His words struck me harder than I cared to admit. I could understand that feeling very well, of both being too old for my body while at the same time stumbling through life as the very same child who had fled through those winter woods, preserved in that instant as if under permafrost. Sometimes, I thought about Tamar—how innocent that girl had been, and how she might’ve turned out if her life had gone just a little bit differently—but then I realized that the person I was now was who I needed to be. I was this way because this was the Toma who had survived, scars and all.

Perhaps for the undead, it was the same. Maybe it was not punishment but empowerment—to seize hold of the life that had been taken from you and reclaim it the only way you could. Even if it meant sacrificing parts of yourself along the way. Maybe that was how it was for everyone in this world.

“What do you think happened to her?” I asked Vanya. “To your mother?”

“I wish I knew, but I suppose it was something terrible, too. Sometimes, I dream about drowning.” His gaze sank to the dark river snaking below. “Before my father left for the trenches, he said that once he came back, he had something to show me, something about my mother. But then he died, and I never did find out what he was talking about. I ended up visiting all the surrounding villages, searching for someone with my hair, or my nose, or my mouth. I never found her, but what I did find were inconsistencies, like how Annushka’s mother thought I was at least two months old when my father asked her to nurse me. So, what do you suppose that means? If my mother didn’t die in childbirth, then did she raise me? Did she die later on, or did she just grow tired of me?”

“Vanya, whatever happened to her, you’re not to blame.” I searched desperately for something else to add, just another kind word that would clear the bitter sorrow from his gaze. “I don’t think anyone could grow tired of you.”

“Give me another two days, and you might think differently. I even get on Annushka’s nerves sometimes, and we’ve been friends since childhood.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. “We’ve gone off topic. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think there’s at least some importance in knowing where you came from, even if the truth is painful. If there’s anything you think I can do to help you remember, or if you have any questions about being Strannik, let me know.”

“Thank you.”

Vanya glanced over at me. “I guess this means I can’t call you a koldunia anymore?”

Laughing, I shoved him lightly on the shoulder. “Not unless you want to be cursed.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I’d mind it.”

We sat there for another few moments, laughing and smiling at each other. Then, I edged closer to him, and he scooted closer to me, until our shoulders brushed. I reached down and found his hand.