Chapter 6: The Deathless One Covets, An Old God Returns

Elizaveta waited with bated breath for Dmitri's decision.  “I could feed her, Dima.  I am sure she is so small she could survive off kitchen scraps and my milk.”

“Curse that witch.”  Dmitri appraised Anya then sighed, weighing his cudgel in his hands.

A wolf whined, wanting to be petted.  Dmitri obliged.  “I guess we should keep her then, or we will invoke babushka’s black magick.  What Baba Yaga wants with this child I cannot imagine.”

“Oh Dima,” Elizaveta said, embracing Dmitri.  “Do not worry.  I will braid fern flowers into her hair on Ivan Kupalo and love Anya with all my gills.  I will keep her out of your way.  It will be like she does not exist.”

“No,” Dmitri said.  “She is our child now.  I will treat Anya as I would any child of my forests.  Bring her here.  I will bless her with the spirit of the woods.  She will need its protection to survive.”

Dmitri lifted the baby and placed a kiss on her brow. 

Anya cried out at his touch.  Flecks of green blossomed in her irises - the leshy's mark - and she laughed, playing with Dmitri’s beard.

Dmitri smiled.  “Maybe this girl will be a blessing."  Dmitri handed Anya back to Morozko.  “The claim you have laid on her is deep.  Yes, Kolya – I can smell the fern flower nectar.  The bonds of friendship and protection run through her and your blood.  Do not look like a deer caught in the headlights of Perun's chariot.  Witch’s brew is a powerful thing, not just in alcoholic drinks.”

Morozko flinched.  “But?”

“No excuses,” said Dmitri.  “You are her guardian from now on.  She sleeps in your bed tonight.”

Morozko cursed.  “In the banya?  That is no place for a child!  It is a house of spirits and witchcraft, not diapers and disasters in the form of toddlers that do not know how to use the toilet.”

Anya smiled dreamily.  “Muh huh guh?”

“Mooncalf!” Morozko crowed, wiping a bit of drool from her lips. 

The baby giggled, then looked at Dmitri.  “Hoo?”

Dmitri’s face softened.  “Yes my girl, he will take care of her.  We all will, from now on.  Morozko: you will keep her warm.  As for disasters, you have a mop."  Dmitri smiled at the girl in his arms.  "Anya needs no swan feather ticks or silken sheets.  She will be our child – a girl of the woods!  My dear leshonky, a girl after my own sap-laden heart.”  Dmitri smoothed Anya’s curls.

Morozko begrudgingly accepted Anya back from Dmitri.

The blizzard thickened as the trio made their way back to Dmitri’s inn, a waystation between worlds.  It served as the tsar’s court and a gathering place for nechist.

The proud wooden three-story was decorated with carvings of beings from Slavic folklore: Zmei Gorynych the lethal dragon from knight’s tales reared his fearsome three heads, a firebird flitted between golden apple trees in a jeweled garden, proud Prince Vladimir Bright Sun, the former ruthless ruler of Kievan Rus, oversaw noblemen and wind-wild bogatyr knights in his grand palace courtyard.  Nightingale the Robber – a scoundrel whose whistling could rid a forest of birds - hid in a fir, awaiting the famous knight Ilya Muromets who had been painted by so many Russian artists.  On the stoop a small, furred man frantically swept snow from the floorboards, his efforts fruitless.

“Oi, Osya.  Quit sweeping away Father Frost's coat away with your dying breaths and go inside,” Dmitri said.  “I swear, domovois never know when to quit, even when vilas are raining hell down on the earth.”

Iosif froze, spooked.  “Oh, Dima, it is just you.”  Iosif blushed beneath his pelt.  He dropped his broom in surprise then hastened to pick it up.  “It is just, why, all this snow clutters the stoop so, and once it is iced over, why, someone might trip and break an ankle.  Welcome home.  Liliya has dinner waiting.  She just returned from her battle victorious as always”

Iosif’s beady eyes caught sight of Anya, clutched close to Morozko's chest for warmth.  “Oh?” Iosif breathed.  “Oh sweet Mokosh, such a beautiful child.  I - I feel faint.  A girl?  A mistress for my humble home?  Never in thrice nine kingdoms did I dream I would serve a human again.  Not since nechist stopped walking the earth centuries ago.  But why, my tsar, this is not typical of you at – well, at all!”

Dmitri shrugged.  His wolves dispersed.  “Baba Yaga demands it.  As you well know, babushka works in mysterious ways.  We must raise her as our own.  She will be my daughter, a leshonky.  She is pretty enough to be a forest maiden – look at those eyes like leaves against a cloudless summer sky.  I know our Anya will be a strong sapling, sure to bear the most beautiful, fragrant blossoms.  Just perfect for halcyon roosts.  Is not that right, my little firebird?  You are pretty enough to enchant princes and charming enough to grant wishes like a genie.”

Anya cooed.

The domovoi put a hand over his heart: “Yes,” Iosif breathed.  “Yes in a thousand ways.  I have not had a mistress in centuries.  I long for a child to leave me milk and biscuits.  That was my daily bread for centuries – children’s treats left in a nook by the stairs, wives’ worries combed out in curled hair as my mistresses slept.  I will care for her with all my soul: I swear it, my tsar.”

“Then you are in luck,” Morozko said, shoving Anya at Iosif.  “She sleeps with Osya tonight.  I absolutely will not have her pissing herself.  I need my beauty sleep.  Youthful looks do not come easily to me, being half bannik and all.  I can feel the fine lines forming on my face already.  Maybe I will steal Liliya’s wrinkle cream-”

“Kolya, enough!” Dmitri said.  “You claimed Anya, now treat her as your own.”

“It was an impulse!  I mean, sure, she would look good next to my mirror, sort of cute like a chubby china doll.  But eventually I will have to feed her, and is keeping a human in a cage really all that easy?  What if she outgrows it?  Do humans mpt grow?  How big exactly do human girls get, anyways?”

“Oh Kolya, you are through and through idiot.  She will grow like any rusalka or vila  does until she reaches maidenhood, at which point she will stop growing, sprout fangs, and become immortal.  I think.”  Elizaveta’s cheeks flamed a fishy green.  “Whatever happens, you did feed her witch’s brew.  That means she is automatically yours,” Elizaveta pointed out.  The rusalka giggled. “What were you thinking?”

“He was not, as usual.”  Dmitri chuckled.  “Give her back, Osya.  You will have time enough to coddle our darling Anya.  You can tell by her wood-dark hair that she will be wise like her father.  Baba Yaga chose our little orphan well.  I feel like she is a cutting from me already.”

Iosif handed Anya back reluctantly.  “Sweet Annushka, my raskovnik,” Iosif said, referring to the four-leafed Slavic herbs that opened portals to heaven, hell, and the hereafter, “you've unlocked the door to my heart.”

“A raskovnik?  Why do you and Dima keep comparing her to a plant!”  Morozko took the girl, rocking her in his arms.  “Soil yourself and I feed you to Dima’s wolves, mooncalf.  You are sure to be juicy and fat.  Now let me go find a cage in the chicken coup that is just your size…”

Anya gazed up at him with eyes flecked leshy-clover.  “Uew gew gah.  Muh ugh guh.  Kee?”  She burped, surprising herself, with breath that smelled like fern flower juice. 

Dmitri winced. 

Anya giggled, then burped again.  “Hoo?”

Morozko sighed.  “Veles’ snakeskin boots, she is drunk and does not even have any will of her own.  All she does is babble and coo.  How can I teach her tricks if she cannot even say my name?  I am giving her back to Baba Yaga.  Humans are useless – she cannot dance like a monkey, sing like a parrot, or fetch a stick like a dog!  Humans have needs – the need to be taken care of!  This Anya is worthless.”

“Kolya.  Are you on a bender again?  That is no way to talk to a child!” Elizaveta said.  She looked imploringly at Dmitri, her wide fish eyes like moons.  “Surely there is a better guardian for her.  Like – um, like me!  Or Liliya even.  I will keep Anya in the kitchen and let her wash dishes.  Babies can wash dishes, can they not?  What if she licks them, or, or takes a bath in the suds?  Her skin is so soft and spotless, I bet it has cleansing powers like Baba Yaga’s ivory combs.”

Dmitri yawned.  “Argue all you want, but Kolya staked his claim first.  All your watery milk or kitchen scraps will not deny him that.  I am going to go sleep and read Evenings on a Farm Near Dinkaka.  I suggest you do too: choose something lighthearted by Gogol from the inn’s library and doze off.  We will sort things out over breakfast, when I come to terms with the fact that I have suddenly become a father to a human.”

With that, Dmitri went inside. There was a resolute shut of the door.

Elizaveta looked at Morozko with wet eyes.  She was crying like a faucet, something the emotional rusalka tended to do.  “Cherish Anya.  Mokosh knows you need softness.  Maybe she will blunt your rough edges. I do hope so!”

Morozko bit his lip.  He rocked Anya with vengeance.  “If she cannot dance, I will find some other use for her.  A coat hanger maybe, her head is shaped just right-“

“Ugh!  You are awful!”  Elizaveta stomped over to the mill pond fronting the house.  Her silvery form dissolved into water with an angry resounding splash.

Iosif looked with longing at Anya, clutching his broom.  “Were that I had found her.  She would be all mine.  My own sweet mistress to dote on.  You are lucky Kolya, just like a winter bloom raskovnik.”

“Stop talking about mythical plants!  One man's luck is another man's curse.”

“Oh, but I do not think so.”  Iosif blended into the woodwork and was gone.

“Once again, I am alone with a baby… I delivered the present to myself.  I completely failed at being dedushka’s heir.  He and mother give presents away, not claim them on accident!”  Morozko sighed, looking up at the stars, then down at his newest acquisition.  “What are you grinning at?” Morozko said, smoothing Anya's hair.

She cooed.  “Koya?”

It almost sounded like the diminutive of his name.  Strange.  So fragile.  A little defenseless thing.  Whatever would Morozko do with this girl named Anya?  Anastasia?  He could not tell.

Perhaps Elizaveta is right, Morozko thought, and I will soften.  Would that be so bad?  He pondered this as he went to the banya behind the inn.  Morozko’s room was between the walls.  It was a small humble thing, with a bed covered in wolfskin and a stove.  He spat sparks onto the stove’s wood and soon the room flooded with warmth.

Morozko stripped and donned his nightshirt, settling into the blankets with Anya.  He eyed his dresser, imagining her in a cage, and shook his head.  “I took that joke too far and upset Liza.  Little tiny Anya, what will I do with you?  You are just a human.  You do not belong in Buyan, not in this day and age.”  He rocked her to sleep, singing a lullaby he had once heard long ago in a cradle of ice.

The remnant ragtag forces of the enemy vila fell in white streaks, shedding silver blood onto the snow.  Their cries were like sirens' voices.  Battle over, the blizzard cleared.

The moon struck like a hammer in the night.  Morozko's song drifted far away, over Tsar Dmitri's mountains.  It sailed across glacial seas, past thrice nine kingdoms and further, to the great icy keep of the watcher in the night.  His old bones shivered as he heard the familiar tune.

“What is this?” asked Kashchei quietly.  He looked out his tower window at the unforgiving stars who had witnessed so many of his deaths and shed not a single burning tear between them.  Kashchei, who made a habit of collecting fair maidens and keeping them under lock and key in his palace of glass, craved.  He wondered if at the end of his days his girls or the Zoryas would mourn for him.  Something in the song spoke of his finale, just like his fiddle’s supple croon that he was so fond of.  He imagined his dancing captive princesses waltzing just for him.

The lullaby drifted under the Milky Way, ferried by Kashchei's longing.  Kashchei wanted all that the song touched.  He wanted to understand, like a word on the tongue one cannot quite remember.  He followed the ribbons of notes to the small room in the banya lit by souls where Morozko was singing.

“A girl?”  Kashchei snarled in surprise. 

Anya looked at him while Morozko sang.  She pointed a chubby finger.  “Ooo?”

Morozko caught Anya’s hand and laughed.  “Hah.  What is it, the ghost of Queen Maria Morevna?  That is just a legend, just like Ivan Tsarevich or… or Kashchei the Deathless.  Only I suppose he is not so much a legend and more a scoundrel.  Whoever has frightened you, I promise to keep you safe.  You make the sweetest sounds, mooncalf.”

His name.  The bannik, familiar, had mentioned his name.

Kashchei felt naked before the child and hastened back to his kingdom.

A worm of want bored into his heart: this singular worm different from the maggots and grubs already feasting on his rotting blackness. 

This hungry worm had a name: Anastasia.

Kashchei the Deathless coveted Anya. 

And that is never good for a girl.