Children of the Wolves

by Jessica Starre

  “Good night, Jelena,” he said. Her dismissal rankled, but he would never show it. She’d already made it plain that their relationship no longer mattered to her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jelena watched Michael stride off into the night, never once looking back, the lantern in his hand a yellow glow that diminished as he walked away, until it disappeared, until he disappeared. Not a glance, not a lifted hand, not a smile. Seven years, she thought. Every minute of seven years and one would think it was nothing.

  She stood on the threshold in the darkness. Only a silver thread of light from the crescent moon illuminated the night. Silence and emptiness. But no, not quite silence. Still, work to do.

  She lit her own lantern and set off into the night again. She was certain there was a litter of wolf pups nearby, that the one caught in the trap had been only one of several. The mother had probably been killed by the villagers — the pup otherwise wouldn’t have tried foraging on its own; it was too young.

  Not far from the trap, she found four other wolf pups fussing and squalling. Hoping the sentries wouldn’t investigate the noise before she could effect a rescue, she carried the animals to Isolde’s cabin where she fed and watered them. She promised herself that she would release them when they were a little older and could survive on their own. Just as soon as they were strong enough. But she couldn’t abandon them now; not when the people were responsible for their distress. She hoped Michael would be as good as his word, and this his loyalty to her and the promises he made her would outweigh any loyalty he felt to the elders.

  But when had it ever?

  • • •

  “Alaric said he heard wolves howling out in the direction of Isolde’s cabin,” Bertha remarked, stirring the iron pot of stew.

  When would it become “Jelena’s” cabin? Jelena supposed it would take many months before anyone began to think of it that way.

  “I haven’t noticed anything,” she said with a shrug. She didn’t like to lie to Bertha but no good could come of telling the truth.

  And wasn’t that exactly the kind of thinking the elders engaged in? Jelena sighed and tackled her scrubbing with renewed energy.

  Bertha grunted her disbelieving response. “Child, Joe says he saw you on the path near the river, hunting.”

  Jelena’s hands stilled at her task. “Me?”

  “You, Jelena.” Bertha kept her attention on the bubbling stew.

  “I don’t eat meat,” Jelena said. Which was true. But because Bertha would have noticed the missing food — enough to feed five hungry wolves was quite a lot of meat — Jelena had borrowed a bow and arrows from the supply the riders used and began hunting in the woods behind her cabin, bringing home food for the wolves. She picked up the skill quickly enough although she found the chore distasteful. For her wolves, she learned to use the bow, and hunted and fished in the river and even trapped small rodents patiently, letting the wolves out at night when they wouldn’t be spotted by the others, keeping them closed in the cabin by day so they would not be hurt by the fearful villagers.

  They had to be kept strictly away from the main encampment at all costs. This meant that Jelena rarely remained at the main hall after her work for the day was done. It was just as well; Amy always hurried by with never a word for her; Viktor had drifted into uncommunicative melancholy; and her relationship with Michael had changed in a way that made her heart ache. She missed him, missed knowing he was there for her. She hadn’t realized she would miss him like a part of her own self. But she did. Yet there was nothing to be done about it. Life was what it was. She couldn’t change her fate.

  “Whatever you’re up to, be careful,” Bertha said. “Will you stay a bit tonight? The storyteller speaks later.”

  “Maybe,” Jelena said.

  That evening, she found she wanted to warm herself by the gathering fire a bit before making the trek back to her cabin and checking the pups.

  The storyteller told of the time when the makers had saved all the villagers and stored them in their glass wombs. Like the other villagers, Jelena had heard this tale many, many times before, but still she closed her eyes and listened with enjoyment as the storyteller’s voice washed over her. This story had nothing to do with wolves.

  “All of the newlyborn were part of the world that went before,” the storyteller said in his dreamy voice. “All of us took part in it and knew how it functioned. We built machines and buildings that no one could dream of today, because that was then and this is now. And we could — everyone one of us — read and write.”

  A long pause as the storyteller strummed the lute and built tension in his listeners. “But all was lost to us during the Great Disaster, and when we rose from the long sleep as newlyborns, we knew neither how to read nor to write. Some say we will never learn, that it is denied us for good and proper reason. That the makers know best.” Here the storyteller raised his eyes heavenward, piously. “Not that I would ever criticize the makers,” he said slyly. “But why would they take these powers away from us? I believe that we will learn — it is just that our teacher has not yet been awakened.”

  There was warm applause for him that night. He didn’t always tell stories of hope, so they appreciated the effort when he did.

  When he had finished, the rememberer rose from the back of the crowd and made his way to the center of the circle. Villagers moved respectfully out of his way, not needing to be asked.

  When he had reached the storyteller’s side, he gazed out at the villagers. “I am here to tell you that Teresa has found her calling,” he said and with that simple statement, he turned and walked back to his cabin.

  • • •

  Jelena slipped into a seat in the back of the crowded meeting hall, marveling at how strange it felt. She had never sat here like this. Always she had been on the platform next to Michael, looking out at the gathered villagers.

  She inhaled sharply when she saw the elegantly dressed Sithan Marguerite seated on a bench near the far wall, the tall blonde man who was her second in command and her constant companion with her. Jelena had known that the two tribes had stayed in communication, but she hadn’t realized that it had come to pass that they were attending one another’s ceremonies. She knew the elders had encouraged the relationship between Teresa and Marguerite, hoping that it would lead to long peace between the tribes, but this seemed a bit much. A calling ceremony wasn’t meant for outsiders. Yet she supposed there was no way Michael could gracefully prevent their presence.

  Jelena tore her gaze from her beautiful blonde blood sister and waited expectantly as Michael welcomed everyone to the meeting. His face showed the same lines of fatigue it always had. A sharp pain twisted her heart. She’d wanted him to have less fatigue, fewer concerns, but nothing seemed to have changed: the demands still weighed heavily on him.

  But he smiled at the people as he announced that Teresa had found her calling and invited her to the altar.

  She proudly approached the platform, took the few steps up, and then flung back the hood that had covered her hair since her awakening, beaming at the assembled group. Jelena’s hand crept over her aching heart. How she had dreamed of the day that she would stand there and announce her own calling and feel the love and admiration of all the people surrounding her. But that dream was dust.

  She clenched her hands into fists to keep from betraying her emotion. Matilda, the unawakened night-keeper who was seated next to her, gave her a sympathetic pat on the arm, to which Jelena didn’t dare respond.

  “It is an honor to stand before you today, knowing that your love and support has allowed me to awaken and to understand my calling,” Teresa said, looking out over the villagers gathered in the meeting hall. Her gaze rested for a moment on Marguerite and then she continued, “The rememberer and I have found that my calling is to help with trade.” She waited a moment for people t
o stop and think about this before going on with her speech. The trader had been killed; yes, perhaps it made sense for someone else to help with trade.

  “But not in the way you think,” she said, smiling triumphantly, immediately casting the gathered villagers into some confusion. “So, please, allow me to explain. I have been talking with the Sithan tribe,” she said, inclining her head toward Marguerite, who gracefully inclined hers in turn. “And they tell me they have begun to use precious stones for barter.”

  Here Teresa held up one of the stones that Samuel had found earlier in the summer. “You see this gem? Our own trueborn Samuel found this for us. When I showed it to the leaders of the Sithan tribe, they told me that they use such stones to trade. Instead of bartering a pig for a goat, you see, they barter a pig for a sapphire.” Again she held up the stone.

  The villagers nodded thoughtfully. What she was saying made sense.

  “A sapphire is easier to carry than a goat,” she said with a smile and then continued. “Suppose you have too many pigs. You don’t have enough time to tend them or food to feed all of them. But you don’t need anything else in trade right now. You have all the tools you need, all the clothing. Why, then you could trade a pig for a sapphire, and you could keep the sapphire somewhere safe. It requires no more effort on you part. Then when you do need new clothing or more tools, you take your sapphire and trade it for the necessary goods.”

  Again the crowd nodded as they mulled over her words. It seemed so simple and elegant, a solution to a problem they had never realized they had. They had always owned everything together and each received what they needed to be fed and clothed and sheltered. They had always bartered their surplus with other tribes who could provide them with goods they could not produce. They had never wondered what to do with too many pigs. But now they knew they could have too many pigs and fortunately there was something they could do about it.

  “I can make it happen,” Teresa promised, her eyes flashing with excitement, her enthusiasm contagious. “I can trade you sapphires for your goat. I can loan you sapphires if you don’t have quite enough, so that when your goat has kids, you can give one to me to repay the loan.” She stopped for another moment to allow the villagers to assimilate this sophisticated new idea. Teresa’s smile broadened further as she said, “My pastself was a banker, you see, and my calling is broker.”

  After a moment of dubious silence, the audience got to its feet and began to applaud her. Teresa stood unmoving, allowing the sound to wash over her. After a few minutes, Michael stepped forward and untied Teresa’s hood, removing it from her shoulders. He folded it and placed it in the chest along the far wall. Then he turned to Teresa and took both of her hands in his.

  “It is my honor and my pleasure to welcome you as the newest confirmed member of the Wudu-faesten tribe,” he said, his gaze tender as he smiled upon the younger woman. Then he released her hands and turned toward the audience. “Let us welcome Teresa the Broker into our community,” he said. “It is the Way.”

  “It is the Way,” the audience responded, and then the meeting was over and the villagers surged forward to welcome Teresa and her new calling.

  Jelena was not surprised when Marguerite was among the first to congratulate Teresa, and later at the main hall she was not surprised when Marguerite bestowed an embarrassment of gifts on Teresa. Teresa tried to decline them but Marguerite insisted, and when Teresa declared she would share the largess with the entire community, Marguerite beamed. The rich woven blankets were admired — winter would be coming in soon — the beautifully crafted tapestries to hang on the walls to keep the drafts out, the carpets to place on the cold floors — all were welcomed and appreciated by the tribe, as were the more temporary gifts, the honey-drenched cakes and the fine wines and the spices that Bertha shook her head over and despaired of ever using properly.

  Samuel was also toasted that day, as the young man had brought them the knowledge that their caves were full of rich veins of jewels that they could use to trade for goods they needed. As they talked, the importance of Teresa’s calling began to take shape, guided by Marguerite’s suggestions and comments. They wouldn’t have to labor so much at their farming and their livestock and their weaving. They could mine the treasures of the earth and barter them instead. They would be less at the mercy of the weather and the crops.

  Jelena wished she could share her tribe’s enthusiasm for this new calling. Of course each new calling changed the tribe in ways that could sometimes seem threatening — she remembered the mechanic frightening people half to death. More than a few grumbles had suggested that perhaps he should be exiled.

  She chalked her discomfort up to jealousy — Teresa being the center of attention, and she an unawakened. Guiltily, she exchanged knowing looks with Matilda, the night-keeper. They understood each other perfectly. All of the unawakened did.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jelena rubbed her arms in the brisk morning air as she stood in the doorway of the cabin looking out across the land. An impatient pup thrust its muzzle between her leg and the doorjamb and she glanced down to scold the animal. “Topaz! You know better than to run outside in broad daylight!” Topaz reluctantly withdrew her nose, and Jelena shook her head in exasperation. If the tribe ever found out that she had a pack of wolves living with her, the elders would drive her out and pronounce the dōm. They wouldn’t even have to pretend to consult with each other.

  Jelena lifted her face to the cool morning breeze, a feeling of contentment stealing over her. It promised to be a cold winter, but at least here in the cabin she would be warm and safe. The first night she had tried to sleep up in the loft away from the wolves, but they’d howled so much that she’d begun sleeping in the downstairs room instead, all of them sprawled together on a soft pallet on the floor. Now that the nights had grown cooler, she was glad of the warmth, comfort and security. The pack woke her in the mornings with warm raspy tongues, dancing in delight at the start of a new day. Their very presence cheered her, gave shape and purpose to her days.

  In the distance, she spotted a figure heading in her direction so she hurriedly stepped onto the dirt path in front of the cabin, pulling the door shut behind her and hoping the wolves would keep from scratching and howling at the door to get out. She had her boots in her hand and bent to step into them, then moved away from the cabin so the pack wouldn’t try to alert her to the presence of a trespasser. For some reason they seemed to think she couldn’t see for herself. Or maybe they were just doing what wolves did, alerting each other to the first sign of danger.

  After a moment she could see that the figure moving toward her was Michael, all broad shoulders and unhurried movement. Her heart lifted. He hadn’t come to her cabin since the night she’d rescued the wolves. What brought him here now? Perhaps — well, perhaps. She smiled at him as he reached her side, catching her breath at the sight of his blue eyes, the face she loved so dearly.

  He didn’t smile in response and her own smile faltered. Dismay replaced the hope that had lifted her heart.

  “I need to tell you something, Jelena,” he said without greeting her first, without asking after her.

  “Yes?” Her heart quickened in her chest. Perhaps he had come to declare himself after all. She clasped her shaking hands together.

  “I have decided … that is … Danielle and I are to be partnered.” His eyes met hers, calmly. They were unfathomable.

  The blood drained from her face. He could not have shocked her more had he slapped her. She looked away. “The child is yours?” she asked. “I didn’t realize.”

  “I’m only trying to do what’s right.”

  “Why, then, I hope all that’s good will be upon you,” she said. She paused a moment, unable to think of what to say next. Her thoughts raced, protests tumbling through her mind, but she couldn’t say them. The time for saying anything important had passed. Finally she said,
“Thank you for telling me.”

  “You and I had a bond,” Michael said.

  “Yes,” she said. “We did.”

  A long pause, as she thought what she might do next. Tell him that she longed for the days when he slept in the next room? But she didn’t long for those days, she only longed for his companionship, which had grown distant since she’d been declared unawakened. But no, she would not tell him that. He had made his choice and the time for telling was past. Or perhaps the time had never come.

  “I hope you will be happy,” she said, and wondered if she did.

  He inclined his head, his eyes never leaving her face. After a moment, he asked, “Shall I walk you to the kitchen?” and his voice seemed to come from very far away.

  “No, thank you. I forgot something in the cabin. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  He inclined his head one last time and turned to walk away. He didn’t look back this time. She wouldn’t, either.

  The thought came to her as if it had always been there, waiting. She knew what she must do. Moving quickly but without rushing, she placed her few belongings in the center of her winter cloak and tied it in a knot. She left the chest of embroidery silks behind. She wouldn’t need it where she was going. Besides, she would owe them something — she was going to steal a horse.

  She moved swiftly and silently toward the main encampment and across the courtyard, timing her efforts so as not to attract the attention of the sentries. Most of the people were still asleep; only a few early risers were about and none of them would notice her particularly. The actions of the unawakened didn’t concern them.

  She slipped into the deserted stable and picked up the bay’s saddle and bridle, then let herself into the western paddock where the bay she’d ridden before paced restlessly. Quickly she bridled the horse. She didn’t saddle him right away; she would do that away from the main encampment. She led the horse through the paddock gate, the saddle over her shoulder, and she had only gone a few paces when she heard a voice call, “Hey there, Jelena, what are you doing?”