by Smith, Dan
To leave Anna to their mercies. To abandon my wife and my sons.
‘No,’ I said. ‘No.’ This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
I released my grip on his arms and put my hands to his face, pushing my thumbs against his eyes. In his panic, he squeezed my throat harder, turning his head this way and that, trying to stop me, but I only pushed more, feeling his eyes begin to give beneath the pressure. He gave one more concerted effort to strangle my life away before I could take his eyes, but as he did so, my thumbs slipped in towards the inside corners of his eyes, gouging deep so that my nails scraped against bone.
The soldier screamed and released me, putting his hands to his face. He was heavy and I was too weak to push him off me, but I saw my opportunity.
My only chance.
I reached down to unfasten one coat button, fingers moving quickly. No more than a second and my hand slipped inside, reaching for the knife secured there in its sheath. I pulled it out, holding it high and to the side.
Then I drew on all the strength I had left and thrust it into the soldier’s neck.
His body stiffened, his screaming stopped, and when I pulled the knife free for a second attack, blood arced high and wide, and I plunged it into him once more. This time it was as if I had let the air out of a balloon. His entire body relaxed and he slipped sideways, life evaporating into the warmth of the izba.
I lay on my back as the whiteness began to recede. I opened my mouth wide and gulped at the air, feeling the pain returning to my neck and face. I became aware of someone shouting, but everything was confused, the sounds dull and echoing. Sergei, I think, the old man shouting, ‘Grigori.’ I tried to remember who ‘Grigori’ was, my mind sluggish, taking too long to connect the name to Ryzhkov. Then a woman was shouting too. No, screaming. Oksana, or perhaps the old woman, I couldn’t tell which, the voices melting into the pounding and ringing that already filled my head. But I heard no children’s voices. No sound from Anna.
Anna. The name repeated in my mind and I was filled with a sudden dread. I needed to see her, to know that she was all right.
I brought my knees up and tried to push onto my elbows, but I was weak and my muscles burned. Nothing worked as it should. My arms trembled. The pain in my back intensified; my chest ached; my vision blurred; my hearing was muted. My body was fighting to recover from the punishment it had just taken and I trembled as I willed myself to move first one arm, then the other, and when I finally managed to prop myself up and look towards the door, I saw neither Tanya nor Lyudmila.
Close to me, the bodies of three men lay sprawled on the floor, but beyond them, by the door, I saw only Ryzhkov standing with Tanya’s pistol at his side, his face glistening with sweat and dotted with flecks of blood. His shoulders were hunched the way Tuzik’s hunched when he was issuing a warning or about to attack. His head was dropped so that his chin was almost touching his chest and he was staring at me.
Ryzhkov did not have the gaunt and bony figure of Koschei the Deathless. He did not have the long beard or the sword at his side, but he did have the crazed and savage look in his eyes.
When he raised the pistol and shook his head, I lifted one arm in a useless but natural gesture.
‘Please,’ I tried to say.
And he hesitated.
His eyes shifted to focus on something behind me just as a shot cracked, dull and flat and undramatic to my damaged ears. Ryzhkov flinched, but the bullet missed by a hand’s width, burying itself in the wall beside the front door.
A shadow of surprise and confusion crossed his face, and he twitched again as another shot followed immediately after the first, this one striking the wall on the other side of him. Then he scowled and started to adjust the aim of the pistol away from me, to point at whoever had demanded his attention, but his movement was never finished.
Third and fourth shots came in quick succession, one of them finding its mark, and Ryzhkov lurched when the bullet struck him. He bent at the waist as if punched and took a step back to steady himself. His arms dropped as if suddenly heavy and Tanya’s weapon slipped from his fingers.
I saw my chance for life. Whoever had fired those shots had given me precious seconds. I pushed harder with my shaking arms, summoning what little strength I had left to turn onto my front so I could struggle to my feet, and in that movement, I caught a glimpse of what was behind me.
Everything had happened so quickly that no one had moved much. The few seconds it had taken for the violence to play out were barely enough for them to do much more than watch in horror. Oksana was still beside the pich, her children still out of sight, but the old woman was closer, as if she had tried to come across the room. What she thought she might achieve, I couldn’t tell, but Sergei had both hands on her, gripping her upper arms as he held her back. There was no need for that now, though, because they were all motionless and silent.
The old woman was staring at her son, horrified, but both Sergei and Oksana were looking at the far end of the room.
Anna was sitting with her back to the wall, arms outstretched. Her small hands still clutching my revolver. Her fingers still working the trigger, firing on empty cylinders.
40
Koschei was not dead.
He was in pain. He was losing his lifeblood onto the floor of his own home, but he was not dead.
‘Where is my wife?’ I mumbled as I struggled to my feet, fighting the dizziness. I felt drunk, as if I had lost control of my muscles. Nothing worked the way it should. ‘Where are my sons?’
He ignored me, head down, searching around him for a weapon. He turned on the spot, looking for the pistol he had dropped.
A part of me wanted to go to Anna. I wanted to comfort her and make her feel secure. I wanted to hold her and thank her for my life, but I knew that the only way for her to be safe was to eliminate the threat to her. I had to reach Ryzhkov before he could arm himself again. He had information I needed. I had to make him tell me.
‘Where are they?’ I took a stumbling step toward him, putting my hands out, reaching for anything to hold on to. ‘Where did you take them?’
I was slow, but some of my strength was coming back. My neck was throbbing and my face aching. Pain fired up my back, exploding from the base of my spine with every step, but I had something to drive me on, something to numb the pain for me.
I had Koschei. Right in front of me.
As I took another step, he looked up at me and stared. His face was white, the spots of Tanya’s blood standing out against his skin. He was hunched, both hands crossed over his stomach, but there was nothing he could do to stop his slow death. Anna’s bullet had cut into him just above the belt, and while his blood emptied from him, so his ruptured insides were poisoning him. His life was ebbing away.
‘It’s over now,’ I said. ‘Just tell me where they are.’
‘No,’ he managed. ‘It’s not over yet.’ He looked down at the knife in my hand, then scanned the floor one last time before raising his eyes to meet mine. He knew I was recovering now, regaining my strength, but there was a defiance in him, a refusal to accept his situation. He was Koschei. The Deathless One. He could not be killed.
But nor could he kill. Without a weapon he was defenceless against me and there were few options left for him. He could try to arm himself before I managed to cross the room and get round the table. He could wait for me to come to him, to force the information I needed from him. Or he could run. The bullet had weakened him, but he was a strong man. If he could make it to the darkness of the field or forest, he might have a chance.
And that is what he did.
He turned and fled.
He was faster than I had expected, quick on his feet for a man who had been shot, and by the time I had taken another faltering step, he was out of the door.
‘No.’ I felt my desperation grow now. ‘No.’ I was determined that he shouldn’t escape. He knew where my sons were. He knew what had happened to Marianna. I needed to know. I couldn’
t let him get away.
No sooner than I had taken another step, I heard a terrible screeching, like something from a child’s nightmare. I half turned, cringing, to see that the old woman had broken from her husband’s grip and was coming at me, wailing like a demon, arms outstretched, gnarled fingers hooked into claws. She let out a terrible shrieking that made me want to reel in horror, and I had a flash of the image that I’d conjured in the forest – of the rusalka coming at me, hungry for vengeance.
I put out my hand, bracing myself to meet her.
She hit me as hard as she could, her chest colliding with my outstretched hand, striking me with more strength than I had anticipated. Weak as I was, she pushed me back against the table, which squealed as it scraped across the floor.
Then she was raking and clawing and screaming, her rotten nails scratching my cheeks, ripping into my skin, trying to find my eyes as she wailed like a vengeful nightmare.
Leaning back, supported by the table, I raised my arms to protect myself and lifted one leg, planting my foot against her pelvis and shoving. I didn’t have much strength in me, but she was light and I kicked her away hard enough to knock her off her feet, not stopping to see what happened to her. I had controlled her and that was enough. I was single-minded now.
Koschei was escaping.
Bent at the waist and leaving a trail of red spots in the snow, Ryzhkov had reached the barn and had lifted the latch. The door was now swinging open. He had seen the horses when he came up from the nearby farm, and that was what he wanted. That was how he intended to escape.
‘Where are they?’ I shouted, but the words were muffled, as if my mouth were stuffed with cotton.
Ryzhkov didn’t stop. He didn’t even register that he had heard me.
‘Where are they?’
As I blundered into the yard, Ryzhkov pulled the barn door wide and began to make his way inside, but already the horses were agitated by the commotion inside the izba. Now they smelled the blood and death on Ryzhkov and it sent them into turmoil, desperate to escape.
Tanya’s horse came out first, brushing past him as it trotted into the yard, snorting and swishing its tail. Its ears were back flat and it tossed its head as it searched for safety.
The second to burst into the yard was Lyudmila’s, close on the heels of the first horse, the pair of them feeding off each other’s fear, becoming more and more agitated. They came together, careering into one another, Tanya’s horse colliding with the cart, hooves skidding and kicking up the powdery snow before the pair of them turned and galloped towards the fence. They followed the line of it towards the far end of the yard, rearing back in panic as a black shape streaked past them, low to the ground.
Tuzik’s legs were a blur as he darted across the snow, snarling, launching himself at Ryzhkov, snapping for his throat. Ryzhkov put up his arm in defence and Tuzik’s teeth clamped onto it, working through the sleeve of the coat as the dog braced his feet on the ground and tried to pull Ryzhkov down.
The two of them turned in an unnatural and freakish dance as they writhed together, and I moved as quickly as I could, shouting at Tuzik, trying to make him stop. I needed Ryzhkov alive. I couldn’t let him die, not yet, and I was afraid that if Tuzik brought him to the ground, he would tear out his throat.
I was halfway across the yard, shouting, watching the struggle, when Kashtan emerged from the barn. She was almost in a frenzy, overwhelmed by the blood and commotion, and her exit was blocked by the snarling, screaming mess of man and dog that amplified her distress. Unable to escape, she showed the whites of her eyes and bared her teeth, reared and stamped her feet in a display of aggression, but when it had no effect, she made a break for safety.
As she barged past, Ryzhkov reached out for her reins, perhaps hoping she would save him from Tuzik’s jaws, but it served only to unbalance him, dragging him off his feet. As Kashtan made it past him, she bucked her rear quarters, lashing out with her hind legs.
Tuzik yelped, legs flailing as he was knocked into the barn, but the impact was far worse for Ryzhkov. There was a sickening crunch as one of Kashtan’s hooves made contact with the commander’s skull. His head jerked back, his body arched, and he crashed onto the snow, where he lay twitching for a moment before becoming still.
Kashtan trotted to the far end of the yard, huddling with the other two horses by the fence, and Tuzik scrambled to his feet, dazed but ready to fight again. I staggered across to where Ryzhkov lay, reaching him before Tuzik could get there.
‘No.’ I pointed at the dog, then fell to my knees beside Ryzhkov.
‘Where are they?’ I said, grabbing the front of his coat to pull his head from the ground. ‘Where are they?’
Ryzhkov’s left eye was smashed and bleeding where Kashtan’s hoof had struck him, and the skin round it was split and bleeding. His right eye was open, but it seemed to have a life of its own, rolling up first, then down and looking about as if trying to find something to focus on.
‘Don’t you die on me.’ I shook him hard. ‘Don’t die on me. Not now. Not after all this.’
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Where are they?’ I said. ‘Where is my family? Where did you send them?’
‘Nikolai Levitsky? Is that you?’
‘Where is my family?’ I said, pulling him up further so that my nose was almost touching his. ‘Where are they?’
Koschei said nothing more. His good eye rolled up, and his body relaxed.
‘No. You can’t die.’ I shook him hard. Over and over. ‘You can’t die. You have to tell me where they are.’
But Koschei the Deathless was already gone.
41
The interior of the izba was like a battlefield. Bodies. Blood. The dead, the confused and the walking wounded.
Ryzhkov lay in the snow, his secrets unspoken, and I propped myself in the doorway feeling cheated and helpless, wondering how it had come to this. I had left my unit to escape the war. Alek had given his life for us to avoid it, and yet here it was, right here in this house. I realised then that it was everywhere. That there was no way to escape it. It touched every corner of our country. The distrust and the separation and the violence were everywhere. It was plain to see on the battlefield, but it was in our homes too. It was thick in the air that we breathed and I understood that it was a part of us now. We had come too far; there was no way to turn back. Whoever won this terrible war, it wouldn’t matter.
The old woman was wailing when I came in, but when she saw me, she stopped. She knew her son was dead, and now she didn’t know what to do or how to feel. She had protected him as any mother would protect her child. Even a grown man. She wouldn’t want to believe my accusations, to accept who her son had been and what he had done, but in her heart, she knew it was true. Ryzhkov had kept his madness from his family, but it was there, raging beneath the calm demeanour, and when I had pushed him, he was unable to deny it. The old woman couldn’t deny it now either.
Sergei, though, he knew. I think he had known all along that his son was out of control; that’s why he had warned us to leave. Now the shame was more than he could bear. He sat motionless on the floor beside his wife, holding one of her hands in his own, but he stared at the wall seeing nothing. His face showed no emotion, as if his senses had all but deserted him, and he gently patted his wife’s hand over and over. It wasn’t that he didn’t care if his son was dead or alive – I think he just didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be a part of it. And for now he was going to deny us all.
Oksana was nowhere to be seen, but I knew she would have retreated above the pich to be with her children, keeping them safe and out of sight. Where else was there for her to go but to her children?
Anna was sitting where she had been when I last saw her, my revolver still in her hands, but she placed it on the floor as Tuzik brushed past my legs and went to her, a slight awkwardness in his step. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, pushing her face against his neck. When she look
ed up, our eyes met, a silent acknowledgement passing between us, and it was that which gave me strength. Were it not for Anna, I think I might have sobbed at my misfortune. I had come so far, followed Koschei’s trail of destruction for so long, and all the time I had fixed my hope on the information he would give me. But he had given me nothing and now all seemed lost.
I had Anna to make me keep going, though. She depended on me and I on her.
The old woman stood and came across the room, leaving her husband. She stepped over the bodies and I moved aside to let her out into the yard. I didn’t watch her cross to her son and fall to her knees at his side, but I knew it was what she would do. No matter what he was, she would mourn him. He was, after all, her son.
At my feet, Lyudmila lay dead.
‘Kolya.’
My name whispered.
‘Kolya.’
Tanya was on her side by the table, her face bloody.
‘Kolya,’ she said again. She was looking up at me through half-open eyes. She raised a hand and made a weak, beckoning motion, so I crouched beside her.
‘You’ll be fine,’ I said.
Tanya shook her head and put her hand on her stomach. It was only then that I realised she had been shot. There was already so much blood on the floor I hadn’t noticed that a lot of it was coming from the wound in her abdomen.
I put my hands to her injury and pressed hard.
‘Is he dead?’ Tanya asked. ‘Koschei?’
‘Don’t talk,’ I said. ‘You’ll be all right.’
Tanya managed a gentle shake of her head. ‘Is he dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he tell you?’ Tanya asked. Her voice was weak and I could almost hear the life leaving her.