Free Chains of Ice by Christina Dodd

seek protection from those who would harm us.” Mariana’s voice was soft but firm.
    “There’s nothing out there but some hungry animals and Mother Nature, and a few paintings of saints won’t save you from those,” Lubochka retorted.
    “It is not nature which we fear.” As if she feared she had revealed too much, Mariana glanced uneasily at Genny.
    “As I said—superstitious nonsense,” Lubochka repeated.
    Genny looked between them. This sounded like an old argument with no heat behind it, yet clearly the weirdness of last night lingered.
    Mariana poured Lubochka more coffee, and Genny nodded when Mariana offered her another cup.
    “No!” Lubochka pulled the cup away. “Don’t drink. I want you watching for lynx, not hanging your rear end over a log.”
    Genny thought about pointing out the perils of dehydration, or explaining that caffeine was her addiction and her golden door to consciousness, or that her personal habits were not Lubochka’s concern. Instead, mildly, she said, “Actually, I have the bladder of a camel.”
    “I know camels drink and hold water, but do they also retain that water? I suppose they must.” Lubochka did not crack a smile.
    Mariana and Genny both muffled theirs.
    “Very good.” Lubochka nodded and shut down the computer. “You may take fluid with you.” She covered the monitor with a cloth, then told Mariana, “Let no one touch this except Misha.”
    “I know.” Clearly Mariana had heard it before.
    “Genesis, are you ready?” Lubochka asked.
    Genny was not, but she took the none-too-subtle hint and polished off her porridge.
    As soon as she put down her spoon, Lubochka stood. “Let’s go.”
    Mariana stuffed bread and cheese and a battered canteen of tea into Genny’s backpack. “If you don’t mind, Lubochka, I’ll walk with you this morning.”
    Clearly, Lubochka did mind. She frowned. “I thought you had an inn to run.”
    “After last night, no one will be awake for hours.”
    “These foreigners cannot hold their vodka,” Lubochka said.
    Genny grinned.
    “Yes, Genesis, you smile.” Lubochka stalked toward the stairs that led up to the door; impatience showed clear in every line of her big-boned figure. “You’re the smart one. You abstained. When I come back, I will kick their feeble zhopayee out of bed and they’ll vomit all day, and my big cats will laugh at the foolish humans.”

Chapter 9

    I t was spring, but here in the north of Russia, the air outside was bright and cold; Genny could see her breath. The morning sun shone on the treetops but had not yet reached the hamlet square. As Genny donned her ankle-length quilted down parka, Lubochka and Mariana, in shorts and long-sleeved canvas shirts, shook their heads as if she were odd.
    They left the inn. With Genny and Mariana on her heels, Lubochka headed toward the narrow road that led out of the hamlet.
    Rasputye was stirring. A few men stood on their doorsteps, scratching themselves and staring.
    Genny stared back.
    Her first impression was correct. They were tanned and blond, beautiful people with blue eyes and sturdy frames. They weren’t Komi, the native people who inhabited the area. Perhaps the Vikings had raided this part of Russia and sown some wild oats?
    She nodded to one of the men.
    He stared hard, and then, as if he were daring, nodded back.
    His wife stepped out of the house, placed herself between her husband and Genny, shoved him into the house, and without turning her back, sidled in and shut the door.
    They left the last houses behind. The road rose steeply beneath their feet.
    “Wow. Friendly people you’ve got here.” But Genny remembered the noise of the party downstairs last night. They had seemed friendly enough after she’d gone upstairs. After Lubochka had threatened them, and told them she didn’t want to hear any more whispers of . . . trouble .
    “Don’t pay any attention to them,” Mariana said.
    “They’re afraid.”
    “Of what? Me?” Genny tried to