“I saw that bastard run in here,” someone else said.

“They’re hiding. Burrowing somewhere like rats. We’ll have to smoke them out.”

“No, not yet. They keep their gold and treasures hidden in here. You know that.”

“Hey, assholes!” Vanya shouted, darting out from behind the idol. As the men turned, he dropped to his knees and pressed his palms against the floor.

Before the rioters could attack, the entire room quivered as beams groaned and began to bend. The basket of guelder rose at the icon’s feet burst into garish bloom, white flowers unfurling amid the red berries. As for the idol itself, it began to fissure. It had been carved with three faces, and the one that faced us cracked into a maw of splinters. Although the idol was not jointed, as it fell from its pedestal, its limbs began to bend as though they were flesh. Sap prickled from the wood like lifeblood.

It was magnificent. It was terrifying.

Even for the bogatyri, it was hard to keep their calm with the wood of an entire forest bearing down on them. Fire blasts splashed harmlessly across the rafters. A bogatyr sent a burst of lightning blazing toward the idol, only to have a log strike him in the chest and slam him into the wall as though he weighed nothing at all. My stomach twisted at the snap of breaking bones.

At the other end of the balcony, Mikhail looked up in shock and wonder. “I’ve never... This isn’t...”

More branches sprouted from the walls, the new boughs forming deadly points. Some of the civilian men tried shooting the branches or hacking at them with swords and axes, but even that wasn’t enough. Some were skewered. Some were crushed. Many fell victim to their companions’ gunfire and magic.

Mikhail exhausted the rest of his ammunition, but I couldn’t bring myself to open fire. My finger trembled on the trigger, refusing to move. I just...I couldn’t do it.

The remaining marauders poured from the temple as eagerly as they had rushed in, trampling the fallen. The idol stilled, now festooned in leaves and flowers, and rooted itself to the floor. Once I was sure that the men wouldn’t return, I moved out from behind cover and rushed downstairs.

Vanya lay motionless by the idol.

“Vanya?” I dropped to his side, shaking him. For a terrifying moment, I was certain he’d stopped breathing. Then he groaned, stirred. I released my held breath, my shoulders sagging in relief.

“Toma!” Mikhail ran over to us, carrying Vanya’s rifle slung over his shoulder. “Get away from him!”

Vanya opened his eyes and slowly, laboriously sat up. I rested a hand on his back to support him.

“It’s fine,” I called to Mikhail. “He’s okay.”

“That wasn’t magic.” Mikhail stopped in front of us. When he looked down at Vanya, his face hardened, gray eyes chilling with guarded suspicion. “It was the Unclean Force. He’s a koldun.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is? When it’s a noble, it’s divine, a gift from the Three. But when it’s a peasant—or, even better, a peasant who’s Strannik—it’s witchcraft.” Vanya laughed hoarsely. He tried to stand, couldn’t. “I hate to break it to you, city boy, but I’m no koldun. I’m a bogatyr.”