Red Winter (24 page)

Better to suffer the grief and move forward.

‘Will they come after us now?’ she asked, looking up at me. Her skin was ashen, her eyes red from her tears.

‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see any horses, and they won’t follow on foot. We should be safe here for now.’

‘It was my fault,’ she said.

‘No. It was an accident. You can’t—’

‘Papa said you’d been gone too long.’ Her lips hardly moved as she spoke. ‘He said that something must have happened and that we should leave, just like you told us to.’

Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

‘But I wouldn’t let him. I said you helped us, so we should help
you
. I made him bring the rifle.’

My heart almost broke for this brave little girl.

‘You came to look,’ I said.

She nodded.

‘And the soldiers saw you.’

‘He did it for me.’ Her face crumpled, her shoulders hitched, and she sobbed in silence, tears falling down her cheeks.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said, putting my arms around her. ‘We should never have stopped there. Blame me. Blame me for what happened. I should never have made you stop there. It was
my
fault.’

She could hate
me
if she wanted something to hate, so I gave her a reason, but while I was angry and upset about what had happened to Lev, I wasn’t angry with myself for going to the train. I had come away from there knowing that Koschei had taken prisoners. I now had some hope that Marianna and Misha and Pavel were still alive, even if that hope was tainted by what had happened to Lev.

I pulled Anna to my chest, as I had done with my own children when they needed comfort, and I lowered my head so it was touching hers. I closed my eyes to the world and felt her pain, wanting to make it go away, but knowing I was helpless.

‘I’ll take care of you,’ I told her, but the words sounded weak when I spoke them. I was no replacement for her father.

I don’t know how long we stayed there by the tree. An hour, perhaps, maybe more. We hardly moved. I kept my arms around Anna as her sobbing slowed and finally stopped, and then we just sat together, watching and listening to the forest. We stayed close, huddled together for warmth and comfort, and my exhausted mind wandered, drifting close to sleep. We might have been the only two people in the world.

A slight wind stirred in the treetops, swaying the weaker branches, rubbing them against one another. There came the creak of ancient trees, the swirl and hush of the breeze spiriting through the undergrowth, stirring the amber and red blaze of fallen leaves. The gentle trickle of the stream. The pull and tear of Kashtan’s grazing, the clink of her tack. All these things just at the edge of my consciousness as I came closer and closer to sleep.

And then something else. A more regular disturbance in the forest. A shuffling and crashing that came to me as if in a dream. But I had been too long in the forest to dismiss anything and sleep was immediately brushed aside. My eyes were open in an instant, my mind was alert to my surroundings, and straight away I looked to Kashtan. If there was any danger out there, she would have heard it long before me; she would be showing the signs. What I saw confirmed that the noise had not been in my imagination.

Kashtan had stopped grazing and raised her head, turning her ears, waiting for the sound to come once again.

Together we listened.

The wind picked up, blustering in the trees, but that was not what had woken me. I had heard something more substantial, something more—

Then it came again. The sound of movement in the undergrowth. Something close.

‘Wake up.’ I shook Anna. ‘Wake up.’ I was loath to steal her from her sleep. At least there she would rest. Awake she would only remember her papa.

‘What?’ Her voice was loud and sleepy when she spoke.

‘Sh.’ I put a hand over her mouth and leaned away from her, shaking my head. I pointed out into the woods, then used my teeth to pull off one glove. I spat it aside and put a finger to my lips.

Her eyes widened and she stared at the place where I had pointed. Right now there was nothing to see but the frost-covered trunks and the tangle of brambles and deadwood.

‘Have they come for us?’ she whispered when I took my hand away from her mouth.

‘I don’t know.’ I reached for the revolver in my pocket. ‘Stay right here. Don’t go anywhere.’ As I said it, I had a fleeting memory of the last time I had spoken almost exactly the same words to her, when she had still been with her father and I had gone to the train.

‘Don’t leave me,’ she said, panic in her eyes. ‘Please.’

‘I won’t leave you. I promise.’

I had been sitting for some time and my muscles and joints were stiff as I got to my feet. I ignored the pain in them and raised the revolver towards the source of the sound, but it was quiet now.

I glanced back at Kashtan, wondering if we had time to ride away before whatever it was reached us, but then the noise came again, not more than a few metres away.

‘Stay down,’ I told Anna, as I moved in front of her, protecting her from whatever was coming.

‘Is it them?’ she asked, but I could only shake my head. I had no idea who it was. I had told Anna the men from the train wouldn’t follow us on foot, but perhaps they
had
. If one of the carriages had been transporting horses, they might have ridden after us. Or maybe it was something else. Maybe the seven riders had caught up with us.

But then Anna said something that made a chill run through me.

‘Is it
him
?’ she asked. ‘Is it Koschei?’

I shivered but kept my arms steady. I tried to still my breathing and not picture the whirling, terrifying figure of the gaunt rider crashing from the forest, sword raised, eyes blazing. I set my resolve as hard as cold iron and stood with one foot in front of the other, revolver extended, finger touching the trigger. Whatever was out there, I would kill it. Whether it was the men from the train or the seven riders, or Koschei himself, I didn’t care. I was protecting two of us now, and whatever came out of those trees would have to be prepared to fight hard because I intended to shoot until I had no more bullets, and then I would draw my knife and do whatever was necessary to defend Anna and myself.

Above all, I would not let her see my fear.

I steadied the revolver, aiming it at head height, and thumbed back the hammer as the sound drew nearer. Movement in the undergrowth.

Coming closer.

Not the heavy sound of horses.

I pushed my shoulders forward, braced for the recoil.

Perhaps a single man.

I focused, slowed my breathing and prepared to react.

It was just a few paces away now, but something felt wrong. The pattern of movement was unusual.

I let nothing break my concentration. There was just me and my enemy.

And then the dark shape broke from the undergrowth.

In that instant, it was nothing more than a black blur, confused against the background of the messy brushwood and brambles. It was a shadow, movement in my peripheral vision. It was much smaller than I had anticipated, low to the ground, and my aim altered without thinking. I bent my knees, my arms moving at the shoulders, dropping the aim of the weapon, and as my finger tightened on the trigger, I realised what I was seeing.

The dog had found us.

He padded towards me, tail wagging, tongue lolling, but I gave him little more than a glance. I returned my aim to the forest and waited to see what might follow him out of the trees.

With the arrival of the dog, many unanswerable questions began to form in my mind, the most important of which was whether or not the seven riders were behind him.

‘Go to Kashtan,’ I said to Anna.

I didn’t turn to watch her, but backed away from the wall of undergrowth, listening.

The dog whined as if to remind me he was there, but I ignored him, remaining intent on what was in front of me.

‘Are they coming?’ Anna asked.

‘Just go to Kashtan,’ I told her. ‘Now.’

I heard her moving behind me and risked a glance at her, seeing her do as I had asked, before I returned my attention to the forest in front of me. I kept the revolver aimed as I shuffled backwards, careful not to fall. The dog followed me, tongue lolling as if it were a game, and when he came close, I pushed him away with my foot.

‘Get away. Get lost.’

But each time he just regained his footing and came again. Always following.

‘What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know when you’re not wanted? Go on. Go away.’

I waved my free hand at him, kicked at him, but still he followed.

When I reached the place by the stream where Anna and Kashtan were waiting, I pocketed the revolver and took Anna under the arms to lift her up. Once she was settled, I took the revolver from my pocket once more and pointed it at the dog’s head. I admired his resolve and he had done well to follow us, but he was a risk. No matter what we did to hide our tracks, he had a good nose, he’d proved that. He would find us no matter what action we took to cover our progress.

‘What are you doing?’ Anna asked.

‘Don’t look,’ I told her.

‘You can’t.’

‘There are people following me, Anna. The dog could lead them right to us if he hasn’t already.’

‘But you can’t just shoot him.’

‘I’m sorry, Anna. I know it’s—’

‘But you
can’t
. And where are they?’ she said. ‘If he’s led them to us, then where are they?’

I shook my head. ‘Maybe he didn’t, but he
could
.’

‘They passed him – you said so yourself. Before we came into the forest. So maybe . . . maybe they got lost and he didn’t. Maybe he went past them. Maybe they’re
still
lost. Or maybe they’re at the train. Or . . .’

‘That’s too many “maybes”, Anna.’ Even so, I had thought the same thing myself. They might still be far behind us.

‘You
can’t
.’ She swung her leg over Kashtan’s back and held on to the saddle to lower herself to the ground. ‘Please.’ She came to stand beside me, looking up into my face. ‘And they might hear. They might be close and they’ll hear.’

I looked at her, the way she watched me with such intensity. Her eyes were pleading with me as hard as her words and I wondered why she felt the need to save this dog. At the farm, I had not seen her show him any affection. Neither she nor Lev even threw him a scrap of food. I believed it was me the dog had followed, not them, and yet she was the one begging for his life.

‘If they’re close, they’ll hear all right, but they won’t know where it’s coming from. No, I have to do this.’

The dog sat on his haunches watching with interest, as if he had no idea what we were discussing. He didn’t know how close to death he was. All I had to do was squeeze the trigger.

Anna moved in front of me now, crouching by the dog’s side and putting her arms around him. He leaned into her, more because she was pulling him than because he wanted to, and Anna pressed her face into the fur that bunched at the side of his neck.

‘Get away from him.’

‘Please don’t kill him.’

And then I realised this was all she had left of her father. A dog that had not even belonged to him. I had never seen Lev scratch the dog’s ear, and he hadn’t even given him a name, but in Anna’s mind he was her only remaining link to her father. Everything she and Lev owned had been on the horse that we had left behind. There was nothing else but this dog.

I lowered the revolver.

‘Thank you,’ Anna said. ‘Thank you.’

‘He’ll have to keep up with us.’ I put the weapon away. ‘We’re not going slow for this dog.’ I pointed at him. ‘And he’s not eating our food.’

When I went back to Kashtan, the dog broke away from Anna and trotted towards me, oblivious to her having just saved his life.

We were still in the forest at nightfall. We left the place where the dog found us, covering our tracks as much as we could, and moved on. We alternated between riding and walking, giving Kashtan a break from time to time, and the dog kept up with us.

For Anna, the dog was a reminder of her father and their time at the farm, a place where they were safe for a while. For me, he was a reminder of what followed in our wake. Anna’s reasoning had been good – it was possible that the men following us had been confused by our trail and become lost while the dog had passed them by, but I was still concerned he might have led the riders to us. They might be hanging back, waiting for a better time to make their attack. If it were me, I might wait until we were out in the open, or I might come in the night when my quarry was asleep. Or perhaps I would split my men, try to get some of them ahead so that we could attack from multiple sides.

With those thoughts in my mind, we went on. Even as the darkness filled the forest, we went on. There was almost no light, the cloud too thick to allow the moon to provide for us, and still the mist endured, but we went on and on, because every hour I was not with my wife and children was an hour in which they might be branded with that red star.

When Anna was too tired to put one foot in front of the other, I lifted her onto Kashtan’s back and walked alongside her, but there came a time when I, too, was exhausted, so I finally decided to stop.

It was too dangerous to light a fire, so Anna and I sat close together, wedged between the protruding roots of a giant maple. I kept the revolver close to hand and pulled the blankets over us for added heat, while Kashtan stood by and the dog came to curl beside me. I was thankful for his warmth and his vigilance – between them, he and Kashtan were excellent guards – and when he put his chin on my knee, I was glad Anna had stopped me from shooting him.

I didn’t sleep much. Not much more than snatches. Every sound in the forest had me peering into the darkness. Every time the dog twitched and looked up, I did the same. When I did close my eyes, I had an agonising vision of Marianna and Misha and Pavel, backing away from a branding iron in the shape of a five-pointed star. Or of my brother’s face, sullied with a dusting of soil. Or of Lev lying by the tree, thrown from his horse.