Lara's Gift (13 page)

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.

It wasn’t until Papa started to climb up onto the sledge that I was moved to action. I swallowed a lump of fear the size of an iceberg and thrust the knife into the wolf’s heart.

Blood spurted.

Onto me.

Onto Zar.

Everywhere.

“You did it,” Alexander cheered.

“You were right about Zar,” the Count teased Papa. “What a nuisance!”

I put my arms around my knight of knights. “
We
did it, Zar.”

Papa leaned over the side of the sledge and patted Zar on the head. “You’ve done good tonight, boy. You’ve done good tonight, too,” he said to me. “But you disobeyed me.”

“I had good cause,
Tyatya
.”

“The reason is unimportant.” Little blue veins popped out on Papa’s neck. “You don’t belong out here, and there’ll be consequences.”

Papa’s shoulders slumped. He retrieved Borei and lifted him from the snow stained in blood and placed him on a blanket in the back of the sledge.

Papa brought his hunting horn to his lips and kissed it three times, and then he blew into it—long and low to warn the kennel hands back at the stable that the hunt had gone bad. Papa climbed up onto the sledge, buried his face in Borei’s fur, and lay there clutching him. Then Papa covered Borei in a blanket and made the sign of the cross. “You’re in God’s hands now.”

The Count and Alexander dragged the dead wolves and lifted them up onto the sledge, stacking them one on top of the other. There were five of them.

Had it been worth it?

The Red Thief had so much blood on his mouth, Borei’s blood. I couldn’t bear to look.

If only I had found a way to save Borei.

It was my fault for not speaking up.

The guilt and hurt that I felt was raw and exposed, as if one of my legs had just been chewed off.

I covered the rest of the wolves with blankets to purge them from my thoughts.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
 

The Black Box

For several weeks after the hunt, Papa remained to himself. The only shimmer of joy I saw on his face was when he held Bohdan and that wasn’t all that frequent, since Papa spent most of his time at the kennel. When our paths did cross, Papa barely acknowledged me and often darted away in a new direction, as if I were a skunk with a raised tail.

“Papa won’t talk to me,
Matushka
. His silence is worse than his bark.”

“Losing Borei has been hard on him, even more so when I told him that you had wanted to warn him not to go on the hunt,” Mama said. “He has much to think about now. His whole world of beliefs and Rules has flip-flopped. He’s struggling to sort it all out and make
it right for you, himself, and the future of the dogs. Give him time to mull over all of this. I have faith that he’ll come around and accept your visions for the gift that it is.” Mama’s smile hugged me. “I wish I could tell you more. The rest should come from your papa. When it does, it shall all make sense. Patience,
dorogaya
.”

“I’m tired of being patient. I want things between me and Papa to return to what it once was—before Bohdan was born, when Papa let me shadow him at the kennel.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Larochka.”

At first, I shrugged away Mama’s advice. There was nothing I cherished more than my childhood memories of Papa and the dogs. But her words lingered with me.

During Papa’s period of silence, I split my time between my kennel chores at Mama’s urging, as well as my responsibilities caring for Bohdan. I couldn’t bear letting all the work fall on Mama. Despite coming from hardy stock, Mama had slowed since Bohdan’s birth.

Not surprisingly, news about Zar had spread quickly. Requests to breed him with other borzoi from other kennels came in every day by telegram. Zar had become a regional hero. Yet Papa still refused to acknowledge Zar for the fearless hunter that he was.

Papa’s gloomy mood over the loss of Borei seemed to have cast a spell over the entire kennel and its staff. Nothing lifted Papa’s spirits—not even the Count’s announcement of a celebration in joint honor of Zola’s
litter—as was tradition—and of Zar’s triumph over the Red Thief. Around Papa his staff behaved in a mournful manner. As soon as Papa was out of earshot, all anyone, including Maxim, could chirp about was the upcoming celebration and the champagne and caviar upon which we would feast.

The night of the celebration, under a near-full moon, I took my favorite red ribbon from my braid and tied it around Zar’s neck. Mama and I wore our best clothing made of red brocade with gold ribbon borders and donned matching headdresses decorated in gold galloons that Mama had made for special occasions. At Mama’s insistence, Papa put on his finest shirt, and then he groomed the long black hairs of his beard. He ripped through the knots without a single flinch, as if all feeling had left him, as if life no longer existed inside him.