| General Fiction posted October 10, 2025 | Chapters: |
...28 29 -30- 31... 
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Unmoored
A chapter in the book Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate
Dmitri's Extraordinary Fate: 30
by tfawcus
| Background The scene is war-torn Ukraine. Dmitri is trying to rejoin Leila, whom he thinks is in Turkiye. However, unbeknownst to him, she has been pursued by her father to Velinkra, in the Carpathian Mountains. |
In the two days following Major Kolt’s return to the front line, Leila continued her exploration of Volchyn Manor. While wandering through its silent corridors, she had drifted into one of the bedrooms, where she found a Victorian dressing table covered with dust. Its cracked mirror fragmented her reflection in a way that made her feel uneasy, and she looked hurriedly away. A formidable lady with a hooked nose stared down from the wall, challenging her presence. It made her wonder what kind of austere upbringing Andriy must have endured living amongst such ghosts of the past. She felt like an intruder, but she would have been more scared if the old girl’s waspish waist and billowing skirt hadn’t made her look so much like a foundry bell.
Today, she intended to explore the attic, and her imagination of what treasures it might hold was enough to make her hurry her breakfast. Elena was to be out at the clinic all day, Pavla was holding art lessons in her studio, and she knew that Fedir and Ocky wouldn’t be in the least concerned about her activities. More out of politeness than interest, she asked Fedir what he intended to do with his day.
After grumbling about his daily chores, he said, ‘And on top of all that, Ocky wants me to go blackberrying down the Birch Road this morning. As if I haven’t enough to do.’
‘Quit your complaining, you old fraud. The walk will do you good, and you know there’s nothing you like better than a home-cooked cobbler.’
Leila said, ‘Yum! Me, too!’ before sailing out of the kitchen and leaving the pair to their verbal sparring.
As soon as she left, Ocky said, ‘Right. Down to the cellar with you. First job is to skin and gut Hrytsko’s deer.’
Fedir eyed his nemesis, standing with her hands on her hips, her grey hair drawn back into a tight bun, and a no-nonsense edge to her voice. He muttered, ‘I know who I’d like to skin and gut.’
‘What was that?’ Ocky flexed arms strengthened by years of kneading dough into submission.
‘Nothing, Ocky dear. Light of my life and fire of my loins.’
‘Pinching another of the Major’s sayings, eh? You should be so lucky. Now be off with you before I fetch the meataxe.’
Fedir bent forward, tugged at his hair, and blew her a kiss before disappearing down the cellar steps.
It was past nine o’clock when he set out along the Birch Road. He wished it really was for a pleasant morning’s blackberrying. He also wished he had Klym with him.
It took him less than twenty minutes to reach the place of the bear attack. There was no need to slide down the embankment to verify Hrytsko’s story. He could see all he needed from the bridle track. Enough, anyway, to convince the sergeant at Velinkra’s police post that it was he who had discovered the body.
***
‘You say you found him where?’ the sergeant exclaimed.
‘On the Birch Road. Just past the bend where the birches thin out. Looked like a bear had mauled him, I reckon. One arm ripped off, and dried blood all over the place. Not to mention flies. He must have been there a while. Ponged something awful.’
The sergeant pursed his lips. ‘I’d better take a statement, but you’ll have to wait until I’ve informed the Investigative Department in Morenev and the military commandant’s office. They’ll have to send people out to investigate. Bloody military, they stick their noses into everything now we’re under martial law.'
Fedir sighed. It sounded as if it was going to be a long day.
‘We have to secure the crime scene and check if the man is dead, and if there’s any sign of foul play. You’d better come with us, so we don’t waste time looking for the place.’
‘Check if he’s dead? That’s a laugh. You can smell him from fifty metres, what’s left of him. You won’t need me to show you where he is.’
The sergeant harrumphed and said, ‘Nonetheless, I must follow procedure.’
By mid-morning, he had arranged for a junior constable and a paramedic from the clinic to accompany them. All four clambered into a battered patrol car. The Birch Road wasn’t made for vehicular traffic, and they were thrown from one pothole to the next like nuts in Ocky's blender.
When they got there, battered and bruised, the paramedic bent down and searched the body. He found a wallet in the man’s jacket pocket, and inside it were the discharge papers for Cpl Karim Hadad from the 112th Brigade, stamped and dated a fortnight earlier. While the sergeant and his constable were cordoning the area with crime scene tape, Fedir stood to one side, a kerchief clamped to his nostrils with one hand and rubbing his backside with the other, all the while muttering imprecations about people who followed bloody procedure.
Later that day, the team from Morenev turned up: a criminal investigator, a forensic technician, a pathologist, and a soldier from the commandant’s office. However, by that time, Fedir had been sent on his way with strict instructions not to say anything until the formalities had been completed. Since the body belonged to a soldier, it would fall to the military to inform his next of kin. Fedir heaved a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to be the one to break the news. There was no telling how Miss Leila would take it, and he wasn’t a man properly equipped to deal with tears.
***
Because of the need for an autopsy and for Cpl Haddad’s discharge papers to be checked against the military registry, it was two more days before a death certificate could be issued. However, once the rusty wheels of wartime bureaucracy had finally finished turning, a military jeep pulled up outside Volchyn Manor. Two army officers climbed out, and Fedir opened the door to them.
‘Is Leila Haddad here?’
She appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m Leila,’ she said quietly.
The senior officer held his cap respectfully. ‘Miss Haddad, we’re sorry to bring this news. A man’s body was found two days ago, near the bend on Birch Road. His papers identified him as your father.’
Leila stared at him, unblinking. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, miss. The identification was clear. The remains are being kept at the district morgue for release to the next of kin.’
For a moment, she did not seem to understand. Elena reached for her arm, but Leila drew back.
‘How—how did he die?’
The younger officer hesitated. ‘Most likely a bear attack. There will be a full report.’
They asked her to sign a receipt of notification, then left.
Elena tried to speak, but Leila had already turned and gone inside. She climbed the stairs without looking back and retired to her bedroom in the East Tower, where she lay on her bed and closed her eyes. A kaleidoscope of childhood memories spun through her consciousness; the days in Syria before they had been dispossessed and driven out of the country; the happy days when her parents had still been in love. How distant it all now seemed. Yet, despite the way her father had treated her, he was still her father, and she mourned the death of what might have been. She lay as if in a dream, torn between conflicting emotions, until the evening shadows deepened.
At length, in an effort to still the swirling tide of her emotions, she reached for a book she had taken from Andriy’s library, The Book of the Pearl. It had caught her attention because of its rich illustrations and colour plates, and for a while her mind drifted among shells of iridescent nacre, and she imagined herself floating on sunlit seas. After a while, she tired of it and picked up a magazine, also called The Pearl, which she had taken from the library at the same time without looking closely.
At first, she thought it a companion piece, but as soon as she opened it, her breath faltered. It was a journal of Victorian erotica. The engravings were not of pearls, but of women bound in silks and cords, their faces caught between pain and ecstasy. A cold flush rose through her, and an unbidden thrill. These were Andriy’s books. She could feel the bruise of his last kiss and the darkness behind it. Shuddering, she closed the magazine and turned off the light.
When at last she slept, he came to her in a dream. The same cynical smile, the same mingling of courtesy and command. She woke with her nightdress clinging to her skin and the echo of his breath still on her lips. For a long while, she lay trembling in the dark, torn between loathing and desire.
She slept little after that. Eventually, dawn seeped in through the shutters, thin and colourless. The shame and the dream still clung to her, mingled with a dull ache she dared not name. It was as though her father’s death had unmoored something in her, and the world was stripped of its old boundaries. The silence seemed fraught with hidden meaning.
***
The funeral service was held three days later under a grey sky. Only a handful of people attended. Elena and Pavla stood on either side of Leila, ready to support her in case the ordeal became too much. The priest’s words droned on in a ritual that was foreign to her and held no comfort or meaning, leaving her whole attention focused on the coffin and her knowledge of what lay within. A faint shiver passed through her, and tears wet her cheek, though she could not tell whether they were for her father or for herself. As the priest intoned the final phrase, "ashes to ashes, dust to dust," a handful of soil slipped through her fingers into the grave, and she whispered a few words in Arabic; private words of relief to haunt her father's ghost.
***
Elena and Leila returned to the lodge immediately after the service. They scarcely spoke to one another. Leila was lost in her thoughts, and Elena didn't want to intrude. The air shimmered with a pale, metallic light that reflected their sombre mood. The house had been closed up for over a week and had acquired that lifeless aura that characterises uninhabited buildings. They bustled about as if to reassure the lodge that it was no longer neglected. Leila put the kettle on and was wiping a thin layer of dust from the kitchen table, when she noticed the message indicator light on the telephone flashing in the vain hope that someone would at last relieve it of its responsibility. Her eyes lit up, and with a surge of hope, they both crowded in. The message was five days old.
‘Elena, it’s Dmitri.’
His voice was faint and crackling.
‘I’m still in Kyiv, but I’m leaving for Kalynorad with a friend this evening. We haven’t known each other long, but there is an uncanny connection between us. It will be wonderful not to be alone anymore. We’re catching the night train. Don’t worry. We’ll be careful. I’ll write as soon as I can.'
A pause. Then the line clicked dead.
Leila froze.
‘With a friend?’ Her voice was barely audible.
Elena turned toward her. ‘He didn’t say who. It could be anyone.’
‘He didn’t say my name. He didn’t even mention me.’ She looked away, and her eyes held something more than hurt.
‘Leila …'
But the younger woman had her arms folded tightly across her chest. The silence that followed seemed to draw the light out of the room.
When Leila spoke again, her voice had changed. It was steadier and more distant. ‘If he’s going to Kalynorad, I’m going after him.’
Elena set down the teapot. ‘That’s out of the question. You’ve just buried your father. You’re exhausted, and that region’s close to the front line. It’s not safe.’
‘And you think I’m just going to sit here, waiting for news that never comes?’
‘I think Dmitri would want you to stay,’ Elena said, more sharply than she intended. Then, more gently, ‘He’d never forgive himself if you went chasing into danger for his sake.’
Leila’s lips trembled, but she said nothing. For a moment, Elena thought she might yield. But no, she lifted her head, and her expression had changed. It was almost serene.
‘I have to see for myself,’ she said softly. ‘If he’s in danger, I’ll help him. And if he isn’t …’ She smiled faintly but without mirth. ‘Then at least I’ll know.’
She left the kitchen before Elena could answer. When she returned, she was dressed for travel and had a small canvas bag slung over one shoulder. The faintest trace of colour had returned to her cheeks.
‘Leila, please,’ Elena said. ‘Don’t make me lose you, too.'
‘You won’t lose me. You’ve been more to me than anyone since my mother died. But I can’t stay here, wondering.’
She bent to kiss Elena’s cheek, a gesture so light that it barely touched the skin, and she was gone before the older woman could stop her.
The sound of the door closing was soft but final. Elena stood motionless with her hands resting on the back of a chair.
***
Leila walked down the gravel path without looking back. When she reached the gate, she paused. The lake lay below, its glassy surface a placid reminder of all she was leaving behind. Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle sounded.
 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.
Fedir, his faithful retainer
Oksana (Ocky) Kovalchuk, his cook
Hrytsko and Klym, a local poacher and his dog
Image: 1879 The Pearl title page from Wikipedia - Public Domain.
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.
Fedir, his faithful retainer
Oksana (Ocky) Kovalchuk, his cook
Hrytsko and Klym, a local poacher and his dog
Image: 1879 The Pearl title page from Wikipedia - Public Domain.
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