Children of the Wolves

by Jessica Starre

  Teresa put an unwelcome hand on Jelena’s arm to stop her from moving away. Jelena flinched but didn’t pull free; she didn’t want to be openly discourteous to Teresa. Michael would disapprove. He had never understood her distaste for Teresa.

  “They say that Michael is the father.”

  The words lashed Jelena like a whip but she kept her face still, forcing herself not to respond. She knew Teresa was watching her reaction closely.

  Michael? Had Michael shared his body with Danielle? During all those weeks and months — years — when Jelena had dreamed of his touch, his kiss, the heat and the weight of his body against her own?

  She tightened her jaw. This was Teresa talking, after all. Teresa, who liked to cause pain though she smiled and smiled.

  “When will he partner with her?” Teresa asked, as if Jelena might know the answer. “Will he have to wait until after you’re … awakened?” she whispered, her voice insidious, the hesitation implying that Jelena never would awaken and that it was obvious to all that the reason why she didn’t let Michael get on with his life was because she wanted him all to herself. That she did want him all to herself didn’t make the implication any easier for Jelena to endure.

  Despite her roiling stomach, Jelena forced herself not to show her unhappiness. She kept her step steady and ignored Teresa. Teresa’s lips thinned — no doubt she was disappointed in Jelena’s lack of reaction to her news. But Jelena knew better than to be provoked into revealing herself.

  “Surely the Elders will forgive him the transgression if it means another trueborn to the community,” Teresa said, obviously unable to resist making another dig. “But whatever will they do about you?” She gave the question a pious inflection and then with a smile curving her lips scurried forward to open the door to the dining hall.

  Jelena couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her. What would they do about her? She followed Teresa into the hall, her face impassive although her mind was a confused whirl of thoughts and impressions. Teresa had known about Danielle’s pregnancy — and she wouldn’t lie about something so easy to confirm. People told Teresa things, whether from fear or favor it was impossible to tell; probably some combination of both. But Michael had never said anything to Jelena, either about the pregnancy or his part in it. Why not? He usually confided in her.

  This was different, that was true; it wasn’t a concern about a rider drill gone badly or one of the people who didn’t listen to Michael’s advice. This was a pregnancy, which meant he’d made love to Danielle, probably more than once. Teresa had somehow guessed that Michael hadn’t told Jelena. Jelena supposed that wouldn’t be so hard to guess. But Teresa had taken so much pleasure in breaking the news to Jelena. Malice wasn’t an unknown commodity in the tribe, but it always surprised Jelena when she encountered it. It seemed so petty. Beneath them, somehow. Not worthy of them.

  Michael had spoken admiringly of Danielle, praising her facility with the bow and arrow and the broadsword, remarking on her ability to ride. Jelena had never thought anything of it. He had equally praised Charmaine and Rufus. Jelena herself had never ridden a horse and didn’t like the creatures very much. She’d never tried to handle a weapon. She’d never thought of either of these things as shortcomings before. But why wouldn’t Michael want a woman with whom he shared so much in common? Jelena had never thought of Michael’s admiration for Danielle as anything other than the affection and appreciation one friend had for another. She’d been so caught up in her own feelings that she’d missed what had gone on between Michael and Danielle. Well, it turned out Michael was perfectly capable of actions.

  Jelena was brought abruptly to the present by someone calling her name. She turned to look and saw a small trueborn girl come flying across the narrow hall to launch herself into Jelena’s arms. “Caterina!” Jelena hugged the girl close, the child’s affection helping her steady herself.

  After a moment, she released the girl, smiling down at her. If Michael had a child, a child with dark hair and river blue eyes — she sucked a breath in — she wanted him to have that child with her. She’d never dared entertain such a thought. She thrust it from her mind and turned her attention back to Caterina.

  The little girl had something clutched in her hand. She shoved the object towards Jelena.

  “What is it, Cat?” Jelena asked, taking the piece of cloth and smoothing it out.

  “A pillow for Mama!” the little girl said excitedly, then glanced around in fear that perhaps her mother had overheard her. “My birthday is in two weeks and I wanted to give her something special.”

  Jelena bent down to admire the handiwork. She spread it across her hand — not pointing out that the scrap of fabric would make a very small pillow — and said gently, “Tell me about it, Cat.”

  “Look,” Cat said, pointing to a green abstract design. “There’s the forest. And here’s our cabin.” That was a brown splotch. “And here is Mama.” A rainbow of color. “And there’s the moon and the stars.” Arrows of silver thread. “You know how Mama loves the moon and the stars.”

  “Yes, darling. It’s beautiful.” Cat’s mother Sarah had the river blindness and found it easier to work at night, when the glare of the sun didn’t bother her so much. Jelena supposed that to Cat that qualified as loving the moon and the stars. Sarah wove for the community, never seeing the bright abstract designs she created.

  “Will she like it?” Cat asked, anxiety etching her smooth young face.

  “She’ll love it,” Jelena said. “You can take her hand and let her feel the stitches and tell her all about it, just the way you told me. Every time she touches the pillow, she’ll think of you. That’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “I thought of her when I made it,” Cat said proudly.

  “That’s best, isn’t it? You think of someone when you make their gift and they think of you when they receive it. Now, put it away and wash up, it’s time for meal.”

  Caterina made a face but ran off anyway. Jelena was not reassured that the child would actually wash up, but at least she’d tried. When she glanced around, she saw that Michael was lounging against the wall, talking lazily with Colin, his eyes never leaving Jelena’s face. Was it true, that he’d been with Danielle, and got her with child? No. If he had, he would have told her, and he would have partnered with Danielle before now. A niggle of doubt. Whatever will they do about you? Teresa had asked.

  Jelena set her jaw and nodded a greeting to Colin, then moved into the dining hall proper to take her seat at table. Behind her, she heard Michael take his leave of Colin and follow her in. A moment later, he found his usual seat beside her on the bench.

  The others had already begun serving themselves from the steaming soup tureens spaced along the center of the tables. Jelena took a sniff and said, “I wonder what I did to irritate Bertha today?”

  Michael ladled soup onto his plate. Seeing the chunks of lamb in the broth, he said, “I see what you mean.” He reached over and handed her the loaf of bread resting next to the tureen. She tore off a hunk, shook her head in defeat and started chewing. “What about a fresh vegetable?” she asked. “I cry out for a fresh vegetable.”

  “You know Bertha doesn’t hold with such nonsense notions as eating fruits and vegetables,” Michael teased.

  “I don’t understand it,” Jelena said sadly, tearing off another hunk of bread. “We live in an orchard! We’re surrounded by plums and currants and melons and corn and beans. You’d think we might have, oh, apples on the table now and then.”

  “Apples aren’t until fall,” Michael pointed out.

  “I know. I’m just making a point.”

  “The fence on the south side of the western paddock needs repair,” Rufus said, sitting down across from them.

  Jelena’s smile faded at the interruption, which ended her conversation with Michael.

  “I’ll take a look i
n the morning,” Michael said.

  Rufus grunted. “Nothing urgent. The fence doesn’t keep the wolves out even when it is in full repair.”

  Jelena stared down at the bread on her plate. She knew Michael wouldn’t say anything, yet she couldn’t help being disappointed when he didn’t.

  “I wish there were some way to discourage them without traps,” Rufus grumbled, spooning soup into his bearded mouth.

  “No traps,” Jelena said, the bile rising in her throat at the thought. Michael put a hand on her shoulder and she swallowed her further protests. The way she always did.

  “Perhaps we can ask the rememberer if he knows anything,” Michael said.

  Rufus blew out a breath and applied himself to his meal. No one wanted to talk with the rememberer unless he must.

  Jelena glanced at Michael. The rememberer. She could consult the rememberer, ask him what to do. She shivered at the thought of approaching him; the people held him in respect but also awe. Yet he would have wise counsel for her, she was sure of it. How much he had seen, and had known. How much he remembered.

  Jelena said nothing to Michael of the story Teresa had told her, but during the meal she glanced occasionally at Danielle and noticed that Danielle kept eyeing Michael speculatively. The sight made Jelena’s stomach clench and spoiled her appetite. She pushed the uneaten bread away.

  But then, Jelena argued with herself, she had seen other women look at Michael like that. He was an attractive man, and a kind one, and he held a position of prestige in the community. At the moment he was unavailable, but that was not a permanent condition for him. So it was natural for unpartnered women (and even some of the partnered ones) to give him speculative glances. That didn’t mean Michael had responded to a speculative glance.

  Jelena drained the mug of well water at her place and got to her feet. She pressed her hand against Michael’s shoulder as he began to rise. “Finish,” she said. “No harm will come to me. I’m just going to relax a moment in the sunshine.”

  It was the first time she had ever lied to him.

  She smiled her goodbyes to the friends at the table and left the dining hall, not wanting to poison the atmosphere with her negativity and doubts, her tensions and suspicions.

  Damn Teresa. As if Jelena didn’t have enough on her mind already; she didn’t need to have this unhappy doubt added to her burdens. She crossed the sunlit courtyard, lifted a hand in greeting to the sentries, and headed toward the shade of one of the big oaks near the fence.

  The rememberer lived alone in quarters far from the meeting hall, near the southwest corner of the main enclosure. His cabin snuggled close to the fence, far from the life of the people though still inside the borders of their village.

  Jelena raised her hand to knock on the door to his cabin, then hesitated. She had nothing to give. One did not come to the rememberer empty-handed. She squared her shoulders. That was just an excuse, her mind trying to find a way out of this. She rapped on the door, waited a moment. No light emanated from the cabin, no sound. But that didn’t mean the rememberer was absent.

  She took another breath and knocked again.

  “Enter,” a hoarse voice called from within.

  Jelena squelched the impulse to run away. She pushed open the cracked wooden door, peering into the darkness beyond. She stepped into the cabin, leaving the door ajar. Blankets covered the windows, casting the living area into gloom. A single candle burned on a table in the center of the room. The rememberer sat huddled in a chair next to the table, his back to her.

  She opened her mouth to say something, then sneezed. The overripe musty scent told her the last time the place had been cleaned was the last time she’d been here — and that was quite a while back. With sharp sound, she strode to the nearest window and pulled the blanket down. Sunlight streamed into the cabin, dust motes dancing in the light.

  “It must be Jelena,” the rememberer said dryly, making no move to arise or turn to see her.

  “You don’t have to be like this,” Jelena chided, walking to the pump in the corner, finding an overturned bucket and pumping cold water into it.

  On a shelf along the wall she found a cloth — none too clean, but it would do. She began cleaning surfaces, arranging objects, throwing trash into a wash basket near the door. The rememberer didn’t stir as she straightened his belongings. She hung the blankets and his clothing out to air in the sun, draping everything over tree branches and along the perimeter fence.

  Once she’d cleaned the worst of the mess, she went back outside with a small bowl she’d found near the pump. She’d seen a patch of red raspberries near the paddock. Taking a few minutes, she gathered them, then brought the harvest back to the cabin and put the bowl on the table near the rememberer. She popped one of the raspberries into her mouth and indicated that he should do the same. An ancient, bony hand reached for the bowl, picked up a raspberry, unsteadily brought it to his lips. She saw tears on his cheeks but didn’t comment on them.

  “I want you to tell me,” she began.

  “Child, that world has gone — ”

  “No,” Jelena said, interrupting him before he could get started. She didn’t want to hear his wild talk of immense cities glittering with metal and glass and stone. She could barely comprehend the world he remembered as if he’d fallen asleep just yesterday. To hear him talk made her sick to her stomach.

  He disliked talking about the past as much as the people disliked hearing of it. So much had been lost. Too much, more than one soul could bear. “I wasn’t talking about then,” she said in a soothing tone. “I’m talking about now. Or at least recently.”

  The rememberer nodded, then leaned forward to take another raspberry from the bowl. When he moved into the light, she could see his time-ruined face, the skin fallen into folds and wrinkles that molded over his skull like a death’s-head. His eyes were black and ancient and tormented. She looked away. He had been a first born. What he had seen upon awakening — it surprised Jelena that he had any moments of sanity at all.

  “I want you to tell me about Michael,” she said.

  “Michael?” the hoarse voice echoed. “What do you want to know about Michael that you cannot discern for yourself?”

  Jelena looked down at her hands twisting in her lap. “I know he is attractive to women,” she said. “Today, he asked me about Viktor the musician — as if he wished for me to have a special friendship with Viktor. In the hopes, perhaps, that I would no longer be a burden to him. Do you understand my meaning?” The misery welled in her throat as she spoke, burning and harsh, like acid in her mouth.

  “You think Michael has found one to partner with? And he cannot do so until you awaken and he is no longer your protector?”

  “Yes,” Jelena said, raising her head. The rememberer’s eyes met hers. He seemed even sadder now. “That is what I think. What I wonder — ”

  “Michael will always do his duty,” he said.

  “I want to do what is right,” Jelena said wretchedly.

  “I am not the person to advise you in affairs of the heart.”

  “Has it ever — worked?” Jelena asked. She was here, she had already exposed herself. What was a little more humiliation? No one would have to know. The rememberer would not gossip about her heart’s-truth to anyone.

  “You mean between a protector and a newlyborn?” the rememberer asked.

  “Yes,” Jelena whispered.

  The rememberer drew a long breath and did not answer immediately. She thought he might not answer at all.

  “Emma and Colleen were protector and newlyborn,” he said finally. “They fell in love and pledged themselves.”

  Jelena knew this. The two had built a cabin some distance away from the main hall to live their lives out together in mutual love and respect and even now, many years later, people admired and marveled
at the deep, abiding love the two women had for one another.

  “But Colleen awakened first, didn’t she?” Jelena asked. Because the problem was, Jelena hadn’t awakened.

  The rememberer gave a slow smile and the action transformed his face, making him look less forbidding and more human. “Ay. I remember once when Alaric brewed one of his early batches of ale, Emma told the story of how she thought it was going to take Colleen forever to awaken. Once it happened, Emma let scarce a day go by before declaring her intentions.”

  “She should try seven years,” Jelena said. “If she wants to know what forever feels like.”

  The smile faded from the old man’s lips and he folded his weathered hands in his lap. “Colleen has never been entrusted with any significant duty,” he pointed out.

  “The elders have a way of making their point,” Jelena said. But not being entrusted to perform a significant duty seemed a small price to pay. She would pay it; she would gladly pay that price, any price. Would Michael be willing to pay whatever was demanded of him? She twisted the hem of her tunic in her hands. How hard it was to know another’s mind, another’s heart.

  “That one had a happy ending. Most do not, my dear,” the rememberer warned her. “Nora and Kent became lovers, then Kent, who had been Nora’s protector, lost his calling. Nora did eventually awaken, but she scorned him then.” One who lost his calling was no better than an unawakened, Jelena knew. If Michael lost his calling, she would never scorn him. Never. Her chest tightened as she thought of Michael in his vestments, his face serene, at peace as he spoke the Way. She hoped that was not the price he was asked to pay.

  “Timothy and Isolde had a sad story,” the rememberer went on. “Isolde was Timothy’s protector. They became lovers before Timothy awakened — and he never did. One night, he crept out and threw himself to the wolves.”