Smoke and Mirrors (16 page)

Only a couple of miles from the Zavrekestan border, just inside Russia, it was nevertheless isolated, at the side of a long, empty road you could never see the end of—which partly explained its popularity with the criminal fraternity. You could see police or border control coming for miles.

Rodion had always felt curiously safe here. Not because the owners of the inn or the men and women who frequented it were paragons of virtue. Just because no one ever asked any questions. You were well advised to hear and see nothing at the inn, and this suited Rodion just fine.

At the corner table in the deepest shadows of the bar, he noted that Anna and Ilya on the barstools were flirting with just a little too much conviction. None of his business, but he didn’t think it would be good for either of them.

In the dim light that only the most determined flatterer would call atmospheric, a dark figure detached itself from the crowd and slid onto the bench next to him. A dark, bearded man like the church’s representation of Jesus Christ. Except for the scars on one side of his face that the beard didn’t quite hide. Nikolai: rebel, smuggler, dissident, ally from his youth. And the most powerful healer he knew.

Rodion let the tension drain out of himself. He hadn’t expected to feel so relieved to see Nikolai.

“Setting your sights lower these days, my friend?” Nikolai murmured, setting down his beer.

“You mean talking to you?”

“I meant robbing this place. It’s not exactly the Bank of America.”

“Oh, I don’t know. A man who knew what to look for could probably clean up.”

“A man who didn’t value his health.
Za vashe zdarovye
.” Nikolai raised his beer glass, waiting.

With an effort, Rodion moved, picked up his own, and leaned forward into the light to clink glasses.

Nikolai’s face changed. “Fuck, Rodya, you look like shit.”

Rodion gave a twisted smile. It didn’t hurt anymore. “Well, I’m dead. Or hadn’t you heard?”

“I heard rumours which were, apparently, exaggerated. Though not by much.”

“Thanks. Can you help me?”

“Probably.”

“Before you agree…” Rodion looked at him squarely. “It was the Guardian. She brought in others to boost her. Not just the council by the strength of it, but as many of the gifted as she could sweep up.”

“I know. I was summoned too, but I was out.”

“If she discovers you helped me, she won’t be pleased.”

“I’ve never known that old bat to be pleased. Certainly not with me. Not since I told her she’d forgotten her true mission was helping humanity, not hiding a bunch of freaks.”

Rodion couldn’t help the painful laugh. “Nicely put. Though isn’t she meant to use us, your ‘freaks,’ to do the helping? We’ve all forgotten our ‘mission.’”

Nikolai shrugged. “Still. There’s a certain unique pleasure in pissing her off.”

“It’s not all pleasure,” Rodion said wryly. “Look, I can get by. My skin is more or less healed. The internal stuff will follow.”

“Too slowly for your purposes?”

“Something like that. But I can adapt, so I won’t cross you off my visiting list if you don’t want to do it.”

Nikolai looked at Rodion’s hand resting on the table, then covered it with his own. Rodion knew what he was doing: an examination more thorough than any doctor could achieve without a hell of a lot of expensive technology.

“You’re pretty fucked, aren’t you?” Nikolai observed.

“Your bedside manner really stinks.”

Nikolai ignored him. “If anyone knew you were still alive, you’d have not only the Bear after you for bailing on him and killing Marenko, but the Guardian and her council too. To say nothing of the civil and political police of Russia and Zavrekestan.”

“That’s why I’m dead.”

“No one’ll hear otherwise from me.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that. But if you don’t want to do the healing—”

“I don’t,” Nikolai interrupted. He took his hand away, and Rodion tried not to feel the disappointment he’d steeled himself so carefully against. His injuries were slowing him down, so painful that they impaired his mind, which was worse. He was close to the treasure. The warning he’d got out while chasing Marenko had inspired a massive watch among the gifted. The treasure had been tracked by the tiniest, weakest signals from Moscow, across Russia to Zavrekestan.

“Not because I’m scared of your impressive list of enemies,” Nikolai continued, “but because it’s going to fucking hurt. Sorry, Rodya.”

“It fucking hurts already,” Rodion said frankly.

“I know.”

It spoke volumes for Rodion’s weakness that the uncharacteristic pity in his old friend’s eyes made him want to cry. It also spoke volumes for the agony that was to come.

“Ready?” Nikolai asked.

“Hit me,” Rodion said. And Nikolai did.

Chapter Twelve

Nell’s uncle Pyotr and aunt Natalia lived in the capital city, Zavrek. They had an apartment in the suburbs full of kids and clutter and the comfort of family, if not of material possessions. The only other time she’d been here, she’d been staying at the university and only visited for dinner one night. She’d forgotten what it was like but now felt very quickly at home.

After a fun, informal, and very tasty dinner, Nell was shooed out of the kitchen by her aunt and cousins, who rejected out of hand all offers of washing up. “Not the day you arrive!” Natalia said firmly. “Maybe tomorrow. Go talk to your uncle.”

And so Nell found herself in the pleasant sitting room with a glass of some thick, sweet liqueur, sitting beside a warm, coal fire opposite a very relaxed Pyotr.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about dreams,” he said, rolling the liqueur around his mouth with an obvious if lethargic pleasure.

Nell had planned this bit, so it was easy to say, “I think some of my dreams might be prophetic. I’ve been refusing to believe this for years, but sometimes I’ve dreamed things that can’t really be explained any other way—even by the nonsense factor. My mother said your mother had them. And my dad told me you did too.”

Pyotr nodded. “It tends to run in families, though it can miss entire generations. None of my children seem to have the gift, and, as you know, your mother didn’t. It’s more than possible you do.”

Nell took a sip and let the liquid burn its way down her throat before she asked, “How do I deal with it? How do
you
deal with it?”

“Well…basically you just don’t fight it.”

“You mean I have to accept what I see? Because I can’t change it? Then what’s the point of the stupid gift?”

Pyotr smiled at her frustration. “You can’t change the moment you see in your dream. But your interpretation of it might change. Things in reality might not be the way you’re reading it in your dream. I suppose you can look on them as early warnings. But most of it, you can do nothing about.”

She looked into her glass for a long time, and then told him—the first time she’d really told anyone—about her dream of the dead bodies in the wrecked underground station, and its connection to the July bombings in London.

Pyotr nodded. “That was a major event. Rare for dreamers. Usually you’ll find there’s a connection between you and whoever or whatever you dream about. Did you know anyone who died in that attack?”

“No… Well, at least I didn’t think I did. Years later, I found out that someone I’d met just once—a friend of a friend of a friend—had been killed.”

“Well, there’s your connection.”

Nell frowned. “It’s a very random sort of a gift,” she said ruefully. “Can’t I channel it in some way?”

“Of course.” Pyotr sounded surprised. “Your dreams can be trained. Like the rest of your mind. Not completely, of course—the dreams
will
wander off course
some
times. But you can direct them by concentrating on whatever or whoever you want to know about. Touching helps.”

Well, that explained the dream about Rodion. She’d been forced to concentrate on him for several hours, and if she hadn’t touched him, he’d certainly touched her. Veering hastily away from that, she thought of her vague dream of the children in the attic. They didn’t have to be his siblings. She hadn’t touched them. But she’d touched their brother. Quite a lot.
And veer away again…

“Here, let’s try an experiment,” Pyotr said enthusiastically. He bent down, picked up a teddy bear from the floor, and threw it to her. “Tell me who you dream about tonight.”

****

She didn’t dream about one of the kids but of her eldest cousin, Sonya, receiving a scientific award of some kind at a big, posh ceremony in Zavrekestan. The details were hazy.

“Get into the habit of writing them down,” Pyotr advised. “Keep a notebook beside your bed, because, like ordinary dreams, the prophetic ones can lose important details very fast.” He grinned and ruffled her hair as if she’d been a good dog. “But the toy
is
Sonya’s, from when she was little, and I’m very glad she’ll do better than we expected!”

“Don’t
you
dream of your children?”

“Sometimes,” Pyotr said evasively, and she understood that it was hard for him to see into their future. He didn’t want to know and probably blanked much of it, as she’d been blanking the auras. He smiled again. “But I think your gift is stronger than mine. I’m not a great dreamer. However, I know someone who was. If you like, I’ll take you to visit her.”

“Where does she live?”

“In a village to the south. Very isolated. It has the highest proportion of the gifted in the country.”

Nell’s heart began to beat faster. It sounded like Rodion’s village. “Yes, please,” she said as calmly as she could. “If it’s the same village I’ve heard of, it’s very much on my list of places to see.”

****

It looked, disappointingly, like a lot of other villages they drove through on the way. Isolated, poor, mostly rickety old houses around a scattering of concrete monstrosities. But there were all the ordinary things you expected to see: people talking together, waving to each other across the street, gossiping in shops and outside a café, children playing in the streets…

Pyotr drove through the village and turned into a mud road toward the outskirts before stopping outside a small, spotlessly clean wooden cottage with a garden full of spring flowers and herbs.

Nell got out the car and followed her uncle to the front door. His knock was answered quickly by a silver-haired old lady in a dull grey dress and brightly coloured headscarf. Her wrinkled face broke into smiles. “Pyotr Vasilievich!” she greeted him. “How lovely to see you. Come in!”

“I was hoping you’d remember me,” Pyotr said deprecatingly as he stepped inside. “I’ve brought my niece, Yelena, to meet you.”

Nell walked into the cottage, which seemed to be just one room with various bits of it screened off with curtains or old-fashioned wooden screens with tapestry panels. A stove gave off a good heat as well as a pleasant, emotive scent of wood smoke.

Nell caught at her suddenly elusive breath. She had to grab the wall to steady herself, for a curtain was open, revealing the old lady’s double bed. This was the “cabin” of her dream, the ancient, sunken bed where Rodion made love to her.

“Are you all right?” the old lady said in concern, touching her wrist.

“I’m fine,” Nell said, straightening and trying to smile. “I’m sorry. I felt a bit shocked. I’ve seen your house in a dream.”

Three weeks ago, before she’d laid eyes on Rodion Kosar, she’d have died rather than utter those words. She certainly wouldn’t have believed them if a stranger had had the idiocy to say them to her. But the old lady only smiled as though pleased.

“I’m flattered,” she said, taking her hand. “Come, sit down and steady yourself. I’ve just made tea.”

She had a beautiful old samovar and china cups that looked as if they’d been in her family for generations. Despite that, Nell found herself relaxing. The old lady, who was introduced as Raissa Ivanova, didn’t seem remotely surprised, never mind offended, to be entertaining a stranger who picked her brains about dreams. Nell even wondered if she’d dreamed of her, although it seemed impolite to ask.

“I think Yelena is a strong dreamer,” Pyotr said with rather touching pride. “Certainly stronger than either myself or my mother. I wondered if you could teach her a bit more than I can about channelling her dreams.”

Raissa Ivanova nodded. “Of course.”

Pyotr set down his cup in the saucer and stood up. “Then I’ll leave you to it. When you’ve finished, Yelena, walk back down the main street to the café. I’ll wait for you there. Thank you, Raissa Ivanova—always a pleasure to see you again!”

“What a nice young man,” Raissa said with a faint trace of regret when he’d left. “My daughter wanted to marry him once, you know, but there, they both met other people. Now, before I show you a few techniques, let me ask you this—what do you want to use your dreams for?”

“Um… I don’t really know,” she stumbled. “I suppose I just don’t want to waste a gift.”

“You’re confused,” the old lady observed. “I sense a lot of turbulence, a lot of uncertainty in you.”

Nell nodded. “I’m a sceptic by nature. Part of me still doesn’t want to believe any of this is real.”

“You have to believe wholeheartedly to achieve wholehearted concentration,” Raissa warned.

Nell nodded. “I’m trying.”

The old lady moved her chair nearer to hers and looked into her eyes a little too closely to be comfortable. “So what changed your mind? What made you less—sceptical?”

Nell shifted position. She really didn’t want to go there. Certainly not with a stranger. But this was all about breaking down barriers, mostly her own self-assembled ones. She said, “I met someone who convinced me my dreams were prophetic. That there really are more things in heaven and earth than I’d ever even wanted to imagine.” She raised her gaze to Raissa’s. “In fact, I think he may have come from this village. Rodion Kosar.”

Something flashed in the old lady’s eyes. It might have been fear or triumph, or some weird combination of both.

“You know him?” Nell asked.

She nodded. “Of course I know him. He was born here. His family have always lived here. Until now.”

Nell swallowed. “Is he dead?” she asked steadily.

Raissa contemplated her hands, rubbed her fingers over the opposite knuckles. “He’s meant to be,” she said at last. “The Guardian lost patience with him. He was endangering us all with public use of his gift and was stopped.”

“He had reason. I think he had reason.”

She nodded. “Like most governments, the Guardian sees only the bigger picture. Never individual lives. Past heroism is forgotten all too quickly.”

“Saving his siblings?” Nell said quickly.

The old lady glanced at the door, then leaned closer to her. “He told you about that? It isn’t heroic if it isn’t done. I was referring to the past. That’s what he deserves the lenience for. When he saved all of us.”

Something closed around her heart, constricting and yet not unpleasant. She’d known there was so much good in him. She’d so wanted there to be… “Tell me?”

Raissa shrugged and sat back again. “During the war for independence from Russia, a troop of Russian soldiers rampaged through the village, looking for military prisoners. They found Andrei Fedorovich, Rodion’s father, wounded in his house and dragged him outside with his wife and children still clinging to him. He couldn’t run away, although his wife had begun to heal him—but the commander shot him anyway, and his wife, and then laughed as he rode off, leaving his men to rape and murder the rest of the family, and the rest of the village.”

Nell couldn’t take her eyes from the old lady. Her calmly spoken words produced horrific images in her mind, images that could never be as bad as the reality. “My God,” she whispered.

“It didn’t come to that,” Raissa assured her, “because Rodion simply set fire to the soldiers. I think he did it from sheer fury to the first man who laid a hand on Anna. And then it engulfed him. He’d seen his parents murdered, after all. As he thought. Turned out Lara, his mother, wasn’t dead, just wounded—she lived on four more years, married again, gave birth to the twins… Hardly the point. Rodion was only fourteen years old, but he knew what such men would do next. He ran after the soldiers, hurling fire until it caught the rampaging line. Their bravado vanished pretty quickly. They were soon fleeing before an unarmed boy. A boy who knew his duty. They were all guilty, out of control, from the commander down. Besides, having revealed what he could do, he had to kill them all. And he did, so quickly that the rest of us could only look on as if paralyzed.”

Fuck.
She didn’t say the word. She couldn’t speak. Raissa went on. “All except the Russian commander, who shot Rodion in the leg. Still, Rodion tried to go after him, but he’d no more energy left. He tried to do it with his fists… The commander made him a promise before he fled, that he’d find him some day, and then he rode off.”

Raissa smiled. “You might say Rodion saved us single-handed. And he’s still paying for it. That isn’t right.”

Nell frowned. “How is he paying for it?” But she thought she knew.

“The Russian commander became the crime lord known as the Bear. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

Nell nodded wordlessly. After a few moments, she dragged her hands through her hair. “This is all wrong.”

“That’s why it’s so important to hide our gifts. The Guardian’s acts are therefore understandable if harsh. If she didn’t think it right to save the village, maybe he should have left us to our fate.”

“That can’t be right either…” In a rush, Nell said, “I saw him burn up. He should have been dead, but there was no body.”

“The Guardian’s power would have left none.”

Oh no, please no…
“Then he really is dead?” What of the sex she was meant to have with him in this very room? It was all about interpretation, as Pyotr said. Perhaps she’d been dreaming of a dream, not of a real situation. Was that even possible?

“I don’t know,” Raissa said. “But if he isn’t, the Guardian will do her best to finish the job. None of us must lead her, or the Bear, to him. Her council—gifted humans who help her and carry out her wishes—is secret. No one knows who they are, so you have to be doubly careful. Plus, the Guardian could appear in your dreams, especially now that you’ve been here, and read them from your mind.”

Nell closed her eyes. “Oh God, I am
so
in over my head.”

“No,” Raissa Ivanova said unexpectedly. “You’ll cope. I was just voicing a well-meant reminder. The council and the other villagers here may help the Guardian through duty or fear, but Rodion Andreyevich will always hold a special place in their hearts. He saved us when she didn’t.”

Nell gazed into the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup and finally found the courage to ask the question she’d wanted to since she’d first arrived. “Is he here? In the village?”

Raissa shook her head. “This is the last place he’d come.”