My rescue is within reach. Before the end of the day, I could be back with Nikolai Isaakovich, with my beloved Zhuchka. I could hold my telescope up to my eye once again, turn the pages of my star log, and go over the sightings I made from the brig’s deck. No more long days spent scouring the forest for firewood. No more struggling under the weight of basket after basket of fresh water.
Could we make it to our destination? We’re as far away from the Kad’iak as we were on the day the brig ran aground. Conditions have become worse. It’s colder, rainier, we have nothing to eat, and, most importantly, we do not know where we’re going. I’m almost certain we’re neither strong nor well-equipped enough to make it. Or, even if we were to make it, would the Kad’iak still be waiting for us? So much time has passed.
“I have other news—I’ve been told there are two European ships sailing the coast right now,” Makee says.
“Isn’t it too early?”
“It’s earlier than ever before but it’s possible.”
Ships! Two! And from Europe!
“I’ve asked the Chalats to give you some food and show you the trail. Everyone’s been informed—if they see those two ships, they will tell them where to find you. If you see the ships first, then you can arrange your own passage. No one will disturb you for the rest of your journey. Anna—please.”
I nod my head slowly, considering my release and how, at last, it’s so close to being within my grasp. “Then take me to my husband.”
Maria and I and about twenty koliuzhi—Kwih-dihch-chuh-ahts and Quileutes—follow a trail that winds through the forest. We meet countless streams; some we follow for a time, while others we cross by balancing along narrow, fallen trees that span the water’s width or by leaping to the opposite bank. Maria is slow and falls behind. I stay with her. I offer her my hand when there is no choice other than to jump. She’s as light as a child and shockingly easy to pull across.
Eventually, we ascend along a steep, slippery path that leads partway up a slope. It levels out and we follow it as it skirts a mountainside. The trail here is dry and clear of foliage. An expansive valley widens below us, with a river snaking through it.
This is the route I took in the opposite direction with Yakov when I was sent to Tsoo-yess.
We descend into the valley and start to walk its length.
Just ahead on the trail, I see that the others, including Makee, have stopped. Maria and I catch up. What’s drawn their attention is a ring of charred wood and several planks leaning against a clump of scrubby trees.
The foliage in this grove has been flattened as though the planks had lain on top of it. The broken stalks of dried grass are folded over in layers that lie atop one another. All the small sticks are gone, too, probably for the fire. The men are disturbed by what they’ve found, and I feel it, too. There’s something haunted about this place, and if my mother were here, she’d say the leshii was nearby.
I try to catch Makee’s eye but he’s deep in conversation with one of the other men. So I look to Maria but she’s staring wide-eyed at the edge of the charred ring.
There’s a vivid white bone pressed into the earth. Against the black cinders, it glows. Farther away, scattered at the men’s feet, there are tufts of russet-coloured fur. Something struggled and died here. I look down at my own feet. There’s a big clump of that same russet fur attached to skin that’s attached to a curl of white fur.
Zhuchka?
I fall to my knees. I touch it. It’s her tail. It’s cold and damp. The edge of the skin is straight and clean. It’s been cut with a knife.
Somebody used a knife.
“Makee,” I cry. I point to the remains of my beloved Zhuchka. “This was my dog.”
Makee looks at me with pity in his eyes and the instant he opens his mouth to reply, before he even speaks the words, I understand what happened. “Your people must have been very hungry,” he says softly and lowers his eyes.
I cover my face and bend until I’m folded over my knees and just a small ball, another layer atop the trampled grass. I wish the earth would swallow me. I want everyone to go away and leave me alone. I want this nightmare to be over.
I know none of them cared for her. None of them even looked at her other than as an tool that helped them do their work, or as something to torment when they were bored. Couldn’t they see that it was not like that for me? When I held her head in my hands, when her eyes met mine and her tail thumped on the deck, I knew she was much more than that.
What is the sense of being released? We’re never going to make it out of here on our own.
I won’t trade my new life in Tsoo-yess with the certainty of rescue for some meaningless freedom that ensures nothing except that I’ll be lost in the wilderness with those brutes until we all die.
Across the river, Timofei Osipovich shouts, “Madame Bulygina!”
Like shadows, the men emerge from the trees. Brooding Kozma Ovchinnikov is hunched over, his hair stragglier than ever. Everything about him that once scared me has diminished, and he seems pathetic now. The carpenter Kurmachev is barefoot, his cheeks so sunken he looks like an old man with no teeth. Has he still got his flask? I doubt it. He must be faring poorly without his rum. The American John Williams has stringy hair that now reaches his shoulders and a pale beard that’s growing in patches. His greatcoat is missing all its buttons. Everyone is shockingly filthy and spiritless, and for a moment, I pity them so much I almost forgive them for eating Zhuchka.
Then I catch my breath. “Where’s Kolya?” I cry.
“He’s upriver—at our camp. Not more than a versta from here,” replies Timofei Osipovich. “He’s fine.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
“He’s coming. Don’t worry.” But the men shift uneasily, and I begin to sense something is wrong. Others are missing, too. Where’s the main rigger, Khariton Sobachnikov? He’s so tall, I should be able to spot him among the men, if he’s here.
“Where is my sister?” Makee says. He’s right beside me on the riverbank. Two canoes rest on our shore, waiting for the exchange to take place. “Ask them where my sister is.”
I turn back to Timofei Osipovich. “I’ve been informed that you’ve captured three koliuzhi. Where are they?”
The prikashchik nods at his loyal Ovchinnikov. He slips behind some bushes and when he comes out, he’s pulling a cord attached to the wrists of Koliuzhi Klara, the woman who wore the silver comb in her hair, and the Murzik.
Koliuzhi Klara has a black eye.
I cry out and cover my mouth. I look to Makee. “That’s her,” he says. “She’s alive.”
I know instantly who he means. Her silver comb. His metal cheetoolth. Of course, that’s his sister.
“Anna—tell them,” Makee urges.
The captives stare dully across the river. Ovchinnikov jerks the end of the rope and they stumble together.
“Anna!” Makee cries out.
“Timofei Osipovich,” I shout. “One of those women is the sister of this toyon.” I gesture toward Makee. “His name is Makee, and he’s a fine man, a gentleman as you can see.” I point to his groomed hair, his red jacket, his trousers. “I’m living with his family, and he’s been taking good care of me. He’s a virtuous man known everywhere for his generosity and kindness and I have no doubt his sister possesses the same qualities. You must release her—and the others as well.”
“Let’s shoot them,” says Ovchinnikov. “All of them.”
Makee yelps. All the koliuzhi rush to the edge of the river and nock their arrows.
“Kozma Ovchinnikov! This toyon speaks Russian! He understands everything you say,” I cry.
“Shut up, you nattering magpie!” Timofei Osipovich slaps Ovchinnikov, who cries out, as shocked as the rest of us to see his master turn against him. He claps the hand with which he’s holding the cord over his ear. Koliuzhi Klara’s wrists are jerked up to her chin.
Timofei Osipovich slides into the language I don’t understand, his eyes
fastened on Makee. Makee listens, then says something to the koliuzhi, and they lower their bows.
Timofei Osipovich reverts to Russian. “We’ll free the prisoners once the koliuzhi release you. Your husband insists that you be released first.”
“Tell him we accept,” Makee says in a low voice.
“In the name of the Emperor, I vow to finish our mission,” cries Timofei Osipovich, “and it will not be over until we get you, Madame Bulygina, home. Come now—rejoin our expedition.”
“No,” I cry. “I will not.” Ovchinnikov’s mouth gapes, opening up his bushy beard. He looks like I just kicked his shins. “I’m satisfied living with these koliuzhi,” I continue. “They’ve given me a warm place to sleep and plenty to eat. This toyon is arranging my rescue.”
I know with certainty the Kad’iak is gone. Even if it were still there waiting, there’s no chance the crew will ever reach it. A sixty-five-mile walk down this coast is not a summer stroll down Nevsky Prospekt. They’ll never survive the rest of the winter.
Tsoo-yess is not Petersburg, and I’m not a free woman while I’m there, but I’ll be comfortable enough until I can go home. If anybody can guarantee that I’ll get home, it will be Makee, and not these fools. They’re lost in many ways, some of which they can’t even fathom.
“There are two European ships travelling on this coast right now. As soon as we see them, this toyon will release me into their care, and I’ll make my way back home. So I won’t join you—and if you have sense, instead you’ll join me and these koliuzhi.
“Surrender. And release your prisoners. It’s for the best.”
The river gurgles in the silence that follows. No one dares move.
“Anna, what are you doing?” Makee says.
“Madame Bulygina, you don’t know what you’re doing!” shouts Timofei Osipovich.
“I’ve made up my mind,” I call back across the river.
“But your husband—he’s a madman ranting day and night about you. You wouldn’t speak so callously if you could see him—is this not the truth?” The others nod and grunt in agreement. “You must come. You have no choice.”
“I’ve made my choice. Now you release the prisoners.”
“Come to your senses!”
“You come to yours. Release the prisoners. And give up the delusion that you’re going to survive without the koliuzhi.”
“This—negotiation—is—not—finished,” Timofei Osipovich declares. He stomps into the forest. The others follow, pulling the prisoners behind.
“Anna, what have you done?” Makee cries.
“I’m sorry. I’m not going with them. They’re fools.”
“But you said you would. Now they won’t release my sister.”
“Don’t be so certain. They’ll release her. I know they will.”
Makee speaks to the koliuzhi men. Four of them launch the canoes and cross the river. They follow Timofei Osipovich and the others into the forest.
Makee and I stand in uncomfortable silence. The shadows are lengthening, and the birds have started their evening song. He turns on me. “Why didn’t you go? You said you would.”
“I said I’m sorry. They’ll release her. Don’t worry.” I cast aside doubt. I’m an eighteen-year-old woman and I know them all. I know exactly how they’ll respond.
Just then we hear voices from the opposite side of the river. Timofei Osipovich bursts onto the river bank, followed by the crew and the koliuzhi. Nikolai Isaakovich is still not with them. Neither are the prisoners.
“Anna Petrovna Bulygina,” Timofei Osipovich begins, “I beg you to take pity upon your husband! He was so distraught, he wept! He wept so severely, he decided—God help him—to take your life. I had to stop him. I pried his musket from his grasp. I held him down until the others came to my aid. We tied him up so he wouldn’t come here and murder you.”
“Your threats are hollow! Nikolai Isaakovich has no intention of murdering me.”
“Your husband has lost everything. And when a man loses everything, he can no longer be held responsible for his actions.”
“I scorn all threats.”
“Anna—please—” Makee says hoarsely. “Please go.”
“By orders of this toyon, release your prisoners now!” I add.
“You will force his hand Madame Bulygina if I convey your words,” calls Timofei Osipovich.
“And you will force this toyon’s if you don’t release the prisoners now!”
“As you wish then,” Timofei Osipovich says coldly, and heads back into the forest with the rest of the crew. Makee’s men follow him and I wonder if they’ll return with the prisoners in tow. I think they will.
Evening is upon us and I’m chilled through when the koliuzhi return—alone. Timofei Osipovich isn’t with them, nor is Nikolai Isaakovich and his musket. Nor are the prisoners. Makee asks them several questions. Then they board the canoes and return to our shore.
As we begin the long trek back to the village where we spent last night, Makee again turns on me, his voice raised. “I trusted you, Anna. You said you would go. They’ll never release my sister now.”
“Maybe they’ll release her tomorrow,” I say timidly. I’m cowed by the anger I’ve never seen in him before, and confused by the crew’s failure to release their prisoners.
“I don’t believe that.”
The damp night air settles on us. The sky is black, and the few stars strewn overhead that we glimpse through the trees twinkle distantly. I don’t have the heart to look for my Polaris. The moon was full only a few days ago, so there remains enough light that we can follow the trail easily enough.
When we reach the village, Maria and I are directed to separate houses. I’ll go to bed alone, but will I sleep at all? I’ve let Makee and his sister down. The Murzik and Koliuzhi Klara, too. The image of her black eye is burned into my heart.
They’ll release everyone tomorrow. They must. And if they’re smart, they’ll join Makee at the same time.
The next morning, Makee and the koliuzhi men from yesterday disappear down the trail. I’m not asked to accompany them. No one tells me what they intend to do once they see the crew.
I’m confined to the house all day. I don’t see Maria. With nothing to do, I scrape dried mud from my boots and my dress and watch the familiar routines of this house. A woman leaves with a basket—she’s going to collect kindling. Another pours water into the cooking boxes—she’s preparing a meal. There’s a baby strapped into a cradle suspended in a quiet corner of the house. Some women in a circle play a game with curved dice that look like they’re made of teeth. Children play their own game with paddles and a twig with feathers they knock back and forth until the twig lands in a cooking box and they’re sent outdoors.
Nothing breaks the day’s dullness except the thoughts that hound me.
Late in the afternoon, there’s a disturbance outside. A cluster of people bursts through the door. It’s Makee and his men. People rise to their feet. Some rush to the door, calling out. Makee beams. I don’t see his sister, Koliuzhi Klara, or the Murzik. Makee pushes through the crowd and inserts himself before the moustached toyon. They embrace. The crowd and the news flow around the house and one by one, I see faces light up with joy.
Then, entering the house: Timofei Osipovich. Grinning.
Brooding Ovchinnikov and two Aleuts.
And, right behind them, there’s Nikolai Isaakovich. Glowering.
As they approach, my feelings fall like Tarot cards one on top of the other, each fortune cancelling out the one beneath it. When Kolya draws near, despite all that’s passed these last few weeks, there’s an involuntary tug at my heart.
“Good evening, Madame Bulygina,” blusters Timofei Osipovich. “How soon we get the pleasure of your company once again.” His hands open in a gesture of welcome incongruous with his mocking tone.
“I’m not going with you,” I say. “I told you yesterday.”
Timofei Osipovich laughs. “Yes, you made that
perfectly clear. But don’t worry. You’re not going anywhere. No one is.”
Nikolai Isaakovich cuts him off. “Anna Petrovna, you’ve made a mess of everything. Do you know what you’ve done?”
“Nikolai Isaakovich, I don’t understand. Why are you here?”
“Madame Bulygina, we’ve taken your advice,” says Timofei Osipovich. “We’ve released our prisoners. They’re back where they belong. As for us—we’ve come to join your toyon.”
“You have?”
“You said we should. We decided to listen to you. Why are you so surprised?”
“Where is the rest of the crew?”
“They’ve decided not to join us. They want to try to get to the Kad’iak. Their fate will be wrought by their own hands.”
Nikolai Isaakovich looks as though he really would murder me now. But whatever misgivings he may have, their change of heart is for the best. Eventually my husband will understand. We’re on the right path now. In the end, we’ll all get back home.
* * *
35A whale! He got a whale!
36Come on. She wants more wood again.
37I love it. I could eat this every day and never grow tired of eating it.
SPRING AND SUMMER 1809
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
To night, we’re split up. Nikolai Isaakovich and the crew remain in this toyon’s house while Maria and I are sent to a different house to sleep. We’re like spinster sisters once again sharing a mat and some bedclothes. When I lie down, thoughts whirl around my head like untethered shadows. The decision I made on the riverbank seemed so clear, but in the dark, where not even the stars can reach, it’s transformed into a restless spirit that won’t let me alone.
When Maria settles herself, her silence is too much.
“Joining Makee is our only choice,” I say. “You see that, don’t you?”
She doesn’t budge, and I think she’s already asleep. But then she mutters, “I see everything—and nothing.”
Anna, Like Thunder Page 21
