“I want to tell you…” He lifted his blood-soaked fist from the wound in his stomach so that it began to flow freely. “I tried to stop them.”
She took his sticky red fist in her gloved hands and forced a smile. “Old man, you shouldn’t have done that.”
He grinned up at her, his mouth now full of blood. “A Strannik is free…” Blood ran down the side of his mouth. “Free to do as they choose.”
Sonya’s attempt at stoic resolve failed. Sorrow welled up in her chest and tears coursed down her cheeks before she’d even realized they’d left her eyes. She wiped fiercely at them as she took in a shuddering breath.
“Sofyushka.” Mikhail’s eyes locked on to hers. “I return.”
And then the life left him, and the man known as Mikhail Popov Lukyanenko was nothing more than food for the earth.
“Uchitel.” She gently closed his eyes, then intoned the prayer Rangers spoke when a soul went to the cold embrace of Lady Marzanna. “One day I will return as you now return. Until then, I will travel light.”
She stood and gazed down at the man who had taught her so much. Who had believed in her when no one else had. As a Ranger of Marzanna, she knew that death was not loss. It was a blessing to return to the Lady. But Sonya could not help feeling a yawning emptiness in her gut, as if his departure had left a gap in her soul.
When she emerged from the barn, she stopped for a moment to stroke Peppercorn’s velvety nose. He nickered and swished his black tail.
“It’s okay, Perchinka,” she murmured, her voice quavering more than she would have liked. “I’ll be okay.”
She forced herself to focus on what was before her. Her childhood home, seemingly broken and abandoned. She had not been wrong before when she’d said that her father would never allow the imperials to take her brother. The only explanations were that he was incapacitated, or dead. And imperial soldiers were not generally inclined to spare someone. Not even a decorated war hero like her father, Commander Giovanni Portinari, known to comrades and enemies alike during the Winter War as Giovanni the Wolf.
Her father had been born to a wealthy merchant family in Aureum, the country that lay to the south and was the seat of the Aureumian Empire. He had enlisted in the imperial army as an officer and quickly distinguished himself by both his intelligence and ferocity. When the empire came to conquer Izmoroz, he was made general in the army, and later promoted to commander. He distinguished himself in the war to such a degree that once he achieved victory, the empress granted him a title and property in the newly annexed land. After such a violent, blood-drenched youth, he was content to marry a beautiful young Izmorozian noblewoman and settle down on his farm to raise his family in rural domesticity.
As Sonya stepped through the door and into the kitchen, she observed the overturned table and shattered remains of the door. The violence and bloodshed her father tried to walk away from all those years ago had finally caught up with him.
She made her way through the house, and the gentle memories of her childhood clashed strangely with the evidence of chaos that was now all around her. Furniture lay askew, and all the windows had been broken inward, suggesting that the soldiers had surrounded the house and attacked simultaneously from all sides. Some might have seen that as excessive in dealing with an elderly couple and their sixteen-year-old son, but only those who didn’t know her father. Even at his age, and retired from making war for over twenty years, he remained fearsome in his skill with the sword. Throughout her life she had seen him practice every day in the yard. So many of those days Sonya had begged him to teach her what he knew, but…
Sonya stopped and closed her eyes. The past was a ghost that sought to strangle the present. Mikhail had taught her that. Now that he was dead, she was more determined than ever to honor his Ranger teachings. It didn’t matter that her father had refused to teach her the sword. She had found her own way—a better way, as a Ranger of Marzanna.
When Sonya entered her parents’ bedroom, she saw that the great war hero Commander Giovanni Portinari had done an admirable job of fending off the soldiers. Five of them lay dead, their leather and steel uniforms crusted with dry blood as they formed a loose semicircle around her father’s body. Her father was slumped forward on his knees, the tip of a sword protruding from his back.
She knelt down next to him and felt for his pulse, though judging by the smell and discoloration of the skin, she already knew she wouldn’t find it. After a moment, she carefully leaned him back and pulled the sword from his chest. His face was relaxed in a way it never had been in life. Typically his mouth had a hard, thin set to it. But in death, it was open and soft.
“One day I will return as you now return,” she whispered. “Until then, I will…”
Would she travel light where her father was concerned? Could she? Even now, so many conflicting emotions boiled within her. They’d had many arguments, particularly during these last few years after she’d been accepted by the Lady Marzanna as a Ranger. But despite all their disagreements, he had been her father, her hero, and the most magnificent man she’d ever known.
“Daddy…” Her voice warbled as tears once more coursed down her face. “I wish…”
If wishes were fishes, I’d never be hungry. That’s what Mikhail used to say, usually in a mocking tone when Sonya had been complaining about something. It angered her now as it had always angered her then, but that anger brought focus, as it was meant to do. There were more pressing concerns than her regrets, such as finding her mother and brother.
“The dead are with the Lady,” she admonished herself. “I must look to the living.”
She emerged from the house with a cold, burning intensity in her heart.
It wasn’t difficult to locate the wagon tracks and the cluster of indentations from iron-shod horse hooves. The tracks led east, most likely toward the imperial garrison at Gogoleth. She could tell by the depth of the depressions that some of the horses had been riderless for the return trip, no doubt thanks to her father thinning their ranks. She saw no sign of her brother fighting back. Perhaps her father had forbidden him to use magic. He could be stubborn like that. Or perhaps Sebastian had merely been too frightened to use it. He could be cowardly like that.
Regardless, Sonya’s best hope of rescuing her surviving family was to catch up to them before they reached Gogoleth. Weary as the soldiers no doubt were, and with their ranks depleted, she was fairly certain she could take them. And if she could slip a bit of metal to Sebastian, he might even pluck up the courage to assist her.
She returned to Peppercorn, who snorted and stamped his hoof eagerly as she unhitched him from the post. She stroked his warm neck for a moment.
“Yes, Perchinka. It’s time to run.”
She untied her bow and quiver from her saddle and slung them across her back. Then she vaulted into her saddle with a pointless flourish that had always made Mikhail roll his eyes. Thinking of him, she turned and gazed back at the open barn door for a moment.
“Spasibo,” she said, which meant thank you. It was inadequate, but the only other way she could hope to show her gratitude for all he had done was to live without fear and serve the Lady Marzanna, as all Rangers must. Then she touched her heels to Peppercorn’s sides and they began their pursuit.