Authors: Dan Smith
Kashtan was glad to see me. She’d been alone in the outbuilding for a while and she missed my company. She was a sociable animal and felt the loss of Alek’s horse. For days the two animals had shared the journey, walking side by side, and at night, they had been tethered close to one another. They had grazed and slept together.
When Alek died, there’d been no choice other than to cut his horse free. Navigating the dense forest and keeping out of sight was difficult enough without having to lead a second horse, and hard feed was not easy to find. Alek’s saddle now lay hidden in the forest, and I had salvaged all the kit and supplies before unbridling his horse and setting her free. The animal was valuable and there was a sense of cruelty in releasing her like that, leaving her in the forest, but at least she would have a chance. It was fair to give her that, rather than put a bullet in her. She had followed us for a while before she began to fall behind and then she was lost among the trees. If she was lucky, she’d make it out to the steppe and stumble upon someone who would take her in. If not, she’d have to face the winter alone, but she would survive, I was sure of that; our horses were hardy animals, as good for hard work as they were for riding long distances or taking in to battle. These animals could survive the cold, grazing on frozen grass two metres under the snow.
I saddled Kashtan and secured the blankets and other kit before leading her to the front of my house and mounting up. I took one last, long look at my home; then we moved away, leaving it behind.
There was a place beyond the bridge where the river widened and became shallow, a good spot to ford it and cross into the forest. Already the day was cold, and short as it was, it was now half gone and soon the feeble sun would drop behind the trees, dropping the temperature even further. I would be sleeping in the forest again tonight, and neither I nor Kashtan could afford to be wet. Yesterday, I had been in a hurry to get home, but today, I had to be more wary.
There were faint prints on the track from Tanya and Lyudmila’s horses. I followed them past the bridge, thinking about the two women. They hadn’t told me what had set them on their path to find Koschei. Like me, they had been reluctant to give any clue about who they were or where they were from. Such was the nature of our country; no one could trust anyone. Not neighbours, not friends, not even people joined by the same need. Everyone was afraid. But their experience of him must have been similar to mine. Their desire to
find
him was similar to mine, and I hoped we would meet again before that happened. Tanya had not told me her reasons for wanting him, but she had made her intentions clear. When she found Koschei, she was going to kill him, and I couldn’t let that happen. I needed him to tell me what had happened to my wife and sons, but the dead cannot talk.
When we came to the bridge, I considered the place where the women’s horses had crossed, but it was deep there and would come well past my knees. I didn’t relish the thought of travelling with wet clothes, so we went on a little further before I turned Kashtan closer to the river, looking for the shallowest place.
‘You’re not going to like this,’ I said to her, as she picked her way down the bank and cracked through the thin ice that had formed over the still waters at the edge.
I made myself look up at the trees. ‘I think we’re going to find things in there that
neither
of us will like.’
We kept to the shallows, following the river as it eased westwards into the forest, and I let Kashtan choose her route as she moved further into the course, finding her footing. She didn’t stumble and didn’t complain as she pushed out into the water, moving deeper and deeper until the surface of the river was almost touching the soles of my boots. Then she was coming out again, the water running from her belly as she took us up the other side.
‘Good girl.’ I leaned back as she climbed the far bank and headed into the trees.
The forest was silent here but for the river chattering as it slipped towards the lake, slowed by the build-up of ice. Soon the whole course of it would be frozen here, as a silvery serpent lying in wait in the black forest.
The ground beneath Kashtan’s hooves was a carpet of decaying leaves, and the air was scented with a damp earthiness that filtered through the cold and caught in my nostrils. It reminded me of so many things and a clutter of half-memories flitted through my mind like summer swallows, giving me just a glimpse but nothing I could latch on to.
Childhood winters, Alek and I daring one another into the darkest parts of the forest, knowing we would never go much further than a few paces into the shadows because the threat of what lay within was too much for us. Babushka filling our heads with stories of the mischievous
leshii
– the woodland spirits that resented travellers in their domain, causing them to lose their bearings, leaving them lost among the trees, ripe for Baba Yaga. And then, when I was older, sneaking out with Marianna, finding places where we could be alone. Snatched kisses from cold lips. The touch of perfect skin.
Then there was the taste of fire, the smell of blood and gunpowder, and the fear returned. The fear of being found. The fear of death. The scream of men calling for their wives and mothers. All of those things passed through my thoughts now as I returned to the forest, wishing I was out on the steppe, where the air smelled only of the cold.
I leaned forward, put my face close to Kashtan’s neck and took a deep breath. The heat radiated from her skin and the warm smell that came off her helped to clear my mind.
‘I’m lucky I have you,’ I said. ‘If I didn’t have you, I think I’d be out of my mind by now.’
Kashtan snorted as if in reply and continued among the trees, the two of us working to find a route that was safe for her, until we came out into the clearing where Galina’s husband lay dead and coated with frost.
We stayed close to the edge of the lake as we passed across the open ground. Kashtan twitched a little, tried to look over at the far side, knowing something was there, but I kept her straight, muttering soothing words. The old man was almost hidden from sight, but I knew he was there, beheaded and branded. I didn’t need to see him again. I had promised Galina that I would bury him, but I had neither the time nor the stomach for another burial. I would bear the guilt of that too.
Beside us, the lake rippled in the breeze that skimmed its surface, the low waves lapping against the frozen edges, thickening the ice. In the depth of winter, the lake would be frozen right through to the bottom, and Galina’s body would be crushed by the hardening water.
Babushka would have said that Galina would remain a
rusalka
now, an unquiet spirit that would only rest once she was avenged, and for an awful second I imagined her roaming the clearing moaning for her husband. It seemed to me, though, that we had too many stories and too many spirits, that the things we really needed to be afraid of were far more real.
He likes to drown the women
.
Tanya’s words taunted me and I couldn’t help seeing an image of Marianna frozen in the ice, but . . . no. No. Marianna was alive. She had to be. If she were in the lake, I would know it.
We came to a halt at the far side of the clearing and looked for a good way into the trees. They were thicker here than by the river, some of them as close as an arm’s length apart.
‘Be strong,’ I told Kashtan, but I waited a few moments before entering. The words were for me as much as they were for her.
A noise behind me in the distance. Something undistinguishable. I whipped round, half expecting to see a
rusalka
coming across the clearing to avenge the lives
I
had taken. With eyes wild, long hair flowing, limbs jerking in spasmodic movement, it would pursue me without rest, but when I looked, there was nothing there. Only the glistening grass bent over in the places where I had walked with Tanya and Lyudmila. Only the faint trail where Kashtan and I had ridden. Only the ripples on the lake.
‘Seeing ghosts now.’ I shook my head at myself and went back to looking at the trees just in front of me, but the base of my neck tingled as if a cold finger traced a line there and I couldn’t help glancing back, feeling as if malevolent eyes watched me from every shadow.
Another sound, but this time it was further away. Perhaps out on the road. I cocked my head to one side and pushed back my hat so I could listen. Kashtan’s ears twisted and I knew I hadn’t imagined the sound.
‘You hear that too?’ I said. ‘Was that a horse in the village?’
Kashtan replied only by turning her ears this way and that, searching for the source of the sound.
‘You think they came back for me? Tanya and Lyudmila?’ But I knew they wouldn’t have come back.
The sound came again. Hooves on hard dirt.
‘Definitely a horse,’ I said. ‘Or horses.’
I remembered the sensation I’d had of being watched. Those lonely days in the forest with my dying brother, wondering if I was being followed. Hunted. There were some who prided themselves on finding deserters and bringing them in for public execution. I imagined they would do the same for me if they thought me to be still alive.
I had ridden along streams where I could, stayed in the forest, doubled-back to cover my tracks. I had done everything I could to remain untraceable, but the sounds were clear behind me. Someone was in the village. I glanced over my shoulder, looking for any hint of movement, but saw nothing other than the unsympathetic trees, the silent brushwood and the glistening frost.
Then a voice. A sound that jolted me and filled me with dread.
I looked back again, wondering for a moment if it might be Marianna and the boys. I fought the sudden urge to return to the road, telling myself it could not be them. And when I stared across the clearing to the trees that hid the road from view, I saw the passing of shadows and heard the sound of men’s voices and knew I had to move quickly. I could not afford to be seen by anyone.
‘Come on.’ I nudged Kashtan with my heels and together we melted into the forest.
We had left a trail. It was almost impossible not to. In the village, there was evidence of the horses, but the tracks would be muddled. Footprints across the bridge, hoof prints leading into and out of the village. There were Kashtan’s tracks too, travelling beyond the bridge right up to the river and out on the other side. If there was someone in the village now, they would see all of that evidence, but it would be confusing. My best chance was that if they chose to follow anyone, they would follow the women. Theirs would be the clearest trail.
But if someone or something
had
been tracking me in the forest as I had journeyed home, then they would not follow the women. They would follow the single horse. The man alone.
If they were hunting me, they would follow Kashtan’s trail right to the clearing and beyond. It would take them a while to decipher the tracks, though. I still had time to elude them.
It was difficult to navigate through the dense forest, but it could work in our favour. Kashtan would have to be brave and move quickly, but it would be easy to leave a confused trail here, so we weaved among the trees, heading deeper, closer to the place where the crows had gathered. I could not leave until I had seen what was here. I had to know.
I heard no more evidence of anyone following. Kashtan breathed hard, but her tread was light and there was little sound to our movement. The occasional creak of the saddle or the slap of my kit against Kashtan’s hide, but other than that, we were quiet, moving through the forest like a ghost from one of Marianna’s stories, until the trees began to thin out once more and we came to the place of crows.
Kashtan could smell it before we came to that place. She grew more agitated the closer we rode, and she reared as soon as we broke into the small clearing and laid eyes on the victims lying about it. The sight of them seared itself into my mind.
Kashtan shook her head and rolled her eyes and tried to turn away.
Startled by our arrival, the crows cawed and flew up into the trees in a flurry of agitation and displeasure.
‘All right,’ I told her, as I looked away and strengthened my nerve. ‘All right.’
I turned her to the right and rode further into the forest, and once we were out of sight and Kashtan grew calm, I stopped and dismounted, hitching her to a sturdy tree branch.
‘I have to look at them,’ I told her. ‘I have to know.’
She nuzzled my chest and blew in my face, then I stepped away and stood for a moment, closing my eyes, touching the fingers of my left hand to the
chotki
round my right wrist and offering a clumsy prayer of hope. I was not much of a believer; it was not part of the new thinking. Marianna had been the one to keep the faith and perhaps that was why the
chotki
gave me some comfort. It had been round her wrist and would still bear traces of her, bringing us closer. And because she believed, then I would carry that for her, and if there was anything that could give me strength enough for this, something that might answer my prayer, then I was willing to give it a chance.
I took a deep breath and removed the rifle from my back, grasping it tight as I picked my way back towards the horror.
I was overcome with numbness as I made my return to where the bodies lay. My vision was tunnelled, so I only saw what was right before me: my path through the sleeping trees. I could no longer smell the decaying leaves at my feet, or the damp bark that surrounded me. To my ears, the forest was silent but for the pounding of my own blood as it pumped through my veins. And when I came to the massacre, that pounding faltered before gathering speed and I fought to make myself strong.
All I had to do was identify the people; to satisfy myself that my children and wife were not among them. Once that was done, I would leave.