Vasilisa was lost. Every direction she looked in, there were only trees. No way of telling which way the town was. A while back, she would’ve broken down in tears, but her stepmother had already made her shed every tear her eyes could summon. Well, at least someone would be happy that Vasilisa would never return. All in all, no harm done to the world in her being lost.
Her back was beginning to hurt. Before she could sit down, though, she heard the galloping hooves of a horse. Turning around, she saw a white horse approaching her, with a man dressed in white on its back. The rider slowed when he saw her.
“Can I help you?” He asked. “You look lost.”
While Vasilisa had heard all the warnings about not trusting strangers as a child, she really had nothing left to lose. What does a girl who has lost both her parents and endured nothing but suffering at the hands of her stepfamily, care about whether a stranger in the woods might be friendly or not?
“I’m looking for Baba Yaga’s hut,” she replied wearily.
“I know where that is,” said the stranger. “Get on.”
As soon as she pulled herself up, the horse set off in a gallop. Before she realized, they were before a white picket fence made of human bones.
“Well, here we are,” said the man.
Vasilisa got off, but before she could thank him, both the horse and the rider were gone.
The hut stood at a distance on its two chicken feet with its back to her.
“Little hut, little hut,” she called, “turn your back to the forest and your front to me.”
The hut did not move. She called again, leaving out the word “little” just in case the hut had become a teenager.
“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” said a voice.
It was another horseman, this one dressed in red and astride a red horse. Other than the way he spoke and the different color scheme, he was identical to the white horseman. Even the horses looked identical.
“Baba Yaga doesn’t live here anymore,” he said. “The forest was getting too depressing, I believe, so she got a cottage by the sea. Hop on, I’ll take you there.”
“Thank you.” She said in advance this time, climbing onto the horse.
* * *
The cottage was located on a beautiful green hill, overlooking the sea. It had a white picket fence (not made of human bones) and a cobbled path leading from the wooden gate to the main cottage. It was a small, two-storied building, with slanting roofs and a brick chimney. There were many small windows looking over a small garden and vegetable patch. The entire area had an ambiance that made Vasilisa feel truly relaxed after a long time.
There was a whooshing sound. Vasilisa looked up to see a rug flying towards her through the air. Sitting on it was a plump old woman, wearing a flowery dress and carrying a basket.
“What’s this?” Exclaimed the woman, landing the rug on the path. “What brings you to my place?”
“You’re Baba Yaga?” Vasilisa asked in disbelief. The woman looked nothing like the stories said.
“No need to sound so surprised,” snapped the woman. “So I gained some weight. Big deal. “
“Why aren’t you at your house then? Where’s your mortar and pestle? Wh—”
“One question at a time, please.” Baba Yaga said, opening the door of the cottage and heading in. “Yes, I don’t live in the hut anymore. Jolly good, too. I had to sleep in a brick oven in that place. Is that any way to live? Same with the mortar and pestle. That’s no way to fly. All that constant grinding gets to you. No, traded them in for this rug and that shoddy hut for this cottage and the job for a vacation.”
“Being a witch was your job?” Vasilisa asked, following her into the small kitchen. It had a small wooden table and stove.
“No, being a crone was a job, being a witch is who I am.” Baba Yaga answered, placing the basket on the table, “Try some of those, go on. My granddaughters baked them. Clever little things, them.”
“You have grandchildren?” Vasilisa asked, lifting a pastry out of the basket.
“Of course, tons of them.” Baba Yaga answered, picking up a laundry basket, “Anyway, enough about me, what do you want?”
“My stepmother wanted some of your coals.” Vasilisa said, following Baba Yaga back outside.
“I didn’t ask about your stepmother, child,” Baba Yaga said sternly, heading behind the cottage, “what do you want?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Pathetic.” Baba Yaga spat, stopping at a clothesline tied between two trees, where she begun to hang her laundry. “Look at what that woman has done to you. Not even twenty years of age, and your bones are already brittle, your skin is already wrinkled, and your hair is already white with stress. Why, you look more like a crone than I do! Yet you still care about what she wants?”
“She’s… family.”
“Why, because your father married her without even putting five minutes of serious thought into it. As someone with more children than you have fingers on your hand, I can tell you that does not make her family. Now, I’ll ask you a third time. What do you want?”
Vasilisa thought hard. She thought hard about how her stepmother’s beatings had made her permanently cower in the presence of another human. She thought so hard that she stood up straight without realizing it, and her bones no longer hurt.
“I want this,” she said, waving her hands around her, “I want to live like this.”
“Finally.” Smiled Baba Yaga.
“You wouldn’t happen to need a maid, would you?”
“Seriously?” Baba Yaga’s smile faded. “You’d just trade your stepmother for me? Here I was thinking you wanted freedom, but you just want comfort.”
“Freedom?” Asked Vasilisa. “How do I get that?”
“Child, humans have been asking that for millennia, and even if I were willing to discuss all that with you, I couldn’t. Your ride’s here.”
Vasilisa turned. A third horseman had arrived silently, this one black.
“Where will he take me?” she asked fearfully.
“That’s up to you. You could go back to your old life and continue your duties as a daughter for a woman who doesn’t consider you one. I’ll even give you the coals she wants. At least that way, you’ll have a roof over your head. Who knows, maybe one day she might realize the errors of her ways and be an actual mother to you. Or you could go somewhere else. Anywhere else. Start a new life. Start your own life. Do something that you want. Maybe you’ll find a place you belong, or a job that you are good at. You could be independent like me, you could have a family that truly loves you. However, it won’t be easy. There will be no certainty, and you might end up worse off than you are now. You might regret it for the rest of your life.”
Vasilisa thought hard again. She thought about her father had left to go overseas, about how she had waited for him, about how her stepmother had sold their old house and moved them to a new town, and how she had still waited. She thought so hard that her skin stretched, and the wrinkles evened out.
“I might regret it, but it’ll still be my own choice.” She declared.
Baba Yaga smiled silently and pointed to the horseman.
“What about you?” Vasilisa asked. “Are you going to stay here from now on?”
“I wish.” Baba Yaga frowned. “The lease on this place runs out next week. I’ll fly around for a bit, maybe try to relive my youth, but come fall, it’ll be back to the old hut. If you’re thinking of visiting, try next spring. The owner of this place does seasonal contracts.”
“Will do.” Vasilisa smiled, getting up on the horse. “Good luck.”
“Good luck to you too, child.” whispered Baba Yaga.
She watched them ride away, a dark-clothed horseman and a white-haired maiden, and smiled.
Written by. Supravo Rahman
Painting by. Tetyana Yablonska (October)
Supravo Rahman (he/him) is an aspiring writer from Bangladesh. He is currently an undergraduate student at University College London. His writing mostly involves science-fiction and fantasy, of which he is also an avid reader. Besides reading and writing, he also enjoys traveling.
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