Dan Smith - The Child Thief

‘Let me,’ he said.

‘I can do it.’

‘Let me.’ He pulled his hand away and scrubbed at the dried blood.

The horses were sure-footed, picking their way through the forest as if they’d done it many times before. Once again I rode with Aleksandra and Dariya, the dream-like sway of the animal beneath me, the jostle of the bodies in front and behind. I soaked up their warmth just as I gave them mine, but now I felt stronger, less likely to slip from the saddle. I was still tired, but there was satisfaction in the fatigue rather than desperation. I was clean and warm and my belly was full. I was in better condition than I’d been in for days, and because my sons were with me, because Dariya was safe, I was lifted above the previous wretchedness. I wanted to be home in Vyriv, but there was nothing I could do other than what I was doing right now. I was making my way home, and I was as strong as I needed to be. All I could do now was hope that Natalia and Lara were safe.

We moved slowly through the trees, but I estimated that if we continued at a good pace we’d be close to Vyriv by nightfall. We could make a camp for the night, leave at first light and be home by late morning. Fortune had turned in our favour. We had transport, food, and now the temperature had even begun to rise as the sky clouded.

With the other prisoners I’d walked close to two kilometres from Sushne so we were well away from the area where the child thief’s body lay frozen, but as we came to the edge of the trees to look out on an open area of perfect snow, I pulled the horse to a stop and waited in the treeline.

‘What is it?’ Aleksandra asked.

‘You see something?’ Viktor came alongside.

‘No.’ But the feeling was there: a touch of fear crawling across my scalp, tightening my skin. ‘Nothing.’ I took the child thief’s rifle and scoped the area, looking for anything out of place.

‘We should press on.’ Viktor started to move off, but I put out a hand to stop him.

‘What’s the matter? He’s gone.’

‘Wait a moment,’ I said. ‘Let me be sure.’

I shouldered the rifle and scoped the area once more, seeing nothing, then sat with the butt plate of the rifle on my thigh, the barrel pointing to the sky, and turned my head in the direction of the shepherd’s hut. It was a few kilometres away now, hidden by the trees and the rise and fall of the land, but I could feel him out there, cold and frozen and dead. And there was something about it that gnawed at me. Something that had come to mind when I was locked away in the dark after being dragged back from the bell tower. But even now the thought eluded me.

‘There’s no one there, Papa,’ Petro said.

‘I know.’ But I had to be sure. Dimitri had stepped out into the open and been caught by the child thief’s bullet. I had stepped out into the open and been caught by Lermentov’s soldiers. I didn’t want to step out into the open here and be caught by something else.

I looked across to the far side where the trees resumed, and I estimated the distance and how long it would take to cross.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘We’ll go now. But keep watching and move quickly.’ I turned and looked behind, feeling something nagging, as if Lermentov was following, bringing his soldiers. But I saw nothing in the trees and told myself Lermentov would be in Sushne, warming himself by a stove or forcing a confession from a new prisoner.

I nudged the horse and we moved on, coming out into the open, and even though I knew the child thief was dead and Lermentov was unaware of our escape, I braced myself for what might come.

Halfway across the untouched snow, the first crack split the silent air.

For a while all that could be heard was the crunch of hooves in the snow, the heavy breathing of the animals and the chatter of the bridles. In the trees a solitary crow called out. The snow deadened everything. It was as if its presence slowed the world until it was close to a standstill.

When the crack cut through the near silence, I leaned low in the saddle, hunching my shoulders, trying to wrap myself around Dariya as if I could spread myself thin and wide and envelop her completely. I felt Aleksandra stiffen behind me, a shock jolt through her body. Beside us Viktor’s horse stopped as if it had collided with an invisible wall, its head rearing back, its hind legs retreating. Viktor gripped the reins tight in his fists and Petro wrapped his arms harder around his brother so as not to slip backwards from the horse.

My horse shifted to the left, its instinct to panic, to run away from the sound. I held it tight, brought it under control, looking around to see what had made the sound.

‘What the hell was that?’ Petro said.

‘Just move,’ I shouted. ‘Get to the trees.’

And the sound came again, a loud crack, but this time I knew what it was. The first time it had caught me off guard. I had been expecting a gunshot, so that’s what I thought it was, but now I heard it in a different way. I heard it for what it was.

‘It’s ice,’ Aleksandra said. ‘Underneath us. We’re on a lake.’

‘A lake?’ Viktor kicked his horse, and we drove the animals forward, knowing we had to make it to hard ground.

Side by side, we spurred the horses on, the ice groaning and cracking beneath us. I could hear it split as we passed over it, breaking up behind us, and when I glanced back, I saw the snow parting, dropping and melting into the water beneath the broken surface. The chunks of frozen lake separated, twisted, sank and resurfaced. I kicked the horse hard, driving it on, willing it to move faster, to outrun the weakening ice.

As I turned to face forward again, to concentrate on controlling the animal carrying us, I caught sight of my sons. Viktor was leaning low in the saddle, his teeth gritted, his lips pulled back in a bizarre replication of his horse’s expression. Behind him Petro clung to his brother, his eyes wide, but the expression was not one of fear. He almost seemed to be enjoying the thrill, and I found myself smiling. After everything that had happened, the exhilaration of the speed and the fear drew together into a powerful mix and I understood my son’s expression. He was alive. He felt alive.

And then the ice broke below them and they were gone.

There was barely time to register it had happened; it was as if someone had stolen the ground from beneath them. My first instinct was to stop, but I fought the temptation, driving the horse on towards the trees, where the ground was solid.

The lake continued to tear and crack as we fled and, without realising it, I was making an inventory of what we had, looking ahead at the trees to see what I could use to rescue my sons from the freezing water. They would struggle to pull themselves onto the cracking ice, there was a chance they might slip beneath it, not be able to surface.

As soon as the ground was hard and firm beneath us, I stopped the horse, dragging hard on the reins so its head pulled right back. I turned the animal, looking out to take stock of the situation, decide on a strategy, but what I saw made me stop dead. Initially I didn’t understand what I was seeing. I had expected the horse to be floundering in the icy water, my sons struggling to pull themselves onto the ice. But Viktor and Petro were still on the horse, the icy water ebbing around their calves, their faces alight with laughter. The water was shallow and held no danger for them.

I felt panic fall away, and I dismounted, going to what I thought to be the edge of the lake. ‘Can you get to me?’ I called.

The boys came closer, the horse finding its footing on the bed of the lake, lifting its forelegs onto the ice, breaking through every time it tried to bring up its weight.