The Baba Jaga opened the door to see twilight settling on her beloved hills. The mountain air was crisp and clean. The boughs of her apple tree bent in the soft breeze, and in her garden, bylica, lipa, and dziurawiec bloomed among her herbs, as they did year-round. It was all seasons at all times in the Baba Jaga’s valley, and for now, her crocuses bloomed.
“My, my, I love what you’ve done with the place.”
The Baba Jaga swung the door wide and cut an unpleasant curtsy.
“Enter, Rodent,” she said.
A furry foot crossed the threshold, into the light. The wraith-dogs fells silent. The hands became busy with their tasks. If they’d had eyes, they would have avoided his.
The Leszy stepped inside. His club scraped the floorboards behind him.
“Human bones in the fence,” he said, adjusting his cap. “Nice touch. Couldn’t help noticing one of your fence posts is missing a skull. Hurtful, you know. Seeing that I delivered you one, all gift-wrapped in your favorite flavor of flesh.”
The Leszy smacked his lips, added: “Favorite flavor of flesh. My, my. That’s difficult to say.”
He cackled.
The Baba Jaga slammed the door shut with a bang. One of the hands dropped a glass in the kitchen, and it crashed to the floor. Unperturbed, the Leszy climbed, a little awkwardly, onto one of the Baba Jaga’s chairs.
His gleeful little face became serious.
“Our mistress won’t be happy, you know,” he said.
The Baba Jaga sat opposite. Candlelight glittered off two monstrous faces. Gleamed off two frowns. Caught the glasses and vodka that the hands set between the two creatures, even though neither reached for them.
“I warned you,” said the Leszy at last. “You weren’t supposed to save him.”
The Baba Jaga didn’t answer. With a metallic click, the bodiless hands set down a cauldron of stew. The Leszy shook his head, as if in wonder. His eyes hadn’t quite decided what color to be and hovered in a murky twilight between red and green.
The Baba Jaga spoke. “You gave them the sword.”
The Leszy’s eye twitched.
“It’s mine, I made it,” he said, banging a tiny fist on the table. “It’s mine, I made it, I decide who gets it! And I had to, I had to do it! Bound me with a silly oath.” He rubbed furry palms together. “Who knew they’d have a cross? Who knew he’d know? I heard he was the stupid one. I thought those strzygi would finish him off. But of course the lynx went bye-bye instead.” He scowled. “I liked that pussycat, you know. I’m sorry he’s dead. But then you . . . you saved the Wolf-Lord. You gave them directions. You granted them a wish, for the sake of the gods. Sometimes, I wonder,” he finished, “whose side you’re really on.”
Fury spasmed over the Baba Jaga’s face. It seized her watery old eyes, straightened out her puckered mouth. For a moment, it looked as if she might leap across the table.
But instead, she said, in a very calm voice: “I am on the side I chose a thousand years ago.”
The Leszy ignored the jibe.
“And what side was that?” he challenged. “Can you even tell the difference anymore?”
“Do not question me,” said the Baba Jaga. “Little god.”
The Leszy’s eyes swirled into red.
It was hard to look threatening with that potbelly and those skinny arms and legs. Hard to look threatening with a head that barely reached to the height of the table. Hard to have the upper hand in this room so dominated by another’s magic.
But somehow he did.
“When they kill the Dragon,” said the Leszy, in a very dangerous voice, “it will be your head on the chopping block. And cross my heart and hope to die, you old hag, but I will make sure the ax falls exactly where it should.”
The Baba Jaga regarded him calmly.
“I am not afraid of you.”
The Leszy cackled.
“In that case, you are even more foolish than I thought.”
48
THAT NIGHT, THEY CROSSED THE valley.
Their way was lit by the stars overhead, by the bluish glow of the Mountain, and by the glimmer and sparkle of the armor of ten thousand dead knights. It smelled like metal and snow and death. They went at a steady pace, stepping carefully over the maces and the axes, their strides methodical. Focused. Ren avoided looking at her feet.
They were walking among ghosts.
Where have you gone? she wondered. Has the Dragon devoured you?
It wasn’t a valley filled with death. It was worse: it was entirely devoid