The Special Desk · Zarechye district
Chronicles of Zarechye
What the Desk knows about the county: its people, its places, its feast days, its myths, and the unclean power that lives beside them. Pick anything up off the desk and read.
Map of the district
Faces
Clippings · days of the year
From the old books
Of the unclean power
Of the unclean power
being an account of those who live beside us
Characters
PersonBogdan VolkovA convict who turned wolf on the convict road, and was bought, wolf and all.
PersonAglaya the HerbwomanShe lay three days in the death-sleep and came back knowing words nobody taught her.
PersonProkhor HammerA smith of Perun's brotherhood who learned to know the unclean, too late.
PersonSevastyanA monk who lost his orders because his exorcisms worked.
PersonDarya NightA mummer and cardsharp who once beat Likho at cards. Likho is still waiting for a rematch.
PersonGordeyWatchman of the graveyard outside the fence. The unclean dead call him headman.
PersonKorobeynikov, Bailiff of the Special DeskHe does not believe in miracles. He has seen far too much for that.
PersonSavely, the millerTwenty years without a lean year. Not even in the famine.
PersonLukerya, the miller's daughterShe came down from the porch on her wedding day and did not reach the cart.
PersonKasyan Zhilin, the bridegroomA shop clerk with debts, three nights without sleep, and a story nobody believes.
PersonStepanida, the keenerShe has sung over everyone it was proper to sing over, and wept for everyone it was not.
PersonAksinya, midwife and godmotherShe brought half of Zarechye into the world and knows each by their birthmarks.
PersonThe Kuzovkins of LipovkaA widow, her daughter and a silent old man, with places for five at the table.
PersonVedana, the steward of the steadingNot a wise woman, she says. She just remembers what her grandmother did.
PersonAnikey Sveshnikov, the photographerA quiet man who photographed name days and funerals. Found drowned in a dry room.
PersonFeodosya Sveshnikova, the widowThree weeks a widow, a brooch with her husband's hair, and the accounts in order.
PersonLuka Tarasyev, the telegraphistTwenty-four, a man of science, and the last to leave the telegraph office.
PersonMokey Guryev, the merchantHe laughs across the whole row, and he has guessed right three times.
PersonFevronia, the photographer's assistantShe does not hear and does not speak. She answers on a slate, in capitals.
PersonAristarkh Belsky, the district surveyorAn official face that works by instrument, not by guesswork.
PersonTit Arshinnikov, the shopkeeperHe fed the parish through the hungry winter, on credit, and he keeps the book.
PersonYefimya Gushchina, the old man's daughterShe was reaping on the next strip at noon. She is not simple, she says.
PersonFerapont Gushchin, the old-timerForty years a witness at every survey. He could name the boundary by the sazhen.
Places
PlaceZarechyeA district town on the Smorodina, built on a boundary.
PlaceThe Special DeskOne room at the end of a corridor, for the deaths the police leave behind.
PlaceThe steading without a nameA warm stove, a laid table, and nobody who remembers who lived there.
PlaceThe mill and the Black PoolNobody drowns in the pool. The pool takes.
PlaceThe SmorodinaIn the old tales it is a river of fire between the living and the dead.
PlaceThe Town RowsThe one paved street, where the shopkeepers lean in their doorways.
PlaceThe fairChintz, samovars, a horse and, if you know whom to ask, a little luck.
PlaceLipovkaA village four versts down the river, which ploughed itself round in the cholera.
PlaceThe graveyard of the unclean deadOutside the fence, without names, where the earth does not keep what is laid in it.
PlaceThe log causeway past the millA road of logs across the marsh, and the lights that stand beside it at night.
PlaceThe Telegraph OfficeWords leave here that can never be taken back.
PlaceSveshnikov's Photo StudioA glass ceiling, a painted balustrade, and a camera looking at an empty chair.
PlaceThe District Drafting OfficeA room where every boundary in the uyezd lies under seal.
PlaceThe Disputed StripRye from the Crooked Gully to the lone birch. Unreaped for the second summer.
PlaceThe RapidsThe water is shallow here. Nobody drowns at the rapids.
PlaceThe Sunken LakeWhere the island was, the river widens and goes still. Domes show under the ripples.
PlaceThe Widow's YardThe chimney smokes when nobody is home. The neighbours call the widow lucky.
PlaceBeyond the Third CuttingNobody cuts past the third clearing. The artel went in three times and came out wrong.
PlaceThe Winter Road by the Wood's EdgeA sledge road through the clearing. Every winter one sledge comes out short.
PlaceThe Izba on a Bad SpotBuilt where something else once stood. The owners left. The stove lights itself.
PlaceThe Cradle-Song VillageEight yards, and in all eight nobody sleeps. Mothers hold their children until cockcrow.
Events
Day of the year1892: the year afterThe famine, then the cholera. Half a million dead out of their time.
Day of the yearThe night the island sankLong before anyone now living, a monastery went under in a single night.
Day of the yearThe ploughing round of LipovkaA July night in 1892, a widow in the harness, and something walking alongside.
Day of the yearKolyada and SvyatkiTwelve holy nights from Christmas to Epiphany, when the other side walks abroad.
Day of the yearMaslenitsaA week of pancakes before Lent. The first pancake is for the dead.
Day of the yearRadunitsaIn spring the living go to the churchyard and bring the dead the Easter news.
Day of the yearSemik and Rusalia WeekThe green week, when birches are curled and the unclean dead are remembered.
Day of the yearKupalaThe shortest night. The district does not bathe: the water goes courting.
Day of the yearElijah's DayThe sun turns towards autumn. At noon the field stands empty.
Day of the yearThe Autumn Forefathers and St Demetrius's SaturdayIn autumn the district feeds its dead. A house that miscounts is heard down the street.
Myths
MythNavAn old word for the dead — and the other side of the same district.
MythThe LineNothing protects you from the dead but a line someone drew and someone keeps.
MythThe Compact and the AlatyrAn old agreement between the river and its banks, whose lock went under with an island.
MythThe rents in Mokosh's weaveA thread need not be cut. It can be drawn out of the cloth.
MythThe Unclean DeadThe ones who died out of their time. The earth does not accept them.
MythThe Death-SleepShe lay three days as one dead and came back knowing words she was never taught.
MythVedun and KoldunBoth of them know. What matters is who they know it from.
MythThreshold and SaltThe threshold is the first line. Salt is swept outward, away from trouble.
MythIronThe unclean cannot bear it. It does not help against what you owe.
MythThe BathhouseChildren were born there and fortunes told there. Nobody crosses himself inside.
MythThe Veles RingA merchants' guild named after the god of cattle, wealth and the dead.
MythThe Skomorokhs of the Veles BandJesters, bear-leaders and card-sharps. They see everything; that's what they're paid for.
Beings
BeingThe domovoiGrandfather behind the stove: the one resident the parish book never shows.
BeingThe vodyanoiMaster of the river. He reads his claims like a land surveyor reading a boundary.
BeingRusalkiDrowned girls who walk in the rye at Trinity. They have no tails, and they have graves.
BeingThe poludnitsaThe noon of harvest-time, walking the rye in a white shift.
BeingThe Dvorovoi and the OvinnikThe domovoi keeps the house. The yard and the drying barn have masters of their own.
BeingThe BannikThe least kind of the household masters. The last steam is his.
BeingThe LeshyNot evil. Just the master of the forest, and you are his guest without asking.
BeingThe KikimoraShe lives behind the stove and spins at night. Somebody usually put her there.
BeingThe NochnitsaShe sits on the sleeper's chest. Mothers rock the cradle until the cocks crow.
BeingThe LetavetsThe fiery serpent of widows' yards. He comes down the chimney in the shape of the dead.
BeingThe UpyrOne of the unclean dead who would not lie down. He drinks warmth.
BeingThe VolkolakA man who did not manage to come back. He looks at you with human eyes.
BeingThe BolotnikThe master of the bog. He lights candles over the drowned.
BeingLikhoDon't wake Likho while it sleeps. One skomorokh did, and won.
BeingThe Ferrywoman at the FordShe takes the coin under your tongue. Not for the crossing. For the return.
BeingThe Boundary-KeeperHe takes no money: boundaries aren't moved with money. He takes a thing, and counts.