Iridescent lizards the size of Buicks sunned themselves on desert rocks piled one on top of another until it seemed they would reach the sky. Nothing else lived under the cloudless ochre canopy except spiky cacti and a carpet of low-growing red moss that bled orange as she trod across it in her equally spiky boots. She chose yet another path.
Sticky dirty-white threads crisscrossed the dusty passageway. It seemed to be the inside of some ancient dungeon or basement, although not one Baba recognized. The only light came from a far-off corner, where a strange clicking sound heralded the arrival of a gigantic white spider that let off a malevolent glow as if to attract anything foolish enough to seek solace in the dark. Fangs dripped wetly over a gaping maw as the arachnid raced across the room, setting the web to vibrating like a possessed and weeping harp. Baba turned and sped back in the direction she’d come from.
An endless chartreuse forest held no path at all. Only trees, as far as the eye could see, blocking out the dim pseudosun of the realm, and replacing it with gloomy shadows that colored the air with sadness. There were tall trees whose branches creaked and groaned in an unseen wind, and small trees, struggling to survive in the footsteps of their elders, bent and twisted with the effort. Unhealthy-looking mushrooms sprouted from cracks and crevices, pale yellow gills under gray caps spotted with oozing black spores. As she watched, a bird nibbled on one, and let out a horrible shriek, its last breath bubbling out like lava as it died.
“Okay,” Baba said out loud. “That is just about enough of this nonsense.” She swiveled on one heel so fast, the air hummed, her sword thrust forward to catch the tail of a pale string bean of a creature, all bulbous eyes and long nose, as it slid behind the cover of a lurking tree. Chameleon-like, the creature’s coloring changed to match the bark of the tree trunk it had been endeavoring to hide behind, which explained why it had taken her so long to catch a glimpse of the source of her tortuous, meandering route.
Leaving its tail skewered in place, she used the hand not holding her sword to drag the four-foot-tall being out into the open. Its mouth opened and closed like a fish thrown on dry land, but the only sound that came out was an indignant squawk.
“I hope you have more to say for yourself than that,” Baba said grimly, her fingers tightening around the creature’s throat. “After you’ve led me hither and yon for the last hour, I’m not in the mood for excuses. Who are you, and why have you been hiding the path to the palace from me?” She shook him briskly, to further emphasize how very out of patience she was.
Eyes wide, the creature said in a hoarse squeak, “Not my fault, Baba Yaga! Not my fault! Rusalka made me hide path from Baba Yaga! Told me to! Told me to!”
Baba scowled down at him. She was pretty sure it was a him anyway, although she wasn’t going to look closely enough to find out for sure. “What do you mean, a Rusalka told you to lead me astray?”
The Rusalkas were water nymphs with bad reputations and worse habits. In the Old Country, they’d been known for luring young men to their deaths by disguising themselves as beautiful maidens, then drowning any man foolish enough to follow them back to their streams. Occasionally, they killed children as well, back in the days when wee ones were sent out to gather wood or herbs without someone older to watch over them.
Now that almost all the mythic creatures had been restricted to the Otherworld, Rusalkas were simply beings out of stories told around the fire on cold winter nights. They had no power in the human world, and little enough left here.
“Why would a Rusalka care where I go?” Baba asked the squirming manikin. “And why would you do what she said? Water nymphs have no right to command the likes of you.”
The weedy little skulker whined and moaned, clutching at its tail with one six-fingered hand. Its fingers were long and the undersides were covered with tiny suckers; clearly its natural environment was a far wetter place than this forest. “This one different,” it insisted. “This Rusalka strong and powerful. Very angry about what Humans do to water in the mundane lands. Makes water creatures like Rusalka weak and sick on this side. She no like being weak. Has many friends. Drinks their magic like wine. Trades for it. Many, many friends.”
“Who?” Baba demanded. “What friends?”
“Don’t know!” the creature said in a low voice, bulging eyes glazed with what looked to Baba like genuine fear. “Don’t care! Rusalka scary. She say do, I do.”
Baba pulled her sword loose with a moist snick and held it under the creature’s lengthy nose. “I am a lot scarier than any Rusalka,” she said with quiet threat. “I suggest you stop messing with me and run away to hide until this is over.” The creature whimpered and wrapped both narrow hands around its punctured tail.
“Sorry, Baba Yaga,” it whispered, and took off into the woods, disappearing as soon as its skin changed color again.
“You might be sorry,” Baba muttered as she set off down the path, clearly visible now that the creature’s subtle magic no longer disguised it. “But that damned Rusalka is going to be a lot sorrier.”