Konstantin folded the map. Not without going hundreds of miles to circle it, which would take many days. The mine we must reach on the far side of Lake
Karachay lies only twelve miles away if we cross here.
Monk stared down at the swampy valley. The river they'd floated down dumped over this last ridge and fed into the wide valley below. Many other creeks and streams did the same. In the slanted sunlight, waterfalls and cataracts shone like flows of quicksilver. But shadowed by the low mountains, the valley floor was all drowned forests and wide stretches of open black marshes rimmed by reeds and grasses. It would be difficult to cross, and once it got dark, it would be easy to get lost.
He sighed heavily. They had no choice but to cross the swamplands. He turned to where Kiska and Pyotr sat on a log. The kids still looked like a pair of half-drowned kittens. They had ridden the river for a quarter mile until the chill drove them to shore. Monk had them exit on the opposite side of the river from the hunting cats. The water should break their trail, and the river only grew wider the farther down the mountains it flowed. The tigers would have to brave a stiff river crossing to pick up their scent.
And for the past two hours, Pyotr had remained silent, plainly worried about
Marta. But at least the boy showed no panic, no sign he sensed the tigers nearby.
Once out of the water, Monk had everyone remove their clothes, twist them as dry as possible, and redress. The two-hour hike during the warmest part of the day had helped dry most of their clothes. But now they would get wet again, and the sun was setting. It would be a cold night.
But Konstantin was right. They had to keep moving for now. It was not safe to remain on solid ground with two tigers stalking these highland forests. The swamp would at least offer some shelter.
Monk picked a path down the steep ridge. He helped Pyotr, while Konstantin held his sister's hand. The two youngest children were fading fast. As a group, they sank out of the warmer sunlight and into the chillier shadows.
Trees grew heavier here, mostly pines and birches. But along the maze of creeks that flowed into the bog, willows draped with sullen shoulders, the tips of their branches sweeping the waters.
Monk headed out, forcing a path. The underbrush was a tangled mix of juniper bushes and berries. But the way grew clearer as the ground grew muddier. Soon they were stepping from moss clump to moss clump, which was not difficult, considering how well the mosses flourished here. The fuzzy green carpet covered rocky outcroppings and climbed up the white trunks of birches, as if trying to drag them beneath the earth.
Their pace began to slow, literally bogged down as the patches of stagnant water rose around them.
A piercing call drew Monk's eyes up. An eagle swept past with wings as wide as
Monk's outstretched arms.
Hunting.
It reminded Monk of the dangers behind them.
He increased their pace. For once, the small children seemed better suited for the terrain. Their lighter bodies floated over the sucking mud, whereas Monk had to watch each step or lose a boot.
For the next hour, they moved sluggishly, traversing less than a mile by Monk's calculation. He spotted snakes that slithered from their path and caught a flashing glimpse of a fox as it hopped from hillock to hillock and vanished.
Monk's ears strained for every noise. He heard things lumbering through the swamps. A heavy set of antlers marked the passage of a massive elk.
Before they knew it, they were ankle-deep in water, moving in a zigzagging pattern from island to island. The cold air smelled dank with algae and mold.
Insects buzzed with a continual white noise. The passage grew darker as the sun continued to fall behind the mountains.
Monk's steps slipped to a plodding pace.
Konstantin moved alongside Monk's flank. He still held Kiska's hand. The girl was nearly asleep on her feet.
Pyotr stuck close to Monk's hip. Monk had to hike the boy onto his shoulders whenever they crossed through deeper water.
Pyotr suddenly grabbed Monk's hand, clamping hard.
Something crashed through the trees, coming right at them.
Oh, no
Monk yelled, knowing what was coming. Go! Run!
Monk snatched up the boy, who struggled and cried out. Konstantin splashed away, his knees high, dragging his sister behind him. Monk's left foot sank to his calf. He tugged, but he could not free his limb. It was as if it had sunk into cement.
The rip and snap of branches aimed for them.
Monk tossed Pyotr ahead of him and twisted around to face the charge. He heard the boy splash into the water. But instead of running away, Pyotr scrabbled back to Monk.
No! Pyotr, go!
The boy continued past him as a large shadow leaped out of the trees and landed heavily into the water with a splash. Boy and shadow fell upon each other in a warm greeting.
Marta.
Monk fought the hammering in his heart. Pyotr, next time some warning. He wormed his foot slowly out of the muck.
The chimpanzee hugged the boy and lifted him bodily out of the shallow water.
Konstantin and Kiska splashed back to them. Marta let Pyotr go and gave each child a tight squeeze. She came next to Monk, arms up and wide. He bent down and accepted a hug from her, too. Her body was hot, her breath huffing in his ear.
He felt the tremble of exhaustion in her old body. He returned the hug, knowing how hard she must have fought to rejoin them.
As Monk straightened, he wondered how Marta had found them. He did understand how she had overtaken them. While they had slogged through mud and water, she had swept through the bog's trees, closing the distance. But still, how had she tracked them?
Monk stared back into the dark fen.
If she could follow them
Let's keep moving, he said and waved toward the heart of the swamps.
Together again, they traversed the swamplands. The reappearance of Marta invigorated the children, but the weight of the bog soon had them all heaving and struggling again. Konstantin drifted farther ahead. Pyotr hovered next to
Monk, while Marta kept mostly to the trees, swinging low, her toes skimming the waters.
Slowly, the sun vanished behind the mountains, leaving them in dark twilight.
Monk could barely make out Konstantin. Off to the left, an owl hooted in a long hollow note as full night threatened.
Konstantin called softly back to them out of a denser copse of willows, sounding urgent. An izba!
Monk didn't know what he meant, but it didn't sound good. Hauling after the boy,
Monk found the water growing less deep.
He pushed through a drape of willow branches and saw that one of the ubiquitous tiny islands rose ahead. But it wasn't empty. Atop the low hillock squatted a tiny cabin on short pylons. It was constructed of rough-hewn logs and topped by a moss-covered roof. The single window was dark. There was no sign of life. No smoke from the chimney.
Konstantin waited at the edge of the island among some tall reeds.
Monk joined him.
The tall boy pointed. A hunter's berth. Cabins like this are all over the mountains.
I'll check it out, Monk said. Stay here.
He climbed up onto the island and circled the cabin. It was small, with a chimney of stacked stone. Grasses grew as high as his waist. It didn't look as if anyone had been here in ages. There was a single window, shuttered closed from the inside. Monk spotted a short pier, empty of any boats. But a flat-bottomed punt a raft with a
