Chapter Text
The day before Malyen Oretsev’s first Fold crossing, Alina Starkova rode into Kribirsk on a glossy bay gelding. It had been a little over a year since she’d last seen her childhood friend, but tomorrow, if all went to plan, the two of them would be safe and sound on the western shore of the Unsea before noon.
Alina really, really hoped things went to plan.
With one hand on Sasha’s reins and the other massaging her aching back, she rode with a small company of soldiers along the dusty road that served as Kribirsk’s main thoroughfare. Aside from the rhythmic sound of hooves on cobblestone and the steady breathing of over forty men and their horses, the city was strangely quiet.
Alina had been warned about the silence. All the soldiers who could be convinced to talk about the Fold had mentioned it. They claimed the civilians of Kribirsk hid away until the sun was fully in the sky and retired well before it disappeared, not trusting the numerous street lamps to keep the shadows at bay.
When asked about the reasoning behind this fear, when there had never been a single recorded case of a volcra crossing the boundary, no one could give her a straight answer. She’d only been told that she would understand when she experienced the city for herself.
As of yet, that understanding eluded her, but the sun had only just risen. Maybe Alina would be gripped by the same fear that haunted the locals when the sun set over the edge of the fold tonight…
“Not much farther now, Miss Starkova.”
Alina started, tearing her eyes from the slowly filling streets just in time to see Grigori Bortnik bring his horse beside hers in the procession. Bortnik was the First Army captain who’d been kind enough to let her tag along with his men when he realized they were travelling in the same direction.
“Thank the saints.” Alina spared the man an honest smile. “I can hardly feel my legs after three days on horseback.” It was an exaggeration, but only just. “How in the world do you and your men do it?”
“Painfully!” shouted one of the nearby soldiers.
“Shut it, private!” Captain Bortnik’s voice cracked like a whip, but the smile on his face belied his amusement. “I’m afraid it takes months to train your body to stop complaining." He shifted in his seat with a slight grimace. “Though even then, it’s never comfortable.”
“Sir, you might just go down in history as the patron saint of understatement,” Lieutenant Yuri Mikhailov declared, from somewhere behind them.
Captain Bortnik rolled his eyes and raised his voice. “And if you’re like Mikhailov, even if your body stops complaining, your mouth never does!”
Alina laughed when the lieutenant squawked in exaggerated offense. “Well then it’s a good thing my horse is mostly deaf.” She stroked Sasha’s neck. “I have the feeling I might be a bit like Lieutenant Mikhailov, in that respect.”
“Perish the thought, Miss Starkova. You’re too well-mannered to be compared to the likes of him.”
“I think you overestimate—”
“Captain Bortnik!”
He and Alina both turned to look as a gangly youth galloped towards them from up the street. It appeared the young soldier who’d been sent ahead to notify Major Sokolov of their arrival had returned.
The captain called for a halt and waved the boy closer. “What is it, private?”
The boy saluted, face grim. “The Major wants to see you right away—something’s happened on the Fjerdan front!”
Captain Bortnik cursed colorfully under his breath, then turned to Alina. “Beg pardon, my dear, but this is where we part ways.” He craned his neck and called to his second-in-command. “Mikhailov! Lead the men to the quartermaster for their bunk assignments and then escort Miss Starkova to her brother.”
“Yes, sir!”
He angled his horse towards the middle of the street, which was reserved for urgent military traffic, only to pause. “Oh, and if I’m not back before noon, have my meal set aside and give everyone the afternoon off.” Smiling faintly at the raucous cheer that swelled in response to this last order, he dipped his head politely in Alina’s direction and then took off at a canter.
From there, the rest of the trip through town and onto base passed uneventfully. They soon reached a squat stone building which, according to the signage, served as both the administrative center as well as the supply depot.
Mikhailov offered her a hand down and Alina slipped from Sasha’s back with relief. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“You’re quite welcome, Miss Starkova.” He tucked her hand into his elbow. “Dubrov, with me. Everyone else, wait here.”
The full company was too large to wait out front, so they were forced to spread themselves out along the sides of the road and in alleyways in order to keep out of the way of early morning military traffic while Alina entered the building with Lieutenant Mikhailov and Second Lieutenant Dubrov.
Inside, an ancient looking man was seated behind a tall desk. “Checking in?” he rasped.
Mikhailov nodded brusquely and swiftly began relaying information about his company and the expected length of their stay in Kribirsk.
Within the span of only a few minutes, the old man had half the company assigned to one of the fortified buildings closest to town and the rest to one of the barracks near the drydocks. At that point, Dubrov left with the men and Lieutenant Mikhailov waved Alina forward to introduce her to the quartermaster.
“...A brother, you say?”
Alina nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir. He’s crossing through the fold for the first time tomorrow and I’m quite determined to see him off—preferably with several good luck charms and as many socks as he can carry!”
The quartermaster’s eyes crinkled behind his smudged glasses. “First Army soldiers are always in need of fresh socks,” he said sagely. He cracked open one of his massive record books. “What’s your brother’s name?”
“Malyen Oretsev. He’s a tracker.”
“Not Starkov?”
Alina shook her head. “We have different fathers. Mal’s dad died in one of Shu Han’s raids.” They had different mothers too, but she was hardly going to admit that. A childhood friend wouldn’t be given the same leeway that a sister would.
The quartermaster took her implication at face value and let his glasses slip to the very tip of his nose. “Let’s see… Oretsev, Oretsev…” His gnarled finger trailed down several rows of cramped names before coming to a stop. “Aha—Malyen Oretsev!”
He smiled at Alina and reached for a pen. “You seem like a lovely young woman, Miss Starkova. I’m sure your brother will be very happy to see you.” He scribbled directions on a small scrap of paper, then passed it to Lieutenant Mikhailov. “I’ll leave her in your capable hands, Lieutenant.”
“Of course, sir. Come on, Miss Starkova.” He led her back into the sunshine and they remounted their horses. “This way.”
Alina ignored her aching back and thighs as best she could as they rode through a maze of hodgepodge structures. Eventually, Mikhailov came to a stop in front of a mass of tents near the very edge. “Your brother should be somewhere around here, but we’re better off asking someone for help than looking for him ourselves. There’s no real rhyme or reason to sleeping arrangements like these.”
By which he meant most enlisted soldiers were just expected to find an open space and settle down, as they weren’t important enough for one of the permanent shelters with assigned beds.
Alina glanced around a little helplessly. “I suppose I can take it from here if you’d rather return to your men?”
Mikhailov immediately shook his head. “No need. It’ll only take a moment.” And with that he left her with the horses and walked over to the nearest staff sergeant.
The two men shared a short conversation, followed by an even shorter conversation with a female corporal, and then a scruffy looking scout was called over. The corporal relayed a short order and the young man disappeared into the sea of tents behind them. Alina wondered if he was a member of Mal’s unit and if so, how long it would take to find—
“You’re here!”
Alina yelped and had to twist her feet awkwardly so they wouldn’t get caught in Sasha's stirrups when hands appeared out of nowhere to drag her from the gelding's back. “Mal, you idiot, put me down!”
“No!”
Laughing, she twisted around. She caught sight of a startlingly blue eye and one side of his shorn head before she tucked her chin over his shoulder, wrapped her arms around his neck, and squeezed for all she was worth.
He yelped at the unexpected pressure. “Saints, Alina! Are you trying to strangle me?” He dropped her so fast she stumbled, but made sure to steady her before she could actually fall.
“Oh, come on,” she teased. “You’re a soldier now. Surely you can handle a little rough housing?”
Mal cocked an eyebrow. “Can you?” And with that he picked her up again, this time throwing her over her shoulder so she couldn’t retaliate. He spun once, twice—
“Mercy!” she cried.
Laughing, he placed her back on her feet. “It’s good to see you Alina. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.”
She swayed like a drunkard. “I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “The storm three nights ago washed out a bridge. A First Army company found me just when I was thinking about risking a swim. They led me to another crossing and then let me accompany them once they realized I was also on my way to Kribirsk. Without them I never would have made it in time.”
Mal threw an arm over her shoulder. “I told you making the journey on your own was a bad idea,” he said in a low voice. He then turned towards Mikhailov, who had approached while they were fooling around like children. “I hear I have you to thank for Alina’s safety, Lieutenant.” He held out a hand. “I owe you one for putting up with my pesky sister.”
Alina elbowed him harshly for the jab. “Pesky? I brought you socks!”
“It was no trouble,” Mikhailov insisted. “Miss Starkova was an excellent travelling companion. She had the men weeping with gratitude when she turned our stale rations into something resembling a real stew.”
Mal frowned skeptically. “Are you sure they weren’t weeping from the pain?” He adopted a haunted expression. “Alina once handed me what I thought was borscht… It burned away half my tastebuds.”
“Oh for saints’ sake, Mal,” she groaned. “It was one time!” The peppers had been a smidge stronger than expected, but the soup had hardly suffered for it. Mal was just a wimp who enjoyed bland food.
“No, no,” Lieutenant Mikhailov shook his head with a faint smile, amused with their antics. “I’m not just being kind when I tell you it was delicious. Miss Starkova must save her less palatable concoctions for her darling brother.”
“Lucky me,” Mal grumbled.
The older man laughed brightly before sobering. “It’s a shame, but I really need to get back to my men.” He graced Alina with a courtly bow. “It’s been a pleasure Miss Starkova. I hope we meet again someday.”
She curtsied in return. “Same to you, Lieutenant. And thank you. I really don’t know what I would have done if we hadn’t crossed paths.”
“We were happy to help,” he declared. He turned to Mal next. “Oretsev, here’s a word of advice from one soldier to another: there’s no such thing as too many socks.” He shot a sly grin Alina’s way. “Even if they are a bit lumpy.”
She gasped with feigned affront. “Lieutenant!”
He grinned and swung back up into his saddle. “Goodbye and good luck!”
They echoed the farewell and waved as Mikhailov disappeared into the distance.
Once he was fully out of sight, Alina sobered and spoke in a low whisper. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
Mal winced.