“Strannik,” she said, studying the rushnyk closely.

“That can’t be,” Vanya said, recovering his voice. “The thread is red and it’s on linen. Besides, I’ve never seen a Strannik rushnyk before. It has to be Troika.”

“I’m not talking about the materials or the rushnyk itself, Ivan,” she said blandly. “You’re correct in that both would suggest a Troika origin, but these symbols woven into the pattern are something else entirely.”

“But I don’t recognize them.”

“That’s because these are ancient wards, dating back to the time we guarded noble estates. Runes of protection that would’ve been engraved on our armor and embroidered into our clothes. You’ll see the same carved into the beams and lintels of old temples.”

If they come after you, this will protect you, Tomochka, my birth mother had said as she wrapped the rushnyk around my shoulders, snow raging in a flurry around her. Please, always keep it with you. No matter what happens.

“Protection against what?” My voice came out in an unsteady warble.

“It depends on the runes as much as the intent of the scribe.” Inga traced her fingertips over the snare of crimson embroidery along the rushnyk’s hem, twisting geometrical designs that I had always thought were simply a way to fill in the empty spaces. “Some against the Unclean Force, others to protect against natural disasters, disease, ill will, or magic.”

“Magic?” I asked, startled. “You mean bogatyri?”

She nodded. “In all my years of collecting, I’ve only found fragments of them. Most were destroyed centuries ago in purges. But this linen is not old. Did your mother buy it from a Strannik?”

“No, she made it,” I whispered.

“Toma, are you Strannik?” Vanya asked, his voice soft with wonder.

“I...I don’t know.” I racked my brain for a single memory that could confirm it. “We...we kept an altar to the Three Sisters, and—”

On the day the Stranniki were banished from our village, she was terrified. Do you remember? She wouldn’t leave her room, not even when Father tried to comfort her.

Back then, her fear had confused and troubled me, but I had been too young to understand where it was coming from. I had never even considered that my mother might be Strannik, and I knew for a fact that my father was not one, for his grandmother had been the priestess of our village’s Troika temple. By the time I was old enough to realize that not everything was so black and white, I had just wanted to leave the past behind me. Cut my ties with the girl I had once been. I should have known that the past would always follow.

“What about healing?” I asked as Inga studied the rushnyk. Her fingers remained poised over the embroidery, tracing it almost fondly.

She glanced up. “Pardon?”

“Are those symbols capable of healing people?”

“When I speak of protective abilities, it is merely in speculation. I have never actually attempted to test my collection.” She nodded toward the shadowboxes on the wall. “And no, Ivan, this is not an invitation to try. Those specimens are even more priceless than the chair you just destroyed.”