Kate Furnivall - Under a Blood Red Sky

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.