16

Hours elapsed on the road.

As we headed deeper into the mountains, we passed through several dilapidated hamlets where livestock outnumbered the people. Glimpses of hewn-log izbas and stone cottages appeared every now and then past the trees, while the occasional temple or monastery added its domes and steeples to the skyline. Some sanctuaries had impressive tented roofs that curved into sharp points like the helmets worn by the bogatyri of lore, and yet others rose in a single dome that marked them as Strannik.

Vanya told us interesting facts about each of the hamlets, pointing out war monuments and landmarks. He regularly visited the surrounding villages to purchase materials for his boss and wasn’t shy about sharing the funny or interesting things that had happened to him over the years.

Vanya spoke so openly about his past. I felt a twinge of envy, a craving to learn more about my own history. Just because my family had been running from something didn’t mean that I needed to keep running. It didn’t mean that my past was poisoned. Maybe it was time to reclaim myself.

“Mikhail, where do you think I came from?” I asked, riding up alongside him. “Back when we first met, you said I sounded like I was from Kosa.”

“Somewhere along the northern coast, for sure,” he said. “Maybe one of the port cities. You have a certain way of pronouncing ‘tse’ and ‘zhe’ sounds. My physician came from the north, and he sounded just like you.”

No, I hadn’t lived along the ocean, but I remembered being taken there once. A vision of it swam through my head—an endless expanse of dark, frothing water, flowing and ebbing, crashing hard against the limestone cliffs and the black pebble shore.

The ocean had both frightened and mesmerized me. Its destructive strength and brute force had made it seem even more powerful than the bogatyri, who were the closest thing to divinity in our lives.

Just as the empire’s southern edge was bordered by the Black Steppe, so was the north crested with a steppe of its own—a vast and hostile tundra of ice and raw stone fragmented by glacial seas and rivers, stretching as far west as the Edge and Groznaya. Though wealthy in natural resources and precious metals, the Ice Plains were rumored to be cursed land. My own birth father had told me tales of how the tsarina of witches ruled that hostile expanse.

“Not on the coast, but near it,” I said. “A day’s wagon ride from there. Somewhere in the mountains, where there were silver mines. A small village. Do you know where that might be?”

Mikhail shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t. There are dozens of villages in the north, many of them centered around silver or coal mines.”

“What about you, Vanya?” I asked.

“I’ve never been outside the Edge, Toma,” Vanya said, then cocked his head. “But, you know, a lot of Stranniki used to live in the north because of our skill in metalwork. There are some beautiful shrines and temples there. Was there any that you can remember? Maybe if you describe it, I can help.”