Polar (Prequel): The Turnagain Arm (5 page)

But Vasyl knew what he had to do and he had no problem doing it alone. He turned away from the bar and headed upstairs, walking as softly as possible so as not to wake his wife.

Instead of retiring to bed himself, Vasyl opened the small battered trunk that had been with him since he’d first left his Ukrainian home and started work on the Russian railroad. He’d never let anyone rummage through the trunk, not even his beloved Lara. What he carried in it would mean nothing to anyone but him.

He opened the trunk and pulled aside the old threadbare blanket that covered the items inside it. As he knew he would, he found his books underneath the blanket. The grimoire his father Havryil had given him to teach him about the Dzubenko family magic spells and the ancient texts that outlined the creatures of the dark that their magic was intended to fight. As the first-born male of his generation, Vasyl had been entitled to the grimoire and all the power within it as soon as he’d come of age.

The sight of the books brought back memories Vasyl had long sought to block from his consciousness. He had been an arrogant young man when he’d first learned of the family magic and he couldn’t wait to embrace his birthright. He’d even had visions of using his magic to lead his people against the Russians and drive the invaders out of his beloved Ukraine forever.

Euphoric about the possibilities that came with his gift, Vasyl’s had ignored his father’s warnings about the responsibilities that came along with it as well. He had brushed off his father’s insistence that magic was only to be used for good except in the most dire of circumstances, and that any use of black magic must have the consent of the entire Dzubenko family. When Vasyl’s father had insisted that these rules were for his own good and that he was much too young to understand the horrors black magic could bring about the words fell on deaf ears.

As far as Vasyl was concerned, he may not have known about the so-called horrors of black magic, but he knew plenty about the horrors of Russia. If he could use his magic to take his homeland back from the Russian invaders he was damn well going to do it. Frankly, he couldn’t believe his family hadn’t thought about this themselves. They all hated the Russians as much as he did. Everyone in the Ukraine did, he was sure of it. Vasyl could be a hero for all time, his story and his name memorialized in stories and songs for generations to come.

He had delved into the grimoire with fascination and quickly mastered the simple spells intended for good. He knew the black magic spells would take longer to master, but he threw himself into the work whenever he had a spare second. Soon enough, he knew revenge spells and death curses and terror spells that could bring spiritual and mental trauma to his enemies. He lapped it all up, but realized he didn’t know what power was until he learned about the spell that allowed him to create fire from thin air.

Vasyl couldn’t wait to try out his newly discovered fire spell. He’d run into his family’s barn and shouted out the words he knew would bring fire. As the power washed over him, he felt the heat that told him the flames were coming. Caught up in the spell, he kept his eyes closed as he shouted. Vasyl didn’t realize his little sister Dariya, a child of only 12, had snuck into the barn behind him.

But then he heard her scream. Vasyl jumped and dropped his grimoire into the hay. He spun around to find his sister on fire. Her screams penetrated the walls of the barn as flames jumped from her arms to her chest. Vasyl pulled off his coat and jumped onto Dariya to smother the flames. He prayed for the fire to stop, no longer remembering what he was supposed to do to end the spell.

Vasyl’s parents came running into the barn just as Vasyl managed to smother the last remaining flames with his now charred coat. Dariya lost consciousness and fell to the ground.

While Vasyl’s mother Lilia did all she could to nurse her daughter back to health, it was clear the pretty and charming young Dariya would be scarred for life. Her arms and face were swollen and covered with blisters, and she cried in pain for weeks after the accident.

Vasyl begged for forgiveness from his family, and had received it, but he couldn’t forgive himself and he couldn’t live with the shame of what he had done. He knew he’d never be able to face his sister again. He also couldn’t live with the fact that he had endangered his family with the Russian authorities.

As Havryil had explained to him when he’d entrusted him with the grimoire, his family had needed to keep their magic secret for centuries, ever since the Russian authorities began targeting male witches they believed could be using magic to stir up the serfs and threaten the system of social hierarchy. Now, while the Dzubenkos had sworn the fire in the barn was an accident brought on when Vasyl had accidentally kicked over a candle, gossip swirled around the village that the long-rumored Dzubenko magic was actually to blame. If the Dzubenkos were caught practicing magic all of the males in the family could be arrested or worse.

As a result, Vasyl knew he had no choice but to leave his family and take the suspicion with him. He’d packed up his trunk and left to work on the Russian railroad. To his eternal shame, he’d been too much of a coward to say goodbye to Dariya while she was awake. He’d merely snuck into her bedroom while she slept and whispered an apology as he kissed her forehead.

Vasyl hadn’t used any magic since that terrible day in his family’s barn. But he knew he could still do it. And he knew he could even still do the black magic if it was necessary. A grown man now with decades of life experience under his belt, Vasyl would no longer fall prey to the youthful arrogance that had once doomed his magic. The spells would be fully under his control now. And he would perform them the correct way.

In spite of his magical heritage, Vasyl was a practical man at heart. But he still knew that there were things in this world that couldn’t be dealt with by practical means. And in his heart he was sure that Aleksei Nechayev was one of those things. He’d be glad to be wrong, and he actually hoped that his wife and the rest of the camp residents were right about Aleksei. But he wanted to be prepared if that wasn’t the case. He had no intention of making a mistake with magic again. This time, he’d do everything right.

Aleksei watched from the trees as the two security guards patrolled the area outside of the Turnagain Arm saloon. He had bid them a friendly goodnight just a few minutes earlier when he’d closed down for the night, but there was nothing friendly about his plans now. Aleksei was hungry and wanted nothing more than to drain both of the guards and satiate his hunger while also letting them know how useless their pretend soldiering was. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head as he watched them strutting about like peacocks. But while that course of action would feed him for the night, it would ultimately be short-sighted. And much less fun than what he had planned.

He had barely kept his composure while listening to Dzubenko blame the recent disappearances on bear attacks. It had been so difficult not to burst out laughing in his employer’s face. But he knew that the grizzly bear explanation had brought some semblance of comfort to the workers. It was much easier for them to come to terms with an angry wild bear than a murderer on the loose.

Imagining how they could come to terms with the murder of their guards by someone who was clearly not a bear made Aleksei smile from ear to ear. As much as he wanted to bite the guards and drain them, bite marks of any kind would spoil his fun. They would also spoil his plans for Vasyl Dzubenko. Aleksei knew he had made a rare mistake when speaking with Dzubenko earlier, and it had not gone unnoticed by his employer. The man was one of the few intelligent people in this camp, he’d give him that much. And he also felt sure that Dzubenko was different in ways beyond just his intellect. Aleksei could sense it. So if he had to deal with Dzubenko, he might as well lay the groundwork for that now. Truth be told, the idea of that merely added to his amusement.

Aleksei fingered the butcher knife he had stolen from the Turnagain Arm kitchen and stepped out of the trees.

One of the guards immediately snapped to attention and pointed his rifle at the sound of footsteps coming towards him.

“Who’s there? State your business.”

Aleksei walked into the light of the lanterns the guards held in front of them with his hands palms out in front of him.

“Don’t shoot,” he said. “It’s just me.”

The guards both relaxed and let their weapons hang loose at their sides.

“Aleksei? What are you doing back? Did you forget something in the saloon?”

“No, no, I just wanted to show you men something. I’m afraid it looks suspicious.” He gestured towards the woods next to the camp. “Over here in the trees.”

The men walked towards him, reminding Aleksei of the livestock that walked calmly to their deaths on his grandparents’ farm back home. Lambs to the slaughter…

“What is it?” one of the guards asked.

“It’s this,” Aleksei said, raising the butcher knife. “It’s me.”

The men stopped in their tracks, their puzzled expressions quickly giving way to fear. They reached for their guns but were much too slow.

Aleksei stabbed the first guard in the gut with lightning speed. Before the other guard could react, he pulled the knife out and buried it in the second man’s stomach.

“I hope you don’t take this personally, gentlemen,” Aleksei said. “I know it’s not your fault Mr. Dzubenko had you sent here. But to put it simply, you’re in my way. You should be glad at least I’m disposing of you quickly.”

As both men grabbed their stomachs and stumbled to their knees, Aleksei grabbed the first guard’s neck and snapped it. The man crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.

“You’re next, my friend.”

Aleksei made similar work of the second guard and yanked the knife from the dead man’s stomach. He held it up and longed to lick the blood that dripped from its blade. Unable to stop himself, he let a few drops fall on his tongue before he tossed the knife next to the bodies of the guards.

He let out a bark of laughter as he looked at the carnage at his feet. How he wished he could watch from the trees when the camp came to life with the morning sun and the workers saw the condition of the guards who had been sent to keep them safe. Alas, he’d have to be content with hearing about it once nightfall returned.

For now, his hunger had become overpowering. He longed to enter the barracks and make an easy kill, but that would never do now. He returned to the trees and headed away from the Potter Creek camp in search of new prey.

Lara woke to the sound of a scream. She sat straight up in bed and clutched her heavy wool blanket to her chest.

“Vasyl,” she whispered. “Vasyl, did you hear that?”

Her husband stirred next to her. “What?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. A second scream instantly banished the sleep and forced him awake.

Vasyl leaped from the bed and grabbed the gun he kept in the trunk next to it.

“What’s happening?” he asked, glancing around the room as he tried to orient himself.

“It’s coming from outside,” Lara said. “Someone is screaming.” She got out of bed and pulled her thick cloak around her.

“You stay here,” Vasyl said. “Let me go see what’s going on. One of the workers probably got too rough with a whore.”

Lara nodded as her husband climbed down the ladder that led to their saloon. But she knew the explanation would not be that simple. The screams they’d heard had been filled with pure terror. Frightened and unable to contain her curiosity, Lara grabbed her own gun from the bedside trunk and followed her husband down the ladder.

“Damn you, Lara, you don’t need to be involved in this.”

“Hush,” she hissed. “You don’t even know what it is we’re involved in. I’m not letting you go out there by yourself.”

Several more screams pierced the early morning air before Lara and Vasyl could get to the door of their saloon and cautiously make their way outside. What they saw when they did caused both of them to freeze in their tracks.

“Богоматір Пресвята Діва,” Vasyl whispered. He clutched his wife’s arm as they stood side by side and stared at the butchered bodies of the railroad security men.

Two prostitutes whose names Vasyl had long forgotten ran towards them.

“We were leaving the barracks and walking home when we saw them,” one of them yelled. “My God, what’s happened to them?!”

The screaming had brought several workers out of the barracks, causing the group around Vasyl and Lara to grow steadily.

The shocked silence on all sides slowly gave way to yells and calls for retribution.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

“This ain’t no bear attack!”

“I bet it’s one of them goddamn Indians doing this. What are they called, Aleuts??”

“Somebody go get the rail sheriff!”

“The hell with the sheriff. Boys we need to find who did this and take care of him ourselves. Enough is enough!”

As Vasyl stared at the bodies in front of him, the cacophony of hollers and screams faded and left behind a spine-tingling silence in his mind. He glanced at the tent where Aleksei slept, noting that the noise had now brought everyone in the camp out to the scene of the carnage. Everyone but Aleksei.

“I’m going to tell Aleksei we no longer need his services around here.”

Lara’s hands stopped beating the batter of the pancakes she was making for breakfast. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t want Aleksei around here anymore.”

Vasyl wanted to scream as he stared at his wife’s pale and fear-stricken face. She had been in a daze since the rail security officers had arrived and she and Vasyl had come inside the saloon. This was the last thing Vasyl wanted her to have to deal with.

“Do you think Aleksei did this?” Lara asked.

“I don’t know. But I know all this trouble started when he came here. I know you like the man but…”

Lara interrupted him. “No, I don’t know if I do or not now. I don’t know who to like or trust around here. Not after what we saw this morning.”