Wasn’t he there?’
‘No. They hadn’t seen him.’
It was strange. She had assumed he would be with the others. Now she felt a trace of anxiety. Again she called to her mother-in-law.
‘Little Kiy isn’t at home. Let me go and find him.’
But the older woman only looked at her with mild contempt.
‘Children always disappear. He’ll come back soon enough.’ And then with more malice: ‘Let your brother look for him. He’s got nothing to do.’
Lebed bowed her head sadly.
‘Go to the river, Mal. See if he’s there,’ she said. And this time she saw that he walked more quickly.
The work went on steadily. Soon, she knew, it would be time to stop and rest. She suspected that her mother-in-law was keeping them at it for longer so as to have an excuse to stop her leaving. She looked up from her work to the long horizon. Now it seemed almost to mock her, to remind her as brutally as her mother-in-law: ‘There is nothing you can do – the gods have already ordered all things as they are destined to be.’ She bent down again.
This time Mal came back in only a few minutes. He looked worried.
‘He didn’t go to the river.’
‘How do you know?’
He had met the old man he went hunting with, he told her, who had been at the river bank all morning. The old man would surely have seen the little boy if he had come by.
She felt a stab of fear.
‘I think he’s gone into the forest,’ Mal said.
The forest. He had never wandered there before, except with her. She gazed at her brother.
‘Why?’
He looked embarrassed.
‘I don’t know.’
Obviously he was lying, but she knew better than to cross-examine him about his reasons.
‘Which way would he have gone?’
Mal considered. He remembered his foolish words to the little boy that morning: ‘To the east. Far to the east. I can be there in a day.’
‘He’s probably gone east,’ He blushed. ‘I don’t know where.’
She looked at him scornfully.
‘Here, take this.’ She thrust the sickle into his hand. ‘Cut!’ she ordered.
‘But this is women’s work,’ he protested.
‘Work, fool,’ she shouted at him, and strode towards her mother-in-law, while the other women, watching the scene, burst into laughter. ‘Let me go and find Little Kiy,’ she begged once more, ‘my brother has sent him into the woods.’
Her mother-in-law did not at first look at her, but glanced across at the meadow. The men had stopped work there and several, including Lebed’s husband and the village elder, were walking towards them.
‘Time to rest,’ she called to the women, and then, curtly to Lebed: ‘You can go.’
As her husband and the elder arrived, Lebed told them briefly what had happened. The elder was a large, grey-bearded man with small impatient eyes. He showed little interest. But her husband’s softer face creased into a look of gentle concern. He glanced at the elder.
‘Should I go too?’
‘The boy will turn up. He won’t have gone far. Let her find him.’ His tone was bored.
She saw the flicker of relief pass across her husband’s face. She understood. He had other wives and other children to worry about.
‘I will go now,’ she said quietly.
‘If you’re not back when we start work again, I’ll come after you,’ her husband promised with a smile.
She nodded, and went upon her way.
How pleasant the woods seemed, how friendly. Above, in the brilliant blue sky, billowing white clouds passed from time to time, gleaming in the reflection of the late morning sun. They came from the east, over the green forest, from who knew what parched and endless steppes. By the forest’s edge where the little boy walked, the wind passed softly over the tall grass, making it whisper. Half a dozen cows grazed there in the dappled shade.
It was already some time since Kiy had slipped away from the old women. Now he made his way happily along the familiar path that led into the woods. He had no sense of danger.
All morning he had brooded about the bear cub. His Uncle Mal knew where it was – in the magical kingdom far to the east. And had he not said he could reach it in a day? But somehow, young as he was, Kiy knew his uncle would not go. And the more he thought about it, the more it had seemed to the little boy that he knew what to do.
As the long morning grew warmer, the field where the women worked had begun to shimmer in the heat. He had wandered to and fro, apparently listless, until at last, as though in a daze and guided by an invisible hand, he had found himself drifting towards the woods.
He knew the way. East meant away from the river, along the track where his mother and the women came to pick mushrooms. At summer’s end they would come this way again, to pick berries. East was where the white clouds were coming from.
He did not know how far it was, but if his uncle could get there in a day then so could he.
Or two days anyway, he thought bravely.
And so, dressed in a white smock with a cloth belt, little bast shoes, and still clutching a wisp of barley he had picked from the field, the chubby young fellow made his way along the path into the pine trees with dreamlike determination.
It was about a quarter of a mile to the series of small glades where the women went to pick mushrooms. More than a dozen varieties could be found there, clustered in the deep shadows, and he smiled with pleasure as he reached the place. He had never been beyond the spot before, but he pressed on with confidence.
The narrow path led down a slope, sometimes over pine needles, sometimes over gnarled roots, then up again into a coppice. He noticed that there were fewer pines now, amongst the oaks and beeches, but saw more ash trees. Squirrels watched him cautiously from the trees. One, by the path, seemed about to bound away, but changed its mind and instead sat alertly, crackling a husk between its teeth as he went by. After a little, the coppice thinned. Everything seemed very quiet. The path was grassy here. A few hundred yards more and it led to the right, then turned to the left. Another clump of pines appeared.
Little Kiy felt happy. He was still excited by this adventure into an unknown land.
He had wandered over half a mile when the path led into a thick screen of trees and became narrower. He pressed on: the trees closed in upon him. There was a faint, peaty smell.
And suddenly, right beside him, was a dark pool.
It was not large – about ten yards across and thirty long. Its surface was still, protected by the trees which concealed it. While he looked, though, a little gust of wind stirred a faint ripple on the surface. The ripple came towards him and lapped, with scarcely a sound, against the dark earth and clumps of fern by the water’s edge.
He knew what it meant. He looked at the pond, and all about him cautiously.
That was the saying the people of the hamlet used. There were sure to be water maidens – rusalki – in there, and if you were not careful they would come out and tickle you to death. ‘So don’t ever let the rusalki get you, Little Kiy,’ his mother had warned him, laughing. ‘You’re so ticklish they’d finish you off in no time!’
Keeping an eye carefully on the surface of the water, the little boy moved round the edge of the dangerous pool, and was glad when the path led him away from it. Soon the trees opened out into an oak grove. The path wound through them until it came to a large empty clearing. Tall grasses moved gently. On the right was a stand of silver birch. Kiy paused.
How quiet it was. Above, the blue sky was empty, silent. Which way should he go?
He waited a few minutes until a cloud drifted soundlessly above the clearing. He watched carefully, to make sure of its path.