by L.K. Hill
***
Taras wasn’t sure what woke him at first. He couldn’t have been sleeping for more than a few hours. The fire had burned down, but not enough time had passed to snuff it out completely, or even reduce it to embers.
He lay on his back with Inga stretched out on top of him, her face buried in his neck. They were wrapped up together in the animal skins that made up both bed and blankets.
From somewhere out in the camp, shouts sounded. Then clanging sounds, though he didn’t think they were swords. Wondering what was happening, he sat up on one elbow, causing Inga to slide to the side. She raised her face to his.
“What’s going on?”
He listened, but couldn’t tell anything from what he heard.
“I don’t know. Something.” He put his hand on her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. “Get dressed, all right?”
Taras rose and put some wood on the fire so they would have some light. Then he pulled on his wolf-skin leggings and stamped into his boots. Muffled voices came from outside. They got closer with each word.
“My lord, everyone is sleeping. You cannot—"
“Out of my way, soldier.”
Nikolai’s voice headed for Taras’s tent. Inga had only half-way dressed, as had he. With only a moment to react, Taras threw his body in front of her, standing between her and the door. She stood ten feet behind him, dressing on the other side of the bed. Anyone who came in would have only to look over Taras’s shoulder to see her, but he could do nothing more.
Nikolai burst through the tent flaps an instant later, nearly colliding with Taras, who he didn’t expect to be standing there. He stopped, glanced behind Taras, and quickly averted his eyes. Inga turned away from him, still pulling her smock up over her shoulders.
“Nikolai.” Taras’s voice held as much caution as it housed a year before when Nikolai burst in to find Taras and Inga not sleeping in the same bed.
Understanding came into Nikolai’s eyes. He swallowed, eyes on the ground. Black liquid covered his clothes. When Nikolai spoke, he kept his eyes on Taras. A quiet desperation Taras had never heard before tinged his voice.
“I’m sorry to intrude. It’s Yehvah.” It sounded like a plea. “She’s been attacked.”
Inga finished dressing. She still tied the lacings of her smock, but at least she was covered. She came around the bed to stand behind Taras.
“By who?”
“By what.”
“What?”
“It’s what attacked her, not who. A wolf.”
Taras and Inga gasped in unison. Taras remembered the wolves that attacked his party in Siberia. Inga’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Her breathing became harsher. Taras put a hand on her arm, fearing the worst.
“Is she . . .”
“She’s alive. The doctors are with her.” Nikolai passed a hand over his eyes. “But she’s . . . she’s . . .”
“She’s what?” Inga verged on hysteria.
“There’s . . . so much blood.” Nikolai fell heavily into a nearby chair. “She was getting water from the well on the outskirts of the camp. It came out of nowhere.”
Taras shifted his gaze between the woman he loved and his best friend, wanting to comfort them both, not sure what to do for either. They both looked like they might be sick at any moment. Nikolai stood, looking at Inga.
“She’s asking for you.”