Another year passed, and Amvrosiy watched as the older Cossack men, and some of the younger, including Mykola, left the village for longer spans of time. When Mykola and his batko–Amvrosiy’s mentor–would return, there was a darkness in their eyes. Sometimes they were injured, other times it was the enemies’ blood that stained their clothing. Amvrosiy would greet them at the village entrance every time they returned, and every time he did so the image of his tato’s body carried home in a wagon would flash through his mind. Every time he heard Mykola was returning he would think, “Will he return home the way my tato did?”

Mykola’s batko was a man called Oleksiy. Even before he began to take Mykola with him, Oleksiy would leave the village for long periods of time. He’d fought side by side with the Hetman himself. While these Cossacks had no such hierarchy–I tell you, the village looked to Oleksiy as their leader. Mykola was always eager to impress his batko, and Amvrosiy would watch and learn from his old mentor whenever he was able.

Oleksiy still stood as strong as he did when he was younger–if not stronger. Mykola was his spitting image, only that Oleksiy’s hair was beginning to grey, and that his eyes were even more black and intense than Mykola’s.

There was one particular day that Oleksiy challenged Amvrosiy. It was a windy day, rainfall was slow but consistent. Under this rainfall Amvrosiy had asked Oleksiy, “Why don’t you take me with you to fight? You take Mykola but leave me here. I’m more than able to kill our foes.” And Oleksiy looked him over with an expression that he couldn’t quite read. Oleksiy said, “The better question, little one, is why do you want to experience the horrors Mykola has?” Amvrosiy was lost for words, Oleksiy spoke again as the rain fell harder on them, “When Mykola was a boy, he lost his mama–my wife. We were visiting a village close by. There was an attack. The enemy tried to kill him–a child. His mama, she was fearless and she grabbed whatever she could; I believe it was a woodcutting axe. My beloved was no fighter though, and before I could save her I found our enemy standing over her defiled and lifeless body; he was about to kill or steal my son. I saved my son, carried my beloved back home, and I remember holding Mykola while he wept for his mama. If you want to play the role of a wife to my son I will be supportive. I’ve seen him smile around you in a way he doesn’t with others. I will do whatever I must to not hold my son as he weeps over your corpse, do you understand, little one?”

Amvrosiy raised his voice and he said, “I lost my tato to those bastards, and my gido. I’m no maiden to be protected, and I have family of my own to fight for. How is it better for me to worry over losing Mykola every time he is called to fight?” Oleksiy’s eyes darkened as he unsheathed his shashka, Amvrosiy did the same as their eyes met. Oleksiy said, “I won’t let you throw your life away, little one, even if that means putting the fear of the gods into you myself.” And Amvrosiy replied, “There is no fear you can put into me greater than that I have already faced.”

Dear reader–this was no sparring match. Oleksiy lunged for Amvrosiy, and Amvrosiy was able to dodge–but Oleksiy knew he would. Amvrosiy felt another blade slice through his arm. He saw then that Oleksiy had two shashky. He dropped to the wet grass and mud, raising his sword to block Oleksiy’s as he rolled away. He leaped to his feet, pain spread through his bleeding arm. Oleksiy glared at him with dark eyes and said, “The enemy tortures, rapes and starves us any chance they get.” He paused, there was a distant look in his eyes. He spoke again, “If you think I am being too harsh, little one, then you are not ready to fight. Face me with your sword, we are not done.”

Amvrosiy lunged for Oleksiy again, facing the large man with his injured arm. Oleksiy blocked with one sword and swung at Amvrosiy with the other. Amvrosiy braced for the pain and gritted his teeth as Oleksiy’s shashka tore through the flesh of his injured arm. He met Oleksiy’s dark eyes, and in them he saw the depth of the man’s anguish. Amvrosiy grinned a devilish grin, moving closer to Oleksiy, letting the blade dig deeper into his flesh. He dropped his blade, caught it with his good arm, and raised it to Oleksiy’s throat. Amvrosiy spoke, “You’ve trained me well, Pan Oleksiy, and for that I will use all you’ve taught me. You will not stand in my way. You cannot put the fear of the gods into me, for I looked her in the eyes as a child and told her I would not cower. I felt fear once, when I saw my tato carried home in that wagon, but there is no fear in my heart now, only the burning desire to run my blade through those who killed my tato and my gido.” Under the pounding rain Amvrosiy and Oleksiy stared in silence into each others’ eyes as their blades dug into each other’s flesh; and as their blood ran down their bodies and mixed with the rain.

There was a voice that called to them, shouted at them to stop–it was Mykola’s voice. He said, “You two would kill each other before our enemies get a chance?” Amvrosiy and Oleksiy saw the distress in Mykola’s features and lowered their blades. The pain burned in Amvrosiy’s arm–oh, how awful it looked! But he stood strong, not allowing himself to grimace as blood poured from his flesh, staining his clothing. Oleksiy spoke as he sheathed his swords, “If you are to fight, you need to heal that wound. There is little I can do to protect you, I can only hope you’re prepared for your loved ones to weep over your corpse.” Oleksiy walked off into the distance, Amvrosiy and Mykola knew better than to follow him. Soon there was only silence, the pounding of the rain, and the thud of Amvrosiy’s body hitting the ground as the world turned black around him. Through the wind and the pelting of the sky’s tears, he heard Mykola call his name, he heard Mykola call him stupid, he heard Mykola crying.

When Amvrosiy awoke it was in Mykola’s bed, and to the sound of Mykola pouring buckets of hot water into a wooden half-barrel. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and noticed the bandage wrapped around his arm; and upon realising his clothes had been removed and hung up to dry, he yelped and pulled Mykola’s blankets to cover himself. Mykola said, “Ah, yes, because I’ve never seen you naked before, suka.” Amvrosiy grinned and replied, “My dear, someone might think there’s something going on between us.” Mykola glared at Amvrosiy and rolled his eyes. Amvrosiy sighed and spoke again, “How is Pan Oleksiy?” Mykola was still for a moment, then he poured more water into the barrel, and he said, “He’s upset. He didn’t say much to me, but I can tell when my tato is troubled. I didn’t see what happened, only the end of it. Was hoping you would explain while I help bathe you.”

Amvrosiy stood and walked towards the bath. He said, “You do know I can bathe myself?” He grabbed the half-barrel to climb in, stumbling when he realised he’d used his injured arm. Mykola grumbled to himself and wrapped his arms around Amvrosiy, helping the other man into the bath. Mykola said, “You’re injured, suka, or did you injure your head too and forget? Is letting me help you so humiliating?” Amvrosiy was too relieved by the hot bath to respond. As he took a breath and waited for the aching in his arm to subside, he heard Mykola shuffling around elsewhere and grabbing a few items before sitting down next to the bath. Wordlessly, Mykola lathered his hands with soap and began massaging Amvrosiy’s back, shoulders, neck and head. Mykola was frustrated, angry even, and then some emotions Amvrosiy couldn’t place, but even then–his rough hands were so gentle.

Amvrosiy knew Mykola was waiting for answers, and so he spoke, “I asked Pan Oleksiy why he never lets me come with you and fight. That’s what started the argument.” Mykola’s grip on Amvrosiy tightened. Amvrosiy continued to speak, “He knows about us, He told me about your maty. The fight was him trying to frighten me into staying behind-” Mykola cut him off, “Be quiet, Amvrosiy.” The silence became unbearable as Amvrosiy sat still, breathed slowly and let Mykola bathe him. Amvrosiy was sure he heard Mykola crying, but he knew Mykola. Mykola never showed his pain, he never showed his tears, and Amvrosiy was sure this moment was the closest he had come to seeing Mykola’s heart.

But it was Mykola who broke the silence, he said, “I am not sure what my tato said, but you deserve to know that it was me who told him to leave you in the village. It’s nothing to do with your strength, but with the weakness of my own heart. We grew up together. You were a hot headed girl who pushed me to work harder than anyone else. And as I watched you grow into a man I was conflicted, and jealous, and angry. But I also felt attracted to you, and I was perhaps confused and angry with myself for being attracted to a man. But in my heart there is always the hot headed girl I grew up with. I don’t want anything to happen to you. You’re strong, but my heart couldn’t take that.”

There was silence as Mykola continued to bathe Amvrosiy. Amvrosiy, struck by Mykola’s words, let his body be limp as he watched the flicker of the lantern and as he felt Mykola’s hands rub and clean his body. Amvrosiy turned to face Mykola, Mykola raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Amvrosiy said, “You’re the biggest durak I know, my dear.” Mykola scowled, Amvrosiy continued to speak, “Do you not think I also want to protect you? That I wouldn’t also be broken if I lost you? Do you know that whenever you’re gone and I embroider a vyshyvanka for you, I think: What if this will be made for his burial? Do you know of the dreams I have? They’re the memory of when my tato came home on…that wagon, but instead of him in those dreams, I see you.” Tears filled Amvrosiy’s eyes, he looked up and met Mykola’s as he spoke once more, “Do you know that I wish we could just have a quiet life? You, myself and Solomiya, a little house, maybe some children. I’d rather die alongside you in battle, fighting for that future, than wait here and not know if I’ll ever get to look into your eyes again after you leave.” Mykola turned away, trying to hide his own tears, he said, “You must be a bigger durak than I am, you fell for a durak like me.” Amvrosiy grabbed Mykola’s hands and rested his head in Mykola’s lap, pleading, he said, “And I would be an even bigger durak to let you leave me again, I want to fight with you, make sure you come back home with me. I have loved ones I need to protect too.” The two men held each other, their words unable to form.

Moments of silence passed, Mykola ran his fingers through Amvrosiy’s hair, he said, “You should let me braid it, it’s so long and you don’t take care of it, suka.” Amvrosiy laughed heartily in response. He said, “I don’t like wearing braids, dear, you know that.” Mykola shook his head and replied, “It would look good on you.” Amvrosiy groaned and said, “No.” Mykola smirked, lightly tugging on Amvrosiy’s hair. He leaned down, their lips so close he could feel Amvrosiy’s gasp, he said, “My bath, my rules, suka.” Amvrosiy was red-faced, he grinned and he said, “You know I’ll get revenge, my dear.” Mykola chuckled and began to braid Amvrosiy’s hair. Amvrosiy grimaced but kept still as he felt Mykola separate his oseledets into three sections, then crossing them over and pulling them tight. In the heat from the bath, the flickering light from the lantern, and the feeling of his lover’s hands, Amvrosiy couldn’t fight Mykola as Mykola bathed and groomed him. The night ended with them sharing Mykola’s bed, the nightmares still came; in each other’s arms, however, those nightmares were a bit more bearable.

It took a month for Amvrosiy’s wounds to heal, and oh–Mykola would not let Amvrosiy from his sight. He would make sure Amvrosiy’s bandages were changed, and that Amvrosiy was clean and groomed and well fed. When Amvrosiy went out to train, Mykola would be close behind, assertively pulling Amvrosiy away from training when he could see the other man grimacing from pain. For that month they slept in Mykola’s bed each night. There were some nights they would make love. Where Mykola would kiss every inch of Amvrosiy’s tanned skin, where they would hold each other and keep their voices down as they came. Most nights it was simply sleep, with their arms tightly around each other. It was as though, dear reader, the scent of a loved one so close made the nightmares less vile. Would Amvrosiy wake in a panic, Mykola would soon follow, and with soft kisses and gentle hands he would soothe Amvrosiy back to sleep. There were nights Mykola woke in a cold sweat, tears rolling down his face, but he would see the sleeping Amvrosiy and refuse to wake him. He would lie awake and try to shake the images of burning villages, of tortured and violated civilians, of his own people with their bodies in pieces, of his own people holding the limbs of their loved ones and crying to the gods. He would try to shake away the images of his foes crying surrender, and of when he would drive his shashka through them in response. He would look at Amvrosiy’s soft face, asleep in a moonlit room, and thank the gods he had lived, even if just for this moment.

The month had passed and Amvrosiy was healed enough that Mykola would let him be on his own. He began helping his mama and baba with chores once more, reassuring them that he had healed. His baba was doting and insisted to see the injury–just to be sure. It was this day that news began to spread that he was called to fight with the other men. And, dear reader, while he had wanted this for so long, he saw the way his mama, baba and little brother looked at him. The look in their eyes made him feel like a small child, giving that same look to his tato, the last time his tato left before coming home in that wagon. His mama refused to cry in front of him, but later that night he heard her and his baba from across their small home, he heard her sobbing. He heard her say, “Mama, what if this is the last time we see him? What will I do Mama? My husband, and now my son, if I have to bury them both–” Her crying became muffled. His baba spoke so quietly he couldn’t understand her words. Across the room his little brother looked up at him. His little brother said, “I’ll take care of them, whatever happens, I won’t leave them.” His voice was laced with anger, and with fear. Amvrosiy said, “I’m coming back, little brother, I’ll make sure of that.” His little brother merely shook his head and replied, “Mama told me Tato said that too. Mama told me you’re too much like him, you’re his spitting image, and his strength, but that is what killed him, isn’t it?” Amvrosiy could see the tears forming in his brother’s eyes. His brother continued to speak, “So if that gets you killed too, then I’ll still be here.” And before Amvrosiy could reply, his brother ran to their mama and baba. This moment was for them, Amvrosiy left them be.

As Amvrosiy wandered around the village, under the setting sun, he heard the footfalls of someone running towards him. Before he could react, he felt slim arms wrap around him and pull him close. The voice he heard belonged to Solomiya, she said, “You don’t need to speak, I heard the news.” Her voice was dour, much unlike herself. Amvrosiy turned and cupped her chin in his hand, he looked into her green eyes that were brighter, and reddened from crying. He opened his mouth to speak, but she stepped away and faked a smile, she said, “We don’t need to pretend. We both know that these may well be our last days together. Don’t spoil them with talk of the war. I want you to come back alive, but I need to be ready for you to…to…” Her voice wavered, she looked at the darkening grass. “I just want to be with you, Amvrosiy, you’re the man I want, and if this is the last time I get to have you, then I won’t waste it.” Her words halted as Mykola approached them. The black haired man’s black eyes were tired. He looked between them, he understood without words. He turned to leave, he said, “I will wait up for you, Amvrosiy. Don’t rush your time with her on my account.” But before he could go, Solomiya grabbed his arm, and their eyes met. And, oh–how shocked Mykola looked!

Solomiya dragged them both to a small creek just outside the village. As the stars rose in the sky and as the sound of rushing water filled their ears, she held a hand from both men and tried to keep her smile, she said, “This may be the last time we get to spend together like this.” She gave a gentle kiss to each man. The three did not need words in that moment. Solomiya and Mykola pulled Amvrosiy’s clothes from his body. The world slipped away as Amvrosiy felt a mouth on his, then one between his legs. He felt both pairs of hands caress and grab him. When they switched Amvrosiy wasn’t quite sure whose lips were where, but they left no part of him lonely, not his chest, not his rear, not his manhood. He had his turn with them, first with Solomiya while Mykola was behind him, then they shifted once more and Amvrosiy was riding Mykola whilst Solomiya faced him, Mykola’s face between her legs, her lips on Amvrosiy’s. They climaxed together and bathed in the cool night air in their afterglow. As the three cleaned themselves with the water from the creek and clothed, there were questions amidst their moment of peace.

Solomiya asked first, “Mykola, may I ask your preferences? I feel it would be rude not to.” Mykola was taken aback, oh dear reader–he really did blush so! He replied, “I have only been with Amvrosiy, and now you, and–” his face reddened more, it was as though speaking the words caused him pain, “I like men, I think.” He stood and paced around the creek, picking up a few rocks and tossing them into the water. He said, “I’m not sure if I also like women, I was…in the moment. I like your company, Solomiya, I know that much. But I–” The words were a struggle again, he sighed and continued to speak, “I won’t lie to you. I prefer men. But please know I have only told this to the two of you.” Amvrosiy wrapped his arms around Mykola, he said, “And so long as you wish it, my dear, it will stay between the three of us.” Mykola nodded, a glimmer in his black eyes. For a moment, all was well in Amvrosiy’s heart, and he said, “The three of us could build a little house, have some children, have a good life.” Solomiya’s gaze fell to the rushing waters, she said, “Beloveds, I enjoy this talk but we know that you both may not come back alive. What am I to do then?” To this, both men grabbed her hands and met her eyes. Amvrosiy said, “We will not give up our lives, our life together, so easily. But should I not come back, I know Mykola will take care of you.” Mykola spoke in agreement, “And should I not come back, I know you will have each other. But do not doubt my strength, or Amvrosiy’s. Our foes deserve no such dignity, and I–we, will put our shashky to good use and protect the village, and those who fight with us.” The night passed, a small peace before what was to come.

It was then the morning Amvrosiy was to leave with the other fighters. As the fighters stood at the edge of the village with their strelets steeds, Amvrosiy approached them–his shashka sharpened and ready, Kalyna at his side. My dear reader–there was much worry swarming in Oleksiy’s black eyes, it was as though, even with only a look, he was repeating his words and his warning from that fight in the rain. Mykola stood with his batko, the softness Amvrosiy had seen in his features the previous night had hardened. As Amvrosiy mounted Kalyna and began to trot after the other men he heard the voices of his family calling to him. Turning he saw his mama, baba, little brother, and Solomiya not so far behind. Their eyes were red but he saw their forced smiles. His mama approached him, petting Kalyna, her warm eyes met him and she said, “I feel like a young woman again, you look so much like your tato up there,” she laughed as the tears slid down her cheeks, she said, “I could never stop a warrior’s heart, but while you’re out there, think of us. We will be thinking of you, always. All I ask is that you come home.” She untied the babushka from her hair, it was black and embroidered with poppies. She took her son’s arm and tied it around his wrist. “We’ll never be far away.” She smiled, holding back her sobs. Amvrosiy felt his own eyes mist, he said, “I love you, Mama. I’ll bring this back to you.” He patted the babushka on his arm. Oleksiy called that it was time to leave. Amvrosiy cast his loved ones one final glance and then he rode after the other men. The hot steppe sun beat down on him as he vowed that he would return, he would look into his mama’s eyes again.

The following week was spent riding by day and resting by night. The men would take turns keeping watch, finding what shelter they could along the way. Most nights they slept under the stars and hunted for their meals. Even just as they travelled, Mykola wouldn’t let Amvrosiy go too far–oh, how anxious he got! It was as though any small irritation could set off his explosive emotions. He kept a cool head, dear reader, but Amvrosiy could feel the tension and how close his beloved was to anger at all times. By the time their dried meat and pickled goods began to run low they had made it to another village.

Amvrosiy recognized the area, and oh–how his brief relief was quickly shattered. For it was the very village he and Mykola had overlooked on that hill with the stream so long ago. Amvrosiy remembered seeing more smoke than he thought a village ought to give off. And as the Cossacks rode closer he saw so clearly the destruction still present. Very few houses still stood, many were in the process of being rebuilt. He slowed Kalyna’s trot to nearly a standstill, he knew their invaders were cruel, but now he was seeing it. Mykola and his stallion stopped beside Amvrosiy, he said, “You will see many like this, but…” He met Amvrosiy’s eyes before he continued to speak, “You must learn now that these people are some of the lucky ones. Their village is still standing. That is more than others we have seen. These people will be wary and angry. Be patient with them, they’ve been through too much.”

An older woman approached them, her apron torn and stained. Amvrosiy could not tell what the stains were from, dirt? Or perhaps blood? The woman’s tone was harsh, she said, “Have you come to help us? They will be back soon, I’m sure of it.” Both Amvrosiy and Mykola dismounted. Amvrosiy stepped forward to speak but Mykola gave him a stern look and took the lead, he said, “Can you tell me when they were last here? And where they may approach from?” As he waited for the woman to respond, he looked ahead for his batko and saw that Oleksiy was speaking to a group of villagers. The woman grabbed his arm with a shaky hand and led him near a small house, she said, “They come into the village down the very road you did, but you’re just boys, I don’t want to see them kill you too.” Amvrosiy took the woman’s hand and met her frightened eyes, he asked, “What is your name, Pani?” The woman looked around erratically, oh–she knew their invaders were close. She said, “My name is Zlata. I came here with my husband and children a few years ago, after our home was destroyed. Shortly after we settled here, they came to destroy our home again. The village still stands, but we’ve seen many dead, many young men like you.” Amvrosiy couldn’t pull his gaze away from her, even as he felt Mykola’s glare on him. The woman’s brunette hair was greying, it was clear she tried to look presentable. But like all the villagers they had seen, her clothing was torn and stained with what Amvrosiy was sure now was blood. She spoke again, “I tend to the wounded after each battle, I help put out the fires after each time they burn our homes. Young men and women have died in my arms as I tried to help them. You two are too young to die.”

Before Amvrosiy could try to calm the woman, there was the thundering sound of horses and shouting in the distance. The woman ran to her home, opened the door and tried to beckon them inside. It was Mykola who spoke then, “Go to your home, Pani Zlata. We came here to protect you, and we will do just that.” He mounted his stallion and pulled his shashka free. The sunlight danced in his black hair as he beckoned for Amvrosiy to follow him. Amvrosiy gave the woman a sad smile as he walked away, he said, “We will come to make sure you are okay after we deal with them.” The woman could not hide the horror in her features as she called two children into her home. She shut the door and the sound of a lock followed. Amvrosiy mounted Kalyna and pulled his blade free, he gave Mykola a toothy grin and said, “Let’s make them regret bringing terror upon these people.”

A troop rode into the village entrance, men clad in black and silver armour and chainmail. The Cossacks met them there, Oleksiy in the lead. One invader met Amvrosiy’s eyes; his were a blue so pale they looked lifeless. Amvrosiy saw a golden, double headed eagle engraved on the man’s chestplate. That man’s smile, dear reader, it was so eerie that Amvrosiy knew in that moment that this man had given that same smile to all who he’d killed. Oleksiy spoke to their foes, “You have no reason to be here.” In a harsh accent, the enemy leader replied, “We need food and rest. I’m sure even the rotten grain and potatoes from this shit-hole will suffice. We won’t kill those who stay in their place.” Oleksiy scowled and said, “Is the grain from your own shit-hole too rotten? Or do you just love stealing?” The man laughed as he and the troop pulled their blades free, he said, “And who are you? Some backwater peasants that picked up swords and wanted to be heroes? You think you can stop us?”

The invaders charged forward, some leaping off their steeds and readying their swords and their axes. Oleksiy clashed blades with their commander. Any villagefolk that had remained outside fled. The Cossacks blocked their foes from entering further. Mykola and Amvrosiy circled a group of infantrymen. Mykola motioned for Amvrosiy to follow his lead as he circled them with his blade at their throats. Amvrosiy did so and the two bid their steeds to run as they sliced the throats of their foes. The two met each other’s eyes, blood dripped from Mykola’s face, he said, “Rush them down, Amvrosiy. We leave none standing.” Amvrosiy nodded and bid Kalyna to run once more as he chased the invaders down, beheading them. He saw an infantryman holding an axe to a child who hadn’t made it to safety. Amvrosiy leapt from Kalyna and stood between the enemy and the child. The invader shouted words Amvrosiy could not understand and raised his axe, but–I tell you, Amvrosiy was too fast. He swung his shashka at the man’s wrists, the chainmail protected the man’s flesh–but the force disarmed him. As the man stumbled back, Amvrosiy spoke, “Are you such a great warrior that you would attack a child?” The man opened his mouth to speak but Amvrosiy’s shashka tore through it before a word came out. He pulled his bloodied blade free and turned to the child, he said, “You need to flee, little one.” He sheathed his blade and picked up the crying child, he placed the child on Kalyna’s back and said, “Protect this one, my sweet girl. I will call for you when the battle is over.” And Kalyna ran from the fight as the child held on.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Amvrosiy pulled his blade free once more as he ran back into the battle. He saw his fellow Cossacks locked in combat, some were injured, some had fallen. He saw homes aflame and villagefolk desperately trying to put the fires out. He frantically looked for Oleksiy and Mykola. Oleksiy was keeping the commander busy and Mykola was blocking other horsemen from entering the village further. It was then that Amvrosiy saw the invader from earlier, with the corpse like blue eyes. He saw the man riding towards Mykola. Amvrosiy’s heart took control as he ran to Mykola’s stallion, climbed up behind Mykola, and blocked an attack that nearly tore into his beloved’s flesh. The invader grinned his unsettling grin and spoke, “A couple of fruitcakes?” As if in sync, Amvrosiy and Mykola slammed their blades against the man, knocking him from his horse, Amvrosiy dismounted and met Mykola’s eyes, he said, “You go help the others, I’ll take care of this one.” Mykola nodded and rode off.

The invader wasted not a second, he got to his feet and swung at Amvrosiy. Amvrosiy blocked and took a step back, the man was much larger than him, clad in armour, the golden emblem on his chest now crimson from those he’d slain. The man sneered at Amvrosiy and spoke, his voice like venom, “What do you think you can do? You think some village people can stop an army?” He lunged for Amvrosiy. Amvrosiy tried to dodge, but alas, dear reader–his foe was so fast! The man’s blade sliced into Amvrosiy’s shoulder. Amvrosiy grit his teeth to keep from crying out, he remembered then his battle with Oleksiy and he knew he must rely on more than just his strength. The man swung for him again, he lowered to a squat to avoid the hit. In the seconds he had, he looked for openings in the man’s armour, for there were so few. The joints had slim openings, as did the neck and the face. But oh–there was no time to land a hit in such slivers of flesh! The man kicked Amvrosiy in the gut, knocking him to the bloodied grass. Amvrosiy saw his chance and layed there. The man stabbed downward, Amvrosiy rolled to his side and the blade was driven through his arm. He cried out, but kept his composure; he leapt to his feet so fast the man couldn’t pull the sword from his arm. With his uninjured arm, Amvrosiy reached for his knife, and as the man approached to try and grab his own blade, Amvrosiy drove the knife through the man’s eye.

The man screamed and cursed in a language Amvrosiy could not understand. Amvrosiy grinned as he pulled the sword from his arm and threw it aside. “You ask how village folk can fight an army, I think you need to ask why you can’t defeat a simple village man.” The invader stood, covering his eye as blood poured down his armour. He spoke with a growl, “There are thousands of us. Your kind are nothing but a thorn in the side of the empire. We’ll make you burn for it.” The man picked up his sword, aiming it for Amvrosiy. Before the two could clash again, the enemy commander called out to retreat. Amvrosiy looked and saw the commander had been injured. Oleksiy’s shashka was coated in blood as the commander grasped an open wound on his shoulder. Amvrosiy saw the invaders gathering their dead as the Cossacks chased them out. His eyes met his opponent’s and he said, “Leave, or your corpse will be fed to the pigs.” The man sneered and retreated. On his way out of the village he grabbed an oil lantern from his horse, and threw it through the open window of a familiar house. He grinned as smoke poured from the window, he called from his horse as he rode away, “Perhaps you should feed their corpses to the pigs!”

Amvrosiy raced to the house, as did a group of villagefolk. He crashed his body against the door, forcing it open. The villagers gathered what water they could to douse the flames. Amvrosiy covered his nose and mouth with his arm as the flames licked his body and the smoke made his eyes water. He crouched and looked for the woman and the children she had called inside. He saw Zlata huddled in a corner, from under her he heard the cries of children. He approached as fast as he could. The flames climbed to the roof and wooden supports began to crash around him. He called out, “Pani Zlata!” as he was close enough to touch her. She turned to him, tears streaming from her eyes, she held the children close to her chest. Amvrosiy spoke again, “We have to escape, come with me!” He held out a hand to her. She couldn’t speak, her clothing and flesh burnt, she pushed the children towards him and nodded, for it was all she could do. Amvrosiy pulled the children close but reached for her again, he said, “You too, Pani Zlata, we leave no one behind.” The woman tried to move, but as she did, a support beam covered in flames fell upon her, crushing her. She screamed and grabbed Amvrosiy’s hand, she screamed, “Save me!”

It was then, my reader, that Amvrosiy was forced into an impossible choice. As the flames rose around them and the children cried, he knew then what he must do. He let go of her hand, he said, “I’m sorry, I’ll come back for you.” He backed away with the children, urging them to get outside quickly. He met her eyes, her terrified eyes, she screamed again, “Don’t leave me!” Amvrosiy got the children away from the flames and turned back towards the door. The entire house was aflame, the smoke a signal to all of the tragedy that day. Amvrosiy ran back inside, but before he got close to Zlata he felt strong arms around him. He watched the horror on Zlata’s face and the tears streaming down her cheeks as she reached for him, as he reached for her–but was pulled back outside. It was Mykola who had grabbed him, he shouted, “Do you want to die, suka? If you go in there you’ll burn with her!” Amvrosiy struggled and watched as the villagers poured bucket upon bucket of water to douse the flames. He shoved Mykola off him and ran for the house again, but as he got to the door and he saw Zlata for one more moment–the roof collapsed onto her. Amvrosiy fell to his knees, he cried, “I’m sorry, Pani Zlata, I’m sorry-” He felt Mykola’s arms around him as the hot tears rolled down his face.

The Cossacks helped the villagers put out the fires, clean up the destroyed houses, and then bury their dead. It was all Amvrosiy could do to sit at Zlata’s grave and apologise over and over. This was a wife, someone’s Maty. Amvrosiy wept for the children that would grow up without their maty or batko, and he wept to remember–for he would never let someone die like that again. He joined the other Cossacks and they rode on to check other villages before beginning the journey home.

As the Cossacks entered their own village after their long travels, it was to the rejoice of their loved ones. Amvrosiy’s mama held him tight. He untied her babushka from his arm and placed it in her hands, he said, “I brought it home for you, Mama.” Her eyes welled with concern as she saw the charred edges and the bloodstains, she looked back up at her son, she said, “I’m just happy you’re alive.” She pulled him close once more and sobbed.

Another year passed, and during this year, dear reader, Amvrosiy was wed. He was wed twice, in fact. For the village knew he loved both Mykola and Solomiya, and all three of their families were in agreement: they would not force Amvrosiy to choose. First, Amvrosiy married Solomiya, and oh–what a handsome couple they were! Solomiya wore a white dress embroidered with red flowers, her wedding vinok was made by Amvrosiy himself. Amvrosiy wore the vyshyvanka she made for him while he was away, chevrons embroidered down his chest. Solomiya said to him that day, “This means you can’t leave me again.” He smiled as he held her hand, he said, “I would be a durak to.”

He then wed Mykola. His mama had insisted he wear a bridal vinok, and for admiration of her artistry, he agreed. Mykola wore a vyshyvanka that Amvrosiy had made him, decorated with sunflowers. He chuckled at Amvrosiy and said, “Nice vinok, suka.” Amvrosiy gave him a toothy grin and said, “I knew you’d be jealous, my dear.” And he placed one he had made the previous night with sunflowers upon Mykola’s head. Despite the teasing Mykola got, he wore it for the rest of the night.

Then there was the feast, and oh–dear reader, what food there was! There were two korovai, and enough pickled vegetables, holubsti, kovbasa, nalysnyky, verenyky and borshch to feed two villages! There were berries and melons, and of course there was honey cake, poppyseed rolls and pampushky. The Cossacks ate and drank horilka and samohonka. They danced to the jaunty songs of the lire, the clacking of the handpans, the chirp of the sopilky, the twangs and boings of the jaw harps, and to the rings of the cymbaly. They gathered in a circle and danced to the joyful euphony. Amvrosiy drank until his head was fuzzy, ate until his belly was full, and he danced with both his wife and his husband.

It was when he stood outside the circle to take a break that he watched the bonfire, and all he could think of was Zlata. The house flashed through his mind, his memory overtook his vision, and for a moment, it was as if he was there again. But in his fear he didn’t see Zlata under the burning rubble. He saw Solomiya, and then Mykola. He saw himself holding what may have been their children as he watched the house burn. He felt his insides twisting as he knew the choice was to save the children, or save his beloveds. And then he saw the bonfire and the dancing, he saw his beloveds enjoying themselves. He left the party to sit under a tree in the cool night air. He felt his heart pounding and he felt tears race forth. He promised them a life, and all his fears would let him see was their deaths.

Shortly after their weddings, the three built a humble, yet comfortable home. They began to live the quiet life they had wanted all along. All three would tend to the home and care for the town’s livestock and crops. Solomiya grew a small vegetable garden beside the home and it took not more than two words for her to get her husband and his husband to help her with the work. Mykola would often patrol the area with the other Cossack warriors, hunt and help with labour around the village. Amvrosiy spent many of his days training children with swords, or showing them how to weave vinky. For that year they had peace. Every evening they would be home together, cooking and eating their suppers, spending each night in each other’s embrace. Alas, dear reader–at the end of that year Mykola was called to fight again.

At the edge of the village they said their goodbyes. Amvrosiy and Solomiya gave Mykola sad smiles, Amvrosiy said to him, “We made you something.” And he took Mykola’s hand and tied a babushka embroidered with sunflowers around his arm. Solomiya said, “Just like what you wore on your wedding night. Even if only in spirit, we’ll always be with you.” Amvrosiy released his beloved’s hand and began to speak, “Mykola, my dear Mykola, you have to come home to us.” Mykola could not answer with words, for he feared he would lose his composure. He grabbed the collar of Amvrosiy’s vyshyvanka, pulling him in for a kiss. Their lips met with the softness of the babushka tied around Mykola’s arm. They parted and Mykola smiled, a warmth in his black eyes, he said, “I’ll always find my way back home.” And then he rode off with the other Cossacks.

Dear reader, it was after Mykola’s departure that Amvrosiy’s nightmares began to get worse. He became more reclusive, working more in the home and with their garden. Solomiya felt as though her husband was slipping away. She approached him one day as he was cooking, she said, “My love, I wish you would talk to me about the battles you’re facing inside.” Their eyes met, and Amvrosiy said, “I should be out there with him, Solomiya. The invaders are heartless. If he comes back a corpse I will feel as though it is my fault, as though I should have been there to help him.” Solomiya took her husband’s hands and pulled him away from the potatoes he was cutting. She said, “I need you here, the village needs you here. Mykola is strong, so is his batko, Pan Oleksiy. We need to believe in them and take care of our home while they’re gone. I need your strength too, Amvrosiy, for what if our village is attacked?” Amvrosiy shook his head and held his wife close, he said, “I won’t let that happen, I know our warriors won’t let that happen. With every breath we will make sure our home is safe.” Solomiya gently kissed Amvrosiy, she said, “That is why we need you here. Mykola will come back to us, we just need to believe that. We will look into his eyes again, I feel it in my heart, Amvrosiy.” The two held each other in a tight embrace.

And oh–it was never easy for him, but Amvrosiy faked his smiles and became more outgoing once more. He could see it was making Solomiya happier, that was enough for him. He began to ride more, he would ride Kalyna around the village and look for smoke in the distance, listen for the sound of horses in the distance, every day his hope felt more distant. There was one day, dear reader, that he did see smoke. He pulled his shashka free and rode towards it, for if their invaders were this close, he knew his village was next.

On the winding road to the neighbouring village, he heard the cries of a woman and child. He raced Kalyna towards them and saw an invader there, the same black and silver armour, the same golden two headed eagle crest. The wicked man held his blade towards the woman. The woman stood in front of her child, screaming at the invader to leave them be. The man laughed and said, “Oh, come on, you peasant women are still good for something. Come with me and be good, I won’t hurt you.” He grabbed her arm as she tried to flee, she said to her child, “Go! Run! I’ll find you later!” The child listened and ran as Amvrosiy rode into view. He saw the slim opening in the neck of the man’s armour and he readied his shashka, he bid Kalyna to sprint and aimed his blade. Under that hot steppe sun his chestnut hair shone, and his chestnut eyes glittered as sweat rolled down his golden tan–then his blade tore through the flesh of his foe. The invader’s head flew to the grass, blood spurted from where it had been as his body clattered to the road and his blood stained the flowers.

The woman shrieked at the sight, but as Amvrosiy dismounted to calm her, she quieted. He said to her, “I’m sorry Pani, for what you saw and what you must have seen. Did anyone else escape?” The woman merely shook her head. Amvrosiy knew then what he would be walking into, a sight nothing could prepare him for. He said to her then, “Escape, make sure your child is safe. I’ll check the village for anyone else.” The woman wiped her tears and she wiped the blood from Amvrosiy’s face, she said, “Be safe, Pan.” Her eyes told of horror, she continued, “I’m not sure where those monsters went.” Amvrosiy smiled and he replied, “I won’t let any of them escape, I promise you.” The woman left with her child and Amvrosiy mounted his mare. He continued down the road but–oh, his heart could never be prepared.

Amvrosiy slowed Kalyna to a trot as he entered the village. The smell of burning wood and burning flesh flooded his nose. The bodies were strewn all around, many with limbs missing, many with their clothes torn. Villagefolk that had been tortured and killed, then tossed aside. Amvrosiy dismounted and walked through the village. He listened for any cries, he called out for anyone who could hear. There was only the wicked crackling of the flames. He saw many more bodies, men, women, children, elderly. Many were bleeding from their heads, some others had most of their faces sliced off. He entered any home he could to see if anyone was breathing. But there were only dead. There was one house in particular, he hesitated in the doorway–but pushed himself to walk inside. The blood was everywhere. In this house were the bodies of multiple young women and men, all had their clothing ripped, all had been stabbed many times. Their bodies were laid out and exposed, their flesh was bruised. Amvrosiy felt the bile rising in his throat and he ran out to the road. He fell to his knees and vomited. He felt the tears pour forth and his body felt as though it were burning too. He looked to the orange, smoke filled sky and he screamed. He screamed to gods that had abandoned them.

He mounted Kalyna and rode outside the village. He knew his own was next. He didn’t make it far before he heard the running of horses in the distance. He heard familiar voices calling him. He slowed Kalyna to a trot and saw the Cossacks riding towards him. He saw Mykola and Oleksiy and hope began to well within him. They stopped beside him and Oleksiy asked, “Were the people from this village saved?” But alas Amvrosiy could see in his eyes that he knew it was not so. Amvrosiy shook his head, the only words he could form were: “There was one woman and her child. I killed the invader that was attacking them and they fled. But no one else, I looked for as long as I was able.” Mykola put a hand on Amvrosiy’s shoulder and said, “We need to move fast towards home. They are surely on their way. They may already be there.” Amvrosiy saw on Mykola’s arm there was the babushka he had given his beloved. He saw the rips and bloodstains, but all that mattered to him in that moment was being able to look into Mykola’s eyes again. He said, “Yes, let’s go. Let’s go and send them to the hottest hell.”

The Cossacks rode back to their home village as fast as their horses could carry them. As they got closer, they could see the smoke and hear the shouting. They could see the poppies trampled by their invaders, they could hear the cries of their beloveds and their families. The villagefolk had picked up arms, any man or woman that could had grabbed a weapon.

Amvrosiy saw that his mama and baba’s home was surrounded, he saw his little brother protecting them, holding a sword. His little brother shouted, “Leave them be, or I will strike!” The armoured men laughed as they aimed their blades toward the boy. They said words in a language the boy could not understand, and then: “What can you do? A boy from a shit-hole like this?” They raised their blades to strike–and they were blocked by Amvrosiy’s shashka. Amvrosiy had leaped off his mare and rushed to protect his family, he raised his voice and he said, “Leave the boy be, I will strike.” The invaders tried to speak, but not a word came out before Amvrosiy indeed struck. He smashed the hilt of his sword into one of their helmets–oh, the clang that rang forth! The man fell to his knees and held his head. The other cursed at Amvrosiy and tried to attack, only for Amvrosiy to slice at the small opening on his wrists. He dropped his sword and grabbed his wounds. Amvrosiy brought his blade to their throats, and he gave them no mercy. A chill rang within him–he wondered how his family would view him now that they’d seen him kill.

His little brother smiled at him and said, “I knew you would come home.” Amvrosiy was filled with warmth. He called Kalyna over and faced his family, he said, “Climb onto her, find Solomiya, and escape the village. Our enemies show no mercy to any man, woman or child. I need you to survive.” His family complied and climbed onto the mare, his little brother and baba were slim enough for all three to fit. His little brother said, “I will take them out of the village and then come back for Solomiya. Go protect her until I come back. We need you to survive too.” Amvrosiy nodded and his family rode away. As they fled he met his mama and baba’s eyes. He gave a silent promise that he would see them again.

Amvrosiy saw as the Cossacks protected the border of the village, pushing their foes out. He saw as the women and children picked up arms and fought back. He would let none of them die, no matter the cost. He raced to his home, burst through the door and found Solomiya cornered. She was holding a woodcutting axe as invaders approached her. Amvrosiy drove his blade through one of their throats from behind, he heard his beloved shriek as the body fell lifeless. He stepped into view and smiled at her, he said, “I won’t let any of them touch you.” She nodded but held her weapon firm. Three more surrounded them, Amvrosiy saw that Solomiya had been boiling water and he grinned, motioning her towards it. She understood and with haste she ran to their oven and grabbed the pot, throwing the boiling water into the invaders’ faces. They screamed and cursed and both her and Amvrosiy lunged for them. Amvrosiy drove his sword through two as Solomiya smashed her axe into the other’s head.

They threw the bodies outside their home and Amvrosiy said to her, “Stay here, my little brother is coming to get you out.” She grabbed his arm and replied, “What about you and Mykola?” Amvrosiy met her eyes, hoping it wasn’t the last time he’d see such a beautiful green, he said, “We will drive them out and come back to you. Please just stay alive for me.” Before she could reply there was the sound of a horse and his little brother’s voice. They left their home and Amvrosiy helped Solomiya onto Kalyna. His little brother said, “I’ll keep them safe, Amvrosiy. Just promise you will come back to us.” Amvrosiy held a hand from both of them and he replied, “I will fight with all I have to see you again.” And he let them go. They rode off, out of the village.

The invaders had all been chased to the edge of the village, or killed. The remaining villagefolk were dousing the fires their foes had set. Amvrosiy ran to the other Cossacks to aid them. He ran to Oleksiy and Mykola. He saw them leading the battle against the enemy troop. Oleksiy knocked his foes from their horses and bid his stallion to crush them with heavy hooves. Mykola drove his shashka through their mouths and eyes. Amvrosiy met them there, drawing his blade and slicing foes in the knee-pit–a blow to make them cry in pain and drop their weapons, only to be swiftly killed by his fellow Cossacks. He dodged blades aimed for his throat and knocked invaders from their horses. Whichever foes didn’t die from being trampled, he gave no mercy–his blade through their throats, or their heads.

It was then that the enemy commander rode into view. A man with the golden two headed eagle on his chest, a bandage over one eye, and the other a blue so pale it looked like that of a corpse. He saw Amvrosiy and sneered, he said, “When we’re done here, we’ll feed your backwater corpses to the fucking pigs.” Amvrosiy gripped his blade tight. There were few foes left, and none so threatening as their commander. He looked to Oleksiy and said, “Leave, Pan Oleksiy. Go help the villagers. They may have more coming. Mykola and I will finish here.” Oleksiy gave Amvrosiy a stern look, and then one to his son, he said, “I don’t like this. But you may be right, it’s a risk we cannot take. I will go protect them. I need you both to survive.” Both Amvrosiy and Mykola nodded, giving Oleksiy a silent promise that they would see him again. Oleksiy rode off.

Amvrosiy and Mykola worked as a team. Amvrosiy drove his blade into any open cracks of armour and Mykola took the opening for the kill. Mykola clashed blades with a foe while another galloped towards Amvrosiy. Amvrosiy grinned a toothy grin and ducked low so that his foe’s sword missed. He positioned his own shashka just so the saddle the man sat upon would be cut loose. The man fell from his horse, and the horse fled. Amvrosiy looked down at the man, the man tried to stand but fell and cried out again. Amvrosiy aimed his sword for the man, the man cried, “Please don’t kill me, please! I surrender, I have a family too!” As the man begged surrender again, Amvrosiy sliced his throat. As the man–no, dear reader, the invader, bled out, Amvrosiy spoke, “For all the families your kind has killed, for all who you’ve tortured, you don’t deserve to surrender.”

There were three foes left, one of whom Amvrosiy wanted for himself. He looked to Mykola, and he said, “My dear Mykola, go protect the villagers. Leave this fight to me.” Mykola shook his head, he replied, “I won’t leave your side, suka.” Amvrosiy blocked a blow from a foe and looked to his beloved again, he said, “The villagers need you, if more attack elsewhere they will be caught off guard. I can fight these ones.” Mykola scowled, but Amvrosiy could see fear in his black eyes, Mykola said, “You may be right, and you are strong. I need you to survive, I need you, Amvrosiy.” Amvrosiy injured his foe, causing the man to fall back. He met Mykola’s eyes and he smiled, “No matter what happens, I’ll never be so far away.” He motioned to the babushka embroidered with sunflowers. Mykola hadn’t removed it from his arm. It was as though time slowed down, Mykola’s heart pounded in his chest, he looked into Amvrosiy’s chestnut eyes and he said, “Amvrosiy.” For it was all that came forth. Amvrosiy looked at Mykola as he would a rival, as he would a friend, and as he would a lover, and he said, “Mykola, you won’t forget to think of me?” Mykola felt as though he was frozen, but there was no time. He bid his stallion to ride into the village. He looked back to Amvrosiy, giving a silent promise that he would see his beloved again.

The enemy commander stepped off his horse and approached Amvrosiy, their blades clashed. The commander swung for Amvrosiy’s arm, Amvrosiy tried to dodge–but his foe was too fast. Amvrosiy cried out, for he was struck where his old injury was. The commander spoke, “Ever since you took my eye, I’ve dreamed of burning your village, of torturing you. You cannot stop the empire.” Amvrosiy swapped his blade to his uninjured arm, he replied, “Then perhaps I will take your other eye.” Amvrosiy lunged for his foe, blocking attacks and looking for any weaknesses in the armour. There was one right above the chest plate where the chainmail had been damaged. His foe gave him no chance to get so close. Amvrosiy landed a slice on one of his foe’s arms as he crouched to dodge a blow. The commander cried out and cursed, he said, “You are nothing but low-life peasants, a bunch of village folk who picked up swords and became savages. We will eradicate you!” Amvrosiy gave his foe a toothy grin and he said, “You may call us low-lifes and savages, but you will never call us cowards!”

It was then that Amvrosiy knew he had his chance. As his foe struggled to respond, he leaped forward, aiming his shashka for the opening. But, dear reader, he felt a warmth pour down his chest. He looked and saw the commander’s sword through his heart. As he felt his heartbeat slow and his life-blood pour down his body, he drove his shashka through the opening in the commander’s armour, through his heart as well. He stepped back and stumbled as the blade left his chest, as he watched the commander fall to the bloodied poppies. Amvrosiy looked to the sky and smiled, behind him he heard cheers of victory as the other Cossacks rode towards him.

He fell to the poppy field, his vyshyvanka coated with his blood, just as red as the flowers he lay in. He felt the world fade to black. He closed his eyes. The memories of those he loved filled his mind. Memories of weaving vinky with his mama, of embroidering with his baba, of arguing with his little brother, of his first kiss with Solomiya, of every spar with his dear Mykola. He heard Mykola call his name, he heard Mykola call him stupid, he heard Mykola crying.

-Fin-