The Witch and the Tsar Short Story:
A Hut in the Wood

Summer 1015

Rus’

Someone was watching me.

I had first noticed it by the river—when I had finally had had the chance to bathe after days spent sleeping on the forest floor. The days since I had fled yet another village that had branded me a vedma.

As I understood it, witch meant a woman possessing magic, or a power entirely unknown to men. I could not deny I was such a woman, being a half-goddess, an immortal, and one knowledgeable in earth magic and herbs. But when they said the word, it came out not as a compliment, but as an insult and a veiled threat.

I touched my long black hair, still wet from my swim. Now that I was freshly clean, the word and its implications no longer bothered me. I even imagined laughing at those men if I ever saw them again. Which I would not. For I had had enough of mortals. I would live in the forests away from their villages and onion-domed houses of worship. If they desired my knowledge, well, then they would have to seek me out for once.

I felt a prickle at the back of my neck, the sensation of eyes on me. Had the men found me already?

Morning had, in that secret way of time, slid into afternoon. The sun had dimmed, the birds had quieted. The pine trees seemed to have grown taller, giants festooned in needled branches that blotted out the light. I hoped it did not portend a storm.

A very large tawny wolf—and my daylight companion—bounded up to me. His name, Dyen, meant day. And my owl’s name, Noch, meant she joined me at night.

It is all clear, Yaga, Dyen told me in his own language.

I understood animals and could communicate with them, this being the most precious talent my mother, the Fertility and Earth Goddess Mokosh, had passed on to me. “Are you certain?” I asked my wolf in Russian, as was my way.

He turned his amber gaze on me in rare reproach. Do you doubt me, Yaga?

“Never,” I said, even as I glanced about, only hearing the crunch of twigs and fallen leaves beneath my boots. “It is strange…I feel someone, or something, watching me. And the air is heavy with expectation. As if they are lying in wait for me.” I turned to Dyen. “Could the men have followed me?”

If they would have, I would know, said my wolf. But there is no one.

A raindrop splattered onto my cheek.

Dyen sniffed at the air. A storm is coming.

That is what I had feared. Before, I would only visit the forest when Mother and I would forage for the herbs and roots used in our charms, potions, and rituals, or else to fetch the healing Water of Life from the Land of the Dead. I knew the passageway to it well; it was in a beautiful glade close to the river where I had bathed. I glanced down at my small bundle of necessaries—all I had been able to bring when the men had run me out of that village. I was entirely unprepared for the lack of a roof over my head.

“Maybe a few raindrops, and it will cease,” I said, sincerely hoping it were true.

Dyen tossed his great head back in a laugh. And I am not a wolf.

“You are becoming as incorrigible as Noch.” For my owl had quite the attitude.

But as we walked, the mists thickened, and a cold draft of air whistled through the now swaying trees. The rain started, a chill downpour. We sprinted in search of shelter. But it was as if the pine trees knowingly and purposefully allowed the rain through. We were already soaked through, and this was just the beginning.

I could not see, could not seem to grasp the direction we were heading. Were we lost? I stopped, seeing nothing but smudges of green where the trees were supposed to be, the curling mists and rain. I crossed my shivering arms at my chest, tight, as if to hold onto my heart a little longer. A gust of wind blew, and I let out a wet gasp.

But ahead the trees had shifted, as if to make space for my gaze, and I glimpsed something beyond them. Were those logs? The slope of a roof? An izba, a hut, here, in this wilderness? I could not believe my turning luck. Or trust it.

Dyen let out a howl of warning. We do not know who might live there, or what.

But I did not heed my wolf; without replying, I set out at a near-blind run with him at my heels. I decided to trust my luck and hope for the best.

Once we broke through the trees, I did not pause to look at the hut, not even when I reached its doorstep. I rushed straight to the door and flung it open. Then I pulled Dyen inside with me, and we were safe. At least, from the storm.

I heard the intense drumming of the rain on the roof. Otherwise, the hut was quiet, and dark. Even through the darkness, I could still feel someone—or something—watching me. As if the darkness was a living, breathing thing.

Dyen eyed our surroundings uneasily. I do not like it, Yaga.

“Peace, Dyen.” I ran a hand through his damp fur and took a few steps deeper into the izba, which consisted of one room. “Let us wait out the storm, then see.”

The hut had a lonely yet cozy feel to it. Its wooden planks practically vibrated warmth, like the flesh of a living person. A pech oven stood on the right side of the door and opposite one window; large and spacious, its flat top was roomy enough to lie on and sleep. Only now did I become aware of a bubbling. On the other side of the hut, there was a hearth and, to my infinite surprise, a cauldron—with water already simmering in it.

I glanced up at Dyen incredulously. “Do you think someone lives here?”

He padded around the hut. In the rainy light pouring through the shutters, I glimpsed dust on the planks, spiderwebs in the corners, a rustling—of mice? The izba was stale, unlived in. I threw open the shutters and took a breath of the earthy air.

It does not appear so, Dyen pronounced. At least, I am not picking up a scent, unless you count the rodents.

“Then how is it heated, how is there a hearth with an already laid fire?”

This izba is strange…I do not like it.

Perhaps the hut was under a spell, some enchantment or magic, or perhaps someone had lived here before, another vedma from another time. Just as I was puzzling this out, the sweetest shadow of drowsiness fell upon me. As if the hut with all its comforts and magic had conspired to tire me out. I stumbled to the pech. Despite his protests, and even though night was his time to hunt, my wolf settled onto the oven with me. He curled around my body and, together, we fell into a lovely sleep with no dreams.

We awoke to birdsong the next morning. Sunlight streamed into the hut through the open windows, strong and very bright. But it was not hot, as if the izba managed the heat like a human body. Without thinking, I patted the wall closest to me in gratitude.

Before I removed my palm, I thought I felt the logs vibrate with a strangely subtle pulsing, like a magic carpet coming alive beneath my fingertips. Clearly, so much sleep was not good for an impressionable mind like mine.

What is it? Dyen’s gaze was steady on me.

“Too much rainwater in my ears,” I said. “Come, let us find some breakfast.”

And check on Noch. She never found us last night.

I waved away his concern. “Noch flew out to meet with her fellow owls before the onset of autumn. They could not decide whether to stay or move on. I only hope she does not forsake us for the winter.” I opened the door and stilled on the threshold.

The little break in the woods from the night before was gone. We were hemmed in by birch trees and tall grasses that reached my very knees.

Maybe I had not noticed them in the storm. Or I was misremembering.

Dyen let out a growl. This is not where we were last night.

Was he right? Either way, we had to find food and water. Dyen ran out for our breakfast while I resolved to search for the water. In the hut, I found a wooden shoulder yoke and two buckets. As I closed the izba door behind me, I felt eyes on me again. No, not eyes, but a presence. If we were in a different place, the hut really was enchanted, and perhaps the enchanter was playing games with me. Either way, I hoped the hut would not be moved again. Dyen and I, and Noch, when she hopefully joined us, would need the shelter, a home. And should any mortal seek me out for my knowledge and wisdom…

No, Yaga. The mortals definitely, most certainly, would not seek me out.

An odd twinge pierced me—sorrow, perhaps even a longing—before I quickly stamped it out as if crushing a fire’s last embers; I certainly did not need the mortals, but even if they did finally learn how much they needed me and my magic, only the bravest and boldest and most polite of them would earn the right to it.

Suddenly, I noticed the gurgle of water. A few paces from me, hidden beneath verdant shrubbery, there glimmered a stream.

As I filled my two buckets with the cold, clear water, I wondered what my wolf would find—a hare? A wild duck? Trout? The rumble of my stomach reminded me how hungry I was. I retraced my steps back to the hut, the wooden yoke heavy upon my neck as I navigated between the trees with the water sloshing in their buckets.

But when I arrived at the spot where the hut had stood, it was gone.

I had been so relieved when we had found the izba. It had seemed like the solution to all our problems. Even if a little odd, I had grown used to having it. And now that it had been taken away, I couldn’t help but despair. I would need to look for another shelter, or build one. Otherwise, how would I survive the legendary Rus’ winter in this forest? I only had the clothes on my back and now, not even my little bundle of necessaries. My breathing had grown strained, and I set down the yoke with the buckets. Was the hut being moved, or was I losing my mind?

No, my mind was sound. Whatever was to blame for this bizarre occurrence, the simple truth was I needed a place of refuge, somewhere to call home. If I had to find or build one, so be it. I took up the yoke, and this time, retraced my steps back to the stream.

There stood the hut!

As if by magic indeed. For how else to explain it? I had certainly never heard of a traveling hut. And I was being looked at with eyes that were not eyes, a gaze that was not a gaze, a presence that was there…and not.

I studied the hut, properly for the first time. It was unremarkable in many respects; the same logs used to build any izba in Rus’, a triangular roof, two windows and a door framed with rich wood carvings, a doorstep missing a porch and railings. The hut was as immobile as ever, except for an almost imperceptible, tiny movement, like a person breathing in and out. I could almost make out the inhale, and the exhale…

My imagination was running away with me again. I was ready to believe in the hut’s magic, but for it to be a living being? Preposterous! I only wished Noch would return to me; she would know what to do. But I was thankful Dyen stayed with me as in the nights ahead we took turns keeping watch—for whoever was observing us.

My curiosity grew, as did the strange occurrences in the hut and the feeling of being perpetually on display, looked at and scrutinized.

I spent most of my time cleaning the izba. Sometimes, I would sense a jerk, a pulling away, almost as if the hut had felt my touch and bristled against it. Inadvertently, I would think, Is it ticklish? Other times, I would swear it swayed, and I would think, Is it unable to stand still? From time to time, the walls would pulse, almost to breathe. And when I started to fill the shelves at the back of the hut with herbs, dried flowers, and other findings from the wood, I would wake up the very next morning with them rearranged or simply gone. That’s when I wondered if there was indeed some occupant of the hut I could not see. It would explain the perpetual feeling of being watched.

But the days went by, and still, they did not show. And I was used to the hearth that never went out, even used to going to sleep in one part of the wood only to wake up in another. It was the hut’s magic, Dyen and I started to tell each other.

Even my wolf recognized that we needed the hut. Already the leaves had started to drift from the trees, the heat wearing itself out by evening then turning cold and sullen, the waters of the wood numbing my skin with a new chill. And the skies had started to darken earlier as the white nights evaporated like the summer. It was a relief to have a warm pech at my back as autumn came on, an always ready hearth, a roof over my head.

If the hut were ensorcelled, I could only hope the enchanter did not wish me or my wolf ill, and everything would continue as it had been.

One evening, as twilight shone over us blue and wistful, and as I was preparing a very pungent nettle soup, I heard the unmistakable crunch of twigs and leaves underfoot. Under a mortal foot.

My heart leaped into my throat—in fear, but also with an irritating anticipation that made my restless fingers practically vibrate.

I looked out the window; a few nights ago, the hut had moved to the glade I had traveled to with my mother, the one on the border between the Lands of the Living and the Dead. Beyond a thicket of wild roses, under gray skies that promised a tempest, stood a man. Even from the distance that separated us, I saw he was young and handsome, with dark hair and eyes. He was rich, too, if his gold-embroidered kaftan was any indication.

Well, I could open the shutters a little wider for one as handsome as he. I did so. They were warm from the sun. “Welcome, stranger,” I called out to the man in a soft voice. “Are you lost or come with purpose?”

“Neither,” he said. His voice was as strong and manly as it was deep. “My horse fell and broke her neck, just beyond those trees.” He pointed vaguely behind him, smiling all the while, his teeth sharp and very white. “I slit her throat—”

I shivered. The hut jerked under me, as if also shivering.

“She was in pain,” added the man, self-assured, secure in his reasoning, entirely without remorse or empathy, for he added, his smile turning insolent, “I had no choice.”

Despite his handsome face, I liked him not. I was about to tell him as much, when I heard my wolf’s howl, his greeting to me, and Dyen leapt out of the underbrush at the edge of the wood and streaked toward me. I went to the door to meet him.

All the while, the man stood watching us with great interest.

Dyen was immediately on his guard. Yaga, who is this? I could smell his entitlement from the wood.

“I can see why,” I said to Dyen before turning back to the man. “So, you killed your loyal companion. What do you want me to do about it?”

One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk; apparently, he did not often encounter opposition. “I am Prince Vyslav, and I am in search of a tree that will bear apples of gold to crown my garden. My wife is with child. She likes to stroll in my garden, admiring it. And I thought, what could make her happier than a tree with golden apples?”

“Perhaps your presence as she nears her time?”

The man raised his eyebrows in confusion, clearly at a loss.

Dyen shook his head. Those golden apples are meant only for his vanity.

I patted Dyen, hiding my smile. “What is it you need, Prince Vyslav?”

“A horse, if you have one.”

“As you see, I have no horses.” And if I did, I would not give them to you.

His eyes flicked from me to Dyen, too quickly. “Some say wild wolves can be tamed, so much so they can be ridden. I say, that is a rather large wolf—”

Dyen’s growl was low and deep. The hut gave a shudder, as if in warning.

“Perhaps,” continued Prince Vyslav, “I can borrow it for a spell, find my tree, then return it to you.”

The gall of this man, prince or not! “My wolf is not an it,” I said coldly. “And he is not mine to be given away like chattel. Good day, sir. I cannot help you.” Though a part of me was glad to talk to another person, I would rather forgo talk entirely with such arrogant, entitled men, who killed their horses with a smile and reveled in others’ misery.

“Look here, vedma.” Prince Vyslav’s face had twisted furiously into something stomach-turning, and ugly. “I shall not leave, not until you hand over your wolf.”

“Then you shall be waiting a long time,” I said, turning, about to go inside my hut. It seemed the word vedma would follow me now forever.

Suddenly, I heard Dyen’s growl behind me, felt the swish of air—

I spun on my heel and had only time to shout, “Dyen!” as my wolf leaped forward—right at Prince Vyslav. At first, they wrangled with each other on the ground, the prince almost on his back and at a disadvantage. But then, with stunning speed, he jumped up and onto Dyen’s back. Gripping my wolf’s body with his legs, the prince kicked at him to move forward as he would a horse. I rushed toward them.

The foul man pushed me back and, suddenly, produced something sharp and glinting from the pocket of his kaftan—a knife, that he then leveled at Dyen’s throat.

“Tell your wolf to submit to me,” said Prince Vyslav, “or I shall slit his throat as I did that of my horse.”

I stopped and met Dyen’s scattered gaze. I am sorry, Yaga, he said. I let my temper get the best of me. I can try to escape the vile man at my earliest convenience…

Before I was forced to make an answer, I heard the snapping of twigs, a creaking of wood, the rushing of air—all behind me.

Prince Vyslav dropped his knife. It fell onto the forest floor with a barely perceptible thunk! as he stared past me, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

My heart throbbed, not with fear now, but with curiosity. Slowly, carefully, almost closing my eyes, I turned—and beheld such a sight!

The hut I had been living in for days now was standing high above us, almost level with the boughs of the pine trees, on what I saw, incredibly, were chicken legs! I gawked at it, especially as it started to shake and threaten. The carvings on the windows and door darkened slightly, as if in a flared-up, barely suppressed emotion, even anger.

One chicken leg thrust up in a well-placed kick—aimed directly at Prince Vyslav, who at the impact, fell back and off my wolf.

Yaga! Dyen hopped toward me. What is happening?

I shook my head wordlessly, and we watched in disbelief as the hut leveled more kicks at Prince Vyslav—until the poor man quite lost his senses and, shedding what self-possession he had not lost already, fled from us like a frightened hare.

The hut shook with what I could only interpret as laughter. It jiggled and trembled and even let out a noise that sounded not a little like, “Heh! Heh! Heh!”

Suddenly, something feathery hurled at me. Downy wings came around my shoulders in an embrace, and the warm smell of someone dear and familiar.

“Noch?” I peered at my owl in bewilderment.

Thank the gods you are all right, Ya! I was flying back to you, when I saw Dyen rolling on the ground with that man. I was about to swoop down, but your new hut handled him quite well! the wild thing chortled. Have you had her long?

I studied the hut. “Days now. But I did not know it—”

The hut shook over me threateningly. One leg lifted off the ground slightly.

“Oh, no, no, I meant…he—” At which there was more shaking and threatening, and I hurried to say, “My apologies—her?”

The roof went up and down, almost in a nod.

“Dyen and I had thought she was under some kind of an enchantment, but we had no idea she was half chicken.” I reached out a hand and touched the hut’s chicken legs, and she vibrated under my fingers. Now that feeling of being watched made sense.

I could have told you that. Noch flapped her wings and rose into the air.

“I am well aware.” Being a bird, Noch would have discovered the hut’s chicken nature sooner. “But do you think she is also ensorcelled by someone?”

Noch landed on the hut and swept one feathered wing along its roof. The hut hopped and bounced. Ticklish definitely, ensorcelled I do not think so, Ya. 

So, the hut had acted on her own. “Did you play a trick on me?” I asked her.

The hut’s roof frantically went right to left, and left to right, as if to say, No.

“Were you…frightened to show yourself to me?”

The hut jerked a little, a subtle shrug.

“Were you…testing me, to see if I were worthy?”

The hut was still for a moment. Then her roof went up and down in a nod.

“And am I?”

The hut paused. Then she nodded.

I wanted to ask her many more questions—why she was how she was, where she had come from, if she had found me and, if so, on whose behest. But unlike my animals, our communication was limited. And a part of me did not want to know. The hut had come to my aid and revealed herself to me. That was enough for me. And, if she did find me, maybe she was a gift from someone dear. Maybe she was from Mother.

Despite her being gone, I liked to think she was still watching over me.

“What shall I call you, my little hut, my little hen?” She spun on her chicken legs happily, and I laughed, patting her on the legs. “Can I come live with you, Little Hen?”

She hopped a little, swayed, and shimmied. Then she swept down, folding her chicken legs beneath her. The door popped open in welcome, ushering us inside.

I smiled, my chest warming for the first time since I had fled that village. “Come, Noch,” I said to my owl. “Come, Dyen,” I said to my wolf. “Let us go home.”

I paused on Little Hen’s threshold and looked back. We would settle in this glade. But I would need to protect it and us against evil chyorti. Arrogant men, too. Men like Prince Vyslav. To do that, around my hut, I would build a fence of skulls from dead animals and along the fence, I would plant thistle and juniper for additional protection.

And so, I did. And I was quite sure I would live happily ever after with Little Hen and my companions—at least, until the mortals found me again.