Master Apprentice
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The Death of Koshchei the Deathless
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Archive: MA and my site, Mom's Kitchen (www.squidge.org/~foxsden)
Category: Humor, AU. A Russian folk-tale.
Pairing: Um... Pretend it's Q/O
Rating: R or thereabouts
Summary: Read the title! Duh! (But this is NOT a death story.)
Disclaimer: What, you think I own these guys? Do I even look like George Lucas? If this is not what you expected, please alter your expectations. No such thing as random coincidence. No such thing as too much lubricant.
Warning: Silliness, Strangeness and Solipsism.
Series: Nah.
Notes: I like fairy tales (or folk tales), but I prefer the older stories that were not exactly for children. This particular story is stolen from various places: Terri Windling's fabulous essays on Koschei the Deathless and Red Riding Hood (both found in her 'Folkroots' column in Realms of Fantasy magazine), Gene Wolfe's The Death of Koshchei the Deathless (A Tale of Old Russia), dozens upon dozens of internet sites (each one featuring a different spelling of the old fart's name) and my own twisted imagination. The characters and situations purely lent themselves to the TPM universe, so I found I couldn't not write it. Thank you, Camille, for the beta work. Those interested in the symbolism of it all, write me, and I'll be glad to explain (as best I can, anyway!). Dedicated to my hard-working betas, who are, even now, slogging through YetAnotherSaga(tm). Thank you, my dears.
"So," said Baba Yaga, "Know about Koshchei the Deathless you would?"
The eager young boy at the big green feet of Baba Yaga nodded eagerly, as eagerly as he could nod.
"What everyone knows I can tell you, or truth I can tell you. Remember," Baba Yaga added as he took a breath to speak, "careful you must be in what you wish for."
He frowned prettily in thought for a moment -- you could see the smoke, like yet unlike that from Baba Yaga's pipe, come from his ears -- then finally nodded. "The truth, Baba Yaga, if you please."
"Polite boy you are," Baba Yaga murmured, taking another hit. The hut in which they sat rocked as its legs shifted. "Pity it is about your brains."
Koshchei the Deathless was a huge, gigantic creature. Some say he was ten foot three. Others say no, he was only eight foot six. Still others said he was six foot four, and that was probably closer to the truth. He was reputed to be a walking skeleton carrying a huge iron staff and wearing a long, loose, brown hooded robe. The latter part was correct, at least.
When Koshchei the Deathless was younger -- and yes, even immortals can be younger -- he had taken a boy named Ivan as his apprentice. Now, Ivan was as beautiful a boy as you could ever ask for. Eyes like the stormy sea, hair like copper cauldrons, a body that was made for more than just learning. Even so, Ivan was well on his way to learning all he could from Koshchei the Deathless, for he studied very hard and did very well on all his studies.
Ivan, however, had three sisters. He was the eldest boy -- the only boy -- of his house and when his father and mother lay on their deathbeds, they called to him to come, which he did, being a dutiful as well as beautiful boy. Because he would be the head of the household now, they told him he had to see to the marriage of his three sisters before he could do anything else, especially training under a ten foot, three inch sorcerer with the name of Koshchei the Deathless.
So, poor Ivan had to give up his studies and stay at the old homestead to find suitable suitors for his sisters, Marya, Olga and Anna. Unfortunately for Ivan, his sisters were three of the homeliest women you would ever see, with faces not unlike lumpy pudding that has sat too long on the table. In order to find them suitable husbands, Ivan knew would have to take some extraordinary measures.
But he was a clever boy as well as dutiful, and he remembered all that his teacher had taught him. So he set his nets, and one day, sure enough, he captured a falcon, in the form of a Duke from Prussia who was as wealthy as he was disgusting. He was unmarried, though, and that was the prime consideration.
"I have a sister named Marya," Ivan began diffidently, though it was difficult to talk to a man who was hanging upside down, trapped in a net. "Perhaps you'd care to meet her?'
"Get me down from here!" the Duke demanded, though with that heavy accent, who knows what he really said? It could have just as easily been, "Nice day, what?" or even, "Yes, I'd love to meet your sister."
Hoping it was the latter, Ivan dragged his sister Marya from the house and presented her to the Duke. Upon her first glimpse of her intended, Marya screeched even louder than the falcon and, breaking away from Ivan's hold on her, escaped back to the house. The duke fared about as well, and found out how gruesome it is to vomit while hanging upside down in a net.
"Perhaps I should let you rest," Ivan said. He was always a polite boy. "You don't look so very good."
By the time the duke had rested, he was ready to negotiate, which suited Ivan fine. He had learned all about the art of negotiation in his studies, for Koshchei the Deathless, while not having any need for the art in his normal day-to-day living, nonetheless understood it's efficacy among normal humans. After prolonged negotiations, where Ivan had to guess what the Duke was saying, at least part of the time, they had come to a standstill. The Duke had finally conceded that he could marry Marya -- he needed someone new to beat, after all -- but the dowry was the sticking point. Basically, the Duke wanted far more than Ivan had, even if he sold the old homestead. The Duke, while willing to marry, nevertheless could not marry without an acceptable dowry, it Just Wasn't Done.
Ivan worked the puzzle from all sides, until something the Duke had said to him earlier -- a sly offer to switch Ivan for his sister -- gave him an idea. He turned to his captive and said, "I will accede to your demands, Duke, but since I do not have the money readily at hand, I must give you a promissory note. Will that satisfy?"
"I will need a token as well," the Duke said. The poor man was very tired of hanging upside down.
"I can do that," Ivan replied. He cut the Duke down and hurried into his home. When he returned, he had Marya over one shoulder and a silver spoon in his hand. "This is an heirloom of my house, one that I cannot part with, since it is magical. I am willing to give it to you, however, as a promissory note to the dowry, in the amount agreed upon, but must have it back once the dowry is satisfied."
The Duke grunted in what seemed to be acceptance, so Ivan handed over the spoon, tossed a bound and gagged Marya behind the pommel of the duke's horse, and watched them both disappear with a sense of profound satisfaction.
One down, two to go. Ivan set his nets.
The next time he caught something, it was an eagle, in the form of a petty king of Poland who had been stupid enough to have been caught in a net of all things. It wasn't like it was very hidden, after all. But this King, he was so stupid that he didn't even know what he was caught in. Ivan was very happy to discover that, because when he presented his second sister, Olga, the two of them fell right in love. Or as close to it as was possible for two such ugly, stupid people.
Here is wisdom -- being royal does nothing to increase your intelligence quotient.
So happy they seemed that Ivan was surprised the King wouldn't simply leave with Olga as his bride. But he, too, demanded a dowry; after all, a king can hardly marry a commoner without a dowry, it simply Wasn't Done. And since he was a king, the dowry had to be pretty spectacular, and way outside poor Ivan's budget.
After giving it some thought, he figured he might as well try the same thing with the king as he did with the duke, and offered a promissory note and a token -- a silver fork from the same collection as the spoon. The King accepted and rode off with the fork and Olga, and Ivan, instead of being happy he had two down and one to go, was left wondering how long it was going to take him to earn two such enormous dowries.
The last suitor to be caught was a raven from Hungary, and he was almost a no-show. Ivan had to learn how to hide his traps better in order to catch the Earl, who, while not being actually ugly,was far too calculating and sly to be handsome. Ivan had a feeling this one was going to present problems, and sure enough, he did.
The Earl must have already been talking to the Duke and the King, for the dowry he asked for was significantly larger than his status would indicate. When Ivan protested, the Earl made the same offer as the Duke had, to trade Ivan's sister for Ivan himself. Since the Earl was at least as slimy as the Duke had been, Ivan had no problem turning him down. But it did confirm to him that he would be able to raise the money, eventually. Ah, well... what good was virginity anyway?
So, he pulled the last piece from his inheritance, an enchanted silver snuffbox, and offered it as the promissory note to the obscenely large dowry. The Earl took it with a show of reluctance which was probably flattering, but which merely cemented Ivan's idea. And almost before he knew it, Anna was married off and he was free. After a fashion. For now, he needed to find a way to raise the money for three ridiculously large dowries, and as soon as possible. Ivan felt the need to go back to his studies, and wondered how Koshchei the Deathless was getting along in without him. Oh, certainly, Koshchei the Deathless was a powerful sorcerer, and needn't fear anything, but he made a terrible cup of cha and had no idea how to bake a decent loaf.
He sold the old homestead, which fetched only a paltry sum, and put that money towards clothing, knowing he'd have to look his best. Then he headed out on the road to Paris.
It was a long trek from old Mother Russia to Paris, and on the way, he came to a fork in the road. Both paths led to Paris. He was told this by an old man, a long, lean man with shaggy hair, who stood at the crossroads. "The right is the path of pins, and the left is the path of needles, sonny boy," the old man said. "You have to decide which one to take. One or the other, no passes, no refunds."
"They both go to Paris?" Ivan asked, stalling for time.
The old man nodded and grinned. With one hand, he picked at his teeth, and Ivan noticed how long and sharp his nails looked. "One or the other, sonny boy."
With a heavy sigh, knowing it wouldn't be all that bad, Ivan went left and took the path of needles.
Some time later, Koshchei the Deathless (the story is about him, after all) was feeling lonely. It was difficult to be a sorcerer demon in those days, people really couldn't seem to get past his propensity for destruction and mayhem. Plus, he missed his apprentice, Ivan, and wondered why he hadn't returned to his studies.
Truth be told, Koshchei the Deathless wasn't so much lonely as he was missing his little student. He had grown fond of the boy and the way he liked to bend over the table on which his homework was scattered, presenting his perfect backside for examination.
Here is more wisdom: make your move today, for tomorrow, you might not have any moves to make.
Finally tiring of feeling sorry for himself, Koshchei the Deathless decided to leave his home and go to Ivan's, intending on dragging the boy back, if necessary. Of course, when he got there, he found it under new management as gymnastics camp for wealthy royalty from Moscow. Confused, he asked the proprietor what had happened to Ivan, and once that worthy recovered from her swoon, she said she had bought it from a young man who had just married off his sisters and moved to Paris.
Puzzled over why Ivan would have moved to Paris instead of coming back to complete his studies, Koshchei the Deathless decided to go to Paris himself and ask. Surely, studying to be a sorcerer was more interesting than anything found in Paris. Surely, Ivan would want to return to Koshchei the Deathless's home and pass his finals.
Setting out on the road to Paris, it wasn't long before Koshchei the Deathless happened upon that same crossroads, and upon the man who stood at the crossroads. He was an old man with very shaggy hair and a pronounced nose, even more so than the one Koshchei the Deathless had, which was very large and rather strangely shaped, for a sorcerer.
"I am looking for a former student of mine," Koshchei the Deathless said to the man, and described Ivan as best he could.
The old man nodded and grinned, showing teeth which were extremely pronounced and very sharp-looking, for a human's. "Aye, I remember him. He took the path of needles."
Koshchei the Deathless reared back in shock. Surely not. "Surely not," he said. "Perhaps you are mistaken," he added.
"Pretty boy like that? Not likely." The old man scratched at his waist under his long coat, and Koshchei the Deathless saw he was wearing a woman's nightgown. "Sonny boy took the path of needles."
"Impossible." And yet the old man seemed so sure. "I will hunt for him along the path of pins first, for I know Ivan, and the Ivan who was my student would never have taken the path of needles."
The old man shrugged. "Suit yourself. No passes, no refunds."
Thoughtfully, Koshchei the Deathless walked down the path of pins towards Paris.
Paris was a very strange place for Koshchei the Deathless. First, no one was afraid of him there. Second, he found things to be afraid of himself, which was quite worrisome. Paris was not Mother Russia, and the people there were not the same as those he had left behind.
On the path of pins, Koshchei the Deathless hunted universities and haunted salons, always questing after his student, Ivan. He was often questioned himself, seriously in the universities and frivolously in the salons, and sometimes vice versa. Those who lived in Paris wanted to know why he was so tall, who had he killed, what degrees he held, and what had happened to his nose. Koshchei the Deathless was nonplussed by the attention, though he hoped it would, in the long run, help him find Ivan.
Finally, in one of the salons, a strange little man who would not reveal his name told Koshchei the Deathless that yes, he had seen Ivan, in fact, he had had Ivan. "Expensive he is, too," the strange little man added, "but worth it. You'll find him on the path of needles, off the Rue Pigalle."
Saddened, Koshchei the Deathless made to leave Paris. The student he had known so well, the boy he had trained, seemed to have decided to grow up far too fast by taking the path of needles. As he walked back towards Mother Russia, he came once again to the crossroads, and there he stopped. He stood still at the crossroads for a night and a day, thinking hard. The old man who stood at the crossroads was there too, and finally, Koshchei the Deathless turned to him.
"You were right," he said to the hairy old man.
"I know," the man said. "I am just a bzou, not a teller of fortunes."
"I thought to go home, to leave him to what he has decided to be," Koshchei the Deathless said slowly, still thinking. "But perhaps I will walk the path of needles, at least once, to see why he would have changed so much from the boy I knew."
"As you wish," the bzou said. "No refunds, no passes."
So Koshchei the Deathless walked the path of needles and found it was not so much different from the path of pins. The people even seemed the same, though the salons had a much stronger smell of blood than those from the path of pins. He found Ivan easily enough, and learned that to meet with him he would have to wait a week, for Ivan was booked solid. Also, because Ivan was so popular, Koshchei the Deathless would have to pay in advance. Looking at the money he carried, Koshchei the Deathless realized it was sufficient, and went to sign up.
After some more thought, he did not use his real name, for it was a rather uncommon one and he would prefer Ivan not know who he was. After even more thought, he purchased for himself a half-mask that would hide his eyes and his nose, the two most unique things about him (other than his name and his height).
At the appointed day and hour, he was told to go to a certain salon and wait in a certain room. Neither his mask nor his robe caused any curiosity, something else that he found vaguely unsettling. Paris was simply too jaded, too cynical to have the proper reverence for and fear of a demon sorcerer, and he didn't know what to do about that, if anything. Mother Russia was far preferable.
He had just settled himself on a comfortable divan in the appointed room when Ivan walked in. It was something of a shock for Koshchei the Deathless to see Ivan -- the callow youth who had left to go home to care for his dying parents had become an incredibly handsome man, wearing fine silken and leather clothing that matched and complimented his coloring. His shirt had a large, silver needle on one sleeve, definitively answering the question of what he had become. Once he had gotten past his surprise, Koshchei the Deathless watched his erstwhile apprentice as that apprentice took a seat opposite him, trying to discern if there were other changes not so easily noticed.
Ivan bowed to him before seating. "You may doff your cloak if you wish, M'sieu." His French was as good if not better than Koshchei the Deathless', though his Russian accent was evident.
"Perhaps, in time," Koshchei the Deathless replied, in his own accented French.
Ivan frowned. "You are Russian?"
"Yes. You are as well."
"Yes." Ivan was still frowning at Koshchei the Deathless. "You remind me of someone."
"As do you." Koshchei the Deathless let Ivan wonder in silence for a moment before he continued. "How is it that a son of Mother Russia took the path of needles to Paris?"
"It is a long story," Ivan said, still frowning. "I have three sisters who were in need of marriage, and no dowry to ensure they were. This is the fastest way to get the dowries for them so I can return to Mother Russia and continue what I would rather be doing."
"And what is that?"
"Learning from my master."
"Who is your master?"
"My master is Koshchei the Deathless," Ivan replied, then he nodded and his furrowed brow cleared. "As you are." Such a smart boy he was.
"Yes."
They continued to stare at each other for some time, then Ivan spoke again. "How is it that you are here and not in Mother Russia?"
"I found myself missing my student, and sought for him," Koshchei the Deathless said. "I was surprised and dismayed to learn he had taken the path of needles, and decided to find out why."
"I have nearly made enough money for the dowries," Ivan said. "Soon, I will be able to pay my debts and retrieve my tokens. Then I would return to you for further instruction -- if you would still have me."
Koshchei the Deathless watched his student through his mask and thought. Finally, he said, "I would have you as my student again."
"That is of comfort to me, Master," Ivan said humbly. He always was a polite boy. "While I have learned much from the path of needles, there is still so much you could teach me."
"I believe there is much you could teach me as well."
Another grain of wisdom lies in this: a master learns as much from the student as the student learns from the master. If this does not happen, then the master has failed the student, not vice versa.
"I could start that lesson now, if you wish," Ivan said, glancing up. "You have paid for my time, and so you should have it."
"What is it you have you learned along the path of needles?" Koshchei the Deathless asked.
"First, you must remove your mask," Ivan replied.
Koshchei the Deathless removed the half-mask from his face. "Where shall I put it?"
"Put it in the fire, for you will have no further use of it." Ivan watched as his teacher did just that. "You must also remove your cloak and your clothing. There are hooks on the wall for that."
In short order, Koshchei the Deathless was naked. When he turned around from stacking his clothing, he found Ivan naked as well. "Now," Ivan said, taking Koshchei the Deathless by the hand and leading him to the bed, "I will teach you what I have learned on the path of needles."
Ivan had indeed learned much along the path of needles. He had learned how to give pleasure to a man so that he would think to die from it. He had learned the places on a man's body that, when pressed, would send fire up his spine. He had learned about that tiny patch of skin that lies behind a man's testicles and two thousand different ways to touch it, each of them more pleasurable than the last. He was well-versed in entering and being entered, as well as sucking, kissing, licking, biting and bruising. By the time he had demonstrated these skills to Koshchei the Deathless, Koshchei the Deathless had died what the French call the little death four times, which was a significant number even for a demon sorcerer.
"You are very adept," Koshchei the Deathless gasped as the little death took him for the fourth time. He felt Ivan inside him and longed to keep him there.
"I still have much to learn," Ivan panted as his own little death overtook him.
"Perhaps when you are finished on the path of needles and have returned to me, you can show me what you will learn between now and then."
Ivan sagged to Koshchei the Deathless' chest, their mingled sweat and seed cementing him there. "I shall endeavor to do so, Master."
When the time appointed Koshchei the Deathless with Ivan had run out, they reluctantly parted. "I will look for you on the road from Paris, my student," Koshchei the Deathless said as they parted.
"It would be made all the quicker if you would grant me a boon, my teacher," Ivan said. "As I said, I have nearly enough money now for all three dowries. On the road from Paris to Mother Russia lies the realm of the Duchy of Falconstein, the duke who has married my sister Marya. If you could take to him the dowry and claim the silver spoon, it would hasten my time here."
"I will do that, and gladly," said Koshchei the Deathless. He was feeling very mellow and, surprisingly enough, his fondness for his student had only grown in their time together. "I look forward to you joining me once again, Ivan."
Ivan bowed very low, then kissed Koshchei the Deathless' hand. "I will come with all speed."
The next day, Koshchei the Deathless once again reached the crossroads, where the bzou still stood. "I have found my student, and will now return to my home to await him," Koshchei the Deathless told the bzou.
"Lucky you," the bzou replied. "I await my destiny still. Have you seen a young woman in red?"
"No," Koshchei the Deathless replied. "But should I do so, I will send her to you."
"You are kind," the bzou replied.
"No, I am not, but I find I am too lighthearted to cause even a bzou pain," Koshchei the Deathless replied. As he continued on with his journey, he began to whistle.
Now, as it passed, Ivan finally earned the last of the money he needed to pay the dowries, and a bit more besides, just in case. He always was a wise boy as well as polite. He took leave of Paris without a backwards thought and hurried down the road. His first stop was Hungary and the Earl, to collect the silver snuffbox.
To his surprise, his sister Anna was still alive and still married to the Earl. They greeted Ivan with enthusiasm and not a little relief, for, as it turned out, the Earl had managed to lose most of his money on a shipping scheme and the dowry was well-timed. Ivan collected the snuffbox, declined the invitation to stay, and continued on his way -- north, this time, to Poland.
Along the way, he heard stories of a warrior-woman from Prussia who was making her mark on much of Europe. Having no desire to meet any warriors -- female or otherwise -- Ivan steered clear and finally made it to Poland.
His sister Olga was still married to the petty king, and they, too, greeted Ivan with enthusiasm. The warrior-woman had been of considerable worry to them, and they welcomed the money Ivan brought with more gratitude than Ivan. He picked up the silver fork and, eschewing their hospitality, departed within a day for Mother Russia.
He didn't travel far, though, before he came across the ruins the warrior-woman had left in her wake. From the few survivors, Ivan learned that her name was Marya Morevna, which gave him pause -- it was his sister's name. He was willing to toss it off as a bizarre coincidence until he saw the sigil under which she rode -- a red falcon.
This did not bode well.
Before he could make up his mind as to what to do, he was captured by Marya Morevna's forces and brought before her, hogtied not unlike what he had done to her before her marriage. He was forced to kneel at her feet, and he gaped to see his ugly sister made even more ugly by the terrible and dissipated expression on her face.
No, this did not bode well at all.
"Marya?"
"Hello, brother," Marya said.
"What has happened to you?" he asked, trying to make himself more comfortable. The silks and leathers he wore were more for show than comfort, and he'd discovered being tied up in them was not particularly comfortable.
"You happened to me, brother," Marya Morevna replied to his query. "You tied me up, gagged me, and tossed me over a horse's saddle like so much potatoes. After that, I was taken to a perfectly horrid place and married to a perfectly horrid man. Luckily for me, I learn fast, and was able to take his place when he suffered an untimely death."
"He died?"
"Yes, he drowned because he could not swim while tied up." Marya Morevna looked sternly at her brother. "Tell me why I should not see if you can swim while tied up as well."
Obviously, Marya Morevna had not forgiven her brother for what he had done with her. "Because I am your brother?" Ivan said, aware that it was a weak defense. "I am sorry that you were unhappy in your marriage, but I did only the best I could, and, in fact, it was what our parents directed. And I ask you to look at your station now, and decide if you are not happier here than at the farm, all alone and penniless."
The wisdom here is quite painfully obvious, and begins with 'do unto others...'
Luckily for Ivan, Marya's brains had not surpassed his own during her rapid rise, and so she had to concede the point. "That is fine, then, I will send you with guards back to the Duchy. Once I have finished this campaign, I'm sure I'll be able to find someone horrible to marry you off to."
That prospect didn't bode well either. Ivan promised himself that he would keep his eyes open and try to escape by any means possible.
The first thing he noticed was that Marya Morevna did not mention the dowry which should have arrived with Koshchei the Deathless at least a month before. The second thing he noticed was that the silver spoon was calling to the fork and snuffbox, as that was part of their enchantment. And the spoon appeared to be somewhere in the castle of the erstwhile Duke of Falconstein.
Before she rode off to war again, Marya Morevna gave Ivan the keys to the castle. "You may have the run of the place, my brother, save for the west tower. Do not go there upon pain of death. Also, do not forget yourself and try to leave, for my arm is long and I will find you."
Ivan considered her words well as he watched her disappear into a cloud of dust. He hadn't known that his sister could be so bloodthirsty, and wondered if she were telling the whole truth. He wondered that for all of five minutes before climbing the stairs of the west tower and opening the locked door with a simple spell.
He blinked at the man who was suspended by chains to the middle of the wall. "I thought to find you here."
Koshchei the Deathless looked pretty bad off for an immortal, even for a demon sorcerer. He opened his mouth but couldn't speak, his tongue was so dry, so Ivan fetched a pail of water and, after releasing him, fed him sips at a time until he recovered. "Your sister is a formidable woman," he croaked once he could speak again.
"So I have come to realize," Ivan replied. "I think we should just leave, and hope to outrun her -- after all, she's at war somewhere far from here."
"We would not be able to," Koshchei the Deathless said. "She rides one of the horses raised by Baba Yaga, and they are the fastest in all the lands -- I recognized the bloodline as she was running me down for capture. We could try to run the requisite three times, and she would catch us each time. Even if she returns a year and a day from the time we left, she would still catch us."
"Well, that is a pretty good riddle," Ivan said, as he paced the floor. "If she uses one of Baba Yaga's horses, then perhaps we should go to her and see if Baba Yaga will give us one that is faster."
"Baba Yaga will not speak to me," Koshchei the Deathless said, mournfully. "I keep my death hidden from her and will not tell her where it is, so she is jealous."
"Then I will go," Ivan said. "Can you direct me to Baba Yaga's lands?"
Koshchei the Deathless gave Ivan strict directions to Baba Yaga's lands, warning him about the fiery river and the many beasts he would encounter along the way. It was a long way to Baba Yaga's, but Koshchei the Deathless said he had faith in Ivan. "I have taught you well, and you will have no problems."
Ivan kissed his teacher's hand and handed him the fork and the snuffbox. "When these are with the spoon, you will know how I fare," Ivan told him. "I will be back soon."
Telling the palace staff that he was going out to get his sister a gift, Ivan mounted a horse and rode towards Baba Yaga's hut.
Ivan found many adventures on his way to Baba Yaga's lands, but that was mostly his own fault. He under-estimated the distance by an order of magnitude, which left him very hungry and thirsty, as he took with him no food or drink. Every time he stopped to kill some game or gather a snack, he would be dissuaded from doing so by the most remarkable circumstances. Talking beasts of all types accosted him and promised to come to his aid should he need it, and though Ivan wondered just how he could find a need for a talking animal (aside from dinner), he dutifully filed the information away.
Because of the directions Koshchei the Deathless had given him, Ivan knew that Baba Yaga's hut could be anywhere within a mile of her lands, since it was on chicken legs and moved under its own volition. Considering he had never seen a hut with legs before, he figured it would be a fairly simple thing to find -- the shock value alone would see to that. Unfortunately, by the time the hut finally came into view, dancing along the side of a river, Ivan was on foot, since his horse had died some time back.
He walked to within kicking distance of the house and halooed in the manner of the boyar,because he was nothing if not polite. He did, however, have to do it several times before the door opened and Baba Yaga stuck her green head out.
"Bother my nap, you do!"
Ivan bowed very low. "I am sorry, Baba Yaga, I did not know you were napping. I will sit and wait for your nap to be over, so that I do not bother you further."
"Polite boy you are," Baba Yaga said. She had large eyes which she slitted as she looked at him. "Pretty, you are too. Why come you to Baba Yaga?"
"I thought to ask you a favor, Baba Yaga, for some work that I could do for you." Koshchei the Deathless had forewarned him that Baba Yaga would require something from him and that he should be careful what he agreed to. "For I am in sore need of a fast horse, and yours are the fastest in the world."
And yet more wisdom: when you are asking something of someone who might not be inclined to give it to you, it pays to be extra polite and respectful. Even if you cannot stand the person involved.
"Fast they are, yes," Baba Yaga replied. "But smell I do Koshchei the Deathless on you, so wonder, I do, about your real reason for coming."
"Koshchei the Deathless has been my teacher, until recently," Ivan said, automatically assuming that Baba Yaga would have the wherewithal to tell if he were lying. "So, although the horse would benefit me, it would also benefit him, as we are both threatened by my sister, Marya Morevna."
"Ahhh, Marya Morevna." Baba Yaga produced a long-stemmed, lit pipe from somewhere and popped one end in her mouth -- the lit end. "Very well, come inside you will." She snapped her fingers and the hut stopped dancing and subsided, lower to the ground so that Ivan could enter it. He did so, with no small amount of trepidation.
Inside the hut, it was dim and smoky. Some of it was, no doubt, due to the small fire in the fireplace (he had not seen any chimney outside), and some was due to the pipe in Baba Yaga's mouth. To his surprise, she kept switching between sucking on the stem and the bowl, though no matter which part was in her mouth, the smoke came out of her ears. "Sit, sit," Baba Yaga told him, pointing him to a chair. "Tell me your story, you will. If entertain me you do, then a boon will I grant."
Ivan blinked. He had never thought of himself as a storyteller, and hoped he could manage to tell it coherently. A cat appeared and brushed against his ankles as he began.
When he had finished, Ivan looked up and realized that Baba Yaga hadn't moved in the hours he had taken to tell his story. She had continued to puff her pipe and to blink slowly as she stared at Ivan, but that was about it. "Interesting story you have," Baba Yaga said in a gravelly voice. "Made an enemy of your sister, you have; not wise that was."
"I realize that now," Ivan admitted. "And I am sorry for marrying her to the Duke, but I honestly didn't know any better. All I really want to do now is to return to my studies, with my teacher, and live in peace."
"Bah, Koshchei the Deathless," Baba Yaga muttered. "At odds we have been, too rebellious he is. Too stubborn. Need that stubbornness you do not."
Ivan swallowed and nodded. "I would live with him still," he said. "We wouldn't bother anyone, I swear."
"Know that I do," Baba Yaga said, nodding. "Very well. Horse I will give you, for you and your teacher to use. Two conditions I have, though."
Holding his breath, Ivan leaned forward as Baba Yaga continued. "Kill your sister, you must not. Give you, I will, something that should help. And tell me, you must, where Koshchei the Deathless keeps his death."
Ivan blinked. "You would just know where he keeps it?" he asked.
"Yes, yes, just where." Baba Yaga puffed furiously on her pipe and the smoke poured from her ears. "Speak my name and give the location; hear you I will."
Honestly not seeing any other way out of his predicament, Ivan agreed, hoping that Koshchei the Deathless wouldn't be too angry with him.
The horse Baba Yaga lent him was huge and his back was large enough to serve as a table. The horse moved so fast that almost before he had left Baba Yaga's hut, he was arriving in the Duchy of Falconstein.
Koshchei the Deathless was overjoyed to see him, and immediately vaulted on the horse's back, behind Ivan. "Your sister's army approaches; we must hurry," he said in Ivan's ear.
The horse flew like the wind and soon they were outside Koshchei the Deathless' mountain fortress, only to have a nasty shock -- Marya Morevna had anticipated them and was on her horse before the gates. "I thought to find you here," she said, frowning at her brother. "I thought I told you not to go into the west tower, or even to leave, and yet here you are."
"My sister, I am sorry for what I have done to you, but Koshchei the Deathless is my lover as well as my teacher. We would live here together, in peace, and do no harm to anyone."
"And what about me?" Marya Morevna cried. "You have taken my destiny from me, and now I have nothing!"
Before Ivan could speak again, Koshchei the Deathless, who had been looking into a pack from Baba Yaga that Ivan carried, spoke up. "I think, perhaps, your destiny awaits you, Marya Morevna."
She frowned at him and fingered the sword at her side. "What do you mean?"
"You should take the road that leads to Paris," Koshchei the Deathless said. "Leave off your leathers and your steels, and wear something more suitable. Your destiny will find you."
"I don't have anything more suitable!" she said. "All I have left is blood-stained battle clothing."
"Baba Yaga gave me something to give you," Ivan said, discerning his teacher's intent. "It is here, in this pack. My teacher is very wise, Marya, I would do as he suggests."
"Baba Yaga gave it to you?" she said, riding closer to them. Ivan handed her the pack and she reached into it, pulling out a beautiful wine-red hat and cloak. There was a dress to go along with it, in a deeper shade of red. "Oh! They are beautiful."
Ivan smiled. "Good! Take them and good luck to you, my sister. I hope you will find your destiny."
As Marya Morevna rode off, Ivan and Koshchei the Deathless dismounted. Ivan patted the horse on his rump and sent him back to Baba Yaga. "There is the first half of what I owe her," he muttered, and Koshchei the Deathless frowned.
"What else did she ask of you, Ivan?" he asked.
"She asked me to find out where you keep your death." Ivan looked down. "She said she only wanted to know."
"She will use it against me," Koshchei the Deathless said. "But if you don't tell her, she'll take you from me, and that is not to be tolerated either."
"Where do you keep it?" Ivan asked.
"Come with me," Koshchei the Deathless said. They went into the demon sorcerer's keep and he led them down into the very bowels of the mountain around which the keep was built. There, under the roots of a tree that grew near the walls outside, was a chest. "In the chest is a hare, and in the hare, a duck. Inside the duck is an egg, and in the egg is a needle, which is my life. If the egg were broken, the needle would break and my life would end."
Ivan frowned in thought as he listened to Koshchei the Deathless' words. After a moment's consideration, he looked up into his teacher's eyes. "Bring the thing to me," he said, careful not to say it out loud where Baba Yaga might hear him. "I am going to the kitchens to put on water for cha."
Ivan dashed upstairs and by the time Koshchei the Deathless brought him the egg, he had a pot boiling merrily. He poured water for two cups of cha and then, taking the egg from Koshchei the Deathless, dropped it into the boiling water. "Hey!" Koshchei the Deathless said, his jaw dropping.
"Just wait," Ivan said. He kissed his teacher. "Just wait."
Five minutes later, Ivan poured the boiling water out and ran cold water over the egg to cool it. "Now, the egg can't be broken, because it is hard-boiled." With a smile, he handed it to his teacher. "Perhaps we can get some lacquer for it, and put designs on it, and leave it on the mantle-piece for a show. No one could think to look there."
Koshchei the Deathless blinked in astonishment. "You are a far wiser man than I, Ivan," he said, a slow smile breaking across his face.
"Now, I can say, out loud so that Baba Yaga may hear me, that your death was a needle in an egg, which was in a duck, which was in a rabbit, which was in a cask under the roots of the great oak tree outside the keep. And as such, my oath is discharged."
With a wide smile, Koshchei the Deathless put his hard-boiled life next to the sink and hugged his student hard. Ivan gave as well as he got and the two of them laughed like children.
"I think I'll change my name," Koshchei the Deathless said. "And perhaps become a hermit."
"As long as I am with you," Ivan said. He took his teacher's hand. "Now, my teacher, let me show you what else I learned on the path of needles."
Koshchei the Living followed his student willingly upstairs to the bedchambers, resolving to move soon. He had heard there were dachas by the Black Sea which were very lovely.
And here is the last bit of wisdom from this story -- know when it is time to quit.
end