Did the Unclean Force even exist, or was it just a way to justify violence?

“Splendid sermon, Tsarushka.” Vanya clapped slowly. “I’d love to know what role overtaxing the poor and terrorizing peasants plays in our divine destiny, but all in good time, I suppose?”

“You know what, Ivan?” Mikhail rose to his feet, throwing what remained of his bread onto the grass. “Just listening to you makes me lose my appetite!”

“Strangely, that’s how I feel looking at your face,” Vanya said pleasantly.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my powers, otherwise you wouldn’t have one,” Mikhail shot back, before storming over to the other end of the clearing.

“Vanya, there isn’t really an Unclean Force, is there?” I asked as he broke the discarded crust into crumbs for the birds.

“I think there’s the Unclean Force, and then I think there’s something that people call the Unclean Force.” He pressed his palm against a bare patch of dirt, and within seconds, blades of new grass sprouted between his fingers. “What I can do, people would call witchcraft. But my grandmother was able to make things grow, too. And I could trace our power back even further. A hundred years ago, two of my ancestors were burned for the same gift.”

His words slowly dawned on me. “It follows bloodlines.”

He nodded. “Just like with the aristocracy. You wonder why all the noble families have powers? It’s because it’s bred into them. You’ll find the same thing in small, isolated villages. Being a bogatyr isn’t a marker of divinity at all. Neither is it a sign of the Unclean Force. It’s in the blood, it’s that simple.”

I mulled it over. For something that held so much significance in our world, could it really be that simple? And if bogatyri were no different than kolduny at their core, then what did that mean?

“Of course, don’t tell Mikhail this or his head will explode.” Vanya rolled his eyes.

I looked over to see if Mikhail was listening, but he no longer stood at the tree line. “Speaking of Mikhail, where is he?”

“He probably wandered away to blow off some steam. Sulk a bit. Maybe have a good cry.” Vanya turned his attention back to the remnants of his meal.

All of a sudden, I realized the birds had gone silent. At their tethers, the horses shifted uneasily, steam wafting from their flared nostrils as they pawed the ground. The air grew heavy, burdened by an unseen presence.

I knew this feeling, knew the dread that crawled down my spine and raised the hairs on the nape of my neck. It was the feeling of standing at the river’s edge and watching as the rusalki mauled an elk, thrashing up the rapids into a crimson froth.

“Something is wrong,” I said, but by then Vanya was already rising to his feet. As he went to my side, the grass grew long and tangled in his wake. A shiver passed through me. This was the full force of his ability when allowed to flourish unbidden—powerful and uncontrollable, sprouting brambles and profusions of stunted white flowers.