Red Winter (31 page)

Her stare cut through me just as her words did. She was right about me. There was nothing I could say to change that; nothing I could say to make her think differently.

‘He didn’t take them prisoner, did he?’ I asked. ‘Your—’

‘No. He slaughtered them. Everyone. My son, just fifteen. My daughter, not much older than . . .’ She looked back at Anna and squeezed her eyes shut, determined that her emotion would be anger rather than grief.

‘And you? Were you there? How did you—’

‘My husband and my father with red stars burned on their skin. Do you know what that does to you? Seeing that?’

‘I can imagine it—’

‘No, you can’t imagine,’ she said. ‘You can’t imagine it at all, because it hasn’t happened to you. You have some hope that your family is alive.
Hope
. That’s what keeps
you
going. For me, there is only hate. That’s what it does to you – it fills you with hate.
That’s
what keeps
me
going.’

I wondered what was different about Tanya’s family that had made Krukov murder everyone while he took the young people from Belev with him.
Her
son had been fighting age.

Perhaps it was something to do with who she was. I had come to suspect that she wasn’t a common peasant – she had developed a hard look to her, but she didn’t have the posture or mannerisms or speech traits I expected from a worker. I wondered if she had a background in wealth and education that had riled Koschei into such frenzy. Or maybe there had been some change in the way he operated. Or perhaps he had just had a bad day. It wasn’t uncommon for Chekist leaders to lose their minds – perpetrating such horrors, fuelling themselves with drugs and alcohol, it was little surprise.

‘You were wealthy?’ The words came out before I thought about them.

Tanya didn’t reply, but she turned and stared at me with an expression that at least confirmed it.

‘And educated,’ I said. ‘So you’re not a soldier?’

Tanya glanced back at Lyudmila, then turned to look out at the steppe once more. ‘No.’

‘What about her?’ I asked. ‘Lyudmila? What—’

‘If you want to know about Lyudmila, you’ll have to ask her yourself.’

But I had a feeling she would tell me even less than Tanya had.

‘I’m sorry about your family.’ It was a pointless thing to say. Words couldn’t bring them back, and they couldn’t convey my sympathy for her. Tanya was wrong about something, though. I
could
imagine how she felt, and I understood that there was an important and worrying difference between us.

I was looking for my wife and sons; Tanya was looking only for revenge.

‘When we find him,’ I said, ‘I want to know what happened to my family.’

‘You’re telling me not to kill him.’

‘Not right away.’ It was more important now than ever that we stayed together. I couldn’t afford for her to find Koschei before me.

‘I’ll make him tell you what you want to know.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Though I suspect you’d be good at that yourself.’

I ignored her comment. ‘After that, you can do whatever you want.’

‘What I
want
is all of them, not just Kosch— Krukov. Not just
Krukov
. I want all of them. Every single one of his men.’

‘When was it?’ I asked. ‘How long have you been looking for him?’

‘Thirty-seven days,’ she said. ‘And out here, that’s a long time. It changes you. But we’re getting close, I can feel it.’

‘When it’s done? What will you do then?’

‘I haven’t seen that far yet.’ Tanya adjusted her rifle, moving the strap on her shoulder, then took the tobacco pouch from her pocket. ‘But when the time comes,’ she said, ‘I just hope you’re as good at killing as I think you are.’

It was early evening and we’d seen nobody for hours when we reached a farm.

Already the sun had begun to set, a hazy orange disc behind the grey clouds, and with its setting so the cold had bitten harder and harder.

‘It look like snow?’ Tanya directed her question at Lyudmila, who stared up at the sky and shook her head.

Lyudmila didn’t talk much, but she watched me all the time. She guarded Tanya with jealousy, and I saw the way she grew tense whenever I came close to her. She hated everything about me and I wondered what it was that burned so deeply in her; what tragedy or otherwise had brought her together with Tanya.

Her reaction to Anna was different, though. Lyudmila barely spoke to her; seemed to avoid being close to her, as if she didn’t like children or didn’t know how to deal with them. Or perhaps she thought it might soften her. I had seen her steal glances at Anna, though, and I knew her coldness didn’t run all the way down to her core.

‘It’ll snow soon enough,’ I said. ‘Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, but it’s coming.’

We had come through a forested area, thick and dark, and spied the farm from the trees. Taking up position to watch it for some time, we thought it would be good to spend the night here. It was a simple place with two wooden houses standing side by side. The nearest was larger than the one beside it, and while they were both basic constructions with pitched, thatched roofs, the farthest was in bad repair. It looked older and had suffered the onslaught of the weather for many years so that the windows were cracked, the walls were patched with moss, and there were places where the thatch had come away from the roof.

It was almost as I pictured One-Eyed Likho’s house to be when Marianna told her
skazkas
to the boys. If I hadn’t known better, I might have believed the witch was real and waiting in the house to catch us off guard so she could cut my throat and put me in her oven.

In front of the second house, in the far corner of a yard surrounded by a ramshackle fence, stood an outbuilding, which also had a thatched roof. The yard was empty but for a water trough at one end and a cart, which lay idle in the centre.

Behind the farm was nothing but the forest we used for cover. It was mottled with shadow there now, and the trunks leaned in towards the buildings, the crooked and barren branches extending as if reaching out to smother it and take the farm for its own.

Beyond the yard, though, the fields stretched a long way. On the far side of them, there was a hedgerow and evenly spaced trees, beyond which another farm stood. Only the roofs of the far buildings were visible.

There had been no movement for at least half an hour. No sign at all that the near farm was inhabited. No smoke from the chimney and no light from the windows. The evening closed in on us and the air grew colder and we shivered in our heavy winter coats.

When the darkness smothered us, and the time of forest demons was on us, I felt a chill run through me.

I put my arm around Anna’s shoulder and held her close.

Tuzik stood in front of us, Kashtan behind, the four of us inseparable now.

‘We should go down there,’ I said into the eerie quiet. ‘Either that or go back into the forest and find somewhere good to build a fire. It’s getting late and I don’t want to freeze to death out here.’ My breath was white and thick around me.

‘Maybe we should keep going,’ Tanya said.

‘I want to go on as much as you do –’ I didn’t take my eyes off the farm ‘– but there’s too much cloud to travel at night. And the horses need rest. We all do.’

I felt her turn to me, so I met her gaze. Jagged teeth of hair jutted from the fringe of her hat. Her eyes had a distant look.

‘We’ll find him,’ I said. ‘Together. But we need to rest.’ Stopping at Lev’s place had given my pursuers time to catch up, and I was reluctant to make the same mistake, but we were exhausted and needed to rest. My hunters would need to do the same thing.

She looked away, clenching her jaw and pursing her lips tight.

‘It pains me to say this, Tanya, but he’s right. I say we go down there.’ Lyudmila hadn’t spoken for a while and it was a surprise to hear her agree with me. ‘There’s no one there.’

‘And if there is?’ Tanya asked. ‘What do we do then?’

‘If there were soldiers down there, we’d have seen them,’ I said. ‘There’d be horses, equipment . . . and with three of us, armed, we should be able to deal with any overprotective farmers.’

‘And what about the other farm?’ Tanya asked, looking out at the rooftops beyond the hedgerow. ‘There might be people there.’

‘We’ve seen nothing so far. And if we can’t see them, they won’t see us.’

So we led the horses out of the trees and headed towards the back of the farm, keeping out of view as much as possible.

When we reached the rear of the two houses, Tuzik padded ahead, nose to the ground, and we followed him round to the front.

‘There’s no one here,’ I said, as we came closer and let the horses through the gate.

As we entered the yard, though, the door to the first building opened, making me snap my head round, my hand reaching for my pocket. I half expected One-Eyed Likho to appear from the house like a crazed old hag, but instead it was an old man who stepped out into the cold.

He was as surprised to see us as we were to see him and we all stopped dead in our tracks.

Tuzik lowered his head and splayed his front legs in one sudden movement, his whole body tense. The fur on his neck rose, his ears went back, and he bared his teeth in warning. The growl that escaped him was feral.

‘He’s unarmed,’ Tanya whispered. ‘Don’t do anything.’

‘What do you think I’m going to do?’ I asked, moving in front of Anna. ‘Attack an old man?’

Tanya gave me a look to suggest that was exactly what she expected me to do. ‘You or your dog,’ she said under her breath. ‘Keep the damn thing under control.’ Then she turned and raised a hand. ‘Good evening,’ she said.

The old man nodded once with uncertainty and glanced into the house behind him with a worried expression before casting his eyes over us once more.

‘Let me talk to him,’ Tanya said, handing me the reins of her horse. ‘And hold on to that dog.’

I called Tuzik, surprised when he obeyed and came to my side. Anna held on to him as Tanya strode over to the old man and took off her hat, holding it in the fist of her right hand. As she did so, the old man stood a little straighter and took a deep breath.

‘What do you want?’ He closed the door behind him and took a pace forward to stop Tanya from climbing onto the first step.

‘We thought there was no one here.’ She hesitated with one foot raised.

‘And now you can see there is.’ His voice was deep and rattled with phlegm as if he needed to cough.

‘We’re passing by on our way north. Looking for shelter for the night.’ She withdrew her foot.

‘And you want to get it here?’ He looked down at her, then squinted and peered through the semi-darkness at me and Lyudmila standing with the horses.

‘If that’s agreeable with you,’ Tanya said.

The man’s craggy face broke into a smile that displayed blackened teeth. He put back his head and laughed, emitting a croaky, rasping sound more like a death rattle than a laugh.

Tanya took another step back and glanced across at me.

I made an encouraging gesture with my hands, prompting her to speak again, but before she could say anything, the old man stopped laughing as suddenly as he had started and stared down at her with watery eyes.

‘Three of you, armed, deserters most likely, with a . . . What is that? A wolf?’

‘A dog,’ Tanya said.

‘A bad-tempered dog, then, and you’re asking if it’s agreeable with me?’ He took a step forward so he was looking right down at Tanya. ‘Of course it’s not agreeable with me, but since when did anyone care about that?’

‘Sir,’ I said, coming forward, ‘we have food we can share in return for shelter and warmth. We mean you no harm. We’re not deserters.’

‘Then why are you armed?’

‘We’re searching for someone.’

‘Searching for someone?’ The old man scratched the back of his head and furrowed his brow as he looked around me. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. Who are you? What . . .’ As soon as he saw Anna standing with the horses, he stopped scratching. ‘You have a child with you.’

‘Yes.’

He dropped his hand to his side and puffed his cheeks as he blew out a long breath. For a moment I thought he was going to welcome us in. I thought perhaps the sight of a child had softened his heart, but then his face hardened and his next words were spoken with venom. ‘There’s nothing for you here. Go away. You should—’

Just then the door to the
izba
opened once more, making him look back in surprise.

‘Who’s out there?’ said a voice, and an old woman came out onto the step, dressed in black and with a shawl draped around her shoulders. She shuffled in an unsettling way, like Galina had done. Like I imagined a witch would.

‘It’s no one,’ said the old man. ‘Go back inside.’

‘I want to see who it is,’ she said. Her voice was coarse and hard and unsympathetic.

‘It’s no one.’

‘Well, it has to be
someone
, you old fool. Who is it?’

The old man sighed and shook his head. ‘They say they’re looking for someone.’

‘Who? Who’re they looking for?’

‘Chekists,’ Tanya said.

It was more than I thought she should have given away, but there was something in the old man’s eyes when she said it; some sort of recognition, or perhaps it was just sympathy.

‘Well, bring them in, Sergei, bring them in.’ The old woman’s tone changed, but it still sounded unfriendly. It was as if she were hiding her true nature, like One-Eyed Likho settling the tailor before cutting his throat. ‘You can’t leave them standing in the cold.’

‘Maybe we should let them move on,’ he said. ‘We can’t spare any—’

‘Don’t be such a miser,’ she told him. ‘Bring them in, bring them in.’ She stepped back and beckoned with gnarled hands.

Sergei rolled his eyes and grumbled.

‘We should move on,’ Lyudmila said under her breath, and I knew why she said it. We weren’t welcome here – the old man made that clear enough – and his wife reminded me too much of Galina and the
skazka
witches. But it was getting colder by the minute and I had to think about Anna. She needed warmth, food and a good night’s sleep.