I shambled toward the church. As my body warmed slightly, the furs began to reek. No wonder Ms. Melora hadn't snatched them back. I had noted a few moth holes and a smattering of mold against the inner lining. Apparently the clothing was in worse shape than I'd imagined. People never treated such an expensive garment badly, but I suspected that this fur coat and mittens had been cured by someone with less than professional qualifications. Perhaps they were a terrible experiment gone awry. Stitched together by a pack of first-year apprentices wielding porcupine quills or something?
As my fragrance increased, my desire to meet the good people of Zamok Drakona in church began to plummet. Nonetheless, I urged my feet forward. Prickles zipped along my legs as I walked and my shivering returned. I pressed on through the market, where wooden stalls displayed luxurious furs, brightly beaded valenki, and metal crates stuffed full of frozen fish packed upright like a giant cluster of silver flowers.
The church was just ahead. It was a squat building made from plain oiled lumber. A tiny bell tower capped its roof, although perhaps it was more of a lookout tower as there was no bell. A single gable with three small windows jutted from the front. They were bright with candlelight. My pace quickened. Perhaps I could hide in the coat closet and warm myself far away from anyone who might detect my fragrance.
I made it to the church and leaned against the rough wood door to catch my breath. Snow had drifted up against one side. I felt just about as lively as that mounded heap of powder and ice. The door had a long handle constructed out of a polished piece of driftwood from the Lena River.
I jammed my enormous mitten through it and gave a tug. The door rattled slightly in its frame but remained closed. I tugged again. It opened about a centimeter. Something was holding it shut. I smacked the door with my mittened fist. Footsteps approached on the other side.
I was torn. My moldy coat was mortifying, but freezing to death was not on my list of things to do today. I pounded harder. The door rattled again. It slowly swung open and a wash of candle light flooded the gloomy street. A tall figure stood in the doorway.
At the creak of the opening door, the snow drift beside me erupted.
Fresh powder blasted into the air and a shaggy gray shape hurtled forward.
I turned around and stumbled into the church. Animal noises and fur assailed my senses. I caught a glimpse of pointy ears and a shaggy coat before the creature struck me hard in the chest and I fell backwards.
Strong arms wrapped around me, but I was still falling. I landed on top of my rescuer, next to the coat racks just past the door. The gentle melody of a hymn filled my ears. Despite the beautiful sound, I gagged and fought for breath.
The creature attacked. A vast tongue slurped my face. Hair flew everywhere. I kicked the animal off, but it made a terrible, mournful wooing.
“Sit!”
The monstrous wolf that had been ravaging my face plopped down on its bottom with a thump. The fluffy tail wagged and a pink tongue lolled out of one side of its grinning mouth.
Oh, no. I recognized this animal. I mean sure, I was happy that she wasn't a slavering wolf. But really? Could things get any worse in the mortification department? The first time Liev and his mother had visited me at the orphanage, Liev smuggled in his new puppy.
Liev had explained that Chobo just showed up on their doorstep one night and took over the house. She was a gray Siberian husky but didn't act like any of the other huskies I had met. Scrappy and independent, the sled dogs around Zamok Drakona were lean pulling machines that lived to run and fight and race sleds.
Chobo was none of these things. She was chubby and fluffy and wimpy and loud. Throw a snarling husky her way and she would bull you down trying to hide under the bed. Chobo had loved the orphanage. Ms. Melora did not love Chobo. After that first visit, she was banished to the doorstep. Many times I had walked Liev and his mother to the door, only to find Chobo gone.
The careful observer could always find a mound of snow larger than all of the others. The falling snow never bothered Chobo and when Liev called her name she would explode out of the drift and attack us all with her slurping tongue.
If the ferocious animal that had attacked me was Choboâ¦then I was lying on top ofâ¦
I leapt to my feet, despite the way my limbs trembled with cold. This could not be happening.
“I'm sorry, Miss. The beast is harmless. If she is sitting, you understand. See, all wagging, no biting. Matter of fact, you can pet her now.” He grinned and pointed at Chobo, who had contained her enthusiasm to a few quiet, woo woo woos.
I crammed the fur hat down on my head before stretching out my hand to Chobo. Maybe he wouldn't recognize me. I could warm up a moment and then go find a nice barn or something.
Chobo lunged forward and stole my mitten. Prancing with her fluffy tail curled high, the beast gallumped around us.
I cringed, the singing within the sanctuary faltered. Would the whole town rush in and see me in all my stinky glory? I lunged for my mitten. Chobo pranced to the side. My hat fell off.
Liev scooped it off the floor. As he straightened our gazes met.
“Faina?” He glanced down at my valenki, then back at my face. “Now look, it is you. Your hair grew back. I almost didn't recognizeâ¦are you OK?”
So that was how he remembered me.
I should have stepped inside the church. I was hungry and freezing. It was getting dark. Nothing was left to me, not the babies to rock or the shelter of Ms. Melora's frigid, gray home. Instead, I looked into Liev's eyes and felt the warm valenki he had made on my feet. I saw him as he had been six years ago. I watched him slump away from the orphanage. Away from the smells of poop and vomit and the cold, concrete floors that I was trapped inside. I saw his embarrassment over my bald head and my quiet love for him.
Instead of moving into the warm candlelight of the church as I should have, I picked up my mitten, snatched my hat out of his hands, and I fled. I hit the street running. As fast as my furry boots could carry me, I ran away from Liev Alkaev and his snide comments about my hair. I would rather freeze.
I tried to dash the tears from my cheeks with a mitten, but the moisture had frozen to my skin. It was too cold. Was I truly willing to die of embarrassment? I turned back toward the church and its glowing windows.
The church was gone. Instead, I saw a swirl of snowfall and the gloom of twilight. I looked up to find the first star on the horizon. All I could see was the black roiling of storm clouds and a swirling wall of flakes.
I turned in a full circle. Nothing. I could see nothing.
A sound broke through the raging wind. A long, low howl, followed by another and another. The wolves. Kirill Volkov's wolves. They would be in the castle, sheltered from the worst of the storm.
I wrapped my arms around myself and turned toward the sound of the wolves. One step at a time, I trudged forward through the storm.
Keep howling
.
Lord, please keep them howling.
4
Neither a Reindeer Nor a Dead Rabbit
It was full dark now. I had never been out of the orphanage at night, much less in a storm. But as I struggled forward, everything felt horribly familiar somehow. The icy press of the wind against my numbed cheeks, the ache in my teeth when I opened my mouth to take a breath, and the cold rush of frigid air filling my lungs. My breath came in smoky clouds and made a frosty curtain in my hair and lashes. I rubbed a mitten across my face and realized that the frost clinging to the tiny hairs inside my nose was what made me want to sneeze. Each breath burned through my lungs, an icy fire spreading across my chest. I welcomed each one, though they hurt as though I had been sprinting for my life.
The trees around me thrashed in the darkness and the sound raised gooseflesh on my arms. I had walked through just such a storm, once, somewhere. I had traveled this night before, but when?
The howling grew closer and my addled brain knew enough to be thankful. The castle was here. If I could only follow the wolves, I would find shelter.
Maybe Rasia Volkov needed an assistant to help her prepare the castle for her big Christmas gala. I doubted her brother and uncle were much help. But would a talented young woman from Moscow want the help of an unskilled orphan? Perhaps they needed cleaning done. That, at least, I was qualified to do. I had massive amounts of experience and was comfortable with cleaning anything in the castle, except perhaps the wolf pen.
The thought gave me pause. I stumbled to a stop. Surely, Kirill Volkov would want to clean the pen himself. They were his pets, after all. I pushed into motion again. I would be cleaning nothing at all if I couldn't make it to the castle. Castle first, worry about the wolf pen later.
I had to think about something else. Had to keep going. I conjured up Chobo erupting from her snowy bed to slurp my face. She never had minded the falling flakes as she slept.
Ms. Melora's Christmas songs bounced through my brain in a sing-song cacophony. I put words to a few to keep my feet moving. I started with “Up on the Rooftop.”
Out of the snowdrift, bound bound bound
A fat furry doggy, a fuzzy hound
Slurping my face with eager joy
Hoping that she will get a toy
Woof woof woof, she wants a reindeer hoof
Woo woo woo, it would be fun to chew
Out of the snowdrift, bound bound bound
A fat furry doggy, it's a fuzzy hound
Hmmmâ¦it wouldn't win any awards, but the tune kept me moving and sometimes, avoiding frostbite takes precedence over lyrical excellence. Of course, I couldn't sing about Chobo for long without my thoughts wandering to her insufferable master.
The brief glimpses I'd had of my former best friend confirmed what I already suspected. He had grown into a tall and handsome man. What would he be, twenty? The song about Chobo faded from my mind as I recalled his strong arms encircling me as we fell and the scent of leather and pine on his skin. I shook my head and tried to sing
Up From The Snowdrift
again. That was a safer direction for my thoughts to wander.
Besides, Liev had just stood back and watched me get tatered by his corpulent dog.
Tatered, what an odd phrase. Yet it zipped through my mind with a familiar ease. I had never heard anyone at the orphanage use the term. In fact, the word didn't even sound Russian. But somehow I knew what it meant. To be squashed, smashed, pulverized.
The phrase brought to mind one of my more persistent hallucinations. It was from when I was first brought to the orphanage, back when my badly concussed brain had such a hard time understanding what everyone was saying.
In my hallucination, I sat on a tall, wooden stool in a kitchen with yellow cabinets. A woman with chin-length blonde hair was cutting up boiled potatoes and putting the pieces into a bowl. She added a hunk of yellow butter and a splash of cream then handed me a wire kitchen tool. I proceeded to smash the potatoes into a creamy mess with childish glee. We each took several tastes before moving the fluffy dish to a crystal bowl and setting it on a candlelit table next to an enormous, cooked bird.
Tatered, how strange.
A shape loomed out of the darkness. I lurched to a stop and squinted through the icy flakes that crusted my lashes. It was a wall. A high stone wall made of round river rocks. I stumbled forward and pressed my mittened palms against the stone. Slowly I shuffled sideways along the wall. It was the castle. If I could find the gate, I might yet survive this little jaunt into the Siberian night.
A stone-framed alcove interrupted the wall. I faltered when it disappeared, and held my hands out in front, feeling for the entrance. I bumped into a heavy wooden door. I could picture the door in my mind, but couldn't actually see much of anything with my eyes squinted against the driving storm.
The older Mr. Volkov has spared no expense for the massive stone wall and heavy oak doors. They were bound in brass. All three doors had actual brass knockers.
I fumbled for the heavy metal ring and leaned against the seasoned oak planks. My arms felt heavy and distant, as though the limbs were no longer attached to the rest of me. I turned and pressed my forehead against the wall, closing my eyes. The icy stone made my head ache with cold, but my skin was completely numb and impervious to any discomfort. I had to get inside right now, or resign myself to only an hour long freedom from Ms. Melora's rule, followed by a mortifyingly hasty demise.
I shoved at the door with my shoulder. It shuddered once. I threw my weight against the solid oak again and again. With a groan, the door swung wide, dumping me into the courtyard.
I crawled forward. The sound of the storm lessened as I crept farther into the shelter of the stone wall. I needed to get to my feet. My muscles clenched tight with the cold. If I could just use the wall to steady myself, I was sure I could stand. I inched forward, waiting for the bump of the wall against my hands.
Instead, my mitten flipped something shiny out of the snow. It landed underneath me. I used the tip of one mitten to roll it into the palm of the other. A key? The key was small and silver, still shiny, so it must be fairly new. I stuffed it down into the deep pockets of my ragged fur coat, not sure if it actually fell inside or not. It is hard to find something as delicate as a key while wearing fur mittens.
The momentary rest was nice, but it was also dangerous. I needed to keep moving. I crawled forward until my head smacked into something. It made a ringing clatter. I sat back on my heels and squinted through the snow.
A wall of wire mesh rose above me. A small black device hung on a loop from the fence. It looked like an electric shaver, only different. I looked to my right and left. A long fence stretched the length of the wall. Slowly, I turned and scooted back against the fence. My pulse thudded behind my ears and my limbs trembled with an inexplicable energy. My stomach shrank into a hard little stone and I leapt to my feet.