Creating the Ways

"That's it!" Baba Yaga shrieked. "If I get one more prince, one more orphan, one more blessed wretch, one—one more—!" She groaned and pulled at her thin silver hair.

"I thought princes and orphans and wretches were your favorites," Baba Yaga said, leaning against her broom.

"Your crying will scare the deer," Baba Yaga snipped. For all the bluster she projected into her voice, she hunched her thin shoulders and shied away from her sister, the scariest of the triplets.

Baba Yaga pushed up her sleeves and picked up the pestle from her mortar. She climbed into the giant bowl and thumped her way over to her sister. Using a mortar and pestle as her choice of transportation wasn't always the easiest, but it was the most foreboding. People trembled and cried when they heard the increasingly loud thu-thump thu-thump thu-thump of her chasing them down in her mortar using her pestle to propel her.

"Scare away the deer?" Baba Yaga growled. "That's what you're concerned about? You should worry about yourself more!"

Baba Yaga whipped her broom between them. "Now is not the time for fighting, Baba. We need to figure out what to do to keep people away."

Hmm...maybe this story should be paused. You see, Baba Yaga... How do I put this? Baba Yaga isn't one person. There are three women named Baba Yaga, and they are all exactly alike save for their temperament—triplets, you understand. There is the Baba Yaga most know and fear love who snatches children and ensnares heroes in her house with skulls on sticks in the front yard. She is the evil Baba Yaga whose stories are told to children to keep them on good behavior.

Then there is the second Baba Yaga. She is a little rough but kind and giving. She is the Baba Yaga rarely spoken about, the Baba Yaga who reunites lost lovers and delivers children back home with their bellies full and a twinkle of secret wonder in their eyes. (Quite personally, she's my favorite.) She is the shyest of the three and usually hides in her chicken-legged house.

The third Baba Yaga is different from her two sisters. Depending on the day, her mood, and if someone can weasel their way to her soft heart, she can be just as kind as she can be cruel. If she deems someone on her good list, she will drop her ornery act and help the person in a heartbeat. If she doesn't like them...well, let's say it isn't always animal meat she eats. And if she doesn't want to be found? Her flying broom makes sure there's no trace of her.

With that out of the way, maybe I should label the Baba Yagas to make things clearer. The evil Baba Yaga I'll call Baba. She'll keep the title since she's the one most often associated with it and acts the most like a vicious hag. (Don't tell her I said that!)

The good Baba Yaga I'll call Babushka. She fits the sweet, grandmotherly tone of the name.

The middle Baba Yaga I'll call...Yaga. She's unpredictable, but she occupies the middle ground of her two sisters, so I'll let her keep their name: Yaga.

And with that all cleared up, dear reader, let me resume the story.

Yaga stood between Baba and Babushka. "Enough of this." She turned toward Babushka. "It's true what our sister says. More and more people have been finding us. The more we're approached—"

"The more we stand a chance of being in danger," Babushka finished glumly. "I know. Several heroes have tried to kill me this past fortnight alone. They thought I was Baba."

"My broom doesn't even seem to help anymore," Yaga said. "I sweep my tracks away, I've even attempt to ride on it—" Baba snorted and Yaga smacked her lightly with her broom, —and people still keep finding me."

"What are we going to do?" Baba asked. Her thin lips twisted into a scowl. "I'm tired of being bothered and mistaken for one of you."

They stood in the small clearing and put their heads together. Discussing and murmuring late into the day, it wasn't until Baba's servant— a horseman dressed all in black who rode a black horse with black reins— flew past them did they have an idea.

"Night!" Baba yelled at him. "Forge me a path of twisting dark to the unrelenting north where I shall make my home in the unforgiving cold!"

And he did as he was commanded. Night forged Baba's path to the left of the clearing.

Later, Babushka's servant— a horseman dressed all in white who rode a white horse with white reins— flew by.

"Day!" she called. "Will you please make me a path pointing to the southeast toward our dear cousin Hecate? And lead it toward a marsh so I may communicate with her regularly!"

And he did as he was asked. Day forged a path to the right of the clearing.

Shortly after, Yaga's servant— a horseman dressed all in red who rode a red horse with red reins— came by.

"Sun!" she hollered. "Create me a winding path that may always come back to the middle and confuse anyone who is sure of where they stand!"

And he did as he was directed. Sun forged a path leading from the center of the path onward.

The Baba Yagas joined hands and chanted. They cast a spell on the paths that would keep them from easily being found, regardless if the people doing the finding were heroes or princes or blessed children or wretched greedy people. It didn't matter. If anyone wanted to find them, they would have to work for it.

So, who will you choose?

Annika

Vasilisa

Ivan