by Unknown
Then it threw back its head and howled. It closed its eyes as it did, and the wild song was long, powerful, and deep. Billi felt the sound down to her bones.
Eventually the beast dropped its head, tongue lolling in its black-gummed jaws. The sound of its cry echoed before disappearing into the sparkling night.
For a moment the forest listened silently. Even the trees stopped their incessant murmuring.
Then, out in the distance, the howl was answered.
More wolves called to the silver one, each cry adding on to and amplifying the one before. The sounds rolled over the forest like a wave, soaking Billi and Ivan with fear.
Ivan's fist held his crutch as if it were a club, but he faltered, most of his strength gone. Billi scanned her surroundings.
"We have to move," she said. She glanced at the wolf, but it was already retreating into the darkness. It would wait for the pack, then they would attack together.
"I can't," said Ivan. He lowered the crutch, and Billi wasn't sure if he was asking for help getting up or pleading to stay.
"I can't protect us here." It was true. The clearing meant the wolves could come, would come, from any and all directions. Even the rock she and Ivan were sheltering under was a risk: they could be attacked from above. She needed somewhere easier to defend.
"Where's this river?" Billi asked. If their backs were to the water, at least they couldn't be surrounded. It was still pretty desperate: she'd have no retreat.
"It's too far... " Ivan looked at her. "You'll have to leave me here. Go without me."
"Not bloody likely."
Billi helped Ivan up. She handed him the pistol and picked up her knife.
"Lean on me," she said. She pushed her left shoulder under Ivan's right armpit. He was heavy, and they sank deeper into the snow as she took his weight. They weren't going anywhere quickly.
The howls started up again and gathered into a chorus. The wave gathered in size and rose higher over the trembling forest.
How many of them are there?
They stumbled away from the crash site and into the darkness. The snow hid the roots, fallen tree trunks, and potholes that covered the forest floor. Ivan barely supported himself, and Billi was sweating fiercely after only a dozen steps.
They plowed through the thick snow. Billi could hear the snapping of twigs and the crunching of paws on snow getting closer. She even caught glances of movement beyond the tall avenues of trees. Ivan fired at the shadows, not hitting anything, but making enough noise to keep the wolves back. Billi stumbled blindly onward, ignoring Ivan's groans of pain as she resorted to dragging him by his coat. Sharp twigs scratched her, roots tripped her, and branches grabbed at her. It seemed the forest itself was conspiring to hold her down.
They became tangled in the boughs crisscrossing their path, and Billi fought hard to free herself. She pulled sharply and Ivan slipped. His feet cut hers away, and suddenly they were both falling, sliding down an ice-coated slope. The stars spun above her head, and Billi crashed onto a solid, rock-hard surface. Ivan landed beside her, groaning.
Ice. They'd hit the river and it was completely frozen. Billi glanced back at the steep bank they'd just tumbled down and saw that the trees ran right up to its edge. Beyond, maybe a hundred yards away, was the other bank and more of the same. If she could reach it, she'd have the high ground. It was a chance. A small one.
Ivan pulled her sleeve, and she followed his gaze back to the riverbank.
One by one they appeared like spirits summoned out of the forest itself. Their pelts shone pearly white, and their eyes burned with hunger. Eight, Billi guessed, maybe more—it didn't matter.
More than enough.
One sniffed the grooved path Billi and Ivan had left as they'd slid. Its black snout wrinkled, and it snarled, eager but wary of the steepness of the bank.
"Shoot it," Billi urged.
"When it's closer," muttered Ivan. "This is my last bullet."
Billi wiped her hand and settled the kukri into a good firm grip. She peered across the ice at the wolf.
Their eyes met. It stood motionless, daring Billi to attack, its black lips curling up, revealing a sharp set of fangs. A low laugh rumbled in its throat.
C'mon, try it, it seemed to say.
Ivan cursed as he dragged himself over the ice. Billi backed up, sliding slowly, keeping the knife up and her eyes on the silver wolf.
The wolves started barking, howling, and snapping; their quarry was creeping away from them, and they didn't like it. The wolf's grin dropped, and it put a thin, silver-furred forepaw on the muddy slope.
"Let's get going, Ivan," Billi whispered.
"Don't wait for me." But he'd got a rhythm going, a click and slide as he began to speed up—not fast, but steady. The ice creaked, and Billi heard the rumble of the river beneath.
The wolf ran down the slope. It slipped, its legs momentarily splaying out, and it spun slowly, unable to control its movements.
Ivan fired. The wolf rolled onto its belly, and the bullet scraped across its shoulder, drawing only a yelp of surprise.
Shit.
Billi grabbed Ivan. With arms locked, they began slipping and sliding across the frozen river, their breath steaming out in sparkling clouds. Billi saw the fear in her eyes reflected in Ivan's. The wild desperation to reach the other side.
Then Billi heard the soft patter of wolf paws, and pushed Ivan away as she turned.
The beast leaped, smashing on top of her. The weight of the wolf blew all the air out of her, and they crashed onto the ice. The impact jarred every bone in Billi's body, and all she could do was ram her forearm into the beast's jaws as it sought out her throat. Burning pain erupted as its long fangs tore through the coat's fabric and into her flesh. Billi screamed and jammed her knife into its side; blood spurted over her hand as she twisted it. The wolf pulled her this way and that, ripping the muscle and sprinkling her blood over its coat and the ice.
"Billi!" she heard as the ice cracked like a pistol shot, sharp and sudden. The ground tilted under her, and freezing water covered her face. She gasped for air and clawed for a solid hold before an orchestra of shattering sounded. Then the ice collapsed, and she and the wolf vanished into the endless dark of the river.
Chapter 31
THE FREEZING COLDNESS CRUSHES HER, TIGHTENING around her lungs, squeezing the last few bubbles out, and she watches them rise like silver balls of life up through the blackness toward the vanishing light.
Billi rolled as the river surged around them, trying to twist free of the wolf's jaws. All finesse evaporated as the pair fought with desperate savagery. She clamped her teeth shut, fearfully hanging on to what little air she still held, and sank her fingers into the thick, slimy muzzle, forcing the jaws away from her face.
Despite the enclosing, roaring darkness, the atavistic eyes of the wild creature bore into her. It shook her savagely, but Billi dug her knife in deeper. Claws ripped along her ribs, but she barely felt them now; her body was numb and her bones had locked into icicles.
The wolf's heavy pelt weighed it down, and they began to sink. Bubbles shook out of the creature's trembling body, and it jerked spasmodically, thrashing its limbs as panic took control. Its tongue lolled and its chest heaved. The fire in its eyes dimmed. As Billi kicked up, she saw the wolf rolling away, loose and limp in the current. Her lungs screamed, and blood pounded behind her eyes.
Vasilisa.
The stark, brilliant image of the young girl rose through her dull, slow mind. Billi kicked again, rising slowly.
She had to find Vasilisa. If Billi died now, they all died. Still the river summoned her downward to join it. Billi kicked again. Her limbs rose and sank limply, but the light above brightened. The river's surface was only a few feet away. She could see the moon, bright and heavy and huge above her.
Billi pummeled the ice with her bare fists until her last breath ran out as a futile cry in the silent blackness of the waters.
Then the ice expl
oded. Jagged shards stung her face while hands dug into her arms and hoisted her out of the water. The cold air shook her back to life. Pain ran through every vein, filling Billi with beautiful agony. She curled up on the ice, shivering uncontrollably. She was in pain, and pain was for the living.
Ivan must have saved her. She turned over onto her back, her vision clouded with dizziness. A figure moved against the near-full moon and bent over her. Hot, feverish breath swamped her face, but Billi gazed up at her savior, fighting the black sleep. She was so, so tired now—too tired even to shiver.
A pair of bright green eyes gazed down at her. Fingers hooked with talons caressed her face, smoothing away her wet hair. A gray-pelted wolf, standing on two legs, spoke. Its voice rumbled as its lips crudely mimicked human speech.
"Run," said Old Gray.
Chapter 32
BILLI RAN. TEETH SNAPPED AT HER HEELS IF SHE slowed, and rough fingers dragged her up if she fell.
At first she could barely stand—she was battered and exhausted, her arm bleeding heavily. All around her were darting shadows and howling monsters. The pack, led by Old Gray, drove her into the black heart of the ancient forest. But as she went deeper into it, as the dawn sun slowly tinged the night sky with purple, Billi grew stronger.
Her heartbeat thundered and her skin burned with fever. Her body wasn't her own: something else growled deep in her guts and clawed its way through her chest, desperate to be free. Pine needles brushed her, and she glowered at the fat moon face in the star-laden sky. Hot, panting breath washed over her, and rough hands shoved her along the snow.
Old Gray faced her, her yellow fangs inches away.
The other wolves gathered around her, each one eager and bristling with a hunter's fury. They bit at Billi's heels, and if it hadn't been for the older werewolf, Billi knew they'd have torn her to pieces. She stumbled over a half-hidden root and sprawled over the frozen earth. She wanted to stay there, push the burning fever out.
"Please," Billi whispered. What was happening to her? A bone-chilling growl rumbled by her ear.
"Get up, Templar."
Old Gray pulled her to her feet and pushed Billi on. They spilled into a small clearing, and Billi fell under the moonlight. She stared up at the near-full orb. Its light shone down on her, and passion seized her heart. She wanted to scream, to cry. To howl. Billi bit down hard; she wasn't going to free the animal raging in her breast. The Beast Within battered itself against the cage of her will.
I'm changing. How? She shook her head, trying to understand what was happening. She'd been bitten—when she was on the ice. She was infected.
Elaine had warned her that older wolves carried more potent infection. This was nothing like when she'd been scratched by the red werewolf.
I am not a beast.
She ran on. And how she ran. Suddenly the forest whispered to her. She glided over the uneven ground, her preternatural senses sniffing out the low branches, the twisted roots, the dense bramble walls. The claw wounds along her sides tingled and pulsed warmly. She felt free and flooded with power.
Bodies—hot, musty, and animal— moved about her. A huge campfire blazed against the wall of trees. Billi was on fire, and the cloth on her skin was suffocating. She wanted the snow to sting her skin; she wanted to feel the icy wind wrap her body. She pulled at her coat, tearing off the cloth, not caring that her nails raked her arms. The fire rose higher and higher, and the others danced and howled around her. A large wolf jumped at her, knocking her to the ground. It snapped at her, then scampered away. She squeezed her eyes closed.
"I am not a beast," she whispered. She dug her long nails deeper into the iron-hard earth. "I am not a beast." She'd been clawed before, but she hadn't felt like this. She screamed as pain racked her body; the Beast was trying to come out, urging her to give in and transform.
No. Billi went rigid, forcing herself to stay unchanged, human. She would not give in.
The trees rustled and the ground around them trembled. A sigh stroked the fire, and Billi saw the flames weaken— cringe, even. An old mangy crow perched itself on a branch above Billi, cawing. It flicked its head from side to side, watching Billi intently. One by one, the wolves fell silent at the black-feathered herald's cry.
The shadows of the giant trees deepened as a figure—a darkness within the darkness—emerged.
Billi didn't need to be told—the awe and fear radiating from the Polenitsy warned her who it was. Their Dark Goddess.
Twice the size of any of them, she walked slowly, shuffling and hunchbacked, already old beyond measure. The wolves backed away from her.
Baba Yaga held out her hand. A finger uncurled and pointed a curved black nail at Billi. Small polished bones and stones hung from a bracelet on her bony wrist. Her face was lost behind a thicket of white hair tangled with more bones, twigs, and shells. Only her eyes peered out, black and shiny as obsidian, and Billi leaned back, afraid.
Old Gray, back in human form, pulled her to her feet. The werewolf's naked body was covered with downy white fur. She squinted at Billi.
"She fights it, Great Mother."
The witch smiled, her jagged iron teeth scraping together like rusty knives.
"She HAZZ a DaRKNEss IN herrr. Freeeee it. I want To hEAR her HOWL." Hundreds of voices chorused the words together, all from one mouth. Voices of those she'd consumed over the countless centuries, still trapped deep within her soul. Billi clamped her hands over her ears, but the voices penetrated straight into her mind.
"The Beast is strong in her. A gift from her father," said Old Gray. The voices laughed.
"That GIFt did NoT comme from HER Faather."
"I am not a beast!" Billi screamed.
The wolves pushed and beat her. Hard hands slapped her, pulled her hair, and tossed her back and forth across the frozen ground. Everywhere she turned, some creature barked and harried her. She was in the heart of the pack. The heady musk of the clamp fur and hot breaths overwhelmed her. Women with wild raging faces, and bodies covered in woad patterns, attacked her with their nails and claws. Wolves barged into her, knocking her down each time she rose. Others, half-human and half-beast, attacked her with blows and heavy cuffs, never letting Billi gather a breath. She spun in confusion.
Fight back! the Beast urged. Bite! Claw! Kill! Billi's eyes flooded red and a haze of fury roared in her head. Someone grabbed her coat collar, and Billi bit deep into that furry hand. The other person yelled, but Billi shook her head savagely, tearing into the flesh. She felt the blood fresh and hot on her tongue. It tasted good.
Billi threw herself away from the melee, stunned, her head spinning and her legs weak and made of rubber. She spat, wiping out her mouth with her fingers to remove the taint of the rich, mouthwatering smell.
"I am not a beast!" she screamed.
Billi fought back, but steadily weariness took hold of her. There were too many. The dark-pelted wolves climbed over each other to get to her. The feral women formed a small circle around her, and there was Old Gray, the leader of the pack, gazing at her with cold fury. Billi's arms became heavy and her reflexes dull. Unsteady but standing, Billi faced them, head low, breathing heavily, gasping down air. She flexed her fingers and snarled. The monsters crowded around her. But then Billi swayed as the ground under her pitched. Her vision became blurred, and she sank to her knees.
"I am not a—"
Chapter 33
"BILLI. WAKE UP."
Billi groaned. She felt warm and safe, as though she'd been buried under the earth. She belonged down here. But the voice persisted.
"Billi. Wake up."
She moved, but it was hard. Her chest throbbed dully, and she could only take tiny sips of breath. She touched her ribs gingerly and found that tight bandages covered her chest. Every bone ached, and every muscle burned, sending sharp spikes of agony along her nerves. Billi gritted her teeth and pushed, forcing herself up. It was hot work. Billi blinked as she emerged. The orange light from an oil lamp flickered on the wal
ls of a nomadic Mongol tent—a ger—and weak sunlight shone through the partially open door flap. She hadn't been buried; she'd been lying under a pile of smelly sheepskins.
Ivan sat to one side. "Welcome back," he said, his face awash with relief. He looked tired, but well.
His leg had been reset and bound in a neat splint, and there was color in his cheeks again. He'd been given fresh clean clothes. An embroidered shirt and heavy woolen trousers. Around his waist was a red sash. He wore a heavy Mongol coat draped over his shoulders—glossy, dark blue silk with wool lining. He looked as though he'd stepped straight out of some Victorian romance. An old wooden crutch lay on the floor behind him.
He handed her a ladle filled with water. Billi emptied it in a gulp, and Ivan refilled it. She looked at her hands, almost expecting her nails to have turned to claws, but no, nothing had changed.
"You didn't give in to it," said Ivan, passing over the ladle again.
But God, did that water taste delicious. She licked her lips, savoring the slight earthy flavor that lingered there.
There was also a bowl of steaming broth—chunks of freshly cooked mutton floating in viscous gravy. Billi emptied it in seconds, then licked her fingers clean. She caught Ivan's disapproving look.
"Sorry."
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The air swam with scents: of sweat and cooking, of the almost fruity perfume of leaded gasoline, and of deliciously smoky mutton.
"How long was I out?"
"Half a day. It's Friday afternoon," replied Ivan.
"Running out of time," said Billi.
She'd fought off a change already, but tonight under the moonlight the urge would come again, stronger than before. And tomorrow, under a full moon? She'd transform.
Billi looked at the neat clean bandages on her forearm, where she'd been bitten. But these weren't Elaine's poultices: these were plain cloth. "I need my backpack," Billi said. More than enough of Elaine's magic patches in there.