Anya mumbled against Mama’s dress, “He was going to die. I had to do something.”
“You let a grownup do that kind of thing!”
Anya wanted to point out that none of the grownups had done a thing, but she kept it inside. Mama was trembling as she hugged Anya, and Anya’s guilt at scaring her mother welled up. She didn’t want to upset her even more.
“Sorry, Mama,” Anya said.
“It’s fine.” Mama didn’t sound fine. “Go home, Annushka.”
There was no way Anya could go home and do her normal chores when clearly something was happening in the village. She wouldn’t go home right away, but Mama didn’t have to know that. She nodded. “I will.”
Mama released her. Anya watched Yedsha continue to receive praise for saving the priest, and she followed her mother back to the onion booth with a scowl. She trembled as disappointment wound its way up her arms.
At the booth, Mama gave Anya one more hug, handed her the cloth packages that definitely smelled fishy, and said, “Home.”
Anya picked up the flour bag and took the fish from Mama. “I know.” She dragged her feet past the crowd toward the northern road. As soon as she was out of eyeshot of her mother, she ducked behind the butcher’s store and doubled back, heading south behind the row of shops.
As she neared the smithy, the door opened. She stopped and pressed herself against the wall as Kin burst out of the back of his forge. He paced by the river, rubbing his hands together, then his tattooed face, then running his hands through his hair and beard. Even at the distance she was from him, Anya could see him trembling.
She wanted to leave, but she didn’t want Kin to know she’d seen his fear. But before she could decide whether to stay or try to sneak off, a voice from behind her called, “Hello! Hello there!”
Kin’s head snapped up, and Anya whirled around. Ivan, the boy from the road, waved at her from around the corner of the butcher shop. He trotted toward her, and she glanced back at Kin. The blacksmith had seen her, and he glared as she stepped away from the wall.
Ivan exclaimed, “That was quite something!”
“I suppose,” Anya murmured, still embarrassed she’d been caught spying on Kin.
The blacksmith was only a head taller than Anya, but at that moment he seemed to tower over her.
“Ye’ve made a huge mistake,” he said to them. “Ye both stay away from Sigurd. And I mean it!”
Anya squinted at Kin. Had he been close enough to hear Yedsha say the warrior’s name? She couldn’t remember seeing him at all, but she’d also been distracted. “The Varangian?”
“He ent just a Varangian,” Kin said. “Varangians are good, ye hear? But Sigurd is as dark a man as can walk this earth. He’s mad, but a cunning mad. The kind of mad that’ll leave nothing but ashes where he goes.”
Kin was trembling again, and his fear was contagious.
“Is that what you are?” Anya asked. “A Varangian?”
“No, I—”
Ivan said, “Do you know Sigurd?”
Kin clenched his jaw. “That ent important! Little boy, ye tell yer da not to challenge him. I know enough to know fool magic when I see it, but Sigurd’s strong. He won’t fall for it again.”
Ivan scoffed. “Gospodin, you don’t fall for fool magic. It just happens.”
“Until it doesn’t happen.” Kin’s tone was ominous. A cold tickle made goosebumps rise on Anya’s arms.
Ivan didn’t look worried. “My father has defeated monsters stronger than Sigurd.”
Kin glared hard at Ivan, then opened the door to his forge. “Sigurd ent a monster, though. He’s a man.”
He went inside and shut the door. The thump punctuated Kin’s warning, and Anya stared at the empty spot where he’d been standing until Ivan grabbed her arm.
“Hey!” he said. “My papa wants to talk to you!”
He tried to pull her back the way he’d come, but she yanked her arm away from him.
“About what?”
Ivan hesitated. “I should let him tell you.”
“Well, I’m not going.” Anya was certain she was going to get into trouble. Yedsha had already embarrassed her in the square, and now he was going to scold her too.
Ivan’s shoulders slumped, then perked back up. “It’s a good thing. What’s your name?”
She realized she hadn’t ever told him, so she said, “Anya.”
“Anya,” Ivan said with a grin on his face, “have you ever hunted a dragon?”
Chapter Six
Anya expected Yedsha to still be in the square, but he wasn’t. Which was good, because if Mama saw that Anya hadn’t gone home, she’d get mad. Ivan led Anya south out of the village, toward the Widow Medvedeva’s home. Her husband had never come back from a past war, and her children were all grown and gone. She had turned her considerable home into a boarding house, which was normally patronized by lost travelers.
It was one of the nicer houses in the village—made of stacked stone with tall chimneys on both ends and polished wood around the windows—and the only building besides the church to have two stories. Anya had seen it only in perfect condition, but today it looked as though a storm had blown through. Many of the windows were open, with various items of laundry hanging out to dry. A wagon was parked askew in the grass of the front lawn, with the horses nowhere to be seen.
The widow herself sat out in the grassy front yard in a rocking chair. She never wore a kerchief, instead preferring to style her graying hair in a braid around the crown of her head.
“Gospozha,” Anya murmured as she approached, eyes wide and staring at the house, “did something happen? Were you robbed?”
Widow Medvedeva snorted out of her nose and jabbed a crooked finger toward Ivan. “Not robbed. This fool family!”
Ivan beamed and bowed. “Thank you for your hospitality, Gospozha.”
Widow Medvedeva narrowed her eyes at him. “Your parents are paying me real good, or else I’d kick you all out.”
Her gruffness rolled off Ivan like water off a duck. “Is my papa here?”
The widow leaned back in her rocking chair. She nodded.
“Thank you,” Ivan said, and off he went toward the home’s front door.
The widow sighed in exasperation, and Anya hurried after Ivan. The front door stood open, and Anya poked her head inside, surveying the mess that marred Widow Medvedeva’s usually pristine living room.
Ivan was nowhere to be seen.
“Ivan?” Anya called.
The frantic thumping of several pairs of feet sounded from the upper level, along with the trumpeted cry of “A girl!”
Anya tried to back out of the house, but someone blocked her retreat. She turned and beheld two blond boys who bore a strong resemblance to Ivan. They looked to be the same age as each other—a little older than Anya herself—clearly twins.
The one on the left grinned, tugging at his ill-fitting shirt. “Hi.”
The one on the right said nothing as he raised his hand and smiled.
“Hi,” Anya said. She hugged her flour sack closer and stepped away, running into yet another boy who looked like Ivan. “Um, I’m looking for Ivan.”
Two more heads peered around the door frame, but they were brunets rather than blonds. All the boys had the same startling blue eyes, though, and soon five pairs peered at her.
Anya was about to escape when a new voice from within the house hollered, “I’m Ivan!” A moment later, a sixth brother, another blond—who was not the Ivan Anya wanted—came barreling down the stairs, crashing into the two boys standing inside the door. The three of them stumbled into the fourth, and then those four rolled into Anya and the twins.
The seven of them tumbled away from the front door, landing in a pile on the front lawn with Anya on the bottom. She coughed and gasped for air, trying to tell them to get off her.
The six boys struggled and flopped around, digging elbows and knees into Anya. A bare foot swept by her head, i
ts big toe catching on her kerchief and pulling it in front of her face. Blind, gasping for air, and unable to speak, Anya was convinced these fools were going to crush her to death.
Then she heard the voice of the correct Ivan: “Get off her!”
One of the brothers hollered, “I found her!”
Four pairs of hands lifted her up off the ground, and four pairs of hands dusted her off. She swayed and sucked in breath after glorious breath, trying to push her kerchief back onto her head, and didn’t realize one of them had his arms around her until he leaned his dark, shaggy head on hers and said, “Are we getting married now?”
“No!” Anya shoved him away. She dashed to where her flour sack had fallen and picked it up, examining it for tears. It hadn’t broken open, and neither had the packages of fish. She clutched her fish and flour and scrunched her shoulders, trying to erect some sort of wall between herself and the boys surrounding her.
Four of them stood in a line, two sets of twins, distinct mostly because of their hair color. One set was as golden blond as Yedsha, and the other set had hair the same dark brown as Anya’s. A third, and what appeared to be the oldest, set of twins was blond, standing apart with hands on hips, and Ivan was face-down on the ground in front of them. He had his tunic up over his head, and his underwear had been pulled up out of his pants.
“Dvoyka!” Ivan’s voice was muffled from inside his tunic. “Troyka! Let me go!”
Their names made Anya pause: “Number Two” and “Number Three.” Who had names like that?
The younger two sets of twins laughed and pointed at Ivan on the ground. The oldest twins tapped their fists together. They didn’t look like they had any intention of letting him go.
“I’m serious!” Ivan yelled. “Let me go, or else—”
“Or else what?” Dvoyka said. “You’re going to shoot water at us?”
Troyka wiggled his fingers around in an idiotic imitation of pulling strings. “Ooh noooo! We’ll get all wet!”
All Ivan’s brothers had a good laugh. Anya ground her teeth together and stomped to Ivan, pulling him free from his tunic. He clambered off the ground as he glared at his brothers.
“That’s not funny!” Ivan snapped.
Dvoyka splayed his fingers at Ivan and said, “Splash!”
“Stop it!” Anya said, shoving his hands away. “What does that even mean?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Dvoyka said.
Troyka said, “He has water magic!”
He hadn’t told her, and a pang of jealousy hit her. It was a glancing blow, though, because of what Ivan’s brothers said next:
“Like a girl!”
“A girl!”
“That must be why he thought that boy in Ingria was cute!”
“Where’s your dress, Ivanna?”
They all made kissy noises at Ivan. His hands were clamped into shaking fists at his sides, and his face was twisted with anger. Ivan shoved past his brothers. Troyka said, “Don’t pout, Vosya!”
Anya dashed after Ivan. Vosya meant “Eight,” like the number, and she opened her mouth to ask Ivan why they were all calling each other by numbers. He stomped up a flight of stairs, muttering to himself.
“Bunch of jerks, pulling my underwear out, making me look stupid. They’re the stupid ones. I said one time I thought a boy was handsome. One time! They just do it because I don’t have a twin. Someday they’re not going to be able to, and I’m gonna . . .” He stopped talking as he stopped climbing the stairs, and he turned back to Anya, still shaking with anger. “It’s not like I use the water magic.”
“What’s wrong with water magic?” Anya asked.
“Nothing,” Ivan said. “Except in this family . . . Only Mama uses water magic. Papa doesn’t have it, and none of my brothers have it.” He took a deep breath. “But I don’t use it. It will go away, and then my fool magic will get better.”
“Right.” Anya didn’t know much about magic, and she wasn’t sure if ignoring an inborn gift meant another type would get stronger. She wasn’t going to bring that up, though. He was upset enough already. She shifted on the step, trying to think of some way to change the subject. “So is your name really Ivan?”
“Yes.”
“But they called you Vosya.”
“Yes.”
Anya took a deep breath, waiting for him to expound. He did not. “Why?”
“Oh,” he said. “It’s short for Vosmyorka.”
“‘Number Eight’?” When he nodded, she said, “Why Number Eight?”
“Because I’m the seventh son.”
She reminded herself she was dealing with fools. “Wouldn’t that make you Semyorka?”
He snorted a laugh. “What? No! Why would—oh.” He bonked the heel of his palm against his forehead. “My papa is Ivan Yedinitsa, Number One! And my oldest brother is Ivan Number Two. I’m the seventh son, the eighth Ivan, so I’m Ivan Vosmyorka. Number Eight.”
Anya blinked. “Are you all called Ivan?”
“Yes.” He grinned, then continued up the stairs.
Anya followed him to a room at the end of the hall, where Yedsha bent over a washbasin and scrubbed at his face.
“Papa,” Ivan said from the door, “I found Anya.”
Yedsha turned toward them, water dripping off his face. “Oh! Good!” He crossed to Anya without drying his face off, wet hand out and dripping on the wood floor. “Yedsha, my dear!”
Anya set her flour sack and fish down before she shook his dripping hand, wondering what Ivan felt with the water right there. When Yedsha released her, she wiped the wetness off on her dress. “Anya Miroslavovna.” She didn’t include her surname, Kozlova. She had only just met Yedsha, and she wasn’t sure he needed to know who her family was just yet.
“What a beautiful name,” Yedsha said. “Did Vosya tell you why I wanted to speak to you?”
She thought of Ivan’s question: Have you ever hunted a dragon? “Some. Not really.”
Yedsha rubbed his hands together, his still-wet face brightening with excitement. “What do you know about dragons?”
Anya knew only what the village rumor mill had churned out. “They’re extinct.”
“Yes. Extinct in Kievan Rus’, in the Northlands, in Ingria and the land of the Karelians, even all the way to the islands of Alba.” Yedsha waggled his eyebrows. “Or so we thought.” He stuck his finger into the air. “Anya, I’m going to tell you something, and I hope it doesn’t alarm you.”
She shifted, worried. “What is it?”
Yedsha leaned closer, and in a conspiratorial whisper, he said, “This river valley has more magical creatures in it than anywhere else I’ve been.”
Anya’s brow wrinkled. They didn’t have that many. Did they? She’d never been outside the river valley. “Why?”
“That’s what we came here to figure out,” he said. “Your magistrate sent a letter to the tsar asking for help. And then the tsar sent a message to me. And then I started my journey to your village. And then I got another message from the tsar.” He puffed his chest out. “A warning.”
Her skin crawled. What would the tsar need to warn one of his heroes about?
Yedsha continued: “The tsar heard of a Varangian here. The one you threw your horseshoe at. Sigurd Dragedreper is a famous dragon slayer in the North. A seer told him of a very dangerous, very powerful dragon in Kievan Rus’. Do you know how the seer told Sigurd to find the dragon?”
He waited expectantly, like Anya would actually know. After a few breaths of silence, Anya said, “No.”
“The seer told Sigurd to seek the village of the river dragon!” Yedsha lifted a hand in the air and ticked off two fingers. “Zmey. Reka.”
“But there’s no dragon here,” Anya said. “That’s just old stories. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never seen a dragon.”
“It could be very small,” Yedsha said.
The red thing in the water. But it was just a fish, wasn’t it?
“But if it�
��s powerful, wouldn’t it be big?” Anya asked.
He waved his finger at her. “Now, power doesn’t always mean size. Look at you! You’re very small, and you were still powerful enough to stand up to Sigurd!”
Anya felt her cheeks getting hot as her embarrassment rose. She couldn’t think of anything to say, but that hardly mattered. Yedsha yammered on.
“You were very brave. You saved Father Drozdov’s life.”
She shuffled her feet and mumbled, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” Yedsha rubbed his whiskery chin. “The tsar asked me to come here, because if there’s a dragon here, it’s very dangerous. And a dragon might be why there are so many more magical creatures here than other places. They’re attracted to the dragon’s magic. They’ll try to defend it.”
“I don’t see why you need me, though,” Anya said.
Yedsha grinned. “You know all the local terrain, and you’re clearly brave enough. What do you say?”
Before Anya could say no, Yedsha added, “I’ll pay you ten rubles a day.”
She tried not to let her eyes get wide. Ten rubles a day? If he really meant that, and really paid her, that would make a nice dent in the money her family had to pay the magistrate. It would take only twenty-five days, and she’d earn enough to postpone their eviction.
She blurted, “I want five hundred rubles if we catch it.”
Yedsha grinned. “Of course!”
He extended his hand for another wet shake, and this time she was happy to take it.
Chapter Seven
There were some things more important than dragon hunting, and baking challah was one of them. Yedsha wanted to get started on dragon hunting right away, but Anya shook her head.
“I have chores, Gospodin,” she said.
Yedsha frowned. “What are they? Cleaning something? I’ll send some of Ivan’s brothers. Shestka and Semya have been restless lately.”
Anya grimaced at the thought of Ivan’s brothers running wild in her house. “It’s not something anyone else can do,” Anya said.
Yedsha stroked his chin. “Well, Vosya can educate you, then. While you chore, he can teach you about dragons. Right, Vosya?”
Anya and the Dragon Page 4
