CHAPTER 35

The Woodcutter had walked over the hill and into the woods and had taken a left at the great tree. He walked into the clearing. Settled into the earth was a round-bottomed fortress with many chimneys and windows but no door. A fence of human bones marked the border of the yard from the forest.

He had not understood when Oberon and Titania had told him to seek the Crone. He had not understood that they meant the Crone. If he had known, he wondered if he would have come. But he was there, so the Woodcutter opened the gate and walked in.

He looked up at the blank wall of the fortress. His power in the Kingdom of the Clouds was less than that in the Twelve Kingdoms, but he opened his mouth and commanded, “Turn your back to the forest, your front to me.”

The fortress creaked and groaned, and slowly it spun until the back was to the front and the front was to the back, and before the Woodcutter was a door.

The Woodcutter stepped forward to knock, noting the gnashing teeth in the keyhole, but turned quickly as a crashing sound tore through the trees.

Riding upon a stone mortar the size of a grown man was a lovely woman with dark-black hair. The mortar sailed upon the ground like a ship on the ocean, directed by a pestle the woman used as a rudder. The mortar flew into the front yard and the maiden leapt off, as graceful as an acrobat. She regarded the Woodcutter sharply as the mortar put itself away behind the fortress. She sniffed the air. “You are a man, yet smell of a tree. That means you can be only one being. Good afternoon, Woodcutter.”

The woman was young, but she could not deceive the Woodcutter’s eye.

The Woodcutter bowed. “Baba Yaga.”

The maiden laid her finger on the side of her nose. “What brings you so far into the Kingdom of the Clouds?”

“I have been told to seek the Crone.”

Even as he said it, her shape began sagging, turning from young to old. Baba Yaga sighed as her breasts dropped and her waist expanded.

“They said this Kingdom in the Clouds was full of blue roses, a supply large enough to make tea to keep my youth forever. I am afraid they lied.” She looked at the Woodcutter. “But the memory of the Maiden is still fresh. You are lucky. You shall reap the benefits of the Maiden’s kindness, but also the wisdom of the Crone.”

Baba Yaga walked to her house. The teeth in the keyhole quieted themselves as the door swung open. Unbidden, the Woodcutter followed her in. With each step, the woman aged, adding a wrinkle to her face.

The Woodcutter felt invisible hands upon his arm, removing his heavy pack from his back. He thanked the invisible servant. The bone fence was made of those heroes who had not minded their manners. Baba Yaga was no mere faerie. She was the Dark Lady, the Wild One. With a tea made of blue roses, she was the Maiden, kind and loving. As the Crone, she was a formidable enemy.

Indeed, the Woodcutter was lucky he had found her when he did.

Baba Yaga flung herself into a crude rocker, the Crone taking over, and snapped at him, “Well, why are you here, then? Why have you come to bother me?”

“A question, Baba Yaga.”

She nodded toward a chair, indicating the Woodcutter was allowed to sit. Two bowls of stew floated through the air and landed upon two small trays set up beside the chairs.

The stew was green and smelled of dead things. Baba Yaga took the bowl and began shoveling the foul concoction into her mouth. She motioned to the Woodcutter to eat, eyeing him as he lifted the spoon to his mouth.

The stew was slime and rot. The Woodcutter smiled as he swallowed.

Baba Yaga cackled. “You’re a strong one, Woodcutter, to eat the meal presented by the Dark Lady. You are so polite to your host. Such a shame. I would have used you as my Yule log come the heart of winter.”

The Woodcutter picked up his spoon and ate another bite, smacking his lips appreciatively.

Baba Yaga pounded upon her knee. “Indeed, you have earned yourself a question.”

She pulled a pipe from her apron and struggled to light it, her clawed fingers fumbling. Baba Yaga puffed, hacking and coughing a bit before settling in. “Well, what do you want? State your question.”

“King Oberon and Queen Titania sent me.”

Baba Yaga smiled. “Old Oberon and Titania sent you? My, I haven’t talked to them in years. We used to ride the Midsummer’s Eve together.” She chuckled softly. “Once, we asked Odin if he had ever hunted snipe.”

“They said you would know how to stop a hellhound who no longer responds to Odin’s call.”

Baba Yaga stopped rocking and looked at the Platinum Ax that hung from the Woodcutter’s side. “Terrible times they are. Terrible times if a Woodcutter has to get an Ax from a River God.” She peered forward, shaking her pipe at him. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose your father’s ax getting that thing. You didn’t lose it, did you? You show it to me. Show me it is fine.”

The Woodcutter took his father’s ax from his other side. Baba Yaga reached out and touched it fondly with one finger. “My, I never thought I would see this again. Your great-great-great-grandfather was a good man, and never you forget it. He could eat the entire bowl of my stew.”

She leaned back, taking another puff of her pipe and hacking some more before closing her eyes. “That I should see the day that a hellhound won’t come to his master…that a Woodcutter should be forced to round up a puppy…”

She opened her eyes and pointed at the Woodcutter. “There’s a way, but are you willing?”

The Woodcutter did not hesitate. “I would not be here otherwise.”

She leaned forward, staring at him dead in the eye. “Why? Why are you so concerned about Odin losing one of his mutts?”

He did not blink as he replied. “Have you ever heard a pixie touch the ground?”

Her face drained of all color until it was as white as the pale moon. “Indeed.”

The Woodcutter left Baba Yaga’s castle wiser, but more frightened than he had ever been before in his life.