Children of the Wolves

by Jessica Starre

  She’s not trying to scare me, thought Jelena. She’s not going to spring at me. Jelena knew instinctively that the wolf would hold its body differently if she were in danger from it. She’s just trying to stop me.

  Even so, she took a step away when the wolf padded forward, onto the path. It glanced over its shoulder, then turned to stare in the direction of the river.

  Her way barred, Jelena backpedaled until she heard the low growl again. After the first surge of panic, she realized the animal was simply trying to communicate. To warn her that danger lay in the direction of the river.

  Jelena took a quick step off the path and crouched low behind a tree. A moment later, a tall Sithan warrior loomed into view, coming up the river path. The wolf gave one final glance at Jelena, now hidden in the trees, and ran off.

  A second Sithan joined the first, their tall shadows falling across the mud-slick path as they spoke briefly in low tones. Jelena couldn’t hear their words. One gesticulated up the path while the other nodded. Jelena held her breath and hoped they couldn’t see her as she squatted among the birch and the fir trees.

  Finally, the two men turned away. A moment later, she heard the splashing of a canoe being launched on the river. When she was sure they were gone, she crept down to the river but saw no sign of Isolde.

  • • •

  “The elders think you’re mistaken,” Michael said. He looked like he was barely reining in his temper. Jelena knew he wasn’t mad at her.

  “They can pretend all they want,” Jelena said. “But I know what I saw. I saw two Sithan warriors on our land, Michael. And Isolde hasn’t returned.”

  “I agree about Isolde. I’m worried about her. Matilda and some of the others are out looking, asking if anyone has seen her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I’ll make sure the guards know to patrol all the way to the river,” he added. “Acceptable?”

  “You would make a much better elder than the elders,” Jelena blurted out before spinning away in embarrassment.

  “Makers preserve us from that, eh?” she heard Alaric say as he came up and slapped Michael on the shoulder. She didn’t hear what else he said because she fled back to the kitchen.

  Chapter Eleven

  There was no reason her friends couldn’t come to the kitchen, sit at the worktable, and visit with her as she carried out her duties. But they didn’t — not even Amy, whom Jelena had considered something of a kindred spirit.

  So she was pleased that morning when Viktor came into the kitchen after breakfast, his guilty glance at Bertha intimating that she had scolded him for abandoning Jelena. Jelena didn’t mind Bertha’s interference if it meant she wouldn’t have to feel so alone.

  She wiped her hands on a dishcloth that she’d resisted embroidering with dragons and squeezed Viktor’s hand. “It is so good to see you, my friend,” she said. He smiled, flushing slightly and mumbled something she couldn’t quite hear.

  “Would you like a cup of tea? I can take a few minutes to talk with you.”

  Viktor gave an agonized glance in the direction of Bertha’s back and said, “Would you come for a walk with me? I’m headed down to the river to find some reeds.”

  Jelena knew that he used special reeds that grew along the banks of the river to shape into the mouthpieces he used on his flute. She’d accompanied him on this same task more than once before.

  “That sounds delightful,” she said, then turned to Bertha. “I’ll be gone an hour or two. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you to make the midday meal by yourself.”

  Bertha waved her away. “Take your time. I managed before you came, you know.”

  “Ay, but not nearly so well,” Jelena responded, pecking the older woman’s cheek with a kiss.

  Bertha smiled but said, “Shoo! ’Twill be good to get you out of my hair for a time.”

  Jelena laughed. Taking Viktor’s hand, she headed out the door. The morning was warm, the mellow sunshine working the knots of tension from her shoulders as they walked. The cool snap had ended after a day or two and no one spoke of the ginger root or of Isolde. Jelena had expected as much.

  “Thank you for coming to see me,” she said. From Bertha she was learning to be more direct and to say what she thought but she had a hard time imagining saying something reproachful, such as Why did it take you so long? or How could you abandon a good friend like that? Bertha would have no difficulty whatsoever sharing those sentiments. Maybe someday Jelena would be as bold.

  “I hope things are going well,” Viktor said haltingly. “I’m sure it’s a bit difficult to adjust.”

  Jelena smiled. “It is at that. But Bertha is kind. And I think I’ve done the right thing — taken some of the pressure off Michael.”

  Viktor was silent for a moment and then he said, “I don’t believe Michael ever thought of it as pressure.”

  Jelena pretended to study the sky as her heart gave a treacherous lurch. “He has many obligations,” she said, though she wanted to cry out, Tell me more! Does he miss spending time with me? Does he wish we could be together still? Has he said as much to you, and how did his face look when he said it? But she wasn’t brave enough to ask those questions. She wasn’t brave enough to hear the answers.

  “That he does,” Viktor said, studying her face. “Even now, he’s working.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the training area, where Michael took his turn with the drills. As she watched, he stopped and spoke briefly with the two sentries he was working with, explaining some concept, encouraging them to try again, harder this time. He looked up and nodded distantly to Viktor and Jelena, but brought his attention back to the drill almost immediately.

  “I don’t envy him the boots or the heavy gear,” Viktor said as they turned in the opposite direction and headed toward the path to the river that Jelena had taken the day she spotted the two Sithan warriors.

  She never mentioned the wolf with eyes the color of the precious topaz that the trader used to tell her about, how the wolf blocked her way and warned her about the Sithan warriors. No one would have believed that; it was too fantastic and it would have caused them to dismiss her claims about the Sithan warriors out of hand as well. But she wondered if the wolf would be there this time. Maybe it made its den near the river path. Her heart quickened hopefully.

  Had Viktor heard about the Sithan warrior incident? The elders had wanted her to keep quiet about it and after Michael had agreed to increase the security along the river, she’d seen no reason not to comply with the elders’ wishes. She might rail against them and their decisions, but she knew she was here on sufferance. She wasn’t a full member of the community and never would be. She had no way to insist or force them to take action.

  Jelena had not been frightened of the wolf after that first heart-stopping moment. The same could not be said of the Sithan warriors.

  Following the path through the trees required attention and care so they were silent as they made their way down. Sunlight dappled the path, but much was hidden in shadow. The trees seemed to loom taller and the bushes to encroach the path more. Then she heard the call of a bluejay and that cheered her. The birds always went quiet when anything dangerous traveled abroad.

  Or so the storyteller said. Jelena suddenly wondered if it were really true and hoped she wouldn’t have to find out first hand.

  The path yielded to an open space just near the banks of the river. Jelena let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and turned to Viktor, who wore a look of intense concentration on his face, as if he were having a heated internal debate with himself about something.

  “Viktor?”

  He spun to face her. “I know I haven’t come to see you,” he said. “But then, you haven’t come to see me.”

  Jelena blinked at his vehemence. “That’s true. But I would have liked some reass
urance that you were still my friend, despite my change of status. It was a little hard to act like nothing had changed.”

  “But you even stopped coming to meeting,” Viktor said. “You were the only person there who ever really understood me or appreciated my songs. Why did you stop?”

  The pain in his voice was raw and real. Though she didn’t want to hurt anymore, at least it meant Viktor was her friend. “The unawakened rarely go to meeting,” Jelena said. “There’s nothing for us when we go beyond self. Or so the stories say.”

  “But you’re not like anyone else. You believe what you choose to believe. Besides, I’m sure Michael took it personally when you stopped attending.”

  “Leave Michael out of this,” Jelena said sharply. “This is just about you and me and our friendship.”

  “Ay,” said Viktor, holding his hand up and grinning. “I apologize for getting sidetracked by irrelevant issues. Can we just say that we’re friends and forgive each other?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” Viktor put his hands on her shoulders, then pulled her lightly to him in a gentle embrace. “I’ve missed you,” he said, releasing her and stroking a tender finger down the side of the face.

  “I’ve missed you, too, old friend,” she said. A sound on the track made her turn. She saw Michael making his way down to the river and her heart gave another treacherous lurch. Had he come to say a word to her? Then she remembered that he’d agreed to increase security on the river and it was probably his turn to take a patrol. That was all. The riders seemed stretched thin by the demands on them but that was no longer her concern. She’d done what she needed to do. No one could ask more.

  “So, where are we going?” she asked Viktor, turning away from the sight of Michael. Without saying a word, he took her hand and guided her downstream to a tall patch of reeds growing in the sun. She realized that because of his natural reticence, speaking out to her must have been very hard for him. She felt her heart warm; he had overcome his reluctance to speak in order to preserve their friendship. At least she meant something to someone. Maybe before they were through they would all learn to be as bold and direct as Bertha.

  Viktor began examining the plants to find the most suitable ones to serve as mouthpieces, flexing and tapping the reeds, frowning as he did so. This was not a task Jelena could help him with, so she took off her shoes and waded into the shallows. A flash of silver caught her eye and she gave a delighted laugh as the fish nibbled at her toes before darting off.

  The rockstrewn river bed required attention so she didn’t cut her feet. She studied the water intently as she waded, squishing mud between her toes and enjoying the luxury of an hour with nothing to do.

  She had just reached a shallow pool that curved along the far end of the reed bed when another glint caught her eye. Guessing it was another fish, she bent down for a closer look, then bit back a horrified cry. Beneath the water, Isolde lay on her side, eyes open and unseeing, the current rocking her body gently, her long dark hair waving in the water like a breeze caught and lifted it. The rocks — or something — had cut her face and her clothing but the water had washed the blood away.

  Viktor must have heard her cry out, for he immediately abandoned his search and made his way toward her.

  “Jelena?” he said as he reached her side. She pointed wordlessly at the — thing — that had caught her attention. “By all that’s good,” he said, the color draining from his face. He grabbed Jelena’s hand and pulled her to shore, then wrapped his arms around her fiercely. Jelena clutched him, unwilling to believe what she’d seen, but knowing that she’d expected something like this from the moment she first saw the Sithan warriors on the river. She didn’t move when she heard Michael’s dry uninflected voice addressing Viktor.

  “What is it?”

  “Isolde.”

  “Wolves?”

  “No,” Jelena brought her head up and tore herself away from Viktor’s arms. “Michael, you know it’s not wolves.”

  Michael didn’t respond, merely walked downstream to the spot where Jelena had found Isolde. Wading into the water, he crouched down to look. A moment later, he lifted Isolde’s body and brought her to shore, placing the mauled remains in the shadow of an oak.

  “It could have been wolves,” he remarked, gesturing at the wounds. “She was badly hurt before she died.” He glanced up at Viktor. “Will you alert the physician and perhaps one of the elders? We’ll need a litter to get her up the path and back home.”

  Viktor nodded and darted off to find help. Jelena crouched next to Michael and placing a hand on his arm said, “It wasn’t wolves, Michael. You can’t say it was.” Not when Jelena had seen Sithan warriors, not when she knew the trader hadn’t been killed by wolves. But Michael didn’t say anything at all.

  Chapter Twelve

  Michael looked at Jelena, taking in her angry eyes, her tight jaw.

  “It was the Sithans,” she said flatly. “You know that.”

  He couldn’t think what to say. The horrific death of Isolde should have occupied every thought, every feeling, but all he could think, all that played over and over in his mind, was Jelena with Viktor, smiling up at him, holding his hand. To have seen Viktor lightly embrace her was bad enough; to find that she turned to him in crisis instead of Michael, who had been standing right there, was more than he could take.

  He tried to push his unproductive feelings aside. How could he be worried about Jelena and whatever mad thing she was going to do next? He had the entire tribe to care for, the council to keep informed, the delicate task of shaping their opinion without seeming to do so. Now the brutal death of another tribe member … and the Wudu-faesten still entirely unprepared for war against the Sithans.

  He rocked back on his heels and looked up at Jelena, her warm brown eyes on his face, her long dark hair blowing in the breeze. He should have sent her instead of Viktor for help. To have her standing this close to him, looking bereft and afraid and there was no comfort he could offer her —

  “Michael,” Jelena said, and then he heard an echoing shout from behind her.

  “Michael,” Viktor yelled. “The elders have convened a council meeting and want you to attend right away. Sebastian has brought a litter.” He indicated the physician, who was steps behind him. “He and I will see to Isolde.”

  Michael nodded and got to his feet. At another time he would have offered a hand to Jelena and walked back to the village with her, then made sure another protector was available to watch after her before hurrying off to attend the council meeting. But she was no longer his responsibility. She was on her own. She had made it clear that she had no use for him. He didn’t let himself dwell on the hurt look in her eyes as he walked away without another word.

  Glancing back once, he saw the strong lithe body of a wolf standing on the bluff overlooking the river. It seemed to stare at him for a long moment before turning and padding back into the woods.

  • • •

  “I cannot tell the people it was wolves,” Michael said. He sat at his accustomed place at the table though he was not an elder.

  “Do you know it was the Sithan warriors?” Archibald demanded. “Have you evidence?”

  “Evidence? No. But it wasn’t wolves, and it seems likely — ”

  “But why?” Cara interjected. She folded her hands on the scarred tabletop and leaned forward, her blue eyes, usually pale, now fierce and piercing. “Why would the Sithans harm Isolde?”

  Michael shrugged. “Perhaps she came upon them in a suspicious activity and they didn’t want her to tell what she saw.”

  “What suspicious activity?” Maurice wanted to know, his brows beetling together.

  “I don’t know,” Michael said. They were missing the important point. How could he get them to understand?

  “Do you know what will happen if we a
ccuse a member of the Sithan tribe of a violent crime?” Cara asked.

  “The people will expect a formal acceptance of guilt and an apology from the Sithan leaders,” Maurice said before Michael could answer. “And if they don’t get that, they will demand the Sithans pay blood price.”

  “If the Sithans refuse, the Wudu-faesten must exact retribution,” Cara added.

  “I have said this before, but perhaps you will be more willing to listen now,” Michael said. “We must prepare for war.”

  But Archibald was already shaking his head. “We can do nothing to provoke war. If we appear to be building our military might, war will be what we get. We must concentrate on following the Way and sending peaceable intentions throughout the world. We can’t defeat or destroy the Sithans: we must learn to live with them.”

  “But they don’t want to live peaceably with us,” Michael said.

  Cara shot Archibald a measuring look, then turned to Michael. “What Archibald means is that we can’t do anything now.”

  Michael’s heart sank. The elders believed that they would awaken a warrior chief and that he would protect them. Rodrigo was their only hope, but it was unlikely he would awaken soon. In the meantime, the elders insisted on taken an appeasement line, and if calling themselves peaceable made it easier to swallow, then that was what they would do.

  So he must put off telling the truth to the people a little longer, in the interests of keeping the tribe alive for another year. He sighed. He didn’t know what other arguments to make or how to persuade them to listen to him. He was not their warrior chief.

  He got to his feet as a knock came at the door and Teresa slid into the room. He gave her a startled look but the elders didn’t object to her presence. She took the seat Michael had just left. Cara turned a friendly look on her.

  “And how is Rodrigo?”

  Michael left the council room before she answered.