Siberia

by Ann Halam

  “A water horse,” said Yagin. “Smooth-skinned, very fat. They used to live in rivers. You won’t find them on that card. They are long gone, gone forever.”

  He dropped my hand, took the cooking pan to the stove, and sat there.

  “The true horse is called Perissodactyla, odd-toed, and that could be three or one, but the developed horse runs on one toe, which has become a hard-rinded hoof. There is no Lindquist for the horse: the wild horses of Europe were lost, at the last moment. They never trotted onto the DNA ark. Maybe it doesn’t matter. They had vanished from the New World, for unknown reasons, until the Spanish took them back. Horses are like a folk song, weaving in and out of human history, disappearing here, reappearing there. . . . ” He poked the melting snow in the pan, in a dissatisfied way. “What a poverty of life there is now. If this was the old days I would go hunting, in the still after the storm. I would bring back a brace of hares, or a fat young deer.”

  “How can you want to kill them, if you want to help me keep them alive?”

  “Because I’m an animal myself,” said Yagin, baring his teeth. “A tertiary consumer. I am designed to eat the weaker kinds, until I am eaten myself, by Death, who is always stronger. That’s natural predation, little girl. It does no harm.”

  Yagin was a strange man. He explained things I was hungry to know, and then he’d say something that made me hate him, as if on purpose. Deliberately, I went to sit by the stove, poured a glass of vodka, and handed it to him.

  “Which way do we go, when we leave here? Do you have a map?”

  He closed one eye, and smiled. “Do you?”

  I shrugged. I expected he’d searched my knapsack by now, sometime when I was asleep. There was nothing I could do about that.

  “You still don’t trust me, do you?” He knocked back the spirit: scowled, and held out his glass again. “It’s a long way to the coast. Farther than you can walk on that poor weak leg of yours, that’s for sure.”

  I poured more vodka. “Does your sled have enough fuel to get us there?”

  “My sled has no fuel at all,” said Yagin ruefully. “I used it all searching for a stubborn little girl, when I found out that she had escaped from the slavers and run for it. But I know where there’s a fuel dump. I can’t take you there, it would be too risky. I’ll fill up and then come back for you.” He emptied his glass. “I know where these questions are leading. Get it into your head, every hand is against you out there. The slavers are looking for you, Little Father is looking for you, the Fitness Police are looking for you. Promise me you won’t try to make it on your own.”

  “I solemnly promise. I will not try to make it on my own.”

  Yagin sighed. “Ah, those black eyes.” He reached over and took my chin between his finger and thumb. “Your mother’s very eyes. But when I go to fetch the fuel, I’ll still lock you in!” He tossed his glass down. It didn’t break, it just rolled on the plank floor. “Time to eat. Let’s see if I have anything besides that damned stew.”

  There was nothing but con stew, and fruit tea with syrup. It was tasty food by my standards, but Yagin was clearly used to something different. He ate without appetite, I finished most of the can. Then he got me to try on my cap and jacket. The jacket needed a little more sewing. He worked on it until it was ready, then he sat drinking, in gloomy silence, until he stumbled to his bed on the floor. The stove burned low. I went and knelt beside him, and stared at his sleeping face.

  Yagin knew so much. But if he was somebody I should trust, why didn’t he tell me the one thing that would make me believe in him?

  Who are you?

  I wanted to fetch the photograph Mama had left for me out of my knapsack, but I didn’t dare, in case he woke up. I tried to imagine him younger, but I couldn’t see through the years. He was fast asleep, lying on his back and snoring. Carefully, I turned back the blanket, and the collar of his dingy shirt. At the base of his throat, on the right-hand side, just where it ought to be, I found the delicate little tattoo, a circlet of feathery green leaves. It was the Chervil Ring, the mark of the Biological Institute. I’d seen it on raggy textbooks at New Dawn College. Mama had told me that chervil is the first herb that the old-days people would plant, when they were making a new garden. It meant the renewal of life. Yagin had been a scientist at the Institute, like my mama. That was obvious from the things he’d told me; and the things he knew.

  Mama’s tattoo had been defaced, when she was disgraced.

  She had been betrayed by someone close to her. She had never told me that, exactly, but I’d always known it.

  I tucked his shirt back, and the blanket. He didn’t look like waking; he was out cold. I went to his big backpack, which stood by the wall, and undid the fastenings. I was looking for more information, and for things to steal. There were chocolate bars, and a map: which I set aside to transfer to my knapsack (the map might be better than mine). Underneath the map were some folded clothes. A long black uniform coat, and a tunic with badges of rank. Of course. I saw in my mind’s eyes the Fitness Police standing in front of Little Father’s pincic table, and I knew, cold and hard, that Yagin had been one of those men. . . . He’d come alone at first, pretending to be a lone bounty hunter. When Little Father had refused to sell me, he’d come back with reinforcements.

  I folded the coat, and put everything back the way it had been.

  When the snowlight woke me in the morning, he was still snoring. I made up the stove and brewed some tea, using one of the packets of medicine Katerina had given me, the night the Mafia came. I stirred a lot of syrup into it to disguise the taste, then I woke him, and told him he needed a brew to cure his hangover. He grumbled, and muttered, and drank it down.

  “You’ll have to give me the key,” I said. “I have to get wood for the stove, and snow for water, and I have to empty the privy bucket.”

  “I will get up soon.”

  “Your head aches, you feel ill. You drank too much vodka, go back to sleep. We can wait another day. You can have my bed, and be comfortable.”

  I helped him over to the bed. He gave me the key, and fell asleep.

  I took out the nail box, and opened the nutshell. When I broke the seal five identical kits looked up at me, making tiny purrs of delight. I looked at them for a long time, until I thought I knew. Then I picked her out, and fed her.

  Yagin fell deeper into darkness as the hours passed, and I fed the Lindquist; and she grew. His skin turned pale and clammy, his breathing sank to a murmur. I had given him the whole packet of sleeping medicine, about ten doses. I knew Katerina’s herbal mixtures could be very strong, I hoped I hadn’t killed him. I didn’t want to murder anyone, whatever wrong they’d done.

  I’d decided to take the black uniform coat with me, it looked useful. I had it rolled up now, on the table, with all the food and extra blankets it would hold; and tied with rope. I’d packed my knapsack with more food, including Yagin’s chocolate; and his map. I knew that if I’d asked him about the coat, he’d have had an answer. He’d say he’d been disguised as a Fitness Police officer, the same as he’d been disguised as a New Dawn College guard, so he could protect me. In my heart I faced the knowledge that I could be wrong. Yagin could be my true friend, and Mama’s true friend; or even more than that.

  But either you trust someone, or you just can’t.

  The treasure I was guarding had to come first. I couldn’t take a chance.

  I made up the stove. I had left him some food, and he had plenty of blankets. I put on the jacket he’d made for me, and the cap. He was alive when I left the hut: I thought his breathing was getting stronger. The new Lindquist trotted out into the snow ahead of me. She had grown to be about the size of the wild hare I had met on the snow plain. Her coat was reddish brown, and her back legs bigger than her front legs, though not by much. She still had fingers, thicker and stronger than fingers should be, but not solid like a hoof. She was walking on the splayed tips of them. I locked the door, and tossed the key away. The Lin
dquist nuzzled my hand, and trotted away. I knew she wouldn’t wander far. Yagin’s motor sled was in the wood store. I checked the gauge, in case he’d been lying, but it really didn’t have any fuel. I found a big stone, and did as much damage as I could anyway.

  The moon was full. The deep snow gleamed, the trees looked as if they were cast in metal. It seemed like a hundred years since I’d hidden and watched while the Mafia torched our hut, at the start of this long journey—could it really be just two months? I sat on my sledge and waited. . . . When my new friend came back she was much bigger, the biggest animal I’d ever seen: with a thick gray coat and a long back. “I think you are a reindeer,” I said. “I saw you on that card.

  But I’ll call you Toesy.” She bowed her head, and nibbled at my face while I rubbed her velvety antlers: her breath was warm and sweet.

  We left the clearing, and entered the silent, silver forest.

  * 10 *

  Chiroptera

  The track that led to the Cabin had been buried deep by the blizzard, the skirts of the young trees on either side were drowned in snow. Toesy walked ahead; I struggled with the sledge, taking care to blot out her prints. It took hours to reach the road that I’d known must be somewhere near. At least it was obvious when we got there. The wind had cleared some of the surface down to the frozen ruts. I tried to make it look as though I’d headed north, then I dumped the sledge. I shoved it into a gulley just inside the trees, and kicked a mass of soft snow after it: that was the best I could do. I put my arms around Toesy’s neck, and rubbed my cheek against her warm gray coat. “We’ll make it,” I said. “I know we will.” I slung the blanket roll over her shoulders. When I tried to get on her back, she bent her knees of her own accord to make it easier. We left the road, heading west, and I let Toesy find our path.

  We kept going for a long time, in the moonlight. At last I spotted a snow cave that the blizzard had created, under the branches of one of the white-skirted trees: like the shelter Toothy had made for me, only bigger. There was room for me and Toesy. I’d taken a groundsheet from Yagin’s pack. I wrapped myself in that, and blankets, and the big black coat, and curled up against Toesy’s flank, with the knapsack in my arms. I didn’t sleep for a while, I just lay gazing at the stillness. The night air was like silver knives in my throat: the forest was as magical as I had ever dreamed.

  Through the forest to the sea.

  Next day I did a lot of falling off, and I always seemed to choose a place where the snow was hard and lumpy as a bed of stones. Toesy would stand over me and lick me with her long thick tongue, as I lay with my head ringing, and nudge me into getting up if she thought I stayed down too long. Nosey had been my naughty, funny friend. Toothy had been someone strange I didn’t really understand. Toesy was like a mother to me. I felt very safe with her.

  I got better at riding, and managed to stay on her back for hours at a time. Sometimes the trees were thick as grass in the summer wilderness, sometimes they were sparse; or dead and still standing, leaning against each other. Sometimes we walked over frozen swamp, where everything was veiled in frosted lichen and moss. Sometimes there were clear, shining rides that seemed as if they must be part of an ancient city. I never looked at the kits, I was afraid to let the cold touch them. I thought about my mama, and about Yagin, and tried not to think of the lonely vastness that stretched out all around. The forest was beautiful, but it was frightening. We would keep going far into the moonlit nights, because Toesy never seemed to tire; and only stop where I saw a place to make a snow shelter. Then I’d light a candle, stick it in the snow or on a branch if there was a convenient one; and try to study my maps. There were no Settlements in the forest, but it was crossed by several bandit routes and trails, like the one we’d left behind. If we kept on heading west, we would strike the big Settlements Commission supply road, that Mama had shown me long ago was the way to reach the sea. . . . I thought it would take us maybe ten days to reach this road. Then we should turn north again, but we’d have to keep out of sight. There would be vehicles moving on the big road: supply trains for the Settlements; bandit caravans. And I couldn’t exactly hide Toesy inside my coat.

  Almost a hundred miles through the forest to the big road, then another hundred miles to the sea. I kept measuring the distance: with my fingers, with a piece of string, and comparing it to the scale on the side of the map. I couldn’t make it less.

  Toesy found her own food: she ate the moss from the trees, and from the ground whenever the wind had scoured the snow away. I was going to run out of canned stew and chocolate before long (I never tried to light a fire, I kept the food from freezing by sleeping with it inside my bedclothes). But when we got to the big road, there’d be places with supplies. I would hide Toesy, and go thieving.

  We crossed trails, and once passed a deserted factory-farm, with big fences, but we never saw anything moving. When the sun was as high as it would get, on the sixth day (I thought it was the sixth: it’s very easy to lose track when you’re traveling alone), we were crossing an upland break in the forest. Toesy seemed uneasy, and I felt the same way: we didn’t like being in the open. I noticed a line of black poles, like straight ink strokes, over to the west, that must be snow markers on a stretch of road. I burrowed in my layers for the maps, feeling worried. We shouldn’t be anywhere near a marked road . . . and Toesy gave a start that almost threw me. Then I heard what she must have heard: a high-pitched, insect whine. Three tiny black dots came zooming into view, from the direction of those ink marks.

  Motor sleds!

  I locked my fists in Toesy’s thick coat, and tugged to make her turn around. “Run, Toesy! Back to the trees!”

  I hoped it was only the outriders from a caravan like Little Father’s. They must have seen Toesy, but they’d soon give up when we got into the thickets. Why would bandits chase a mutie? Toesy picked up her pace: stretching out her legs. I clung on, lying flat, trying to keep my knees tight against her sides. My backbone was jolting its way out of the top of my head, my teeth were jammed together.

  We plunged into a shallow bare valley, where Toesy floundered shoulder-deep in soft drifts, but the trees were nearer, and I thought we had a chance. Then I heard the insect whine ahead, and another black speeding mark, like a fly skimming over the whiteness, came hurtling to intercept us. I tried to push Toesy onward with my fists and knees, screaming at her. The blanket roll went flying. It was gone, too bad.

  “Get past him, Toesy! Get past him!”

  The sled cut a great sweep, sending up a silver wave of snow, and stopped. I saw the rider reach behind him for the rifle on his back. I urged Toesy, desperately, but something was happening to her: she staggered. There were shudders and surges, like explosions inside her. . . . I felt a shock, like something big and invisible rushing by, and I was in the snow, on my back. The man had left his sled. He had fired once and missed. He was coming closer. He was dressed in a dark uniform, with high boots and a shiny sled helmet: but without a coat.

  I wondered where he had hidden his rifle and his helmet, when we were in the cabin. I should have known he would never give up.

  Toesy’s face appeared, looking down into mine. She had changed. She was lower at the shoulder, but much more massive. Her antlers had gone. Instead, a pair of murderous curved tusks rose from her snout. But her motherly eyes were the same. She wouldn’t let me get up. She shoved me back down and stood over me, her forelegs splayed and her great head lowered.

  “Sloe! Get away from the beast.”

  “Traitor! Leave us alone!”

  “I’m trying to help you,” Yagin yelled back. “God knows I hate to do this, but I have to. Get out of the way!”

  He was staring at Toesy: I could feel his awe and wonder. “Don’t kill her!” I begged. “How can you bear to kill her! Please! ”

  “My men have seen her. I’ve no choice.”

  I beat at Toesy with my fists. “Run, Toesy! Go!” I struggled to get up, but my right knee wouldn’t bear me, and it
was too late. Toesy had made up her mind. She was moving, thundering, charging, in ridge-backed bristling fury, her great head down like a battering ram. I heard Yagin give a cry that sounded like a wail of despair, and his rifle cracked once more.

  When the three men came up, Toesy was lying on the snow in a huge splash and trail of scarlet blood. Yagin had brought a fuel can from his sled, and was tossing the stinking liquid over her body. He hadn’t come near me. He knew I couldn’t escape: I couldn’t even get up. The Fitness Police officers jumped off their sleds (two of them were doubled up, sharing one); and gawped. They were youngish, with well-fed, innocent-looking, indoor faces.

  “What is that thing, sir?” asked one of them, saluting.

  “Mutie,” declared Yagin, with authority. “A man-eater. Very dangerous. It was dragging her off to its den.” He tossed a match, and the mass of hide and hair and flesh that had been my Toesy began to burn. Yagin stared into the ugly flames.

  “The girl’s lucky we saw what was happening, and reached her in time.”

  “I don’t understand how she got this far, sir,” said another of the young men. “We’re nearly seventy miles from the cabin where she left you.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t understand about this business,” said Yagin. “She has confederates, of course. And we’ll have to track them down too.”

  He strode over to me. I was sick to think I’d ever been close to trusting him, but I was glad I hated him so much. It saved me from crying in front of them.

  “This young woman is the daughter of two enemies of our fragile Environment,” announced Yagin. “One of whom has successfully defected, helped by other dangerous criminals. That’s why I was keeping her under covert surveillance at her school, and why I’ve pursued her, alone, since she went on the run. I didn’t ask for reinforcements, but you three have been, h’m, a great help. Her crimes are many.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the three young officers, in chorus.

  “There’s the fact that she ran, and the mysterious torching of her mother’s hut. She also disgraced herself at the school, caused damage at a fur farm, and has been involved in the child slave trade; and finally she tried to poison me.”