by Stacy Gregg
“Wait! Drakon! Let me finish … ugh …” She struggled to undo the straps, her hands working feverishly. But when she had loosened the buckles Drakon made matters worse by thrashing about, tightening them again.
“Stop it! Please!” At last she managed to keep him steady long enough and she felt the final buckle release. He was free!
Anna flung herself clear of the stallion as Drakon, desperate to escape, lunged up with a grunt, falling forward on to his knees and then rising up on legs still shaking with the shock of his ordeal.
Now that he was upright the gouge in his shoulder looked worse than ever, but miraculously he was not lame. And as Anna examined the shattered remains of the carriage, she could scarcely believe they had got off so lightly. Somehow she and her horse had survived a terrible crash. Now Anna had to save them from the wilderness itself.
Her mind racing with adrenalin, she began undoing the straps of the harness from the struts, fashioning them into a set of reins. She attached these to Drakon’s bridle so that she would have something to lead him by, and then after pulling on her gloves, slowly, gingerly, she clucked the big grey horse forward, away from a scene of the devastation that could have killed them both.
The hooded crows who had been hopping about, waiting and hoping in vain that there might be a meal for them, pecked at the bloodied snow and searched the carriage remains. Then they flew back up to their vantage point in the tops of the trees. Anna looked up at the scavengers circling and imagined how the wreckage must appear from above, a dark carcass with its broken bones laid bare against the stark white snow. And leading away from it, two sets of tracks, footprints side by side. The marks of Anna and her horse as they walked away.
The snow was falling heavily, and in the distance came a mournful howl. It was the cry of the wilderness, of the taiga.
The call of the timber wolf.
CHAPTER 13
Winter’s Howl
The wolf’s howl was a lonely bay that filled the woods with its haunting echo. The sound made the hairs rise on the back of Anna’s neck, putting fire in her blood, making her pulse quicken.
“Come on, Drakon! We need to get moving!”
There was a slim chance that one of the other carriage racers might come across their wreckage and follow her, but Anna knew it was unlikely. Before the crash she had taken backwoods paths and now she had veered off completely, to seek the shortest route home. With dusk approaching, Anna’s only goal was to get to the estate, following her inner compass, going south. Through the falling snow she could still make out the mountains to the east, the deep forest glades to the west, and she knew she was heading in the right direction.
Although they were taking the shortest route as the crow flies, it was not easy terrain. The ground beneath the snow was pocked with massive potholes beneath the smooth white surface. At times the drifts were so deep Anna would find herself up to her waist as if she were wading a river. All the same, she refused to mount Drakon. She worried that his shoulder wound could not withstand the weight of a rider on his back. And so she walked alongside him, feeling the snow soaking her clothes and turning them stiff with ice, her feet becoming numb and leaden.
In her wake, Anna left black holes where her feet had plunged into the snow as she struggled onward. Drakon, however, left something more. Red drops of blood, like berries on the white snow. A scent trail. In the far distance, a timber wolf had picked up the smell. His lone cry became a howl of hunger and excitement. Soon he was joined by a wild chorus as the rest of the pack picked up the scent. The wolves united in the hunt. They were coming for Anna and Drakon.
The five black shapes first appeared as specks in the distance, but all too soon Anna could see them looming closer. She was reminded of that very morning on the ice when the dark shapes of the carriages behind them had spurred her on. At the time it had felt so vital to stay ahead of them, to keep the lead. As if her life had depended on keeping out of reach of her rivals. How ridiculous! What a fool she had been to care about something so completely trivial. Alone in the vastness of the taiga with the wolf cries and the night closing in fast, Anna understood that the only thing that mattered now was survival.
“Hurry, Drakon!” Anna began to drag her horse by the reins, imploring him to move faster. But even as she did this she knew in her heart that there was no way to outrun the wolves. The pack were built for speed in the snow and with Drakon injured, they could never keep ahead of the timber wolves all the way back to Khrenovsky.
Out here in open terrain the wolves would run them down easily. Her only chance was to get Drakon to the woods. There they could stand their ground and try to fight rather than run and die. In the grove of trees ahead, in amongst the firs, Anna might be able to find some weapon, a stout bough, something she could use.
“We need to reach the trees, Drakon.” She grabbed at the harnesses. “I’m sorry to do this but we will never make it if I am on foot …”
The weight of Anna’s snow-soaked skirts made it even harder to pull herself up on to Drakon’s back. She kept sliding down, frustrated and panicked as her efforts brought them to a standstill. Her blood was pounding as she leapt up again and again and the wolf howls grew louder in her ears. Finally, using every last scrap of strength that she possessed, she kicked off the ground with all her might and managed to fling a leg over Drakon’s back and cling on to right herself. She snatched hold of the harnesses and gave her stallion a swift kick to urge him on. She had never kicked her horse before but Drakon responded exactly as she had hoped he would, with a snort of shock and then a great leap forward.
The horse moved straight into a gallop, and Anna clung to his mane as he leapt through the snowdrifts like a gazelle, flinging his forelegs high into the air to rise above the drifts and then sinking again with every stride. He used his powerful hindquarters, rearing to get momentum and then crashing down, ploughing onward like a ship through rough seas.
The immense effort to gallop like this through the snow with the girl on his back was exhausting him, but Anna drove the horse on, staying with him stride for stride. “Go, Drakon! Run!”
Anna cast a fearful glance behind her and saw that the timber wolves were even closer. They were no longer abstract black shapes in the distance, but real creatures, snarling and salivating, bounding inexorably onwards with the smell of Drakon’s blood filling their nostrils, their jaws open wide in anticipation.
“Go, Drakon!” Anna urged her horse to even greater speed through the snowdrifts, ploughing his way towards the trees ahead.
The firs were dense, and when they finally reached the woods Anna was almost knocked off her horse as they pushed their way through the low branches laden with snow. There was no path, so she had to force her way through a tangle of tree boughs, using one arm to hold on to her horse and the other to protect her face from the firs. Suddenly the trees around them disappeared completely. They had reached a natural clearing within the forest. Here, the snow had barely penetrated and the ground was lightly dusted with white flakes on the dense brown floor of pine needles.
Anna flung herself down from Drakon’s back and clawed about in the snow, searching for a large branch. She picked up a stick the size of her arm and then discarded it in a panic. Too short and not sturdy enough! She needed something bigger.
The howls were getting louder, closer. Picking up the same stick that she had thrown away just a moment before, she raced back to Drakon’s side.
The grey stallion was quivering with fear, his flanks heaving, every muscle twitching. The wolf cries had awoken in him that natural urge that lies in all horses: the instinct to take flight.
Run, Drakon’s blood was telling him. Run.
Blood is powerful. But it is not destiny.
Drakon’s ears flattened hard against his head in fury. He trembled beside Anna but he did not leave her. He could have run, but instead he stood there, loyal and steadfast.
And then the baying stopped. An eerie stillness filled the cl
earing. Anna caught a glimpse of grey fur between the pines. The wolves were there, hidden by the trees. They stalked their prey, paws padding silently across the snow, creeping ever closer. Anna held up the bough, preparing herself for battle.
“Do you see them?” Anna asked the horse. “Drakon …”
Suddenly, in a frenzy of snarling, the wolves crashed into the clearing.
There were five of them, but three were barely more than cubs. The younger wolves were all pale grey like their mother, but the adult male wolf had a thick black coat that faded to charcoal at the tips.
Crab-walking back and forth with shoulders hunched and mouth open to show his dripping fangs, the male wolf took charge of the scene. As he snarled and snapped at the female and the cubs to keep them in line, Anna thought of the timber wolves in their cage at Khrenovsky. When meat was thrown in at dinnertime the pack leader always grabbed his share first and ate greedily before his cubs. In the same way, these wild wolf cubs hung back and waited. Anna knew they would not attack unless the black wolf gave the order.
He padded back and forth, edging forward on silent paws until he was so close to Anna she could smell his fetid, hot breath, and see the gleam of saliva on his fangs.
Shaking, she tightened her grip on the bough, readying herself to swing it.
The black wolf gave a bloodcurdling growl and came at Anna in a blind rush of slavering jaws and cold, white fangs. He leapt with such ferocious speed that she had no time to raise the weapon. Anna felt the blow of the body crashing against her, knocking her to the frozen ground. But it was not the wolf that had struck her.
It was Drakon.
The grey stallion had pushed her aside to face the wolf himself. Anna had no idea how Drakon had moved so quickly. One moment the wolf was leaping for her throat and the next Drakon had plunged between the predator and his mistress. Blocking the wolf’s path, Drakon went up on his hindquarters and struck with his front hooves. He caught the wolf a vicious blow that sent the creature reeling. Dazed, the wolf rose to his feet to find Drakon towering above him, trembling with fury, his ears flattened against his head, hooves pawing the ground.
The timber wolf gave a low growl, and prepared himself to attack again. This time he would not do so alone. Already the other wolves were circling, ready to lunge and strike at the grey stallion. They would use their superior numbers to take him by surprise while the black wolf attacked from the front. Drakon tensed his muscles, bracing himself for the impact.
The huge black timber wolf took a stride and then threw himself forward, leaping through the air, ready to strike Drakon with the full force of his weight. They were like mountains about to collide.
In all this time, none of them had noticed a shadow creeping quietly between the trees. Not Anna or Drakon or the wolf pack. A master of camouflage, the shadow was obscured in the half-light of dusk. His markings kept him well hidden while the soft pads of his giant paws made no noise on the carpet of fallen pine needles and snow.
In the gloom of the woods, he had watched as the wolves gathered, cornering Anna and Drakon. And as the black wolf flung himself through the air to close his deadly jaws round Drakon’s throat, the shadow knew his moment had come.
With a devastating roar that shook the air like a mountain avalanche, the tiger struck the black timber wolf with all his might, toppling him off balance, bringing both of them crashing down to the ground.
The wolf barely had a chance to lift his head. With one glorious sweep of his enormous paw, the tiger hurled him into a tree trunk on the far side of the clearing. This time the wolf did not rebound. He lay there yelping pitifully; a cry of pain and defeat.
With his tail slung low, the vanquished black timber wolf abandoned his pack and ran off into the trees. The four remaining wolves circled the tiger, posturing and snarling, shoulders rolling as they ducked and nipped at him, manoeuvring like boxers looking to land a blow.
The tiger let them dance and weave, with an air of calm disdain. Then, as though tired of this game, he struck back with a brutal finality. Taking on all four wolves at once, he threw them about as if they were no more than playthings. When the tiger had finished, the snow was streaked with blood, and the timber wolves were scattering, tails between legs, limping away with their bellies empty.
The tiger watched them go and then turned to Anna and Drakon.
He moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, paws crossing step by step, his amber gaze fixed on Anna and a strange deep growl coming from his throat. Only one who knows tigers intimately would have understood it, for it was a sound not often heard in nature. It was a tiger’s purr.
“Boris?”
Anna could scarcely believe it.
“Boris? Borenka? Is it you? Is it really you?”
And then she was running to him through the snow, and the big cat was roaring his strange melodic growl-purr and she had her arms round his neck and she was crushing the tiger to her chest, holding him as tight as she could.
“Borenka!” Anna buried her face in his orange-and-black striped coat. “I never thought I would see you again. Oh, but you have grown! Look how enormous you are!”
She held him close for the longest time, feeling the opulence of his plush coat, so soft and delicious just as it had been when he was only a cub. She buried her head again and again in his wonderful fur and then, when at last she let him go, Boris padded across the snow towards Drakon.
The horse and the tiger stood facing each other, battle-scarred and exhausted. And then, with a gentle nicker, the horse did what he had always done. He reached down his dragon-face and, opening his nostrils wide, he inhaled the tiger’s breath. Muzzle to muzzle, horse and tiger, bonded by their love for Anna and their love for each other.
***
In the hours that followed, Boris and Drakon were like old comrades, walking side by side in companionable silence. It was only when they drew close to the borders of the Khrenovsky estate that Anna noticed the tiger slowing his stride. He was falling back, distancing himself from the girl and the horse.
As the snow fell harder, she began to lose sight of Boris. And then she turned to look for him and realised that he was gone.
Anna did not call his name, even though she knew he would have come if she had done so. It had to be this way. They were too close to the estate – it was not safe for the tiger to be here.
And so they walked on, just Anna and Drakon. The snowdrifts were waist-deep and it was a desperate struggle to walk. She could not bring herself to remount Drakon. It seemed unfair to ask her wounded horse to carry her when he was every bit as exhausted as she was. They ploughed on side by side, too tired to do anything more than trudge onwards, putting one foot doggedly in front of the next.
When Anna saw the twinkling of the palace lights on the horizon, she knew she was heading in the right direction. Then the blizzard set in, just as Vasily said it would. As the snowstorm raged around them, the lights on the horizon were completely obscured. Anna and Drakon were alone in the dark.
“Come on! It is not much further,” Anna insisted. “We must keep moving, Drakon …”
Suddenly, the grey stallion lurched sideways, his legs buckling beneath him.
“Drakon!”
Anna flung herself at him, fingers twisting into the rope of his mane, trying in vain to pull him to his feet. “Drakon, please! Please …”
The snow stung her face as he went down.
“Niet!” She tore out chunks of mane as she tried to drag him to his feet. “Niet! Drakon! Get up!”
Removing her fur coat with trembling hands, she laid it on top of the horse and burrowed underneath, warming both of them as best she could.
“It’s just like the old days, Drakon … riding in the woods …” Anna murmured as she nestled into the crook of her horse’s forelimbs, tucked up against his chest.
“Remember how we slept underneath the stars? With the rugs laid beneath us and Vasily tending the fire pit to heat his urn of spiced honey tea an
d Igor whimpering as he dreamt of chasing timber wolves …”
Darling Igor! Her father would never understand that her borzoi was the best hound he had ever bred. He would have ended Igor’s precious bloodline without a second thought, given the chance.
“He would have killed you too, Drakon,” she whispered. “Long ago, if I had given him the chance. But I gave you life and I have loved you with all of my heart. You are everything to me, Drakon.”
Anna could hear the horse breathing, feel the faint rise and fall of his exhausted ribcage.
Trying to warm herself a little, she pulled the fur coat up to her chest. As she did so her gloved fingertips brushed against the filigree chain round her neck.
With trembling hands she clasped the priceless diamond and raised it up to her face so that she could gaze upon its dark beauty.
Summoning all her remaining strength, she stared hard into the stone. The brilliant-cut jewel refracted and reflected the light, splintering the world into a million tiny pieces as infinite as the snowflakes that swirled around her.
Visions cut like shards of glass into her consciousness. She saw the amber glint of a tiger’s eye, the flash of his stripes and the low rumble of his growl. And then she saw the girl with the pink horse. Her stallion was beautiful like Drakon, dancing and stepping in time to music. There were lights shining like stars above her …
Anna’s hands clutched at her throat and then the diamond teardrop slipped from her fingers as she fell back against Drakon, her body cold and limp, lost to the frozen Russian night.
