A Wolf for a Spell Page 17

  Baba Yaga, said Grom, I was not expecting you. His voice was a roll of thunder. Zima could almost feel the blood pounding through the veins of the wolves. They were eager to attack, to fight. They were itching to run and jump and bite.

  “I’m not Baba Yaga,” she said, yet even as she said it, she knew that in some small way, she was. “I am Zima.”

  Grom snorted in disbelief at first, but something made him pause. He moved toward her, the snow crunching beneath his heavy paws. It was difficult to tell if he moved in anger or relief or another emotion altogether.

  He lifted his muzzle to sniff her in greeting. As a wolf, Zima was supposed to bow to him, to submit to his authority. But she would not bow to him today. After everything she’d been through, she couldn’t go along with this plan of his. It was the wrong way to keep the pack safe. He had to understand that.

  She stared into his eyes, and she could see him waiting for her to bow. She stood firm.

  He pulled away.

  What has she done to you? he asked. He wasn’t angry. There was a sadness in his voice at the question. I was sure you’d been killed.

  “It was the price to save Leto.”

  Where have you been? You should have come to us.

  “I wanted to protect the pack. I’ve been living with the humans in the castle.” She turned and gave a small smile to Izel and Oksana, who were watching the wolves nervously.

  Grom’s expression brightened. You’ve been learning how to defeat them.

  There was a ripple of interest among the other wolves. They gathered closer to hear Zima’s words.

  “I learned of a planned hunt that threatened our pack, and went to the castle to stop it,” Zima said. She could feel the excitement of the other wolves and from Grom and Leto, and see the anxiety in Potok’s eyes. They were all waiting to hear what she would say.

  It was the attention and respect she’d always wanted.

  When they heard what she had to say next, it would all go away. She would be reviled. Some of the wolves might even try to attack her as a traitor. But she had to say it.

  “We’ve spent so long fearing all humans and witches. Ever since the humans started coming into the forest we’ve grown more and more afraid.” The other wolves shuffled their paws. Potok’s tail and ears flicked. “But we only need to fear those humans who would do us harm. And I’ve found one human who wishes to harm us beyond all others,” she said.

  Grom’s brow furrowed. Who?

  “Tsar Aleksander. The humans coming into the forest, the great fire, it all began with him. And now he has a plan to destroy the forest itself. He’s coming here, looking for me, and for Katerina.” She turned to the young witch standing behind her. Katerina stepped forward, her chin high, only a twitching in her fingers showing any hint of nervousness. “We have to protect her from him.” Behind her, Mrs. Orlova, Nadya, and the others murmured their agreement.

  There was a low rumble in the distance. Zima turned. Along the road to the castle, a group of soldiers on horseback were moving across the landscape, slithering over the hills like a giant snake. Their armor was black against the snow, and torches blazed, blood-red against the inky sky. At the sight, the wolves stood their ground, baring their fangs and readying themselves for an attack.

  It could all be over. The wolves could defeat the tsar and his men when they arrived and end the threat once and for all.

  But violence led to fear. Fear led to more violence. Zima didn’t want to attack the tsar; she wanted to keep him from wielding and controlling the magic of the forest.

  Zima raised her voice so that all the wolves could hear. “This man is the one who wants to harm us. He’ll hurt anyone who gets in his way—wolves, witches, and villagers.”

  The wolves were still in their attack positions, but they watched her, listening. She had their attention.

  “The one thing he’s afraid of,” Zima said, realizing the truth of the words as she spoke them, “is the forest. It’s why he wants power and control over it. If we can lure him into the forest, we can defeat him!” It seemed dangerous, foolish even, to bring the tsar to the very forest he was trying to destroy. But she knew now that magic could overpower the tsar without bloodshed, as sure as she’d done magic in the dungeons.

  She waited while the wolves took in her words.

  None of the wolves moved.

  The tsar’s soldiers galloped forward, their horses’ hooves churning the snow and their swords glinting in the torchlight. At the lead rode Tsar Aleksander astride his midnight stallion. Several hills separated them, but at the pace the soldiers were galloping, they would be upon them in minutes. The humans grimaced with fear, as if they were eager to hide inside the orphanage. But they didn’t move; instead, they watched Zima, waiting for her instructions.

  Zima’s heart pounded. If they waited much longer, the tsar’s soldiers would descend before the wolves had a chance to enter the protection of the trees. They would all be caught exposed, defenseless. She couldn’t let that happen.

  She looked to her older brother. “Please, Grom,” she said. “Sometimes protecting the pack means choosing safety over a fight. Believing that some witches and humans can be trusted. We have to work together in this. I need you to trust me.”

  Grom watched her, uncertainty in his eyes.

  “If we retreat to the forest, if we trust its magic,” she said, “our pack will be the safest we’ve ever been.” The village would be safe too.

  She watched the fear and confusion in his face shift to a look of determination. Finally, he stepped forward, and bowed low to Zima. He was following her lead and telling the other wolves to do the same.

  They watched him, weighing their decision. She could see the choice they faced. If they attacked the soldiers in the middle of the village, there was a good chance every wolf would die in the effort. They didn’t want to trust her, but doing so just might save them. Their packs, and the forest.

  One by one, the other wolves around the circle bowed their heads as well. Not to Grom, but to Zima. They were putting their trust in her. They were looking to her to lead. She couldn’t let them down.

  Zima bowed to the wolves before her, thanking them for their trust. Together, the wolves lifted their noses and howled. The sound filled her heart to overflowing. She was going to burst. “Into the forest!” she shouted.

  As one, the wolves turned and everyone moved forward into the protection of the trees.

  Baba Yaga’s ears flicked in agitation. Her hut was barely sheltered by the skeletal trees at the edge of the forest.

  What mischief had that wolf been up to? She’d hoped the raven would have kept things under tighter control.

  But as she climbed the steps, her annoyance was replaced by the excitement of being home again. Of seeing the raven and that wolf again. Soon she would no longer be alone. Perhaps there was still some hope they could all defeat the tsar together.

  She pushed the door open with her paw. Firelight and warmth surged forward, cloaking her and drawing her inside.

  The hut was empty.

  She twisted around. Through the door, the darkness of the night outside appeared solid, dense as packed snow.

  They had abandoned her.

  Her paws barely touched the steps as she raced back outside. She found a patch of bare earth, sheltered from snow by the trees, and laid down to sense the magic of the forest in the soil beneath her. But gone was the pulse that had always drummed through her whenever she stayed silent enough to listen.

  No magic. No assistance. She was truly alone.

  She looked around. Tree branches rustled in the freezing night air. The moon above stared down at her.

  The forest and all its inhabitants were depending on her. Soon there would be nothing left to protect.

  She would have to do this herself.

  The wolf blood inside her grew hot. The moon called to her.

  Her bones shuddered. A howl filled her throat. It leapt from her, climbing toward the
sky, soaring overhead and away.

  “You are more of a wolf than I realized,” said a voice.

  Baba Yaga opened her eyes. Ivan stood beside the hut, his smile lit by the firelight that shone through the door.

  You came on your own, she said in wonder.

  “It was strange,” he said. “As soon as I realized I wanted to find you, a path seemed to open up before me.”

  Baba Yaga’s lips parted in a wolfish grin. You are most welcome in my hut.

  “It looks like I’ve arrived just in time,” said Ivan. He gestured in the direction of the village.

  Something shimmered in the distance.

  From the edge of the forest, the shadowy figures of wolves and humans were moving toward them.

  Perhaps she was not so alone after all.

  Howls echoed through Zima’s blood. She followed the racing wolves as quickly as she could, Katerina and the others at her elbow.

  Magic tingled around her as she entered the protection of the forest. Just before her was Baba Yaga’s hut, its door unexpectedly open.

  A familiar voice snapped, Where have you been?

  A figure approached, and Zima found herself looking into the orange eyes of her wolf body.

  “I could ask you the same question!” cried Zima.

  Baba Yaga’s nose twitched, but she didn’t answer.

  “What’s going on?” asked Katerina. Her gaze flitted between wolf and witch, as if she could sense the connection between them, but couldn’t work out why it was there.

  “I’m not Baba Yaga. I’m a wolf,” said Zima, jabbing her cane at the witch inhabiting her wolf body. “This is Baba Yaga!”

  Nadya, Izel, and the others were silent, their eyes flicking between Zima and Baba Yaga. But Katerina looked hurt. She turned to the real Baba Yaga. “You weren’t the one who helped me?”

  You helped her? Baba Yaga asked.

  Zima nodded. “With my friends,” she said, gesturing at the now-familiar faces around her.

  “But where have you been?” asked Katerina. Spots of color had appeared in her cheeks.

  I had to set things right, said Baba Yaga. Everything, not just defeating the tsar. I needed the tsar who would be best for the village and the forest: the true tsar, Ivan. She glanced at the young man standing beside her, who was watching Katerina with an expression of wonder and delight, like a pup seeing a falling star for the first time.

  Grom stood away from the group, watching Baba Yaga with obvious distrust, his tail stiff and his ears alert. The tsar is gathering villagers to join him and his soldiers, he cut in. They are coming.

  We need to protect Katerina, said Veter. Get the hut to hide her.

  “No,” said Zima, Katerina, and Baba Yaga all at once.

  Katerina stepped forward. Behind her, Nadya and Mrs. Orlova watched in admiration. Before her, the wolves and Baba Yaga stood between her and the forest beyond. “It’s my duty now to protect the forest, and that’s what I’m going to do. I can’t hide from it.”

  With a steadying breath to calm her shaking legs, Zima took her place beside Katerina, and together they turned to face the village. All the wolves, along with Baba Yaga and Ivan, formed a wall behind her, a barrier between the tsar and the magic he intended to steal. He wouldn’t get past them.

  An eerie silence fell. Torches moved toward them in the darkness. A horde of humans from the village had joined the soldiers. At the front of the group rode Tsar Aleksander, his hulking form enlarged by his fur cloak. In the moonlight the angry lines across his forehead and at the corners of his mouth were carved in stark relief. Approaching horse hooves crunched in the snow.

  “How shocking to discover you had gone, my dear beloved bride,” he sneered at Katerina. “It can’t be that you’ve changed your mind. Do you now wish to become a witch?” His eyes slid to Zima, barely hiding his disgust, before returning to Katerina. “You could join me. Together, as tsar and tsaritsa, we would be more powerful than either of us alone.”

  But Katerina ignored him, addressing the villagers behind him instead. “Friends, please, you don’t have to follow the tsar.”

  The villagers murmured among themselves, weighing their fury at the tsar’s threat of execution against their distrust of the forest. One of them called out, “But he said we’d be executed!” and another, “Why are you with the witch?” The villagers’ voices rose, accusing Baba Yaga of bewitching Katerina. “She threatens us all!”

  Katerina shook her head. “She will save us. She already saved me”—she nodded toward Tsar Aleksander—“from him.”

  Nadya’s voice chimed in. “And she saved me.”

  “All this time she has been our guardian, and we’ve feared and hated her,” Katerina said. She looked down at the real Baba Yaga, and then lifted her gaze to Zima. “We should not fear the forest, but we should respect it. It is dangerous, but it is not evil. I now know that it’s an honor to be Baba Yaga, to protect the forest. And I will strive to be worthy of that responsibility.”

  Deep rumbling laughter shook the tsar’s shoulders. He dismounted from his horse and swaggered forward to face Katerina and Zima. “Enough of this. Tell me, witch,” he said, his cold eyes staring at Zima, “how can I stop you from further disrupting my plans?”

  Zima’s heart stopped. If the curse of truth applied to her, she could doom them all.

  He waited, a confident grin gleaming in the moonlight.

  But Zima said nothing. The tsar’s pact with Baba Yaga did not bind her. She was not the true Baba Yaga and she felt no compulsion to answer.

  His smile stiffened, and confusion twitched in the corners of his eyes. But he soon masked any discomfort. “I will give you one last chance,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “Join me, and I will spare the village.”

  Behind him, soldiers moved to the edge of the village, holding their burning torches near the dry wood of the cottages. A wave of fear and horror coursed through the villagers. More soldiers marched toward Baba Yaga’s hut, and one extended his torch to its feet. The flames lashed at its legs.

  Not the hut! The hut had become almost like a friend. He had no right to burn it. A growl escaped her throat.

  Gripping her cane, Zima thrust her palm forward. With a rumble like the earth itself was crying out, the soil beneath the tsar’s feet gave way. Rocks tumbled down into a great cavern below.

  Horses whinnied and villagers screamed. One of the soldiers’ torches fell and ignited the twigs scattered across the ground between drifts of snow.

  “Put it out!” Katerina shouted. Izel and Mrs. Orlova dashed forward, trying to smother the flames with their cloaks. Katerina, Oksana, and Nadya moved to help villagers from the edge of the chasm.

  Zima kept her attention on the crumbling earth, focusing her energy on guiding it toward the soldiers and away from the villagers and wolves. But there was no controlling it. Soil shifted and trees tumbled. She pulled her arm back, severing the flow of magic through her. She collapsed forward, panting.

  Tsar Aleksander was clinging to a ledge, legs scrambling for purchase. He grabbed a root and pulled, hoisting himself up. When he’d regained his footing, he stormed toward one of the soldiers, snatched his torch, and prepared to hurl it at Baba Yaga’s hut.

  But Ivan launched himself at the tsar and grabbed his arm. The tsar was a head taller than Ivan and twice as broad, but Ivan held firm. They struggled against one another. The tsar reached for his sword, but Ivan was faster. He grabbed a jeweled hilt at the tsar’s hip and yanked the dagger out of its sheath.

  The dagger flashed with fire and moonlight. Zima recognized its blood-red rubies and the glitter of gold. With a flick of his wrist Ivan whipped the dagger at the tsar, drawing a slash across his cheek. Blood streamed from the wound.

  The tsar paid no attention to the gash. He had managed to draw his sword at last. With thundering fury he let out a roar and swung his sword in a high arc. Ivan met the tsar’s sword with the dagger, and the blades pressed against one another, each ma
n trying to force the other back.

  All around them, wolves and villagers were swarming toward the soldiers. The snarls of the wolves tore through the air. Grom and Leto crouched on either side of Tsar Aleksander and Ivan, growling. The castle servants brandished kitchen knives. But the villagers and wolves were no match for the soldiers’ swords.

  Zima had to stop this. Now. She closed her eyes. From somewhere deep in her memory came Baba Yaga’s voice, saying that magic couldn’t create or destroy, it could only alter. She grasped her cane, holding the memory in her mind, and began to chant. “Please,” Zima said. “Magic of the forest…hear me. Defeat him….”

  She repeated the words over and over.

  Beside her, Katerina joined in.

  Power thrummed beneath her feet, but nothing was happening. The tsar was gaining an edge on Ivan, pushing him to the ground. Ivan’s dagger slipped and the tsar’s blade clanged against it, thrust within inches of his neck.

  Baba Yaga had said that the forest listened, not just to witches. Zima looked to the wolves bravely facing the soldiers, and to the villagers. “Say the words with me!” she called to them.

  Wolves and humans looked at one another nervously. No one said a word.

  Then Potok began to speak. Magic of the forest…defeat him, he chanted in rhythm with Zima and Katerina.

  Leto joined him.

  And Nadya.

  And then Oksana.

  Soon the clearing was alive with the steady pulse of the magic words.

  They had weapons and fire and songs and stories. But the forest had always been. The forest would always be. The forest would give them the power to defeat the tsar.

  Zima watched the wolves around her, swelling with pride. As her eyes met Grom’s, he too began to chant with the others.