| General Fiction posted September 28, 2025 | Chapters: |
...26 27 -28- 29... 
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The Dancer
A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate
Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 28
by tfawcus
| Background The scene is war-torn Ukraine. Dmitri is currently in Kyiv. He's desperately trying to rejoin Leila, whom he thinks is in Turkiye. However, she has just turned up in Velinkra, pursued by her father. |
After breakfast, Leila was again thwarted in her intention to explore the house, for Elena appeared on the scene. She was relieved to see Leila, having feared the worst when she found her bed empty.
It must have shown on her face, because Leila smiled at her sweetly and said, ‘Good morning! Here I am, safe and sound. No one carried me off in the middle of the night.’
Elena did her best to ignore her, but Leila continued, saying, ‘I hope you didn't lie awake all night defending my virtue.'
‘Don't be so silly, child. It's no laughing matter. Major Kolt is a dangerous man.'
Pavla, who had appeared in the doorway, couldn't resist adding to the tease. Elena could be such a worrywart at times. ‘Handsome, too, don't you think?'
However, seeing the look on her friend's face, she quickly added, ‘But you needn't worry. He's taken. Besides, he's gone riding and won't be back before lunchtime. He told me he was going to Moreniv to enquire after Leila's father. So, not quite the monster you imagine.’
Leila glanced from one to the other uneasily. She didn't like the idea of them falling out, particularly as she was the cause of it. 'I'm sorry, Elena. I was only teasing. I know you have my best interests at heart.’
Pavla, too, sought to pacify her friend. ‘Anyway, you needn't worry for much longer. Andriy is setting off this evening for the night train to Kyiv. Transport between there and the front is apparently in chaos, and he wants to ensure he gets back to his unit on time.’
‘So,’ Leila said brightly, ‘what are you two up to this morning?’
Elena, somewhat mollified and feeling a little foolish, said, ‘I had hoped to drop in at the clinic. There are some new arrivals due.’ Then, in an attempt to prove them both wrong, she went on to say, ‘If you’re sure Andriy won’t be back before lunchtime, I think I can risk it.’
Leila tried to keep a straight face, but a fit of giggles bubbled beneath the façade, and Pavla only just managed to save the day by saying, ‘Then I shall come with you, my dear. If the two of us work together, I’m sure we can accomplish whatever needs to be done before Andriy returns.’
Unable to contain herself, Leila said, ‘Have fun, won’t you? And you needn’t worry. If the monster returns early, Fedir can set the dogs on him, and I dare say Ocky is pretty handy with the rolling pin if reinforcements are needed.’
‘Take no notice of her, dear,’ Pavla said. ‘She's incorrigible, but she'll be quite safe.’
‘I hope she will,’ Elena replied, and turning to Mrs Kovalchuk, she added, ‘You have my permission to use that rolling pin on her if she misbehaves.’
***
Once the two ladies had left, Ocky reached up for a wicker basket on top of a kitchen cupboard. ‘I’m off to Velinkra for some supplies. I’ll be back before lunch.’
Leila turned to Fedir and said, ‘Would it be all right if I had a bit of a look round? I promise not to touch anything.’
‘You do as you please, missy.’ He hesitated, torn between duty and pleasure. ‘I can show you around if you like.’
He was mightily relieved when she replied, ‘No, thank you. I’d rather just mosey about on my own.’
‘Then, if you’re sure you’ll be all right, I’ll be off for a spot of fishing before the master returns. See if I can tickle a few trout.’
A bizarre picture flashed through Leila’s mind of Fedir lying on his belly, trying to make trout laugh. ‘There’s no need to hurry back. Be sure to return with something tasty for dinner. Some trout with smiles on their faces, perhaps.’ As an afterthought, she called after him, ‘Watch out for bears!’
She stood for a moment, listening to Fedir's departing footsteps and the faint slam of a stable door as he shut the dogs in. The great house subsided into silence, the silence of a mausoleum alone with its ghosts. The stillness unnerved her, and for a moment, she had a compelling urge to follow Fedir out into the sunshine and sit in the shade of the linden trees, listening to the swirl of the river, but no, the old house held a fascination she could not resist.
Somewhere deep within, she heard the heartbeat of a grandfather clock. She gave a little twirl on the flagstones and set off down the passageway, like a child playing at being the mistress of the house.
She paused at the foot of the staircase, gazing up at stuffed heads mounted on the dark, oak panelling, wolves and boars bursting through the walls with mouths agape. Their unblinking amber eyes stared down at her. She shook off the fancy and skirted round them into the drawing room.
Heavy brocade curtains kept this room in semi-darkness. She pulled one aside and was startled by the shaft of light that flooded in, revealing a grand piano in the corner. A scattering of old sheet music lay on its lid, an assortment of military marches mainly. A book of Strauss waltzes was propped up on the music rack, open at "The Blue Danube". She plinked a few tentative notes, surprised at how resonant they sounded in the big room, then, with a series of slow pirouettes, she flowed into the dining room, the scene of Dmitri’s debacle.
Silver candlesticks stood like sentinels, and a huge painting of a cavalry charge hung above the mantel. Horses reared, sabres flashed, and faces were twisted, either in triumph or terror. She studied them intently. One figure caught her eye. It was of a young rider tumbling backwards, his face frozen in anguish. Something in the features recalled Dmitri, and she stepped away in horror.
Her heartbeat quickened. She cursed her father for snatching away her phone in Kyiv, but there were other ways Dmitri could reach her. He had spoken to Elena only two days before. Perhaps even now a message waited on her landline in the lodge. The thought sent her pulse racing. But her father was still at large; the danger had not passed. She clung to Pavla’s assurance that Andriy had ridden to Moreniv to make enquiries. If anyone could track him down, it was the gallant major.
With that thought in mind, she turned into a side corridor, its walls lined with scenes of huntsmen bearing down on their quarry. At the far end, a door led into a library lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. An acrid aroma of wild chrysanthemums wafted through a casement window, overlaying the scent of leather bindings. Leila shivered and hastened across the room to shut out their sombre symbolism. Display cases of medals and medieval weaponry lent an air of masculinity, and a map of the Carpathians hung above an oak desk littered with correspondence.
This was a private space. She felt like an intruder and passed swiftly through an archway into the room that Andriy had called his study, though in truth it was more like a den, a place for informal relaxation and the pursuit of leisure.
She stood staring at the painting above the fireplace, the graceful abandon of fairy dancers that had so transfixed her the night before. Her headscarf lay on the arm of a chair, and beside it, a more luxurious one of diaphanous silk swirled in shades of violet and rose. She took it on her arm and stroked it lovingly. Was this to be a gift? An apology for not returning hers sooner?
Her eyes were drawn back to the picture, to Oberon and Titania in the shadows, and to Puck, his arms raised akimbo with a look on his face that seemed to whisper, ‘I dare you.’
She unfurled the scarf and let it stream from her fingers like a banner, as she circled before the painting. The fairy dancers seemed to whirl faster, their limbs lithe and ethereal, and she imagined herself drawn among them, free from time and care. She held the scarf aloft and began to move, at first with tentative gestures and then with bolder, sinuous steps, the scarf twisting like flame in her hand.
She twirled, the scarf trailing about her shoulders, then she turned. On the opposite wall, a portrait of Major Kolt looked down on her, resplendent in full military regalia. He wore a sardonic smile that seemed to be directed at her. Deliberately or unconsciously, she turned her private ballet into an act of flirtation. Her dance built in intensity, her body and scarf a living echo of the wild, fairyland dancers. She finished with an extravagant curtsey.
A sound broke the silence. A single clap. Then another. And a third.
Leila spun around.
The major stood framed in the doorway with his riding jacket unbuttoned and flushed from his ride. His eyes lingered on her with that same sardonic amusement borne by his painted likeness. She froze.
Although fully clothed, she felt naked. His eyes held her as firmly as a hand on her wrist.
‘Well, well,’ he said, his voice low and deliberate.
Leila’s breath caught. She clutched the scarf to her breast as though it might shield her, but his gaze made the gesture feel almost coquettish.
‘Forgive me. I thought you were still out riding. You startled me.’
‘Did I? I could hardly look away.’ He came a few paces into the room, circling her as though inspecting a performance from every angle. ‘You have a gift, Leila. Don’t waste it.’
‘I was only—'
‘Only dancing,’ he said, finishing the sentence for her. ‘Yes. And quite beautifully. That scarf suits you better than your own, don’t you think?’ He gestured toward it with a faint smile. ‘Keep it. It is yours now. But only if you promise to dance for me again.’
Her pulse quickened. ‘You mean—?’
‘I should like to see this dance another time. When I can sit properly and enjoy the performance.’ He tilted his head, and his tone was teasing but edged with command.
Leila lowered her eyes. She felt heat rise in her cheeks, a dangerous thrill mingled with something heavier: the shadow of another time, another man, when the dance had been demanded as tribute, not as art.
Yet how different this was. The major was no lugubrious voyeur, no leering effendi in Ankara. He was handsome, virile, and gallant, even in mockery. The applause of such a man was intoxicating.
‘Alas, you will have to postpone your encore until I return. Duty calls. I leave for Kyiv this evening.’ He straightened, his eyes catching hers. ‘But when I return …’
Leila tried to laugh, but the sound faltered. She stood with the scarf trailing from her hand, caught in no-man’s-land between fairyland and the reality confronting her.
Andriy turned on his heel and was gone, the echo of his boots retreating down the corridor. For a long while, Leila stood motionless, as if the air he had left behind still pressed against her skin. Only when the house settled again into silence did she breathe out and let the scarf fall loose in her hands. Her knees quivered as though she had danced half the night away.
Crossing to the painting, she traced the swirl of dancers with her eyes. How light they were, how free, as though no gaze could ever bind them. For a moment, she imagined herself among them, hair flying, scarf lifted like wings. Then the image of the effendi intruded, his heavy-lidded stare, his pleasure at seeing her spin naked in his private chamber. The memory stung her like a lash.
‘No,’ she whispered fiercely, clutching the scarf. ‘It isn’t the same. It isn’t.’
She closed her eyes and saw the major’s smile again, his applause, and his mocking bow. So close to danger, yet so different from Ankara. A soldier and a hero, not a shadowy voyeur. The thought thrilled her and terrified her.
She folded the scarf carefully and laid it back on the chair where she had found it. Yet her fingers lingered on the fabric, reluctant to let go. She told herself not to be such a fool, picked up her own scarf, and wrapped it around her head like a hijab, disappearing into its folds with a mixture of modesty and shame.
The house seemed altered now, every room touched by the memory of his eyes upon her. She hugged her arms around herself as though trying to shut the moment out. What could she have been thinking? She drifted from the study as if sleepwalking, one hand skimming the panelled wall for balance. The hush of the house seemed almost accusatory.
Back in the kitchen, the scent of fresh bread and herbs steadied her. Sunlight slanted through the small windows, catching the copper pans on the wall, turning them briefly to shields of fire. She pressed her palms flat against the table, as if to steady herself. How she yearned for someone who might make her feel safe again. The kitchen stood silent around her. She poured a glass of water and drank it slowly, the coolness calming her throat. Then she curled into a chair and pulled her knees up, resting her chin on them and waited for the sound of Elena and Pavla’s return. She longed for the safe hum of voices to scatter the shadows and bring her back from the brink.
In the meantime, she sat listening to the beating of her heart.
 Recognized |
Main Characters:
Dmitri Zahir, a teenage boy trying to reach the love of his life.
Mira Zahir, his twin sister, who was killed in a bomb attack.
Elena Prishtina, a volunteer carer who looked after Dmitri during his recovery from catatonia.
Leila Haddad, a Syrian girl Dmitri fell in love with.
Pavla Miret, an art teacher who gave Dmitri lessons.
Andriy Kolt, an army major.
Image: Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing. William Blake. c.1786 (A Public Domain work of art)
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Dmitri Zahir, a teenage boy trying to reach the love of his life.
Mira Zahir, his twin sister, who was killed in a bomb attack.
Elena Prishtina, a volunteer carer who looked after Dmitri during his recovery from catatonia.
Leila Haddad, a Syrian girl Dmitri fell in love with.
Pavla Miret, an art teacher who gave Dmitri lessons.
Andriy Kolt, an army major.
Image: Oberon, Titania and Puck with Fairies Dancing. William Blake. c.1786 (A Public Domain work of art)
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