Wrath and Ruin (Wishes and Curses Book 1)

by Ripley Proserpina

  Now she would be no help to Anatoliy. She hoped he was all right and that he wouldn’t come looking for her and would do his best to survive the Hunt.

  There was another blast and the snow exploded next to her. She was someone’s moving target. The snow flew into the air as another mortar hit the snow in front of her, showering her with pine needles. But the blast also loosened the packed snow. She could lift her knees and try to rise above the tidal wave.

  Another explosion missed the snow and hit a tree as she sailed by. A branch flew through the air, hit her in the shoulder and knocked her body out of the snow so she rolled on top of it. She pulled her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible, and clenched her eyes tight.

  The continuous thundering of the snow was interrupted only by periodic blasts. The ice covered her face before the wind whipped it off again. She opened her eyes just in time to see she was headed directly into the top of a tree.

  She slammed into it. The breath knocked out of her. She couldn’t reach out a hand to grasp a limb.

  The wave was endless. At times Polya thought she saw something brown bobbing ahead of her, but it would be a rock pushed up by the snow, or an entire tree, uprooted, and rolling down the mountain face.

  She couldn’t catch her breath to call for Anatoliy, but with each tumble and turn she thought of him.

  The sheet of snow seemed to slow down. With the decrease in speed came the weight of the snow. It collapsed in on itself, dragging Polya down. She pulled her arms up and over her head just as the snow pulled her under. The bright sun disappeared. Everything became dark and still and quiet.

  Polya wiggled her shoulders. Snow trickled down her neck. Her legs and hips were immobilized. Her arms curved around her face, making a small pocket of air. She clenched and unclenched her fingers while blinking rapidly against the blackness.

  There were shades of black, she realized. She tried to ascertain whether or not her head was pointed toward the sky, or whether she’d been turned upside down. At first, she dug at the snow, but the hard granules seemed to fill her air pocket so she stopped.

  Polya could hear herself panting loudly. The dark and the cold, and the way the world seemed to press into her, made her crazy.

  She snarled, digging wildly. No longer caring that her air was being pushed away as it made room for the snow, she had to dig herself out.

  It didn’t matter if she screamed or cried. The snow merely packed tighter around her chest. She couldn’t get a deep breath.

  Her quick shallow breaths weren’t getting her enough air. Her pointless screams weakened until she was finally held, heavy and rooted, under the snow.

  She took small gasps of air. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself, like a fish on the shores of a pond. Her mouth opened and closed, swallowing air that did nothing to help it survive.

  Exhausted, she closed her eyes.

  Maybe she would float away. These ties that held her under the snow would dissolve in the sun. She’d float up through the air, over the tops of trees. She squeezed her eyes as she imagined how bright the sun would be. How the closer she came to it, the more it would heat her body.

  She pictured the sun on her face, her neck, her shoulders. She could almost feel it burning, getting hotter until it was uncomfortable. It hurt her eyes, so she moved as if to block the light.

  Her eyes snapped open before squinting against the brightness of the sun. She could see the surface! It was shaded a moment later, and then the pain began in her shoulder again.

  She heard a growl and felt a pull.

  Anatoliy.

  He yanked on her dress, trying to pull her out of the snow. He frantically dug at the pack around her, trying to create space for her to move and breathe.

  “Anatoliy. I found you.”

  He snarled at her, and she met his eyes. They were nearly black, the blue a thin ring around the pupil. He panted, his mouth open as he sucked in air, digging faster and faster. He growled in frustration when he couldn’t pull her up but continued digging. He was finally able to push aside enough snow she could suck in a breath.

  Her lungs filled, and she cried out, “Anatoliy!”

  The haze her mind had used to protect her fell away, and she started to help him. She dug around her hips, groaning when she pulled at the bullet hole. Blood rushed into the veins that had been compressed, the warm tingling sensation turning to painful throbs.

  She bit her lip, but tears oozed from her eyes and Anatoliy stopped. He stared at her, and she knew what he wanted. Lifting her arms to wind around his thick neck, she held on while he pushed against the snow and pulled at her. He slipped, and the snow fell back around her. She had to let go and dig before they could try it again.

  Finally, she had twisted enough that her legs could kick at the snow and she could point her toes as he pulled her free. He yanked as hard as he could, throwing his weight backward. She flew through the air and landed on his stomach before sliding off of him and lying, breathless and trembling, in the snow.

  But only for a moment.

  As soon as she had control of her body, she turned onto her hands and knees and crawled to his face. Her hands pushed through his fur, examining his head, his belly, his neck. “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?”

  She kissed his nose without thinking and continued her examination of his body. He turned over with a groan and shook his head. Polya stood up but fell to her knees, the blood still rushing to her extremities. She ignored the pins and needles and grasped his paw, turning it over and examining the cut and bleeding pads.

  “Oh, Anatoliy,” she whispered and ripped at her petticoat to staunch the blood flow.

  She was having a hard time seeing the wounds, and she realized it was because she was crying. She wiped the tears away on her shoulder and kept applying pressure.

  “I’m so sorry,” she repeated over and over.

  His head knocked her chest and stayed there. She let go of his paw and threw her arms around his neck, holding his head in place. She rained kisses over his fur, on his ears, the back of his neck, anywhere she could reach. “I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead.”

  A shudder passed through his body as he shook his head. He sat back on his haunches, looking at her like a lost little boy.

  His blue eyes held all of his fear and anger, and something else. Something Polya recognized as the same thing she had felt when faced with the belief he’d been covered forever by the snow.

  She threw herself forward, and his front leg grasped her in a kind of embrace. His head fell over her shoulder. She stood there, trembling and scared, and so grateful that he was alive and that she could hold him.

  Anatoliy and Polya in the Web

  They stood for a long time. Whoever was watching them through telescopes and binoculars, recalibrating their guns and canons, let them.

  Soon their breathing slowed, and their limbs shivered as the excitement and terror of their experience flowed away. Polya pulled back, and Anatoliy lifted his heavy head. They stared at each other for a moment. “We’re alive,” she said, her voice choked.

  Anatoliy nodded, his head bobbing up and down before he dropped his nose into the curve of her neck and took a deep breath of her scent. When he moved away, his eyes traveled along her body, stopping at the fresh bloom of blood seeping through her dress at her hip. He growled, and Polya followed his gaze.

  “I reopened it,” she said, looking down at herself. “I guess I reopened most of them.”

  He grunted, a sound that seemed to somehow hold her responsible for her current state.

  “What?” she asked, pressing against the wound and sucking in a breath. Her tail swung from side to side as she felt a wave of irritation.

  He shook his head.

  “What?” she asked again. “You clearly have something to say.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  Polya spun so she could take in her surroundings and made sure her tail swiped across Anatoliy’s nose. She didn’
t just tap him; she made sure to put a little force behind it. Not too much, though, because he dug her out of the snow.

  She could be annoyed and also grateful.

  They’d come pretty far down the mountain. Back in the tree line, the landscape had changed significantly from the avalanche. The underbrush and ground were covered with deep snow. Every once in a while a tiny white ball would skitter past her.

  She turned around and faced him, lifting one eyebrow.

  He sighed and began to trace words in the snow. Polya peered at the words, but there was no contrast in the snow. White was white. She couldn’t read what he was saying.

  A wave of sorrow that he couldn’t communicate overcame her, and it moved her to hug him again. “I’m sorry, Anatoliy,” she whispered in his ear, “I can’t read it.”

  He growled, his impatience and frustration clear. She moved away and watched his head swing as he looked for a place he could write, but there was nowhere, and nothing to help him. He snarled and started forward, down the mountain, not back up.

  “Do you think we should go back up?” she asked. At every moment, she expected the snow would begin exploding around them again.

  He shook his head. He was walking away from her, and all she saw where his pert ears moving from side to side.

  “Anatoliy,” she called, hurrying after him, skidding a little on the snow. “What if they start shooting at us?”

  His blue eye rolled toward her, and she could have sworn he shrugged.

  “Stop,” she said.

  He didn’t; he kept walking.

  “Anatoliy, stop.”

  He did, but his body seemed to tremble with anxiety and frustration. He stared ahead, almost as if he was ignoring her. She followed his gaze to a flag pinned on a tree.

  She walked past him, noting the footsteps in the snow. It seemed while Anatoliy was saving her life, someone else was busy making sure the Hunt continued.

  Underneath the flag was a note. Polya pulled it off of the tree. She opened it and read it to Anatoliy “Follow the flags to friends. They’re lying,” Polya stated simply.

  Anatoliy grunted his agreement and continued. They walked in silence, but each creak of a branch or near-silent scurry of detritus over the snow made Polya twitch and jump. She stayed as close to Anatoliy as she could, at times stepping on his paws or grabbing handfuls of his fur, making him growl and once, when she tugged too hard, yip.

  “Do you think,” she began slowly, “that they mean your friends? Your soldiers?”

  Anatoliy snarled, giving Polya the impression that he hoped not. She stroked his side. It would be horrible and not at all surprising if Aleksandr pitted Anatoliy against his men.

  She opened her mouth to ask another question when a scream rent the air. It was full of pain and terror, and it pierced Polya’s heart. She needed to go to the source, find what was in pain, and end it. Anatoliy blocked her. When she tried to go around him, he took her dress in his mouth and growled.

  Careful, his eyes said.

  It could be a trap, she realized, but then the scream sounded again, this time longer and higher.

  “Anatoliy!” she cried, her voice quiet, but nearly as high pitched as the scream.

  He began a faster lope, and she jogged to keep up. Her heart pounded, but not from exhaustion. She feared what they would find.

  Anatoliy stopped and Polya froze. In front of them was a man. His hair was matted, and a beard darkened his jaw. He had probably been handsome at one time, but what struck Polya most was that he was young.

  Very young. Maybe a year older than her. His eyes were wild as his body twisted and turned desperately. His eyes fixed on them and he began screaming again. Polya almost turned around, wondering if someone was behind them, but there was no one. They were the ones instilling this fear in the man.

  Polya held out her hands and stepped forward before Anatoliy growled at her. “We won’t hurt you,” she soothed, but the man twisted and writhed.

  A wooden frame had been nailed between two trees, boards criss-crossing so the man could move as wildly as he liked, but he was securely fastened in place.

  “Please,” she begged, “just listen. We won’t hurt you. Let us help you.”

  Anatoliy snarled again, lifting his nose and scenting the air.

  Polya studied their surroundings, but saw nothing. The man’s skin was flushed. Polya assumed it was from attempting to escape his entrapment. But his skin kept reddening and his screams just got louder.

  “Anatoliy?” she asked, as the man’s skin began to blister and bubble. His entire body arched forward as the blisters burst and oozed.

  He was quiet now though his mouth remained open. His tongue swelled, and then his skin turned purple, eyes bulging. He looked toward the sky—for solace, for relief. In the next instant, his head fell forward and his body was still.

  Her stomach rebelled. She turned, heaving into the snow. She gagged, though her stomach was empty. Trying to comfort her, Anatoliy pressed his warmth against her, nose resting on her neck.

  She stood shakily, gaze landing anywhere but on the still form of the man.

  “What did they do?” she wondered aloud. “Poison him and string him up for us? Why would they do that? Did we do that? Did we spring some sort of trap?”

  Polya frantically examined the woods, checking their footsteps to see if she’d triggered some sort of mechanism.

  Anatoliy nudged her and stared at her with sad eyes.

  Friends.

  “Did you know him?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  Anatoliy looked back at the man, and Polya watched him examine the man. Don’t look, don’t look.

  Finally he looked back at her and gave a shake.

  “No?”

  He stared at her, and Polya realized he was asking her the same question.

  “I don’t want to look,” she whispered.

  He stared at her with understanding. He wasn’t going to force her to look or make her feel guilty for not looking.

  But she needed to. If it could help them survive, give them any information about what to expect, she needed to look.

  She squeezed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. She opened them, fixing them on Anatoliy. He gazed at her with kindness, and she could feel his strength pouring into her. With her hand on his side and her tail wrapped around him as if it could keep her steady, she lifted her eyes back to the man.

  Her hand covered her mouth without thought. His face was pale again, as if whatever had made him blister and bloat had receded like the tide after he’d died. His dark hair hung over his face, shielding it from Polya so she had to move nearer to see him. Anatoliy stayed close to her, close enough that she didn’t need to unwrap her tail from his body.

  He was suspended much higher than she’d thought, and she had to tilt her head back.

  The burst blisters marred his face, but she could see the beauty beneath the wounds. His eyebrows were two black slashes over his eyes, which were dark brown, and stared at her. His cheekbones were high, and his jaw strong.

  Polya choked. The man’s life as she imagined it flashed by her. Mother, sisters, lovers— they all must have wondered at his beauty.

  Canting her head to the side, she stared at him longer, trying to place him. She began to shake her head, his face blurring as she did, when she realized she did know him.

  Anatoliy press against her when she nodded. His face, when blurred, threw her back in time, to the madness and chaos of Misurka Square. She remembered him. He had been injured in the square. She could see him, holding his side as the King’s Guard trained their rifles on him.

  “He was one of the terrorists who attacked us in Misurka Square.” Anatoliy put his head under her hand and she stroked his fur absentmindedly. “He tried to kill us.”

  Anatoliy growled low and long before he put his body between her and the man, shoving her gently away from him.

  Polya looked down at him. “Anatoliy?”

  He sho
ok his head, his body vibrating with the growls building in his throat. He pushed her, edging her farther from the man and back onto the path.

  Silence

  Polya and Anatoliy followed the flags.

  While Polya kept her eyes on the ground, Anatoliy stayed alert. He wanted to stand between Polya and whatever was in front of them. She’d seen too much, too quickly. She reminded him of the flag bearers who rode with the cavalry in the army. They were just out of childhood, their uniforms loose, their eyes wide. Under the weight of the flags they supported, their arms trembled as they rode in front of the men. They had no weapons except for the horse that carried them, but they held themselves proudly.

  Until the first guns blasted and the world exploded around them.

  Anatoliy had seen boys frozen in fear, but they stayed on their horses while men fought and died around them. He’d seen them hoist the flags aloft after their horses were shot from under them. He’d watched while some of them were held in the arms of other soldiers as they cried in cracking voices for their mothers, and others kept their teeth clenched to hold in their screams.

  Polya had that same innocence, despite what they’d seen, what they’d been subjected to.

  What was she thinking, jumping into an avalanche after him? That was foolish. He growled as he thought back to digging desperately through the snow and finding her curled up like a leaf.

  His growl caused her to glance around frantically. “Did you see something?”

  He’d scared her. Idiot!

  With her tail unfurled and clutched in her hands, she finally spoke. “Why would the king call the anarchist our friend?” she wondered aloud.

  There was no reason to Aleksandr. Everything he did—every move and countermove—was designed only to amuse and distract him. He cared nothing for other people.

  “Do you think,” she began, twisting her hands around her tail, “that he wants the world to believe we are the terrorists? That we are the ones bombing and killing?”