But as years passed, imagination and belief became rarer, and one by one the flying ships sank to the sea. They became cargo ships, or passenger ferries, or naval vessels. A few disappeared beneath the waves and became homes for mermaids and sea serpents.
Soon, there was only one flying ship left, captained by a young giant called Koschei. He soared through the sky and skimmed over clouds for one hundred years, until he was furrowed and gray as a blustery sea. The young giant Koschei was now old, and his life was ebbing away. Sorrow engulfed him, because Koschei loved flying his ship so much that he yearned to live and fly forever.
So Koschei devised a plan. He flew off the end of the world, through the North Star and to the Isle of Buyan. And there he hid his soul beneath the Great Oak so he could become immortal and never have to stop flying.
Without his soul, Koschei became known as the Giant Deathless. But without his soul, Koschei found he had no imagination or belief to power his ship, so it fell from the sky and splashed into the Northern Sea. Anger and grief rampaged through Koschei. He snapped the mainmast in fury and stormed away to the Snow Forest, leaving his ship bobbing lonely on the waves.
The ship drifted, alone and forgotten, until it was found by a crew of fishermen. They climbed aboard and fixed the mainmast, then added a second mast and a net winch, and turned the ship into a fine fishing vessel. And they sailed the Northern Sea from the Calm East to the Stormy West, collecting fish and kelp and crabs. Focused on their fishing, the crew didn’t have the imagination or belief to make the ship fly.
Then one day, one of the fishermen fell in love on the shore of the Green Bay. His heart lightened until he felt like he was walking on sea-foam. And to his delight, the lady loved him too. The fisherman’s crew gave the couple the ship as a wedding gift and returned to their first fishing vessel.
The fisherman and his wife were so full of love, imagination, and belief that when they set sail on their honeymoon, the ship rose into the sky. The ship’s sails billowed in the wind, and a smile spread across the bow. They flew off the end of the world, through the North Star to the Isle of Buyan and beyond.
Seven seasons later, the fisherman and his wife steered back to the shores of the Green Bay. They were going to have a child and wanted to build a home together in the forest. So they left the ship alone once more, but before they did, they carved into its gunwales: For adventurers with belief and imagination.
Winter came, and Father Frost found the ship, lonely and forgotten. He sat on its bow and froze it into the ice. And there it sleeps, year after year, waiting for a crew with enough imagination and belief to make it fly once more.
The house approaches the end of the thick sheet of ice in the bay and skids to slow down. Its movements are large and eager, all its windows wide open. I think it would be whooping with delight if it could.
The frozen ship rises above us, glittering and brilliant, and with a massive leap the house jumps onto its deck. Ice cracks and wood creaks beneath the house’s feet as it walks along the deck, and the whole ship shifts as if coming to life.
When the house reaches the bow, it sits on the end and stretches its legs down either side of the ship, until they reach all the way to the frozen ocean below. The door curves into a smile so high that it crumples the eaves.
An echoing bang explodes through the air. The ship drops—and my stomach with it. There’s another bang, and another, and the ship lurches sideways. Rhythmic thumps roll beneath us, and the ice rumbles like thunder.
I lean over the house’s balustrade to see what’s going on, and Mousetrap leaps down and runs off to the rail of the ship. “The house is breaking the ice with its feet,” he squeaks over a cacophony of smashing and splashing. “We’re about to set sail.” A moment later he reappears on the house’s roof and leans his whole body east, as if by doing so he might steer the house, and the ship, that way. “To the Fiery Volcano!”
The ice around us splinters and groans like a great monster waking from sleep. Then, with a gut-wrenching lurch, the ship falls through the ice. Glacial waves crash over the gunwales, and for a sickening moment I think we’re going to sink to the bottom of the sea. But the ship bounces back up and my heart vaults inside me.
Yuri screams. Ivan growls. Blakiston hoots. Mousetrap trills with glee, and Elena jumps up and down on the tips of her toes.
The house begins paddling. It rocks back and forth as it sweeps its feet through the floe-littered water on either side of the ship. Great chunks of ice bob and drift away as the house steers us into a clear, open channel.
A thick shoot bursts from the floorboards behind Yuri. He jumps up, his already-wide eyes rolling in shock, and staggers away from it, whining. The shoot rises above the porch, and huge leaves unfurl like sails.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” Elena drapes her arm around my neck and beams.
I lean into her and smile. It is wonderful. The dark blue ocean and bright white ice, shining gold near the horizon, are breathtaking. And the excitement of the Yaga house is infectious—its leafy sails billow and my chest swells.
The channel widens, and the house finds a steady rhythm. It rocks gently as its feet swish and splosh through the water. The sun emerges from behind a wispy cloud, and the sky explodes with light. Dazzling rays shoot across the Snow Forest, and far to the south, the peak of the Blue Mountain shines as bright as stardust.
“Stardust!” I shout, an idea blazing into my mind.
Mousetrap lands on my snout and looks at me in confusion. “What are you talking about, human girl?”
“At the very top of the mountain, where the ancient peak is stained blue by the sky, Nastasya carved six arrowheads. Made from thick blue ice and hardened with stardust, they were strong and cold enough to cool the anger in a fire dragon’s heart.” I quote Anatoly’s story word for word, excitement bubbling inside me. “My necklace is one of those arrowheads! We can use it to fight Smey. Nibble through the cord, please, Mousetrap.”
Mousetrap runs to the back of my neck. I feel him gnawing, deep in my fur, then I feel the arrowhead slipping.
Elena catches it before it falls. “This is one of your birth mother’s arrowheads, isn’t it?” She holds it up to the light. “Anatoly told me the story of her battle with Smey.”
I nod, looking at the blue-white rock in Elena’s hands. The last arrow. In Anatoly’s story it sailed over stars, carrying love and strength; it dipped under the moon, picking up moonbeams and magic; and it brought my birth mother’s story to me. The story of how she died. An image of her forms in my mind. Valentyna said she looked like me, when I was human, but I picture her bigger and stronger. She was a great warrior, but she died fighting Smey. So what hope do we have? My muscles tremble like bee wings.
Mousetrap nips my ear. “A web of strength, remember?”
I take a deep breath and look around at Elena, Ivan, Yuri, Blakiston, and the house. Mousetrap is right. Nastasya was alone. Whereas I have a herd.
“House.” Elena pats the balustrade. “Could you grow me a bow and an arrow shaft, please?”
“What an excellent idea,” Mousetrap trills. “The Yaga girl can fire the arrow into Smey’s heart.”
“No.” I shake my head, not wanting Elena to be in the center of danger. “I’ll carry the arrow between my teeth.”
“My attacking skills will be of use.” Ivan growls and the fur on his back shivers menacingly. “I’ll force Smey into a corner, then you can tear the arrow through his heart.”
“Either one of you would be burned to a crisp before you got near Smey’s heart.” Mousetrap looks from me to Ivan and shakes his head. “You’re lucky a creature with intelligence is here.”
Ivan bares his teeth and snarls, and Mousetrap darts up onto the roof.
“This is perfect. Look, Yanka.” Elena holds a long, curved bow that has grown from one of the balustrade spindles. I raise a paw, longing to touch it. Mousetrap is right; firing the arrow from a distance will be safer than a close battle with Smey
. But I wish I could be the one to do it.
A thin, fibrous vine curls down from the roof, and Elena rolls it between her fingers. “I’ll string the bow with this.” She breaks off the vine and ties it to one end of the bow. “I’m so pleased I can help with your plan!” She beams. “I’ll shoot Smey. You can talk to the Lime Tree. Then the house will take us back, and we’ll find Sasha safe and well.” Elena strings the other end of the bow, then holds it up to admire her work. “I need to practice with something. Any ideas, House?”
Long, thin arrows grow from the floorboards like rye, their heads thickening into sharp wooden triangles. “Thank you.” Elena snaps off a few of the practice arrows and steps onto the deck of the ship.
She fumbles with an arrow, dropping it several times before finally managing to draw it back in her bow. Then she closes one eye and aims at some barrels stacked near the stern. She releases the bow string, and the arrow flops to the floor a few feet away from her. But she picks up another arrow and tries again. And again.
Elena keeps practicing and improves slowly, shooting farther and with more force each time. But she doesn’t hit the barrels. Most of her arrows skid across the deck. A few sail off the ship and fall into the sea.
“The chance of her hitting Smey is slim,” Ivan rumbles as another arrow nose-dives from Elena’s bow, skids across the deck, and disappears over the side of the ship.
I nod. Ivan’s right, but a plan is forming in my mind. “I’ll lure Smey out of his cavern and distract him, so Elena has a clear shot. If she misses, one of us will retrieve the arrow and carry it back to her so she can try again.”
Blakiston opens his wings and glides down from the roof to the balustrades. “I can do that.” He stretches his claws. “I’ll be able to catch the arrow mid-flight, if needed.”
Ivan nods. “I’ll help drive Smey into the best position and ensure the arrow returns to Elena.”
“What will I do?” Yuri asks, rising onto his hooves.
“Your strength is fleeing.” Mousetrap drops from the roof onto Yuri’s short antlers.
“I’m very good at fleeing,” Yuri agrees proudly.
I smile as a perfect idea jumps into my mind. “You can carry Elena on your back and flee with her if things become dangerous.”
“I shall do that.” Yuri nods.
“And my strength is—” Mousetrap begins with a flourish.
“Your exceptional hunting skills?” I suggest.
“It’s rude to interrupt.” Mousetrap glares at me. “And actually, my strength is my war dance. It’s the best you’ll ever see.” He leaps onto my snout, puffs out his chest, and sways his head from side to side. “I’ll hypnotize Smey with it, to keep him still while the Yaga girl shoots.”
The plan clicks into my mind, piece by piece. Yuri will carry Elena and keep her out of danger. I’ll draw Smey into the open and Ivan can help me keep him in place. Elena will fire the arrow from a distance, and if she misses, Blakiston or Ivan will return the arrow to her. Mousetrap can do his war dance, whatever that is, and once we get past Smey, I’ll talk to the Lime Tree and ask it to save Sasha, and me.
As I let myself believe the plan will work, I feel light as the clouds above. My muscles relax, but I feel strong. It’s a strange, new sensation. I always thought strength came from facing things alone, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe working with others can give you strength too.
The house tilts sharply, making everyone lean sideways, as it drags one of its feet through the water to make a great sweeping turn around a headland. An icy wind blasts into my face and I squint against it. When I peep my eyes open again, the sight ahead takes my breath away.
A steep, craggy volcano dominates the landscape. Thin, patchy sections of forest run up to its base, then shrivel away into a graveyard of blackened trees and curling smoke. Veins of bright orange lava glow from fissures in rocks, and pools of iridescent mud bubble in hollows.
“The Fiery Volcano.” Mousetrap scrambles up and over my head to get a better view.
My forehead tightens as I trace a path up the volcano, following ribbons of melting snow, hopefully cool enough to walk on, that weave between rocks that shimmer with heat.
About halfway up the volcano is a gaping black cavern, wider than my house and taller than the towering pines at the bottom of my garden. Smey’s cavern. The thought of him pricks goose bumps into my flesh. Even though I have a plan now, I still don’t know what to expect from Smey.
Above the cavern, the volcano’s peak is hidden behind thick, dark smoke, but as I stare, the clouds shift. My heart soars when I glimpse enormous leafy branches that spread wide as a sunset and reach high as the sky.
“The Lime Tree,” I whisper, hardly daring to believe it’s real. It looks so out of place, growing on the peak of a scorching, smoldering volcano. “How can it survive here?”
“It has little choice,” Ivan growls. “This used to be the soul of the Snow Forest. It was a beautiful place, cool and calm and filled with life. But since Smey was created, the Lime Tree has no control over its surroundings. The Fiery Volcano has grown from Smey’s touch and left the tree trapped and alone.” Ivan glances up at the Lime Tree, barely visible behind swells of dense smoke, and his eyes flash with a mixture of anguish and sympathy.
“You told me before that Smey guards the Lime Tree.” My brow furrows. “But now you make it sound like Smey is harming the tree.”
“Both are true.” Ivan nods.
“I don’t understand. Where did Smey come from? Why does he guard the tree in a way that harms it?”
“I’d have thought you would know that story.” Ivan turns to me with one ear back and the other forward. “Seeing as it was your grandfather’s actions that created Smey.”
“My grandfather?” Another gust of wind drives needles of ice beneath my fur and I shiver. “The Bear Tsar?”
Ivan nods again. “Yes, but before he was a bear. When he was still a human—a woodsman called Dmitry. Sit. I have time to tell you the tale before we arrive.”
I sit, as Ivan suggests, anticipation trembling inside me. The house paddles smoothly along, past rows of charred trees and jagged black rocks. The evening sun throws long shadows ahead of us and smoke belches from a crack in the ground.
The rotten-egg smell of sulfur seeps into my nose and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Ivan snorts out a small puffy cloud. Then he begins his story with “Once upon a time …”
Once upon a time, there was a lime tree at the soul of the forest, as tall as the sky and as wide as the sunrise. The tree was filled with magic and joy. It danced with the trees around it and sang with the birds in its boughs.
But then the woodsman came.
The tree could have knocked the woodsman’s axe from his hands, but the tree was kind and offered the woodsman a wish in exchange for compassion.
The woodsman took the wish and asked for more, and more, until the tree, exhausted and downhearted, refused.
Consumed by greed, the woodsman roared in anger and chop …
… chop
… CHOPPED down a branch.
And the tree cried out in pain.
On the ground, the cut branch writhed and swelled with fury. It cracked and split and grew three heads and reared up as a furious, flaming dragon, burning with the fires of anger and injustice.
The tree trembled in fear, for it had no control over the fire dragon and could only watch in horror as flames and lava spewed from the dragon’s mouth. The forest was set alight. Birds flew away, streams dried up, and flowers were smothered with ash.
The tree begged the dragon to stop, but the dragon’s flames grew hotter as it vowed to defend the tree from the greed of man forevermore. The dragon roared over the earth, and groundwater exploded into scalding fountains. Mud cooked until it bubbled and boiled, clear pools were poisoned with yellow acid, and noxious gases swirled into deadly mist. The rocks around the tree swelled with magma until a volcano blossomed, with a cavern on its slope for the drag
on to live in.
When the dragon grumbled, earthquakes shook the forest, and when he raged, the volcano erupted so violently it drew lightning from the sky.
Above the cavern the Lime Tree stood, alone and sorrowful. Because although the dragon only wanted to protect the tree, the tree was now trapped, far from the forest it loved. Each time the dragon woke and breathed fire into the sky, the tree wept as the forest burned. And although the tree was full of magic, it could not grant its own wish: that one day the dragon’s anger would cool, and it could return to the forest it loved.
“So this is my grandfather’s fault?” I stare at the scorched forest, the cracked and blistering volcano, and the Lime Tree, trapped on its peak and choked by soot and ash. “He caused all this by being greedy and selfish and cruel.” I look down at my bear feet and shake my head. “My family deserves to be cursed.”
“Nonsense.” Mousetrap nips my ear. “It was unfair of the tree to punish others for what your grandfather did. Your grandmother, your father, and yourself all did nothing wrong.”
“Perhaps the Lime Tree didn’t intend to curse your whole family for generations. Curses, like anger and fire dragons, are difficult to control.” Ivan glares at the Fiery Volcano, and his muscles tighten, as if he’s about to pounce upon it. “What’s important is that you’re here now, to right the wrongs of your grandfather. Together we can defeat the dragon he created.”
I take a deep breath and lift my snout high. Ivan is right. I came here to save Sasha, who is on the brink of death because of me, and to find a way to go home human—but now I realize I can do so much more. I can make amends for what my grandfather did and save the Lime Tree too.
If we can cool Smey’s anger with the arrow, we could free the Lime Tree and the Snow Forest from these ferocious fires and this strangling smoke. The Fiery Volcano might subside and grow over with trees once more, and the Lime Tree would be back where it belonged, surrounded by forest. Ivan could return to where he belongs, as leader of his pack. And if the Lime Tree makes me human, I can return home to where I belong too.
The Girl Who Speaks Bear Page 15