A Yule Story: Star And Baba Yaga

A Yule story that I wrote reminding us to be kind, because we never know what is going on in the lives of others. It is appropriate for all ages, and quite magical, so please feel free to listen to as a bedtime story. No matter what you celebrate or don’t celebrate, I wish you quiet winter nights of reflection and the return of light to your life this New Year.

Transcript

Hi everyone,

This is a yule story that I wrote that reminds us to be kind,

Because we never know what's going on in the lives of others.

It is appropriate for all ages,

So please feel free to listen to as a bedtime story.

No matter what you celebrate,

Or don't celebrate,

I wish you quiet nights for reflection and the return of light to your life this new year.

Star and Baba Yaga by Olivia Stadler Star trudged through the snow barefooted,

Clutching an old fur coat around her that she had stolen from a trapper's hut deep in the wilds.

Not knowing where the trapper was,

She had only taken a cursory look around.

Sure he would be back soon,

As the place was decorated in suns,

Lit candles,

And there was a sumptuous smell coming from the oven.

It had seemed there was some kind of festival happening.

Every place she had happened upon,

Kinsfolk were decorating and making merry.

This made her thoughts turn to her mother.

Grief and anger gnawed at her stomach.

She pushed the feelings away hard.

Dwelling on it would not bring her back,

And soon she would be dead too if she wasn't able to find adequate food and shelter.

Her first priority had been getting as far away from her tormentors as fast as she possibly could.

Star had been surprised when the slave traders had chased her all the way north,

But she guessed she had robbed them of a very valuable commodity.

No matter how rich and powerful,

Be it fey or human,

Authority and wealth could not attain you some of the most important things in life.

Star hurried away from the dwelling,

Not wishing to unite traders with trackers in a common gold,

Thinking,

My feet are so cold,

I might actually lose some toes.

She muttered an apology to the blue digits,

Miserably continuing on.

She had kicked off her useless beaded slippers some time ago,

And had yet to find a pair of boots.

At first,

Adequate clothing had seemed a secondary goal.

She was gin,

After all,

A fire spirit,

So she could warm herself.

But it was taking a lot of energy,

And it was becoming increasingly harder to use her power because she was so hungry.

Just before she had stolen the coat,

Star had caught a tufted-eared squirrel and was about to cook him.

But he had been a wily thing,

Talking her into letting him go in exchange for some information.

He pointed behind her,

Wriggling in her palms.

It's just over there,

I promise.

First you'll pass a trapper's house.

Then,

After a few more hills to the north,

Is the Winter Witches.

She can change winter to spring.

When her firewood runs out,

She has to release winter into spring.

He beat his little chest as he added,

I would not lie.

I am a squirrel of honour.

Star set him to the ground with a sigh,

Not really sure the squirrel had been telling the truth,

Trying to console herself with the fact that she couldn't actually eat anything that had talked to her.

Despite the self-council,

Her stomach and feet protested her decision strenuously.

She was feeling quite faint,

And was mostly crawling when she had finally came upon the snow-swaived cottage.

Smoke was curling from its lonely chimney stone,

And the trees around it were festooned with cranberries and edible nut and seed balls.

Her stomach growled as she crept to the nearest tree pulling off one of the ornaments to stuff into her mouth.

Munching,

She seemed to recall once hearing a story when she was little of a sorceress that had held sway over the season's passing.

But surely it had been a bedtime story.

It was one thing to control an element or to grant one wish,

But all the things that had to come together to change a season?

It boggled the mind.

But here was the house,

Just like the fat squirrel had said it would be,

So she supposed she ought to try and get rid of the woodpile.

I have nothing to lose but my toes in this land of barren frost.

If it is spring again,

Soon food,

Shelter,

And hunting will be plentiful.

There's someone outside,

Said the fluffy,

Owl-dyed cat from its window-perch.

Is there?

Yes,

She's eating all the ornaments for the woodland creatures.

What a strange thing to do.

The old woman set her netting down,

Feeling annoyed as she gazed into the fire.

Doesn't she have anything else to do besides cause trouble for an old woman?

I created the winter festival so that people would have time to rest and make merry.

And so they would leave you alone for a bit,

Asked the cat cleaning itself.

The old woman glared at the cat.

Why does she not sit by a fire with her family,

And leave me alone to sit by mine?

The cat blinked one yellow,

Owl-like eye.

Maybe she has none.

The old woman glared at the fire just a little longer before her face finally softened.

Find out.

Without another word,

The cat nudged open the window with the tip of his nose,

Then leapt from sill to starry sky,

Becoming a snowy owl.

It was a couple of days before his return.

Flying through the same window that he had left by,

He narrowly missed being hit by a spell.

Yaga,

It's me!

The old woman rushed forward,

Closing the window.

Her usually neat hair had pulled loose from its bun and was all in disarray.

Baba,

Her story is indeed dire,

Said the owl-cat,

Shaking snow from his fur.

I no longer care.

That girl is a menace.

She has tried to steal all of our winter wood,

And at one point set it on fire.

If that wasn't enough,

She has eaten all of the woodland creature's food faster than I can magic more,

And has tried various ways to put out the hearth.

May the frost take her.

In pieces.

Baba!

The cat chided with its tone.

The southern slave traders are looking for her.

They have already killed her mother.

The old witch sat heavily in her overstuffed chair facing the crackling fire.

She smoothed her hair back,

Contemplating the new information.

When snowballs rained down the chimney,

Almost dousing the fire,

She flicked one hand in the air,

And there was a thud.

Then a brief tumbling on the roof,

Followed by another thud from the side of the house.

Lifting her other hand,

She raised the fire back to full strength,

Again staring into its mysteries.

After a long time,

She said,

I want you to make a delivery.

An owl with cat's eyes flew above Star's head,

Dropping a bit of parchment on it.

She scowled,

Throwing a snowball at it as it flew back towards the house.

Looking at the small scroll,

She wondered what it could be.

As the days were almost nonexistent,

Here she lit the tip of her finger to read it by.

It was an invitation.

Dear mischievous Star,

You are formally invited to spend yule with me.

There will be food,

Fire,

My sailing games.

Come and help this old woman keep the season merry.

Sincerely,

Baba Yaga Star frowned,

Rereading the scroll.

This is some kind of trick.

Why on earth would she invite me to celebrate with her?

Her eyes widened as the parchment in her hand became a red and green sprinkled tea cake.

At the same time,

The trees around her all began to glow.

Afraid to eat it,

She put it in her coat pocket.

Instead,

She crept around the cottage like a snow cat peeking through the windows.

There was a roaring fire in the hearth,

And many candles were aglow.

Her fingers reached out unconsciously,

Trying to feel their warmth.

Cakes,

Meat jellies,

Chicken,

Roasted potatoes,

And dumplings covered in onions adorned a round table.

Star salivated,

Looking at it.

Then,

She looked to the side of the hearth,

Making up the silhouette of an old woman with a very large nose,

Smoking a pipe.

A cat nestled on the arm of her chair like a tea cozy,

The front door creaking open,

Lighting a path in the darkness,

The rich aroma of food becoming a further guide.

Before she realized she was walking,

Star found her feet had taken her to the door,

Yet not across the threshold.

Come in.

Come in.

Eat.

Play a game.

I don't bite.

Much.

The old woman's cat jumped down and started weaving between Star's ankles.

And that one doesn't bite at all.

Not even to keep the mice away.

Though the aromas and heat were enticing,

Star still had not forgotten her goal.

What will you play me for?

The old woman laughed,

A puff of smoke going up around her head like a wreath.

What do you want?

I want it to be spring.

Baba Yaga laughed long and hard.

So that's what this has been about?

Come in.

Come in.

I will play you for an early spring.

And what do I get from you if I win?

I don't know.

I don't even have shoes.

You are a jinn,

Are you not?

You grant wishes,

Do you not?

Only if I'm enslaved can I grant wishes.

Surely it was a witch as powerful as you knows the curse upon my people.

The old witch puffed on her pipes and more.

Well,

I haven't decided what I want.

But come in and play.

And shut that door.

Star found she couldn't resist the warmth anymore and did as she was told.

After the old woman had magicked her a matching overstuffed chair and she had eaten her fill,

They got down to gaming.

They played some of the oldest games in the world.

Checkers,

Backgammon,

Mihan,

Chess,

And dicing with bones.

They were evenly matched,

Giddy with drink,

And Star found that she had not been keeping close track of the score.

A sobering thought,

Not knowing what Baba Yaga wanted.

They played for a while more,

Owlcat coming to sit in Star's lap before Baba yawned.

I am getting tired.

We have played well past the yule log burning,

And it seems the sun is moving again.

So we are running out of excuses to celebrate.

You amuse me,

Star.

I haven't been amused in a long time.

You win.

Just like that,

You'll make it spring?

Just like that.

But.

.

.

Star's heart sank.

She had apparently run from slavery right into the arms of eternal servitude to the Winter Witch.

But.

.

.

You must come back and play me every year for spring.

Owlcat started purring quite loudly.

Muzzling further into her lap.

Once she had overcome her shock,

Star's eyes shone with gratitude.

The old woman was offering her hearth every year for the holidays,

And a chance for an early spring in this harsh new world.

No excuses,

Said Baba firmly.

None?

Very well.

Death is a good excuse.

Star grinned.

Muzzling and setting Owlcat into the divot in the chair.

Then I will see you both next year.

As she stepped out of the cabin,

Soft leather boots encased her feet.

Her stolen coat became a new and well-fitting one,

Just as snowdrops began peeking at her through the snow.

The End.

Reviews

A wonderful tale of kindness. Much gratitude for your Yule stories in this season 🌲✨💛

Thank you for sharing this heartwarming story 🙏

What a wonderful story for this Yuletide season. We never know who needs the simple act of kindness. And what a gift it is. 🌲🕊🌞☃️🎄

😊🌸

Lovely tale of Yule & Baba Yaga. Thank you and Many Blessings this Solstice ❄️🌞❄️

🌨❄️Nua kid very nice🌨❄️. Namstay🙏 🏳️‍🌈❤️🏳️‍🌈🧡🏳️‍🌈💛🏳️‍🌈💚🏳️‍🌈💙🏳️‍🌈 🧸🛏💤🧸. ❄️🌨

Thank you Olivia!
You have a knack for storytelling :)

A beautiful story thank you

Beautiful timely story for the holidays

Delightful tale! Thank you!