As the years passed, Amvrosiy grew taller and broader; and all the men and boys who had mocked him when he was a girl grew angrier and angrier that they could not knock him down. They would attack him ten to one, they would call him cruel names, they would tell him he wasn’t really a man. And Amvrosiy would grin his toothy grin and say, “All this to make me the better swordsman.” And he would accept the challenge every time.

There was one boy the same age as him, his mentor’s son, Mykola. Mykola would challenge Amvrosiy every day, and every day Amvrosiy would win. And as Amvrosiy grew more and more into the young man he was, Mykola would grow more and more fierce. Mykola would train every waking moment just to win a match. He would say, “I will put that suka in her place.” He would say this to his tato, and his tato would laugh and reply, “That boy will knock you to the ground every time.”

They were both young men of seventeen; and one particular day, Mykola charged at Amvrosiy, his shashka ready. Amvrosiy grinned and nimbly dodged, pulling free his own blade, his tato’s shashka. Their blades met–and what a crowd they drew! Mykola was second among the young men, only to Amvrosiy, and it boiled his blood so. Amvrosiy smiled at his rival, his chestnut eyes glittered under the steppe sun, meeting Mykola’s intense black eyes. “You’re getting better every day, my dear Mykola.” Amvrosiy said. Mykola scowled and replied, “Quiet, suka. This is the day I win.” Their blades clashed again, and Mykola shouted, “This is the day I show my tato I’m stronger than you.” He landed a blow on Amvrosiy’s forearm. Amvrosiy smiled and said, “I do love your vigour, dear Mykola.” And he knocked the sword from Mykola’s hand.

Any other day Mykola would accept his loss, but this day he was red-faced and furious. His black hair, recently shaved into an oseledets, was dishevelled. He lunged at Amvrosiy, knocking him to the ground, and causing Amvrosiy to drop his sword. Mykola straddled Amvrosiy and threw a punch. Amvrosiy caught Mykola’s fist and grinned, wrapping his legs around Mykola and flipping them over. He pinned Mykola’s wrists to the ground and straddled him, their faces were close and their chests were heaving. Amvrosiy asked, “What are you trying to do, Mykola? Are you embarrassed to lose to me?” Mykola struggled and groaned and then he spoke, “I can win against any man here, but I never can against you. You always knock me down. Always. And you’re not even really a man, I don’t understand.” Hearing this, Amvrosiy frowned, but then he gave his rival a toothy grin and said, “You learn how to win when nobody believes you can. When I was a girl and everyone thought I was weak, I had to prove I wasn’t. But people always thought you were strong, my dear Mykola, and you are! But we are not the same. People don’t think I’m strong, or that I’m a man. So I have to show that I am every day. What you are freely given I have always had to earn. That is why I always defeat you.”

Amvrosiy stood and dusted himself off, he smiled down at his rival and offered a hand. He said, “And Mykola, you helped me become this way.” Mykola’s face was red, but no longer from anger. He took Amvrosiy’s hand and stood. As their duel was over, the crowd had left them be. Amvrosiy picked up both their blades, sheathing his own and holding out his rival’s. But Mykola merely stood there and their eyes met, glittering chestnut and intense black. Amvrosiy said, “Dear Mykola, are you alright?” He winked at Mykola. And Mykola could stand it no more, he grabbed the collar of Amvrosiy’s vyshyvanka and pulled his rival close. Their lips met with the ferocity of their shashky, and when they parted it was as if they had swordfought a second time. With flushed faces, they took a moment to breathe. Mykola took his blade and sheathed it, he said, “Next time suka, you’ll be on your back.” And left Amvrosiy there.

Amvrosiy enjoyed toying with Mykola–I tell you. Many days he would catch Mykola watching him as he went about his work–and oh, how red Mykola would turn once Amvrosiy caught him! He would meet Mykola’s eyes and smile. He would watch as Mykola muttered to himself and shuffled away, and he would chuckle. Mykola was too proud to admit his attraction, but it was so plain for Amvrosiy to see.

As grown as Amvrosiy was, a young man nearly eighteen, there was one girl who needed only lay her rich green eyes on him for him to become a boy again. This girl was called Solomiya. As a child Amvrosiy would give flowers to all the village girls, but this girl, he would always give more to than the others. Back then she saw him as another girl and didn’t think much of it. But now he was a man, and yet far too much of a boy to give her flowers like he used to.

After every wedding the Cossacks would celebrate. They would eat plenty and drink plenty. Plates of pickled vegetables, holubsti, kovbasa, nalysnyky, and verenyky. They would serve enough borshch to feed the village, and of course there was the korovai. They had sweets a plenty. There were plates of fruit, especially berries and melons, and there was honey cake and poppyseed rolls and pampushky. Each family would make some of the food and they would all come together as the sun was setting. They would eat until their bellies were bursting and they would drink horilka and samohonka until their heads were fuzzy.

And then there was the dancing–and oh, how fun it was! In the middle of the village they would gather their musicians and play their lire, their sopilky, their cymbaly and some would play jaw harps and handpans. They would begin with the jaunty song of the lira, and then the clack clack clacking of the handpans. The sopilka would chirp like the singing of a nightingale. Then would come the twangs and the boings of the jaw harp and the bright tings and rings of the cymbaly. To this joyful euphony the Cossacks would gather in a circle and dance with graceful steps and energetic kicks. They would lift each other in the air, they would jump and flip. They would take turns running into the middle with a partner or a few while the rest would clap to the music and holler and cheer.

Amvrosiy and his mama had woven vinky for the women and girls to wear, and his mama had made the bride’s vinok too–oh, how lovely the bride was! Her crown had a myriad of flowers with sheaves of wheat behind them. As the Cossacks gathered in the middle of the village, Amvrosiy’s mama placed a vinok on his head, she asked, “You’re not too much of a man to wear one, are you?” She smiled. Amvrosiy was red-faced as he heard the men nearby chuckling at him, but he shook his head and said, “Of course not, Mama.”

He had eaten and he had drank. The cheerful music and the fuzziness from the alcohol took over him and he joined the dance. On the outskirts, he felt a body press into his and turned to see Mykola smirking at him. Mykola said, “Nice vinok, suka.” And he laughed at Amvrosiy. Amvrosiy grinned coyly and grabbed Mykola, pulling him close–oh, and Mykola turned so red! Amvrosiy said, “If you’re so jealous, dear Mykola, I can make you one.” But before Mykola could respond, the men around them pushed them into the centre. They gripped each other roughly, dancing in a circle and kicking their legs high. The crowd cheered for them as they tried to outdo each other. They took turns flipping, while still in each other’s arms, and when they slowed down they felt the cool sweat on their faces; so close they could hear the other man’s heartbeat. They took turns bowing and ran back to the crowd as another pair ran into the centre. Mykola wanted nothing more than to drag Amvrosiy away from the crowd, and Amvrosiy knew that. They stood close, their chests close, but Amvrosiy grinned and turned away. “I like my time with you, my dear, but I think I should dance with someone else.” Amvrosiy said. And as Mykola watched him leave his face was hot with jealousy.

The confidence in Amvrosiy’s stride faltered as he saw Solomiya. And when Solomiya met his eyes, he stopped and was quiet. She smiled at him and pushed through the crowd. Amvrosiy said to her, “I hope you’re enjoying the party.” His face was hot. She giggled and reached up, adjusting his vinok, and she said, “That was a good dance you did, but you made it crooked.” Her smile was like the sunshine itself. Amvrosiy meekly thanked her but then lost his words and his thoughts when she took his hand. “Let’s go!” She said and dragged him back into the centre. She pulled his hands around her waist as they skipped in a circle together. The crowd cheered and Solomiya grinned a wide grin, and she said, “Lift me!” Amvrosiy kept his quivering hands firm and lifted her into the air. Roaring hollers erupted from the Cossacks around them as he spun her around. Amvrosiy lowered Solomiya to the ground, amidst the roars and the cheers and under the stars, she looked like an angel with her golden hair and her deep green eyes and her white dress embroidered with wildflowers. The two of them bowed as time seemed to slow down. They ran back to the crowd and before Amvrosiy could speak, he felt Solomiya’s lips on his.

The two parted–and oh, how red Amvrosiy’s face was! “Solomiya, I didn’t realise you felt this way.” Amvrosiy said, he pulled his hands from hers, his palms sweaty. Solomiya replied, “I can’t say how I feel. But I see your face when our eyes meet. And how hard it is not to kiss a handsome warrior!” She grinned her wide grin. Amvrosiy couldn’t speak, his words lost somewhere between his heart and his throat, his face too hot for his mouth to work. Solomiya was a wise girl, a kind and silly girl, and she knew so well how she turned Amvrosiy from a confident swordsman to a flustered boy. She knew not if she had feelings for him, a boy and a girl of seventeen too new to love to know how it worked; but she knew she adored it when his confident smile faltered and his cheeks reddened, and she knew she loved it when the pitch of his voice raised from a powerful man’s to a nervous boy’s. There was something in the way his hands quivered when he was close to her, and the way he would bite his full lips while he searched for words to speak. She watched him do these things as time sped back up, but before he could speak, she pressed her lips to his again. Solomiya pulled away, smiling at Amvrosiy’s wide eyes and hot face, and she said, “It’s hard not to kiss a handsome warrior, but it’s even harder not to kiss the sweet girl I grew up with. You are the strongest man here, but don’t forget about that girl.” Solomiya gave Amvrosiy one last smile as she skipped back to her family. Amvrosiy clutched his chest as he found somewhere to be alone. He could hear the party, the dancing and the drinking, he could hear the sounds of the night; but more than anything, he could hear the pounding of his heart.

Two more years passed. And through those years, Amvrosiy grew even stronger! I tell you–the men began asking him to train their sons. There were some daughters too who asked to learn from him, and in those moments his heart was very warm. He would never turn them away and he would always tell them, “Don’t let anyone tell you that you cannot grow up a warrior too!” He would go home to his mama and baba and recount his days and the men he sparred with and the children he trained, as he helped them with the chores and the cooking. And every day he could feel them become more quiet, the distance grew as he aged. With cracks forming in his heart, once full of only warmth for his mama and baba, he asked them, “Why are you so silent when I tell you of my day? Have I said something to hurt you?” And his mama and baba were unsure of the words to say. His little brother quickly left the room, becoming absent during any conflict. Amvrosiy waited for someone to speak, and it was his baba who broke the silence. She took his hand and she said, “Your mama and I, we love that you are happy as a man, but sometimes we feel we lost the girl we raised.” And Amvrosiy’s heart sank. He pleaded to them, “I never meant to hurt you, but I don’t think I ever was a girl, I am the same person you raised.” Shame crept across his baba’s wrinkled features. She gripped his hand tighter as she spoke again, “And I think we always knew you weren’t a girl, you never quite fit that role. But for us you were a daughter who we taught our recipes, who we taught our embroidery, who would weave vinky with us for the townsfolk. No, you were not a girl, and you certainly are a man now. But we’re worried that what we taught you, as we would teach a daughter, you don’t want to carry.” It was then that Amvrosiy understood. He felt hot tears form in his chestnut eyes and he pulled his baba, and then his mama, into an embrace. He said, “I can still be a man, a man to protect our village, but to you I can still be a daughter to weave vinky with, to teach your recipes and your embroidery. I’m sorry I worried you. I can carry the traditions of a daughter, and the strength of a warrior, please don’t mourn a loss you didn’t lose.”

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From that day on, Amvrosiy made more time for his mama and baba and little brother. He did his most to be sure that they knew he could carry the duties of a man and the duties of a daughter. He would help with training the village’s growing warriors, he would help with hunting, but he would also help with the gardens; and he would always stay close to home to help his mama and his baba.

On the days between helping his family in the home and then his training, Amvrosiy would be found with the horses. The men would go riding nearly daily, they would do so in part to hone their riding–but it was also to survey the area. There was one horse they always left, and they would laugh and say, “That one is for you, Amvrosiy.” The horse was a stubborn mare named Kalyna. Kalyna would let no one ride her, and only a few close enough to groom her. Amvrosiy was one of the few she would tolerate, but she would never let him ride her.

One particular day while Amvrosiy was brushing Kalyna’s short grey mane, the men rode past him on their strelets. Amvrosiy watched in envy–I tell you, that poor boy just wanted to be with them. Mykola slowed his stallion down and stopped beside Amvrosiy, smirking down at him. Mykola said, “If you ask nicely, suka, I’ll let you hold on to me.” Amvrosiy gently set the brush down and stepped towards Mykola, he gave Mykola a toothy grin and said, “That’s such a funny way to ask for help, dear Mykola.” Mykola turned red, scowled, and rode away. In the dust, Amvrosiy laughed heartily. He then turned to Kalyna and said, “My lovely girl, you don’t want to let him outshine us?” The stubborn strelets mare whinnied in response–I tell you dear reader, his words convinced her that day. She trotted beside Amvrosiy and let him climb onto her, the first time she let a man ride her, and it was for her pride. She raced across the steppe, outspeeding the stallions and the other mares. Amvrosiy held tightly to her neck, and under that hot steppe sun he had never felt more free.

They rode through the grasslands, around patches of trees and past golden fields of wheat. They rode over the hills, the farthest from home Amvrosiy had ever been; and it was on a tall hill, near a stream, that Kalyna stopped. Amvrosiy dismounted from the mare, letting her drink. The sound of rushing water and honking geese as they flew overhead overwhelmed him. He sat on the hill, overlooking the fields and the flowers and the forests of the steppe. He could see a few small villages, but it was one in the distance that caught his eye. It was so far he could not see clearly, but there was smoke rising from it, more than he thought there should be. His focus broke as he heard the trotting of horses on either side of himself. He looked up to see Kalyna to one side, and Mykola on his stallion to the other side. Mykola dismounted and sat beside him. Amvrosiy smiled and said, “Did you come here to ask me to hold on to you again?” Mykola scowled and replied, “Just didn’t want you to get lost, suka.” And the two sat in silence for what felt like hours. They stood and mounted for the ride back home. “Want to race?” Amvrosiy asked with a grin. Mykola shook his head and replied, “You don’t even know the way back, you’ve no chance-” And before he could finish, Amvrosiy and Kalyna had taken off, bolting across the fields. “Damn you, suka.” Mykola grumbled, racing after Amvrosiy.

And from that day on, he rode with the other men to patrol the area. Under the weight of expectations and duties he rarely had time away, time to rest. It was Solomiya who would grab him by the arm when she could see he looked tired, and she would lead him out into the fields, somewhere they could be alone. Some days they would simply sleep next to each other, on others they would look up at the clouds and talk about their future; and on others Solomiya would take Amvrosiy’s hand and pull it beneath her dress, between her legs; and she would kiss him as he explored her warmth. She would always try to return the favour, but Amvrosiy would always stop her. He would never explain why, until one day he did.

“Solomiya, is this wise?” He asked her. Solomiya didn’t understand, and she replied, “What does wisdom have to do with it? You’re the boy I want, I don’t need to be wise about this.” Amvrosiy chuckled and held her hands–oh, how flushed her face was every time he brought her pleasure. It warmed his heart, but he felt a pain too. He said, “You surely do not need to be wise. You’re the girl I want, and I wish I could be so carefree. But Solomiya, I would be a poor choice for a husband. I cannot give you a child, and I fear my time for you has been so sparse. You could take any other man from the village as a husband, and they would be able to give you what I cannot.” Solomiya frowned, and in her green eyes there was determination. She climbed atop Amvrosiy, straddling him and grabbing his wrists. She said to him, “How foolish you are! You think of yourself as not being able to offer what the other men can, instead of being able to offer what they cannot. Did you ever think that maybe I want you because you’re not like them?”

At this Amvrosiy was speechless–a red-faced boy! Solomiya pressed her lips to his and held his body close. While Amvrosiy was lost in her kisses she untied his sash and gripped the waist of his pants to lower them. He gently pulled her hands away, and their eyes met. She asked him, “Be truthful Amvrosiy, why are you so nervous for me to see your body and give you the same pleasure you do me?” Amvrosiy–the red-faced boy, reluctantly replied, “It would be new to me, it makes me nervous, and-” he paused, “it makes me worry that perhaps you would no longer see me as a man.” Solomiya grinned and cupped Amvrosiy’s face with her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes, then she said, “That matters so little to me, you silly nervous thing. I would want you still if you were a woman, just as I do that you are a man. I’ve made up my mind about you, nothing about your body could change that.”

Relaxed by her reassurance, Amvrosiy let Solomiya remove his pants, and he let her explore his body with her hot mouth. And when he came, his nerves felt as though on fire, but when she climbed up the grass beside him, grinning her wide grin, his nerves subsided. The two laid in the grass together, watching the sky–and oh, did their future seem so bright! Solomiya nestled her head into his chest and said, “I’m going to marry you someday, even if the village is against my choices. Even if we have to run away. We can take your mare, Kalyna…and-” she paused and giggled, “Mykola too. I’ve seen how you two flirt, and how you sneak away to be alone.” Amvrosiy felt frozen solid, he replied, “You…know? And you don’t mind?” Solomiya laughed and held Amvrosiy close, she said, “No, you silly boy, I don’t mind.” And the two spent their lazy afternoon in each other’s arms, cradled in the breeze that made the field dance, and under the fluffy clouds that moved slowly across the cyan sky.

As Solomiya had noticed, Amvrosiy and Mykola would find time to sneak away and be alone. Both Mykola’s tato and Amvrosiy’s mama had noticed as well, they would smile at each other in passing and say, “It’s always the one you fight with at first, isn’t it?” Amvrosiy and Mykola would compete with their chores and their training. They would see who could chop more wood, who could bring home the fatter waterfowl, and who could win the most sparring matches. They would bicker each day over their accomplishments, and when they were close they would feel heat between them. One would grab the other’s arm and lead him somewhere quiet. Sometimes it was just outside the village near the pond, others it was behind one house that no one had lived in for years, and then there was Mykola’s bedroom when his tato was away from the house. They both had their duties and could scarcely steal more than an hour or two to be alone. But in those moments they would kiss with the ferocity of a windstorm, and they would grab and explore each other’s bodies. So close were they to tearing each other’s clothes off, but one or the other would get so nervous that they would pull away from each other and go back into the village. They would throw insults at each other, as if they would never touch each other.

There was one particular day that Mykola approached Amvrosiy, and he said, “Suka, I need to spar with you. Alone.” Amvrosiy replied with a coy smile and knowing eyes, but he indulged Mykola, and he replied, “My dear Mykola, how humble of you to ask for my help this way.” Mykola scowled and grabbed Amvrosiy’s arm to lead him away–oh, how Amvrosiy loved when Mykola turned so red and got so quiet! Mykola led him to the edge of the woods. The shade from the big oak trees kept them cool from the hot sun. Mykola pulled his shashka free and aimed it at Amvrosiy. Amvrosiy grinned a toothy grin and said, “So you did ask me here to spar? Why the privacy? We spar in the village nearly daily.” Mykola groaned and replied, “Because suka, I want you to train me. And I didn’t want someone to see me ask.” Amvrosiy laughed and said, “Your pride is too much, dear Mykola. But yes, I’ll help.” And the two began to spar. Amvrosiy noted Mykola’s weakness and raised his hand to pause the match. He stepped towards Mykola, who stood with shashka raised. He pressed the tip of his own blade into Mykola’s chest and said, “This is your weakness, my dear. You are so ready to attack, so much vigour you have. But you leave yourself open. I merely have to block and counterattack and it is done.” Mykola scowled and lowered his sword, but Amvrosiy circled him and continued, “You are fast, and strong, you hit the hardest of the village men, harder than me as well.” Amvrosiy winked, Mykola blushed, and Amvrosiy spoke, “But if an enemy is faster than you, it doesn’t matter how hard you hit. You must improve your defence. Let’s try this again, but block my attacks, and try to hit me.”

Amvrosiy stepped back, his and Mykola’s shashky aimed at each other. Amvrosiy lunged forward, aiming a strike for Mykola’s chest. Mykola blocked, twisting his blade around for a counterattack. Amvrosiy grinned a toothy grin and dodged, raising his sword to aim at Mykola’s head. Mykola scowled and reeled back to block, but alas–his blade clashed with Amvrosiy’s as the tip of Amvrosiy’s pressed into his forehead. Amvrosiy chuckled and pulled his shashka away. He said, “That was better, dear Mykola. Allow me to make your target easier.” Amvrosiy sheathed his sword for a moment to remove his vyshyvanka. Gently he hung the cotton shirt on an oak branch and then he readied his blade. Mykola’s hands quivered as he looked upon Amvrosiy’s toned body and soft chest, he spoke, “Suka, how am I supposed to focus–I mean what if I hit you?” And Amvrosiy laughed heartily, and he said, “If you land a hit, and if you draw some blood, then you’ve proven my training has helped.” Mykola scowled again–oh, how red-faced he was! And he lunged into action.

Once more the two men clashed blades. Mykola would block and counterattack, but Amvrosiy was so nimble–he always dodged! And unable to control his anger, Mykola’s speed would falter, and Amvrosiy would land a strike on his chest, or his head. But in their final round of sparring, Mykola swung his counterattack, and his blade hit Amvrosiy’s flesh. His shashka left a shallow slice from Amvrosiy’s shoulder and down his chest. Amvrosiy yelped in pain, but he was smiling. He held his hand up to stop the match, and Mykola glowed in triumph. Amvrosiy said, “I knew you could do it, dear Mykola.” But it was in that moment, dear reader, that Mykola noticed the blood on his opponent’s–no. His friend’s chest. And he watched as Amvrosiy clutched the injury and grimaced. His triumph faded to worry and he sheathed his shashka, stepping forward to inspect the wound. He said, “Amvrosiy, I’m sorry I-” he paused, he had never seen Amvrosiy shirtless before. He spoke again, “I didn’t mean to injure you. But damn you, suka. Why did you expose yourself so?” And Amvrosiy chuckled and said, “I needed to make it a challenge for you, and you succeeded. This is a small injury, I’ll be perfectly fine.” But Mykola was so stubborn! He led Amvrosiy to a stream. He removed his sash and dipped it into the rushing water, using it to clean the bloody wound. It didn’t take long for the bleeding to stop, and it took even less time for Mykola’s face to show how flustered he was.

His hand lingered on Amvrosiy’s chest as their eyes met. Amvrosiy grinned and pulled him into a kiss. Alone in the woods, and after such heated sparring, their clothes were off before they slowed down to think of what they were doing. In this moment of passion, Mykola had Amvrosiy on his back, and for it would be the only time he did. Mykola’s usual roughness was subdued, he caressed Amvrosiy’s body with a gentleness that neither man expected. And when Amvrosiy opened himself to Mykola’s manhood, Mykola was slow. He held Amvrosiy’s hands as he watched Amvrosiy’s pain give way to pleasure. For Amvrosiy had never had another man inside him before; they gripped each other tight as Mykola moved. And when Mykola came, there was a moment of bliss. They breathed together in a familiar silence, hot with sweat and with the afterglow of sex. Mykola stood and helped Amvrosiy up, and he said, “I didn’t hurt you, Amvrosiy?” And Amvrosiy smiled as he straightened Mykola’s hair, he said, “No, my dear. I enjoyed that too.” Suddenly Mykola dressed with urgency and he said, “Amvrosiy, I can get you some herbs. I didn’t intend to give you a child here. I should have been more careful.” Amvrosiy reassured him, whilst also dressing, he said, “No, no dear. I think it will be okay. I’ve been growing into a man since I was very young. I’m not sure it’s even possible.” But Mykola grabbed Amvrosiy’s hand and met his chestnut eyes with his own intense black ones, and he said, “But just in case, Amvrosiy.” And Amvrosiy sighed, smiled and replied, “Yes, yes. Just in case.”

The two men made their way back to the village. Amvrosiy was always suka to Mykola, but in those intimate moments, he was Amvrosiy. He pushed his hair from his face as they walked across the field towards home, and all he could think of was his future. If his future kept him close to Mykola and Solomiya, and of course his mama and baba and little brother, he felt there was much happiness to keep walking towards.