Under a Blood Red Sky

by Kate Furnivall

  For the first time Mikhail spoke. ‘It’s worth more than you possess.’

  ‘Comrade, there’s something you need to learn. A jewel like that is only worth what someone will pay.’

  ‘And . . .’ Mikhail gave him a cold smile, ‘how quickly they will pay for it.’

  The man nodded his square head, took out a handkerchief and blew his veined nose in it. This seemed to be a signal of some kind because another man stepped out from behind the curtain to the backroom, a great bearded ox of a man with a badly scarred face. Instantly Sofia pulled the gun out of her waistband and, clutching it with two hands, pointed it directly at the square stranger. His lizard eyes stared at her for a second, assessing the danger, then he waved a hand dismissively and his henchman lumbered back into his curtained den.

  Nothing was said, no mention was made of the short-lived intrusion, but Sofia didn’t lower the gun. Mikhail took a slow and deliberate step forward, then spoke in a voice that crowded the dismal room.

  ‘Now that we understand each other . . . comrade,’ he made the word sound like something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe, ‘let’s get down to business. My time is short.’

  ‘By all means,’ the man’s gaze focused on the diamond, his words as smooth as oil, ‘let’s talk money.’

  ‘No, comrade. Let’s talk horses.’

  Sofia waited alone in the rain. Zenia’s scarf on her head was soaked, but a few metres of canvas with a hole cut in it for her head was keeping the worst of the downpour off her body. The black earth beneath her feet had turned to a quagmire but she barely noticed the squelch of mud as she prowled soft-footed among the trees, her eyes scanning the road that ran straight as a rifle barrel into Novgorki.

  Where was he?

  He should be here by now.

  Was he safe?

  Should she race back into town?

  Her head swarmed with fears for Mikhail. Her fingers played incessantly with the Tokarev pistol clutched under her canvas shroud. She drew some comfort from its reassuring weight, its hard metallic edges, its lethal simplicity. But Mikhail should have his fist tight round this gun right now. He’s the one in danger.

  He’d forced her to wait. The square man with the smile that stretched too tight had insisted on a one-to-one deal, with no guns and no henchmen. So Mikhail had kissed her, a light touch of lips that she committed to memory, and left the hardware store. Sofia had watched them disappear up the street, the yellow dog trailing behind them through the rain, then she retreated to the spot on the edge of town where he’d told her to meet him.

  Hidden from curious eyes, she waited for him. She felt as if she’d been waiting for him all her life.

  Two hours later Mikhail finally emerged through the grey curtain of rain. Sofia wanted to throw herself into his arms and yell at him for putting her through such hell. But instead she stood quietly under a dripping poplar tree and let him come to her. He was riding a big chestnut horse and leading two others, one of which was carrying quite a load on its back, strapped down under a canvas sheet. Mikhail slid to the ground in one easy movement, placed his hands on her shoulders and looked carefully into her face.

  ‘You were a long time,’ she said simply.

  ‘I’m sorry. Were you worried?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. You must trust me.’

  ‘I do.’

  He smiled, the wide smile he kept just for her, and she wrapped her fist into his sodden shirt in an effort to hold on to that smile.

  ‘I hope one of those horses is for me.’

  ‘Always thinking of taking it easy, aren’t you?’

  She laughed and the unexpected relief of it doused her fears. ‘Did you get a good deal?’ she asked and released his shirt.

  ‘Svetlana Dyuzheyeva would turn in her grave if she knew how cheaply her diamond ring had changed hands, but yes, for us it was a good deal.’

  From inside his wet shirt he pulled out a fistful of large rouble notes, lifted the front of her canvas cape and slipped the money into the pocket of her black skirt.

  ‘That’ll keep you safe,’ he smiled and suddenly took her in his arms, as though frightened of losing her.

  They stood like that, Sofia had no idea for how long, heads together. But when their hearts had finally stilled, they swung up on to the horses and headed off through the forest. Behind them the yellow dog skulked in their tracks.

  It was the dog, warning her with its low throaty growl, that raised the hackles on her own neck. They were riding through the forest with just the pattering of rain for company and the soft shuffle of horses’ hooves through the undergrowth. Mikhail was leading the way, Sofia close behind, but her horse had a shorter stride and kept hanging back. They had been weaving their way through the trees for more than an hour when the attack came.

  But the dog had warned her, so the gun was ready in her hand.

  Two bulky figures leapt out from the trees with a great roar as they launched themselves at Sofia and a rifle shot rang out, ricocheting off the trunks. Her horse screamed a shrill shriek of fear that split the air and the dog snarled, loud and menacing. A man’s face appeared next to her horse’s head, gaunt skin stretched over sharp bones, hair black and matted, a ragged length to his shoulders. His mouth was open and bellowing words at her, threats and insults and crude curses. Sofia yelled back at him with rage as one filthy hand seized her horse’s bridle, the other grasped her ankle.

  She raised the gun and shouted a warning. Her attacker yanked hard on the horse’s mouth, drawing blood. In terror the animal jinked sideways and reared up, its front hooves slicing through the rain, its wet head thrashing violently from side to side, tumbling Sofia from its back.

  As she fell to the ground, she pulled the trigger.

  ‘Sofia.’

  Mikhail’s voice was drifting in and out of her head. Sometimes near and sometimes so far away she could barely hear it. Other noises came and went, strange sounds she couldn’t place, but through them all snagged the low whining of a dog. She fought to open her eyes but her eyelids refused to obey. Instead she called Mikhail’s name, but it came out as no more than a breath.

  ‘Sofia, wake up.’

  She listened to the voice she loved, to the way he made her name sound like something precious, and when she felt his cool hand brush over her forehead, she sighed. Something let go inside her and she started to float into a dream where silver-haired women stretched out their arms around her.

  Sofia flicked open her eyes. Her head hurt. As though a splinter of iron were stuck in her brain. The air seemed as grey and warm as squirrels’ fur and for a moment she couldn’t make out where she was.

  ‘Mikhail,’ she murmured.

  ‘My Sofia.’ At once his head bent over her and his lips touched her temple. ‘Don’t move, my love. You’ve taken a bad knock on the head.’

  Slowly things came to her, thought by thought, and she realised she was lying on her side, her head on Mikhail’s lap. He was sitting with his back against a pine tree, one hand holding her, the other holding the gun. Above them he’d rigged up a canopy of canvas and under it he’d lit a small fire that hissed and popped when a splash of rain blew into it. She rolled on to her back, gazed up at him. His eyes were full of concern.

  ‘Help me up,’ she said.

  ‘No, my sweet, you must stay where you are. You have to rest.’

  ‘I’ve rested enough.’

  He didn’t argue further. Just sat her up and held her steady while the world swooped and danced around her. He placed a metal cup of hot tea in her hands and sat quietly while she sipped it.

  ‘Where are they?’ she asked at last, leaning against him.

  ‘Over there.’ He gestured off to the left.

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘His henchmen. Come to retrieve the money and the horses.’

  ‘You’re not hurt?’

  ‘A bruise or two, nothing much.’

  He spoke in short bursts, barely in cont
rol of his anger. ‘They’re dead. Both of them.’

  She nodded, chilled by her own indifference.

  When she was ready, he helped her stand. She insisted on going over to check on the bodies of their attackers because only seeing them with her own eyes would convince her that she and Mikhail were safe. For now, anyway. With Mikhail’s arm round her waist she stared down at the two corpses in the mud. The one with the ragged hair had a hole in the centre of his chest and stared back at her with sightless eyes, the other was the ox man with the scarred face from the hardware store. His throat had been cut in a livid slash and the rain was washing his clothes pink.

  She nodded, satisfied. Together they threw a few branches over the bodies and left them to the wolves, then they struck camp, mounted their horses and rode on.

  57

  They rode the rest of that day and most of the night. At times they walked, allowing the horses a break, ears alert for sounds of pursuit and of the wild creatures that rustled and scampered among the trees, just out of sight in the dusky gloom of twilight. Throughout the night the sky never grew totally dark above them but, under the canopy of forest greenery, the path they picked over the pine needles was barely visible.

  They talked, but not much, careful of secrecy. To navigate, Mikhail used a small hand compass, but most of the time the terrain forced them to travel in single file with the packhorse trailing behind Mikhail’s mount. They were too far apart to whisper any conversation, so they slid into silence and into their own thoughts. But just before dawn when the new morning was nothing more than a blush of gold on the topmost branches of the trees, Mikhail called a halt.

  Sofia looked reluctant to stop.

  ‘Enough,’ he insisted, and started to unsaddle his horse. It whickered softly when he lifted the weight from its back and nuzzled his shoulder.

  ‘Is it safe?’ she asked.

  ‘We have to sleep, my love, and the horses need rest. We’ll do best to hole up here for two or three hours.’

  ‘No longer.’

  Her impatience to keep moving was always there. Mikhail walked over to her and slipped an arm round her waist, loving the way her immediate response was to lean the whole length of her body against him. What was it that gave this extraordinary woman such strength? He recalled what Rafik had said about her ancestry and wondered whether that was where she drew her inner core from. Gently he stroked her hair, but later, when they were stretched out on a blanket under the tall columns of the trees, there was nothing gentle about their love making.

  It had a wildness to it, a fury that drove them to clutch at each other’s bodies. Her kisses came with teeth, his caresses came with a crushing force. When she finally threw back her head with a shout, and a deep moan tore from his throat, they collapsed into each other’s arms and lay like that, limbs entwined, exhausted and breathing hard. Both knew the anger was not meant for each other. It was meant for the world out there.

  ‘Mikhail.’

  They had both slept.

  ‘What is it, Sofia?’

  He respected her instinct for danger and lifted his head quickly from the blanket, but could see nothing but a haze of insects hanging lazily in the warm air. He flicked away a komar that was gorging itself on Sofia’s naked shoulder. Her eyes were half closed.

  ‘Did you know,’ she asked, ‘when we set off for the Krokodil display, we would fly north in the aeroplane?’

  ‘I intended to try, but I wasn’t certain it would happen. That’s why I said nothing to you.’

  She rested her head on his bare chest. ‘Did the Captain agree to help us for money?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why then?’

  ‘I used to work with his brother Stanislav at the aircraft factory in Moscow. He got into trouble once and I helped him. That’s all.’

  She nodded, a lock of her hair tickling his chin.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered and set herself astride him.

  What kind of man would do this? Risk his life for someone he didn’t know?

  Sofia sat on the river bank, her feet trailing in the strong current, and watched Mikhail splash water over himself as fiercely as if he believed it could wash away his sins. She was naked and letting her skin dry in the sunshine. They had travelled relentlessly for ten days and were stealing an hour of rest before moving on. The yellow dog ambled past her on the grass, brushing its wet pelt against her shoulder, and went to lie in the shade.

  ‘What kind of man are you, Mikhail?’

  He looked over his shoulder at her, surprised. He smiled at her.

  ‘A fortunate man,’ he said at last.

  ‘Really? Is that what you believe?’

  ‘Yes, with all my heart.’

  ‘Mikhail, for heaven’s sake, think straight! Here you are in the middle of a forest, with no home, no job, no travel permits, your life in danger every moment. So why say a fortunate man?’

  He scooped up a double handful of sparkling river and emptied it over his head. His whole body gleamed and glistened in the sunlight, the bruises muted now.

  ‘Fortunate because I have you, my angel. You’ve granted me a second chance.’

  ‘What kind of second chance?’

  ‘A chance to right a wrong.’

  ‘You mean . . . when you killed Anna’s father.’

  She’d said it. She had finally dragged the words from their hiding place and shaken them loose in the bright golden air.

  ‘Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.’

  ‘And Fomenko? What about your killing his mother? Is that a wrong you intend to right as well?’

  A pulse ticked in Mikhail’s jaw and he smacked his palm on the surface of the water, sending up a rainbow of droplets. When he spoke, his single word was calm.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he put a knife in my father’s throat. Tell me how I forgive that.’

  ‘I see. So when I asked what kind of man you are, maybe you should have answered a vengeful one.’

  He looked at her solemnly. ‘How can I be vengeful, my love, when Fomenko allowed us to take his mother’s diamond ring to rescue Anna?’

  Sofia buried her toes in the grass. ‘So when we’ve done this,’ she tossed him a blueberry from the clutch in her hand and he snatched it from the air with ease, ‘will you stop hating yourself?’

  She watched the intake of breath rather than heard it, saw his stomach muscles tighten and his chest expand.

  ‘You know me too well, Sofia.’

  She laughed and, before she knew it, he was charging at her through the river, sweeping sun-bleached waves in every direction as he rushed at her in a roar. She shrieked with astonishment and leapt to her feet but he was too fast. His hand caught her wrist, sending the last of the blueberries skittering down the bank, and pulled her to him. His wet body pressed hard against hers, his lips finding her mouth.

  Behind her the dog barked, two sharp high-pitched notes.

  ‘Quickly.’ She threw herself into the water, dragging Mikhail with her.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Danger.’

  ‘Wolves?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  Together they let the current sweep them rapidly downstream, before striking out for the shore at a spot where a cluster of bushes reached down to the river. They crouched there, listening.

  ‘Our horses,’ Sofia grimaced.

  ‘I tethered them for shade where the trees are thickest. If it’s a wolf, they’d already be panicking.’ Mikhail brushed a strand of wet hair from her face. ‘What warned you of danger?’

  ‘It was the dog—’

  Suddenly the sound of men’s voices reached them and the whinny of thirsty horses sighting water. Upstream, exactly on the stretch of beach where Sofia and Mikhail had been standing, a patrol of soldiers tumbled out of the forest.

  They rode hard the rest of the day. The pine trunks whipped past in slender shadows and the blades of sunlight sliced between them like
knives. They had waited in the undergrowth by the river until their shadows had lengthened and they were certain the patrol was long gone. The soldiers missed Mikhail’s horses, tucked away deep among the trees, but their clothes lying at the water’s edge must have caused some comment. Sofia and Mikhail rode in silence, wary of further patrols, but they kept up a good speed and the horses’ flanks were soon flecked with foam. It was almost dusk when Mikhail spotted the silver thread of another river through the trees ahead of them.

  ‘We’ll stop here,’ he said. ‘The horses need a drink.’

  ‘My canteen is nearly empty too.’

  ‘I’ll keep watch.’

  They dismounted and stood still, listening hard. There was no sound except the bickering of crows, so with Mikhail in the lead they emerged from the ragged edge of the forest. Instantly he stopped dead. A groan escaped his lips.

  ‘What is it?’ Sofia asked from behind. Then the smell hit her and she vomited.

  It was the patrol of soldiers. They lay like rag dolls that a child had tired of playing with and tossed aside, their khaki uniforms spoiled by holes and rust-coloured stains. They were dead, all nine of them. Wild animals had been gorging on their carcasses, bellies torn open by wolverines, but worse were the faces. The eyes had been pecked into black holes by crows that still perched with a stiff-legged challenge on the chests of the young soldiers. Their bodies were swarming with a shiny moving crust of flies.

  ‘Stay here,’ Mikhail said and handed Sofia the reins.

  The horses were stamping their hooves and rolling their eyes with nostrils flared, spooked by the odour of blood. Mikhail tore off his shirt, bunched it over his nose and mouth, and moved down the grassy slope. The soldiers were young, none more than twenty, and each body bore a bullet hole, sometimes two or three. Whoever did this did an efficient job.