Dusk in Kalevia: Chapter 1

Kaija ran. As her boots struck the cobblestones, she felt like every echo was an alarm bell, a shout in the silence calling disaster. She slowed and crumpled against the frozen wall, trying to catch her breath as she swallowed the blood-iron tang of her saliva.

The act of breaking curfew was risky, but it was nothing compared to what would happen if she were caught tonight. She clutched the bundle more tightly to the breast of her old men’s overcoat, and, gritting her teeth, raced off again.

I can’t be caught. I can’t be caught.

She repeated the words like a mantra–a chant keeping time with the beat of her steps. It didn’t matter what happened to her. To let the others down, to put their lives at risk was a far worse fate than anything she might endure in the basement of the State Security Building. They had entrusted this task to her and she would carry it out or die. For her comrades. For her friends. For Kalevia.

A bright glow ahead indicated the end of the passageway. Kaija dashed to the turn and hid just around the corner, peering out to plan her next move. This was the tricky part. She knew all of Old Town by heart–her mental map built from years of exploring–and she had faith in her route through the shortcuts and back streets of the city. Tonight, she had planned the quickest and quietest course with one concession: she would have to cross Market Square.

Although a cheery gathering place in daylight, Market Square now loomed vast and cold ahead of her. The buildings rose enormous and twisted in the darkness; the frozen fountain seemed as distant as a dream. Floodlights illuminated the huge realist murals that lined the plaza and cast harsh glares over the stones. As she stared at the bold faces of the Heroes of the Revolution, terror rushed over her and threatened to drag her under. She could still turn back…

Kaija breathed in the wet wool smell of the scarf that hid her face and willed herself back to the moment. After coming this far, there was no way she could abandon the cause. She selected a memory and turned it over in her mind like a bitter pill.

Dad…

She closed her eyes and counted down from ten. Then, like a hare flushed from the bush, she raced out into the open.

Time seemed to slow down as she sprinted across the square, dilating as in a disaster. She tore in and out of pools of light, expecting to hear the shriek of a policeman’s whistle. The dark windows of the clock tower all seemed to be watching, countless eyes judging and condemning her.

Suddenly, she was in the glare of the floodlights, her shadow writ large across the face of Lenin. Her body went numb with dread.

This was the end. She was on display for all to see. She stumbled blindly forward, sure that she would hear shouts ring out.

But none came. In an instant she was down a flight of steps into the reassuring darkness of another alley.

How had they missed her? Were the night guards watching their own searchlights? When she finally accepted that no one was coming for her, she paused in the shadow of a doorway, taking great gulps of the winter air as she waited for her heart to steady.

Her ears rang in the nighttime quiet. Gradually, she became aware of another sound at the faintest edge of her hearing: the crack and strain of ice. Her chest filled with a warm rush of relief. She might be able to pull this off, after all.

A few more twists and turns in the darkness, and she was at the river. Rows of warehouses lined the stone banks, with stairways and cranes leading down to frozen docks. The waters of the Kalevajoki still ran like a black ribbon between plains of ice; she watched the dark waters slide by before turning to the abandoned building behind her.

The location of the drop, she thought. If I figured this right.

She slunk around to the side of the warehouse, and in no time found the mark: a shape like a tiny leaf, painted low upon the door. She tested the entrance to see if it was locked and cautiously ventured inside. Dim light filtered in from the grimy windows, falling on piles of broken bricks and discarded pallets. She could barely pick out the appointed low grate in the riverside wall.

She hurried over and wrenched the metal grating away to reveal a hollow space. She gently laid her small, cloth-wrapped box inside. As she pushed it back into the shadows, she soundlessly mouthed a plea to the object to stay hidden until the intended recipient came to claim it. She didn’t know what it contained, but they’d told her that it meant a great deal to the rebellion.

That was enough for her. She replaced the grate and crept away, trying not to leave obvious footsteps in the dust that covered the floor.

She returned by another path, following the river. Free of the box, she felt as though nothing mattered anymore, and she could almost enjoy her night run over walls and through the narrow spaces behind shops. As the buildings became older and shabbier, her spirits soared with the familiarity of neighborhood sights. Only a few more blocks and she would be safe within her little room, warming her hands at the stove.

A flashlight beam from around the corner split the night like a knife. Kaija dove for the nearest cover: a rubbish pile of old crates by the back door of the butcher shop. She shivered there, drowning in the reek of chicken feathers, as the policeman slowly approached, rhythmically swinging his light back and forth across his path.

A stone of horror sank in her stomach as stories of the frozen prison camps flooded back to her. Visions of torment filled her mind. She bit into her lip to keep from whimpering, a hair’s breadth away from the madness of a cornered animal.

But when the man was nearly upon her, a tomcat yowled from the stoop. It scampered off as it was caught by the beam.

She heard the patrolman chuckle. He continued on his slow progress.

The nightmares subsided, leaving nothing in their wake but simple gratitude for the cat.

She stayed in the garbage until long after the man had gone, pulling the flaps of her ushanka hat down around her ears to blot out the world.

She finally stopped shaking, and crawled out of the rank pile. She sat on the stones and looked up at the starry sky.

Then, gathering her courage, she raced the last steps to the back door of her decrepit apartment building.

As the door swung shut, she barely heard the call of a raven in the distance.

**

As the city slept, the raven soared through the streets and over the moonlit rooftops of Vainola. It made a few lazy circles above the upscale neighborhood where the Party elite made their homes.

The bird finally selected a modern apartment building, and swooped down to land on the sill of a top floor window. It struck its beak against the rime-covered pane.

After a moment’s pause, the window opened, and two strong hands offered themselves as a perch. The raven hopped on.

**

“Did you see anything interesting tonight?” inquired the Angel of Shadow, stroking the raven’s neck feathers. “Tell me everything, friend.”

The bird croaked its reply. Demyan laughed–a rich, velvet sound in the darkness.

“My, you have had quite an evening.”

He listened intently to the raven’s story, his hazel eyes widening in excitement. His informants had certainly earned their keep tonight. The lad with the suspicious parcel was definitely worth looking into, but who was this young westerner sending messages by dove?

It smacked of angelic machinations, and Demyan’s blood stirred at the prospect of a rival agent appearing in his territory. Finally, a break from the monotony of the political games–a chance to play himself against another operative of his caliber. This new troublemaker wouldn’t last, of course, but going after an angel for the first time in who knows how long was going to be delicious.

I need to check the stars, he thought. Divine my next move. And then the chase would begin.

The raven hopped to the desk and began to eat from a tin of biscuits. Demyan snapped his fingers.

“Are you staying or going? It’s getting cold in here.” He indicated the open window.

The bird, apparently full, flapped off into the night. Demyan fell back onto his bed, his heart pounding as he hugged himself.

He fought the urge to follow the raven, dashing off into the sky to seek the new interloper. His chance would come soon enough.

Patience, he warned himself. His fingers dug into his sides.

Patience.

Continued in Chapter 2.

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