The Acquisition

By Roman Olynyk

The Tavern

In the middle of Gorod stood a tavern of rough-hewn wood. The tavern was called the Antlers, for that was what hung over the doorway. The antlers were sun-bleached, bony white and porous, marking their age in seasons. Fare at the Antlers was meager. The only beverage served was mead. The mead was stout, however, and it was the best in the village. In the evening, as the sun went down, villagers would cease their labors and stop by for a brew before sitting down to their meal and subsequently dropping off to a restful sleep. This pastime usually was limited to the younger of the folk who still had the energy left after a day's work.

Today, however, was different. Now the tavern bustled with farmers anxious to hear the latest reports. A monstrous sow, which only the few remaining elders remembered, had returned. The return of Kathryn was news indeed!

Kathryn was far from being an ordinary sow. Some believed that she was a demon wrought by the curse of Baba Yaga. Others thought she was the reincarnation of Baba Yaga herself. The evil sorceress who had died more than a century ago was still recalled in tales around the hearth, but she was considered as more of a children's story. Even men of stout heart now shivered at the mention of Kathryn. From whence Kathryn returned, no one knew. When her foul temper suited her, she would leave the dark forest and raze the fields, burn the summer crops with her breath and ravage all in her path. The countryside was blighted.

"Yeauh, I saw her!" said the Miller. "She was big as a bull, she was. Her mouth was full of big awful teeth." The Miller grimaced to illustrate the remark with his own jagged dental work.

"Who's going to drive her away?" asked the farmer who first saw her.

"I saw her too," added another farmer. "She spit out a fiery froth and set my rye ablaze. My crop is lost. What am I going to do?"

"Someone should go after her and kill her," suggested another farmer.

Nobody looked the farmer in the eye. Nobody even wanted to hint that he might wish to undertake such a task, for it seemed true; Baba Yaga had returned in some other form.

"Who's going to drive her away?" Asked the same worried farmer as he wrung his hands.

"Anybody who is fool enough to follow her back into the forest will never return," commented another.

The door to the tavern opened and a wobbly-legged figure wended its way around the oaken benches to find a seat near the kegs.

"Yeauh, that's a fact," sneered the Miller as he eyed Banewood staggering through the door. "Maybe our Shaman can fix her one of his spells. Kathryn'd get so dizzy that she might burn herself into a hole!" Everyone laughed at the Miller's remark and at their stumbling Shaman, who had been attempting to induce a vision by smoking some hebona. Banewood was still reeling and talking to the air as he tried to pour himself a draught. Everyone laughed again, forgetting Kathryn for the moment.

The apprentice Shaman sat with his mead and weathered the jeers brought on by the Miller. Banewood wondered why he came to the Antlers rather than stay at home to sleep off the effects of the powerful smoke that he used for divination. He found a quiet seat far from the burly Miller and sipped from his flagon of mead. His head cleared slowly. Banewood recalled his flying vision through the forest to what appeared to be a dilapidated hovel. From the darkened door peered two crimson eyes -- eyes that haunted Banewood for the remainder of his trance.

Kathryn could hardly be forgotten. She was black and as large as the largest bull, just as the Miller had described. From her mouth, which bristled with large and irregular teeth, she could spew a cloud of caustic vapor that would ignite objects it came in contact with.

The fact that Kathryn's eyes were red. brought on the notion that she was really Baba Yaga.

When she had lived, Baba Yaga was known for her blazing red eyes which defied description. They shone of their own light -- a bright, bloody red. Tales of her sorcery were numerous. She was known to fly and to take on animal forms. In any form she took, she worked solely for evil. Never actually seeking mastery over men, she controlled them only long enough to bring them to ruin. As an outcast throughout her life, Baba Yaga came to hate humans or any reminder that life was good.

To the inhabitants of Gorod, Baba Yaga seemed to live far beyond her years. As time progressed, she made fewer appearances, but her evil work continued through lesser genii which were under her mastery. Eventually there came rumors of her death. Her demise was never confirmed, for nobody had the courage to approach her dwelling within the dark forest. Whenever a marauding beast met its end, it was with the anticipation that it might have been Baba Yaga in one of her forms. Deathly visages, the skins of wolves and bears and a large stuffed owl adorned the tavern wall; silent reminders that the black forest was never far away.

When the wide doors opened again, they offered Sod the plowman to the gossiping crowd. Sod was dressed in the brown, earth-crusted clothes of a farmer. He was richly tanned and had the muscular heaviness as befited his trade. Within his brow, his eyes were deep and clear. They sparkled with a life seen in few other faces of the village. This time, worry lines corded across the plowman's brow. Sod went to Banewood when he saw where he was and sat before the smiling Shaman. In his hands, Sod carried a burlap bundle, which he placed carefully on the table before Banewood. A crowd gathered as Banewood unwrapped it. Silently and soberly, Banewood lifted the cloth and revealed a sword.

Before the wide eyes of the gathered crowd lay a sword of unsurpassed beauty. The sword sat bright. It was about two cubits long, but it had the grace and balance of a finely wrought instrument. Its edge was keen. Unadorned, the hilt was of a hard, white material which shone immaculately. The sword had the gloss and weight of a material more like porcelain than metal; it rang clearly when struck.

Sod looked as amazed and perplexed as Banewood. The strong but unassuming plowman gazed steadily at the sword. The two, sword and person, appeared almost as if they were measuring one another.

"The sword looked just like this when my plow turned it up." Said the plowman, breaking the silence which had accumulated.

At once, theories were offered as to the possible origin of the sword.

"It looks like it was made by magic." Said a farmer.

"It was probably made by Pollocks," snarled the Miller, who washed his remark with a gulp of mead. If the Miller seemed spiteful of everything, it was because he was. He resented his life and occupation, and he thought that everyone should share his bitterness. To the Miller, his crude remarks were an anodyne for the harsh realities of life.

"The sword is crafted as if it is beyond age," Banewood countered. He shot a reproachful look at the Miller. "Yet it looks as if it might have just been forged." "It could have been made by the Ludki," he thought silently to himself.

The Ludki were a legendary race of little people fabled for their craftsmanship with metals. They were reputed to be peace-loving, however, and were not known to craft weapons. Aloud, Banewood said "For those who believe that the present holds the greatest marvels, I say: Look again and consider this ancient treasure! There is some timeless magic within it."

The Shaman felt more power emanating from the strange weapon than he stated openly. His knowledge of lore extended far beyond the simple life of Gorod, yet he was at a loss to determine the history of the sword. It could have been crafted by the Ludki but... his knowledge was incomplete.

Banewood was a loner. He was twice orphaned: once by his parents who perished in a blaze and once by the Shaman who'd adopted him, only to die himself several years later. The Shaman had only just begun the long task of training his apprentice. When the Shaman died, Banewood was left with only his master's books and the roughest of outlines to follow in his quest for the greater knowledge. Because Banewood continued on the road to knowledge with no guide, a task never attempted before, he would often err. The apprentice would sometimes find himself wandering alone in a stuporous haze brought on by smoking some of the strange concoctions left by the Shaman. Once, when the Shaman lived, Banewood had a guide to help him through these tortuous visions which helped to give a Shaman his knowledge and opened the secret doors of power to him. Now alone, Banewood faltered like a man blind. His acquisition of power was slow and unsure.

Banewood noticed how well the sword fit the hand of the plowman. When Sod hefted it, the sword moved easily, as if it were pliant with the wishes of its wielder.

When the crowd at the Antlers had all viewed the sword, the conversation turned to the possible use of the sword against Kathryn. They talked of what damage such a sword could do to its victim. Each offered his opinion of a sufficiently brave fellow, one other than himself. A challenge to one's manhood was quickly answered by bluster and puffery but not by a volunteer.

"Yeauh, maybe our Shaman could fix up one of his..."

"Shut up!" Came the unexpected response from the usually demure Banewood.

The Miller sat transfixed, his hand at his throat, unable to utter a sound. There was silence.

"What did you do to him!" Yelled one of the Miller's companions as he started to lunge for Banewood.

At that instant, the room resounded with a loud bang and the splintering of wood. One of the large oaken tables lay on the ground, cloven in two. The lunging man stopped in his tracks and stared in disbelief. Sod, still holding the sword, blushed. His only response to the crowd of farmers was a firm, "I'll do it."

Comraderie again filled the air. Fresh kegs were tapped and toasts were offered to Sod. Men normally distant to Sod hugged him to show their admiration for him, to bask in reflected glory and to wish the best of luck to the doomed fellow.

"Yes, with such a weapon, one could take on Baba Yaga herself!" said a distant relative to Sod who wondered of his own claim to the doomed man's land and oxen.

Sod left the celebration early. He needed to sleep and to ponder the consequences of his decision. "What had happened?" he asked himself. He had been fondling the hilt of the sword at the time the near fight broke out. He had been weighing a decision to seek the monstrous sow and had made his resolution as the Miller made his last remark. Sod had only thought of stopping the incipient brawl by slapping his weapon down on the table. It was a common method of gaining attention. Now he found himself alone on a vain quest.

Sod the plowman lived alone in his hut of modest means. The modesty was of twofold nature: Sod spent his long days in the fields and his nights resting from the day's labors, and Sod's livelihood as a plowman brought him only a meager subsistence. Sod enjoyed his occupation, for he knew he must make the best of his situation; chances were that it would be for life. The physical exertion of guiding a plow did not demand a similar mental exertion. Therefore, Sod spent his working time dreaming of other lives and other worlds -- noble dreams in the mind of a simple man. In Sod's fantasy, he would roam the kingdom as a knight errant, working deeds for glory and profit, for surely, people paid well for such special services. These were mere dreams, however, and Sod realized that he possessed neither the ability nor the courage to live the life of a hero.

And now what was he to do? He was commited to a suicidal quest on the basis of momentary courage. What could he say? He found a strange and unique weapon and that weapon offered itself as a chance, a fleeting opportunity that must be seized and used at the instant it is offered. Sod was unaccustomed to making such hasty decisions, but equally, he was unaccustomed to receiving opportunities. Sod the plowman dropped off to sleep, still clutching his new sword.

In the early morning Sod awoke to the usual sound of birds chirping outside of his dwelling. He had already packed the meager belongings he wished to take on his journey. Crafting a makeshift strap, Sod girded the newfound sword to his side and stepped outside to begin his journey. He almost stumbled across a reclining figure.

"Banewood! What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you. I'm going with you," Banewood said as he limberly rose without the aid of his hands. A satchel lay at his side and a quiver full of arrows hung across his back. The old Shaman's longbow was gripped by Banewood's left hand.

"Don't you realize that this is going to be a dangerous trip? Few venture into the forest to return again."

"Yes, I realize the consequences. I have a knowledge of the trees, and besides, two can travel safer than one." Banewood didn't mention that he'd already decided to attempt the quest himself.

Sod slapped his new comrade on the back and silently thanked his luck that he would have a companion on such a fateful journey. Together, they marched down the dusty path that led away from Gorod and across the fields. On their walk they passed by stooped women already gathering herbs from their gardens. A few men were working in the fields. The men stopped momentarily to wave to the departing travelers. The night's comraderie was worn and forgotten.

If they had talked about this journey and their reasons for going, Banewood and Sod would each have realized their similarity. Banewood's quest for knowledge was proceeding slowly, much too slowly. Still, Banewood felt that he knew as much as any man in Gorod about the ways of their primitive world. Banewood knew that something had to be done about Kathryn. If Gorod didn't offer a means to the solution, then maybe the answer lay elsewhere. Sod, on the other hand, was not on a quest for any knowledge -- he was instead trapped in the occupation of the plowman. His work had dignity, though, and Sod felt good about it. The sword changed Sod's outlook, though. He felt that fate was offering him some sort of opportunity; that given the means to accomplish something, he must seize the opportunity and act upon it. Somehow, it seemed that the sword was capable of slaying Kathryn, that all it took was the resolve to accomplish it.

The Forest

Banewood recalled his early childhood when he would venture into the light woods in search of edible mushrooms, a favored delicacy of the local people. With his sharp and experienced vision he could still pick out his favorites protruding through the fallen leaves. It was here, while gathering mushrooms that Banewood heard many of the childhood tales and legends passed to him by his parents: tales of the Ludki, those mischievous little people who lived deep within the forest and tales of Lessy, the Silvan Lord, who made strange animal sounds and led lost children astray. Banewood remembered how his father would then make animal sounds and frighten him for the rest of the day. Stories of Baba Yaga, embellished over the years, would cause tears of fright to well up into young Banewood's eyes. Now, years older, Banewood still felt the burning in his face as he realized that Baba Yaga might be real and that he might meet face to face with the blistering eyes of Kathryn.

As the two journeyed onward, the character of the forest changed. Dark oaks and towering elms now lined their path. The leaves of years lay upon the ground, crackling with every step. Animal sounds diminished.

Banewood and Sod picked their way uphill, climbing an overgrown path which led to an uncertain fate. Throughout the day, Banewood and Sod walked the leagues of dark forest, constantly catching cobwebs in the face and beleaguered by blood-thirsty deer flies scenting their first human.

At the top of the rise, the two travelers paused to rest. Sod sat still in the hope of delivering a killing blow to the ravenous deer fly which had doggedly followed him during most of the climb.

"I think we should make our first camp here," said Banewood. "We're on the nearest hilltop and we'll have ample warning of anything approaching."

"Gotcha!" Sod finally killed the deer fly which had settle in his hair for a fateful supper. Sod picked the scrawny insect from his hair. "If we build a smoldering fire we might be able to spend a night without these cursed flies." Sod gathered some dead twigs that still hung on the tree. After arranging them carefully, he reached into his bag and brought out his flint and steel. Within minutes a small fire was being tended. Banewood walked the perimeter of their encampment and stopped occasionally to pick at some plants growing scattered on the ground. He returned and gave them to Sod.

"Here, use these on the fire. They'll keep away the flies better than the smoke."

"Thank you," said Sod. He threw them on the small fire and whiffed the fragrant aroma created by the consumed leaves. "How did you learn so much about herbs?" asked Sod, who already knew the answer. He was fighting his nervousness with small talk.

"Most of what I know comes from the Shaman," said Banewood obligingly. "Now I have to learn from his books, but the details are really meager. Most of the Shaman's knowledge was in his vast memory. He said that certain books did exist. The Shaman said the books were dangerous because they could fall into the wrong hands."

Banewood and Sod ate a meal of wafer bread and dried meat and then slept lightly upon cushions of leaves and boughs laid upon the ground. Shallow holes were dug out to provide recesses for their hips. Smoldering coals kept away the night flies, but they didn't ward off Banewood's evil dreams; the crimson eyes still haunted him.

Dawn came with the cry of a horned owl. The dying coals were fed a breakfast of fresh tinder. Hard-boiled eggs and a little herb tea saw the worried travelers on their way. Revitalized by the rest, Banewood and Sod trekked down the slope, meandering ever deeper into the dark forest. Soon Banewood's sharp eye caught the first impression of the large cloven hoofs that were to show them the way. The tracks were too large to belong to anything else except Kathryn. Broken branches and an uprooted tree lent credence to the supposition. To Sod's relief, the tracks were fairly old.

Sod fretted about his decision to hunt the sow. The mysterious sword whose hilt he often fondled didn't seem like a weapon that could stop a charging sow. Funny how he thought that if he set his mind to killing Kathryn, he would find a way. Could they do it by craft and artifice? Maybe by setting up a dead fall or some other booby trap? Funnier still was the feeling that it was the sword which seemed to whisper that, given the resolve, Sod would be able to meet the challenge.

Banewood and Sod journeyed down the slope, up the next hill and down another slope. Leagues passed beneath their feet. They skipped lunch and walked under the power of their stored energy. They continued on slight paths which joined and separated through the forest. Occasionally, Sod would stop to mark a tree at eye level, entertaining the hope that they would somehow return by this route. Banewood now walked with his bow in hand, ever keeping a watchful eye on the path behind them.

The Shaman's longbow proved its value later in the day when Banewood knocked down a squirrel with a special blunt-tipped arrow. They carried the black squirrel with them after quickly field dressing it. The little tree rat, as Banewood called it, had set up a frightful chattering before it met its final doom. Sod and Banewood both agreed that it would be a good idea to cover some more distance before feasting on the tree rat. There was no telling what attention was called by the noisy animal and, besides, they didn't want to prepare the tree rat until they were ready to make camp.

The two journeymen walked with greater care after killing the squirrel. Banewood regretted his slaying of the little tree rat. He now had the uneasy feeling that the forest knew of their presence, that they were somehow being watched. Sod sensed Banewood's distress or maybe he, too, felt the paranoia. He tightened his grip on the sword. Banewood now walked with an arrow nocked. His fingers whitened from their tight grip.

Every minute sound that the two seekers made was amplified by the forest. Once, when Banewood turned quickly around, he thought he noticed a pair of amber eyes watching them, but they disappeared quickly and he was no longer sure. Tension increased with every step. Both travelers began to perspire. Suddenly, the explosion of a dry twig snapping sent Banewood and Sod into a back-to-back position, their weapons drawn and poised. An electric tension pulsed within them, begging to surge, asking for release. But nothing happened.

No other sound was heard throughout the forest. After excruciating minutes of silence, Banewood and Sod voted to resume their walk. Several more hours of travel brought them to a small stream in the forest. The water looked wholesome, affording the two an opportunity to refill their flasks and to bathe. This looked like the ideal place to pitch camp and prepare a welcome supper. Banewood's tree rat no longer looked as appetizing; however, it was the best food that they had. Throughout the meal and respite they remained watchful, for the penetrating silence of the forest remained.

Evening had settled rapidly. Sod and Banewood ate near their fire, slowly finishing their meal and conversing. The fire cast a bright glow around the immediate circumference, but outside, the darkness was forbidding. Sod thought again about his quest.

"If I hadn't found this sword, I probably would never have attempted such a foolish venture," Sod thought to himself. "This fine looking weapon is of too fine a quality for a man like me. I wonder if I shouldn't give it to someone worthy of possessing such a weapon."

Aloud, Sod said "We've been in this forest for two days. It doesn't appear to hold the danger I had anticipated."

"The danger lies in our laxness if we trust in our safety," replied Banewood, parrying Sod's wishful thought. "Tonight I am sleeping with my bow in hand."

Speaking the unspoken, Sod said "Then you also feel like we've been watched?"

"Ya," replied Banewood. "I thought I saw it once, a pair of eyes. I've learned to trust my intuition."

Tensing and grabbing for his sword, Sod said "Your intuition was right! Look! Out there, see those eyes? I don't think they're friendly." Sod pointed in the direction of the creek.

They both stood up and moved around the fire, placing it between themselves and the presence. The same amber eyes Banewood had thought he'd seen earlier were slowly reeling toward them. When their distance from the eyes was cut in half, Sod threw an armful of dry tinder upon the fire and threw extra light out into the night.

"It's a wolf." Whispered Banewood.

"It's too big." Answered Sod, who was beginning to quake in his boots. His sweaty fingers grasped the sword tighter. "How am I going to kill the wolf if it attacks?" he thought, questioning his ability to wield the sword.

A deep, gutteral growl emanated from the large slavering beast. It crept forward with its belly low to the ground, ready to leap at the instant. Sod raised his sword slightly and then cried out.

"Oh no!"

In the same instant that the fell beast launched itself toward them, Sod's sword slipped out of his hand and dropped to the ground at a distance. The lunging hulk darkened his view. Sod heard a snapping chord like the sound of his heart breaking. The wind rushed past his left ear.

In a massive thud, a large wolf, larger than any Sod had ever seen or heard of before, fell at his side. Its eyes were wide open and its lips were curled in a hideous grimace. A feathered shaft protruded from its throat.

Banewood's hand rested on Sod's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"You killed him. I thought I was going to die and, just as suddenly, this wolf is dead instead. You've saved my life. How can I repay you?"

"Don't worry; it all comes out in the wash. But what happened at the last second? Why did you drop your sword?"

"I don't know... I guess my mind went blank. The sword seemed to slip from my hands," said Sod. "I've never seen such a fine shot. I think the wolf was dead before it hit the ground!"

"I've tipped some of my arrows with the juice of the aconitum; it is a deadly poison."

"With such a weapon as yours, you could single-handedly slay Kathryn!"

"It won't work. I've already tried," answered Banewood.

Sod was taken aback by this. "There's certainly more to this Shaman than meets the eye," he thought. Aloud, "When did you try that?"

"On the last night that Kathryn attacked I hid myself and loosed my best arrow against her. It shattered as if it had hit a rock."

Sod was incredulous. "How are we ever going to stop her if she is as you say?"

"I don't know. We'll think of something."

"Ya," Sod said without sincerity.

The wolf was enormous, but Banewood and Sod, after endeavoring for the better part of an hour, managed to drag the beast away from the camp. The two found no difficulty in dropping off to sleep, for though the forest was still dangerous, it now possessed one less threat.

Dawn came without a sound. Banewood and Sod got up and fed the fire and went to the creek for water. On the way, they looked for the wolf, but it was gone! They searched around the area in the hope that they were disoriented last night when they dragged the wolf out. It was gone. Now a very real fear possessed them; it may have been Baba Yaga. How else can a dead animal disappear? Sod's empty stomach felt like it held a rock.

Suddenly, through the trees, they heard a musical voice. Banewood and Sod quickly reached for their weapons. Through the tall trees they could see an approaching figure. It was gaily dressed and wore a tall, pointed hat with a feather in its band. It sang:

"Hey ho, hey ho,

the wolk's a dead you know.

for if it ain't a dead

then I'm a not alive

and I know I'd better go!"

The two stood with their mouths open. Marching straight up to them was a short person, a very little person, with large round eyes and a pudgy little nose.

"Hello, hello, my name is Stickleburr unless I'm not, of course."

Sod and Banewood found themselves face to face with one of the Ludki. The childhood descriptions were indeed accurate. He looked so odd!

"I want to thank you for killing the great wolk because he's no longer alive. He has been plaguing my people for years, but not for years to come. Anyway, they're not really my people, they are their own people, but I guess you wouldn't call us people, would you?"

Banewood spoke: "I...I thought that the wolf, I mean wolk, wasn't dead, that maybe it was really Baba Yaga."

Stickleburr jumped. "Oh, no! I mean yes, it was really a wolk. It's certainly dead now, isn't it? You two are heroes, unless of course you don't think so. So that's the wolksmert, isn't it?" Said Stickleburr pointing to Sod's strange sword.

"Wolksmert?" Replied Sod. "Oh, yes. Certainly." He laughed at the irony, because "wolksmert" meant "wolfslayer" in the eastern tongue.

"Yes, most certainly," laughed Stickleburr. "You two can come with me unless you can't. We want to thank you properly, and it's not proper to thank you here."

Banewood and Sod agreed to follow the Ludki back to his home. They quickly broke camp and gathered their belongings. They whispered and laughed among themselves, marvelling at the strange speech pattern of Stickleburr: Ludki always followed the assertion of a positive statement with it's negative. It was a most curious pattern of speech, but it wasn't curious at all to the Ludki.

Within a half-hour, the three came in sight of the Ludki village. It was set in a small dale cleared of trees. Little houses in the shape of bee hives lay haphazard about the village. Wisps of smoke curled out of their tops. The Ludki were fond of smithing, as was evident from the many miniature iron furnaces that sent their black smoke up over the rooftops. The Ludki village had evidently been in this location for some time because much of the area was cleared of the hardwood trees essential for the making of charcoal needed to smelt the iron.

The little people walked about in gaily colored clothes. The Ludki men wore high pointed hats dressed up with bright feathers. They were a happy folk. The air was full of whistling and the songs of their merriment.

When Stickleburr and the two travelers approached, the village folk poured out to meet the heros. Stickleburr began introducing his family and the more prominent of the Ludki to the strangers. The names came rapidly: Milfoil, Hyssop, Lavender, Mullien, Five Fingers, Violet, and, well, you get the idea; they were all names of plants that the Ludki were fond of. At the bark of orders from Stickleburr, the Ludki busied themselves with preparations for a great feast. The men set up tables and stools, built fires and brought out kegs of mead. The Ludki women quickly filled their ovens with various breads and foods until the heavenly aroma replaced the acrid smell of smelting iron. The Ludki loved feasting and merriment, and this occasion, as any other, was an excellent opportunity to lay aside their work. The fearful wolk which had terrorized the Ludki for so many years was dead, slain at the hands of the tall folk and wolksmert.

Among the Ludki, wolksmert was the center of much attention. Their large eyes beamed with admiration and the little hands eagerly, but reverently, touched the fine metal. From the Ludki, Banewood could learn nothing about the sword, but by their evident joy at seeing it and the two travelers, the Ludki seemed strangely elated.

Even while the preparations were still underway, the eager little Ludki began to celebrate with joyous abandon. Musicians began their tunes and the mead was passed around. And such mead! Banewood and Sod both drank and agreed that it was the best they had ever tasted. How the Ludki could consume so much of it without the obvious signs of inebriation, they couldn't guess.

During the feast, Stickleburr talked with the two strangers and learned the reason for their sojourn into the deep forest. At the news, Stickleburr balked but then regained his composure.

"Oh yes, we had most certainly believed that Baba Yaga had died, for we had not seen her alive. And Kathryn, oh yes, we had heard whisperings of her rampages, else we were deaf. Kathryn is Baba Yaga? We most certainly hope she isn't!"

"Yes, most certainly," agreed Banewood.

Sod, careful not to spill a drop of the mead he was drinking, looked at Stickleburr and asked, "Do you know of the way to the hut of Baba Yaga?"

Stickleburr replied "No, no...well yes, sort of. I know the way but I don't know how to get there. It's a long way off, although not that far to someone as long-legged as you, though for yourselves, I'm sure you're not all that long-legged."

Stickleburr was beginning to show some signs of inebriation. Banewood and Sod sat back to enjoy the feast. They watched the antics of the Ludki as they danced their high-kicking dances and swung their arms in the air. With a shout, the dancers punctuated the songs with a "hey!" At length, even the subdued travelers were on their feet and kicking. The Ludki laughed and clapped to urge on the long-legged dancers. Sod twirled like a top and bobbed like a cork. At a feverish pace, he was caught-up in the festive mood. Moments before he could dance no more, the song stopped with a rousing "hey!"

Stickleburr was much impressed with the two travelers. After slapping both of them on the shoulders, the squat little fellow mounted a stump and cleared his throat.

"Ahem!" The crowd became silent. "I'd like to express the thanks of all Ludki for what you two have done. We couldn't have done it ourselves."

Stickleburr brought out a long object and handed it to Sod. "This is for the wolksmert unless it's for something else.

Sod looked at the fine-crafted sheath given to him by the Ludki. The sword slid silently into it's scabbard. Sod expressed his thanks with a smile and a nod.

"And these," continued Stickleburr, "are for the Banewood and they're not for anyone else."

Banewood received a quiver full of fine, Ludki-crafted arrows with razor-sharp metal heads. The shafts were straighter than any Banewood had ever seen.

With great bombast, the swaying Stickleburr went on to offer the friendship of the Ludki to Banewood and Sod. Much to his surprise, Sod immediately took him up on his offer for assistance. This was a surprise, because the Ludki had very traditional views of hospitality. After favors, guests did not customarily ask for more. But Sod did. He wanted to know the way to Baba Yaga's hut. The Ludki blanched at such a request. Oh horrors! But it was only a request for directions; the Ludki need not accompany the travelers. Anyway, thanks to the mead, Stickleburr was in a jovial mood. He went so far as to offer guidance to the outside of their realm.

The Hut

"Hey Hyssop! Hey Burdock!" shouted Sticklurr as he clapped his hands. Immediately, two little people ran forward. Stickleburr addressed Banewood and Sod.

"Good morning, unless it's already mid-day. My two sons and myself will accompany you to the borders of our realm unless you don't wish to be accompanied. First, though, you must have your breakfast."

Stickleburr clapped his hands again and several Ludki approached with steaming plates of food. The travelers ate with relish, though there wasn't any. From a nearby keg they filled their flasks with a light mead and they were ready to depart.

Banewood and Sod followed the Ludki as they marched off, their pace marked by the rhythm of the Ludki's singing. Hyssop and Burdock marched ahead while Stickleburr walked and chatted with Banewood and Sod. He told them about the paths ahead and how they must not stray, lest they tread paths unknown. He told them to be on their guard for the Silvan Lord, for these were his woods. The Silvan Lord, or Lessy as he was better known, would lead them astray with his lies. Lessy was a liar at heart and he delighted in deluding the hopelessly lost. He would draw them to one point and then to another, then to another and yet another. However, there was one way of outsmarting the Lessy. It was a method known only to the Ludki, and it was Stickleburr's parting gift to the travelers.

"Lessy is a liar," said Stickleburr, "for he can't tell the truth. To get to the truth, if it's lies you don't want, you must wear your clothes inside-out or outside-in if they're already inside-out. Your shoes you must wear on the opposite feet unless, of course, your feet are already opposite. Then you just wear your feet opposite."

Banewood and Sod laughed aloud at Stickleburr's foolish words.

"It is worthy of a children's rhyme even though it doesn't rhyme," Banewood said.

They all laughed again at the strange paradox of Ludki speech.

After their having walked away the longest part of the day, and after their having heard innumerable anecdotes from Stickleburr, the two travelers parted company with the Ludki. Banewood and Sod marched on at a much faster pace, since they needn't keep time with the short-legged Ludki. Once again, the brightness of sunlight and companionship dimmed as the travelers departed the realm of civilization. The dark forest seemed darker without the chatter of the little people.

A dark, sinuous path pointed out by Stickleburr led in the direction of the setting sun. The roots of gnarled oaks lay twisted across the path, occasionally catching the carefully placed feet of the plowman. Spider webs built across the gaps of branches often ended up in the faces of Banewood and Sod, tickling their noses and generally making their way unpleasant. Pale mushrooms of the deadly varieties could sometimes be seen lining the edge of the path. Strange animal sounds echoed through the trees.

After hours of walking, the travelers still had not found a resting place suitable for a night's encampment. Though the sun was possibly an hour away from setting, the way had become dark and difficult to navigate because of the forest canopy. At length, Banewood and Sod stopped to decide which way the path was supposed to lead. The forest seemed more alive at this dusky hour than it had earlier in the day. Birds chirped and strange animals chattered beyond the distant trees.

"I don't know," said Sod, "maybe we should stop right here and wait until morning. I just can't be sure of keeping on the right path if we go on."

"Oh, don't worry, I'll show you the way to go from here," a strange voice answered.

Banewood and Sod quickly drew their weapons and stood ready. Wolksmert glowed reddish from the light of the evening sun. Before them stood an eerie sight. A greenish man, or something resembling a man, though much taller, stood a dozen paces before them. His eyes had an orange, malevolent glow. They appeared cat-like. Banewood feared the worst, for to his inexperienced knowledge, the eyes reminded him of Baba Yaga's. The apparition was dressed in what appeared to be leaves. A bird nest was perched upon the shoulder.

Sod felt the hilt of his sword slide through the sweaty grip of his fingers. His hand clenched Wolksmert tighter. He wondered about what action he should take. Quickly, he decided that it would be safest to let the creature make the first move.

The green figure stood before them and made a chirping sound like a bird. He clapped his hands and then smiled. It was a friendly, disarming smile.

"Take the path straight ahead until you come to a fork," said the strange apparition. "Then, bear left until you come to a large boulder and proceed to your right until you come to an old tree. From the tree, go left until you meet the next tree, then take a sharp right to the first stream. You can't miss it."

"Uh, excuse us for a moment, if you please, sir." Banewood tugged at Sod's shoulder and pulled him away.

"Oh yes, most certainly, yes, yes." The green man laughed, clapped his hands and chattered like a tree rat.

"What's the matter? Who's that? What are we doing?" Sod's questions came quickly and nervously.

"Shhhh!" hissed Banewood as he led Sod out of sight of the green man. When they were safely out of sight, Banewood said, "That must be Lessy, the Silvan Lord. Stickleburr warned us of him. Remember, he'll lie to get us lost. Let's hurry and turn our clothes inside out."

As quickly as they could, Banewood and Sod pulled their clothes off and reversed them. They turned the insides outside and helped each other button-up from the back. They did the same with their britches. Then, they pulled off their boots and placed them opposite: left boot on right foot and right boot on left foot. When they had finished, they smiled sheepishly and stepped back out into the open. Lessy was patiently waiting, whistling to himself and smiling.

When the Silvan Lord saw how Banewood and Sod appeared, his orange eyes opened wide and bulged. He stood stiff with his fingers out-stretched.

"Eeaarrgh! Owwww!" Screamed Lessy. He jumped around and emitted more strange sounds.

Sod stood nonplussed, unable to move during the exhibition.

Banewood took the initiative and said aloud: "Tell us, Silvan Lord, which is the way to the hut of Baba Yaga."

"Eeaarrgh! Owwww! I'll talk, I'll tell you the truth, I promise! I'll tell you anything, but pulleese! Straighten-out your clothes!"

Banewood and Sod felt sorry for the Silvan Lord. Evidently, the truth was so foreign to Lessy that it caused him great discomfort. When Banewood and Sod had put their clothes back on outside-outside, they returned to Lessy. The Silvan Lord was now docile, almost subdued; he was saddened by his loss of victims to his trickery.

"Yes, most certainly," said Lessy, "I will show you the way to Baba Yaga's hut. Yes, then you'll wish you were lost! Follow me."

Banewood and Sod walked behind Lessy as he led them through the dark forest night. Since they had first met the Silvan Lord, the sun had set, changing the long shadows to a solid smear of blackness. The two travelers were both stabbed by the sharp pang of doubt as to whether Lessy could be held to his word. Whatever the status of Lessy's honor, Banewood and Sod realized that they were both in the hands of the Lord of the Forest.

Lessy strode before them, mumbling to himself and emitting more strange sounds. More than once, Banewood and Sod had tripped on tree roots and stumbled to the ground. Low branches snapped back by Lessy often caught Sod in the face and chest, leaving him sore and scored. The long hours of night were unbearably drawn out in this manner.

When the slender rays of first morning light pierced through the trees, the three travelers found themselves on the edge of the forest. Sod felt a heaviness in his stomach when the first realization of their plight hit him: How were they to return? Neither of them had thought of marking their way.

Lessy turned to face the exhausted travelers. The faint light barely illuminated his gnarled and worn face. Banewood and Sod could only concentrate on the eyes-- those strange cat-like slits surrounded by an orange glow.

"Here is where I'll leave you," said Lessy. "The rest of the way is before you. You'll probably reach the hut by mid-day." Lessy chuckled as he pointed to the path before them. As quickly as when they had found him, the Silvan Lord disappeared into the green growth of the forest.

The path lay before them. Banewood and Sod stood on the edge of the dark forest and before a vast expanse of scrub. Sod preferred the darkness of the forest to what he now saw: a thin path leading through a tangle of long-thorned trees which were so closely interwoven that they seemed inpenetrable.

"Why don't you try Wolksmert on those branches," offered Banewood.

Sod drew his sword and swung lightly against the tangle that lay before him. Sod was glad for the chance to draw his sword and test its edge. The massive, thorny growth fell to their feet.

"Only Kathryn could walk a path like this," commented Sod as he continued to slice his way through. "These branches are so sharp and tightly interwoven that only the sow could manage to walk through unscathed."

The plowman and the Shaman, however, could not pass through unharmed. Even though the path was partially cleared by Sod's sword, some branches remained to tear at their clothing and puncture their skin. Punished and brutalized by the last leg of their journey, Banewood and Sod proceeded slowly, their hearts heavy with fear and anticipation. By noon, they had passed through the forest of thorns and had entered into a wide perimeter of tall grasses and occasional trees. Banewood sniffed the air and winced.

"Look," he said, pointing to a large copse of assorted and vile smelling weeds. "This must have once been Baba Yaga's herb garden."

The expanse of foul-smelling weeds grew unbounded. They had probably been untended for many decades, but they still held firm against the encroaching forest and field. One fell weed pitted itself against the other for dominance of space. It was an evil looking tangle. Banewood hoped he could return by this path and gather some of the herbs. A few were familiar to him; they were shaman's herbs. Some plants had divinatory purposes, some had medicinal uses. Other plants were total strangers to Banewood's herbal. These were the most curious to the novice.

Reluctantly, the two pressed on. Because of the tall grass, Banewood and Sod didn't see the hut until they were almost in front of it. The hut of Baba Yaga loomed dark before them. Centuries old, the hut was partially collapsed at one end; it appeared like an apparition, grayish and fragile. The grass about the hut was trampled-- signs of a current inhabitant. Banewood was shaken by the sight; it was an eerie recollection of his divinatory dreams, minus the malevolent red eyes. Sod sensed the nervousness of his companion and gripped Wolksmert tightly. He glanced over his shoulder and searched around them. The scene was quiet. Not even a bird song could be heard. Sod turned and shook his companion's hand. It was a farewell to their past and an initiation to whatever would befall them in the moments ahead.

Banewood and Sod resolutely approached the hut. It looked weak, but it stood in evidence of craftsmanship from a forgotten century. Patches of straw, now grayish, were still attached to the roof. A few strange weeds had taken residence on the roof in order to catch extra light. On the roof's peak perched a dark bird. It was a raven. It waddled about and croaked a few times, picked at the wood and then silently winged out of sight.

Sod held out Wolksmert and walked toward the dimly lit entrance of the ramshackle hut. Fat spiders retreated to the shadows with the approach of the plowman. Sod's heart quickened and his whole body started to tremble slightly. He placed his feet carefully to avoid making any sounds. With Banewood close behind, Sod craned his neck through the doorway. It took an agonizing instant for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light. Was there something inside? Had it heard them coming? Where is it? Nothing stirred within. Lying among the cloven tracks and defacation, however, was a flattened pile of leaves-- Kathryn's bed. The stench from inside made Sod gag. Confirming their worst fears, it seemed that Kathryn, the monstrous sow which had rampaged through Gorod, was now living in the hut of Baba Yaga. Signs of the monsterous sow were everywhere. Most of the hut's interior was badly battered and decayed. Scattered debris on the ground may have once stood for a chair. Few furnishings remained distinguishable. In the far corner, though, near the bed of leaves, stood a dark and mouldering chest. The brass straps and brads had long since turned green and disintegrated from the moisture. Banewood saw the chest and could not restrain his curiosity. He entered the hut and opened the chest. Most of the wood was badly decayed, and it fell apart when it was disturbed. Inside the chest, however, the contents were fairly well preserved. Banewood unwrapped a book-sized, oilskin-covered bundle which was on top of other items. It was a book.

"I don't believe this," whispered Banewood in awe.

"Don't believe what," said Sod, not believing that Banewood dared to utter a sound in the lair of Kathryn.

"It looks like Baba Yaga's book of spells. I can't make out some of the writing; it's an old script. This is one of the books my old master told me about. It contains the ancient secrets of sorcery. This is an unbelievable discovery."

"Well, pack up your discovery and let's get out of here. This place makes me nervous," said Sod. His hands began to sweat and he could feel the weight of his sword sliding through.

Banewood hastily rewrapped the package and stuffed it into his own sack. On an impulse, he picked up another small bundle, which upon inspection, contained what looked like a Shaman's smoke mixture. Banewood lashed the sack to his belt and the two retreated back into the daylight.

When Banewood and Sod stepped outside, they saw that the scraggly raven had returned. Seeing the plowman and his companion, it cried out in a raucous frenzy. Through the cacophony, Sod and Banewood heard another sound: a terrifying squealing and trampling sound. Towering above the distant grass was a massive black shape. Thin, gray hair lay matted on its back and around it's notched ears. It was a wonder that such a large beast could have existed unnoticed for so many years, but it is true: The forest hides many secrets. Clouds and fumes emanated from around the creature's snout. It reared its head up and Banewood and Sod could see a pair of blazing red eyes.

"It's Kathryn," thought Sod.

"It's Baba Yaga," thought Banewood.

"We're in trouble," said the two aloud.

Sod was possessed by a grave doubt as to his future being. This whole scene was a nightmare and he wished he could wake up. What finally woke Sod up was the one thing which he had most feared. Like a fish, Wolksmert's handle slid through the gripped fingers of the plowman and fell to the ground. When Sod reached to pick it back up, it immediately slid out of his grasp. Kathryn was charging and spewing her fiery froth. Banewood loosed a Ludki arrow at the charging Kathryn, but it glanced off of the sow's forehead. Sod was distraught, to say the least. His sword would not remain in his hand.

Banewood, seeing Sod's plight, ran forward and shouted at the charging Kathryn. A spray of singeing fire told Banewood that he succeeded in getting her attention. He ran around the hut in an attempt to lead Kathryn away from Sod, who was still pathetically trying to grip his sword. A bit of Kathryn's breath caught the corner of Baba Yaga's hut and ignited the tinder-dry structure. Evidently, however, Kathryn's fiery froth had a limit, for it quickly decreased in range and intensity to the point of being a caustic dribble. Banewood took advantage of this and became bolder in his taunts. He loosed a few Ludki arrows at the enraged sow in order to further torment her. It worked. Banewood saw a nearby tree that he thought could hold his weight. He ran to it and limberly pulled himself up the trunk. He had previously discarded his backpack and other paraphernalia, but he neglected to untie the tiny old bag which held the ancient smoking mixture. It ripped open as Banewood shinned up the trunk, spilling its contents around the base of the tree.

Kathryn was not an ignorant sow. She saw this grand opportunity to harvest the tree's single fruit: Banewood. She ran headlong into the sturdy trunk of the tree and splintered part of the trunk. She tore at the ground around the tree with her hooves and layed her forehead against the trunk in an attempt to batter it down. Kathryn kicked up a cloud of the ancient herbal mixture torn from Banewood's belt. Her two wide nostrils inhaled part of the cloud and Kathryn no longer felt any pain. Hitting the tree with her head was easy; in fact, it was fun.

Sod saw the impending danger that Banewood was in. It was Sod's fault, he thought, that Banewood even came on this journey. He couldn't let him die. Sod had decided to go into this quest, and by his life, he would take it to its completion. He picked up a rock and threw it squarely at Kathryn's rear. Kathryn turned about and faced Sod. He taunted her with insults to her genealogy. Sod hardly noticed that he now gripped Wolksmert firmly in both hands. He spaced his legs, hurled another insult and waited.

The smoking mixture continued to work on Kathryn's brain. It had a strange, numbing sensation. Colors burst before her crimson eyes. Directly in front of her stood a tattered and sweaty plowman-- easy prey and a quick lunch. Suddenly, though, she was faced by two plowman-- no problem-- then a third. Three Sod's stood before the eyes of an enraged and disoriented sow. Baba Yaga's mixture, whatever it was, buzzed around in Kathryn's head like a swarm of happy bees. Kathryn decided that the plowman on the left, Sod number three, was the real one. It didn't really matter; she could always come back and finish off the other two. She charged with full fury. Distance between the two retreated with the sound of thundering cloven hooves. Sod number two, the one in the middle, didn't quite understand why Kathryn was veering so much to his right. No matter-- Wolksmert, guided by the plowman's strong arm, swung with the ease of a baton but crashed with the weight of a boulder.

Blood poured from Kathryn's head. Blood ran to the ground in red rivers and stained the dusty feet of the plowman. Blood dripped from the shining blade of Wolksmert.

Kathryn was dead.

It was several minutes before either Sod or Banewood moved or said anything. Sod stood alone with his sword dripping blood to the ground. Banewood shouted from the tree.

"You killed her. I can't believe that it happened so quickly."

"Quickly?" Sod thought hours passed during Kathryn's charge.

"I owe you my life," said Banewood. "How can I ever repay you?"

"Don't worry," said Sod, who smiled for the first time. "It all comes out in the wash."

Without having to discuss their next step. The two quietly and deliberately set about gathering dried brush and grass for a fire. It took nearly an hour to amass the giant pyre, but it was finally built and easily set aflame from the embers of Baba Yaga's smoldering hut. The evening light was brightened by the burning pile of brush. A night bird sang vespers, and the wind whispered softly over the plains, gently fanning the blaze.

The Acquisition

When they passed out of the thorn thicket and reached the forest, the two men found the same path they had traveled with the Silvan Lord. Surprisingly, the path was actually straighter than they thought when they travelled it a couple of nights earlier. Lessy, no doubt disheartened, was not to be found on their return trip, but Banewood and Sod were not dismayed, for now the dark forest seemed more alive than before. Previously somber birds were now joyfully singing, and occasional butterflies could be seen flitting among the treetops. On their way back home, Banewood and Sod found more to talk about. Banewood was excited about the book of ancient secrets he had found in the hut of Baba Yaga. He felt that this book could unlock the doors blocking his quest for knowledge of the Shaman's arts. Already, Banewood was practicing strange, new spells that he had translated from the book. His prowess was increasing steadily. Sod spoke of his dream to break away from his life as a plowman. He wished to sever his roots to the soil and become a journeyman, a knight errant of this kingdom upon the plains. He found that he now had the confidence to realize his dream.

When Banewood and Sod arrived once again at the Ludki village, they were greeted by the entire population of little people. The smiles were upon the round faces and bright and exotic feathers dressed the tall caps worn by all. It was a state reception for the two heroes. Banewood and Sod walked waist-deep through the cheering crowd and stopped directly in front of Stickleburr.

"Hey Sod, hey Banewood! It seems that you've killed Kathryn, for she can no longer be alive. The forest and plains are free again, though they've hardly known any freedom. Congratulations, yes, most certainly!" Spoke Stickleburr from atop his royal stump.

The little people all cheered and waved their hats. All around the Ludki village stood cloth-covered tables layed out with fragrant foods -- all of the delicacies that could be concocted. Kegs of mead were everywhere in anticipation of a great feast in honor of the slayers of the monster Kathryn.

"You've done an Immeasurable Service to all of The Ludki by Your Slaying of the Great Wolk and Kathryn," said Stickleburr in his finest rhetoric, adding: "Since your Service is Most Certainly not Measurable to even a single Ludki, and Since It wasn't actually Your Slaying of the Great Wolk and Kathryn because the Wolk wasn't all that Great and Kathryn wasn't at all Kathryn."

Sod found it difficult, to say the least, to follow the circuitous speech of Stickleburr, but he did manage to glean the meaning: Kathryn was not really Kathryn. Did they kill the wrong monster? Worse yet, was there actually another monster like Kathryn?

Stickleburr said: "I know what you're thinking, Sod, even if you don't. There is no other monster, for there was only one; Kathryn was really Baba Yaga because she was nothing else."

Once again all of the Ludki cheered loudly. The feast was on and the music was struck. Flagons were filled with bubbly mead poured from the aged kegs. This was the best of brews, for this was to be the best of celebrations-- Kathryn was dead and Baba Yaga was no more.

Without prompting, the two heroes joined in the merriment. Food and drink were both brought to the guests of honor. The large, round eyes of the Ludki bulged in disbelief at the sight of Banewood and Sod drinking their mead. Surely, the two strangers must have hollow legs to hold so much drink. Banewood and Sod could very well have had hollow legs, for they drank considerable amounts of mead even for men. They had had a long and difficult ordeal, and this was a welcome relief from the events of the past several weeks. And most certainly, this mead was the best they had ever tasted!

While Banewood and Sod were enjoying themselves and filling their bellies, the Ludki danced furiously, spinning and hopping and clapping their little hands. The musicians were adept with their instruments-- strange varieties of many-stringed wonders. Suddenly, from some occult cue, the music and dancing and laughter all stopped. A lone minstrel approached Banewood and Sod, bowed, and began to pick his instrument. After several introductory bars, he sang a song whose chorus was joined in by all:

"Tell a tale of Kathryn,
a tough old sow with tougher skin.
She razed the fields with flame and fire
now where did she go?  Hey!

 Chorus:
"They ground her up for sausage links.
They boiled her down for candle sticks.
They tanned her hide and sewed some shoes
so now she's hit the road.  Hey!

Tell a tale of Shaman folk
who packs himself an awful smoke.
He smoked a bit with Kathryn
now where did she go?  Hey!

Tell a tale of a man named Sod
who found himself a sharp old sword.
He smote a bit on Kathryn now where did she go?  Hey!"

Banewood and Sod were both deeply touched by this tribute. In their dim age of little writing, great deeds were memorialized in an oral tradition. The song of their deeds could very well outlive any scrap of paper or even any memory of just who Sod and Banewood actually were.

Stickleburr once again mounted his royal stump. The thin-haired and pot-bellied leader of the Ludki swayed slightly, for it was apparent that he'd been sampling his share of the mead. He rubbed his bulbous little nose to see if it was still there and then spoke to the gathering in long-drawn syllables.

"My fellow Ludki. We are gathered here, for we aren't elsewhere, to Honor these Two Humans whom we don't wish to do dishonor for their Deeds.Hic. Since it wouldn't be Right to take them away, I'll present these Medallions to Sod and Banewood for their uncowardly Courage in defeating Kathryn-Who- Couldn't-Be-Defeated. These Medallions make known that which is not unknown: Sod and Banewood are forever Friends of the Ludki, for we cannot be your enemies even for a short while."

Stickleburr paused to hang the medallions around their necks. He hiccuped and continued: "I must tell you, for it wouldn't do to tell another, that both of you will find Greatness, unless Greatness cannot be found but rather achieved. Hic! Sod, it is not a coincidence, though You may think it is, that You found Wolksmert. Wolksmert found You. Wolksmert, the wolf-slayer, was crafted many hundreds of years ago by the Ludki, for it could have been crafted by none other. It seeks the hand which can guide it, unless that hand can't be found, then it will evade the unsure hand, though an unsure hand is more likely itself to evade the sword! Hic! Sod, wield Your Sword wisely, for to do otherwise would be foolish. Hic! Hic!

"Banewood, you shall be a Powerful and a Good Sorcerer, though You may not think You are either. In Your lifetime You will undo much of the evil that has already been done by the Evil Sorceress, for You can't undo that which hasn't already been done. Hic!"

Stickleburr was quite obviously reeling now and finding it difficult to keep his balance. He continued to feel for his nose, but he couldn't find it for the numbness.

"So let Me say, unless you say I can't say it, that You Two have found Greatness that you never lost because you sought to acquire it. Hic! It was there-- it wasn't anywhere else. Hic! I... I... I must stop now, for I think I've had too much to drink, though if I start on it, hic, I'd say it wasn't the drink that I drunk-- the drink's not drunk, rather, I drank the drink, unless I drunk it. It was already drunk, but now I'm the one who's drunk-- Hic!"

With that, Stickleburr spun off his stump, much to the relief of the other Ludki, who had become almost as confused as Banewood and Sod. While Stickleburr lay passed-out with a smile upon his numb lips, the other Ludki-- those who weren't also passed-out-- endeavored to follow their leader. Banewood and Sod joined in the twirling, leg-kicking dance of the Ludki and shouted "Hey!" The dancing, music and magic lasted long into the night, and remained in the memories of the two humans long after many things had passed.

A warbler's song awoke Sod from his slumber. Rosy morning rays penetrated the covering of trees and illuminated the Ludki village with radiance. All around the beehive ovens and little houses and strewn-about kegs lay the supine bodies of Ludki, some still wearing their pointed hats and bright feathers. Sod's pre-breakfast mind pondered over the many events that had recently come to pass. He'd seen so many things that he'd never thought he'd see-- the Ludki and the Silvan Lord and parts of the great countryside surrounding Gorod. Things he'd wished he'd never seen-- the Great Wolk, Kathryn and Baba Y aga's hut. Stories from his childhood had come to life, and all he had to do was to brave seldom-travelled paths. How many more wonders lay waiting to be seen? He didn't know, but now he would endeavor to find them, for his curiosity had finally been aroused.

After they had both broken fast, the two journeymen washed away the grime of the last few days and bid farewell to their friends, the Ludki. Banewood and Sod promised to respect the privacy of the little people; they would not divulge the existence and location of the Ludki, who wished to maintain their distance from the human race. As Stickleburr explained, once upon a time, many thousands of years ago, the Ludki lived near humans. It was Ludki adroitness with smithing that led humans to request from them weapons of iron -- weapons the Ludki had no wish to forge. The few weapons they did make, the Ludki imbued with a magic that would not allow their use without purpose or good intent. Wolksmert was one such weapon which had survived that golden age of metal working.

By the time Banewood and Sod reached the center of Gorod, they had acquired a persistent throng of followers eager to hear news of their adventures. Most expressed murmured amazement that Banewood and Sod returned alive, uninjured and not white with fright. If anything, they even looked healthier than when they had originally undertaken their quest. Banewood's Ludki-crafted arrows were hidden away and both of their medallions lay hidden beneath their tunics. Banewood and Sod only offered unembellished details of Kathryn's final moments. They didn't mention Baba Yaga's hut or even the great wolk. There was considerable rejoicing among the populace at the news of Kathryn's death. Regardless of how little the two travelers told, they were highly regarded by the folks of Gorod. They were heroes.

Inside the Antlers, Sod and even Banewood were offered seats of honor and given drinks of crude tavern mead. As the days went by, Banewood and Sod would often meet there to discuss their plans for travel. This time they were going across the plain in search of distant cities. Tales were told of men in the far away cities who rode upon the backs of four-legged beasts, and Banewood and Sod both agreed that they would like to explore more of their world. It was now late autumn, and what little harvest there was that was spared by Kathryn's harsh breath was stored away. The daily work routine was slowing in pace. The time was ripe for travel.

A few large bottle flies were marauding about within the Antlers, enjoying the late warmth and making a general nuisance of themselves with the few customers. One daring fly kept alighting near Sod, trying to divert the normally stolid plowman. The air intermittently cracked with the resounding whack of Sod's large hand upon the table. He couldn't kill the pesky fly.

"Yeauh, Sod," yelled the Miller from across the tiny room. "Why don't you let Banewood give the fly some of his smoke. The little critter'd get so dizzy it would burn itself into a hole! Harr! Harr! Harr!"

Banewood cast a glance at the bottle fly buzzing around their heads and sent it to the great beyond with a tiny, explosive pop.

The Miller, who saw this, inhaled part of his mead and coughed. Banewood and Sod laughed.

The End