Witches, or kolduny, were a different story. Their powers came from the Unclean Force, and they infiltrated all levels of society. With a single glance, a koldun—or his female counterpart, the koldunia—could spoil a person, cursing them with disease and misfortune. Just a few words uttered from a koldun’s mouth could be fatal, or so the stories told. I’d never met one myself, and unlike creatures like upyri or rusalki, I wasn’t even sure if kolduny existed in the world. Perhaps they had died out years ago.

After closing the stove door, I sat down to work on my newest rushnyk. The tapestry was my most ambitious one yet—it was so long it billowed down to my feet, the folds of white linen covered in a wealth of geometrical embroidery. I’d dyed the thread myself, hand spinning it from flax and steeping it in madder. I couldn’t wait to see how the rushnyk would look once I finished.

Just as I was done embroidering one corner, Galina burst through the door.

Smiling, I lowered my needle. “Too wet for you?”

“There’s someone out there,” she cried, her voice breaking on the last word.

“Someone?” I asked, baffled.

“Like you, Toma. Someone like you. I think he’s still alive!”

I barely had enough time to grab my hunting satchel from the shelf and tug on my gloves and embroidered buckskin coat before Galina herded me into the downpour.

Windblown trees, craggy outcroppings, a couple of decaying houses, so much rain. So cold. The storm’s chill worked its way into my bones.

Galina raced across the ground with coltish ease, a tiny figure held together by rags and leather belts. I hurried after her, swatting away the rain that stung my exposed cheeks.

Someone alive. Someone like me. How long had it been since I’d last seen a living person? More than a year, certainly. Two or three, at least. The moment the hunter had spotted me, he’d dropped his snared rabbits and rushed off, leaving me with a nice dinner but a sinking heart. I had spent the entire day afterward searching my dark eyes for any sign of blood or fading and pawing at my hair in terror that the black strands might break away in ash-tinged fistfuls, until I was reassured that I hadn’t transformed into an upyr as well.

At the thought of encountering another living person, my breath seized in nervous excitement. One of my favorite pastimes was watching airships pass overhead and fantasizing about the distant lands they were traveling to. But it was a different thing altogether to look into another human’s eyes.

Galina led me down to the river. As we approached the bridge, a pale figure flitted through the wind-torn shallows. I caught a glimpse of long hair and shining eyes before the rusalka retreated into deeper waters.

The river spirits ignored us as we crossed the bridge. I had never been attacked by rusalki, but I had once seen them swarm a caribou, all thrashing limbs and burgundy hair, until the water ran red with blood. It wasn’t uncommon to find gnawed bones and scraps of hide littering the banks.