Echo North(6)

I took one step, two, toward the woods and the wolf. He didn’t move or blink or even seem to breathe, just watched me. I wasn’t afraid and I didn’t know why—the thought that I should be afraid didn’t even enter my head.

I stared at him, and he at me, and we were frozen there together for one moment of time that seemed to stretch on into eternity.

And then a twig snapped behind me and the wolf jumped and whirled round. In the span of an eye blink, I lost him among the trees.

I turned to see Rodya coming toward me, his hands in his pockets. “Echo!” he said, concern pressing into his forehead. “Are you all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

I glanced back to the wood, straining for one last glimpse of the wolf, my pulse still raging. But there was no visible sign he’d ever been there. I drew in a deep breath and forced a smile for my brother. “I thought I saw something in the woods, but—” I shook my head, “It was nothing. I promise.”

He put one hand on my shoulder. “If you’re certain. Come inside, won’t you? I’ve something to show you.”

I followed him into the house, and tears sprang into my eyes when I saw he’d laid out cake and tea for me on the red rug in front of the fire.

“Happy birthday, Echo,” said Rodya, smiling.

I hugged him tight and then we sat down and ate every crumb of nutcake and drank every drop of tea. Rodya lit a fire, as even in the heart of springtime the nights were still chilly. He stretched out on the rug and fished something out of his pocket that was wrapped in a square of cloth. He handed it to me.

I unfolded the cloth and my mouth dropped open: in my palm lay a delicate clock on a chain, gears whirring and hands ticking softly, all encased in a gold-plated shell engraved with a compass rose. “Oh, Rodya,” I breathed.

“Do you like it? I made it for you.”

I nodded, at a loss for words. I couldn’t stop staring at it. As I watched, the hands whirled around the clock far too quickly and then jerked to a sudden stop.

I glanced up to see Rodya frown.

“It’s never done that before,” he said. “I’m sorry, Echo. I’ll take it back to the shop and fix it for you.”

“No, no, I’d like to keep it awhile, please? I don’t mind about the time.”

He laughed. “Oh all right, I’ll fix it next week. Here.” He scooted behind me and fastened the chain around my neck. The little clock hung solid and cold through the brocade of my sarafan.

“The best part is, if you open it—” Rodya pushed a little pin down on the side of the clock face so that it sprung open to reveal a tiny compass inside. The needle pointed steadily north. “So that wherever you go, you’ll always be able to come back to me. At least that’s still working.”

I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him.

He extricated himself from my embrace, laughing, and asked me if I’d written to the university yet.

When I admitted I hadn’t, he pulled ink and paper from his shoulder bag. “I thought not,” he said gently. “Let’s write it together.”

So right there on the red carpet in front of the barking fire, we composed the letter, and my hope swelled nearly to bursting.



TWO BLISSFUL WEEKS PASSED, during which I was mostly left to my own devices. I kept busy running the bookshop and overseeing the delivery of Donia’s furniture, making sure it was placed in the correct rooms in the proper arrangements as she had specifically instructed me.

Every evening, I strayed a little into the woods, deep enough to be just out of sight of the house, but not so far I wasn’t certain of my way back. I felt drawn there, like a string had been tied to my heart. I couldn’t stop thinking about the white wolf, about the comprehension in his eyes as he stared at me, at the connection I felt between us. I thought maybe the string was tied to him.

The night before my father and Donia were scheduled to arrive home, I paced a little deeper into the woods than usual, and settled myself beneath an ancient elm that was knotted and gnarled yet still bursting with leaves. I rested my head awhile against its trunk, and when I looked back into the clearing the wolf was there, not ten paces from me. His eyes were amber, flecked with gold, and the edges of his white fur ruffled in the light wind. He came toward me, his back leg dragging a little behind. He was near enough when he stopped that I caught his scent: wild honey and deep grass and dark earth.

As before, he simply stared at me and didn’t come any closer.

“What are you?” I whispered, and his ears twitched at my voice. I wanted to reach out to him, sink my hand in his thick fur as I’d done as a child, but I stayed where I was.

Around us the forest faded to the deep silvery-blue of twilight. Somewhere I heard an owl cry, the sudden rush of wings in the growing dark.

The wolf dipped his head to me, like he was bowing to a queen, then he turned tail and slipped away into the wood, leaving me to stare numbly after him.

I stumbled home in the dark, the stars obscured by the trees and a thick layer of clouds, to find smoke coiling up from the chimney.





CHAPTER FOUR

MY FATHER AND DONIA WERE HOME earlier than expected, and hard on their heels, in a rattling wooden cart, came a piano.

“A wedding present from your father!” Donia explained, beaming at me, as two men with bulging muscles carried the thing into the house.