I might go mad.

  “I still can’t let a young woman fly to Russia alone,” grumbled Monsieur Nolan.

  “I’ll go with her,” said Lauraleigh, who had her ear pressed to the phone, listening in with interest. Lauraleigh is the kind of person I want to grow up to be. She’s beautiful, graceful, and funny. She does everything well, but she’s especially good at friendship. She graduated from the Collège this spring and plans to backpack around Europe before starting university.

  “Lauraleigh!” Monsieur Nolan protested. “This is a private conversation between a solicitor and his client. You should not be listening in!”

  Lauraleigh laughed. “Don’t worry, Monsieur Nolan. Anna doesn’t mind. And anyway, it makes sense. I can fly with Anna to Moscow, then start my backpacking adventure from there. It’ll be great. And I promise to keep her out of trouble.”

  We all know I’m a magnet for trouble, but Monsieur Nolan couldn’t argue with those ideas. Lauraleigh is eighteen, after all. That makes her a full-fledged adult. So I let him grumble, and I grinned as wide as the ocean when he said, “Okay. Your tickets are booked. I’m making special arrangements for Lauraleigh’s entry visa to Russia; you, Anna Sophia, don’t need one, of course. You need a special letter for minors unaccompanied by parents. Check your email. And be sure to arrive at the airport in plenty of time.”

  “Thank you! Thank you!” I shouted. If Monsieur Nolan had been standing in front of me instead of sitting in his office five hundred kilometers away, I’d have kissed him on his silly mustache.

  And now I wait (not so) patiently for our ride to the airport.

  I’m going to see my father! I can hardly believe it.

  That is, if I can find him — before something happens to him.

  * * *

  Not that I’m a world traveler, but I feel sure our flight to Moscow was the worst trip in the history of trips. First, we were late getting to the airport because of traffic. The line at security snaked halfway around the airport. Right after we’d dumped our bags and jackets on the x-ray belt and gotten scanned by security, we had to grab our things and run for our gate just as they were about to close the doors.

  Even Lauraleigh looked frazzled as we dropped into our seats. Her normally straight hair clung in damp curls to her face. The collar of her jacket stuck out at an odd angle. I’m sure I looked even worse. We smiled at each other, with only a moment to relax before the plane zoomed forward for takeoff.

  My muscles were jelly from our long run through the terminal, and the force of momentum pressed me into my seat. Usually, I love that feeling, but today I was too anxious to enjoy it. My father was in danger and we were still so far away. I had no idea what awaited us in Moscow or later in the wilds of Siberia.

  For the first time in over six years, I’d see my beloved uncle. I could only hope that he’d be proud of the young teen I’d become.

  All these thoughts swirled in my head. It was enough to make me restless.

  Just before the plane took off, a flight attendant asked me to take another seat — it had something to do with me being too young to sit near an emergency exit. The screaming baby behind me didn’t help me relax, nor did the old man with bad breath, snoring beside me. Somewhere in the back of the plane, a troupe of kids started singing “The Wheels on the Bus.” By the time the wheels went “round and round” for the twelfth spin, I had become a very cranky witch.

  Magic churned in my stomach, aching to be released. I wanted to zap Mr. Stinky-Breath beside me, put a sleeping spell on the screaming baby, and maybe make the plane fly faster so I wouldn’t have to listen to another round of sing-along.

 
I took a deep breath and squashed the magic back into my gut. Angry magic wasn’t the good kind. And I had vowed to myself that I would never again let the bad magic out. Already part of my soul was shadowed by the evil that came along with dark magic. I wouldn’t let the shadows have one bit more of me.

  That was easier vowed than done.

  By the time we finally arrived and exited the plane, tripping along behind the hordes of people looking for luggage and family, my frustration had grown until my magic was ready to boil over. And it did. Someone grabbed my shoulder roughly from behind. I spun around, eyes flashing, fingers sizzling with blue energy — and I zapped the man who had dared to attack me.

  My charge stung him like an electric shock. A spasm convulsed him and he jumped back, his single eye bulging, teeth clanging together.

  “What did you do that for?” the man whined in Russian, rubbing his arm. “I only meant to introduce myself. I’m Gavril. You must be Miss Anna Sophia Medvedeva. Monsieur Nolan hired me as your guide.”

  I heard the shadows laughing. It was so easy for them to win another little part of me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I thought you were a thief or something.”

  In fact, Gavril looked very much like a thief from a storybook. He was small and wiry with a big nose and one shifty eye. The other eye was covered with a black patch. His lips were already wet, but he licked them repeatedly with each sentence he spoke.

  I’m ashamed to say that I took an immediate dislike to him.

  “You should’ve announced yourself before grabbing me like that,” I said angrily.

  Before I could insult our guide further, Lauraleigh stuck out her hand and introduced herself. Gavril licked his lips and held out his calloused left hand. His right sleeve was empty and tucked into his jacket pocket.

  I wondered what terrible disaster had caused the loss of his eye and arm.

  “My name is Lauraleigh. I’ll be traveling with you to Siberia,” she said in English.

  Gavril shook her hand reluctantly. “Monsieur Nolan didn’t say anything about two girls.” His English was perfect although heavily accented. “I bought only two train tickets.”

  “Well, we’ve had a change in plans,” Lauraleigh said brightly. “I was supposed to leave Anna here in Moscow, but I have a taste for adventure and I’d like to see Siberia. Those are our bags over there. Would you find us a baggage cart, Mr. Gavril?”

  “Just Gavril,” the grumpy man said as he turned away to find the cart. “Fine, I’ll buy another ticket. You understand dollars, yes? That’ll be five hundred dollars if you want to go first class. A hundred if you want to smell stinky feet and bed farts in a communal wagon.”

  “First class, please,” I said quickly, trying not to show my disgust with Gavril’s speaking manners. “Lauraleigh and I will take a coupé, thank you very much.” I had no intention of spending three nights in the same train compartment as Gavril.

  Lauraleigh steered us toward the baggage conveyor belt.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “No way I’m leaving you alone with that creep,” she said. “Looks like we’re on this adventure together.”

  And suddenly, all the anxiety of the day faded. There was no one I’d rather share this journey with than Lauraleigh.

  * * *

  The train ride east was more relaxing than the plane trip had been. We were traveling first class, after all, and the car was clean and well kept. As soon as we left the city behind, I pressed my nose against the window, fascinated by the unending countryside. The groves and entire forests turned into villages and towns, which gave way to more forests. Although it was rather basic, the scenery was pleasing to look at. Comforting. It was where I’d come from.

  My mind wandered.

  Setting out, I’d been overjoyed at the idea of seeing Uncle Misha again. Even though we hadn’t seen each other in six years, we’d kept in touch through letters, and he was still the father of my heart. But now, as we got closer to him, I began to doubt. My real father overshadowed our reunion. The only thing I knew about him was what my mother had said in that one precious letter I had received from her: He had brown eyes. What would he look like? Did he even know I existed? Would he be happy to see me?

  I didn’t even know his name.

  There was a light knock on the door, and Gavril walked in. He sat down on the edge of my bunk and asked, “Want anything? Food, drink?”

  I shook my head. Lauraleigh caught my sigh and tried to make conversation to pass the time.

  “Mr. Gavril, do you know the trails of Siberia well?”

  The man grunted. “Just Gavril. Told you already.”

  “Okay. Gavril, do you know Siberia well?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Were you born there?” she asked.

  “Dunno. Maybe.” That seemed like an odd answer. Lauraleigh raised an eyebrow, and the grumpy guide fidgeted under her stare. Sister Constance, our housemother at the orphanage, would have been proud. “I been hunting there since I was a wee sprite,” he said. “At least until a bear got ahold of me.” He pointed to his eye patch and missing arm.

  “A bear did that?” I asked. “What did you do?”

  “I shot it.” Dangerous fire flashed in his eye. “Dead.”

  I winced. I hadn’t meant, What did you do to get away? I had meant, What did you do to antagonize the bear in the first place?

  “You’re a bear hunter,” I said hollowly. I’m not against hunting in general. People in deep Siberia use what their harsh environment gives them to survive. Uncle Misha trapped small animals like ermine and mink. We ate the meat and sold the furs to traders who came around in spring. But to me, hunting bears is like hunting angels.

  “I was,” said Gavril. “Now I’m a guide for foolish tourists who want to hike in the Sayan Mountains.”

  “What makes you think that we’re foolish?” Lauraleigh asked in a perfectly polite voice.

  Gavril nodded at our bags in the overhead bins. “How many fancy pairs of shoes you got in those bags?” he asked.

  Lauraleigh glared at him but didn’t answer.

  “I bet you’ve got at least three pairs and not one of them will stand up to the mountains.” He sat up straighter in his chair, warming to his tirade. “And what about sleeping bags? Did you bring at least one? Nights around Lake Baikal are cold even in summer. You got anything to keep you warm at night?”

  Lauraleigh pursed her lips and considered the ugly little man. “We may be unprepared, Mr. Gavril, but we are not foolish. That’s why we hired a guide. It’s your job to get us to the mountains safely. So why don’t you stop complaining and start educating us about the tools we’ll need?”

  Go Lauraleigh, I thought.

  Gavril licked his fat lips and squinted his one good eye. “We’ll be able to gear up at our next stop,” he said grudgingly. “But don’t expect me to carry your fancy bags full of fancy, useless shoes. You’ll be leaving those behind.”

  “Fine,” said Lauraleigh. She flipped open a glossy magazine and ignored Gavril, who continued to glare at us both.

  I turned to look at the pretty landscape whizzing by.

  It was going to be a long trip.

  Chapter 2

  Dear Diary,

  I’d forgotten how harsh the landscape of my home is. Harsh and beautiful. Siberia clings to the earth with stubborn determination. The sky is blue and sharp. The terrain is rough and bumpy. We’ve passed through forests with trees older than memory, tiny clusters of houses that pass for villages, long stretches of dense lowlands, endless steppes and swamps, and broad, powerful rivers.

  We’ve passed big cities and small: Kazan with its ancient Kremlin, Christian churches, and Muslim mosques; Yekaterinburg with its modern skyline neighboring Byzantine-style churches; Novosibirsk; Tomsk… All these cities I feel I should know, and Lauraleigh was itching to jump out and explore them. I feel a little sorry that she couldn’t. But then she chose to come, and I’m so gl
ad she did.

  The environment here feels sturdier, cleaner, and healthier than back in Europe. I don’t know why. Maybe because it renews itself so completely every winter.

  I’ve had a lot of chances to practice my Russian. The train attendant was a chatty young woman who kept bringing us tea and snacks, and personally escorted us to the dining car for lunch and dinner. The food she recommended was surprisingly good for a train. It was like she’d taken us under her wing — and she visibly disliked Gavril.

  It was three days before the train left us at a large and busy train station in Irkutsk. Irkutsk is a picturesque city, only a couple of hours from Lake Baikal. I was surprised to see that the green-and-yellow train depot deep in Siberia was almost as large and busy as the one back in Moscow. I don’t know why; I guess I’m just used to thinking of Siberia as nothing but emptiness, inhabited only by people like Uncle Misha in his lonely cabin and the bears in their dens. I find myself shocked every time I’m forced to remember that there are actual cities here.

  As much as I hate to admit it, Gavril was right about our thoughtless packing. Nothing in our bags would have been useful on the rugged journey we are about to begin. We left most everything in a locker in the train station. I took only my dream stone, my mother’s letter, and Squire.

  Monsieur Nolan had sent an emergency credit card along with our travel tickets. We used it to buy the rest of what we’d need at a small camping supply shop on the edge of town: sturdy backpacks, a tent, sleeping bags, cooking supplies, and dried packs of food that don’t look very edible. I hope to find more nourishing fare along the way. Many years may have passed since I left this place, but I’m sure I haven’t forgotten the few skills Uncle Misha taught me. As the days move toward July warmth, I’ll be able to find us some berries and greens to eat along the way.

 

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