Anya gaped up at the tree, and a branch snaked toward her. She stumbled away from it, and it wrapped around her wrist. Before she could try to dislodge it, the branch pulled her up, and another pushed her from behind. She was on her feet again, and the branches dusted her off.
“Annushka!”
Babulya’s voice made Anya spin. The old woman advanced through the field, hands up and strumming the threads of magic in the air. Yedsha and Ivan trailed after her. Ivan’s eyes were huge, and he watched Dobrynya with awe.
“Babulya!” Anya ran to her grandmother, wanting to hug her but not wanting to disturb her magic.
“Are you hurt?” Babulya asked as Anya approached.
“I don’t think so,” Anya said.
Babulya sighed with relief. “Good.” She turned an angry face toward the men suspended in the tree and said loudly, “No thanks to these hooligans!”
“Unhand me, old wench!” Sigurd bucked against the branches around him.
“My apologies,” Dobrynya called, loud enough to drown out Sigurd’s curses. “For myself, and for him!”
Babulya halted at the edge of the willow’s branches and said, “Who’s that one? At least he’s polite.”
Yedsha strode up behind Babulya. “He’s a bogatyr!” he said, then waved at Dobrynya. “Good to see you, Dobrynya!”
“Hello, Yedinitsa,” Dobrynya called. “How’s Marina?”
They called back and forth as Ivan sidled up beside Anya, still staring at Dobrynya. She elbowed his arm. “You didn’t tell me he used water magic.”
Ivan blanched. “He does?”
Anya nodded. “Really well.”
“I didn’t know,” Ivan mumbled.
Babulya wove her fingers through the air, and the branches holding Dobrynya descended to the ground. They dropped him gently on his head, then helped pull him up as they had Anya. They even brushed him off.
“Thank you,” Dobrynya said, eyeing the branches. He turned to where Sigurd dangled in the air. “I’ll ask you one last time. Leave this village.”
Sigurd stared hard at Dobrynya, then clenched his teeth. Anya could see the muscles in his neck flex and the areas around his arms buck.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Babulya growled, and she directed another branch to wrap around Sigurd’s chest.
The branch had almost reached him when he shoved one arm through those around him. He grabbed the new branch and yanked hard on it with a grunt. The branch snapped and went limp.
Sigurd punched his other arm out the side, grabbed handfuls of willow branches, and ripped them away from his chest.
Dobrynya dashed to where his sword lay in the loam beneath the tree. He seized it just as Sigurd dropped down, tearing greenery from him as he fell. The Varangian landed on his feet. Pieces of the destroyed willow branches rained down around him.
The bogatyr circled back to Sigurd’s front, and Yedsha moved forward to stand by his side. Babulya remained where she was, pulling more threads. The willow’s unharmed branches snaked toward Sigurd, keeping a distance from him but ready to whip at him if needed.
“One last time,” Dobrynya said. “Leave this village.”
Sigurd’s icy eyes ticked over each of the people facing him. He lingered on Anya for longer than the others. By the time he looked away, she felt cold inside.
“This isn’t over,” Sigurd hissed, and he turned. He shoved past the willow branches and left, stomping in the field along the riverbank until he was out of sight.
Babulya let the willow branches drop. She pointed at Dobrynya and Yedsha. “What are heroes for if they can’t defeat a monster like that?”
Dobrynya’s jaw tightened, but he smiled through it. “What’s the need for heroes if every citizen uses magic as well as you do?”
Babulya shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Come on, Annushka.” The old woman shuffled back to the barn, and after a quick glance at the fools and the knight, Anya followed.
Chapter Eighteen
Babulya said nothing to Anya as they walked back to the house, but Anya could practically feel the heat of Babulya’s anger wafting off her. They went into the kitchen, and Anya shut the door.
Babulya rounded on Anya so fast, it frightened her. “Explain that!” the old woman snapped.
“It was just—”
“It was just you and a bogatyr and a fool and a monster having a battle by the river!” Babulya clenched her fists, and all the plants in the kitchen turned, like they were looking at Anya.
“We didn’t want to!” Anya said. “Sigurd started it.”
“Why are they even here?” Babulya extended a crooked finger at Anya. “You’re about to do what your auntie Tzivyah used to do and talk your way around a straight answer. I can tell.”
Anya scoffed. “No, I was not.”
“Then why were they here?”
“Because . . .” Anya sighed and let her head drop. “There’s a dragon in the river. I saw it in our barn. They want to catch it.”
Babulya’s wrinkly little face grew redder, until she looked like she’d been out in the sun too long. “And you were helping them?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand that dragons are almost extinct!” Babulya hollered. “That could be the last dragon in Kievan Rus’! Or even the last dragon in the world! And you’re helping them kill it!”
“The magistrate is going to take our house!” Anya yelled over Babulya, and her grandmother went silent. “He told Mama we owe too many taxes, and she has thirty days to bring him two hundred and fifty rubles, or else she’ll go to prison! Or we can give up the house, and she won’t go to prison, but we’ll be homeless!”
Tears stung her eyes, and her nose tickled as it ran. She wiped the back of her sleeve across her face. “Gospodin Yedsha is paying me, and if I help him catch this dragon, we’ll have enough money to stay here. I care more about us than I do about a stupid dragon!”
Babulya said nothing. The plants around the room swayed gently from side to side.
Anya took a deep breath. “You told me when you had to leave your town that it was the worst part of your life. And I’m not going to let that happen to you again. I’m not going to let it happen to Mama.” She couldn’t say out loud what she feared most if her mother was thrown out of their home: Mama wouldn’t survive it.
Babulya’s lips tightened as they pressed together. “There’s an exemption. Since your papa went to the war—”
“No,” Anya said. “The magistrate told us that exemption didn’t apply to us.” She swallowed hard. “To Jews.”
“No.” Babulya’s voice was much softer. “I thought living out here would protect us. I thought we could hide.”
Anya shook her head. “We can’t.”
“Annushka, that burden isn’t yours to bear.”
“It’s got to be someone’s.” Anya fisted her hands, puffed out her chest, and marched to the door.
“Wait,” Babulya said.
Anya shook her head. “No.” She pulled the door open and ran out before Babulya could say anything to stop her.
Chapter Nineteen
Anya ran to the bridge she had taken Yedsha and Ivan to, where they’d found the house along the river. She couldn’t believe that a shield with a red dragon on it was a coincidence, seeing as the dragon in Anya’s barn had been red. Whoever lived in that house knew something, and she was going to find out what.
She went as fast as she could along the riverside path but eventually had to slow to keep from sliding into the water. As she slowed, something crunched on leaves behind her.
Anya’s heart ricocheted upward until it lodged itself in her throat. She bent, grabbed a rock off the ground, and spun, screaming as she brandished the stone.
Ivan screamed with her as he recoiled back, arms up to shield himself.
“Ivan!” Anya’s chest heaved. “What are you doing?”
“I was trying to catch up to you,” he said.
“
You could have said my name!”
“I . . .” He paused. “Yes, I could have. I didn’t think of that.”
She dropped the rock. “Where are your papa and Dobrynya?”
“They went to church,” Ivan said.
“And they didn’t make you go?” Anya asked, surprised.
Ivan shrugged. “I bet they’ll notice me gone sometime. Maybe not.”
“But you could be in church with your hero,” Anya said. “Dobrynya Nikitich.”
“I could,” Ivan said. “I wanted to make sure you were okay, though. And then I saw you running on the road, so I followed.”
Anya smiled. She hated to admit she was a little glad he’d showed up. More than a little glad. Very glad.
“Well, you can come with me,” she said. “But you have to be quiet and listen to what I say.”
“Deal,” he said.
They went north on the path again while Anya explained her thoughts on the little house in the ravine. Ivan agreed that the shield was too much of a coincidence. He pulled ahead of Anya, excited and gesticulating as he spoke, so he got caught in the trap first.
His foot sank into the leaves, and he stumbled. Anya had time to yell, “Ivan, look out!” before a tarp snapped up, the corners fixed to ropes that pulled it into the trees, Ivan screaming within.
Anya skidded to a stop and gaped upward, watching the tarp swing. Her shock lasted seconds, forced out of her by rapid, heavy footfalls approaching.
She spun and ran toward the village, but not quickly enough. Her scalp burned as someone grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her backwards. Her feet skidded ahead of her body and she lost her footing, plummeting to the ground and slamming into it hard enough to knock her breath out.
Sigurd appeared over her, snarling. He picked her up with a fist snared in the front of her dress and held her in the air, feet kicking, trying to find purchase. His icy eyes blazed with anger, and with triumph.
“That trap was for the dragon,” he spat. “But good for little brats, too!”
His Russian was getting better and better. He almost didn’t have an accent anymore. How was he doing that? She struggled against his hold. “Let me go!”
“Oh.” His frown deepened. “I intend to.”
He readjusted his hold on her, throwing her over one shoulder like a sack of wheat. She kicked and screamed, but it made no difference. Sigurd went about his business as though he didn’t have a flailing child attached to him.
The Varangian walked to a tree and removed a rope that had been tied to a branch. Its other end was attached to the tarp Ivan had been caught in, and Sigurd let the tarp down without an ounce of consideration for the boy within it.
Ivan yelped as he hit the ground. He thrashed within the tarp, trying to find the exit, and Sigurd pulled it open. Ivan froze, staring up at the furious warrior, and Anya screamed, “Ivan, run!”
Ivan’s eyes darted to the side, panning for an escape route, but Sigurd was faster. He shoved Ivan down into the folds of the tarp before he tossed Anya on top of him. Tangled in each other, they couldn’t escape from the tarp’s canvas hold fast enough, and Sigurd wrapped them back up in it like a picnic lunch, forming a bag around them.
“Stop!” Anya yelled. The bag stank, like he had kept old cabbages in it, and the loamy scent of the leaves trapped inside did nothing to improve the smell.
Sigurd did not stop. Anya and Ivan clashed together again, leaves jumbling around them, as the Varangian picked up the sack and threw it over a shoulder. The swaying of his walk alerted them to movement, and a moment later, Sigurd dropped the bag on the ground.
“Ow!” Ivan yelled. He kicked against the bag. “Let us out of here! We won’t bother you anymore, we swear!”
Before he could say anything else, something heavy landed on top of them. It was long and ropy and . . . sharp. Barbs poked through the canvas. It was a rope with barbs attached, something Anya had sometimes seen fishermen use to catch fish. He was wrapping the bag with it.
“What is he doing?” Ivan wondered aloud.
Sigurd tied another barbed rope on the outside of the tarp before Anya realized what he was doing.
“Ivan!” Anya kicked at the sack, trying desperately to find the opening. “Ivan, he’s weighting it!”
“He’s what?” Ivan yelled as Sigurd pushed the bag. Both the children fell into each other, and Anya’s search for the opening was halted.
“He’s weighting the bag!” Anya screamed. “He’s going to—”
The bag dropped, the weightlessness lasting half a second, and then a splash, and cold water rushed through the canvas.
“NO!” Anya screamed, clawing again at the canvas sides. “He threw us in the river! Help!”
“HELP!” Ivan joined in, but no one could hear them. The weighted bag disappeared beneath the water of the Sogozha, taking Anya and Ivan with it.
Chapter Twenty
The bag filled rapidly with icy water, and in the wet darkness that stank of rotten cabbages and leaves, Anya and Ivan struggled to find a way out.
“No, no, no,” Anya muttered as she searched for an opening in the canvas. If she could only open it enough to let them through, they’d be able to hold their breath long enough to get to the surface. The river wasn’t that deep.
Ivan grunted, and a moment later, Anya felt warmth fill the bag.
“Ivan!” she shrieked, appalled. “I know you’re scared, but really, peeing while we’re trapped in here?”
“I’m not peeing!” Ivan snapped. Anya could hear the exertion in his voice. “I’m pushing the water away.”
“What?” Anya said. “But how could you . . . ?” She trailed off, remembering Marina cooking, pulling water up through the air in a stream. “Your water magic.”
Ivan grunted. “This is going to undo all my work I did not using it.” He breathed hard. “I can’t keep this up for long.”
Anya’s eyes were adjusting to the near pitch-darkness of the bag. She noticed they were still sinking, but it was slower than their initial descent. With the bag weighted, she didn’t think they’d float, but at least they weren’t on the bottom yet.
“Okay, good,” Anya said. “Can you hold the water back while I try to find a seam in the bag?”
“Maybe.” Ivan sounded strained. “I don’t know . . . for how long . . .”
Anya hoped she didn’t need long. She ran her fingers along the bag’s inside, and Ivan sucked in a breath.
“Careful!” he said. “You’re going to disrupt the magic!”
Anya snapped her fingers back. “If I touch it, that messes it up?”
“Apparently!”
“Well, that’s stupid!” Anya yelled. “We can’t stay in here until you run out of magic! I’ve got to find a hole!”
“Well, if you touch it, the magic will pop!” Ivan said through clenched teeth.
Anya searched her brain for a solution, and she found a weak one quickly. “If I disrupt the magic, can you get it back?”
“Maybe,” Ivan said. “It’s hard.”
“It’s hard,” Anya said, “but you can do it, right?”
Ivan sighed. “I did it once. I guess I can do it again.”
“Okay.” Anya reached her fingers out slowly, carefully caressing the inside of the magic bubble they were in. “I’ll try to feel through the magic.”
“Okay,” Ivan whispered, the strain in his voice apparent.
Anya tenderly ran her fingertips over the magic bubble, pressing on it enough to feel the bag past it. Finally, Anya’s searching fingers located a seam, and she said, “I found a seam. I’m going for it. If the magic pops—”
Ivan cleared his throat. “I’ll bring it back. If I can.”
“You can do enough just to cover our heads,” Anya said.
Ivan said nothing, just grunted agreement. She took a deep breath and wriggled her hand out of the seam. The warmth dissipated, and water flooded in.
Anya’s breath hitched as she gasped, despera
tely trying to keep her panic at bay. “Ivan!” she said. “Bubble our heads!”
“I’m trying!” he said.
She couldn’t see Ivan to know how he was doing, so she concentrated on tearing a hole in the side of the bag. But the barbed wrapping wasn’t only for weight; Sigurd had knotted and arranged it so it made a net around the outside, to prevent exactly what Anya was attempting.
The bag filled with water. She could feel it advancing rapidly up her back and belly, moving for her head. She had yet to feel the magic warmth of another bubble there.
“Ivan?” she said.
“Trying!” he grunted.
With fingers weakening in the cold, Anya tugged futilely at the barbed rope on the outside. The water continued to fill the bag; she could feel it on her chest now, and her neck, and over her chin.
“Ivan!” She hated the sound of panic in her voice.
“I’m trying!” Ivan yelled back at her.
She couldn’t respond to him. The water crept up her face, and she took a huge breath before it filled the bag entirely.
Anya clawed at the barbed rope, then tore at the bag to widen the opening. She was skinny. Maybe she’d be able to fit through. Then she could drag the bag to the surface and let Ivan out. She wondered if she was strong enough to drag the bag up, but she pushed the thought out of her mind. She had to be strong enough.
Her lungs were beginning to burn, her brain screaming for a breath of air. This couldn’t be how her life ended. She refused to believe it.
Ivan’s arms wrapped around Anya, and at first she thought maybe he’d been able to get the magic back. But when nothing happened, she realized it was a hug of goodbye, and she gritted her teeth. She waved her arm around in the water, searching for something to grab onto, but there was nothing there except cold water.
The bag stopped descending. Anya’s legs pressed into the fabric, and she thought they had finally reached the bottom. But then her legs pressed in harder, and in her stomach she felt the distinct sickness of rising rapidly. Someone was pulling them back up.
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