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A Shade of Kiev 2(2)

By:Bella Forrest


“This whole village is infected.” Erik scowled. “Sooner or later we’ll catch it. We can’t stay locked up within these walls forever.”

“Then you and Helina will leave this place,” I said, inhaling sharply.

“Kiev, we’ve had this conversation before. How will we leave? We barely have enough coins for a sack of barley.”

I looked down at my brother. He was right, of course. To be precise, we barely had enough coins for half a sack of barley, because I’d recently had to purchase some more blankets for our parents. We had a wealthy uncle living in the city, but he was a miser who never allowed anyone to stay without payment we couldn’t afford—be they family or not.

I didn’t know where I found the courage to look into my brother’s eyes and say: “I’ll find a way.”

I supposed afterwards that it wasn’t courage. It was sheer desperation.

But whatever it was, I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t let anything happen to my siblings. I couldn’t break my last promise to my parents.

“Just… Just stay in here. And I swear, I will find a way to get you and our sister out of here.”

I fetched a knife from the kitchen and tucked it beneath my cloak. Then I walked back through the sitting room toward the front door, my brother’s and sister’s eyes following me. Withdrawing my brother’s key from the keyhole, I placed it into my pocket next to my own. Then I turned to my brother again and glared at him.

“Listen to me, Erik. Now you must make me a promise. Promise me that you will not, under any circumstances, try to leave this house and enter the barn while I’m gone.”

Erik looked up at me, then down at our sister.

“For Helina’s sake… I promise.”

With his assurance, I left the cottage, locked the front door, and headed back to the barn.

On entering, I was relieved to see that my parents hadn’t vomited more blood since I’d left them. I placed fresh cold towels over their foreheads, pulled on a pair of black leather boots and a woollen hat, and wrapped a long black cloak around me before heading out into the night.

As I passed through our neighborhood, moans of pain emanated from dimly lit windows. Sacks of dead bodies lay strewn at the sides of the roads.

I tried to block out the horrors that surrounded me and think. I didn’t know how or where I would get the money. Even if I had the money, our horses had already died of the sickness.

I won’t find money or a healthy horse in this Godforsaken village. That much I do know.

If there was to be any chance of saving my siblings, I had to reach the highway that ran through the woodland, about twelve miles north from here. It led to the city, and there were often coaches passing by.

I trekked for hours through the ice and by the time I arrived at the dark, tree-lined road, I was beginning to believe that I might develop frostbite before a coach ever came along. Crouching down behind a bush, I waited. And waited.

Finally hooves beat against gravel in the distance. I peered over the top of the bush. A shiny black coach with two large steeds raced toward me. A thin man sat in the rider’s seat, and the curtains of the carriage were drawn.

I pulled my woollen hat further down to cast a shadow over my eyes, and pushed up my collar to cover the rest of my face. As soon as the coach was about ten feet away, I emerged from the bushes, one hand tucked beneath my cloak, nervously tracing the edge of the knife with my finger. I ran into the horses’ path and held up my other hand, waving it in the air.

The alarmed horses screeched the carriage to a stop. Before the coachman could react, I launched forward, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him out of his seat, holding the knife close to his throat.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered into his ear. “Just keep silent and do as I say, and nobody shall be harmed.”

“What’s going on, Ivan?” a female voice called out from inside the carriage. “Why have we stopped?”

I pressed the knife tighter against Ivan’s throat and said in a voice barely louder than a breath, “Tell her you’ve just stopped to check on one of the horses.”

The terrified man stammered, “I-I’m just checking on one of the horses, darling. Nothing to worry about.”

I turned Ivan round so that he was facing me, the steel still against his throat.

“I’m going to release you so you can untie one of the horses and give it to me. But I will be right here behind you. One wrong move and—make no mistake—I will slit your throat.”

Trembling, Ivan staggered forward and gripped the closest horse’s harness, working it loose. I winced as the animal whinnied.