Diary of Anna the Girl Witch 2: Wandering Witch

by Max Candee

  I hoped Uncle Misha would deny it, but he nodded. His eyes were filled with deep sadness. “We do not know where your father is,” he said. “With no one to help the ghosts in their afterlives, they are restless. Perhaps they sense your father’s strength in you. Maybe they have been drawn here, hoping that you can give them the peace they deserve.”

  “Can I do that?” I asked. “Can I really help them?” There were so many! How could I be the one responsible for those souls?

  Uncle Misha shook his head. “I do not know. Our best chance is still to find your father.”

  I turned back to the army of specters camped on our doorstep. The three Horsemen sat on their mounts like statues. Black’s fierce gaze pinned me even though he was hundreds of meters away. He knew I was here. He hadn’t forgiven me for messing up his plans. The other two might be here on Baba Yaga’s orders, but for the Black Horseman, it was personal.

  “What will the Horsemen do with me when … if they catch me?” I asked.

  “They’ll follow their orders,” said Egor. “They must. Your granny compels the very blood that courses through their veins.”

  “So they’ll kill me,” I said. “That’s what she wants, isn’t it?”

  Egor shrugged. “Who knows the twisted mind of that witch? Maybe it’s your blood she wants, a few drops a day. They may simply take you to her.”

  “But that’s what I want! Forget the blood. I need to find my father, and if she has him—” I almost ran down the tower stairs, ready to throw myself at the Horsemen.

  Uncle Misha stopped me with a firm hand on my shoulder. “Do not be so impulsive,” he said. “Even if they do not kill you here, you need to face your grandmother on your own terms. Not hers. That will make all the difference.”

  Before I could ask what he meant, the Red Horseman shouted something to his brothers. His yell was so sudden and loud that a flock of blackbirds erupted from a nearby tree. They swirled in the air, a great mass of black shadows, banked left and headed for the deeper forest. Uncle Misha let out a sharp whistle. One of the birds changed course and flew straight at us. His hand shot up and he caught the bird in his fist. He opened his hand and the bird flopped sideways, plainly stunned. Uncle Misha whispered soothing noises and petted its head. After a few seconds, the little bird chirped and stood on steady feet.

  “Go quickly now, my little friend.” Uncle Misha released the bird. It flew high above the tower and swung past the Horsemen. Red swiped a bow from his back and let loose an arrow. It whizzed past the bird, which flew higher and disappeared over the mountain.

  “Good,” Uncle Misha said, still beaming after handling the bird. “Hopefully, she’ll bring help.”

  “Help?” I asked. “From who?”

  “The bears, for one. But other beasts may take up the call. They know that the Great Trapper wouldn’t ask for help lightly.”

  “So now we wait?” asked Lauraleigh.

  “Now we fortify our defenses!” Egor said. He pulled himself up to his full height. “Now we get ready to fight. The Horsemen will attack at dawn, methinks.”

  “Then we must hurry,” Uncle Misha said. “Tell us what to do.”

  * * *

  Misha, Lauraleigh, and Koshmarik left to check the gates. The hellhound was strong enough to move boulders and wood beams to reinforce those that were in danger of falling down.

  I worried about my friends as soon as they had left my sight. Egor saw my tense look. “They’ll be safe enough while the wards hold,” he said kindly.

  “So what will we do?”

  “We’ll make sure the wards hold.” His grin couldn’t hide the grimness of his tone. “Come. It’s time you learned some useful magic, not the junk that fills you now.”

  At the base of the crumbling tower, Egor dug in the dirt until he found a small bundle of tiny grayish-white sticks tied with a rag. No — those weren’t sticks.

  “Are those what I think they are?” I asked, feeling a little light-headed. “Bones?”

  “Hmm, yes. Bones. The best wards are made from the bones of someone who lived and died in the space you want to protect. Luckily, the tower is infested with rats. Their bones can be turned into potent charms.” He examined the little bundle. “This one is nearly spent. The magic needs to be renewed every few months.” He plucked a hair from his long beard; then he reached and yanked a hair from my head.

  “Ow!” I rubbed my scalp. “What was that for?”

  “Blood is best, but we’ve got a lot of wards to refresh. Hair will have to do. And two wizard hairs are always better than one.” Egor twined the two hairs into the mess of bone and rag. He spoke into the bones, “Protect!”

  My head tingled where he’d plucked the hair. The bones pulsed with light bright enough to be seen in the morning sun. Suddenly I ceased to be worried or to question. Seeing the process, feeling it work, caught my attention. I wanted to see, to know more.

  “Ah, good, good,” said Egor. He reburied the ward and patted down the earth. “This tower is our last line of defense. We’d best check the other wards.”

  So we circled the tower, digging up bundles of rat bones, plucking hairs, and refreshing the wards. After the tower, we did the same around the crumbling walls of the keep. Every time Egor whispered, “Protect,” my scalp itched until I felt like my hair must be standing on end. It was long, tiring work, and when we were done, I wanted nothing more than to get some lunch and take a rest.

  “Shall we take a break?” I suggested.

  “Not yet!” Egor said. “We have one more important task, and it’s best done on an empty stomach.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  Back inside the tower, Egor led me down into the tunnels. The distance between the odd blue torches grew and grew until I could barely see Egor in front of me. We were headed deep into the earth. The tunnel bent at a sharp angle, and suddenly there was no more torchlight in front of us. The last torch was hidden behind the bend.

  Egor stopped and fiddled in the pockets of his robes. “Aha! Here it is. Misha isn’t the only one who has a way with beasts.” A green light lit his hand to reveal a large bug jittering on his palm. The bug’s butt glowed bright enough to light our way.

  “What’s that?” I’d seen fireflies before, but this one was the size of a hummingbird and seemed tame.

  “Luster beetle,” said Egor. “Handy little critter. But he’ll only have enough light for an hour. We must hurry now.”

  We jogged down the tunnel. Every few meters, I tripped over stones or stumbled over cracks — but Egor ran with effortless grace. When I fell over a discarded torch and slammed into the wall, he stopped and gazed at me with a stern “Harrumph.”

  “Not the stealthiest child, are you?” He held out a hand and pulled me to my feet. “You must learn to make your feet work for you, not against you. This is one of those times that the shadow inside can help.”

  “What do you mean?” All the magic we’d been doing had agitated the shadow in my chest. It could sense the anticipation in me — as if it, whatever it was, wanted to take part in the coming fight. Take part, and possibly grow stronger as I fought. I had been firmly ignoring it all morning — and now Egor wanted me to use it?

  “Stand still,” he said. “You young ones are always fidgeting.”

  I tried to stand as still as possible. My heart was beating impossibly loud.

  “Now, close your eyes and take hold of the shadow. Where is it?” Egor demanded.

  I placed a hand over my heart.

  “Yes, shadows like the heart. But you can control it. Push it out. Use the strength of your blood to drive that shadow all the way down to your feet.”

  I opened my eyes, hesitating. Most of his magic was odd, as though it weren’t magic at all, but instead some complex manipulations with voice, attention, and now blood flow. I opened my mouth to ask him for an explanation.

  “Do it now!” Egor boomed.

  I slammed my eyes shut again and imagined the shadow. To me, i
t was like a big dark moth fluttering in my chest. I tried to grab its wings, but they slipped through my imagination.

  “Use your blood!” Egor repeated.

  My heart still beat loudly. I concentrated on it. Then I felt it. My blood, my energy, my magic; they were one and the same. My heart pumped it through my body, touching every bit of me. All I had to do was give the shadow a little push. So I concentrated even more and sent it coursing through my veins, where it soon split in two and pooled it my feet.

  I took a deep breath. For the first time in weeks, my heart was filled with light!

  “Good,” said Egor. “Now put those shadows to work. They will make your feet fly on silent wings. As for that light in your heart, pull it up into your head. Maybe you’ll begin to think faster.” He chuckled as if he’d made a clever joke.

  And his trick worked! Egor ran ahead, holding the luster beetle above his head to light the way. I ran after him. This time, no rocks tripped me; I moved as swiftly and nimbly as a deer.

  “This is amazing,” I said, leaping over a pile of crumbled stone.

  “Nimble Feet,” said Egor over his shoulder. “Basic spell, if you want to use that traditional word. But not for the faint of heart. A witch has to have lived a little — faced a foe or two — before she has the power to use it.”

  “Oh, I’ve lived,” I mumbled as we hurried on. I’d faced a few enemies too. And one of them was waiting for me outside the castle walls and had brought friends. I hoped that Egor would stop this mad dash through the darkness soon.

  He did. He stopped so suddenly, only my Nimble Feet kept me from crashing into him. I peered over his shoulder.

  We stood at the edge of a pool set in a small cavern with a high ceiling. The water was perfectly still, with only a jagged rock breaking the surface like an arm reaching up from the deep. Water dripped faintly all around us.

  “Know what a golem is?” Egor’s sharp voice bounced around the stone cavern.

  “Isn’t that some sort of monster?” I asked.

  “Are bears monsters?”

  “Bears? No, of course not.” I couldn’t follow his train of thought. My eyes were fixed on the luster beetle reflected from the inky water. This place was creepy, and I wanted the magic lesson to be over.

  “Not to you, who were raised with them. But to the unwary hiker, a bear can be a ferocious monster. It’s all in how you look at the thing. A golem is just a servant. Only you can make it a monster. Anyway, it’s an idea I’ve borrowed from the Jews of Prague. It’s a robot of sorts, powered by the energy of human thought. A creature of the mind.” He chortled as if the description made no sense even to him.

  I really want to leave now, I thought.

  He sucked on his lip for a moment and added, “See, I told you this world is a Word. Think: Electricity is a wave. And sound is a wave. They’re all just a type of energy. So a golem isn’t that dissimilar to a—”

  “Oh, could you get on with it already?” I pleaded, shivering in the damp cavern. “I appreciate your lessons as much as ever, but—”

  “Hold this!” Egor impatiently dumped the luster beetle in my hand. The little creature seemed to have wilted and its light had dimmed. “The trick with golems is that you have to know their names. Names are powerful things in this world… Hmm… Now where’s that pen?” He patted himself all over and finally pulled out an old-fashioned quill pen, a bottle of ink, and a small scroll of paper. I wondered how he managed to keep all of that in the pockets of his cloak of tattered rags.

  “Here we go.” Egor flopped to the ground and opened the ink bottle. “Hold that light closer,” he said urgently. “This is ancient Jewish magic. Primeval. Magic of the Word. And in this case, the golem’s name is the word that’ll bring him to life.” He dipped the quill in the ink, unrolled the scroll and wrote with a flourish: Aazhaei.

  “Aazh—” I started to say.

  Egor shushed me. “Never say a golem’s name aloud unless you are prepared to control him. And you are not, my girl.”

  I clamped my mouth shut. Egor blew on the ink, rolled the scroll and tossed it into the water. For a moment, the paper floated on the surface; then something jerked it below.

  “Aazhaei,” Egor said in such a commanding voice that even I had an urge to snap to attention. “I call on you to serve me and protect these walls!”

  Nothing happened. The silence in the cave pressed in on me.

  “Aazhaei! Rise and attend to me!” A faint wind stirred Egor’s beard.

  A hand lurched from the water and grasped the stone in the middle of the pool. It hauled a slimy gray body behind it. The golem’s face was smooth and wet as if someone had just formed it from clay. Its eyes were small indentations and the bump between them only hinted at a nose. It had no mouth. With sloshing steps, it lurched toward us, enormous clay hands spread wide, ready to grab anything within reach.

  I jumped back.

  “I command you, Aazhaei! Stop!” Egor said. His voice was calm yet powerful — and I felt a new urge to obey.

  I guessed the golem didn’t hear too well without ears. But it must have sensed something — what Egor had described as “frequency,” perhaps — because it jerked to a stop at the edge of the pool. Its hands opened and closed as if it wanted to strangle something with its fists.

  “I command you, Aazhaei!” Egor said again, his voice echoing through the cavern even though he was not shouting.

  The golem’s arms dropped to its side. It stood still, not breathing, not twitching, just waiting.

  “Amazing!” I whispered. “Has it been here all the time, waiting in the pool?”

  “No,” said Egor. He wiped a trembling hand through his long beard. “The golem only comes into being when you call it. Before that, it’s just a thought. Your energy takes that thought and forms it into a being of clay. You could call this same golem from any suitable pool anywhere in the world. If you were strong enough, that is.”

  I saw that he was nervous. “Why are you shaking?” I asked.

  Egor shook his head. Sweat had popped out on his forehead even though the underground tunnel was cool. The whole experience didn’t seem like the magic I’d imagined; it was real, messy, and tiring, with none of the dashing spells they show in the movies. It seemed Egor used part of himself every time, and he was getting quite tired. I gasped, thinking about how much of my own energy I had wasted: stopping time back in Geneva, burning things up with rays of pure energy, flying around in a bucket… I groaned.

  The luster beetle winked off, leaving us in total darkness; then it burst back into light.

  “We must get out of here before we lose our light,” Egor said. “Come, Aazhaei. Follow!”

  We ran as fast as our tired bodies would allow. I concentrated on keeping the shadows in my feet so I could flit over any obstacles in our way. The steady clomping of the golem’s feet beat like war drums behind me. The luster beetle dimmed for good just as the blue torches began to light our way again. When I smelled fresh air and saw the brittle white light ahead, I found a last burst of speed and fell into the sunlight with a gasp of relief.

  The golem lumbered by me and headed for the outer wall.

  “He was fighting me for control,” Egor said. His breath rasped, and he bent over to catch his breath. He fell to the ground next to me. “But I think he’ll be fine now.”

  The golem slowly circled the inner wall, passing by the gates that Uncle Misha and Lauraleigh had barricaded.

  “Let’s see those Horsemen try to get past that!” Egor said.

  I wasn’t so confident. The golem certainly looked like a formidable enemy, but what if Egor lost control of him at the wrong time?

  “Your magic is strange,” I said after I could breathe normally again. “It looks like hard work.”

  Egor smiled. “Maybe you misunderstand magic, little witch.”

  Chapter 8

  Dear Diary,

  The ghosts are restless, but I suppose that’s the thing about ghosts. They c
an’t rest. That’s why they knock on the walls of the castle, trying to break through our wards. They don’t have anything better to do. Or maybe they can sense the magic in my blood. It’s strange to think that I might have the power to command the dead.

  Why do they even need to be commanded? Why can’t they just go away and find peace on their own? These are questions that no one here can answer for me. My father is probably the only one in the world who can.

  I wonder where he is.

  * * *

  I slid with my back down the stone wall of Egor’s room until my knees hit my chin. To me, the wailing of the ghosts was unbearable. I’d tried to block my ears against it, but that didn’t help. The wailing was inside my head. Lauraleigh couldn’t hear that horrible, incessant, piercing noise, which sounded like the universe was tearing itself into two halves.

  I couldn’t sit still, so I paced around and around Egor’s tower. Koshmarik was guarding the door, and Egor was tinkering with some device at the table. Uncle Misha was reading by the fire. Only Lauraleigh slept peacefully, safe in the silence of her lack of magic.

  “Maybe I should just go to them,” I suggested for the hundredth time.

  Uncle Misha didn’t even bother to answer. We had already gone over all the reasons why that was a bad idea. I didn’t know how to control the ghosts. But why should I want to control them? I just wanted to help them. Maybe Baba Yaga had found a way to control them, or maybe they had been acting on their own, and all they wanted was help finding their way into the afterlife…

  Wherever that was.

  Just thinking about it made me realize how little I knew about my powers. I couldn’t help the ghosts at all! I couldn’t help my father either. What had I been thinking, racing across the world to save him? Why had Uncle Misha thought it was so important for me to come here, when I had been safe and hidden from Baba Yaga in Tuscany?

  I jumped up and started pacing again.