12. A Single Tree Makes No Forest One String Makes No Music
12
A SINGLE TREE MAKES NO FOREST; ONE STRING MAKES NO MUSIC
Time passed slowly as Veru waited for the young man’s return, and she drowsed in the shadows of the pit while at the same time keeping her ears flicking back and forth for any signs of his heavy footsteps. Once she heard the faint sounds of something but realized it was the scurrying of a small creature. Its scent was sharp and almost bitter, and it hit the back of her nose like garlic or onion.
It dug a hole into her pit and stuck its whiskered muzzle in and looked around. Deciding to emerge, it was halfway out of the hole when all at once it seemed to catch sight or smell of her because it froze, its front feet dangling in midair. Veru huffed at the brown-and-white furball, and the brave thing bared some impressively long teeth and squeaked at her threateningly before hastily wriggling backward and tunneling away.
I wonder what those would taste like , she thought. Probably onions . She’d eaten wild game with her soldiers before, but she’d never thought of lemmings or other small burrowing creatures with such disinterest. As a tiger, she looked at such a tiny thing and knew instinctively that it wasn’t worth spending her energy.
Even if it walked right into her mouth, and she swallowed it whole, the amount of fur and bones versus meat and fat was disproportionate. Eating it would probably give her tremendous gut pain. All those tiny bones would only serve to get caught in her teeth or jaws. They might even puncture her stomach or throat. The fur could make her gag, and consuming a live animal, though markedly easier, could damage her going down. Only a wounded or desperate cat would try to hunt such an animal. She was built for much larger prey.
Just then, her long, lean stomach rumbled, reminding her that she was indeed wounded and desperate. Perhaps if the lemming returned she’d risk a bellyache to fill the emptiness. In fact, Veru was stretching as far as she could, trying to see into the dark little hole, sniffing for traces of the long-gone lemming, when she heard the heavy footfalls of the young man returning. She collapsed down into a sitting position again and waited for his face to appear at the top of the pit.
“Privet, krasivye tiger. Are you hungry? I’ve brought food,” he said from atop the ledge.
She could hear him busily gathering wood to get a fire going. Veru realized then how cold the weather had become. Though she was fairly protected from the wind being trapped within her deep dirt walls, even so, a gust swept inside on occasion and ruffled even her thick coat of winter fur.
The young man was dressed warmly in a parka and a balaclava, but he’d surely need a fire and possibly a tent if he meant to spend the night outside. After he got his little fire started, and she heard the crackles and smelled the scents of pine, grass, and woodsmoke, he squinted down at her in the shadows.
“Good. Your dish is still upright. Look out now. I’m pouring your water.”
He emptied what must have been a full skein of water and then, when she’d licked the dish dry, a second. It must have been heavy for him to carry that much water , she thought. In addition, he tossed the bodies of four cleaned rabbits, their fur, heads, and legs removed, as well as two other small mammals she couldn’t identify.
“It’s not much for one of your size,” he admitted as he watched her scoop up one after another, crunching bones and swallowing her meal in large bites. “But it should get you through the night at least.”
He disappeared again, and she heard him fussing by the fire. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, “but I saved one for myself.”
Soon Veru smelled the aroma of animal fat as it hit and sizzled on hot coals. Normally, such a thing would make her salivate. Instead, she laid down, her meal finished, and licked the remains from her paws and around her mouth as best she could. It’s a waste what he’s doing , she thought. All that delicious fat is seasoning the wood and the air instead of lining his belly. And the marrow in the bones is dripping out and away from the meat. He’ll need to eat again far too soon. If he ate like a tiger instead, he’d be far healthier.
Veru, sated and sleepy, rolled to her side and wondered if she was going to think like a tiger from now on. How odd would it be if she turned human again and began serving raw meat at dinner parties? Still, there was some truth to idea that the lifeblood of the animal was wasted when cooking. Perhaps there was a happy medium where meat could be cooked partway.
She listened to the young man eat, and when he was finished, he tossed his bones into the pit in her general direction. Veru sniffed at them but didn’t eat them, except for one cooked leg he didn’t finish. Then he shuffled around a bit, digging in his bag. Setting it aside, he sat on the lip of the pit with his long legs dangling over the edge, placing a strange round instrument on his lap, a kind Veru had never seen before.
“Would you like some music to soothe you to sleep, little tiger? Perhaps it will take your mind off that steel trap around your ankle, eh? I promise I’ll figure out a way to get that off for you tomorrow.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, “I’ll admit—I’m not quite certain at this point exactly how I’m going to do it. Perhaps if I pray for an answer, something will come to me, eh? My papa usually sends me an inspirational dream when I ask for one. He is my guardian angel, after all. Speaking of which...”
He held up the instrument. “This here belonged to my father. He invented it. And always told me he was inspired by his guardian angel, his papa, my dedushka. Both of my parents were musicians, you see. Making and playing instruments was a skill passed down in our family.
“Many generations ago, my shepherd ancestors created the first musical instrument in our country. It was a pipe called a rozhok. At first they used it to herd and call sheep, but then they learned that different shapes and trees made new sounds. Music became the main source of our income. My family played at festivals, weddings, holidays, and all other celebrations.
“My dedushka was particularly skilled at playing the garmoshka. I can do a passable job with that one, but it’s not my favorite. All he ever wanted to do before he passed on was to obtain a commission to play at the capital for the royal family, but then the tsar was killed, and so was his dream.
“After we buried my dedushka, my parents pressed on, teaching me how to play all the traditional songs even though I was young, and I even began writing some of my own. Papa had to invent ways the three of us could play more than one instrument at a time since I was their only child.
“From a very young age, I became skilled enough to play most any wind or string instrument, the only difficulty for me was carrying them.” He took a few moments to tune the instrument, then he strummed a few notes. “Ironically, I have the same problem now. Even though I’m strong enough to carry and play anything, I can’t exactly cart them around with me.” Placing his hands across the strings to still the notes, he added, “This domra, a balalaika, and a zhaleika are all I have left now of my parents.” He went back to picking the strings quietly. The notes drifted up and away from him, out into the darkening evening.
“They died about ten years ago of malignant cholera. I nearly died as well. If it hadn’t been for the ministrations of my aunt, I’d be buried next to them in the old churchyard. Now I live with my aunt and uncle and their twelve children.”
The young man began to softly strum his instrument, picking at the various strings mindlessly as he spoke.
“When my uncle was injured working in the forests, they became desperate for money. Though they didn’t want to do it, I insisted on helping by allowing them to sell my inheritance—my parents’ musical instrument collection. Those items helped to sustain the family over the years.
“After I became old enough, I joined their family business, trapping and selling furs. When that’s not going well, I play or sing for money, when I can find the work, but a lone musician doesn’t earn as much. We travel far distances as trappers, so I bring these with me sometimes to practice and to help me pass the hours.” He lifted the instrument. “I only have three left now. Anyway, if you’ll indulge me.”
Setting the polished instrument on his lap, he began plucking the strings in earnest, beginning slowly at first and then moving faster and faster. The skill with which he played was breathtaking. His fingers danced across the strings so quickly, playing a melody so bright and happy it made Veru completely forget she was stuck in a pit in the middle of nowhere.
She closed her eyes and imagined twirling, raising her hands in the air while snow fell around her in soft, fluffy flakes landing on her cheeks, hair, and cloak as her skirts billowed out. Then as Veru kept dancing, she was no longer alone. Warm hands, toughened by wind and work, grasped her own tightly and held on to her so she could spin even more wildly. Rich male laughter tickled her ears, and she laughed in unison.
All at once, the song finished. She felt desperately disappointed and breathless and thrilled all at the same time. As the last notes drifted away into the starry evening and disappeared, Veru opened her eyes, wishing she could catch them and bring them back. She was surprised that the laughter was still there, as were the snowflakes.
Fat, white puffs floated down lazily from the dark sky, landing on her furry ears, her nose, and her paws and then slowly melted. The young man was leaning over, looking down at her and chuckling, his blue eyes gleaming as he lifted his winter cap and pushed back his dark blond hair.
“You liked that one, didn’t you?” he asked, propping his instrument on his knee. “I’ve heard stories of music taming savage beasts, but I don’t think you’re too savage at all, are you? How could you be when you purr like a house cat?”
Purr? Veru was horrified to realize at that moment that a telltale rumble was indeed coming from her chest. How humiliating! Worse than that, she couldn’t seem to stop it. The seesawing vibration was something that appeared to be connected to her... her heart. She felt happy. Veru didn’t know when she’d last felt joyful.
Truthfully, she knew she shouldn’t be feeling that particular emotion now. She was stuck in a pit with a steel trap around her leg; she had no idea where Nik or Stacia could be; she’d been cursed to the form of a tiger, been run out of the palace, the empire was in a shambles, there was a strange sorcerer with an army either attempting to take over the capital, or on the road searching for her and her sister; and her beloved mother had just passed away.
But for some reason, being around the young fur trapper made Veru forget things of which she should be cognizant. He was entirely too distracting and far too... effervescent for her liking. Besides, he was a particularly good-looking young man, and she didn’t trust men like that. Chiding herself, Veru shook her head, raining slush all around her. I’ll certainly be muddy tomorrow , she thought. This was followed by the notion of, My hair must look like a bird’s nest.
Then she remembered it no longer mattered what her hair looked like. She had no one to impress. The good-looking young man wasn’t helping her or speaking kindly to her because he was in love with her. He was simply a good person. And as far as his effervescence went... he wasn’t doing it to influence her or gain her favor. She was a tiger. He played her a song because he loved music. That was all.
Still, somehow Veru managed to get her purring to stop and laid her head down to try to sleep. Just then the good-natured young fellow leaned over to say, “Spokoynoy nochi,” and grinned again before disappearing. Soon she heard a soft snoring sound from overhead and the hoo-hooing of an owl.
Huffing out a steaming breath from her nostrils, Veru laid down on her side, shifting to make her leg more comfortable, shut her eyes, and thought, Good night, indeed . Rest well, young man.
* * *
Veru woke in darkness, used to doing such a thing in the winter season as a human with the limited daylight hours, but her tiger body told her she should roll over and keep sleeping. It wasn’t even sunrise yet, but the early hours brought both the musical young man and Veru a surprise neither of them would soon forget.
She had awoken abruptly, not to the sound of the young man descending quietly into the pit like she should have under normal circumstances, nor to his near presence when he approached her with his heavy footfalls. Instead, she’d been jolted awake when she felt the screeching pain of her leg being torn open once again as the steel trap was disengaged from her back ankle.
Instinctively, she whipped around to protect herself, tucking her injured leg beneath her and roared, only to realize her muzzle was now tied with a rope, and she felt dizzy to the point of stumbling. Veru was confused. It was still very dark. She couldn’t smell anything or anyone except the young man. Why has he come down now, in the middle of the night? Hadn’t he said he’d be coming down in the morning? Why is he awake so early? Is he leaving me?
As for him, the young man in question was surprised the tiger had woken up at all. He thought he’d found enough of the valeriana root to keep the large animal asleep for many hours if not a full day. In fact, he’d worried it had been too much. That he might have killed her outright. It had just been his good luck to come across a patch of the spent flowers near one of his traps, and then it had taken some time to pack each carcass full of the stuff. He was lucky she’d been so hungry that she didn’t notice how he’d carefully sewn each one shut with the herbs inside.
Danik rationalized that even if it had been too much, he didn’t want the poor creature to suffer. He highly doubted she’d survive with the type of injury she had anyway and debated putting her out of her misery himself depending on how bad her wound looked. What he certainly didn’t expect was her fast recovery.
He’d waited several hours to make sure she was completely asleep. Only after he was certain, checking by tossing some large rocks into the pit and seeing she didn’t even flick a furry ear in that direction, did he risk throwing down his woven ladder. The first thing he did was tie a slip rope around her mouth, just in case. It wouldn’t stop the claws, but at least she wouldn’t bite him.
Once that was in place, he bent down with his torch to try to get a good look at her leg. Truthfully, it didn’t look too bad. It wasn’t bleeding and didn’t even look sore. In fact, if it weren’t for the steel trap biting into her ankle, he’d say she wasn’t injured at all.
Gently, carefully, he lifted her heavy leg, maneuvering it away from the other so he could stand on the springs. He’d have to in order to apply the necessary force to open the jaws. When he did, he could hear the meaty squelch as the trap wrenched itself free from her flesh, tearing a fresh wound in her mostly healed foot.
Danik gasped as hot, new blood wet the ground. He was trying to make sense of it when the foot disappeared, and he was suddenly faced with a very angry, extremely large tiger.
He held up his hands and spoke softly, unwilling to step off the trap while she was still so close. “Now, now, my krasivaya kotenok. I know it hurts,” he soothed. “I was only trying to help. If you’ll just back away a bit, I’ll make sure this trap doesn’t get you again.”
Veru’s body trembled, and she managed a plaintive sort of whine, then she collapsed sleepily against the side of the pit and watched him with half-hooded eyes as he took a tool from his pack, quickly disassembled the trap, and placed it into his bag. Tying it closed, he stooped to refill her water bowl, then took hold of the thin rope keeping her mouth shut.
Without a word, he climbed the bouncing rope ladder, and when he reached the top, pulled it up and gave the thin rope around her mouth a yank. It came free with just a sharp tug, and he rolled it around his hand and then placed it, too, in his bag. “Try to sleep now,” he said softly. “I’ll find you more food in the morning.”
* * *
Not only did Veru sleep; she slept soundly. It was midday, in fact, when she woke next. She was surprised to find the young man had not only kept his word but had also provided a means for her escape. There were more rabbits for her in the pit, but there were also a handful of small mammal carcasses left atop the long tree trunk he had rolled into the pit as incentive for her to climb out.
After eating and licking her water bowl clean, she stood and tested her weight on her ankle. It was fully healed—a miracle she was grateful for yet still didn’t understand. Only slipping once, she bound up the tree trunk, scooping up the bits of food as she went, and finally exited the awful pit, grateful for the young man and eager to greet him personally, only to find he’d vacated the area. Veru sniffed around his fire and determined he’d left many hours before. The coals were cold, and there was no warmth in it at all. Nor were there any signs of his footprints remaining in the snow.
For once, Veru had no idea what she should do or where she should go. She let out a loud roar, listening for an echoing response from her sister or a sign of Nik, but she heard nothing in reply. Though she was a large animal, she’d still need to climb a hill to get a general idea of direction. For now, she supposed she should continue in an easterly course, following the rising of the sun and keep the setting of it on her tail.
She’d also need to find water and more food. It wouldn’t be as easy to hunt without her sister, but she was sure she could manage on her own. Veru set out, and it didn’t take her long to come across the young man’s scent. Realizing he was headed east as well, she decided to track him for a while and rationalized it was good hunting practice, and it wasn’t at all because she missed his company.
Finding the stream he’d stopped at for water, she drank her fill for the first time in several days and washed the crusty blood from her fur. After catching a small fish for a snack, she then pressed forward, picking up his trail on the other side. Soon she realized, just as evening was coming on, that she wasn’t the only animal stalking the young tracker.
It just took a moment for her to figure out why. His scent was not just that of a man, which was enticing aplenty if an animal was big enough and hungry enough, but this particular human also carried with him the scents of many other animals, dead and bloody ones. That might scare off some, but it wouldn’t scare off a pack. Certainly not a pack so large.
She picked up her pace, hoping she wasn’t too late. As she moved, her breaths came out in white puffs that dampened her already wet coat. Not that she could feel it. The outer layer of her coat was so thick and heavy it kept the rain, the snow, mud, and cold from penetrating, for the most part. Then she had a nice warm inner coat as well as a thick layer of fat and muscle.
Even when she wore several layers of petticoats or heavy woolens beneath her armor, she’d never felt so warm. Fur had always been highly prized to line cloaks, boots, gloves, and coats, and Veru couldn’t deny fur felt luxurious and warm. There was nothing else like it. Not in the wide world of textiles. But never again could she wear such a thing next to her human skin and not remember it had once belonged to a creature such as what she was now.
How could she employ hunters like the young man she tracked? True, most hunters did not prey on animals like her. They revered tigers. Feared them, even. But so many other living things died. Their legs caught in the same awful traps. It wasn’t something any creature should suffer. Still, she ate them, didn’t she? Wasn’t it better not to waste? To remember the gift of life?
Veru didn’t know all the answers. But she did know that even the brief time she had been caught in a trap, had experienced pain and fear and suffering, had changed her. She would continue to think on it. Perhaps there was a better way. It was interesting to her that she found she’d like to discuss options and possible solutions with the young hunter. Though he killed for work, Veru judged him to be a kindhearted man. One who was gentle of soul.
Catching the fresh scent of the pack and the frenzy of their hunt, she picked up speed. If she was going to save the gentle hunter, Veru would need to hurry. Snow had stuck to the ground in some places, and as her long body stretched out into a run, her claws retracted and the large paws worked like snowshoes, keeping her atop the drifts.
Veru had wondered why the fur had grown so long between the pads on her paws. It looked different than a cat’s or a dog’s feet. Now she understood—the long, thick fur not only kept her feet warm in the cold but it served to silence her footfalls. Even with her excellent hearing, she could barely hear the sound of her own running.
All was silent in the copse of trees when she slowed. Soundlessly, she stalked from dark shadow to dark shadow, blending into the white snowdrifts and the golden leaves, watching, waiting, sensing prey all around her. The trees thinned, opening to a little glen where a solitary figure stood near a campfire.
In the darkness all around him, hungry yellow eyes gleamed with ill intent. The man didn’t even notice as he pulled a musical instrument from his knapsack and began to play. For just a moment, Veru was lost in the haunting, plangent song. She imagined that he might be playing it for her. Perhaps he missed her already, or maybe he thought she was dying.
Almost unable to help it, she closed her eyes. That’s when she heard the first howl.