Children of the Wolves

by Jessica Starre

  They picked their way through the trees, past the cave of the saved. Michael didn’t speak. If Jelena had come this way, after all — if Bertha had sent him off in the wrong direction — then she’d done this, too, skirted this rock fall, negotiated this copse of trees, wondered what dangers lay in the path.

  Not being a tracker like Rufus, Michael could see no sign that anyone had ever passed this way. It had been so many weeks now that he doubted even Rufus could find tracks. But that did not stop him from looking, squinting his eyes in the vain hope of seeing a strand of hair, a thread of cloth from her cloak, some sign to show that she had actually existed. He didn’t even find that much.

  • • •

  They had left behind the protection of the trees and traveled on the endless empty plains now. Michael was uneasy under the blue open sky. The tall grasses moved and rustled in the wind, hinting at dangers and attacks that would surely come … but when? He kept the river in sight, traveling parallel to it as they rode.

  Rodrigo kept to himself, quiet, following Michael’s lead without question. He must find the whole experience disorienting, Michael knew. Rodrigo was still too newlyborn in this world to take much in, so he plodded along after Michael. He’d stopped staring and starting on the second day, which Michael appreciated, but now he seemed not to be seeing anything; he seemed to be shutting out the entire experience.

  When the snow began to fly, they stopped for the night. Rodrigo volunteered to take the first watch, so Michael curled into his blanket and fell asleep almost immediately.

  When he felt the movement near his shoulder, he thought was Rodrigo coming to rouse him for his turn, but when he opened his eyes, he saw that Rodrigo lay sprawled nearby on the ground. In that moment, Michael grabbed his dagger and threw himself away from the movement. He crouched and thrust the dagger upward, catching the attacker in the abdomen. He leapt lightly away and grabbed his broadsword from where he’d placed it on the ground near his blanket. Swinging it in an arc, he connected solidly with flesh.

  Almost as quickly as the attack started it ended, the attackers melting away into the darkness — those who could, anyway. Like most animals, they preferred not to have their prey fight back.

  Moving slowly to make sure he wouldn’t be unceremoniously ambushed, Michael made his way to the fire where Rodrigo sprawled. He knew without looking that the man was dead. Despair gripped him, so great it nearly overwhelmed him. Guilt clawed at his heart. He had believed it was more dangerous for Rodrigo to lead the riders than for him to come on this journey.

  Michael had been wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The blizzard hit hard and suddenly, covering the grass for miles around with a thick blanket of snow and ice. The river had already frozen solid and the Children huddled in their caves with their wolves, keeping each other warm, tending careful fires to conserve their fuel.

  Geoff, the lookout stationed near the cave entrance, reported the figure in the distance, riding a horse that could barely lift its legs in the drifting snow. Jelena got to her feet, unhappy at leaving the companionship of the fire and the warmth of the cave and the wolves. But she was their leader and she must not leave to other people those tasks she wasn’t willing to do herself. She found her cloak and wrapped a scarf around her face, then went to stand at the cave entrance.

  In the twilight of the storm, she saw the horse staggering toward the river, and realized it held two riders. She signaled to Geoff to tie a rope around her waist, then went out into the howling wind, struggling against the force of it.

  Before she could reach them, the horse foundered in the snow, collapsing, the riders tumbling from its back. The horse reared and tried to get up but couldn’t. It sank back, exhausted and unmoving. The two riders lay motionless where they’d fallen.

  Jelena pushed harder against the biting snow and ice. If the fallen were members of the Jackals, she’d leave them to die in the snow. Picking her way through the drifts, eyes focused on the ground beneath her feet, she finally reached the men. She recognized the horse as belonging to the Wudu-faesten riders. Her heart leapt in her throat as she bent over one of the men. It was Michael. Michael.

  She touched his face with her hands. How had he come to be here? What had happened? She looked at his face, red from the cold, shadowed with dark lines of fatigue.

  Michael groaned and stirred. She helped him push himself to a sitting position. She got her shoulder under his arm and hoisted, lifting him to his feet. She staggered to a standing position and began moving back toward the cave, tugging on the rope to show that she was ready to return. Geoff pulled back to guide her steps. Partway to the cave she saw Tasha and Derek pass her, tethered to two separate ropes. She was glad she wouldn’t have to go back into the storm to collect Michael’s companion and the horse. Of course they would go for the horse. It would be valuable dead or alive.

  She dumped Michael just inside the cave entrance, where a few members of the tribe waited with extended hands to help him. She moved quickly to the fire to warm her body. Her unprotected fingers were already swollen and stiff and her cheeks and nose felt numb. She stamped the snow off her boots and removed her cloak. Matilda came hurrying up with a warm dry blanket and helped her out of her wet clothes, then settled her by the fire.

  The other members of the tribe soon had Michael taken care of as well, and in a few minutes someone was pressing mugs of warm tea into their hands. Michael’s teeth chattered on the rim of the mug as he drank deeply from the cup. Then Matilda found a bit of stew and scrapped it into a bowl for Michael, which he accepted silently. He polished off the food without saying a word.

  “What are you doing here?” Jelena asked.

  Michael dragged his gaze up to meet hers. His eyes widened as he stared at her, a shocked expression on his face. She realized he hadn’t recognized her in the snow, in his exhausted state. But he looked at her now, his eyes no longer dull and despairing. He shifted his gaze to the other faces around the campfire and the wolves stretched out near Jelena, and he smiled.

  “These are dangerous times,” Jelena said, taking a sip of her tea. “Just the two of you out there?” Derek and Tasha had brought Rodrigo into the cave now and the others were seeing to him.

  “We were attacked,” Michael said.

  Jelena tossed a glance at the others gathered around the fire. They moved uneasily at the mention of an attack. Only one explanation for it. “We call them the Jackals,” she said. “They are vicious and uncivilized. They set upon any living creature and hack it to pieces.” A low murmur around the fire. The truth might be distressing but it would always be told around Jelena’s fire.

  “Some of our own have been victims. We can defend the caves but — ” Jelena said, shrugging. “But like you — ” here her eyes gleamed with amusement — “we come from peaceable stock.”

  “I am willing to be warlike,” Derek declared, coming forward to toss a pair of saddlebags at Michael’s feet.

  “Which all of us appreciate,” Jelena said. “But we need more than willingness, we need skill. Otherwise all we can do is live like weasels, sly and cunning, twisting this way and that, now here, now there, never staking a true claim to the territory where we live.”

  “We are not weasels,” someone called out from across the fire.

  “Ay,” Jelena said. “We are weasels. But we are trying to be wolves.”

  There was a murmur of approval around the fire and then Jelena returned her attention to Michael.

  He gave her a measuring look and said, “I don’t wish to impose upon your hospitality, but with this weather — and I don’t think the horse will be fit for riding tomorrow — ”

  “The horse is dead,” Derek said flatly.

  Jelena nodded. Food for the wolves. She didn’t say so, though.

  “How is Rodrigo?” Jelena asked Derek. “Will he be w
ell enough to continue his journey soon?”

  “Dead too,” Derek said briefly.

  “He was killed in the attack,” Michael explained. “But I didn’t care to leave his body there.”

  “The Jackals do mistreat the dead,” Jelena said.

  “I don’t believe it was the Jackals who set upon us,” Michael said. “They were riding the horses of the Western tribes.”

  “The Sithans,” Jelena said, her heart catching. “If they enter this territory, if we have to fend off Jackals and Sithans — ” she broke off. Despite her promise to always tell the truth, there was no need to alarm the Children until she knew for certain what the threat was. “We can give Rodrigo’s body the proper treatment here,” she told Michael. “And you are welcome to stay, for as long as you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  Derek and Geoff moved to sit near Jelena and the crackling flames of the fire.

  “What brought you out here?” she asked Michael.

  “I’m on a scouting mission for the elders,” Michael said. He set his bowl aside. Matilda refilled his mug with fresh warm tea. He wrapped his hands around the steaming mug and leaned closer to the fire as Jelena spoke.

  “Scouting? For what? And in this weather?”

  Michael said, “Have you explored the caves hereabouts?”

  “We live in the caves hereabouts,” Jelena said.

  “Just the five — no, six — of you?” Michael asked, obviously counting figures around the campfire.

  “Oh, there are more of us than that,” Jelena said, smiling tiredly. She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. An ordinary conversation, such as two travelers well met might have, but nothing personal. Had she imagined their connection, then? He didn’t even ask the kinds of questions she would have expected of him. He hadn’t even asked, “Why did you leave?” Perhaps he thought he knew the answer.

  “More of you?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow. Clearly he thought only the self-exiled members of the Wudu-faesten tribe dwelled here.

  “We pick up strays here and there,” Jelena explained. “Other outcasts and exiles. Some of the seventy tribes of Irminsul aren’t doing so well, they’ve almost completely died out, and we’ve taken in their people.”

  Michael nodded, glancing at the faces around the campfire again. “It’s likely to be a hard winter,” he said. “You haven’t had much time to prepare.”

  “We have sufficient supplies for our needs. We’re resourceful.”

  He touched her arm impulsively. Now she raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you return with me, Jelena? I can talk with the elders. They’ll forgive you and take you back. You’ll have a roof over your head, clothes on your back, food in your belly — all of you,” he promised, gesturing to include the others who sat silently around the campfire.

  “The elders will forgive us?” Jelena said, and smiled. She glanced at Derek and Geoff, both of whom returned her gaze but not her smile. “We have not yet forgiven the elders,” she said. “We would rather die here in the cold, starving, Michael, than go back to a place that does not want us.” She took another deep breath. “All of us are necessary here, Michael. Equally important. We care nothing for awakenings or callings. If one of us does a thing well, he shows it to the others, and sometimes another will see how to do the thing better, and we are all pleased.”

  “You sound happy,” Michael said, a note of wonder in his voice.

  She looked away from his blue eyes. Perhaps she sounded happy. The way she lived now satisfied a fierce desire in her. But happy, when she could not have Michael by her side?

  “It’s a good life,” she said. “You should get some rest now.”

  Jelena got to her feet and picked up a spare blanket from a stack in the corner of the cave. “There are other rooms, warmer and darker, in the back,” she said, handing Michael the blanket. “You’re welcome to sleep there.”

  “This is fine. It might be colder this close to the mouth of the cave but it feels — among friends.”

  “You are among friends,” Derek grunted, finally speaking to Michael.

  Jelena patted Derek’s shoulder. He knew Jelena’s affection for Michael ran deep, and for her sake he would be generous.

  “What do you scout for?” Derek asked, wrapping himself in his own blanket.

  “Caves.”

  Derek smiled broadly. “Well, you certainly found one.”

  “What kind of caves?” Jelena asked. Then, gently, “You’re looking for caves in which to keep the saved, aren’t you? In case the — wolves return?”

  “That’s the task the elders assigned to me,” Michael said, not revealing what he thought of it. But Jelena could guess and she knew he would do his duty regardless.

  She sighed and said, “I think if you return to the caretaker, and ask her to show you the cabinet in which she keeps spare blankets, you’ll see a map on the door. I suspect the map will show you where to find the caves you seek.”

  She didn’t mention that there were saved in this very cave. The Children huddled in the steel room with them, the door bolted on the inside, whenever the Jackals attacked. But none of these saved would ever be newlyborn. None of their glass cubes emitted any light at all — not the green of newbirth, nor the yellow of stasis nor even the red of death. Nothing at all. Even so, she didn’t want the Wudu-faesten encroaching on her land; the Children held on precariously, barely, as it was.

  “A map?”

  “Derek will explain to you what that means,” Jelena said. Another long pause and then she added, “It’s too bad Rodrigo was killed. There’s writing on the map I think he could have read.”

  “Rodrigo could read?”

  “I think he retained the memory of it,” Jelena said. “The only writing in the village was on the curtain in our room.” Here she stumbled a little on the words. “But he read the writing that day, I’m sure of it. When I described the map to Derek, he said the markings were writing. He had seen the Sithans write, though it’s different. When I drew a symbol from my curtain for him, he said it looked like a word, though he didn’t know what it meant.”

  “I can’t read,” Derek interjected. “I can only recognize when words are written.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Michael said. “That would have made Rodrigo the teacher.” He seemed to turn inward for a moment. “They thought he was the warrior.”

  “Ay,” Jelena said.

  Michael rubbed a hand over his face. “I was terrified to think our warrior had been killed,” he said. “Bad enough to lose a teacher, but the thought that our warrior will one day awaken is all that gives us hope.”

  Jelena gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You can learn to be warriors,” she said. “We learn. We have not much skill, but we learn. We do, we act, Michael. We don’t spend our lives in hoping and waiting.”

  • • •

  The next morning, the snow had abated though the day was fiercely cold. Jelena stood at the cave entrance, looking out, and said to Michael, “You’re welcome to stay longer. The weather is unpredictable.”

  “I can’t,” Michael said and she heard true regret in his voice. “I know it’s too much to ask — but if I could borrow one of your horses? Maybe the bay? I would be sure you were repaid plentifully.”

  Jelena was already shaking her head. “You won’t get far on a horse in this weather. Look at the snow and the ice. You’ll have to use a sled.” Already she was getting to her feet. “If time is of the essence, we might as well get started. They’re well rested.”

  “What are you talking about?” Michael asked. “Who is well rested?”

  “The wolves. I thought you understood. They pull sleds through the snow quite easily. They’re practically tireless and they know this territory better than I do. You’ve brought them horse meat, so I kno
w they’ll be willing to help you out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Topaz is the lead dog,” Jelena said, patting the animal on the muzzle. “She’s the alpha female. Sometimes we put Garnet up front — he’s the alpha male — but he has the attention span of a flea. Get something of interest going on in the trees and he’s off after it before you can spit.” She checked the lines that tied the animals together, moving from front to rear. “Here’s Emerald, she’s the one who looks like a raccoon with those markings.”

  Her affectionate conversation about the wolves seemed so unlike her. She was strong and confident; she was still unawakened but it didn’t matter much to her. It didn’t matter at all. It felt like a lifetime ago since Michael had last seen her in the kitchen with Bertha. He couldn’t believe he’d found her again.

  He wanted to convince her to come back home but he’d fumbled the attempt. She wasn’t going to leave the band of exiles she’d fallen in with to return home and go back to washing dishes in the kitchen. He could see that. But that didn’t mean he was giving up or that he would leave her to her fate. He had found her once. He could find her again.

  He’d been tempted by her offer to stay — tempted beyond measure to find out about this woman she had become. But like her, he had his own people and they needed him. Now more than ever, they needed him. He was certain of that.

  Jelena went on speaking, introducing him to the wolves: “And Sapphire is next to her. Diamond and Garnet are paired here. Garnet can pay attention if Diamond’s next to him, she’ll nip him in the flank if he gets out of line. These five are my best sled dogs. I trained them from pups.” As if he didn’t know, as if he hadn’t been there. As if he were a stranger. He had held open the trap as she’d released Topaz. He recognized the scar on the wolf’s leg. Had Jelena forgotten that?

  “You have more than five wolves?” Michael asked.

  “Yes, we do. They’re like people. They get separated from their packs or orphaned or driven out, and we take them in and teach them to be members of a new pack. They’re essential to us. They serve as some protection from the Jackals, and they’ve been keeping us warm this winter. They warn us of threats and danger. They let us know when one of our own is in trouble. I don’t know what we’d do without them.” She stroked a silky back. “I wish we could do more to show them how much we appreciate them. All we can do is feed them and brush their coats and love them and try to heal them when they’re sick.”