Marina followed, but she didn’t go to Ivan. She ran to Anya instead, hugging her close. In a whisper heavy with emotion, she said, “You’re back. Oh, thank the heavens, you’re back.”
Anya embraced Marina as others ran to them, barely managing to hold back a flood of tears.
Marina said, “Your mama is going to be so happy to see you. She hasn’t rested a second since you and Ivan disappeared. She showed up to come with us this morning, and I made her go home to get some sleep.” She laughed. “If only I’d known!”
Anya couldn’t keep the tears from pouring down her cheeks. Marina and Anya cried in each other’s arms. Verusha and Olya hugged Anya and Marina, then Mila joined. All five of them cried while the rest of the villagers murmured exclamations of relief, and Father Drozdov did the sign of the cross and thanked God over and over. Then Anya, Marina, and the three girls let go long enough to compose themselves. Marina laughed and wiped a tear off Anya’s cheek with a finger. “What on earth were you two thinking? Running off like that?”
Anya wiped her wet face with her coat sleeve. “I was being so foolish. I was going to march down to Rûm and get my papa and bring him back. And Ivan came with me because he wanted to make sure I was safe. But then we stayed the night out in the cold, and it was terrible.”
On the road, Ivan’s brothers were taking turns shoving dirt down the back of his tunic. Ivan just lay there as they did, his face swapping between a grimace and a grin.
With Anya clasped to her side, Marina said, “Help your brother up, boys! We need to go warm these two up before their toes start to fall off!” She swept her arm out and said, “Everyone, thank you so much for helping us search! We’ll see you at the church!”
As the crowd dissipated, Anya got hugged or patted by every person who had been searching, except Kin. Then he, too, pulled Anya into a tight hug and said, “I’m glad yer back.”
Anya squeezed him, arms barely fitting around his barrel chest. “I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “But not until everyone is gone.”
Ivan’s brothers got off him, smooshing dirt into his hair as they did. Even Yedsha sprinkled Ivan with dirt. Ivan smiled and, not bothering to brush the dirt off, went to his mother. “Mama,” Ivan said, slipping his arm around her waist, “are your people called the Dvukh?”
Marina looked startled. “Y-yes. How did you—”
“Will you tell me about them?” Ivan asked.
Marina’s look of shock remained for a second, and then she smiled. “Of course I will, Ivanushka.”
All the Ivanovs, plus Kin and Anya—who was as much Ivanov as anyone could get, she thought—walked back up the road to Zmeyreka as Marina told Ivan about the East, about the magic that ran deep through the earth there, and about seals.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Anya stopped off long enough to let Marina pour a warm drink down her throat, and then she and Kin left the Ivanov house. In the village, Anya shifted her backpack straps on her shoulders. The bones seemed to get heavier and heavier with every step.
“Ye’ve got something for me, eh?” Kin asked. “Is it information on the whereabouts of my boy?”
“Sort of,” Anya said. “He’s safe.”
Kin nodded. “I believe ye. What’s this other thing, then?”
They reached the bridge going north over the river. No one was around as far as Anya could tell. She stuck her finger in her pocket and pinched the ring between two fingers. “I think you’re going to be upset.”
Kin’s face darkened. “What—”
Anya held out the ring. It flashed in the sunlight, and Kin’s mouth fell open. His eyes were wet in seconds, and he grasped the ring from Anya’s fingers.
“Where?” he whispered. He cradled the ring in his big, callused palm. He still didn’t sound cross, but the pain in his voice tore at Anya’s heart.
“In Kiev,” Anya said, voice cracking. “She was in a secret dungeon.”
Kin leaned hard against the bridge. “Oh, Lena,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Oh, my girl. What were ye doing?”
Anya shifted on her feet. “I have more, but first I need to know something.” She thought she already knew the answer—an ibbur was the soul of a Jewish person, after all—but she asked anyway. “Was Lena Jewish?”
He nodded. Tears soaked into the top of his beard. “She belonged to an old Khazar family. They escaped the old tsar’s slaughter. Fled north, like yer babushka. They had neighbors who . . .” He frowned. “Well, let’s say her village wasn’t as kind to Jews as Zmeyreka has been. Her parents were killed. Lena was sold to a jarl who came through. She was lucky. He wasn’t cruel to her.” Kin kissed the ring. “And that’s where we met.”
Anya slipped her small hand into Kin’s large one and walked with him to the other side of the bridge. She wanted some shelter before she gave him a pile of bones. On the other side of the bridge, standing in the autumn shade, Anya slid her pack off her shoulders and pulled out the apron-wrapped bundle of bones. She handed them to Kin, who took them with trembling hands.
“She was a healer,” he said. “And so kind. She’d tie herself in knots if it meant helping someone in trouble. Ye brought her back to me.”
“I couldn’t leave her there,” Anya said. “Alone. In a dungeon.”
“Yer a good person, Anya.” Kin stared down at the bundle. “Ye remind me of her.”
Anya didn’t know what to say to that. She thought he was being awfully generous. She wasn’t sure she could do the things Lena did, or be so strong. But she didn’t argue. She just stood with Kin by the bridge, saying nothing.
After a few minutes of tearful silence, Kin looked up at Anya. “Kiev, you said?”
Anya nodded.
Kin wiped his wet cheeks with the heel of his hand. “You fool children went to Kiev and back in two days?”
Anya hesitated. “Uh . . . yes. We did.”
“How the—” Kin sputtered. “How’d ye manage that?”
Anya smiled. “Lena did it.”
“She what?” Kin asked. “How?”
Anya said, “I’ll tell you all about it while we walk.”
When they got to her turnoff, Anya had just finished telling Kin about how Lena had helped her kill Sigurd. Kin was speechless for a moment, then said, “Ye’ll have to tell me the rest later.”
She nodded. “I will. Or Håkon could tell you.”
Kin nodded to her, lip stiff, and pulled the bones close to his chest. “Thank you, Anya. For bringing her home.”
Anya smiled, and Kin continued north. She wondered if she should go with him, but she decided not to. He needed time alone with Lena. So she let Kin go and hurried down the road toward her house.
Zvezda stood in the middle of the road, facing her. As soon as she was halfway down the road to the house, he started bleating as loudly as she’d ever heard him bleat.
She reached the goat as the house door flew open. Mama was out first, in her nightgown, running so fast that she was across the garden before Anya could blink. She grabbed Anya in her arms, squeezed her close, and sobbed.
Dyedka and Babulya came out next. Dyedka hollered, “I knew it! I knew she was home! That dang goat’s been standing there since sunup!”
“Anya,” Mama whispered, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
Anya buried her face in Mama’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
“You’re in big trouble,” Mama said, but she didn’t sound angry.
Anya took a deep breath and nodded. “I deserve it.”
Mama squeezed her tight. “You have to make another sukkah. Zvezda ate your other one.”
“Nooooooo,” Anya groaned. Then she laughed.
“I’m just so happy you came back to me,” Mama said. “Where did you go?”
Kiev.
To meet the tsar.
To have dinner with a rabbi.
To free two brothers from their captivity there.
“Up
the road,” Anya said. “We didn’t make it far. But I met Ilya Muromets.”
Mama pulled back and blinked. “You met who?”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” Anya said, thinking she would be very careful about exactly how much she said. “Can we go inside? I’m cold.”
“Of course.” Mama kissed the top of Anya’s head and hugged her again. “Inside to warm up, Annushka. And to write a letter to your papa.”
Anya’s heart thumped at the mention of him. “Papa?”
“Germogen arrived last night,” Mama said. “When we were frantic for you. Papa’s okay inside Rûm. He says Chag Sameach: Have a happy Sukkot. Write your letter and we’ll send Germogen back today.”
Anya bounded inside, into her warm home with her loving grandparents and mama, to write a letter to her brave papa, and then—fine, yes—to put together a new sukkah before Sukkot began at sundown. Because that was the least she could do.
* * *
Inside, Anya snatched up her letter from Papa. Mama hadn’t opened it, so Anya was the first to read his strange message:
Annushka,
I got your message, you crazy girl! Do NOT come to find me. I’m glad Demyan got home. Even if they find me, I can’t come home now. We’ve gotten into Rûm itself, but there’s no war here. The first villages we passed through were full of people who say they haven’t heard from Istanbul in years. As we get closer to Istanbul, the people are gone. There are empty homes full of statues. Something’s going on here, and we’ve all decided to figure out what it is. I don’t just take care of the horses anymore—I ride them. You wouldn’t recognize your papa, Annushka. I know how to fight. I’ll teach you when I get home. And I will get home. I promise. I promise.
Love, Papa
P.S. I didn’t tell your mama any of this. I don’t want her to worry.
Anya read the letter over and over, her eyes drawn back to the same line.
There’s no war here.
That should have made her feel good. If there was no war, Papa wouldn’t die in a battle. He could come home. But . . . he wasn’t coming home. He was staying.
There’s no war here. But he stayed anyway. Impossibly, she would have preferred a war. At least she knew what a war was. She didn’t know what it meant that Istanbul had been quiet for years, or that villages were abandoned and full of statues.
Vasilisa hadn’t spoken like she knew there was no war.
What was going on?
Mama walked up, and Anya snapped the letter back into its roll.
“Good letter, Anya?” Mama asked.
She nodded. “Yes. He’s doing well.”
Mama kissed Anya on the forehead. “Don’t forget your punishment. You’ve only got a few hours to get that sukkah up.”
Anya stuck Papa’s letter in her pocket and hugged Mama before she left.
From above Anya, a raven cawed. It landed on the ground in front of her. It looked at her sideways. She crouched and said, “Did Håkon send you?”
The raven cawed, then took off flying. Anya followed.
Before she built the sukkah, she had business to attend to.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The raven dove away from the farm, crossing the empty field toward the forest beyond. It landed on a branch just inside the tree line, cawed, and then flew up and into the sky.
Anya paused inside the tree line as the raven flew up and away. Where was everyone?
“Anya.” She spun as Wielaf appeared with Alfhercht lingering behind him.
Anya pointed to her barn. “That’s where I live.”
Wielaf nodded. “Yeah, that’s what Håkon said. That woman in the hut said we’d be safest here.”
“Where is Håkon, anyway?” she asked.
Håkon leaped out from behind a tree, arms out wide, and said, “Surprise!”
Anya’s words evaporated in her mouth. Håkon was still a human. She suspected his arm was repaired too. Lena had kept him a boy.
“Anya!” Håkon trotted to her and pulled her into a tight hug.
“Håkon.” She breathed his name, unable to return the hug. “You’re a human.”
He looked down, rubbing his palms over his rubakha. “Yeah. But not forever. Just until the end of the day. So, midnight, I guess. Then I’ll be a dragon again.”
“But why?”
He scratched his head. “I wanted to stay a human.” He blushed. “It’s stupid. I want to walk around the village without people being afraid of me. I want to touch everything.”
Anya laughed. “Kin’s going to be so surprised.”
“Yeah, he is.” Håkon laughed with her. “So, how much trouble are you in?”
“None yet,” Anya said. “I think they’re just happy that I’m alive. Where’s Ivan?”
“I sent a raven to his house.” Håkon grinned.
Past Håkon, Ivan appeared next to Anya’s barn. A raven perched on Ivan’s head and flew off as soon as he got to the edge of the field. He stood there with his fists on his hips and yelled, “Very funny joke! Ha ha!”
Anya stepped out of the trees and waved her arm. “Ivan! Here!”
He waved back and started to run across the field. Anya felt Wielaf slide up next to her, and he said softly, “Tell me something about Ivan.”
“Okay.”
“Is he . . .” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “When he said he’d pine for Alfhercht. Did he mean that?”
“I think he did,” Anya said, worried that Wielaf wouldn’t like Ivan’s feelings toward Alfhercht. “But if Alfhercht doesn’t like him, Ivan’s not going to follow him around or anything. He’s too shy for that.”
“Humans are strange,” Wielaf said, almost as an aside to himself. “Alfhercht likes boys. Right now, one in particular.” He nodded to Ivan trudging across the field. “And I’d be a terrible big brother if I let him walk headfirst into heartbreak.”
Anya smiled. “Ivan is going to act really weird and worry that Alfhercht thinks he smells bad.” Ivan was nearly to them. “As soon as he finds out Alfhercht’s here, watch what he does.”
Wielaf lifted an eyebrow, then turned. Alfhercht stood at the tree line, and as Ivan got closer, he stepped out.
Anya watched as Ivan noticed Alfhercht. He screeched to a halt a distance away from the group. “Wow!” he called, trying to look everywhere that Alfhercht wasn’t. “Hi, everyone. Isn’t this great? It’s. We’re gonna. It’ll be a great time.”
Wielaf whispered, “That’s hilarious.”
Alfhercht continued walking toward Ivan. Ivan took a step back. Alfhercht stopped.
Anya winced. “Ah, he’s such a fool.”
Then Ivan stepped forward. Just one step. He said, “Hi.”
Alfhercht put his open hand to his eyebrow and brought it out toward Ivan. Almost like a salute, but gentler.
“He said hello,” Wielaf murmured to Anya. He waved to get Ivan’s attention, and called, “He said hi!”
Ivan repeated the gesture to Alfhercht. They lingered by each other, neither moving closer. Anya couldn’t see what Alfhercht was doing with his face, but she assumed it wasn’t anything terrible. Ivan was smiling.
Ivan laughed awkwardly, wrung his tunic in his fists, and called to Anya, “Um, where’s Håkon?”
“Here!” Håkon bounded out of the trees and waved.
“You’re a human!” Ivan yelled.
Håkon splayed his arms out and wiggled them around. “Just for today!”
Anya and Wielaf followed Håkon out of the trees. The five of them stood in a loose group, looking out over the empty field.
“So,” Anya said, “Lena brought you here?”
Wielaf and Alfhercht nodded. Alfhercht spoke with his hands, and Wielaf translated: “She told us this was where we’d be the happiest.” Then he shrugged.
Anya nodded. “Well, we don’t use this field for anything, really. The goats graze in it, I guess. But that’s all. We could build a house here.”
“No,” Alfhercht said throu
gh Wielaf’s translation. “We’ll build our own house.”
Alfhercht and Wielaf conferred with rapid gestures, and then Alfhercht paced around the perimeter of the field, studying the ground with a thin-lipped mouth. Wielaf watched as Alfhercht paced to the middle of the field.
“This will be a great place,” Wielaf said, then added, “I mean, temporarily. That woman in the hut was right. I’m weak, and it’s almost time for us to hibernate. Going back home now would be tough. We might get caught in the open when the snows come. That would be terrible.”
“You’re going to have to tell us more about that,” Anya said. “Is hibernation just sleeping for a long time?”
“From the first frost to the first thaw,” Wielaf said. “I haven’t hibernated in three years. I’m ragged from it. Him too.” He pointed to Alfhercht, who looked up. Wielaf crossed the first and middle fingers of both hands, touched the crossed tips in front of his body, and then swung his hands out. Alfhercht did the same back to him.
Alfhercht knelt. He dug his fingers through the loam on top, down deep to the cold earth below, and then pulled his hand back out. A slender sapling followed his fingers, unfurling its tender buds and shoots up.
When the sapling was up to Anya’s knee, Alfhercht stopped pulling it up. He hooked his fingers around a magic thread and walked with it a few paces away. He dug into the dirt again, pulling up another sapling, gathering another thread of magic. Around in a circle he went, drawing up sapling after sapling, until he made a circle out of knee-high trees, with an invisible bundle of magic in his fist.
Anya snuck a glance at Wielaf. His eyes were searching the air. She recognized that squinty, rapid back-and-forth. She did it all the time. Looking for threads. Never seeing any, until now. Wielaf’s own fears manifested as threads coming out of him. She wanted to comfort him, but what was she supposed to say to someone who’d had his magic ripped away from him?
Alfhercht fiddled with the invisible magic, and even though Anya couldn’t see the threads, she knew what he was doing. He wove the threads together, braiding them up and around, painstaking in his art. The saplings shuddered with every tug he made, and they all grew taller and thicker, doming inward, until they touched at the top.
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