Lara's Gift Read online

  Mama’s voice stepped in, too. Trust, Lara, trust.

  As did Ruslan’s. Don’t fight it.

  Just as I rallied enough courage to speak up, Count Vorontsov entered the stable in heavy furs that draped to the floor.

  “We must hurry and finish preparing for the hunt,” Papa snarled. “Load the sledge.”

  “I need to talk to you,” I said to Papa. “It’s important.”

  He did an about-face and walked off to greet the Count.

  In the manner fitting a good soldier, and against my judgment, and like I’ve done before every hunt since I could remember, I found the medicine box, checked the contents, added more towels, and loaded it on the long, open sledge. In the storage closet I rifled through the blankets and tossed some into the back section of the sledge. Although I rarely packed guns, I did so this time just in case. I feared they would need them.

  As Papa lined up glasses of vodka for himself, the Count, and Alexander, I crept to an open corner of the sledge where the hunters stacked the dead wolves to carry back upon their return. I had never defied Papa before, but he left me no choice.

  I had to go on the hunt.

  To stop whatever bad was coming.

  “To Borei’s success,” Papa said with a raised glass.

  They clinked glasses, downed the vodka in one gulp, and picked up another glass.

  “To the health of the dogs,” Alexander toasted. Again they clinked glasses and downed the vodka like water.

  They picked up their last glass of vodka.

  “To catching the Red Thief,” the Count toasted.

  Just as Papa threw his head back to down the vodka, I tucked myself into a tiny ball in the corner of the sledge and ducked underneath a couple of blankets. I didn’t dare move and prayed Papa wouldn’t find me.

  “Where’s Lara? She was supposed to load the sledge,” Papa said. From the jingle of his keys, I could hear him come toward the sledge, and then the medicine box hinge creaked open.

  “What’s this?” Anger coursed through Papa’s voice.

  My heart hammered. I was certain he would grab me by the cuff of my coat and haul me off the sledge.

  “We don’t need so many towels,” Papa grumbled.

  I opened my eyes and exhaled.

  The clip-clop of hooves came closer. “Steady, now,” Boris said to the horses. With the forward and backward lurching of the sledge, the horses snorted, until they finally settled into the leather tackle that crisscrossed their bodies.

  Alexander then whistled three quick notes and one by one I felt the team of borzoi spring up onto the back of the sledge. I imagined them leaping as ballerinas do and wondered how a breed of such nobility and elegance ever managed to hunt wolves. Their lean, willowy bodies seemed more suited for the ballroom than in a snowy field chasing wolves.

  “Lie down,” Alexander directed the dogs.

  The back of the sledge wasn’t spacious. So I felt a few of them circle around, before curling into a comfortable position. It would only be a matter of time before they would sense my presence.

  Alexander covered the dogs and the heaviness of the hide’s fringe fell around me, building a wall, like a cozy nest. “We’re ready,” he called up to Papa.

  “As am I,” said the Count from his horse, who was chafing at the bit.

  Then came the long blow of Papa’s horn—a sound I longed to make—followed by the zvon of stable bells to send us off with luck. The horn and bells set off a chorus of dogs—barking and yelping and howling—eager to join us. For they knew where we were headed and that they were being left behind.

  “Onward!” Papa shouted.

  He cracked his knout and the sledge moved forward through the crunch of packed snow and ice. The cold air cut through the blankets and hides and chilled my bones. As much as I wanted to curl up with the borzoi for extra warmth, I stayed put in my own nest of blankets.

  Alexander recited legends of past hunts in a way I imagined he’d share fairy tales with his children at bedtime. His stories about the first borzoi on the estate and the clever tactics they used when hunting wolves kept the dogs quiet, while Papa steered the sledge behind the Count on horseback in pursuit of the wolves.

  In the distance, I could hear a chorus of wolves howling, warning each other almost, as if they knew we were coming and why. Pushkin’s poem about a winter journey came to mind.

  Down the dismal snow-track swinging

  Speeds the troika, and the drone

  The next words came to me differently from what I had learned, and they were laced with dread.

  Of the wolf-pack’s frightful howling

  Numbs me with its hungry tone.

  We would chase the howls and follow the pack for as long as it took until we were close enough to the wolves. Only then would the command be given to release the team of borzoi.

  One of the dogs started to fidget, and then I heard Zar’s playful whimper, his paws digging at my blanket. I fought to keep hold of the blanket that covered me.

  “Settle down,” Alexander demanded.

  “Is everything all right?” Papa called from up front.

  “Something’s gotten into Zar,” Alexander answered.

  “We never should have brought him,” Papa shouted. “He’s already a nuisance.”

  “It’s too late to change our minds now,” the Count said.

  Afraid Alexander might reach and grab for the hides that must have fallen off of Zar, I turtled my knees even tighter into my chest until they jabbed against my chin. Still, the sledge offered only so much room and in Alexander’s effort to cover Zar he tripped over my foot and landed on top of me.

  “Oi,” I whimpered.

  When he pulled the hide off of me, I could see the surprised look on his face, and quickly brought my finger up to my lips. “Shhh.”

  “Larochka!” The look on Alexander’s face told me not to worry.

  “You won’t tell, Sasha?” I whispered.

  Alexander shook his head. “Did you bring your hunting knife?”

  I nodded and pointed to my pocket.

  He leaned in and whispered into my ear, “Good, you might need it.”

  I didn’t feel good about what was coming.

  I was drowning in worry.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Hunt

  Eventually the sledge came to a stop. “Wolves, up ahead, two of them,” the Count called from his horse. “Get the dogs into position.”

  “One of them looks like the Red Thief,” Papa added. And then came the blast of the horn to signal to the dogs that wolves had been sighted.

  Alexander pantomimed for me to stay down and covered my head with a blanket. I hardly risked Papa’s wrath to stay completely hidden. I poked my head back out from underneath the blanket and prayed Papa would one day forgive me for disobeying.

  Lined up at the edge of the sledge stood Bistri, followed by Sila, and then Borei. How I wished it were me holding their lead. Sila was first to see the wolves in the distance and gave a little yelp. Her feet danced with such excitement, the others danced, too.

  “Ou-la-lou! Ta-ra! Ta-ra!” With those words Alexander slipped the lead and one by one, the dogs plunged into the untouched, powdery snow from the sledge. As they coursed and cut through the snow, with Borei in the lead—running as fast as the north wind—bits of snow sprayed from underneath their feet into the air. If it weren’t for their black noses and the champagne-colored patches along their rumps and backs, I would have lost them from sight against the snow.

  Papa clucked his tongue to get the horses moving again to follow the dogs.

  Poor Zar. How he cried to be part of the team!

  It was how I felt, too, watching him struggle to free himself to join his littermates. Alexander brought him up to the front of the sledge and tied Zar’s lead to a hook in a triple sailor knot. It took all of Alexander’s strength to restrain Zar, he pulled so hard.

  Within seconds, the dogs thrust themselves in the midst of the tw
o wolves, trying to separate the Red Thief from its new mate.

  Now there were four wolves!

  And the pack seemed to be growing—trickling out from the woods with bristled manes, growling, and baring fangs.

  Was this normal? I wanted to ask Alexander, for something felt very wrong.

  Papa whipped the horses and they picked up speed.

  “The dogs need Zar,” Alexander called out.

  “Zar will only get in the way,” Papa answered.

  “Father, our team is outnumbered,” Alexander persisted.

  “Borei can handle it, son,” the Count said.

  Papa pulled the horses to a halt. They bucked and reared and neighed in fright, but Papa regained control with a jerk of the reins.

  The wolves circled the borzoi. From opposite ends the wolves took turns lunging at them. Waves of snow flew into the air as the borzoi leaped and squirmed to avoid the attacks.

  Borei tried to lead a way out for Sila and Bistri. Every time he found an opening, the gap closed.

  There was nowhere to turn. The circle had tightened and closed in on them.

  Suddenly the Red Thief charged the dogs, followed by a mass of wolfy gray and silver from all angles. Two of the borzoi emerged from the attack, hurdling over the tangle of wolves, as if they had wings that carried them.

  The third borzoi lay in the snow. I recognized his piercing cry—nyet!

  Not Borei—not Papa’s favorite dog!

  The Red Thief had Borei by the throat, while the other wolves gnawed and attacked at his legs.

  Sila and Bistri tried to help Borei. Each time they made an advance to rescue him, they were received with curled lips, snapped at, and pushed back.

  There were too many wolves.

  Do something! I wanted to scream at Papa. I couldn’t bear to watch. At the same time, my eyes wouldn’t close.

  Papa pulled out his rifle. He shot it into the air.

  Boom!

  Some of the wolves scattered.

  The Count fired a second shot into the air.

  Boom!

  Fewer wolves dashed away.

  Zar pulled and yanked with such force, I thought he’d break his neck or open up his wounds if he didn’t free himself.

  As the Count reloaded his rifle, Papa bolted out of the sledge and hastened toward the chaos of wolves and dogs. I had never seen him barrel through the snow in such panic. He cursed at the wolves, words I had never heard him use before.

  “I’ll take the left side,” the Count called out.

  “Stay here and get your knife ready,” Alexander whispered to me. He grabbed a rifle and followed Papa and the Count.

  I pulled my knife out and got myself ready. Ready for what, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I wanted to help, too. If only I had packed a fourth rifle and knew how to use it!

  The Count took a shot.

  Boom!

  The first wolf fell.

  Papa reloaded his rifle and shot at the wolves on the perimeter of the tangle.

  Boom!

  One of the wolves yelped and sank into the snow. Others ran away. As Papa reloaded the chamber of his rifle, Alexander fired.

  Boom!

  Another wolf crumpled into the snowy whiteness.

  Like the devil it was, the Red Thief didn’t frighten as easily as before. It stood over Borei, scarfing mouthfuls of the blood-soaked snow around it and swallowing with shameful pleasure.

  Surely they needed Zar. But I kept hearing Papa’s voice: Three is the lucky number, not four.

  All three hunters aimed their rifles at the Red Thief standing over Borei. They had a clean shot.

  “Take it,” Papa said to the Count.

  “My son deserves it,” the Count said.

  Somebody shoot! my heart screamed.

  Nobody dared, for Sila and Bistri suddenly rejoined the mix and lunged at the Red Thief.

  Papa raised his hunting horn to his lips and blew the command for the dogs to retreat. Sila and Bistri ignored the signal.

  “Off!” the Count ordered.

  “Off!” Alexander echoed.

  The dogs ignored their commands, too!

  Borei no longer cried. Nor did he struggle to get free. He just lay there.

  I had to do something!

  “Sila, Bistri, off!” I called in desperation.

  Bistri retreated first, followed by Sila. Papa glanced back at the sledge.

  “Tyatya, watch out!” I shrieked.

  The Red Thief had stepped over Borei and slowly advanced on Papa in a crouched position, ready to spring.

  Papa aimed his rifle at it and took a shot.

  Boom!

  The wolf buckled in its back leg. Still, the big silvery-red-tipped beast continued toward Papa, limping on three legs. As Papa reloaded, the Count took another shot.

  Boom!

  The shot grazed the wolf and it stumbled, but it recovered its footing. Alexander lifted his rifle, steadied it, and took a shot.

  Boom!

  Alexander’s shot missed.

  With eyes locked on Papa, the wolf suddenly rushed for him.

  “Look out, Tyatya!” I warned, wringing my hands.

  Papa took aim and pulled the trigger. I heard it click, but nothing came out. He pulled again and again without results, and quickly shifted the rifle into his hands, swinging it, as if it were a sword, trying to keep the wolf back.

  The wolf circled Papa.

  It was so close to Papa, neither the Count nor Alexander could get a clean shot.

  Trust my gift, I kept telling myself.

  It rang through my mind like a pealing bell in a blinding blizzard leading me home.

  When I couldn’t bear to watch another second, I untied Zar’s lead and freed him. “Get him, Zar! The Red Thief is yours!”

  Zar tore off the sledge into the snow for the Red Thief—hitting it hard, knocking it to the ground. Taking Zar’s lead, Bistri and Sila followed and worked to distract the wolf, nipping at its back legs. Zar and the Red Thief struggled for each other’s throats. I expected the bullet in the wolf’s back leg to slow it down. It only made the wolf angrier. And although the wolf was bigger, Zar was quicker and maneuvered around its lunges until Zar attacked with swift and powerful pluck.

  Zar got hold of the wolf’s throat and threw it to the ground with such force, I heard a snap and prayed for a broken neck. While Zar pinned the Red Thief by its neck, Bistri and Sila each caught hold of a hind leg.

  “Molodietz, Zar!” I yelled.

  Papa kept staring at Zar. His face was not filled with anger, like I had expected it might be, but of fear—as if a ghost from his past haunted him.

  Alexander rushed to the dogs and thrust his knife into the Red Thief’s heart, stepped aside, and called the dogs off. Bistri and Sila released the wolf and limped to Alexander’s side. Zar stood over the Red Thief, his chest puffed out with pride. Pools of courage filled his dark, almond-shaped eyes.

  My first vision.

  It had finally come true.

  Happy and relieved as I was, I couldn’t speak and I just stood there, taking it all in.

  Papa rushed to Borei, collapsing to his knees beside him. He placed his ear next to Borei’s heart.

  “He’s dead,” Papa said through muffled cries, holding his stomach like someone had punched him.

  I had never heard Papa cry before.

  Papa gently picked Borei up and carried him across the field dotted with dead wolves. Sila and Bistri trailed behind him like nervous shadows, sniffing at Borei’s dangling feet. Splotches of red against the champagne-white dappled their silky coats. Zar joined them, his head carried low.

  Alexander shook his head with grief. “I’m so sorry.” Then he joined his father, the Count, to collect the dead wolves.

  The wolves that had gotten away resumed howling. Their cries of grief gushed upward in powerful, heart-wrenching rushes—and mirrored what stirred inside of me.

  I turned to gather the leads to secure Sila,
Bistri, and Zar—and a gray wolf jumped onto the sledge, baring its fangs at me, coiled up in a hunched position, ready to spring. The troika of horses yoked together started to nervously buck up and kick.

  Gospodi! I took a step backward and nearly stumbled.

  Be brave, I thought. Wolves prey on fear.

  I gripped Alexander’s knife more tightly and thrust it at the wolf, hoping to scare it off.

  It didn’t scare.

  “Lara, stay calm. I’m coming to help,” Papa called, cradling Borei close to his chest.

  “Me too!” Alexander yelled.

  Boom!

  Boom!

  Their shots into the sky didn’t spook the gray wolf. Instead, they angered it.

  Just then, Zar jumped up onto the sledge and surprised the wolf. The two of them snapped at each other—back and forth—until Zar plucked it by its throat and flipped it hard on its back.

  A loud crack followed.

  A broken neck.

  A dead wolf.

  I collapsed to my knees in relief, as Papa, Alexander, and the Count rushed to the sides of the sledge with their rifles aimed at the gray wolf.

  “Molodietz, Zar,” Alexander said. “You got him.”

  “I’ll hold my aim just in case,” Papa said to Alexander. “This one’s yours.”

  “Take it, son,” the Count said.

  “Lara deserves the honor,” Alexander said.

  “She isn’t capable,” Papa barked.

  “Tyatya, you’re wrong.” I stood up with my knife held out in front of me. Certainly I could slit the heart of a dead wolf.

  “What’s Lara doing with your knife?” Papa asked Alexander.

  “You can do it,” Alexander said.

  I mustered all the courage I had.

  “Good dog, Zar. Now, off!” I was afraid I’d accidentally stab him.

  Zar didn’t obey. He held on to the gray wolf.

  “Off, Zar,” I said again.

  Again, Zar didn’t obey.

  And then the gray wolf attempted to wriggle free. Zar held his grip and didn’t let go.

  “You were right to disobey,” I said to Zar.

  “You’ll need to pierce through the ribs to get to the heart,” Alexander coached.

  Cautiously, I approached the wolf.

  “We’re losing time,” Papa said.