Moon Runner 01 Under the Shadow

by Jane Toombs

  Her family, along with the rest of the villagers, disliked and feared this man from the forest but when it became clear Samara was with child, her father gave her to the stranger in marriage.

  On the night after the wedding a full moon rose. It was then the Wise Woman crept into the bedroom of Samara's father and woke him.

  "Death rides the moon," she hissed. "You have welcomed a beast into your house, you have wedded your daughter to a son of the forest spirits, an oborot who is both man and beast. Rise and stab him with a silver knife while he sleeps or he will kill you all and gobble your hearts before morning."

  Samara's father roused his three sons and, armed with knives, they slipped into the bridal chamber and fell on the slumbering groom. The sons withdrew in terror when the stranger's flesh, penetrated by their steel knives, closed over immediately. But the father's silver knife rose and fell until blood stained the bedcovers and dripped onto the floor.

  The bridegroom howled and fell back against the bed. Though they believed he must be dead, when he began to change into a horrible beast, the men took fright, gathered up the screaming Samara and ran from the room, carrying her to the Wise Woman.

  She forced infusions of herbs down the girl's throat to rid her of the child she carried. When the father and his sons returned to drag away the beast, he was gone. Neither he nor the stranger was ever seen again.

  Samara didn't miscarry despite all the potions she was fed. When she was finally brought to the birthing bed, she fell into a trance when the first child was born and died as the second child slipped from her womb. Her father meant to kill the babies but when he saw how human they looked, identical twin boys who, except for their golden eyes, resembled his own sons when they had been babes, he hadn't the heart.

  The old Wise Woman, who might have convinced him the twins must not live, was dead herself by this time, savaged by a wolf while she hunted for firewood in the forest. Or at least the villagers preferred to believe it was a wolf. Samara's twins grew to manhood and the full moon rose and one of them--changed. The villagers hunted him and stabbed him through the heart with a silver dagger when he returned to human form. And so he died, but the other escaped, fleeing to a faraway city. There he took the name of Volek which was his by right and in due course luck brought him a wealthy wife who bore him nine children, none of them twins.

  "But every time twin boys are born into the Volek family, if they are identical one will carry the curse of the oborot," Alexis' father had finished. "For many years we've been fortunate. You must never forget, though, that it can happen. It is your duty to tell this story to your eldest son when he comes of age so he may pass on the warning." Alexis opened his eyes. It seemed to him that his sons had looked into his soul and knew what dwelt there. The dagger in his hand seemed heavier than silver, as heavy as lead.

  "You must wield a silver knife," his father had warned. "Else an oborot will not die."

  Somehow he must bring himself to use this knife of ancient silver.

  The opening door of the nursery crashed into the wall. He whirled to see who dared disturb him. Varda rushed to his side, her eyes wide and frightened.

  "Alexis, no!" she cried, seeing the dagger.

  The Finnish nursemaid groaned and sat up on her cot, rubbing her eyes. Hastily Alexis sheathed his knife. Varda was bending over the cradle to look at her babies and he put his arm around her waist, urging her toward the nursery door. Behind them one of the boys began to cry, joined by his twin. Varda hesitated.

  "Let the nursemaid care for them," Alexis said, drawing his unwilling wife through the door and down the hall where he led her into their bedroom, closing the door.

  He faced her, hands on her shoulders. "It's best not to grow too attached to the boys," he told her.

  "They're my babies!" she cried, flinging away from him. "One is. The other is something besides that, as I've warned you. Something evil."

  "So you say."

  "I speak the truth. On the brink of manhood either Sergei or Vladimir will become a ravening monster. Not only will we be in danger but our lives will be ruined. We'll be ostracized. Forced to leave St. Petersburg, if not Russia. If our daughter Sonya marries young Gorski, he'll cast her into the street once he knows. Is this what you want for us, Varda?"

  "I don't believe it has to happen, even if what you tell me is true."

  "It will happen."

  "The boys are still my babies. Until it does happen, You can't keep me from them."

  Alexis looked down at her dark loveliness, feeling his insides twist. They were his babies, too.

  "I saw you at the cradle with the knife," Varda whispered. "If you use it, if you commit such a terrible sin, I swear to you I will kill myself."

  He sighed, defeated. "I give you my word I won't use the knife on our twins. I haven't the heart. We'll keep the boys with us as long as it's safe--until they're eleven or twelve. Then they'll have to be sent away. I have holdings in Kamchatka--that might be the best place for them." "Kamchatka! Why there's nothing in that wilderness except a few natives and their dogs."

  "Exactly," Alexis said. "In such surroundings, when the evil surfaces, the oborot can do little harm to anyone. I'll send Turgoff with the boys. He'll have to know the truth so he'll be prepared to act when one--changes. There is no man I trust more than Turgoff; he would never betray me. When Turgoff returns with the normal boy the death of his twin will be called an accident."

  "And if there is no change, what then?"

  "If I'm wrong, I'll thank God and bring the twins home when they're twenty-one."

  She bit her lip. "If you're right and the worst happens--what of the other? What if he kills his brother before Turgoff can stop him?"

  "Nothing will happen to the unaffected twin. He's the only person in the world safe from his brother once the changing begins."

  Sergei stared at his father after the old man finished the tale. He knew in his heart he couldn't have harmed Vlad, beast or not. But Vlad had died because of him, anyway.

  He knew now it was no wolf who'd savaged Turgoff. The beast inside him had killed the Cossack to save its own life. Just as it had killed the Kamchadal man who sought Sergei's death. And Vlad knew how Turgoff and Moss Belly had died; he'd watched the shapeshift, followed the beast and seen the killings.

  If only Vlad had told me what I was, what I'd done, Sergei agonized.

  Would I have believed him if he had?

  "You must take care," Alexis warned. "Twin sons must be smothered at birth because there's no way to predict which twin will grown up to change under the moon. Voleks must not loose a beast on the world. I failed in my duty, yet if I had not, when I die Natasha would be left alone and helpless. God was good, the beast twin died, you lived."

  Sergei couldn't bring himself to tell his father the truth.

  "Your brother didn't by any chance father a child on some Kamchadal girl before his death, did he?" Alexis asked. Sergei's heart leaped in sudden horror. As far as he knew, Vlad had not. But what about him? He'd lain with Deer Woman more than once. How did he know she wasn't with child when he and Vlad escaped from the village? The possibility had never once occurred to him. Until this moment. He cringed at the thought of a beast inadvertently left to

  run loose among the Kamchadals.

  "Father," he said slowly, "I must go back to

  Kamchatka and make certain no Volek child lives."

  Alexis started to protest, stopped and nodded. "It is your duty," he agreed. "Natasha and I will wait for your return."

  Chapter 22

  Riding across Nevsky Prospeckt, the main street of St. Petersburg, on a cool and overcast June morning, Sergei turned to glance at the boy he'd shepherded from Kamchatka across thousands of miles of snow and biting cold. Wolf had learned to sit a horse correctly even if his table manners left much to be desired. He stood straight now instead of crouched over and had almost lost his feral look.

  Sergei had entered the Kamchadal village posing as a trade
r. He'd never forget his first sight of nine-year-old Wolf, huddled naked inside a filthy pen as if he were an animal. The boy had given him one frightened side-long glance and cringed away as if expecting a blow.

  At the time, Sergei had no idea who the boy was but he had to quell his impulse to tear open the pen and free the child immediately. Instead, he concealed his sick horror and turned away to face Owl Wing, the tribal shaman now that Gray Seal was dead. So far none of the Kamchadals, including Owl Wing, had recognized Sergei--though any real shaman would quickly recognize power in another. But Owl Wing lacked the blue crackle that Grey Seal had possessed, making Sergei wonder just how effective a shaman he was.

  Still, there was no question Owl Wing had tribal prestige. Best to move carefully.

  "Are the boy's parents dead?" Sergei asked, moving

  on past the pen, hoping his question sounded idle.

  "He is not a boy but a wolf cub," Owl Wing insisted. "That is why we pen him."

  "Why not simply kill him and have done?"

  "Too dangerous. Wolf's grandfather was a beast in human form. If we kill his spawn, who knows what havoc the freed animal spirit within the boy might wreak upon our village? Luckily the mother died bearing a second child. It, too, died, so we were spared another such as Wolf."

  Sergei's heart leaped within him. Owl Wing meant him! He was the beast in human form. He gritted his teeth. His daughter by Deer Woman was dead, as Deer Woman herself was. How dare they pen his grandson? He couldn't sleep that night for thinking of the child, miserable and naked in his cage. In the morning, he made the shaman an offer.

  "I collect curiosities," he said. "I will buy this wolf cub, take him from your village and exhibit him in the western cities."

  Owl Wing glowered at him. "Never! We do not loose a beast on the world."

  Sergei shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. "Too bad. I would pay well. Does the boy have no living relatives I might talk to?"

  "None. He is not for sale."

  Two nights later, Owl Wing conducted a hunting ceremony, an involved and intricate performance of divination, using the innards of seals. As the drums pounded and the bells tinkled, Sergei crept to the pen and wrenched it open.

  Wolf cowered away from him, whimpering.

  "Hush!" Sergei commanded. "I am your grandfather, come to take you home with me."

  Wolf went limp, allowing Sergei to toss him onto his shoulder and carry him off. Days later, as the two fled for their lives, Sergei discovered that the terrified Wolf had believed, like the other Kamchadals, that his grandfather was truly a beast and meant to kill and eat him.

  They'd traveled for months across cold, barren Siberia to reach St. Petersburg and every day Wolf had become less of an animal and more of a human--but Sergei kept wondering if the boy would ever completely trust him.

  Now, at last in St. Petersburg, Wolf's expression was dazed as he stared uncomprehendingly at the ornate and beautiful buildings of the city. Sergei shook his head, thinking of what Alexis would say when he saw the boy and discovered he was the great-grandfather of this odd creature. I never intended to be a father, he thought, but damned if I'm not already a grandfather.

  Wolf had been a single birth, not a twin, so he was safe from the shapeshifting. When he was older Sergei meant to teach him about his dark heritage so the boy wouldn't pass on the Volek curse. His energy aura was peculiar--not a normal human red glow nor the blue crackle of a witch or true shaman. It was a strange shade of violet, a color Sergei had never seen before--as though red and blue had somehow merged. As far as he could determine, the boy showed no unusual abilities.

  Perhaps he never would--and be the happier for it. Turning off on the road leading to the dacha, Sergei made certain Wolf followed on his shaggy Mongolian pony. At first the boy's sad plight had outraged and distressed him. He'd been determined to help the child but he'd had no real feeling for Wolf himself. During their long and difficult journey together, though, the boy's courage, obvious intelligence and eager curiosity had impressed Sergei. Gradually, fearfully, he'd grown fond of Wolf, despite his determination to remain aloof. The lesson he'd learned when Vlad died was that it was dangerous to love anyone.

  Wolf was an unusual looking boy with the black slanted eyes and straight black hair of the Kamchadals. But, instead of their round face and full features, Wolf's face was thin, his features sharp. He promised to be taller than most Kamchadal men as well. His skin was sallow, not as dark as a Kamchadal's nor as light as a Russian's.

  Whatever he looks like, he's mine, Sergei thought. My grandson. Will I ever get used to the idea?

  When they reached the dacha he'd trim the boy's hair as well as his own. They were both as shaggy as their ponies after the long trek through the wilderness.

  "We're almost to my father's house," he called to Wolf in Kamchadal, not yet able to think of the dacha as home. Wolf nodded once. Though he spoke Kamchadal well enough and had learned considerable Russian on the journey, he seldom said anything that wasn't absolutely necessary.

  "You will address my father as sir," Sergei reminded him, "and his granddaughter as Cousin Natasha."

  Again the single nod.

  They rode in silence until they came to the lane to the dacha. As they turned in, Wolf's head lifted and his nostrils dilated as he sniffed the air. "Ashes from fire," he said in Russian.

  Now that it was called to his attention, Sergei noticed the same smell. No doubt peasants burning old stubble off a field.

  "You'll be able to see the dacha when we reach the top of this next hill," he told Wolf.

  As they climbed through the spruce grove to the crest of the hill, Wolf smiled. Spruce trees he knew, and he breathed in the familiar odor gratefully. The place his grandfather called St. Petersburg had frightened him with its clamor, crowds of strangely-dressed people and gigantic buildings.

  He was glad they were not to live there.

  His life had changed so completely he hadn't caught up yet to the changes. He wondered if he ever would. To him, his grandfather was a god. Grandfather didn't look or act like a beast, he never beat him or hurt him in any way, he gave him food, clothes, taught him skills and answered questions. Wolf wasn't certain how long these pleasures would last but he meant to enjoy them while they did.

  He kicked his pony into a faster pace to keep up with Grandfather and they reached the summit at the same time.

  "Oh my God!" Grandfather cried, looking down.

  Wolf followed his gaze and drew in his breath. There was the fire he'd smelled. The blackened remains of a wooden house lay below, the ash stink strong.

  Grandfather spurred his pony and raced down the hill. Wolf followed as best he could, fearing to let his grandfather out of his sight. All his good fortune came from the tall man with the curly black hair and beard who'd set him free from the horror of the pen. He'd begun to believe that Owl Wing had lied about Grandfather --how could such a godlike man be a beast?

  Grandfather reined in sharply. A moment later a man appeared from behind a small unburned building with a gaping hole in its roof.

  "Who are you?" Grandfather demanded of the man.

  "Don't be angry, honored sir," the man said. "I am Gregor and I mean no harm. I have a small farm nearby."

  Wolf knew enough Russian words to understand the meaning. "Where's my father?" Grandfather asked sharply.

  "Dead, sir, in the fire the soldiers set. We buried him two days ago."

  Wolf stared unhappily at the stricken expression on Grandfather's face.

  "Natasha Gorski?" Grandfather asked.

  "She was unhurt. The czar's men took her with them. A prisoner."

  "Where?"

  "To the czar's palace. We had no means to prevent them from taking her. Your father was a good man, betrayed by his enemies. We would have hidden him and his daughter if we'd had any warning the soldiers were coming. You must be on your guard against them." His glance shifted to Wolf, then back to Grandfather. "I can offer you and the boy sh
elter for the night."

  Wolf and Grandfather spent the night in the man's barn. In the dark, Wolf heard weeping and huddled into the straw, frightened. Grandfather was his protector, strong and valiant, afraid of nothing. Why was he crying like a child? Finally unable to bear the sound, Wolf uncurled and touched Grandfather timidly on the shoulder. Grandfather started, then pulled Wolf into his arms, holding him close. "You're shivering," he said hoarsely. "Are you cold?" "Scared."

  "Don't be." Grandfather's voice grew stronger. "I won't let the soldiers capture you."

  Wolf didn't know how to explain it wasn't soldiers he feared.

  "I hoped we'd find a home here, you and me," Grandfather said. "How foolish I was to believe I might ever find a home. We can't stay in St. Petersburg or any place near the city." His tone grew grim. "But I'm not leaving without Natasha comes with us."

  Wolf knew the czar was the headman of Russia and that he lived in a big house called a palace. He'd seen soldiers with long guns resting against their shoulders marching in St. Petersburg and understood a soldier's job was to kill the czar's enemies.

  "No gun, you," he said to Grandfather.

  "One gun against so many would be useless. I'll have to use my wits." Grandfather's laugh was harsh. "For whatever they're worth."

  Wolf clutched his hand.

  "Don't worry," Grandfather assured him, "I'll rescue Natasha somehow. Didn't I rescue you? But you must stay here with the man who helped us while I go to the city.

  His name is Gregor. He'll be kind to you if--well, he's

  a good man."

  Wolf clutched harder. "I go with you."

  Grandfather loosened Wolf's desperate hold. "Listen to me. You're a strong and brave boy. You survived in the pen and you survived our journey here. If anything happens to me, you will survive with Gregor. Do you understand?"

  Wolf didn't want to say yes but he nodded once, reluctantly.

  Dark as it was, Grandfather must have seen the nod. "Good," he said. "Now I must tell you a secret I hoped not to burden you with until you were older. Listen very carefully and try not to be afraid."