Child Thief

by Dan Smith

  Now I came forward and lifted the hem of her dress, Aleksandra and Petro watching me with concern.

  Dariya’s thin legs were pale and dirty, her boots oversized and out of place. Her right thigh was still bandaged, and the bindings were clean.

  ‘What’s that?’ Petro asked, coming closer.

  ‘He cut her,’ I said, almost a whisper. Dariya continued to stare ahead as if none of us was there. She took another bite of the venison and chewed slowly. ‘The one who took her. The child thief.’

  Petro was staring at the bandages, his eyes wide.

  I pulled Dariya’s dress down, straightening it.

  ‘Like we saw on the other?’ Petro continued to look at the place where Dariya had been cut. ‘Is she going to be all right?’

  I didn’t know how to answer that question. Although the child thief had left her alive, it was as if he had reached into her and torn out her soul. He had removed everything that made her the little girl she had been, the child who was my daughter’s best friend and cousin. Now, she was nothing more than a shell. Staring and eating, not speaking. Just the movement of her jaws, the blinking of her eyes. She was all instinctive function, and nothing else. I wondered what could bring her back. What could reunite her body with her soul.

  I sat back against the fallen tree and said nothing. I loosened one of the buttons on my coat and slipped a hand inside to take out the young soldier’s cigarettes. I lit one with a match and drew the smoke into my lungs as if it would give me the strength to overcome what lay ahead and what lay behind.

  ‘How did you know where I was?’ I asked.

  ‘By the time we got to the road, you were gone,’ Viktor said. ‘We looked at your tracks, seeing there’d been horses, and we followed the road until we saw the village. There were soldiers close to the entrance, so we moved back into the trees and found a place to watch.’

  ‘We saw you go into the church,’ Aleksandra added, ‘and we knew there was nothing we could do. We were beginning to think we should go back to Vyriv.’

  ‘No,’ Petro said. ‘We would never have left you.’

  ‘You should have,’ I told them. ‘You should’ve left me, but I’m glad you didn’t.’

  Dariya raised her head and looked at me. She didn’t speak and her expression barely changed, but there was something in her eyes. Something new.

  ‘We were waiting for the right moment,’ Petro said. ‘We trekked all around the village, looking for the best way to come in, but there were too many soldiers. There was just no way, so we had to wait.’

  Aleksandra ran a hand over Dariya’s head, brushing back her hair and putting her fingers through it. ‘I told them they should go. But neither of them would listen. I made them promise they would stay only one more day, but I don’t think they’d have kept their promise.’

  I passed the cigarette to Viktor and lifted the tin cup to my mouth, the tea steaming in the cold, and I saw my hands were still shaking. The dark liquid swelled and threatened to spill from the cup, so I bit the rim to keep it steady and let the steam roll around my cheeks.

  ‘We should go now,’ I said after a moment.

  ‘Another minute,’ Petro said, coming forward with another cup of water. He held a rag in his other hand, and he dipped it into the water and crouched to wipe the blood from my face.

  I took his wrist and stayed his hand.

  ‘Let me,’ he said.

  ‘I can do it.’

  ‘Let me.’ He pulled his hand away and scrubbed at the dried blood.

  31

  The horses were sure-footed, picking their way through the forest as if they’d done it many times before. Once again I rode with Aleksandra and Dariya, the dream-like sway of the animal beneath me, the jostle of the bodies in front and behind. I soaked up their warmth just as I gave them mine, but now I felt stronger, less likely to slip from the saddle. I was still tired, but there was satisfaction in the fatigue rather than desperation. I was clean and warm and my belly was full. I was in better condition than I’d been in for days, and because my sons were with me, because Dariya was safe, I was lifted above the previous wretchedness. I wanted to be home in Vyriv, but there was nothing I could do other than what I was doing right now. I was making my way home, and I was as strong as I needed to be. All I could do now was hope that Natalia and Lara were safe.

  We moved slowly through the trees, but I estimated that if we continued at a good pace we’d be close to Vyriv by nightfall. We could make a camp for the night, leave at first light and be home by late morning. Fortune had turned in our favour. We had transport, food, and now the temperature had even begun to rise as the sky clouded.

  With the other prisoners I’d walked close to two kilometres from Sushne so we were well away from the area where the child thief’s body lay frozen, but as we came to the edge of the trees to look out on an open area of perfect snow, I pulled the horse to a stop and waited in the treeline.

  ‘What is it?’ Aleksandra asked.

  ‘You see something?’ Viktor came alongside.

  ‘No.’ But the feeling was there: a touch of fear crawling across my scalp, tightening my skin. ‘Nothing.’ I took the child thief’s rifle and scoped the area, looking for anything out of place.

  ‘We should press on.’ Viktor started to move off, but I put out a hand to stop him.

  ‘What’s the matter? He’s gone.’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ I said. ‘Let me be sure.’

  I shouldered the rifle and scoped the area once more, seeing nothing, then sat with the butt plate of the rifle on my thigh, the barrel pointing to the sky, and turned my head in the direction of the shepherd’s hut. It was a few kilometres away now, hidden by the trees and the rise and fall of the land, but I could feel him out there, cold and frozen and dead. And there was something about it that gnawed at me. Something that had come to mind when I was locked away in the dark after being dragged back from the bell tower. But even now the thought eluded me.

  ‘There’s no one there, Papa,’ Petro said.

  ‘I know.’ But I had to be sure. Dimitri had stepped out into the open and been caught by the child thief’s bullet. I had stepped out into the open and been caught by Lermentov’s soldiers. I didn’t want to step out into the open here and be caught by something else.

  I looked across to the far side where the trees resumed, and I estimated the distance and how long it would take to cross.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘We’ll go now. But keep watching and move quickly.’ I turned and looked behind, feeling something nagging, as if Lermentov was following, bringing his soldiers. But I saw nothing in the trees and told myself Lermentov would be in Sushne, warming himself by a stove or forcing a confession from a new prisoner.

  I nudged the horse and we moved on, coming out into the open, and even though I knew the child thief was dead and Lermentov was unaware of our escape, I braced myself for what might come.

  Halfway across the untouched snow, the first crack split the silent air.

  For a while all that could be heard was the crunch of hooves in the snow, the heavy breathing of the animals and the chatter of the bridles. In the trees a solitary crow called out. The snow deadened everything. It was as if its presence slowed the world until it was close to a standstill.

  When the crack cut through the near silence, I leaned low in the saddle, hunching my shoulders, trying to wrap myself around Dariya as if I could spread myself thin and wide and envelop her completely. I felt Aleksandra stiffen behind me, a shock jolt through her body. Beside us Viktor’s horse stopped as if it had collided with an invisible wall, its head rearing back, its hind legs retreating. Viktor gripped the reins tight in his fists and Petro wrapped his arms harder around his brother so as not to slip backwards from the horse.

  My horse shifted to the left, its instinct to panic, to run away from the sound. I held it tight, brought it under control, looking around to see what had made the sound.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Petro said.


  ‘Just move,’ I shouted. ‘Get to the trees.’

  And the sound came again, a loud crack, but this time I knew what it was. The first time it had caught me off guard. I had been expecting a gunshot, so that’s what I thought it was, but now I heard it in a different way. I heard it for what it was.

  ‘It’s ice,’ Aleksandra said. ‘Underneath us. We’re on a lake.’

  ‘A lake?’ Viktor kicked his horse, and we drove the animals forward, knowing we had to make it to hard ground.

  Side by side, we spurred the horses on, the ice groaning and cracking beneath us. I could hear it split as we passed over it, breaking up behind us, and when I glanced back, I saw the snow parting, dropping and melting into the water beneath the broken surface. The chunks of frozen lake separated, twisted, sank and resurfaced. I kicked the horse hard, driving it on, willing it to move faster, to outrun the weakening ice.

  As I turned to face forward again, to concentrate on controlling the animal carrying us, I caught sight of my sons. Viktor was leaning low in the saddle, his teeth gritted, his lips pulled back in a bizarre replication of his horse’s expression. Behind him Petro clung to his brother, his eyes wide, but the expression was not one of fear. He almost seemed to be enjoying the thrill, and I found myself smiling. After everything that had happened, the exhilaration of the speed and the fear drew together into a powerful mix and I understood my son’s expression. He was alive. He felt alive.

  And then the ice broke below them and they were gone.

  There was barely time to register it had happened; it was as if someone had stolen the ground from beneath them. My first instinct was to stop, but I fought the temptation, driving the horse on towards the trees, where the ground was solid.

  The lake continued to tear and crack as we fled and, without realising it, I was making an inventory of what we had, looking ahead at the trees to see what I could use to rescue my sons from the freezing water. They would struggle to pull themselves onto the cracking ice, there was a chance they might slip beneath it, not be able to surface.

  As soon as the ground was hard and firm beneath us, I stopped the horse, dragging hard on the reins so its head pulled right back. I turned the animal, looking out to take stock of the situation, decide on a strategy, but what I saw made me stop dead. Initially I didn’t understand what I was seeing. I had expected the horse to be floundering in the icy water, my sons struggling to pull themselves onto the ice. But Viktor and Petro were still on the horse, the icy water ebbing around their calves, their faces alight with laughter. The water was shallow and held no danger for them.

  I felt panic fall away, and I dismounted, going to what I thought to be the edge of the lake. ‘Can you get to me?’ I called.

  The boys came closer, the horse finding its footing on the bed of the lake, lifting its forelegs onto the ice, breaking through every time it tried to bring up its weight.

  ‘I thought that was it.’ Viktor said with a smile on his face, riding with the movement of the animal. ‘I thought we were gone for sure,’ He was swaying from side to side, letting the horse take its time to break through the ice.

  ‘So did I,’ I called out. ‘I thought I was going to have to come in to get you. I didn’t even know we were on water.’ There was a kind of euphoria in the release of my tension. I could feel it in my throat, and I couldn’t help smiling as the horse approached the bank, wading out of the shallow lake, rising up so the water only just covered its hooves.

  ‘How did we not notice?’

  ‘Too much snow,’ I said. ‘You really scared me there.’

  ‘You were scared?’ Petro laughed. ‘I think I might have soiled my trousers.’

  And then two things happened in quick succession. The horse Viktor and Petro were riding stiffened and stumbled to one side. And a fraction of a second later, a rifle shot split the air.

  ‘Into the trees,’ I shouted at Aleksandra. ‘Fast. Leave the horse.’ I struggled with the rifle sling, caught in the folds of my coat, pulling at it, dragging it over my head. ‘Run.’

  In the water the other horse’s right hind leg buckled and the animal’s rear dropped back into the water as if its hoof had slipped on the lake bed, but when it tried to regain its footing, it was clear it had been shot. The leg refused to obey and I saw the panic in the horse’s face. Its head reared back and up, its mouth open, its eyes wide and rolling in fear. Viktor clung to the reins, trying to control the animal, Petro hugging him tight, gripping hard with his thighs to remain in the saddle.

  ‘They came after us,’ I shouted as a second shot hit the horse’s rear. I heard the lead smacking into its solid flesh.

  This time the horse’s legs were taken from beneath it, and it sat back into the lake. The sudden jolt loosened Petro’s grip on his brother and he slipped backwards, tipping into the water among the pieces of broken ice. Viktor managed to stay on, but the horse could barely contain its own weight, so he swung his leg over and slipped from the saddle, landing in shallow water that failed to cover the top of his boots.

  Behind, I heard Aleksandra and Dariya moving up the gentle slope towards the trees, crunching the snow. Beside me the metallic clinking of my horse’s bridle, the confused tempo of its breathing.

  ‘Get out of the water,’ I said, turning to take hold of my horse’s reins. I moved behind the animal and raised the child thief’s rifle. I rested the barrel across the saddle, keeping hidden behind the animal as I scoped the far shore, looking for the place from where the shot had been fired.

  Viktor’s first instinct was not to come ashore; instead he turned back and reached into the water, dragging his brother to his feet. Petro’s coat and clothes were heavy with water and he was coughing the lake from his lungs.

  ‘Get behind your horse,’ I shouted at them. ‘Use it for cover.’

  Viktor pulled at his brother’s coat, dragging him in the direction of the shore, releasing him only when he was sure Petro had regained his bearings. Viktor waved his arms at me. ‘Get into the trees. They’re coming.’

  The horse they had been riding was now sitting back in the water, the use of both rear legs gone. Its body was almost upright as if it were sitting on the bed of the lake, its front legs beating the water into a froth before it, and its head moving wildly from side to side. The noises that came from its contorted mouth were like nothing I had ever heard before. The sound of bestial pain and panic and fear.

  Viktor and Petro came through the water, giving the beating hooves a wide berth, ensuring their horse was between them and the far bank, giving at least a little protection.

  And then a third shot struck the horse’s head, putting an end to its agonised cries. It was as if the animal had simply been turned off. One moment it was shaking its head, its wet mane flicking water into the air, its front legs thrashing, and then its cranium erupted in a spray of blood and bone and it fell to one side, weighing on the pieces of broken ice and sinking just below the surface of the water.

  ‘Get out,’ I called. ‘Get out.’ I looked through the scope once again, thinking I could see a vague plume of smoke or breath from behind one of the trees on the other side of the lake. I fired the child thief’s rifle for the first time, seeing the bark of the tree erupt, but there was no other movement. I could see no one in the forest beyond, and something unpleasant settled in the base of my spine. A dark and ugly thought.

  If Lermentov had sent his soldiers after us, they wouldn’t have remained so well hidden. A rabble of young soldiers without experience, they would be hurrying across the open ground, rifles firing, gunsmoke washing the air. It would have surprised me if they were even capable of careful and well-placed shots like the ones that had just been fired.

  The thought gripped me like a cold fist. I had seen shooting like this before.

  ‘Get out,’ I shouted again, feeling the panic rising. ‘Get out, get out, get out.’ I glanced away from the scope to see Viktor coming out of the water.

  ‘Get behind the hors
e,’ I said as Viktor turned to encourage his brother.

  Both of them were weighed down by the water in their clothes and they stumbled onto the shore, Viktor falling to his knees before pushing himself up again, Petro helping to pull him up. Together, they struggled towards me.

  ‘Faster,’ I shouted, putting an eye back to the scope. ‘Faster.’

  I scanned the place where I thought I’d seen the breath, but there was nothing. I listened to my sons coming closer as I swept the scope across the trees. There.

  Something.

  Movement.

  I brought the scope back and saw the shape. Half the profile of a man, barely visible, as if he were part of the forest. He had settled himself behind a thick tree with low boughs where a number of limbs came out almost at right angles from the trunk. They cut his profile, disguised how he looked, and the branches provided the perfect spot to rest his rifle barrel.

  I stopped. Settled my own rifle, moved the cross hairs of the scope over the silhouette and held my breath. All these things occupied just a fraction of a second, but they felt as if they took so much longer. As if each action took minutes. But I had to get it right.

  When the figure fired, I saw the smoke and flash from his rifle. I heard the impact of the shot and I heard the crack of the powder. Then I returned fire, and I saw the dark shape wrench back, drop and disappear from sight.

  In front of me the horse jerked, disturbed by the rifle shot, but I paid it no mind.

  ‘Got him,’ I said, taking my eye from the scope to draw the bolt. I pulled it back with practised ease and speed. I heard Viktor shouting, but I had slipped into doing what I knew how to do best now. I had found my target and nothing was going to stop me. The brass ejected to my right, flicking out and tumbling as it flipped past my shoulder. I returned the bolt, watching the fresh brass slipping into place, and I let the horse move away as I pulled the rifle to my shoulder, going to one knee to better steady my aim. If I saw any more movement I would fire on it.