5. ITALIA/RUTHENIA 15th Century #12
“Yes, this is a love most pure, most potent, a much greater feast than you have been for me, Hutsul witch,” Baba Yaga cackled. Her voice was as shrill as a screech owl. “These lovers will last me decades—perhaps a hundred years! But first, I shall feast upon you, my sweet cherub.”
Baba Yaga thrice struck the cage of bones on her kitchen floor with her broom, shrieking the entire time; it rattled cacophonously. Inside the magical pen, one spelled to keep anyone entrapped, no matter how gifted or clever, a child and his mother were imprisoned.
The woman was scarcely alive, a shadow of her former self, her mana almost entirely depleted. The boy fared better, still rosy-cheeked but terrified, clinging to the frail figure beside him, though she could offer no protection.
These prisoners were Damek’s mother and brother.
“Now, do not go anywhere while I am away, you two rascals,” the Cannibal Hag chortled menacingly. It was a highly sarcastic comment; she knew they could never escape. “This will not take me long. I promise to bring back some friends for you to play with, little one. Well, until I eat them—or you.”
Dawyd began to cry uncontrollably, screaming for his brother to come save him. The poor boy did not realize that Baba Yaga had cast her Spell of Silence upon the cage of bones; he shouted his heart out, but no sound escaped the walls of his small prison.
With her pestle in one hand and her broom in the other, Baba Yaga jumped into her magical flying mortar and set out from her hut to find and capture the lovers.
Elsewhere in the forest, oblivious to the approaching danger, amid the calm, cool waters of the Temnyi Lis river, the Romani witch and Damek frolicked as they washed away the remnants of their lovemaking.
The Hutsul was the first to emerge from the river, feeling completely waterlogged. As he got dressed again, he watched his lover swim freely, without a care in the world. His own heart remained broken, the loss of his mother and now Dawyd, a wound within him he feared would never heal.
Still, Damek thanked the Great Spirit for gifting him the best remedy for sorrow and despair: finding a love with whom to be his true self. A beautiful soul to share his life with through both the joys and the tragedies.
While the Romani witch continued his water play, Damek strolled among the great oak trees.
Not too far into the woods, he heard distant sounds of branches breaking and leaves rustling.
As the noises grew louder and closer, he began to feel a sense of unease, almost dread.
The pattern of broken branches was happening too quickly for any animal to be considered responsible, as it jumped from tree to tree.
It is as if something is flying through the trees without stopping, crashing through the branches as it barrels forward.
But at Damek’s core, he felt no hawk or host of sparrows was to blame.
Suddenly, Baba Yaga burst forth from the shadows of the dense forest, her imposing figure perched atop her legendary mortar forged from iron. Her nose twitched as she inhaled the rich, earthy scent of the damp woodland air.
Pointing her pestle at Damek, Baba Yaga screeched, “I smell Hutsul blood! Magic blood, blessed by the Great Spirit! It shall be mine. Mine!” She let out a raucous cackle that echoed through the woods, punctuated by a series of snorts.
To protect himself, Damek instinctively reached for his axe, which he had laid against an ancient stump—back at the river.
He cursed his own unpreparedness. Having encountered no dangerous obstacles during the months of fruitless searching, he had too easily let his guard down.
He realized he had no chance at casting a magical defence before the beast was upon him; he lacked the quick, powerful spellwork his lover possessed.
Damek barely had time to panic, for the Cannibal Hag proved unnaturally swift.
She drove her mortar directly at him and battered his skull with her hard wooden pestle, knocking him unconscious.
Before Damek could tumble to the ground, Baba Yaga scooped him up in her long, hairy arms; her limbs possessed uncanny strength.
She then commanded her mortar to turn around, and off she returned to her hut.
“Your lover will come for you, handsome one, and I will be waiting.”
Back at the river, alerted to Baba Yaga’s presence by the mystical warning sigils he had been carving into trees while searching for Dawyd, the Romani witch raced out of the water.
As he quickly dressed, he repeatedly called out for Damek.
To his horror, he was met with silence; his beloved was nowhere to be found.
The Romani witch grabbed one of his pouches upon his belt, which had a small glass vial within.
This was his potion for sight beyond sight , containing ingredients of mugwort, vervain, lavender, rosemary, and the dust of a crushed amethyst. It was nearly depleted, but he had no more need to search for Dawyd; the last of the concoction would be used to locate Damek.
Drinking the foul-tasting elixir, the Romani Witch soon saw an image of Baba Yaga clutching his unconscious love. The vision took him on a journey through the woods, deeper and deeper, until he saw a clearing. There, in the middle of the pasture, was the Cannibal Hag’s hut.
As he was about to be taken past the monstrous bone gate into the very lair of the beast herself, Baba Yaga turned and looked right at him—into his mind’s eye. She snickered and dispelled the vision with a brush of her hand.
The Romani witch then heard a most sinister and shrill voice inside his head.
“ Come for him, witch—if you dare. ”
Fueled by the intense hatred and rage burning inside him, the Romani witch responded in kind: venomously.
“ I dare, bitch. ”
The Romani witch quickly checked to see that all his magical items and weapons were securely attached to his person, and when he was confident they were, he positioned himself in a running stance.
“Celeritas! Veloces haec crura facito!”
Like the wind, the Romani witch took off through the woods in the direction his vision had shown him. When the path was obstructed by fallen trees or thick bramble bushes, he leapt into the air or smashed through them. Nothing would slow him or block his way.
When he finally saw the clearing in the near distance and then the top of Baba Yaga’s hut, he withdrew the power from the spell and slowed his running to a more natural human pace.
When he was at the edge of the treeline, mere footsteps from the clearing, the Romani witch stopped altogether, caught his breath, and stared in shock at the ghastly monstrosity before him.
So it is true—a house upon chicken legs! This is an abomination of magic! A foul mockery of Hecate and Terra’s gifts of witchcraft and nature.
The Romani witch knew he must thoroughly prepare for battle before entering the beast’s diabolical lair. To thwart Abriana’s vision, which foretold his defeat, he had to ensure that his most potent magic was ready and accessible. He needed to carefully consider all possibilities.
From this point on, great-grandmo—no, Abriana! The Romani witch shook his head; he needed to be clear and free from mixed-up thoughts. Through your teachings, Abriana, and my ancient power, my actions shall alter your vision. It must!
Meanwhile, inside Baba Yaga’s hut, Damek lay on the floor, battered, bruised, and bleeding, having suffered defeat at the hands of Baba Yaga, just as Abriana had foreseen.
After regaining consciousness from the head injury which rendered him senseless, the brave Hutsul had quickly become aware of his circumstances, and that he was inside the den of the beast. She had left him propped up against a wall, tossed aside like a child’s forgotten ragdoll.
He had tried to use the power of Zagovory to free himself from the clutches of the monster that abducted him. He stood courageously, invoking the Great Spirit. He cast a charm spell to put the dark witch to sleep; sadly, Damek’s attack had proven utterly ineffective.
His people’s folk magic was never meant for battle; it was protective, healing, and sympathetic, a collection of incantations and charms. A powerful force of passion, but weak compared to Baba Yaga’s dark sorcery.
The core belief behind Zagovory was that spoken words, especially when combined with specific rituals or invocations, could directly influence reality. Only it was meant to happen over time, through ceremony and patience. It was never meant to combat immortals.
Damek was still grappling with the basics of fire control, a far cry from mastering the art of shattering mountains.
Baba Yaga, knowing her latest captive was awake from the moment his eyes opened, had turned and laughed at him. The confrontation between Damek and the Cannibal Hag was over nearly before it began, the victor never truly in doubt in the mind of either combatant.
Still, despite insurmountable odds, Damek was proud that he had been fearless enough to try. Trying in the face of all hopelessness was something he learned from the Romani witch, and he held on to it now for strength and comfort as he waited for either his beloved to save him—or his own death.
Despite believing in his lover’s bravery and power with all his heart, Damek secretly feared that no mortal witch could defeat such a monster.
Suddenly, without any warning, taking Damek out of his troubled thoughts and capturing his full attention, the sturdy wooden door to Baba Yaga’s hut flew off its metal hinges, blown inward by a large object that had crashed into it with tremendous force.
That object was the bone gate.
“I am here, my love.”
Thick plumes of smoke rushed through the open entrance, filling the strange house, a space infinitely larger inside than it looked to be from the outside.
Within the smoke, concealed by its density and darkness, walked the Romani witch, who could see and breathe through the stuffy obfuscation just fine.