Kremlins Boxset

by K L Conger

  Taras watched the clash of the three remaining predators breathlessly. The two wolves snapped and clawed at the tiger by turns. The tiger swiped a paw at one and it jumped back. When it stood a good way from the tiger, it turned its back and headed for the forest.

  The tiger lunged forward, giving chase. It reached the wolf in two enormous bounds. Rather than attack the animal, however, it put its body between the wolf and the woods, cutting off its prey’s escape.

  Taras blinked. He’d never seen a wild animal do that before. So, the wolves did not attack the tiger; the tiger attacked the wolves. Now it appeared to be...playing with them.

  During winter, often food was scarce out here on the Siberian plain. If the tiger grew hungry enough, he might attack wolves for food. Normally he wouldn’t bother with such fierce predators. If hungry enough, though, he’d attack anything warm-blooded. Yet that couldn’t possibly be the case today. Winter lay weeks away yet, and Taras killed an enormous deer only hours before. The tiger should have easily found itself a much easier meal than the wolves.

  With an abrupt screech, the second wolf went down. The tiger pounced on it using his powerful front paws to lean all his weight atop it. Blood sprayed the snow as the stronger predator won the day.

  The third wolf, seeing its opening, sprinted into the woods while the tiger focused on the fallen dog. Taras watched in silent fascination, holding his breath.

  If this tiger felt hungry enough to attack three wolves, he didn’t dare reveal himself. This animal never showed him any animosity in the past, but Taras didn’t feel at all certain it would hold true now. He decided to wait until the tiger tore into its kill before slipping quietly away.

  After killing the wolf it stood atop, the tiger pounced on the second, already-wounded wolf and ripped its throat out with his teeth. Not surprising, if it planned to lunch on both wolves. Still, something about the entire situation struck Taras as off.

  Then came a second strange event in this gory play. The tiger paced back and forth, surveying it’s kills for several minutes. Turning its back on them, it peered in the direction the third wolf ran. Pushing off its powerful hind legs, it vaulted after the third wolf.

  Strange. In truth, Taras felt mild relief. He didn’t need to sneak away quite so silently anymore. Both wolf and tiger ran in the opposite direction Taras needed to go, so he didn’t worry overly much about meeting them in the woods. Taras still exercised caution, of course, as he slid back down the shallow slope to gather up his meat again.

  He turned what he’d seen over in his head as he once again trudged toward home, searching for a way to explain it.

  Perhaps a tiger that size regularly ate three wolves’ worth of meat and simply wanted all three. Yet, a starving animal leaving its kill in order to go find more struck Taras as bizarre. Unlike humans, they didn’t store up multiple carcasses against winter time. Animals such as this generally ate what they’d already killed and, if they still needed more afterward, simply hunted again. Why would the tiger stalk a third wolf when two already lay on the ground, waiting for him?

  And of course, unlike Taras, the animal wouldn’t carry the meat back to its den for later. If a mother needed to feed her young, she might drag the carcass along the ground with her, but again, the tiger simply abandoned the meat. And this tiger was male, in any case. Chances were, the wolf carcasses would be eaten by other animals or dragged away by scavengers.

  Animals instinctively understood these things. It made them naturally territorial about their kills.

  The tiger put itself in front of the third wolf to keep it from escaping—odd behavior to begin with—and then abandoned its kill to hunt the wolf that escaped. It made no sense. Wild animals didn’t do such things.

  Taras resolved to ask his friends from the village about it. Maybe they knew some explanation Taras did not. Some fact that escaped Taras entirely.

  TARAS REACHED HIS CABIN with an hour or so to spare before the sun dipped below the far horizon. As he approached the front porch, the door swung wide and Nikolai vaulted out, a squeal of delight emanating from his four-year-old throat. He practically leapt right over the wide porch, landing on the dirt in front of it, before running toward Taras.

  With a smile, Taras dropped his load of meat and fell to one knee before Nikolai threw himself into Taras’s embrace, wrapping his skinny arms so tightly around Taras’s neck, it quickly became hard to breathe. Taras learned some time ago to take a knee when Nikolai greeted him. Staying on his feet or dropping into a squat always resulted in Taras looking up at the sky from his back, with Nikolai on top of him.

  Taras laughed at the boy’s delight. “Did you find us lots of food, Papa?” Nikolai asked, pulling back to peer down at Taras’s bound up parcels.

  Despite calling him papa, the boy looked absolutely nothing like Taras. He’d inherited the dark hair, olive skin and Russian features of his Siberian mother. He doubted anyone who’d stopped at their little homestead over the years ever truly believed he was Taras’s son. Yet, none of them questioned it either. At least not verbally.

  Anne walked out onto the cabin’s porch and watched the two of them with a soft smile.

  “I have, indeed,” Taras answered the boy’s question. “We will eat well for days.”

  Nikolai whooped loudly and reached down to scoop up the meat-filled pelts. He attempted to pick them all up at once, but couldn’t come close to lifting such a heavy burden.

  Taras scooped most of them up again, leaving two for Nikolai to heave toward the cabin. Each weighed nearly as much as the boy himself, so he threw his entire weight into their transport. His brows furrowed with effort and he stuck his tongue out between his teeth. He always begged to help Taras with strenuous tasks to prove how big and strong he’d grown.

  Taras reached the porch and glanced up at Anne.

  “Good hunting, I see,” she said.

  Taras nodded, feeling distracted. His mind remained on the tiger. “Very good,” he murmured absently.

  Anne frowned. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Taras glanced up at her. After years of sharing a roof, she read his moods nearly as well as Inga used to. Were all women so intuitive? He cleared his throat and cut his eyes significantly toward Nikolai. Their universal sign of not wanting to speak in front of him.

  Understanding reached Anne’s eyes and she nodded. “Come Nikolai,” she said cheerfully. “Bring those in and you can help me with dinner.”

  Nikolai busily attempted to hoist his parcels up, onto the porch, which proved significantly harder than dragging them along the ground. His skinny arms shook with the effort. At Anne’s words, he tried to whoop. In his exertion, it came out more like a croak. Anne bent and picked up one of the two bags, lightening the boy’s load considerably. The two of them disappeared into the cabin.

  Taras turned toward the barn with the rest of the meat. Inside, he found Jasper waiting for him. The horse nickered affectionately when Taras entered.

  In the years since Anne came to live with him, he’d built a much larger barn. It now stood three times the size of the cabin, which he’d also expanded. Inside, rather than a single stall, he’d built a miniature, indoor corral so Jasper had a great deal of room to move around. Near the back of the structure, he’d dug a large pit in the earth, deep enough that it stayed cool, even in summer. He deposited the excess meat into it before turning to his faithful horse.

  He entered Jasper’s living area to stroke the horse’s neck affectionately. He rubbed his loyal friend down with grass gathered on the Siberian plains, and fed him some from his hand.

  While he still spent a lot of time in the horse’s company, he rarely rode Jasper himself anymore. White strands invaded Jasper’s main and tail. Their tally increased daily. Mostly, Taras let Nikolai ride him, or sometimes brought him, laden with goods and walking slowly, to the village for trade.

  Taras made sure to shut the barn securely when he left, in case any local predators decided to make an appearan
ce this evening.

  By the time he opened the cabin door, the smell of sizzling meat permeated the living space. He took off his boots, crusted with mud and dried grass, and left them inside the door, so he didn’t track it through the cabin. Boots the size of Nikolai’s and Anne’s feet sat right outside the door, where they usually kept their shoes. Taras felt spooked because of the tiger and brought all three pairs inside.

  His stomach rumbled as he crossed the room to the wooden table and sat down. Rather than only being one large room, as he’d originally built it, the cabin now had four rooms. The original, main one now served as a general living area. He’d built three separate rooms onto the outside of the cabin. One for him, one for Anne, and one for Nikolai.

  He watched Anne patiently warn Nikolai about playing too near the fire, while Nikolai hooted happily and jumped around energetically. Taras smiled.

  He and Anne discussed what they should tell people about their situation when she first arrived. They considered pretending to be married. Most places in the world, good society didn’t accept grown men and women sharing a roof unless they were married or related. Granted, Siberia hardly qualified as a place full of ‘good society,’ but if they didn’t share a bed—and they never did—visitors might grow suspicious. In the end, they’d decided to tell people Anne and Taras were siblings. Much like Nikolai, she looked absolutely nothing like him. Taras felt sure some of the travelers passing through who’d spent a night or three at the cabin suspected the lie, but none of them questioned it.

  Though with each passing day, Taras felt more disappointed about not seeing Inga, he’d still settled into a life of contentment. He’d felt grateful for Anne’s companionship when she first arrived. Simply someone to talk with by the fire at night. And while he’d felt certain he didn’t want the child in the beginning, he found more joy in Nikolai’s exuberant laugh and sincere affection than he could have imagined.

  For the next hour, he watched the little boy dance around the cabin while Anne skillfully cooked supper. They ate together, Taras questioning Nikolai about his adventures in the woods today. He posed carefully-worded questions to find out if the boy noticed any signs of suspicious animals in the area. He hadn’t.

  Afterward, Taras told the boy a story of faraway England, until the boy’s eyelids slid closed, though he fought to keep them open.

  BY THE LIGHT OF THE fire, Taras told Anne everything he’d seen while hunting. The tiger and the wolves and the strange behavior.

  “What do you think it means?” Anne asked.

  Taras shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen animals act like that. It hunted the wolves for sport. I thought only men did such things.”

  “Perhaps it means he’s becoming more dangerous. It frightens me to think he’s in the area again. Nikolai plays in the woods most days.”

  Taras nodded. “I thought the same thing.”

  “So what will you do?” Anne asked.

  Taras rubbed his forehead with one hand. “I don’t know. What can I do? The beast prowled in the woods, hunting his own prey. I can hardly hunt a Siberian tiger.”

  He glanced up to find Anne arching an eyebrow at him. “What?”

  “After all you’ve done, Taras. After Moscow, Ivan, the Tatars, the siege of Khazan, why couldn’t you hunt a Siberian tiger?”

  Taras frowned, confused. “First and foremost, because it will kill me.” He rose to his feet and paced. “Besides, maybe I didn’t see what I thought. It makes no sense. Perhaps I’m getting old and hallucinated it.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Anne said scornfully. “I have fifteen winters on you and I certainly don’t go around hallucinating evil tigers.”

  Taras ignored her and continued pacing. “The tiger has never harmed us directly. I’m loathe to attack it for simply doing what it must to survive.”

  “You said yourself what happened today didn’t pertain to survival,” Anne objected. “The tiger hunted those wolves today, and not for food.”

  Anger surged in Taras’s chest. What did she want him to do about it?

  “Why are you defending Siberian wolves? Given the chance, they’ll kill us as surely as anything else.”

  “I know that, Taras,” Anne said calmly. “If it’s hunting these wolves for sport, it may hunt other things, including humans, for sport as well. You already know the truth of what I say. You only pace like this when you’re conflicted.”

  Taras froze. How did women always do that? “What would you have me do, Anne? Get myself eaten by a wild cat who outweighs me by fifteen stone? One who bested two wolves the size of horses?”

  “I hardly want you to die, Taras. You know that’s not what I’m saying. I only want Nikolai to be safe. And you. I want to be safe. Is it too much to ask?”

  Taras instantly felt remorse for snapping at her. She had every right to feel safe in the place she lived. Of course he would do anything to keep Nikolai safe. “I don’t begrudge you that,” he muttered.

  Anne continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “Perhaps a better solution is simply to leave.”

  Taras stared at her, unable to keep the surprise from his face. She’d never suggested leaving Anechka before. Not once since she’d come to live with him.

  She hurried on when she noticed his expression. “We’ve lived here a long time, Taras. Nikolai needs playmates. He needs more people in his life than you and I.”

  “He has the villagers.”

  “Who he only sees a handful of times a year and can’t entirely communicate with. You’re an educated man, Taras. You didn’t receive your education in the wilds of Siberia. Don’t you want the same for your son?”

  “I educate Nikolai satisfactorily,” Taras snapped. He’d already taught the boy reading and writing and basic arithmetic. He planned to continue teaching him as he grew.

  “Yes,” Anne said gently. “But some things he can’t learn here. What happens when he gets older and wants to marry and have children of his own?”

  “He’s still a child,” Taras said stubbornly.

  Anne sighed before giving a single nod of concession. “Perhaps. He won’t be forever.”

  Taras pressed his lips together. He couldn’t think of anything wise to say.

  Anne stood and crossed the room to stand in front of him. Placing her palms on his shoulders, she forced him to look into her face. “Why are you still here, Taras? Inga obviously isn’t coming.”

  “You don’t know that,” he growled fiercely.

  Anne studied his face a moment before shaking her head. “You’re waiting on a spoiled hope. Turning away from monsters you refuse to acknowledge.”

  Taras stepped backward, out of her reach and gritted his teeth to keep from yelling. “Don’t you dare judge me for this, woman,” he said. Not a yell, but not far off from one, either. “You know what my hope for Inga means to me. I’ve given you a home.”

  Anne raised her hands placatingly, though her expression did not soften. “Very well. Yes, you gave me a home. I’ll always be grateful. You’ve also become my friend. As a friend, I reserve the right to tell you the things you refuse to tell yourself, even if you don’t want to hear them.”

  Taras stared at her a moment longer before dropping his eyes. She might be right, but he didn’t intend to leave this valley while Inga still lived.

  “Back to bed, Nikolai,” Anne said firmly. Taras blinked at her. It took another three seconds for him to register who she’d addressed. He spun on his toe to find Nikolai peeking out at them from his bedroom door.

  Taras sighed. He supposed they had talked loudly. He crossed the room and put a hand on the open door. “Sorry we woke you. Anne is right. Back to bed. Come on.”

  The boy turned and walked back into the darkness of his bedroom. Taras followed. Nikolai climbed into his bed and Taras perched on the side, pulling the covers up over Nikolai’s skinny shoulders.

  “Back to sleep now, Nikolai. In the morning, we can take Jasper out.”

  Niko
lai usually grew excited at the thought of riding around with Taras or working Jasper. Tonight, it didn’t seem to affect him at all. He merely stared at Taras with his wide brown eyes, face expressionless.

  Not sure what else to say, Taras rose from the bed.

  “Papa?”

  Taras turned. “Yes?”

  “What did Anne mean about monsters?”

  So, Nikolai heard what Anne said about Taras refusing to acknowledge the monsters. Clearly the boy didn’t hear any talk of the tiger. He would have mentioned that first. Taras considered for a moment, unsure how to answer. “She didn’t mean it literally, Nikolai. She and I merely had a disagreement. It’s done now. Nothing to worry you.”

  “But why wouldn’t you vanquish a monster if you saw one? You’ve told me stories of Ilya Muromets, and Beowulf, and the monsters they fought. How could you see a monster and not want to fight it?”

  Taras sat on the side of the bed again. He put a hand on Nikolai’s arm, searching for words a boy his age would understand. “It’s not a matter of not wanting to vanquish the monster, Nikolai. Of course we always want to. Sometimes, we simply can’t. We aren’t physically able. Vanquishing monsters is a complicated business. I wish it were as simple as the stories make it sound. Often, it’s not.”

  “But you always tell me I can do anything I can think of, Papa. Even if I can’t do it right away, I can figure out a way to make things right. Can’t you do that with monsters, too?”

  Taras smiled affectionately down at the only son he’d probably ever have. “I do tell you that,” he nodded. “Perhaps you are right. I will think on it more tonight. For now, go to sleep.”

  The boy laid down obediently and Taras stood to go once more. He turned to look over his shoulder before leaving the room and found Nikolai’s eyes wide open and watching him.

  Out in the living room, Anne sat by the fire once more. The soft clack of her wooden knitting needles filled the room.