by Alex Archer
She smirked. While the notion of a supernatural creature hunting the village didn’t sit quite well with her, Annja wasn’t so closed to the idea that she didn’t appreciate what she considered to be small advantages in case there was some truth to the story.
The room grew warm from the fire and Annja sat in front of the flames, warming herself. Siberia during a blizzard. She shook her head. It wasn’t even winter yet, but already Mother Nature seemed to have lashed out with startling ferocity. Annja wondered what the place was like in January.
A soft knock at her door caught her attention. She opened it and found Bob standing in the hallway.
“Everything okay with your room?”
Annja let him in. “Sure. It’s small, but you know, it’s comfy.”
“You’ve got a fire going. Good.” Bob peered out of her window. “I see our views are the same. Nothing.”
Annja smiled. “But at least we’re off the ground.”
Bob looked at her. “Ah, I see that rough-and-tumble demeanor might just be falling for the local folklore. Is that it?”
“The higher ground always holds a strategic advantage,” Annja said. “If something attacks this place, at least we have that small thing in our favor.”
“I’ll be sure to mention it while my soul is being sucked out of my body,” Bob said. “You hungry?”
“You’d think after that lunch I wouldn’t be, but I am.”
“Gregor’s downstairs arranging for a meal.”
Annja walked to the door. “I suppose we should join him, then.”
As they walked downstairs, Annja heard more than two voices. At the foot of the stairs, Gregor met them. “Dinner will be served soon.”
Bob came up behind Annja and looked past Gregor’s shoulder. “Who are they?”
Annja looked at the two men sitting by the fireplace in the main room of the inn.
Gregor nodded over his shoulder. “Two hikers driven indoors by the storm. Yuri and Oleg. They are from Georgia, exploring the country.”
“Have they heard about what the locals think?” Bob asked.
Gregor nodded. “They do not strike me as being open to the idea of the supernatural. And there is something about them I do not trust, either.”
“Why not?” Annja asked.
Gregor only shrugged before leading Annja and Bob over to meet the men.
As they approached, the first man leaned forward with a big smile. “Hello!”
He gripped Annja’s hand and pumped it hard. Annja squeezed back and the man’s smile broadened. Annja could see the thickness of his neck, but saw little movement when he moved. He was chiseled muscle with no fat.
“My name is Yuri.”
“Annja.”
“And now, we are friends.”
Annja grinned. “Just like that?”
Yuri nodded. “We will drink later. Here is my friend Oleg.”
Oleg was built the same way as Yuri. His handshake was only marginally less severe than Yuri’s, but they both seemed friendly enough. Oleg’s English was also less impressive than Yuri’s. Annja found herself wondering why there seemed to be a fair number of people who spoke English in this remote part of Russia. It wasn’t something she would have expected, but she did admit it made things easier.
The fire in the large hearth roared. Annja pointed to the small table between the two chairs that Yuri and Oleg occupied. “I see you’ve already found the liquor.”
Yuri grunted. “Where are my manners? Would you like some?”
Annja nodded. “I’ll try it, sure.”
Yuri clapped his hands and the innkeeper appeared from the shadows bearing three more small glasses and a bucket of ice. He set them down and then disappeared again.
Yuri fished out two small ice cubes for each glass and then poured a measure of vodka into each. Oleg handed a glass to Annja, Bob and then Gregor before hoisting his own.
All five of them clinked their glasses and Annja tilted her head back, tasting the fiery liquid as it raced down her throat, leaving an icy wake. When it hit her stomach, however, the ice blossomed into a raging fire.
Annja coughed. “Whoa.”
Yuri roared with laughter. “Excellent, Annja. Excellent. You drink like a cossack!”
He poured Annja another drink. “Your friend does not seem to care much for it, however.”
Annja glanced at Bob, who was nursing his drink. “He’s more of a beer drinker.”
Oleg made a face. Yuri waved his hands. “No matter. Before tonight, he will drink vodka like the fishes!”
The innkeeper returned and Gregor nudged Annja. “We eat.”
They all sat at what appeared to be a picnic table only longer. The tabletop was made from rough-hewn planks covered with a threadbare tablecloth. Annja’s nose detected a barrage of scents coming from the kitchen, and her mouth watered even as she felt the initial buzz from the vodka come over her.
The doors opened and the innkeeper’s wife emerged bearing dishes. She set them down in front of the guests and Annja surveyed the scene.
Gregor pointed out some of them. “Sturgeon. Lamb. Potatoes. And pelemi.”
“Pelemi?” she asked.
“Like a folded pancake filled with ground meat and vegetables. Traditional Siberian dish. Usually there is much fanfare with their cooking. But tonight, the innkeeper is more worried than anything else.”
“About Khosadam,” Annja said.
“Yes.”
“Eh? What is Khosadam?” Yuri asked from around a mouthful of potatoes.
Gregor explained it to him in fast Russian. Yuri and Oleg both stopped chewing their food long enough to take in the tale. When Gregor was done, they glanced at each other and then exploded in laughter, pounding the table with their meaty paws.
“Incredible!” Yuri said.
Oleg leaned toward Annja. “Do you believe this foolishness?”
Annja plopped one of the pelemi into her mouth. “I’m not sure what I believe. Most of my work deals with facts, not legends. And the supernatural and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms if you know what I mean.”
Oleg considered that for a moment and then leaned back and whispered something to Yuri, who nodded. “More drink!” they shouted.
Their glasses remained filled throughout dinner. Annja wondered just how much vodka the innkeeper had in stock because Yuri and Oleg seemed determined to drink him out of his supply.
For her part, Annja was careful. The substantial dinner helped ward off the effects, but it was only after she had worked her way through three plates of food that Annja at last felt content. She’d ridden hard for two days and suffered the concussion. Also, the stress of coming into town to find it in the clutches of some weird legend had certainly worn her out.
A sharp blast of wind outside plunged the inn into darkness. The glow of the fire from the main room provided enough ambient light for the innkeeper to light some candles and place them around the room.
Yuri swore. “It is good we are inside tonight.”
“You and Oleg were hiking across the countryside?” Annja asked.
“Da. Is how we relax. We are businessmen in the south. Vacations are difficult to come by. Our wives do not share our zest for the outdoors, so they take our children to Europe and shop. Oleg and I come camping.”
“Smart of you to come here, though. Given the weather and all,” Annja said.
“We see the clouds today and think perhaps we should find shelter. Real shelter. Not the silly tents we bring with us for camping.”
The innkeeper leaned in close to Gregor and said a few words. Gregor looked up. “The innkeeper wishes to close down for the night. He said we are welcome to stay up for as long as we want but begs us not to open the front door.”
Bob smirked. “I don’t think anyone has any intention of going outside in this weather.”
“It’s not us going out he is concerned about. It is someone coming in that worries him,” Gregor said.
“But who wo
uld be out on a night like this?” Annja asked.
Gregor looked at her. “Exactly.”
Yuri waved the innkeeper away. “Go. We do not need you anymore anyway. We have vodka. A fire. And friends. That is all anyone needs in life.”
The innkeeper bowed once and then walked to the front door. He placed his hand over the wooden bar and the herb bundle. Annja saw his mouth move but heard no words. When he was done, he quickly climbed the stairs. His wife followed.
Annja nodded toward the door. “What did he say?”
Gregor shrugged. “Probably a prayer of some type.”
“They’re all superstitious around here,” Bob said. “In case you missed that.”
“Not a chance,” Annja said. She looked at the door again and wondered if it really would help keep evil away. She tried to imagine something seemingly so insignificant wielding such power.
The candles on the table flickered. Shadows seemed to come alive in the dimly lit room. And as Annja watched Yuri converse with Bob and Oleg talk with Gregor, it seemed each man had two faces—one his own and a new one of dancing shadows courtesy of the candles.
Annja felt a wave of exhaustion come over her again. The combination of the day’s travel, the excitement in the village, hearty meals and vodka was catching up with her.
Outside, the wind continued to blast the village as snow fell hard. Annja hoisted her glass again and wondered if Khosadam was already out in the midst of the blizzard.
And if so, would it come for them?
11
“I think,” Annja said two hours later and after she’d consumed far too much of the icy vodka, “that I should go to bed.”
At the far end of the table, Bob had slumped over in his chair, a line of drool strung from the corner of his mouth to his plate. Annja pointed at him. “And it looks like Bob is pretty much done, as well.”
Outside the storm continued to rage. Annja looked at the old clock on the mantel and could just make out that it was fast approaching midnight. She stood and immediately gripped the edge of the table.
Gregor smiled. “You should go slow.”
“You aren’t kidding,” Annja said.
Yuri seemed disappointed. “You’re leaving now? But we were just getting started. Oleg knows some fantastic folk songs we can sing.”
Oleg bowed his head and started to belt out a tune. Annja shushed him. “The innkeeper is asleep.”
Yuri waved his hand and downed another shot of vodka. “We are his customers. We can do no wrong by him. He is happy to have our money in this remote outpost. He will not say a thing about it come morning.”
“Nevertheless,” Gregor said, “we should not take advantage of our status as guests. It would be rude.”
Yuri sighed. “Very well. We will all go to bed now.”
Gregor stood and helped Bob to his feet. Bob’s head drooped and the cyclist mumbled something. Gregor took his weight and started climbing the stairs. “I have seen him like this before. Come morning, he will be fine.”
Annja watched them ascend the stairs and turned back to see Yuri and Oleg clearing the table. “I thought you’d leave that for the innkeeper,” she said.
Yuri shrugged. “I would have, but Gregor’s comment about being rude sticks with me. He is a good man, that one. So, we will clear the table as our way of saying thanks.”
“Want some help?” Annja asked.
Oleg held up his hand. “Is fine for us to do it.”
Annja nodded. “All right. Good night, then.”
“Good night.”
Annja found her way to the railing and took the steps gingerly. As she did, her head swam, but she felt good and relaxed. Behind her, she could hear Yuri and Oleg engaged in hushed conversation. Strange how they don’t seem particularly drunk after all of that drinking, she thought. Then again, perhaps they’re used to it.
Annja certainly wasn’t. Drinking vodka wasn’t her normal habit. Still, she had to admit the drink was good and it seemed to have relaxed her to the point that she expected sleep to be absolute.
Provided Khosadam didn’t come calling.
She smirked. Even the supernatural wouldn’t venture out on a night like this.
Reaching the door to her room, she saw Gregor emerge from Bob’s room.
“He is out,” Gregor said.
“Thanks for getting him up the stairs,” Annja said.
Gregor smiled. “Part of my job is looking after him.” He seemed as if he wanted to say something more but then only smiled again. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Annja said.
Gregor disappeared into his room, leaving Annja alone in the dark hallway. At the end of the corridor there was a lone window. Annja could see the snow and wind battering it mercilessly, causing it to rattle in its frame.
She walked slowly to it and looked out into the snowy night. A lone streetlight glowed and showed the barrage of snow and ice streaking through the night. Apart from the howl of wind, which seemed to crest and fall every few seconds, and the sound of snow and ice hitting the inn, there was no other sound.
Annja found her way back to her room. Her fire had died since she’d gone to dinner, but there were enough embers left to restart a blaze in the hearth. She nursed it for a moment, warming herself before getting undressed.
When she took off her boots, her feet almost shouted for joy. She hadn’t realized how they’d felt while her boots were on, but the sudden freedom caused them to feel utterly liberated. Annja leaned back on the bed, her head foggy from the vodka, and wiggled her toes until she heard the cracks and pops.
She got out of her sweater and pants, throwing on her favorite T-shirt before crawling into bed. As Spartan as the bed had seemed when she first saw the room earlier, it felt wonderful. There must have been at least six layers of blankets on the bed, and Annja snuggled under them before drawing the down comforter up to her chin.
The logs in the hearth sizzled, cracked and popped as the flames tore into them. Annja felt her feet get warmer.
She turned her head to look at the window. The panes were completely covered with snow, dampening the sounds from outside.
What a place, she thought. It feels so utterly cut off from the rest of the world.
Even her laptop, which Annja sometimes felt she couldn’t live without, was safely tucked away back at her loft in Brooklyn. Who would have thought a girl like me would end up here? She grinned. Certainly not her. This wasn’t the kind of life she’d envisioned for herself all those years ago back when she was still trying to figure things out as an orphan.
She’d felt shunned then. All alone in a big world with no meaning to her. She’d had no foundation. No one to call her family. Only a bunch of people who filtered in and out of her life with startling regularity.
She’d found solace in history. History couldn’t be changed. The facts, the legends, the folklore and the artifacts were more real to her than anything she had in her life in the present.
Never mind what her future might look like.
Inevitably, Annja knew her future was all about the past. And while she had worked hard to get her career to the point it was, even she couldn’t have predicted that one day the sword belonging to Joan of Arc would find its way into her possession.
She shook her head. And here I am dismissing the idea of a supernatural entity lurking around a remote village in Siberia while I get to conjure a sword out of thin air.
Yeah.
She sighed and closed her eyes, stretching her limbs out to the four corners of the bed, enjoying the feeling of lengthening her body. She felt the blanket of sleep lurking nearby and welcomed it in.
Her breathing deepened.
The fireplace crackled.
And her dreams came for her.
ANNJA OPENED HER EYES.
She first took stock of her room, wondering if perhaps there was an intruder. She didn’t have far to look since her room was only twelve feet by twelve feet.
And aside f
rom the bed, the fireplace and a lonely bureau, it was empty.
Annja frowned and sat up. What’s the problem?
Outside, the storm continued to batter the inn. She could hear chunks of snow sliding off the roof as the weight became too much. Her windowpanes were still covered.
Annja slid out of the covers and felt the instant chill come over her. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the warmth of her bed and fall back asleep.
But something wasn’t right.
Annja crept closer to her door and put her ear against the wood. She heard a vague creak in the hallway outside. Someone or something was moving around.
Annja frowned. Bob? No, he’d stay in his room. Unless he needed to use the bathroom.
But there was something about the nature of these footsteps that didn’t seem to jibe with someone intent on using the toilet.
Stealth.
Whoever was in the hall was purposefully being as quiet as possible. As if they didn’t want anyone to hear them creeping around.
But why?
Annja sank to her knees and then put her face by the crack under her door and tried looking out. She saw only darkness. She closed her eyes and visualized her sword. It hovered there in front of her, ready to be drawn forth from the otherwhere.
Annja stood and placed one hand on the doorknob.
As she did so, a thunderous boom erupted from somewhere downstairs.
Annja grabbed the door handle and jerked it open. The hallway was empty. She raced downstairs. Behind her, she heard another door open, but she didn’t stop to look back.
At the base of the stairs, she stopped. Another boom sounded.
Someone was trying to get into the inn.
Annja looked at the door. The heavy plank made an effective barrier. But she wondered if it would continue to hold back the assault coming from the other side.
“What is it?”
Annja turned. Gregor stood there in a pair of sweatpants and no shirt. Annja saw how chiseled his body was. She also saw lines of hideous scars scoring his body, reaching around to his back.
“The door. Someone is trying to get in,” she said.
Gregor frowned. “What do we do?”