Revolution and Rising

by Ripley Proserpina

  He’d moved by so quickly, he hadn’t seen whether her eyes danced beneath her closed lids, or if her cheeks were rosy, or if she shifted her body, looking for a comfortable position.

  Dragging his hand down his face, Anatoliy stifled a groan. The room where he waited now was full of gurneys but empty of patients. It was some sort of storage area, so he’d need to stay alert. The nurses were in and out of supply rooms all day; he’d learned that after hiding in a linen closet. By a stroke of luck, he hadn’t been discovered.

  He crept toward the door to open it a crack and peer outside. The hospital was quiet now. Most visitors had left and only a few nurses remained. Polya’s ward wasn’t for the most severely injured. He’d found those on the first level—men and women who looked as if they were one exhalation from death.

  Heels clacked on the tiled floors, and Anatoliy drew back inside, edging closer to a corner that would hide him from anyone who entered. He held his breath, but the nurse kept walking, her footsteps fading away into nothing.

  Earlier, he’d found a doctor’s white coat, and he’d slung it over his jacket. It made him look broader, fuller, and would confuse anyone long enough for him to turn a corner and duck into a room.

  Making his way back to the door, he opened it again and slid through. Careful not to make any noise, he hurried through the halls, staying close to the wall and peeking around corners before turning.

  One room. Two. And there was Polya. His back to the door, he turned the handle, slipped inside, and shut it tight. Polya’s room had a window to the hallway, and he closed the curtains. Anyone passing by would have to rattle the handle on their way in, and he could use that time to dive beneath her bed.

  A small breath left Polya’s body, and he hurried to her.

  “Polya,” he whispered.

  Her eyelids fluttered. He slipped his hand into hers, and she squeezed it.

  “Polya,” he said again. Dazed blue eyes met his, and he smiled. “There you are.”

  “Anatoliy.” She smacked her lips together like her mouth was dry and tried to push herself up. “What happened?”

  “You’re in a hospital. You were injured.”

  “Ohhh,” she breathed out, and then, “Oh!” She pushed against the bed again and grimaced.

  “Stay still,” he said. “You’re safe here.”

  “You’ll stay with me?” she asked.

  “I can’t,” he answered. “I’m nearby, but I have to keep moving so the hospital staff don’t find me. None of us could stay.”

  Her eyes were wide now, and she shook her head with more and more emphasis. “No. Then we’ll leave.” Arms shaking, she collapsed onto the bed and muffled a cry into the mattress. “I’ll be all right. Just give me a moment.”

  “Polya.” Anatoliy stroked her hair, and because he couldn’t help himself, kissed her head. She smelled like smoke and iodine. The doctors and nurses must have cut her hair, because the short strands grazed her jaw when she tried to disagree with him. “Tiger girl, don’t be upset. I’m not leaving you. I just can’t stay for long. Think of me like…” He struggled to describe what he would do. How he would run around the hospital, returning to her briefly, only to run again.

  “A hummingbird?” she filled in.

  Anatoliy felt his lips crack into a smile. “Yes,” he whispered. “A hummingbird. A fragile, colorful hummingbird. That’s me.”

  Polya smiled back, eyes crinkling with delight. “A bear and then a bird. You’re magical, Anatoliy.” She reached for his hand again and tucked it beneath her chin as she closed her eyes. “I’m going to keep you.”

  “I’m keeping you as well,” he said quietly.

  The smile stayed on her lips as her fingers loosened, and she drifted back to sleep.

  It was time for him to move again, even though all he wished to do was stay at her side. His next step would be to learn the timing of the doctors and nurses, discover the timetable of their rounds. After a little work, he should be able slip into to Polya’s room a bit longer next time.

  The night was spent doing as he planned. He identified the number of nurses and doctors, timed their rounds, and snuck accordingly. Each time he came into Polya’s room, he struggled with whether or not to awaken her. She needed the rest, needed it to heal, but he didn’t want her to think she was alone.

  Finally, he told her his dilemma, crouched down next to the bed, one eye on the door.

  “Wake me up, Anatoliy,” she whispered. “Please. I need to know you’re here. It does me more good than any sleep could.”

  So he did. He kissed her hair, her lips. He woke her in the gentlest ways possible. Sometimes she opened her eyes and smiled, falling right back to sleep, while other times she’d talk to him, whispering questions and plans.

  “I thought of something,” she told him, just as the sun was beginning to split the clouds on the horizon. “If I am going to lie here, doing nothing, I might as well decide what it is I will say to the rest of Konstantin.”

  “The telegraph.” He’d forgotten all about their plan for Polya to send a message to the newspapers for the rest of Konstantin. “Do you know what you want to say?” he asked.

  “Some of it.” Her gaze held his, and she reached out her hand to touch his cheek, palm grazing his stubble. “Things about helping each other, and doing what we can for each other. I want to say something about Konstantin being more than its king. About blood and wealth not determining our fate.”

  Anatoliy loved her. Watching her search for words only bound her to him more tightly. “I take it we’re going to St. Svetleva for certain?”

  Polya shrugged and winced. Anatoliy sucked in a breath in sympathy and stood to check the wounds on her back. The bandages were white, no blood seeped through the cotton.

  “Yes,” Polya answered. “I think we have to. If there’s a chance for us to help people, we should do it. I keep thinking about Dara and Lev, and Little Marat and Boris. Those are the people I could help. Their families. But it’s hard, Anatoliy, because as soon as I make up my mind one way, I remember the people in the arena, cheering as the soldier whipped you. And I become angry, and think, maybe they don’t deserve saving. Maybe we all deserve this revolution and whatever happens to us.”

  Her words conjured the beginning of the Hunt clear in his mind. Transported back, he could hear the whip and feel it slice into his skin. Anatoliy shut his eyes tightly and shook his head.

  “Anatoliy.” Her fingers brushed his lips, glided across his cheeks into his hair to curl around his neck and drag him closer. When her lips touched his, her scent surrounding him, he came back to the present. Her tongue touched his lips, shyly teasing him, and he was lost. He tried to remind himself she was hurt, but her skin was silky against his and her taste overwhelmed him with longing. She sucked in a breath, and kissed the side of his mouth. “Better?” she asked.

  All he could do was nod. Lips tingling, he chased her for one final kiss. “I have to go.”

  “I know,” she whispered, and met his gaze, blue eyes dancing. “I’ll be here.”

  Dara was waiting for him outside the hospital. “How is she?”

  The sky was covered in thick gray clouds. Heavy air, warmer than on previous days, hinted at an incoming snowfall. Anatoliy kicked the slush off his boots, and rubbed his hands together, affecting unconcern. They were two friends meeting on the city street, not soldiers disguising themselves as civilians.

  “Good spirits. Exhausted.” Anatoliy rubbed a hand over his face, overwhelmed for a moment before he straightened his spine.

  “Can she be moved?” Dara asked.

  “She’s been in there less than ten hours, Dara. There’s no way. She has stitches and burns. I can’t imagine she could walk or—”

  Dara cut him off. “Or keep up?”

  Anatoliy narrowed his eyes. “The men could slow down, but if we were attacked…” Injured as Polya was, she couldn’t run away if they were chased—or fight back if they were attacked. “No. She c
an’t keep up.”

  “Then we wait.” Dara stated the idea as if it was a given.

  “Where are the men?” Anatoliy asked, unwilling to consider such a plan as exhausted as he was. He’d make mistakes and someone would get hurt.

  “Outside of town. Hidden. Sleeping in shifts. The men want to be prepared to move her if we need to grab her suddenly,” he answered.

  “They care about her.”

  Dara stared at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes. She won them over easily. She is like you in that way, she puts them before herself. I don’t think she realized what it meant to them to hear her advocate for them. She wanted to bring them home to protect their families. They aren’t used to that.”

  He nodded, but his smile felt forced. Polya put everyone before herself; it was a dangerous trait. It made her act rashly and without self-preservation.

  “Have you sent any men back to the prince?” Anatoliy asked.

  “No,” Dara asked. “I wanted to speak with you about that.” A shrill horn interrupted whatever Dara was going to say. “Shells?”

  “I don’t know.” Anatoliy listened for the whistle signifying an incoming bomb, but he heard nothing except people running. “Go,” he commanded Dara. “It could be a drill, but I don’t want to get anyone’s attention.”

  Dara nodded. “I’ll be back this evening.”

  “If it’s clear,” Anatoliy added.

  “If it’s clear.” Dara held out his hand, clasping Anatoliy’s in a firm grasp before he turned and ran into the town.

  Anatoliy waited for a moment, ducking around the corner of the hospital toward a coal chute he’d seen earlier. The siren continued to blare. Though he moved carefully, he saw no one, and was able to drop through the shoulder width chute into a pile of coal in the basement of the hospital.

  The basement was dim, the only light coming from the small glass windows above his head. It was stiflingly hot next to the coal burning stove, but grew colder the further away he moved.

  Did he stay, or did he go to Polya?

  He wanted to be next to her in case something happened, or the hospital came under attack.

  Decision made, he snuck out of the basement, wiping the bottom of his boots with a rag he found to clear away any traces of coal. He smiled humorlessly. In his mind, he saw a trail of black footprints, leading an enemy right to him.

  The hospital was busy, but not chaotic. It certainly wasn’t busy enough for Anatoliy to go unnoticed. The first floor was the most crowded, with visitors coming and going, or nurses and doctors ending shifts or waiting to sneak home to rest. The siren kept them inside the hospital. They milled about, chatting with one another, or pacing. None of them seemed overly concerned.

  Purposefully, he strode toward the stairs. He’d found that no one looked twice at him if he acted as though he belonged there.

  The second floor was a different story. There, visitors veered off into rooms. The only people lingering were nurses receiving directions from the doctor or head nurse.

  Ducking back into the stairwell, Anatoliy waited. The siren had activated some sort of new routine. The nurses weren’t supposed to be gathered all together. Generally, they were going about their rounds. Each nurse was assigned a patient, and moved between the rooms systematically throughout their shift.

  Anatoliy snuck a peek out the stairwell window. The head nurse pointed to script written on a board above the station, but she was too far away for him to know what she was saying.

  He could risk walking through the hall and into Polya’s room, but it didn’t sit right. Over years of walking into dangerous situations, he’d learned to listen to his instincts, and right now, they told him he would attract unwanted attention if he went to Polya.

  A door shut below him. He couldn’t stay here any longer. With one last glance through the window, Anatoliy hurried up another flight of steps, and then another. He waited at each landing, listening for footsteps, but the person left on the fourth floor.

  The stairwell was the perfect mix of hidden and exposed. The nurses and doctors standing by the nurse’s station couldn’t see him, but all it took was one roaming visitor, or a doctor traveling between floors, and he was caught.

  Like earlier, the safest thing for him to do was stay on the move, no matter how much his body wanted to stop and rest. Slower now, he climbed the steps, pausing to catch his breath at the fifth floor landing.

  There were two doors here, one which went to the fifth floor wing, and another that led to the roof. After the siren, Anatoliy wanted to get on the roof, but he hesitated.

  If he was in charge of guarding the town, he’d have men stationed on the roof of the tallest buildings. He’d want them monitoring their surroundings, constantly on the lookout.

  Was the hospital the tallest building in the town?

  He thought so. This was a large town, but not compared to St. Svetleva. Compared to the capital, it was a backwater village.

  Anatoliy made his decision, and opened the door slowly, peering between the crack. No one.

  Hesitantly, opening the door as little as possible, he sidled through and immediately ran toward the chimney. The huge brick tower would cover him from each direction, and if he stayed low, the brick balustrade would hide him from any other observers who may be checking the rooftops.

  Moving carefully, he studied the roof. He was the only one there.

  It struck him then that the people who’d let him into the town, were purely civilian. No soldier worth his mettle would fail to take advantage of this position.

  From this viewpoint, he could see everything. The onion domed church in the distance, the forests surrounding the town, the smoke stacks of a factory and the white steamed engines, hissing from a railway not far away.

  A railway!

  Anatoliy crawled along the roof. Despite his belief that no one was watching him, he couldn’t take the risk. Especially not when it put his men, or Polya, in danger.

  He would continue to act as if he was facing off against a seasoned enemy, and not a civilian force bumbling their way through a revolution.

  Cautiously, he lifted his head around the balustrade to see the railway station. From his vantage point, he could make out a large terminal and a platform. The tracks led east and west, with four sets leading west, and one leading directly from the station to the brick chimneyed factory in the distance.

  Anatoliy narrowed his eyes. What was there? Smoke billowed from the towers. Interesting, given the reluctance of the civilians to let strangers into their town. Those huge chimneys acted as beacons on a clear day. Even now, with the snow beginning to fall and the clouds low, the smoke would be visible for miles.

  If the townspeople were trying to keep a low profile, they were failing miserably.

  And why were the trains running?

  For that matter, why was the hospital running so efficiently?

  None of it made sense. Granted, the villages he’d come across had been just that—villages. They were cut off from much of Konstantin by weather and communication. The news that reached those hamlets would be weeks or months old. Perhaps they weren’t a good gauge of how busier towns were operating.

  But this seemed strange.

  A town controlled by civilians with government infrastructure working effortlessly? There had to be a reason for that.

  This town wasn’t a sanctuary. Anatoliy didn’t know what it was, but he feared he’d placed Polya in the center of a target.

  22

  Surrounded

  “Your Highness?”

  Polya opened her eyes. Many times through the days, she’d awoken, expecting to see Anatoliy, but each time she was disappointed. The nurses and doctors might have come and gone, but she wasn’t aware of it. It was as if her mind, once noting Anatoliy’s absence, had shut down again. Now, however, someone called her insistently, dragging her from her rest.

  A young nurse smiled at her. “Hello, Your Highness. How are you fee
ling?”

  Shifting on the bed, Polya winced. Her movements pulled the skin on her back. It felt as if she had a path of wounds, like lines on a map, leading everywhere and nowhere.

  Sweat dripped into her eyes. “Hot,” she answered and then swallowed thickly. “Thirsty.”

  The nurse nodded and brought a cup to her lips. Polya lifted her head as the nurse angled the glass. Cool water pooled in her mouth, dribbling from her lips. She moved to catch it, but hissed. It was as if every inch of her skin was pulled tight. There was no give, no elasticity that allowed for movement.

  A bitter taste remained in her mouth and she smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

  “I crushed medicine into your water. It will help with your fever and pain. It should also help you sleep,” the nurse told her.

  Anxiety made her pulse leap. “I don’t need pain medication.” Her voice trembled, though she tried to be matter-of-fact. Clearing her throat, she took another track. “Use it for people more injured than myself.”

  The nurse shook her head, her lips a white line. “Oh no, Your Highness. We couldn’t. You’re the most important person here.”

  The medicine took effect almost immediately. It blurred her vision, as if she tried to open her eyes underwater. “Please.”

  “Rest, Your Highness. You’re safe here.”

  “Anatoliy?” Polya awoke to a dark empty room. She wasn’t sure if she’d spoken aloud, or in her dreams. The hospital was quiet and dark. The curtains had been drawn against the outside, and the only light was a hazy electric bulb, flickering outside her room.

  Where was Anatoliy?

  Polya’s mind was muddled. She had thoughts then lost them. Eyelids heavy, she fought to stay awake, but it was impossible.

  I’ll only close my eyes for a second.