I froze.

A bogatyr.

“You need...you need to help him.” His voice was scarcely louder than a whisper as the flames throbbed, fizzled, and then receded. He sank against the basket, his eyes clouding over like silty puddles. “He needs a doctor.”

“Who does?” I whispered.

Before he could answer, a pole clattered across the ground. I turned, suspecting it had only been the wind, but then a scrap of canvas bulged as something stirred beneath it. Crawling over, I pulled back the flap.

There was another young man beneath the wreckage. He wore a gray wool coat and broadcloth trousers. His face was almost as pale as the ashes caught in his dark brown hair, his full lips chapped and blued from the cold. Even in unconsciousness, there was a cruel edge to his features, something hard about the cast of his mouth and his sunken cheeks.

“Is he alive?” the bogatyr mumbled, knitting his hands over his stomach as though to hold part of himself in. Blood darkened the crisp white linen of his uniform shirt. Though he was a bogatyr, there was no trace of indigo on him, not even a ribbon pinned to his collar or piping down his sleeves.

I took off my glove and pressed a palm against the dark-haired boy’s cheek. The heat of his skin shocked me. When he drew in a shallow breath, I found myself holding my own breath in turn, feeling as though I was witnessing something precious.

My shoulders slumped in relief. “He’s still breathing.”

“Praise the Three,” the bogatyr said with a sigh.

The dark-haired boy stirred and cracked open his eyes. They were the palest gray, as though they were simply reflections of the sky above. He flinched when he saw me, but he was too weak to shy away.

“My name’s Toma.” I returned my hand to my side, worried my touch might be hurting him. “Don’t be afraid, I’m a friend.”

“Mikhail.” His voice was scarcely louder than a whisper.

“You’re safe, Mikhail. Just hold on. My parents are on the way.”

“They’re coming.”

A flash of alarm rippled through me. “Who’s coming?”

“They’ll kill me.” His eyes fluttered shut, his breath slowing. “Run, or they’ll kill you, too...”

I said his name once more and repeated my question. He muttered something unintelligible before slipping back into unconsciousness.

I turned to the bogatyr. “Who’s he talking about? Who’s coming?”

“The Fraktsiya,” the bogatyr said grimly, his gaze planted on the horizon. “They’re here.”

I followed his line of sight. In the distance, a dark blotch surfaced behind the clouds like a bloodstain. Rising to my feet, I squinted against the rainfall. Slowly, the form took shape, materializing into a small dirigible much like the one scattered across the ground at my feet.

An explosive rattle shook the air, as loud as hail on an izba’s roof. In an instant, holes appeared in the ground at my feet. A bush shuddered to my right, its boughs splintering as the projectiles struck it.