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Chapter 26: Wide Open
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2021-09-28 01:34:47Anya's haphazard family ate lunch late that Saturday, the inn beyond the world bustling in preparation for Dmitri's annual noblemen council. Leshys of all types, stout and slender, with ram's horns and boar tusks, bear teeth and wolf skins, laughed heartily over vodka and a roaring fire. Their attendants talked rowdily. The harvest was drawing close, and it was a time for celebration.
Anya's nerves were on edge: her shopping excursion with Morozko was in an hour. It could either go uneventfully or horribly, terribly wrong. She hoped for the former but anticipated the latter.
Morozko gave her a hard look across the oak-hewn dining room table but said nothing. The others finished eating, the table cleared, and it was just the two of them left. Morozko picked at the remnants of his fish while Anya slowly sipped her water.
She cleared her throat: “So. Ahem. Well… I guess we can go n
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She rose from the bed, pulling Morozko hastily after her.Morozko looked at her skeptically. “Have you not any care for caution? For consequences? There are monsters out there, cherti familiars and vucari and nechist waiting to devour you. Do not romanticize travel. It is a dangerous undertaking – getting lost, having your horse broken, your money stolen – everything about it, why, it is treacherous.” Morozko changed out of his kaftan into red jeans and a white cashmere sweater with embroidery of horse-backed Perun and Veles, flanking Mother Mokosh. He turned from Anya to give them privacy.Anya laced her combat boots over her leggings. “Oh please. You said you had a restless heart. Well, your fern flower juice infected me with wanderlust.” Anya zipped her leather jacket. “If you are really so worried, you can be my sidekick. I will promote you to sec
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Morozko nodded. “So you are paying the First Throne a visit, eh?” Baba Yaga clucked. She took a jar of poison dart frog legs swirling in preservative and plopped them into her stew. The hag sampled the concoction and smiled in approval. “That is the idea, yes.” Morozko helped himself to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of vodka. He popped the cork off with his fangs and poured himself a glass. “Can we go to Sparrow Hills?” Anya referenced the steep hill above the Moskava River immortalized by so many Russian poets. “Of course, mooncalf.” Morozko tossed back a shot. The vodka warmed his belly as the liquid found its way to the furnace of his stomach. “Well then, get a move on.” Baba Yaga chuckled, making a dismissive gesture. “Do not keep my witch daughter waiting, soap brains.” She ushered them out onto the porch. “Little hut, little hut, turn your back to Buyan and your f
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