Dusk in Kalevia: Chapter 9

“Hands over your head!”

Kaija obeyed. The soldier’s face was just a blur to her–an angry dark smudge barking orders from behind a curtain of snow. Another form materialized in the white and patted him on the shoulder.

“Got another one, comrade?”

“Yessir. Fucker came out of a hole in the ground, would you believe it?”

“Good. He says we gotta take some of ’em alive.”

One of the soldiers circled around behind her, and she felt a sudden electric jolt as the barrel of the rifle rammed her between the shoulder blades.

“Walk!”

She could do nothing but dutifully slog forward, at the mercy of the loaded tube digging in through her coat. The gun dominated her thoughts so completely as they plodded through the snow that it was a few minutes before she realized how eerily quiet it had grown. The shooting had stopped.

She nearly tripped over something in her path–a colorful object lying half-buried in the snow.

It was Martin. His eyes were closed and he was on his side, curled up like a baby, the way he preferred to sleep in his bunk. The men would tease him about it sometimes–offering to get him a stuffed bear or a security blanket–until he got mad and threatened them with a fight, pretending to be more of a man than he actually was.

The red pool around his chest told her that he had probably gone quickly.

“Move!” The rifle prodded her.

She passed the twins next, their bodies lying just inches apart. Tomi’s hand lay on his brother’s arm as their shared blood mingled and froze.

Every time she saw a shape in the drifts, the falling snow forced her to play a terrible guessing game–was this one the corpse of a Kalevian soldier? Or was it her kind, sad-eyed brother who brought her berries in the summer, or her brother who told the stories that always made her laugh…?

There, now, were the survivors–kneeling in the snow at rifle-point, their hands behind their heads. She watched as a soldier went along the line, tying their wrists, and knew that she was soon to join them, bound for the morning firing squad. Their number had been slashed to five men, yet Klaus was still among them, imposing and defiant even while on his knees. Only Taisto stood.

She had no time to muse on this as the soldiers patted her down, running their hands up and down her legs and in and out of her coat. They found her pistol in a pocket, and laughed as they took it from her. She bit her lip as one slid his palms down her chest, passing over the slight swell of her bound breasts, but he seemed to notice nothing; he was suddenly distracted by a man who approached through the woods, followed by a retinue of armed guards.

The soldiers snapped to attention and saluted.

It may have just been the way he walked, striding purposefully across the snow as though he owned the forest, but the man seemed a giant in his knee-high boots and State Security uniform. His nondescript face distorted in disgust when he glanced over the prisoners, and the cruel glint in his eye told Kaija he was a man not to be trifled with.

“Over already? That was quick.” He spoke to Taisto, and Kaija felt her stomach drop as she realized what was happening. “I don’t usually come out on raids anymore, but you know this was something of a special occasion.”

“We’re glad you could make it, Minister Kuoppala. As you can see, the men have everything under control.”

Quiet Taisto, the scarred war hero, voice of reason to Klaus’s hot-blooded aggression. How long had it been this way? Or had he always been against them, secretly plotting all this time to destroy their chance at resistance?

Klaus, who had been quietly seething with eyes downcast, glared up at his former right-hand-man with unbridled hatred.

“Taisto, you bastard!” he bellowed, before a soldier struck him down with the butt of his rifle. Even from the ground he looked daggers at the turncoat, but could do nothing more.

“How’s the boy?” asked the one called Kuoppala.

“Alive. They should be bringing him out soon.”

The minister made a noncommittal grunt, and began to circle the prisoners.

“So these are all that’s left? Kind of a sorry lot, don’t you think?” He came to Kaija, still being held by the soldiers who had frisked her. “Look at this one. Scrawny little pisser, eh, Taisto? What’s his name?”

“That’s Kai,” Taisto said with a shrug. “I don’t even know what he’s doing out here–he was supposed to be guarding the hostage.”

“Any weapons?”

“Just this, sir.” The soldier handed Kaija’s gun to him; he weighed it with casual indifference.

“Kai.” The man called Kuoppala turned to her, dusting the snow off of her collar. “Come with me. We’re going to have a little chat.”

Gun in one hand, the other on the back of her neck, Kaija had no choice but to follow him down a small hillock to a clump of pines.

They stopped, and she turned back to see Taisto on top of the rise, watching the other soldiers to make sure she and the minister weren’t followed.

“So tell me, Kai,” the man asked calmly. “Why do you hate Kalevia?”

“No. I…I love Kalevia, that’s why…” Kaija meant to sound brave, but her voice came out rough and unsteady.

“But you hate us, don’t you, you motherfucking traitor.” His smile didn’t change. It was still bland and innocuous, a bear trap hidden in the grass. “That’s why you’re here. You want revenge.”

Kaija didn’t answer, letting her silence speak for her, unsure of what might provoke him. He still had her gun in his hand and he brought it up slowly, his smile widening as he aimed at her stomach, then her chest, then her head.

Breathe, she thought, keep breathing. She was astonished when he offered her the weapon, wagging its grip near her hands.

“In a few minutes, they’re going to bring the son of the Party Chairman out. And you know what you’re going to do?” He patted her on the back, his tone conspiratorial and low. “You’re going to kill the hostage.”

“What?!” Kaija couldn’t believe her ears. Wasn’t this man supposed to be rescuing Vesa? Feeling numb and disoriented, she could merely gape at him, but he didn’t notice or didn’t react to her look of bewilderment.

“Not that you’ll survive,” Kuoppala continued, in the same nonchalant voice. “You’ll be shot immediately. But you got lucky, boy. You’ll have it better than what we’re going to do to that lot over there–you can be a martyr for your cause, dying to strike the ultimate blow of revenge against the Chairman.”

Kaija’s mouth was dry with fear, but she still managed enough saliva to hit him squarely in the eye.

Kuoppala’s face contorted into a rictus of fury as he wiped off the spit. He grabbed her violently, tightened his hold on the gun, and flung her forward onto her knees.

She knew what was coming next–the pistol against the back of her head. She heard him talking casually up at Taisto as she prepared to have her brains blown out.

“Seems you’ll have to do it, after all. I’ll cover for you–”

Kuoppala was cut off by a wild battle cry. Kaija turned her head just in time to see Vesa barreling down the slope, two soldiers in pursuit, launching himself straight for Kuoppala.

He caught the man in the midsection with a flying tackle, sending them both sprawling to the ground. The pistol sailed from Kuoppala’s hand and landed in a snowbank.

Kaija twisted on the ground in shock as Vesa grappled with Kuoppala. He pinned the minister down in a show of desperate strength as the man struggled to retrieve the gun. Vesa’s nose was bloodied, but he managed to raise his head and shout to her.

“Run!”

The curse was broken; Kaija scrambled to her feet and took off. She flew through the trees–faster than she ever had gone during her night runs, faster than she had ever run in her life. She heard Vesa yell in pain and Taisto curse, but she knew she couldn’t look back. Every breath, every instant was precious to the hunted.

A crack split the air. A firecracker burst in her, a sizzling rod of pain through her shoulder.

It exploded in her again, in her leg, and she stumbled but didn’t fall. She was the wind, she was the storm. She didn’t slow down.

She ran into the blizzard until it swallowed everything.

**

Toivo’s dove roosted calmly on the dashboard, a puff of feathers watching the snow fly up and over the hood. Toivo had rolled down the window to let the harried creature in before the highway, since he considered it inhumane to force the bird to lead the car through the storm.

Demyan was strangely silent as he steered the car carefully down the icy road, so Toivo just settled back in his seat, and kept to his thoughts.

“Hello.” Demyan squinted through the snow at the shapes looming along the shoulder ahead. “Was there an accident or…?”

As they passed by, Toivo realized the things weren’t troubled farm trucks or snowplows–they were troop transports, dark green bulks standing out menacingly against the landscape. He heard Demyan curse under his breath.

“How are they here already?” he muttered, glaring out the driver’s side window.

“Close! We are close!” The dove rose, fluttering its wings.

“This is it,” Toivo relayed.

Demyan stopped the car a few hundred yards from the transport vehicles. Toivo jumped out into a knee-high pile of snow; for the first time that morning, he was glad for the tall black boots of the hated uniform.

“This is ridiculous!” Demyan snapped, staring bitterly at the trucks as he walked around the car. “How the hell did they find him?”

“Are we too late?”

As though in answer, distant gunfire crackled in the forest.

“Come on!”

Toivo released the dove, and it darted among the towering trees with a purposeful urgency. Toivo and Demyan followed, straining to keep the white bird in sight in the midst of the blizzard.

As they ran, Toivo experienced a strange flash of sensitivity. Suddenly alert, he found himself hyperaware of everything around him–the tall dark trunks of the pines, the crisp smell of the snow, his burning lungs. While the world crashed into his adrenaline-fueled senses, he felt so utterly alive that he nearly cried out in amazement.

He realized then that the shooting had stopped.

In the next moment, he felt it dawn on him–that soft, familiar drone of despair. The men were close now; he could faintly feel their mourning. Like the dove that guided them, Toivo felt an instinctive pull in his head, a homing response to which he was forever bound.

We’re too late, he thought miserably.

They finally passed through a grove of birches and into the aftermath of the battle. The Kalevian soldiers walked among the trees, taking stock of the dead…and a few paces off, a handful of men kneeled on the ground at rifle-point, heavily guarded in their defeat.

Toivo’s stomach sank.

“Agent Chernyshev, State Security.” Demyan flashed the pin on his lapel to one of the soldiers, his imposing confidence gaining immediate attention. “Report on the situation.”

Toivo kept his head down and his shields up, listening to the private nervously debrief Demyan on the fight. Even given that the man had just been in combat, he was unnaturally prickly with dread; Toivo realized with dismay that this was a result of his companion’s machinations. He tapped Demyan insistently on the shoulder, but was brushed off.

“Status of Vesa Uusitalo?” Demyan pressed.

“Safe and sound. He’s over there.”

Toivo looked where the man pointed and saw a teenaged boy being led by two soldiers. Although he seemed free from obvious physical injury, the boy walked as though terribly tired, burdened by anguish and loss. Toivo could clearly feel his despondent condition even from where he stood, and resolved to attend to it at the soonest opportunity.

The poor thing’s absolutely heartbroken, he thought. I wonder if…

Toivo didn’t have time to finish the thought before a drastic change came over Vesa. Something seemed to catch the boy’s eye, dispelling the sadness and replacing it with a sudden, violent dismay. Before anyone could stop him, he broke free of his escorts and raced down the hill.

“What is he doing?” exclaimed Demyan as he took off after him.

Toivo ran to follow, glimpsing the shapes of fallen men already covered with a dusting of snow. Although he couldn’t stop to get a clear look, he knew he had probably seen some of their faces lit by candlelight as they’d listened in the old barn. Toivo couldn’t help but wonder what was going through their minds when they died. He remembered his own words.

Though we may struggle and bleed and fall…

Toivo’s stomach clenched. Memories he had regained flitted across his mind, scraps of death and hard-won victory scattered across human lifetimes.

A shot rang out close by. As he reached the crest of the hill, Toivo was shocked to see two men rolling on the ground, a few soldiers trying to separate them, while another aimed a rifle into the trees. Toiva and Demyan slid sideways down the snowy slope, reaching the brawl just as the soldiers managed to pull the combatants apart.

The circumstances were rather mystifying–it appeared that young Vesa had decided to pick a fight with an officer in the middle of his rescue. When the boy’s opponent raised himself up on his elbow, Toivo was horrified to discover him to be that wretched sadist of an interrogator from State Security.

Of all people, it had to be him! Toivo thought as he slunk behind Demyan; he hoped the uniform would shield him from any recognition as he grew inconspicuous. Dreadful though the coincidence was, he couldn’t help but feel slightly gratified when he noticed the man sporting the beginnings of an impressive shiner.

Demyan, however, seemed to find the situation inexplicably hilarious.

“Comrade Kuoppala, what on earth are you doing?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Is that any way to treat that poor, traumatized boy?”

“Chernyshev?” Kuoppala choked, and Toivo had another delicious bit of schadenfreude in seeing him severely startled. “But you’re dead!”

“I am? Sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“They shot you!”

“Vesa,” Demyan drawled. “Do I look dead to you?” The boy was staring at him, blood dripping from his nose, with a look of absolute awe.

Demyan turned back to the man called Kuoppala, his humor turning to darkness, and Toivo felt his shadows begin to prowl.

“Don’t underestimate the KGB, Kuoppala. We have some tricks up our sleeves. Why do you think I volunteered to drive the kid to school? Out of the goodness of my heart? You know me better than that.” He flashed a wry smile at the dumbstruck teenager. “No offense, Vesa.”

Demyan was working up to it, staring down at Kuoppala in cold scorn. Toivo felt a shiver run through him as he was reminded of Demyan’s role as an Angel of Shadow, and the vicious fears he surely visited on the people around him–but for some reason, Toivo felt none of the revulsion he had expected. With his hand pressed lightly against Demyan’s back, he could feel the thrill as Demyan hungrily sought out the man’s confidence, like a voracious predator circling for the kill.

Toivo found himself sinking into morbid fascination with his shadow’s dangerous appetite–the all-consuming reverse of his own.

Demyan sneered. “No, I had it all under control, if you had just given me time to call in a few of my agents. You had to send the army up here, endangering the hostage and wasting all the hard work I spent building up my network within the movement. ” Demyan’s voice was tinged with scorn. “Don’t forget–you aren’t my only commander, Kuoppala. They’ll laugh about this back at the Kremlin.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take this one back to his father,” Demyan said, taking Vesa gently by the arm. “We’re done here.”

Toivo followed silently at his heels, feeling a little dazed. Everything had moved so fast that he’d barely had time to come to terms with any of it, but the dark swells in the snow whispered the tragedy unfolding all around him.

Demyan was already in a fine mood, muttering something about “putting that damn paskapää in his place,” but Toivo slowed his steps. His eyes wandered back to the four men kneeling in the snow–the last surviving rebels of the battle.

“Wait,” Toivo said. “There’s something I need to take care of…”

Demyan followed Toivo’s gaze, and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“You have fifteen minutes. We’ll be in the car.” Demyan leaned in to whisper. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Demyan led Vesa off, their footsteps crunching away in the snow. Once alone, Toivo approached the line of prisoners, innocuous in his government regulation uniform.

He was terrified one of them would turn around and recognize his face, thinking he was the one who betrayed them, but their eyes were fixed on the ground, their spirits ravaged by defeat.

Fantasies of staging a daring escape ran through Toivo’s head, and he considered the relative invulnerability of his own body. Sadly brushing aside that foolishness, he stepped closer. There was one thing he could still give them, though, as the hope of the rebellion…

He went to each man, pretending to count them, putting a hand on each shoulder. Trying to summon as many memories as they would allow, Toivo brought up every recollection of bravery, every moment of camaraderie and brotherhood they had ever shared. He poured himself into the holes left by their grief, trying to give them one last glimpse at what they were to die fighting for.

Before Toivo was ready to go, however, he was pulled roughly aside.

“Move.”

It was Kuoppala. Although he hid it well, Toivo could sense that the man was still fuming from the dual attacks he had suffered. Toivo began to back away slowly, afraid that he might do something to provoke this maniac and reveal himself.

“One of your lot attacked me and tried escape,” Kuoppala snapped at the prisoners. “We shot him.”

Toivo felt a bit of hope ebb out of the men.

“But I don’t think that’s good enough.” Kuoppala had the pistol in his hand, pacing around them as though he carefully weighed his decision. He aimed the gun at each man in turn.

“You all deserve to die. Which one will it be?”

He was close now–close enough to brush the pistol across the backs of their necks. One of them jumped slightly, and he laughed and cocked the hammer.

“You? Oh. I think maybe you, Big Guy.” He tapped the pistol on the back of Klaus’s head. “Yes, you don’t look easy to break. How about some last words?”

Klaus closed his eyes, and began to speak in his deep, resonant voice.

Toivo’s speech.

“When we go before the firing squad, we will refuse the blindfold. Our backs to the wall, we shall look them in the eye, and they shall know…”

“What is he rambling about?” Kuoppala scoffed.

“They shall know that we go to our graves as free men, for when we die…” He looked up, his eyes burning with defiance .

“We die for liberty.”

The shot was sudden; a whip-crack that sprayed a bloody mist into the air. Klaus wavered and slumped to the ground, his body twitching a few times before finally growing still.

“Take the rest of them back,” Kuoppala said, as he watched the dying man’s last tremors. “We’ll see what we can get out of them before they get their turn at the firing squad.”

Toivo covered his mouth, struggling to remain invisible.

He had done nothing to help them, just pushed them into a battle they couldn’t possibly win, criticizing their methods but still leaving them with the fervor to run to their deaths. He hadn’t even stayed by their sides, as Demyan did with the humans who had called him. Toivo was a fraud, a fleeting, meaningless symbol; he had only returned to his people in disguise, out of reach, to watch them die with his blasted speech on their lips.

With Klaus gone, the others would go to the darkness below State Security. They would be beaten as Toivo had been, but they wouldn’t heal. No, they were to be lined up at dawn, and then…

It’s going to happen again. Over and over and over.

He couldn’t remember walking back to the car. He just found himself at the edge of the road, approaching Demyan through the snow.

Demyan leaned against the car, all hint of his former good humor gone.

“He’s in a bad way,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the back door. “I think he saw someone close to him get hurt–a girl.” He looked away from Toivo, up at the slate gray of the sky. “Maybe the girl…”

“Little Bear,” Toivo murmured.

Demyan went rigid, jerking up from the car. “What did you say?”

“One of the rebels was a girl dressed as a boy. I don’t know how, but I think those two knew each other. Her code name was Little Bear.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“The girl, Zophiel!” Demyan cried. “She was in the stars! Was she one of the living rebels?”

Toivo gritted his teeth, remembering the faces and the minds of the men on their knees. Of Klaus’ body hitting the snow.

“N-no,” he breathed.

Demyan cursed and slammed a fist on the hood of the car.

Toivo looked around him at the white wilderness, feeling utterly drained. What was the point of all this? Despite his guilt over the rebels’ situation, he couldn’t muster up the strength to think of the future. He didn’t know if he had the strength to finish another losing battle.

“We’ve…got to go back,” he said at last. “The storm’s picking up, and Vesa’s safe, at least.”

Demyan sighed. “Just…try to help him. There’s nothing I can do.”

Toivo got into the car, sliding into the gloom that had settled upon it. He took one look at Vesa–hunched and miserable in the backseat, dried blood trailing from his nose–and gripped the dashboard with shaking fingers. He tried to remember his vow to help this boy, that his instinct to instill hope in these doomed humans had welled up only minutes earlier…

Because now, that instinct terrified him.

Proceed to Chapter 9, page 3–>