found a thin leather band on which dangled a dried chicken claw as a pendant. At the top, sticking out of the severed limb, were several sinews like the wires of a puppet. When Vermithrax challenged her to pull on them, the chicken’s claw closed, as if all at once there were life in it. Merle almost dropped the hideous thing in terror.
“Yucky.” She let go of the claw and only held on to the leather thong.
“It is a good luck charm,”
the Queen explained.
“Oh, yes?”
“The inhabitants of the Czarist kingdom carry them. You do know that they are under the protection of the Baba Yaga?”
Merle nodded, although she was aware that the Queen couldn’t see it, only feel it at the most.
On the other side of the plateau, Vermithrax rooted through another chest with his front paws and poked around in it with his nose.
“What do you know about the Baba Yaga?”
“Not much. She’s a witch. Or something like that.”
The Queen was clearly smirking.
“A witch. A goddess. The people have seen very much in her. It is a fact that she has protected the Czarist kingdom, as I”
—she stopped, as if pain and guilt welled up in her and in some strange way rubbed off on Merle—
“as I protected Venice.”
“Do you know her? Personally, I mean.”
“No. She is not like me. At least I guess that. But what I want to say is this: Since time immemorial the Baba Yaga has had a certain form with which the people identify her. An old woman who lives in a little house—but this house stands on two chicken legs as tall as trees and can run around on them like a living creature.”
Merle swung the pendant. “Then this thing is a sort of symbol?”
“It is. The way the Christians wear a cross to protect themselves from evil, so the inhabitants of the Czarist kingdom wear such a chicken foot—at least those who believe in the protection of the Baba Yaga.”
“But that would mean—”
“That these are the remains of an expedition that was sent here by the Czar.”
Merle thought over what that might mean. The armies of the Egyptians had overrun the entire world within a few decades—with the exception of Venice and the Czarist kingdom. However, there had never been contact between the two, at least none of which the common folk had learned. Nevertheless, the sight of the destroyed camp filled her with a remarkable feeling of loss, as if an important opportunity had been missed here. How did it look in the Czarist kingdom? How did people there defend themselves against the attacks of the Empire? And, not least, how did the Baba Yaga protect them? All questions to which they perhaps could find answers here, if someone didn’t prevent them.
“Do you think they’re dead?” Merle directed the question to both the Queen and Vermithrax.
The lion trotted over placidly. “The tent wasn’t slit with a knife, at any rate. The edges are too rough and frayed for that.”
“Claws?” Merle asked, and she guessed the answer already. Gooseflesh crept along her arms.
Vermithrax nodded. “There are traces of them on the ground.”
“They scratched the
rock?”
Merle’s voice sounded as though she’d swallowed something much too large.
“I’m afraid so,” said the lion. “Pretty deeply, too.”
Merle’s eyes slid to the obsidian lion’s paws and inspected the ground. His own claws left no traces in the stone. The creatures the Czar’s expedition had encountered—what kind of claws must they have?
Then she knew. The answer popped up from her memory like the head of a sleeper who unexpectedly awakens. “Lilim,” she said immediately.
“Lilim?”
the Queen asked.
“When Professor Burbridge discovered Hell sixty years ago and encountered its inhabitants for the first time, he gave them this name. The teacher in the orphanage told us about them. Burbridge named them after the children of Lilith, the first wife of Adam.”
Vermithrax cocked his head. “A human legend?”
Merle nodded. “Perhaps the oldest
“Yucky.” She let go of the claw and only held on to the leather thong.
“It is a good luck charm,”
the Queen explained.
“Oh, yes?”
“The inhabitants of the Czarist kingdom carry them. You do know that they are under the protection of the Baba Yaga?”
Merle nodded, although she was aware that the Queen couldn’t see it, only feel it at the most.
On the other side of the plateau, Vermithrax rooted through another chest with his front paws and poked around in it with his nose.
“What do you know about the Baba Yaga?”
“Not much. She’s a witch. Or something like that.”
The Queen was clearly smirking.
“A witch. A goddess. The people have seen very much in her. It is a fact that she has protected the Czarist kingdom, as I”
—she stopped, as if pain and guilt welled up in her and in some strange way rubbed off on Merle—
“as I protected Venice.”
“Do you know her? Personally, I mean.”
“No. She is not like me. At least I guess that. But what I want to say is this: Since time immemorial the Baba Yaga has had a certain form with which the people identify her. An old woman who lives in a little house—but this house stands on two chicken legs as tall as trees and can run around on them like a living creature.”
Merle swung the pendant. “Then this thing is a sort of symbol?”
“It is. The way the Christians wear a cross to protect themselves from evil, so the inhabitants of the Czarist kingdom wear such a chicken foot—at least those who believe in the protection of the Baba Yaga.”
“But that would mean—”
“That these are the remains of an expedition that was sent here by the Czar.”
Merle thought over what that might mean. The armies of the Egyptians had overrun the entire world within a few decades—with the exception of Venice and the Czarist kingdom. However, there had never been contact between the two, at least none of which the common folk had learned. Nevertheless, the sight of the destroyed camp filled her with a remarkable feeling of loss, as if an important opportunity had been missed here. How did it look in the Czarist kingdom? How did people there defend themselves against the attacks of the Empire? And, not least, how did the Baba Yaga protect them? All questions to which they perhaps could find answers here, if someone didn’t prevent them.
“Do you think they’re dead?” Merle directed the question to both the Queen and Vermithrax.
The lion trotted over placidly. “The tent wasn’t slit with a knife, at any rate. The edges are too rough and frayed for that.”
“Claws?” Merle asked, and she guessed the answer already. Gooseflesh crept along her arms.
Vermithrax nodded. “There are traces of them on the ground.”
“They scratched the
rock?”
Merle’s voice sounded as though she’d swallowed something much too large.
“I’m afraid so,” said the lion. “Pretty deeply, too.”
Merle’s eyes slid to the obsidian lion’s paws and inspected the ground. His own claws left no traces in the stone. The creatures the Czar’s expedition had encountered—what kind of claws must they have?
Then she knew. The answer popped up from her memory like the head of a sleeper who unexpectedly awakens. “Lilim,” she said immediately.
“Lilim?”
the Queen asked.
“When Professor Burbridge discovered Hell sixty years ago and encountered its inhabitants for the first time, he gave them this name. The teacher in the orphanage told us about them. Burbridge named them after the children of Lilith, the first wife of Adam.”
Vermithrax cocked his head. “A human legend?”
Merle nodded. “Perhaps the oldest
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