Rafe and Roman sat in the dining car of the old passenger train as it moved swiftly eastward, baking under the overhead sun, which burned brightly through the windows. It was lunchtime and they were enjoying a fine Russian meal of borsch, greshka (buckwheat) and black bread. They had become fast friends during the eight-hour plane ride and the subsequent four hours they had been on the train. In another hour, they would be getting off the railway and traveling the rest of the distance by truck, another five hours. They were tired but in good spirits. A bottle of cheap vodka sat on the table between them, almost empty. The alcohol had enshrined their friendship and familial ties during the long lunch.
“Tell me about my parents, the Old Believers,” said Rafe, once they had finished half the bottle.
“Your mother was a very kind woman. She loved you very much. It broke her heart to leave your brother behind and then you in America. However, she took solace in the fact that at least you were safe. She came back for Vladimir. But then, as I said, your mother and father were arrested. I have been told they were tortured and killed in Lubyanka.”
“Why didn’t she take him when she left with me?”
“It was considered too dangerous to have such a young baby, who could cry at any moment. So, she let him grow for a year and then returned, never to be heard from again.”
“So how did Vladimir get to Siberia?”
“When the persecution became too intense, a large part of our community decided to move to exile on the eastern Siberian coast. They left one Sunday afternoon and I never saw them again. I have heard that they are happy there. There are not many people in the region, and that is exquisite for an Old Believer. The less people the better. However, their lives are very harsh. The climate is unforgivable. You cannot make a mistake in the winter. It will be your last. Since the Soviet Union is no more, the government has been paying the expenses for expatriates overseas who fled the persecutions to return to Russia and settle in Siberia. It’s a match made in heaven and has been very successful. Tens of thousands of Old Believers have returned to Mother Russia.”
“Does my brother know I exist?”
“Yes, he knows. However, he put that hope to the ground decades ago. It will be very interesting to see the two of you together.” Rafe turned to stare out the window of the train, the taiga passing by in a never-ending formless shape. The train rumbled on.
An hour later, Rafe and Roman left the railway to join a two-car convoy to make the final five-hour drive to Dersu, Siberia. The community was located on a small spit of land that reached its way as far as it could down the Chinese border with Russia, almost to North Korea, a few hundred miles north of Vladivostock. This was where the community of Old Believers had made their homestead. China was only ninety miles to the west. To the east lay the Sea of Japan. Around their compound, there was nothing but winter and the bush.
Dersu was named after the legendary Siberian hunter who was profiled in the book Dersu Uzala by Russian explorer Vladimir Arsenyev. Dersu was so in touch with nature that he saw plants and animals as equal to humans. He saved the lives of Arsenyev and his crew during a difficult expedition in the early twentieth century in Siberia and is immortalized in Russian folklore.
Rafe and Roman forded several rivers during the journey. Some they drove through with the vehicles, others they had to cross via a rusting barge. However, despite the rough terrain, five and a half hours later, the vehicles lumbered into Dersu.
The first thing Rafe noticed was the silence. The village was a collection of dark gray structures made of wood and other natural materials. Stove pipes belched white smoke and surrounded the compound in a strange mist. It was as if the houses weren't really there but hiding behind the gray, moist air. The only sound was the wind rustling through the upturned leaves in the trees. He got out of the truck.
Peering through the overturned snow fences, Rafe could see no sign of life. “Where are they?” he said to Roman as he turned back to face the truck. Roman shrugged his shoulders but then shouted, "There!"
He pointed down the makeshift road to a lone figure riding a bicycle out of the woods towards the compound. He had a long, gray beard and wore a Russian cap. His hand was raised in friendship. Rafe watched him approach.
“Is that Vladimir?” he asked Roman.
“I believe so but I am not sure,” Roman replied. Rafe walked forward and waved. The man waved back.
The reunion was somewhat awkward, although happy. Roman felt more emotion than anyone, as he had known the two brothers when they were young. Vladimir had no memory of his distant family. They slowly began to get to know each other as the time wore on.
An few hours later, they sat inside one of the ramshackle huts that comprised the small community, around an old, scarred, wooden table. Deep grooves from large knives cleaning fish crisscrossed the surface. Rafe and Roman sat across from Vladimir and another man from the village. The two men from Dersu were pensive, and foreboding washed across their faces. The mood had changed and there was no happiness, only tension and fear.
“Why are you here?” Vladimir asked. Rafe was somewhat taken aback. He had just found his long-lost brother that he didn’t even know he had, and the man was not happy.
“I’m here to find you and to meet you,” replied Rafe.
“No, you are not,” said Vladimir and stared into Rafe’s eyes for the truth. “Tell us why you are here.”
Rafe didn't reply for a long while, staring into Vladimir's eyes. “They have my daughter,” Rafe finally responded after a period of silence. He saw the fear and anxiety cross the Old Believers’ faces. Vladimir turned to Roman.
“And you brought him here? Do you know what you have done to us?”
“It was the right thing to do!” replied Roman.
"He is right," said the other man. "We are family." That seemed to calm Vladimir down somewhat.
“We should show him," Vladimir said.
“Yes, I agree we should show him," said the other man.
“And what he is up against,” added Vladimir. “Yes, he should know. It is time.” Vladimir stood and turned to Rafe. He spoke quietly. “Come with us,” he said authoritatively.
Rafe, Roman, and Vladimir walked out into the evening night. Without any competition, the millions of stars formed a blanket of light above them, twinkling down like diamonds raining down from the heavens. The night was warm and the air was still as death. Rafe marveled at the peace these people had found, so many miles from the rest of human civilization. There is a comfort here, a freedom that is pleasant, even though they don't have material things. They are free, free to be who they want to be, which is all they have ever wanted.
Night was fully developed now. They walked away from the small community of houses and went into the forest. Each of them carried a large flashlight that now burned bright. The darkness enveloped them as they penetrated the tree line. This is scary, thought Rafe.
Seemingly reading his mind, Vladimir spoke. "Don't worry, my brother, I've been in these woods at night for decades. There is nothing here that will hurt us, especially with the torches. All of the predators are long gone, since we have announced ourselves to the wilderness. They are more afraid of us than we are of them!" The three men walked on and on for an hour it seemed, the tree canopy growing thicker overhead.
Suddenly, the stars reappeared as they entered a large, cleared area, which had been hewn from the forest by human hands long ago. Trees now dotted the landscape, which obviously had not been inhabited for some time, decades at least. The forest was reclaiming its ownership. Wooden structures were sprinkled around the open area, their roofs slowly falling in and their walls buckling. Soon Rafe spotted a barbed wire fence, which ran the perimeter of the compound. It too was torn down in spots; only the outline of its maliciousness remained for the astute observer.
"What is this place?" asked Rafe incredulously.
"It's one of the old labor camps built by Stalin. It's a gulag," responded Vladimir. “Thousands of our Russian brothers and sisters died here, a long time ago.”
"Really? It's amazing, but why are you bringing me here in the dead of night? I don't get it."
"You will see," responded Roman. They kept walking and Rafe followed. They entered the old prison camp and soon were headed toward one of the main buildings. It looked like it had at one time been the commandant's residence. The main door had been broken in at some point long ago. The structure still seemed sturdy enough, and soon they were inside. Vladimir eventually found a doorway that led to a cellar of some type. Vladimir opened the door. There was a flight of stairs leading down into the darkness. Rafe followed the other two men as he started downwards, the boards creaking dangerously under their feet. Soon they were standing on a dirt floor in a small room. Stone bricks lined the walls, cut by slave hands years before. How many died to build this place? Rafe wondered. Vladimir was shining the light on the far wall, seemingly trying to find something.
"It's been a long time since I have been here. It is here somewhere."
"What?" asked Rafe.
"The door," he replied.
The door to what?
"Ah, here it is.” Vladimir pulled on one of the edges of a line of bricks in the wall. Part of the wall began to move. Rafe glanced at Roman and saw that his eyes were wide. He obviously had never been here before. Vladimir pulled harder, but he was having trouble with the opening in the wall. "Help me!" he said demandingly. "Don't just stand there!" Rafe and Roman moved to apply force to the edge of bricks as well. Slowly the outline of a stone door emerged in the wall as they pulled it towards them. A few minutes later, a dark outline of a tunnel became clear to Rafe as his eyes adjusted to peering into the darkness.
Vladimir spoke to both of them. "Don't be afraid, follow me." Rafe and Roman did as requested. They went about ten meters into the earthen tunnel, and then Vladimir stopped. He turned to his right and held up the lantern to another opening. They stepped inside the cavern hewn into the earth and supported with wooden beams. It was a Mythraic temple.
The design was the same. There were two long, stone slabs running down each wall with a long, stone bench connected to each one. There was old tableware strewn atop the tables, as if long ago there had been a feast. Across from the entrance was an altar. Above the altar was the image of a soldier atop a massive bull, stabbing a spear into the animal's side.
"I'll be damned!" exclaimed Rafe. "I don't understand. What is this doing here?"
Roman spoke up this time. "Our people have been fighting this evil for centuries, Sasha. It has been around a long time. It is an evil cult. A cult of destruction. A group of people who try to stop the advancement of civilization. As far as I know, they have been around throughout the ages, since the beginning of time. They worship in these temples. This is where they plan their evil activities."
"This is exactly the type of temple I have seen in Spain, Rome, all over Europe. Are you saying they had a part in the fall of the Roman Empire?"
"Yes," said Vladimir. "And many others, including our own. We moved our families here decades ago to get away from them. To get away from the persecution. But as you can see, we were not so lucky."
"But why would they want to persecute you? The Old Believers?"
Roman responded, "Because we represent order, civilization, religion, you name it. The cult influenced the tsars throughout history. And the Caesars before that. Tsar is the Russian word for Caesar, you understand. They influenced Peter the Great to distance Russia from the church, to distance Russia from her past, from Christianity and the idea of the third Holy Roman Empire."
"Yes, I am aware of that history," replied Rafe.
"And then the final coup de grace," replied Vladimir. "They got rid of the influence of the church altogether by encouraging the Soviet Revolution. The USSR was an evil empire, dedicated to destroying the church, the great Russian people, and the human spirit. The cult was at the apex of their power during those times. Look around you, this entire camp was built by thousands of slaves who came here to die. Their only crime was being an intellectual or having been denounced by some other citizen or even by their own children. Tell me that is not evil."
"So they were worshiping here in the gulag?"
"Yes, all over the Soviet Union. We were one small thing that was standing in their way. We were reminding Russia of her history. A history that was intertwined with the church, and Russia was on her way to greatness. The cult destroyed her and she has struggled to recover."
"It makes sense now. The temples, the rituals. But what do they want with me? Why do they have my daughter? I don't understand what they want from me!"
"Neither do I. However, we are worried. We are worried you have brought them here. We are worried they will come and destroy us and our community. They will destroy what we have built."
"We have to leave, Sasha," added Roman. "We are going to depart the day after tomorrow. After you've had a day to get to know your family. At least what's left of it. We will go back to Moscow. Then we will decide how to best find your daughter."
Rafe replied, "I thought you mentioned there was a patriarch here, instructing Vladimir on your traditions and history. I have not seen him."
"My teacher has moved on to another community. An Old Believer group in Alaska actually, which was part of Russia at one time you know. He is passing on the torch there. His work here is done. I am the patriarch now. I am leading my people," Vladimir announced.
"I look forward to getting to know you and my history, brother, but as I'm sure you can understand, I first must find my daughter."
"Yes, I understand. Let us go now back to the compound." Vladimir moved towards the stairs and began climbing.
Rafe lay sleeping in the comfortable bed, oblivious to the world around him. The sheets and blankets had a country, soft feel to them that brought more memories back of his childhood. It had been a long several days traveling to the Siberian village. His body needed the sleep badly, and he was in a deep REM state.
The bedroom he occupied was in Vladimir's rustic home. He had spent the day and dined with his family, getting to know them. They were a simple group of people but very kind and gracious. They had given him access to everything they had, and he was grateful. Vladimir's wife was young and attractive, even beneath her religious garments, as Russian girls tended to be. Her five-year-old daughter, Ksyusha reminded him very much of Clare. She had jumped in his lap when he sat down earlier in the evening, and they had become fast friends. She was enjoying having her Uncle Sasha around the house. Rafe slept happily and contently for the first time in weeks.
The first scream sounded like the wail of a mother cow who was bleating in sorrow. It was a deep, gurgling howl of a mother's emotional pain. The sound woke Rafe in an instant, but he was not sure what he had heard, or hadn't heard. The second scream was that of a small child. Rafe immediately sat up in bed and then dashed for his clothes. He ran out of the house into the night, now awash with sounds of horror.
He saw a hundred horsemen, dressed in white, hooded robes and carrying bright torches galloping through the compound. Many of them were armed with swords. They were dismounting in front of the cabins and pulling all of the residents out into the dark night. Then they torched the houses. Several of the men tried to stop them but were cut down by the sword, never to rise again. The women wailed and the children cried. Rafe wondered if he was living a nightmare. The scene was medieval, from the Dark Ages.
He caught a glimpse of the leader of the mounted marauders. It was the man he had met in Red Square. There was an evil grin on his face as he murdered men, women, and children alike, slashing them like stalks of corn at harvest. The flames licked into the black sky like Hell itself. They were killing all of them, all of the Old Believers.
Suddenly Rafe saw baby Ksyusha running out of her home toward him. Her parents lay dead on the ground behind her. Rafe ran to meet her; he wanted to scoop her into his arms and get her away from this evil. He desperately wanted to protect her, as he had not protected his own daughter. He was about halfway to her when the leader bore down on her with his horse. Before Rafe could catch her, the little girl was trampled by the giant steed. Rafe screamed in horror and grabbed a nearby post on the ground and swung at the man. Suddenly another rider jumped down behind him and hit him from behind with some type of weapon he was carrying. Rafe crumpled in blinding pain.
He awoke again to the flickering of fire, except this time he was standing. His arms and shoulders screamed for relief. His legs ached from the blow he had received to the back of the knees. He noticed ropes were wrapped around him. There was a foul stench in the air. Dawn was breaking over the horizon.
"You are awake! Good," he heard the man say behind him. Rafe looked around. The horsemen had dismounted and were piling the bodies of the Old Believers into a mound, which had been doused with gasoline and lit. The funeral pyre burned high and emitted an ungodly odor. Rafe saw his brother and his wife thrown onto the burning mound. His mind refused to accept what he was witnessing. Roman was nowhere to be seen, but Rafe was sure he was dead. Rafe realize he was tied to a fence pole that surrounded what was left of the community. The houses were all gone, mostly burnt to the ground. There was no one else alive.
Suddenly, the man from Red Square walked in front of him and stared him in the face, a few feet away. "You disappoint me. You have been trying to find out how to deceive me, trying to get the best of me." Rafe tried to talk but couldn't. His mind was still foggy, and his speech was not coming out right. "Don't worry, you will recover. Tomorrow you will be as good as new! Nothing is broken," the man said laughingly. "I can't say the same for the rest of these animals!" He pointed to the burning bodies. He turned back to Rafe and his voice became harsh, evil if you will. "You listen to me! You have thirty days to complete our bargain, or your daughter will meet the same fate as little Ksyusha! Do you understand me?"
"Yes," Rafe whispered.
"Good. I'm glad we have an understanding. You will continue to look for what I want you to find. Then we will talk again. At my discretion. And just so you have a good idea of what lies in wait for Clare, here is a reminder."
One of the white-robed horsemen walked in front of Rafe, carrying little Ksyusha's broken and bloodied body. He threw it onto the burning pile of flesh.
Rafe closed his eyes in horror, but not before looking into the horseman's eyes and realizing that this man too he recognized. Perhaps from where would come to him later. He passed out from pain, emotional and physical.