Chapter 8

Di is for Dinner

“Go on! They’ll eat you up out there!” Prince Ivan smiles, and it’s a genuine smile. His face is clean shaven and his hair tidy. He’s wearing a fitted gray suit with one sleeve pinned up to the shoulder, where an arm once sprouted. The suit is otherwise devoid of wrinkles, unlike his face. He must have aged twenty years since Death came to retrieve the old Baba Yaga, though that must have only happened a day or two ago.
Dimitri nods solemnly, unsure whether she should be excited, relieved, angry… The list could go on. She decides that those emotions can be explored later, but for now she must stay focused.
“You okay?” Prince Ivan looks down at the girl, who has yet to open her mouth. “Who am I kidding? Of course you’re not. But remember, after tonight you can go home.”
At the mention of home, Dimitri meets the older gentleman’s eyes, “What home? My family has been cut off from the world, we don’t even know if they’re alive! Everyone keeps saying that Bratsk and the other cities are just under quarantine, but why then have we been unable to contact anyone?”
Prince Ivan sighs. “They’re alive, Di, I was able to check earlier this week. Baba wouldn’t let me say anything that could possibly distract you-”
Dimitri visibly relaxes.
“And also because, I must admit, something felt off. I couldn’t say what, though, otherwise I’d tell you.”
She tenses up again, but not as badly as before. “I believe you, Ivan, thank you.” She takes a deep breath, tucks a couple of stray hairs back into their tight bun, and then squares her shoulders. “I should get going, it sounds like they’re about ready.”
Prince Ivan pulls Dimitri into a one-armed hug and then allows her to turn on her heels and march backstage from where they have been standing in a side hallway. Dimitri ignores the glares coming from the other dancers as she passes by.

One Month Before

Over the past few days, Dimitri has sat restlessly at the loom, following every direction given by the witch with as much precision as she can muster. The tips of her fingers split and then healed quicker than she could have imagined possible, and are now replaced with hardened callouses. She uses the bat to tamp down her latest line of weft thread and is about to start the next line when Baba Yaga holds her open hand out as a signal for the girl to stop.
“Good, this is enough.” The old woman’s voice sounds the slightest bit more hoarse than usual.
Dimitri leans back, but the tension doesn’t leave her back, or shoulders, or arms. “Enough? For…” She leaves the question floating.
“Enough for me to feel like you’ll be competent on your own going forward.”
Dimitri somehow grows more tense, “We can’t possibly be done here, not after how much you’ve stressed the importance of this bullshi-” She bites her tongue and continues through a clenched jaw, “this task.”
“Yes, and I just stated that you have done just enough for me to feel at least somewhat confident in your skills. I had years to master this under the supervision of the previous Baba Yaga because she wasn’t actively dying and neither were any of the other gods. However, you’ve barely had weeks to learn because I am dying, as are the rest of us.”
Dimitri finally relaxes everything but the scowl on her face.
Baba chuckles and then stands to make tea, “Come, sit at the dining table, and wake the Prince, too.”
Dimitri follows orders, stretching as she stands and then carefully nudging the snoring goose in his usual spot by the hearth. He blinks the slumber from his eyes and uses his one wing to steady himself as he stands and waddles alongside Dimitri to the table. He squats a bit to attempt a leap into his booster seat, but Dimitri scoops him up before his flailing can make a mess of the otherwise tidy space. He grumbles a thanks as he’s neatly placed into the seat.
Baba stays by the kettle, awaiting its whistle, but continues speaking. “Dimitri, you remember the tea I served you recently? You saw our past in that first sip.”
“Of course, it was fucking cold.”
“Think of the weaving like that. I am passing a tradition down to you, one that was passed to me by my predecessor, and hers before, and so on. I pass on our history in hopes that an inkling of Baba Yaga lives on to teach future generations about the history of our people.”
The tea kettle interrupts her, like a train arriving at its destination.
“A piece of me is in that red thread that you used to build the foundation of your story. Like the threads of fate, we are all interwoven. Like Spider Woman taught her people to create beauty from simple threads and spin tales, we must also keep this tradition alive. The tapestry hanging on that wall is my story, long and fruitful, and yet still necessitating an end.”
Baba moves around the counter and places a mug of tea in front of Dimitri and then seats herself, her own mug in hand.
Dimitri finally speaks up, “If you’d just explained this from the beginning, maybe I wouldn’t have been so opposed.”
“Yes you would have,” Baba takes a sip, “You would have told me to find someone else and that you have bigger things to focus on, like this upcoming performance.”
Dimitri has no rebuttal and Prince Ivan keeps his beak shut, looking from one woman to the other.
“I needed to see if the Raven took to you at all, she is the true Baba Yaga, after all.”
At the mention of the Raven, Dimitri shows clear interest. “Wait, the Raven, are you saying that dream was real? I didn’t ask before…”
“Of course it was real, aren’t all dreams?”
“I’d like to think not…”
“Well they are now.”
“I had a dream just now that I was swimming in a pool of seeds and fruit, was that real?” Prince Ivan makes his grand entrance to the conversation, but is met with a tired glare from Baba. “Right, of course not, I still had both wings in that dream.”
Dimitri sips from her mug to hide a giggle and then continues, “Explain the Raven then, if she’s so real.”
“As I said, she’s the real Baba Yaga, we are just her vessels. There’s an old nursery rhyme,” Baba trails off as she thinks, “Ah, of course! One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for death. The rest I don’t know, but you get the gist.”
Dimitri stares into her steaming cup, the liquid the color of rust with an odor of citrus and roasted black tea. After several long seconds of pondering she responds, “One for sorrow… You’re saying that the Raven, aka Baba Yaga, is a sign of sorrow?”
Baba nods once, slowly, and takes another sip of tea. “Ironically, we predate that nursery rhyme by quite some time. What I think, and why I think that it’s so important to pass on our traditions and history, is that as the people lose their belief in Baba Yaga herself, their faith and fears are focused elsewhere.”
“So, while kids like me no longer believe in our mothers’ fairy tales, we do still believe in the emotions that come with said fairy tales.”
“Indeed. When was the last time you heard a positive telling of any of my stories?”
“Outside my mother? Never. And even in her tales it was rare for you to actually aid anyone without a twisted catch. In fact, more often than not, my father used your tales to scare my brother and I into behaving. Frankly, I’ve come to believe he was right, too.”
“Smart man. We often become what we’re told we are.”

Present Day

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Berlin!” A German man speaks in accented English to a crowd of several thousand. He directs a wave of his hand to the balcony seats hovering over the rest of the audience. “You all likely know me, Sir Johannes Lehmann, and I graciously welcome my royal and presidential guests. I hope our city has treated you well thus far.
“Before we can begin tonight’s performance, I would like to properly announce this weekend’s events, so please bear with me as I monologue for a moment. This is a very emotional, groundbreaking affair that we are kicking off.”
Dimitri stands impatiently backstage, watching the man on the screen, with Russian subtitles interpreting him in live time. Several other screens play with different subtitles, each with a different group of dancers surrounding. She recognizes the man as one of Germany’s international diplomats. He’s dressed exceptionally well but as if he was pulled from the early twentieth century; a twin-tailed overcoat draped over his fitted vest and steam-pressed shirt and slacks. An over-the-top hat fits snugly over his trimmed, blond hair. He uses his hands to speak in a way that makes him look more like a circus ringmaster than a professional diplomat. To top it all off, a gaudy gold pectoral cross hangs just below his collarbones. Dimitri struggles to take him seriously, unlike most of the others in the room and out in the auditorium.
“To begin, I’d like to get some of the uh, more macabre news out of the way. Don’t be alarmed though! Everything was planned and executed with a professional swiftness that any secret service agent would be impressed by.” This grants some chuckles from the crowd before the man continues. “Uh, that said, the decision has been made in coalition by our guests up in the mezzanine to um, uhh, wipe the infected cities in Russia from the maps.” The final statement is swifter than a secret serviceman tackling a president to the ground and followed by complete silence.
Dimitri’s jaw slackens in disbelief and horror. Everyone in the room uses the awkward pause to turn and look at her, the only one attending from those cities.
A single cough from the mezzanine brings everyone back to earth and signals for Johannes to continue. “But! Like I said, this is being done with every intention to preserve the citizens of these regions, as they have been evacuated over the course of the past several weeks. Now! Onto the fun business!” He doesn’t give anyone the chance to think about the circumstances for too long. “Tonight’s performance was specially curated for this event by a handful of elite recruiters and ballet masters. We will be watching a production of The Sleeping Beauty with music by Tchaikovsky performed by the United Nations Orchestra. Following this production, our world leaders will be moving to an unnamed secondary location to sign the Treaty. The rest of you are encouraged to stick around and participate in the evening Mass and then the ballroom next door will be open for all.
“As you are all aware, for the first time, well, ever, all of the major nations have come together to participate in the Eucharist and declare God as the world Sovereign. After centuries of human existence it is now, more than ever, that we must unify against Evil. What with many of our coastal regions being swallowed by the sea and equatorial regions in their third decade of drought, we must beg God to forgive us and let these hard times pass.
“Now! That’s enough of my voice! It is time for me to announce Russia’s own Sleeping Beauty, the girl chosen by God to survive the infliction upon her country in order to bring us all together tonight. I present to you all, the United Nations Ballet Troupe.” He bows at the waist and out of the spotlight as the curtains close.
Somebody has to jab Dimitri in the side while backstage to remind her of her duty to the world. It takes all of her strength not to snap in this moment, after hearing the news of her city and still be expected to act with civility. None of that matters, however, to the cameras or the people around the world, glued to their screens, as her so-called “devotion to God” is broadcast to the heavens and everything beneath them.
She quickly prances across the stage and into the limelight, where she takes position. Soft strings begin to play across the auditorium, followed by woodwinds and each instrument group until the curtains open again and Dimitri takes her cue to lift her arms and pretend that the entire world isn’t watching as her world crumbles.

Three and a half weeks before

Prince Ivan and Dimitri managed to dig out the finest clothes they could from the stash that Baba Yaga keeps on hand. They approach the private dance studio in central Berlin, Prince Ivan in a two piece suit, but with the jacket draped neatly over his elbow, and Dimitri in an ankle-length, flowy lavender sun dress. A familiar Portuguese woman waits just outside the main entrance and greets them with a nod. She unlocks the door with a personal key and leads them down a hallway. Several doors to their left have slitted windows that, with a glance, Dimitri can see through to where a polished studio floor is being scuffed by the feet of dozens of dancers she’s never seen before.
“Dimitri, it’s lovely to see you with…” Ariana Cortez speaks as she leads them to a back office.
“My uncle, Ivan.”
“Ah yes, your uncle Ivan.” She gestures to two cushioned seats in front of a desk, behind which she finds her own seat. “Now, excuse me for saying that I was quite surprised to hear from you last week, by letter no less. I didn’t think anybody sent letters these days!”
Dimitri laughs nervously, already unsure of the script that she was given by Baba Yaga before arriving.
Luckily, Prince Ivan is well versed in lying for the old witch. He covers Dimitri’s nervous laughter with one of confidence and then proceeds to do the talking. “Ah yes, so sorry about that! I’m sure you read our explanation in the letter, but it’s always beneficial to hear it aloud as well. You see, the moment we heard tell of the spreading virus, my brother –Dimitri’s father, Alexei– was quick to call me. I live with our mother, Anastasia, as her caretaker pretty far out of any city. The poor old woman has been muttering about curses and acts against God for so long, she wouldn’t stand for living anywhere other than a cabin in the woods. Unreasonable if you ask me, it’s been so difficult these past years to make a living out there, but I digress.”
Dimitri is struggling to keep her awe in check. After spending weeks with Prince Ivan who is usually a blundering fool, as Baba would say, it’s a genuine shock to hear him live up to his title.
“For once, our paranoid mother’s lifestyle became a lifesaver, quite literally. It took but a few days for me to hurry to Bratsk and pick up Dimitri so that she could take refuge with us. We were worried at first, of course, with mother already in poor health in her old age and the prospect of Dimitri having already been exposed to the Ice Flu, but the Lord provides, and so He did.”
Ariana is wide eyed at the anecdote and looks to Dimitri for further explanation, “Really? Truly a miracle, then.”
Dimitri smiles and shrugs, “I suppose so, but what is a miracle without true faith?” It’s surprisingly easy to add onto the religious imagery that people seem to love so much.
“Well then, I am so glad you could make it here in good health, however,” Ariana lets the statement hang for a moment longer than is comfortable.
“However?” Prince Ivan eagerly invites an explanation.
“However, nearly two months of your disappearance leaves me with more questions. How come we weren’t warned? And how do we know that you’re still in practice? It doesn’t take long for a ballerina’s skills to atrophy, definitely less than two months.”
“Ah, of course, easy answers.” Prince Ivan continues to do the talking. “We left in such a rush that Dimitri must have forgotten to give your contact information to her parents, since all of the communication happened through her devices. My mother is horribly old school, you see? She still thinks that devices contain the devil.” He pauses to look at her, “I thought I told you to do that!”
Dimitri raises her shoulders to her ears and feigns the guiltiest look she can, “Oops?”
Ariana sighs, “Okay, well, we all sometimes wish we could talk some sense into our elderly parents, God knows my own mother could be the same way, God rest her soul. But that still brings me to your condition.” She drops her head and studies Dimitri through her brows.
Dimitri understands the cue to do her own talking, “Of course, Ms. Cortez. While I didn’t have a proper studio to train in, I made sure to stay on my feet constantly. The woods were quite lovely to run in and we were able to clear a section of the house for me to practice as much as physically possible without a polished dance floor. I can assure you that I feel just as competent as ever, if not more! I’d be happy to prove myself in the studio and even brought my pointe shoes to do so today.”
Ariana is unsuccessful in hiding her shock, “I’m impressed. As far as I can tell, there’s no reason not to believe this story, albeit strange, but who am I to question an act of God. If you’re as ready as you say, I’ll go tell the rest of the troupe to take a break so that we can have the studio and you can put the final nail in the coffin!”
Across the hallway, Dimitri spends the next hour completing a series of movements. Dimitri surprises herself as to how easily she completes them and begins to take Baba Yaga’s recent comment on the reality of dreams much more seriously. She feels like she can see herself dancing and knows exactly when to inhale and exhale and how to hold her posture and when her knees would usually lock up, she prevents them from doing so. In fact, she’s never felt so at ease in her abilities as she does in this moment, with Ariana, Ivan, and probably near 40 other dancers watching wide eyed and mouths agape. She blushes at the end when a handful of the others clap.
“Well,” Ariana interrupts the applause, “I think that answers that. Welcome back to the troupe, Miss Dimitri Tsovetsky.”
Initially, Dimitri is accepted by the troupe with ease, everyone voicing how impressed they are and she gives them nothing but humble smiles and compliments in return. It is with her initiation that the coaches make their official decision to perform The Sleeping Beauty and have Dimitri lead the show, much to the chagrin of several of the other girls in the troupe.
Dimitri and Prince Ivan are on the subway headed to the outskirts of the city, where Baba Yaga awaits them in a rented house, when Prince Ivan leans over and mutters to Dimitri, “The other parents are not happy with your arrival, I’ve been listening while you all practice.”
“Huh?” Dimitri looks to him for further clarification.
“Well, our uh, story got out and many of them think, well I guess they know that it’s not true. Especially one of the mothers, of that one blonde German girl-”
“Julia? The one that clearly hates me?”
“Mm, yes I think that’s the one.”
“Yeah, well, she’s a brat and thinks she deserves the lead despite being unable to stay on her toes for more than thirty seconds, so she can suck it.”
“Yeah, well, her mother wouldn’t agree and has been telling the other parents that she thinks we bought our way into this with the devil’s money or some blasphemous shit like that.”
“HA!” Several people on the subway glare at Dimitri for the outburst, causing her to lower her voice before continuing, “They can have fun proving that, I’ve already won the hearts of the nations with that stupid interview I did yesterday.”
Prince Ivan chuckles, “The tears were a nice touch, by the way. Regardless, just watch yourself in there, okay? All these dancers and their parents scare me with how serious they are about this.”
“Scare you? More than Baba?”
Prince Ivan huffs, “Different type of fear, I suppose. And besides, she’s about to die and not be our problem, these people seem like the type to linger and ruin a reputation just for the fun of having drama.”
“I guess you’re not wrong. I thought my own troupe at home could be catty, these dancers seem to think it’s part of the performance. Three more weeks.”
Prince Ivan shakes his head and then perks up as he remembers something, “I can’t believe I almost forgot. Here, read this, I’m sure it’s exactly what Baba has been anticipating.” He plucks a neatly folded letter from the inner pocket of his coat and hands it over.
Dimitri reads it carefully, her eyebrows continuously rising higher until one would think they were going to escape the confines of her face altogether, “I’ve been invited to meet with Germany’s chancellor?!” She hisses the question out in an attempt to keep her voice down still. “As in, the woman who is hosting this whole fucking charade? This has got to be a joke, we went too far with that lie.”
“Definitely not a joke, look at the seal.” He taps the backside of the paper, where a broken wax seal certifies the sender of the letter. “Unfortunately, the lie is about as far as we wanted it to go, remember why Baba has been so insistent on you coming here?”
“I don’t know, she never makes any sense, something about representing her and teaching the world about the old gods.”
Prince Ivan shrugs, “She always knows more than she lets on, maybe this meeting will reveal something.”
“I sure fucking hope so, or I’m killing the hag myself.”

Two weeks later, a week before the performance

Dimitri is escorted into the palace, newly built and reflective of the royal palaces she thought were only seen in textbooks or fairy tales. None of the other dancers were given this opportunity, which only resulted in more venom spreading amongst the troupe. Prince Ivan, under the orders of Baba Yaga, spent every evening in the past two weeks teaching Dimitri proper etiquette amongst royalty and even more so, Baba Yaga herself taught the girl every tell-tale sign of a god in disguise.
“They’re all up to something, I can smell it, I just wanna know what it is and why myself and the rest of us have been left out of it.” Dimitri can hear the croak of Baba’s voice in her head as she enters the grandiose building.
They? Dimitri has come to know that when Baba refers to Them, she means other gods.
“All these new generation gods popping up thinking they can cut us out as if we didn’t pave the way for them.”
It takes everything in her not to mock the woman out loud and to keep a neutral face as she’s led into a gorgeous dining hall. The sour thoughts dissipate when Dimitri enters. Tall ceilings with masterfully done recreations of the works of art on the Sistine Chapel tower above her, with a long banquet table stretching across the room. The table and its accompanying chairs are made of a rich mahogany, the likes of which Dimitri never could have dreamt of. Running down the center of the banquet table as well is a foot-wide line of perfectly reflective silver, mirroring and magnifying the art from above. Dimitri stumbles several times as she is unable to take her eyes off of her surroundings. She has to be righted by her escorts each time she loses her footing as they guide her to the far end of the table.
As she finally arrives, her admonishment is cut short by the voice of the woman at the head of the table, “As above, so below. Or so they say. Welcome, my dear.” The woman stands and offers a hand to shake.
Dimitri takes the hand and gulps as she looks up at the woman now towering above her. Long golden locks of hair are pulled away from her face by fine silver, revealing faint lines of age that do nothing to diminish her beauty. Dimitri could swear that the woman is a regal queen and no mere chancellor. The regality ends with her attire, however, as Dimitri would have never assumed a queen would attend any event in anything less than a gown. This woman stands in front of her in what appears to be men’s black slacks and a matching vest, fitted over a loose, flowing silver blouse.
The woman waits patiently for Dimitri to come out of her dazed stupor and let go of the woman’s hand. “I don’t know if I’m um, overdressed or underdressed, Madam Chancellor.” Dimitri finally speaks with a nervous laughter. She’s in a modest, deep purple dress this evening, with a black leather jacket over.
“No such issue, and please, you can call me Tessa, or Frau Tessa if you insist on formality.” She motions to the handful of others present, “Everyone else can introduce themselves.”
The three other dinner attendees wait for Dimitri’s escorts to make their exit from the large room, which results in an awkwardly long silence. Dimitri is unsure whether she should take a seat or continue waiting, so she shuffles her feet in the meantime. Finally, the sound of a closing door echoes through the chamber and is promptly followed by the clearing of one’s throat.
Dimitri turns towards the man she assumes the cough is coming from. A large, squat man with bushy brows and dusty hair pushes himself out of his seat, which creaks despite its appearance of sturdiness. He offers a hand to shake from across the table as he speaks, “Hallo, I am Mr. Jorgenson, you could say I am Frau Tessa’s personal assistant.”
Before she has a chance to make small talk, the next man stands and pushes in for his turn. He’s a spooky man, however that’s possible for an otherwise normal looking man, but he’s got a hooked nose and very little hair to account for. “Giorgiano, I represent the Papacy.” His chair probably hadn’t known it ever lost the connection by the time he remade its acquaintance.
Finally, Dimitri is nearly startled by the sound of a girl scoffing more than clearing her throat for the attention. Dimitri quickly turns her head to the seat behind her, which she could have sworn was vacant when she was introduced to Frau Tessa, but is currently and clearly occupied by a young woman. She can’t possibly be much older than Dimitri and yet seems to have an air of confidence and superiority that usually only comes with a much larger age gap. Her dark hair, whether natural or not, has stark highlights throughout and hangs perfectly straight down to her mid back. Her outfit, while maybe not the most high class, definitely seems to be the most expensive in the room –a name brand leather handbag placed carelessly on the floor next to her probably being all she needs to claim that achievement. “You can call me Liv, for now.” Dimitri gets the feeling that Liv would prefer that she not be called at all.
“Alright, now that that’s out of the way, please take a seat, Dimitri.” Frau Tessa pulls Dimitri out of Liv’s judgment and she gladly takes the empty seat at the woman’s left hand, albeit still stuck to the right of the older girl. Dimitri once again has no time for pleasantries, “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here and if not, you’re far more egotistical than we imagined. However, I’m still curious, why do you think you’re here, Dimitri?”
Dimitri gulps, unsure of how to respond to the immediate spotlight. She speaks as formally as she can with her broken English and nerves, “Well, uh, I assume it has something to do with my, uh, miracle as some are saying.”
“Miracle! Ha!” Giorgiano laughs.
Frau Tessa silences him with a stern look and then responds, “Sure, you could say that. Here’s the thing though, Miss Dimitri, it really was a great story, perfect for everyone else, but not for us. We would like to hear the details, you know? It must have been so difficult leaving your family and your sick friends, who you must have known were dying, no?”
Dimitri is completely taken off guard, her jaw opening and closing like a fish looking for water.
Giorgiano laughs again and then speaks before a glare can prevent him from doing so, “The people really do love a good miracle, girl, but as a man of God, as many would say, you can understand my suspicion –God hasn’t made any miracles in far too long for me to think you are his new exception.”
“I mean, I-I can’t explain why he chose me…”
“And you don’t have to,” Frau Tessa takes over, “You’ve sparked a lot of international interest in the past couple of weeks and we were simply curious about what the truth is. We know your story is a bluff.”
“Yebat.”
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to condemn you to hell or some shit, we-”
Frau Tessa is cut off by Giorgiano, “We’re just curious as to what the actual truth is. The Big Man got bored of miracles a long time ago, kid, he made his point several thousand years ago and left the rest up to his devotees. So, who really is your miracle worker?”
“W-who?” Dimitri looks to Frau Tessa, “I’m not sure I’m following…”
Frau Tessa sighs, “Yes, who is the god that prevented your inevitable demise? Based on the condition of your fellow dancers, my condolences by the way, it’s clear that someone worked a miracle, and these new age powers aren’t the types to do such a thing, so?”
The mumblings of Baba Yaga suddenly begin to make sense and Dimitri lets out a breath, but no relief follows yet, “Ah, does this mean you’re asking about the self-proclaimed god that dragged me out of one hell and into another?”
“That’s the spirit!” Giorgiano guffaws.
“The Baba Yaga.”