CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTY FOUR
It was summer again. Fortunately, the pond hadn't met a gruesome fate. Unfortunately, there would be no skating in the warm weather.
Alone, the tiny Nikiforov walked through the woods behind his home, passing the first of several tanks that had been grounded there since long before he had come into the world. He glanced at where the trees had grown through the wheel tracks, the moss that had moved up the old worn shells, the vines that wound their way around the main cannon turrets on the front.
The tank he was looking for was to the left. It had been mangled on a large rock, left crippled and alone in the deep woods for decades. Inside though, something a bit more modern.
He climbed up the sides like a little silver mongoose, and dropped back down into the cockpit. There, a backpack was waiting, and within...his winter blades. But not just that.
Skating books.
His mother had found three to sneak to him, and he'd read them each through a hundred times by then. The cover of each was from the major competitions from the previous season; Worlds in Chiba, Japan, Euros in Copenhagen, Denmark, and Russian Nationals in St. Petersburg. There wasn't even a Grand Prix Final back then. Rostelecom Cup didn't exist yet either.
[...Toe-Loop...Lutz…] He said quietly, looking at grainy old photos showing a representation of each. Slate-blue eyes scanned the pictures, examining them for every detail of every microsecond of each jump, [...Flip…]
He was immediately back outside again, and took the books over to a large tree stump. He did a few practice jumps just by leaping forward, clearing the landing spot of small stones, sticks, and leaves. Then he tried his first backwards jump; putting his left foot on the stump while the right stayed on the ground. He glanced at the diagram one last time, and bent his right knee, half-intending to launch up a few times, only to hesitate at the last second and stay down. He looked at the direction of the pond and the hill, listened to the sound of the woods...and resigned to himself that there was no one around. He lifted himself up a little bit on the stump, and pretended to kick his right toe down...leapt up, spun twice, and hit the ground...
A little while later, he was running at the stump, vaulted off of it, spun three times, and landed.
[...I can only do the Axel like this... Winter, come soon!]
By the time winter did come back around again...the clunky, massive, antique blades were holding him back. They'd moved to a different pond, further away and deeper in the woods...more difficult to get to, and thus being able to spend less time on it.
Tatiyana had a finger over her mouth in thought as she watched her 8-year-old trying to do jumps on blades that were still twice as long as his feet.
[Let's go home for now, Viktor...you're just going to hurt yourself doing that.] The woman said, pushing to stand up from where she'd been sitting on a large boulder.
[Go?] The boy echoed, looking worried suddenly, [I don't want to! Not yet!]
[Come back with me.] She repeated, walking up to him on the ice, [I promise, I'll make it worth your while.]
"Huh...?"
[Trust me.] She went on, grey-green eyes smiling down on him, silvery hair waving lightly in a winter breeze.
.
[These are for girls...but they should do just as well.] Tatiyana said, tying the laces on a pair of rental skates, [They may just make your feet sore later.]
Viktor looked around nervously. The skating rink was old and run-down, probably from the Soviet era, but there were still a number of people using it. He glanced down at where the white boots and silver blades were tied to his feet, sticking them straight out before setting them down on the ground and standing up. They were familiar enough to the antique blades he'd been tying to his regular boots before that, but different enough that he walked awkwardly with them on.
Wobbling his way over to the rink entrance, he looked out in wonder at the field of white. It was like a foreign country all of a sudden. All he could do was stare. The handful of other people who were already on the ice just went by him like there was nothing special happening.
[Well?] Tatiyana asked from behind him, [Don't you want to go out?]
Blue eyes looked up at her, then back at the white stage. A nervous toe-pick came down on the cold, then the other, tip-toeing forward a few feet before stopping again.
Flashes of the photos from the books came flooding into the boy's mind, and he closed his eyes, taking in the feeling of the rink around him. How flat and perfectly smooth the ice was compared to the slight inconsistency of the pond, the cold on his cheeks, the sound of other blades scratching along all around him.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was new...and he slid forward.
Focusing on his feet, Viktor thought back on everything he'd read. The anatomy of the skate, the blade, their care...and the edges. He tilted his right foot inward, [Forward inside edge...] Then the opposite way, [Forward outside edge...] He even flipped around backwards and repeated it, [Backwards inside edge...backwards outside edge...] Blades went into the most basic maneuvers after that, slipping through a simple curve while still going backwards, then bringing the inside of his free foot to the back of the skating heel, and switched feet, [Mohawk turn...]
Tatiyana watched him going faster, flying around the rink like he'd been born for it. His lanky little body moving around with a grace he hadn't been able to achieve with the older skates she'd given him before. Seeing how quickly he adjusted to using real skating blades made her smile. Seeing him starting to jump though...that made her heart go into her throat.
Flying along the mostly-empty far end of the rink, Viktor felt like he'd found new legs...ones that worked better than those he'd been born with. The blades were extensions of his feet. He knew what to do. He lined himself up with the next corner, turned forward, and kicked as hard as he could with the right leg.
"VIKTOR!"
THOK-skkksshhhhhhhhhhhh...
Half a dozen people looked up and back to where they heard the sound...but the soft hiss of blades scratching along the ice suddenly changed to an 8-year-old laughing.
[I DID IT! I DID A DOUBLE AXEL!]
Tatiyana peeked through her fingers where she'd brought her hands up in front of her face, seeing the boy skating off like he'd never jumped at all. His face had come alive for the first time in ages, like he'd finally found his reason for existing.
He went around the rink a few times normally after that, flipping to skate backwards on the 3rd pass, getting a feel for it. How his feet crossed over one another to keep the curve smooth, the way the wind flew past him, how to compensate for his blind-spot while looking over one shoulder...all of it. Feeling how the Axel went, Viktor decided to try something a bit harder...a double Flip. As he went along the long-edge of the rink, he stuck his right leg out and tapped the ice with the toe-pick a few times.
[Back inside edge...] He said quietly to himself, unaware of all the eyes on him, [Push off with the right toe-pick, land on the back outside edge of that same foot... I can do this...]
[Oohhhh he's not...] Tatiyana said to herself, watching in disbelief.
Skshhhh-TAK...THOK-Skshhhhhhhhh...
Grey-green eyes were open wide, jaw a bit slack.
[DID YOU SEE?] Viktor cried out triumphantly, [I DID A FLIP!]
[I saw it!] The woman called back, still shocked, [Where did you find time to learn all that?]
The silver boy came to a dramatic stop and bowed excitedly, [I ran at a tree stump all summer. I've been dying to get to do these on ice!]
[Well...you're really good...shockingly good...]
He grinned devilishly before flying off again to try other moves.
.
[I can't get you a real coach, Viktor...you know that.] Tatiyana said.
The 10-year-old in the car next to her was already pouting, arms crossed as he stared ahead at the glove-box, [...But you sai-]
[I know what I said, and I regret it.] She explained, sighing audibly, [Your father controls all the family finances. To pay for a coach, I'd have to get him to give permission. We've done so much to keep your skating secret all this time...we can't just throw that away by asking him to help you with it. It would just infuriate him to know we've been doing this behind his back.]
[You've never told me the real reason why he hates the skating so much anyway.] Viktor grumbled, reaching down for the backpack just between his heels in the foot-well, and heaving it upwards pull it into his arms, [The excuses stopped making sense a long time ago.]
[Oh my, Viktor...you're an old soul.] Tatiyana said quietly, reaching over to pat the boy's head, which just made him sulk even more, [Things were so much easier when you were younger.]
Realizing that was the end of the conversation, the young Russian hugged the backpack close and went the rest of the trip in silence. The skating rink wasn't that much further ahead anyway, and he could lose himself on the ice and stop caring about the rest, even if only for a little while.
To both of their surprise though, the rink was fairly highly occupied when they arrived. Viktor looked around, seeing a dozen or more families there, all with one or two kids of varying ages who were there to skate, [What's going on, mama?]
[I'm...not sure. Go put your skates on; I'll find out.] She answered, patting his shoulder and stepping off.
With blades on a few minutes later, Viktor was holding to the outside of the rink-wall, looking in at where a bunch of the kids were lining up on the ice. There were three adults standing in the direction they were all facing, directly across the rink from him. One of them started to call out names, and the kids answered back to say they were there.
[It's a try-out.] Tatiyana's voice suddenly explained, coming up from the left, [Those guys are representatives of the Skating Clubs in St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Petrozavodsk. Every few years, they come through little towns like this looking for talent to take back with them.]
Viktor's eyes were as big as saucers, and he gaped out across the ice like it was a moment made just for him.
[...And their parents signed them up for it weeks ago. They don't take drop-ins.] She said, crushing him instantly. Seeing where his small hands let go of the rink as he dropped to his knees, the woman sighed and knelt down next to him, a hand on his back, feeling how his whole body trembled, [I'm sorry, Viktor...]
[Why would you even bother telling me if it was going to be something I couldn't do?] The boy asked, his voice cracking as tears rolled down his cheeks, [This is all papa's fault, right!? I can't do anything because of him!]
[He already has plans for your future, Viktor... Skating was never going to be something you could do forever...]
[I don't care about his plans!] The young Russian snapped, rising back up to his feet and running along the rink-wall to the nearest entrance.
[Viktor!]
The raucous had gained the attention of everyone on the ice, and eyes were following the silver-haired head as it bobbed up and down in a sprint towards the open gate to the ice. Tatiyana hadn't even bothered giving chase, thinking he'd get away from her anyway.
He barged out onto the ice, looking rattled but determined, [I want to be part of the try-out!]
All eyes blinked at him in surprise and confusion. One of the adults with a clip-board down at the end tapped a pencil against his lip, [All the kids here have spent several years practicing in classes already. Their coaches speak for their talent and their parents have spent a lot of money on their training. What makes you think you can just run out here and demand to be given a chance without going through the same channels they did?] He was an older man with a spindly black beard, long grey coat and a fuzzy hat.
[I bet I can skate better than any of these others!] Viktor announced daringly, [Give me a chance and I'll show you!]
[Viktor, you're being rude!] His mother called, [Come back off the ice and give them their space; you can skate after!]
He barely had a chance...within 30 seconds, he'd been escorted off the rink and was stuck sitting on a bench in the area near the skate rental station. The try-outs took so long that he never even got to do his skating that day either, and it would be another 3 weeks before he could come back. He sobbed until his voice was gone, and went straight into his room as soon as they were home again.
Konstantin's eyes followed him as he marched through angrily, then turned back to Tatiyana pulling up the roar, closing the door behind her, [What was all that about?]
[You were right.] She answered with a sigh, pulling her scarf off, [...He hated the petting zoo. Passionately.]
.
Viktor barely did more than skate in big circles when he got back to the rink next. All he could do was stare at the ice as he moved. Tatiyana watched him from her usual place, holding her head up in the palm of her hand.
[Is that one yours?] Someone asked from the side.
Grey-green eyes turned towards the voice, seeing a middle-aged man there in a dark coat, blue scarf, and dark brimmed hat. He had light brown hair with wisps of grey, and teal eyes.
[What gave it away?] She asked, looking back out at her boy again.
[Nothing in particular.] The man answered.
[Wait...] Tatiyana stopped, pushing to stand fully upright and looking at him squarely, [...You were here before, at the try-outs...or am I making that up?]
[No, you remember correctly. It's Viktor, right? Call him over here.]
The silver woman tilted her head a little bit, but did as asked, [Vivi, come over here. This man wants to talk to you.]
Slate eyes looked up briefly, but Viktor didn't make any motion to get over to them in any hurry. He just continued his circuit around the rink...and eventually stopped where they were standing on the wall. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept his eyes down, [What do you want?]
[I want to see you skate.] He answered quickly, [You issued a challenge 3 weeks ago.]
The boy looked up then, giving the man a skeptical look, [...Who are you?]
[Yakov Feltsman. I'm a coach with the St. Petersburg Skate Club.] He answered simply, [I came pretty far out of my way to find out when you'd be here next, and to be here when you were. So...show me what you can do.]
Those deep blue eyes opened wide, and Viktor nearly lost his feet when it really dawned on him what was happening.
.
[I really don't think you understand what you're saying, Mr. Yakov...] Tatiyana said anxiously, [We really can't aff-]
[I'm not asking you to pay me.] He answered, walking with the pair to their car in the parking lot a few weeks later, [That boy has more talent in his pinky finger than most professional skaters have in their whole body.]
Viktor was skipping along innocently, holding to his mother's coat sleeve as they left the skating plaza.
[He could really go far in professional skating.] Yakov went on, [He should come to one of the Skate Camps I host in St. Petersburg. He could learn a lot in a really short period of time, I'm certain of it.]
[It's not that-] Tatiyana went on, her voice getting low once they were far enough away.
Yakov eyeballed her, unsure what to say.
[Vivi's father hates figure skating with every fiber of his being. He doesn't even know we come out here. If he found out...] She explained nervously, [Konstantin would never let Vivi go away from home, let alone for something like this.]
[So he's been doing this in secret all these years.] The gruff older gentleman deduced, [You should've said something sooner.]
[...It's not really our place to dump our problems onto strangers.]
[Well, I'm not a stranger anymore, am I?]
[...I guess not...you've done a lot for Viktor this winter... I don't know how we'll ever repay you.] The silver woman acknowledged, reaching out then to pull the man out of the boy's earshot, [But you're giving Viktor too much hope. I've played along until now, but at this point, everything you're suggesting is just going to hurt him.]
[Surely the man can be reasoned with.] The coach posed, [It's just figure skating.]
Tatiyana would've laughed if it weren't such a serious thing, [You don't understand... Konstantin threatened to pave over the pond behind our house a few years ago because he caught Vivi skating on it. He's perfectly normal when it comes to basically everything else, but when it comes to skating, even hockey, he just goes ballistic.]
[Why?]
Viktor had gotten into the front passenger seat by then and was idly kicking his legs as he waited, hugging his backpack as usual. He occasionally looked up and out the window to see the two adults still talking, but without being able to hear them, it was just boring old-people chatter. Eventually though, his mother came away and headed for the driver's side.
Yakov stood outside the passenger door and waited for Viktor to roll the window down before leaning in a bit on his elbows, [I'll see you then in two weeks, Viktor. Like usual.]
[Mh!]
The older man reached into his coat and withdrew a small piece of paper; a stiff rectangle with Cyrillic written on it, [If you find a way, this is where you can contact me. Otherwise...until next time.]
[Yes, thank you for helping Viktor out with this hobby of his.]
.
[I have a gift for you, Viktor.] Yako said, smiling in the best way he could manage, [You'll be turning 11 next week, and I think it's high time you had these.]
[What...did you get me?] The boy wondered, leaving the laces to his second white skate undone as a heavy box was handed to him. He held it up and looked at it from a few different angles, shook it to hear if anything jingled inside, and then set it down on the bench next to him to unwrap it. There wasn't any colored paper on it, but it was nicely tied with twine. Undoing the knot, Viktor pulled the lid off...and beheld a proper pair of boy's skates within. His breath caught in his throat, and just as he was about to scream for joy, a heavy sense of dread fell over him, [...I...I can't...]
[Why not? I thought you'd be happy to get these.] Yakov wondered, a bit perplexed.
[If my papa finds out about them...]
[Ah, that again.]
Tatiyana was giving him the stink-eye, though the coach didn't see it.
[That's okay. I can hold onto them when you aren't skating. I'll maintain them, and bring them to each of our practice sessions, okay? That way you never have to worry.]
[...Really?]
[Of course. Now, try them on, make sure they fit so I don't look like a fool.]
The silver Russian let himself get a little excited, and quickly pulled off the white skates that had always been slightly too narrow for his feet. Setting them aside, he oogled the pair of dark brown boots within the box, pulling them out one at a time, and sliding each foot into them slowly.
[There's different kinds of blades.] Yakov started, kneeling down to tie the laces himself, [These are standard blades that you can get anywhere, but there's other kinds...some specially made for speed skating, others for hockey, and a few different kinds for figure skating. Some have bigger toe-picks, others have shorter tails.] He explained, pointing to the heel-end of the blade, [The tail helps you land jumps. The most important part of the blade though...] He held up the foot in front of him and pointed to the rocker near the front, [...is the curve, just here. This is where you jump, spin, and land. A bad rocker, too small or too big, will make a difference. You have to know how to feel for it, so you can adjust the curve later on.]
[Mh!]
[Go out there and warm up a little bit. I'll teach you about different sit spins today.]
[Okay!]
.
A bit older and a bit better at his craft, Viktor was starting to learn his own style on the ice. No longer was he a rough ingot of metal...he was refined, and all the impurities had been hammered out. His form was smooth and flawless, far beyond what most other kids his age could have managed. But like everything, the winter was coming to an end, and the outdoor skating arena was going to be closing.
The trio stood outside the main doors, heading back into the parking lot. The snow and ice was starting to give way in larger patches, revealing dry concrete and bits of grass here and there.
[Hard to believe the season is already over.] The elder Russian commented, [You've come a long way in the few months we had here.]
[I can't thank you enough for coming all the way out here as often as you have, Yakov.] Viktor said, happy and yet sad at the same time, [I wish I could come train in the city. The ice doesn't melt indoors.]
[It doesn't, you're right.] The man nodded, looking to Tatiyana, [Mrs. Nikiforov...it was truly a pleasure to instruct this young man. I'll be expecting him back on the ice next winter, as the weather allows. There's so much more I want to teach him.]
[We'll see.] She answered, a little stiffly but still amiable.
Unexpectedly, the little Russian lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the coach's thick frame, [I'll miss you. Can't we send letters or something?]
[That's up to your mother.]
[...You already know how that will turn out, Vivi. If you want to keep skating at all, we have to keep playing this out like you aren't skating at all.]
[What do you tell him you guys are doing anyway?] Yakov wondered, hoping he wasn't prying too much.
[Ladies' church group.]
[Oh.] The man said stiffly. He shook his head, and then looked down at the silver-haired boy still clinging to him. With a gentle hand, he set one each on Viktor's shoulders, [Take care for those skates, okay? I'll have to get you new ones next year. I expect you'll grow ten feet tall before I see you again.]
[Mh!]
.
Summer was in full swing again, and Viktor was bored out of his skull. The fake Church group trips continued every other weekend, but for lack of a skating rink to go to, the trips had become utterly boring. Tatiyana had done her best to offer a reasonable substitute...but roller skating really just wasn't doing it for the boy.
But, it wouldn't matter. By the end of that day, even roller skating would've been the greatest thing in the world that Viktor could think to do, given the alternatives.
It was well into the late evening when the old beat-up Volvo pulled into the dirt 'drive-way,' as it was called, just off the side of the main road leading past the house and graveyard. The long walk up the hill, taking the right path at the fork, and heading up to the hovel, was serene...birds were in the trees, the sky was clear, the woods were warm.
But when they entered, Konstantin was sitting at the main table just within, and he had Viktor's backpack on the floor next to his feet. The boy's eyes were on him, and he felt his heart stop in his chest. Tatiyana's felt much the same.
[...K-Konstantin.] She stammered.
[I'd say you have some explaining to do, but I'm well past that.] The man-bear said, eerily calmly. He reached down one massive hand into the child-size backpack and pulled up the first of two skates, [I made it clear a long time ago that skating was forbidden, and yet I find these.]
[P-Papa...please, don't...]
[No son of mine is going to be skating...and by the look of these, figure skating.] He went on, reaching down for the second blade and then standing up to his full height, [Is that what you've really been doing, all this time? Tatiyana, you've been lying to me. For years.]
The silver woman was too scared to back down; fight or flight had chosen to battle it out, [I stand by what I told you before...there are no other kids Viktor's age around here. Without Mikhail, he had nothing to do outside of his schooling. I wasn't going to take away the one thing he found that he liked just because you have a hang-up about it.]
[A hang-up?] He echoed, slate-blue eyes turning down to the terrified 11-year-old standing between them, [Come here, Viktor.]
Already on the edge of tears, the silver boy took an anxious step forward, then another, until he was finally standing in front of his behemoth of a father. He craned his head up, and watched the man hold the skates out just above his head.
[We're going to take care of this once and for all.]
The terror changed into something that had no single word to describe it. Horror, anxiety, nervousness, trepidation, panic, breathlessness...all of it, and more. Viktor felt the skates being put into his arms, and a hand come behind his back, pushing him towards the wood-burning stove in one corner of the large room. Konstantin pulled the iron poker from the hanger nearby, and used it to pry open the heavy metal door.
The heat was so intense that Viktor could feel it burning his skin even from the few feet away he was still standing.
[Put them in.]
[N-No...please no...!] The boy begged, tears turning to steam on his cheeks.
[Do as your father commands.]
The man's voice was as if it were imbued with the power of God Himself, and the tiny silver Russian could do nothing but obey. He held the bladed boots close to his chest and sobbed as he started taking the last couple steps forward the open door.
[Heed me, boy.] Konstantin went on, watching as Viktor hesitated despite the pain of the heat, [You will never skate again. Understand?]
Slate eyes met one another, and in that moment, everything inside Viktor died...and he watched the leather boots burn.
.
The first snows of winter came and blanketed the countryside in a thick layer of cold white fluff. Viktor watched it from his room, looking up into the dark, moonless night sky. The only light to give the snow away came from his bedroom window. The nearly 12-year-old Russian stepped away and moved through the quiet house alone...it was well past midnight, and no one else was awake. He looked at the iron-cast wood stove quietly, and moved over to stand in front of it, reaching for the poker that hung nearby to pry the heavy door open.
As he'd seen every day since the incident, the scorched remains of his skates were within; the blades blackened and dull. Even though the wood-ash had been cleaned out, his father had made sure that the skates went right back in, to serve as a reminder of his authority. He sighed and closed the door again, went back to his room, pulled the curtains over the window to hide the sight of the snow...and crawled under the covers to drown his misery in sleep.
.
The phone rang; it wasn't a common occurrence, so when the shrill sound of the old rotary device bellowed out into the afternoon air, everyone looked up. Tatiyana was closest, so she went over to pick it up, "Allo."
Viktor watched her for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder from where he'd been lying on the floor with his grade-school books, but then turned back around when it didn't hold his interest. Not that his schoolwork held more interest, but at least he knew what was going on in them. The phone conversation...not so much.
The silver woman had gone silent for a long while though, and that got his attention again more than anything else. He watched for a moment, then rolled over and sat up, wondering why she was so quiet if she still had the receiver up at her ear.
Finally though, she uttered a few words, [Oh, uhm...yes, this is the Nikiforov household. No...we're not interested. Thank you.] She hung it up again, and hurriedly went back to the kitchen where she'd been before, not even looking back to see if anyone was watching her.
It wouldn't be for several days that anyone would know the truth of that call. The answer came with a knock on the door.
Viktor rubbed his eyes and pushed to stand, leaving his books on the floor as he headed for the exit. It was confusing for a moment, opening the door and looking up at the figure that stood just outside. The boy tilted his head and looked on, wondering if what he saw was just his depressed imagination playing tricks on him.
"Viktor."
"...Y-Yakov?"
[Looks like I just missed your 12th birthday. How have you been?]
It was like he couldn't understand the language anymore, and the silver figure just stood paralyzed, hand still on the inside of the door.
[Can I come in at least? It's cold out here.] The older man asked, flicking his hat where some snow had already collected on the brim.
Not knowing what to say, Viktor just stepped aside, watching wordlessly (and without breathing) as the coach stepped through.
[What's going on? Who is this?] Konstantin asked stiffly, stepping in from where he'd been reading in another room, [Who are you?]
The skating coach kept calm, [I'm from St. Petersburg. I'm a coach, and a scout for athletic talent with the Russian Skating Federation. My name is Yakov Feltsman.]
The two men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and it wasn't even either one of their own voices that broke the silence; it was Viktor's, [How...did you find where we live?]
[I don't think that's important right now, Viktor.] The man answered, reaching up to pull his hat off, never taking his eyes off the Nikiforov patriarch, [What's important is your future.]
[...My...future?]
[He has a future. In the steel mill, alongside his father. Your kind are not welcome here.] Konstantin followed, pointing at the door, [You should leave.]
[Let him speak, Kon.] Tatiyana's voice came, rising up from the couch. Her serenity about the situation gave her away...she knew Yakov was coming because she was the one who'd invited him to do so, [He knows better than any of us what Viktor's future could be if we give him a chance.]
Cold blue eyes leveled on the coach, then turned to the woman coming up to his side, [Apparently I haven't made myself clear all this time. I thought it would be best to offer a reasoned, calm approach...but it seems that perhaps the only way I'll be understood and obeyed is if I do something more drastic.]
[Mr. Nikiforov, please let me speak...] Yakov attempted; being a 'guest,' he thought he might be able to speak the words that others would not have a chance to, [Viktor has the potential to be an international champion. He could represent Russia to the entire world. Figure skating has been a national icon as far back as the Czars. I understand that you have a particular dislike for skating sports, bu-]
[Do you? Do you understand?] The patriarch asked condescendingly, [No, you don't have a clue. You can't just come into my house and tell me what I don't know.]
[Viktor has more talent as a self-taught skater than most kids I know who are older than he is. Surely the fact that I've come all this way here, knowing your opposition, would tell you how seriously I'm taking his potential.]
[I don't care about his potential as a skater. He already knows he's never skating again. I made that perfectly clear when I found his skates. Right, Viktor?] He glanced over at the petrified boy.
Viktor nodded hesitantly, but then vigorously. Yakov frowned at that.
[You see? At least someone here pays attention.]
[...I...I want to skate...though...] Viktor squeaked, his voice barely a whisper, his whole body trembling, [...I want to skate...!]
Tatiyana's voice was caught in her throat, and she just gaped at the boy. She and Yakov could feel the energy in the room change. Konstantin was no longer on the defensive...he was now on the attack...and the first assault would be the child that had questioned him. Two steps took him all the way across the room, and he had the silver boy in his hand, hoisting him off the ground like he was nothing.
[Say that again?]
[...I...] Viktor winced, legs kicking under him where there was nothing but air. He scrambled for the massive limb holding him up, [...I want...I want to go to St. Petersburg...I want to train!]
[Don't be mad at him! I'm the one who took him to the skating rink!] Tatiyana finally found the courage to say, stepping between the two and putting her small, gentle hands on her husband's massive arm. He had done nothing but rattle the boy by that point, and that's normally all he ever aimed to achieve if he lost his temper...but this time felt different.
[I told you to never let him skate again!] Konstantin barked, holding still and staring at his son throughout, unblinking, [How many times do I have to say it!?]
[You can't choose for Viktor what he can and can't like!] The woman went on, a little more desperate, trying to pry his fingers apart where they held to Viktor's clothes.
[I'm getting really good, papa!] The boy pleaded, having no idea how serious the situation was, [If you let me go to St. Petersburg, I can compete and send money home when I win! Coach Yakov says-]
CRACK
All 4'11" and 85lbs of the boy went crashing into the shoe-rack next to the door, and he collapsed onto his front in a heap, too stunned to do anything. Shoes and boots fell all around him.
Yakov was shocked, almost too stunned at what he'd just seen to even process it.
[Konstantin!] Tatiyana screamed.
Viktor finally regained himself and started screaming, crying out as only a bleeding child could.
[He's not your coach!] The behemoth bellowed, [No son of mine is going to be a fucking dancer! You'll be working in the steel mill just like the rest of us!]
The silver mother rushed past and went to her knees by her son's side, pulling him over onto his back on her lap and checking for injuries. She was sure he'd hit the back of his head on the rack, but the obvious blood was coming from his forehead and left eye. The skin had split just under it, above the cheek, in a backwards C-shaped crackle of a cut. There was another cut just under the side of his thin eyebrow. His hair was already smearing the vitae around.
The gruff man-bear was shocked at himself, but only for a second. Yakov's voice cut through the air like a knife.
[He'll be more successful as an athlete, Konstantin...give him a chance.] He was saying, stepping between the man and the sobbing heap behind him, [He has the potential to be-]
[Don't interrupt me, old man! This is my family and I make the decisions for what's best for it. Viktor isn't going anywhere.]
[Viktor, let me look-]
[My eye...mama, I can't...I can't see!] He cried out, reaching for his face with both hands.
Tatiyana tried to brush them away, but every time one hand moved off, the other came up in its place. Tears formed in her own eyes, and she pushed to stand, carrying her son in her arms as she went, [...I had never thought it would get to this...over figure skating!?] She snapped, pushing in front of the coach and handing him her bloodied child, [Take him...please, take him and go...get him to a doctor!]
Stunned, Yakov wasn't sure what to do. He hadn't banked on the day turning violent at all. Everything was happening so fast.
[TAKE HIM AND GO!] She yelled again.
He had no words to argue, simply turning on his heel and running out the door. The snow was coming down even harder by then, already having covered most of his shoe-prints.
Viktor just looked up into the bright grey sky. His cries had abruptly stopped once the cold of the outdoors hit him, and he barely hiccupped each breath. He could hear the faint yelling of his parents fading in the distance, and the crunching of Yakov's shoes in the ground. He could even hear the faint cry of a wolf miles away. He watched the world change from woods to car-interior, hearing the doors closing on each side of him, the engine turning on, and the vibration as the vehicle started pulling away.
He lost time after that...he wasn't sure how much had passed before he became aware again. When he did, he saw Yakov kneeling down in front of him just outside the passenger-side door, reaching towards his face with white tissues, bringing them back red.
[Viktor...] The coach said; his voice was hollow and echoed, [Viktor, can you hear me?]
[...Y...Yak...ov...]
[Yes, good, that's my name. Can you remember yours?]
[V...Vik...tor Niki...f...forov...]
[I'm not going to let you go back to that place. Do you understand?]
[Hu...h...?]
[Do you hurt anywhere else besides your face?]
More tissues came forward, more blood went away.
[My...head... Back...]
Yakov pulled the boy to his shoulder and reached for the back of his small shirt, pulling it up to check for bleeding there. Finding the red marks where his tiny body had hit the shoe-rack, the skin peeled a little but not bloodied, he put the shirt back down and set his hands on Viktor's shoulders, [I'm sorry that this happened to you...we're going to go to St. Petersburg. There's a hospital there. We're in this together now, okay? I'm going to protect you.]
Slate blue eyes just blinked hazily, but he found the strength to nod.
Yakov nodded back, then pulled off his coat and wrapped it around the boy before turning him back around in the seat and buckling him in. A few moments later, the older man was back in the driver's seat, and the car was moving off again.
[Your mom called you Vivi sometimes...would you like it better if I did, too?] The coach asked, trying to comfort the child as well as he could given the circumstances.
[No...] He answered, [No more...Vivi...never again...]
Yakov pondered on the words, wondering what was going through the boy's mind at that point that would make him reject even a nickname. He reached over and pat the boy's shoulder gently through the thick coat, [Vitya then. I'll call you Vitya.]
.
Blue eyes slowly opened, the feeling of cold on his skin, vision a bit blurry. The pain in his head was significant, and it got worse as Viktor pushed up on his elbows and sat up. The room looked familiar for the brief seconds that he was looking at it before blinding pain shot through his head, his circulation catching up with the change in posture.
"Viktor...are you okay?" A voice asked from behind, "You've been delirious. I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten poisoned or something."
"Poisoned...?" Viktor turned back, seeing a familiar face, but needing a moment to pin the name to it, "Uncle Mimi..."
"How do you feel? You're all pale and clammy."
"I've been better...what time is it? How long was I out...?" He glanced around for a moment, but then bowed his head again, reaching up to press his hand to the left side of his face and forehead.
"It's been just over 6 hours. It's about 2:30pm right now. What's happening to you? Do you even remember getting here?"
"Not really." The younger Russian answered, "My head is killing me."