Children of the Wolves

by Jessica Starre

  “What brings you here?” the captain asked pleasantly enough but Michael had the sense that if he gave the wrong answer he and Rufus would end up in that pit just outside the barracks.

  He cleared his throat and began his story. “We are looking for a woman …”

  • • •

  “I see nothing, Michael,” Rufus, rocking back on his heels and shading his eyes as he looked up at his friend. “Not a footprint, not a broken twig; I can discover no sign that they ever came this way.”

  “I have to find her,” Michael said, slapping the saddle with impatience.

  “How long have we been out here?” Rufus asked reasonably.

  “A few weeks.”

  “And in that time, have we seen any sign that Jelena came this way? Any indication at all?”

  “No,” Michael admitted.

  “And when we visited the Trinitarians, had they seen or heard of her?”

  “No.”

  “We could be out here and year and never find her if there are no signs!” Rufus shouted, throwing a handful of dirt down.

  “Why are you angry?”

  “Because at first I thought they had hidden their tracks cleverly. Then I thought the rain had washed all the traces away,” he said. “Finally I believed the Trinitarians had found them and sacrificed them. But now I think the old woman sent you scampering in the wrong direction.”

  “By all that’s good,” Michael said, thinking of his last conversation with Bertha. She was perfectly capable of sending him galloping off in the wrong direction. She’d been furious with him. What a punishment, a rebuke to him this was. “What do you think the penalty would be for wringing her neck?” he asked.

  Rufus got to his feet and clapped Michael on the shoulder. “It wouldn’t be worth it, whatever it was. I think you should just go back home and say nothing to her. That’ll drive her mad.”

  Michael smiled though his heart wasn’t in it. Home. It was no place he wanted to be, but he wasn’t going to find Jelena now. They had lost their chance to track her. Now the only way they’d find her was if they heard a story about her from one of the tribes they traded with. That thought did not cheer him. All he could imagine was an Umluan or Sithan coming across her bones bleaching in the sun and then casually mentioning it to him at the next trade meeting. His hands clenched on the reins.

  She would never survive beyond the fence. She was unawakened, unskilled. If only he had spoken to her the night that she’d left his protection. If he could have found a way to say the words, then, none of this would have come to pass.

  “Come along,” Rufus coaxed. “Time we headed for home.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  They saw the smoke from the campfires long before they saw the shelters made of buffalo skin stretched over bone. Jelena did not have to tell the group to approach warily. Derek had been all for skirting any sign of civilization, but Jelena had pressed him to follow her lead.

  “Alliances,” she’d said at the time. “We must make friends where we can, for surely we will make enemies.”

  She was leading Horse, who carried the Alantran they’d rescued. Now she put a hand on the bay’s bridle to stop its movement. Yarood, the injured Alantran, started with a jerk when the horse halted. Jelena put a comforting hand on his foot, then handed the reins over to Cat, who would have the sense to stay put or alternatively the sense to climb up on the horse and ride behind Yarood should that seem to be the most appropriate course of action.

  Jelena left Derek and his bow behind. She left her own bow with Matilda, whose frightened demeanor had over the days given way to a fierce desire to learn everything she could to make her way in the world. She held the bow ready, her jaw firm, her shoulders square.

  Jelena decided to bring Sarah as interpreter as she usually did when they encountered strangers. Despite the danger this presented to Sarah, Sarah never minded the jeopardy. Her bravery was not a façade but a tightly woven aspect of her personality, something Jelena respected even more because her blindness made Sarah more vulnerable.

  Sarah had a hand on William’s arm and he marched forward, determination in his step and on his face. He didn’t need to look so fierce, but Jelena was loath to say anything to him.

  As they moved closer to the shelters, Jelena saw that a few adults had ranged themselves in a line, arms held loosely at their sides. She saw the bows and quivers near them but the people made no move to use them.

  One of the men stepped forward. Jelena held up her hand and William and Sarah stopped. The man’s eyes widened as he looked over her shoulder. Glancing back, Jelena saw that Topaz and Garnet and the other wolves had silently shadowed her progress. Now they sat on their haunches expectantly, just a pace or two from Jelena.

  “We are people of the Way,” Jelena said.

  The man looked at her, then threw a comment over his shoulder to the other adults, who smiled but did not relax their guards.

  “He says, ‘Rather, they are the people of the wolves,’” Sarah said.

  Jelena nodded. “Yes, that is well-spoken. We are of the wolves. We are no longer of the Way.”

  The man spoke again. “Thou art amongst the people of the buffalo.” Jelena was surprised and gratified that he used the language of the forest tribes, which wouldn’t be his natural tongue.

  “They’re Onaphiles,” Sarah said, moving a little closer to William.

  “What does that mean?” Jelena asked.

  “It means they follow the spirit of the Wanderer.”

  “Rather, One didst,” the man corrected, hearing her. “One did tread in the steps of the spirit of the Wanderer. Then One died of disease. One died of war. One died of hunger. One died of childbirth. One died of madness. Presently One clings perilously to life. One must find salvation or perish.”

  As he spoke, the other members of the Onaphile tribe emerged from their shelters, many elderly or ill. Jelena saw no small children among them.

  The man seemed to read her mind. “The Jackals prey on One. The Jackals trample One’s children beneath the hooves of their horses. The Jackals crush the skulls of One’s infants against the stones.”

  “The Jackals have not met the people of the wolves,” Jelena said grimly. She meant it the other way; she and her small group had not encountered the tribe of the Jackals. But she thought it sounded better the way she said it. Some small thing she had learned since becoming the leader of this group of outcasts.

  “The people of the wolves ask a boon,” she said, holding the man’s gaze with her own. “We are few and the dangers many. If One is willing, we would have One join us, that we might all, together, defeat our enemies and find our home.”

  “Thou speak in the spirit of the Wanderer,” the man said. He gazed intently at her face, then searched the faces of the others, Sarah and William. What he found must have been acceptable, for he said, “One agrees. One is honored to be found worthy.”

  One — that was the only thing Jelena could think to call him — turned to the Onaphiles behind him.

  “Behold! The spirit of the Wanderer calls One to find a home!”

  “Bless the spirit of the Wanderer,” one of the women said.

  “One must gather food,” One said, gesturing at them. “One must gather supplies. One must strike the shelters.”

  The Onaphiles nodded and began doing as they were instructed, putting out the campfires, taking the shelters down, storing food in packs that could be carried over their shoulders.

  “I count twelve of them,” William muttered to Jelena. “Twelve! Of an entire tribe.” He shook his head. Jelena could see something close to despair in his eyes. “What were the makers thinking?” he said, clenching his hands into fists.

  “I almost believe it doesn’t matter,” Jelena said gently.

  “That’s heresy, t
hat is,” William said, but he said it without energy or heat or effort. Presumably, in his heart, he agreed with her.

  “Twelve people,” Sarah said. “It doesn’t seem that many but it makes us twice as strong as we were. Jelena, I believe you will need to mount Horse and lead us.”

  “Yarood is — ”

  “He will be able to walk. We can go slowly. Besides, One is ill, One is injured. We must go slowly. But I think you must show that you are the leader.”

  “Or else One won’t became part of us, we will become part of One?”

  “Exactly,” Sarah said, and putting her hand on William’s arm, started back to where Derek and the others waited to hear their news.

  • • •

  The night was clear, the full moon low in the sky. Jelena could almost smell the lilac blossoms that surrounded the main hall of the Wudu-faesten. A feeling close to melancholy crept over her, but she couldn’t think of that place as home. Home was what she was searching for, now, in the spirit of the Wanderer.

  One had begun to unroll their sleeping blankets some ways from the rest of them. Jelena realized they were afraid of the wolves, so she had taken the animals away from the camp, away from the welcome fire, so the two groups could mingle and start to know one another. There was no other way they would survive. They could go their separate ways or they could become one tribe together, but they could not be two tribes traveling in the same direction. Of that she was certain.

  She put her hands behind her head and looked up at the stars. The Scimitar and the Rider; the Wolf and the Wolfhunter. She smiled ruefully. She would have to think up a new name for that group of stars. Perhaps the Wolf, and the One Who Walked with the Wolf.

  She knew the wolves were out there, curled up just beyond the light of the fire. They would probably join her later; they almost always did, piling in warm heaps around her feet, stretching luxuriously along the length of her body.

  The night air was colder than it had been before. She pushed down the stir of fear that accompanied the thought. They needed shelter for the winter. They would find it, she told herself. They would just keep heading north and east and they would find some place where they would be safe.

  She’d heard the trader tell stories about the burning sands of the desert that lay far to the west, beyond the mountains, but she wasn’t sure his sense of direction — or even his tale — was to be relied upon. She couldn’t remember him saying much about what lay to the north and the east.

  The camp settled down and someone — William? — quietly fed the fire. They took turns standing — or, rather, sitting — guard, keeping the fire going, keeping an eye out for the unaccustomed shadows of the night. A perilous safety, nothing like they had had in the protection of the trees.

  But even then, they had not been safe …

  • • •

  The cold slice of a knife touched Jelena’s neck, her heart thudding her instantly awake. Her eyes flew open. A man bent over her, his stinking breath in her face.

  She didn’t know how many there were or what they wanted but she sensed movement all around her. She cried out but the man clamped a grimy hand against her mouth. The sound of her fear carried and the stink of the intruders was distasteful to the wolves.

  She only knew the animals had heard her when Topaz launched herself at the man with the knife, going for his throat, Garnet following, worrying the man’s flank, jaws tearing and claws ripping. The wolves’ attack was silent and synchronized, and it was the attacking men who screamed in the night.

  Jelena got to her feet, snatched the knife out of the hand of the man who would have harmed her and yelled, “People of the Way! Defend yourselves!” But even as she said it, the attack passed; the attackers fleeing with the five wolves after them.

  In moments, Derek was at her side, a burning torch held high.

  “Jelena! Are you harmed?”

  “No,” she said, and her voice was strong. She nudged the fallen man with the toe of her boot. He flopped over onto his back, his throat crushed.

  “The wolves defended me,” Jelena said. “They were my protectors.”

  Derek said nothing for a moment. Then: “Shall we build a pyre for the body?”

  “No,” Jelena said and knew she was damning the dead man’s soul; without the release from his physical body, he could never go beyond self.

  Derek nodded. “We will leave him there,” he agreed. “A warning to those who would trespass against the people of the Way.”

  “The people of the wolves,” she amended softly, tasting the name and finding it good.

  • • •

  Topaz came trotting back to Jelena shortly after sunrise. She’d refused to leave the campsite until the wolves returned. The sight of that familiar gait brought tears to her eyes. She dropped to her knees and buried her face in Topaz’s neck. Topaz licked the tears from her face. She leaned back on her heels and looked into the wolf’s golden brown eyes.

  “You are my protector,” she said. “The mother I never knew, the father I never had.” She stroked Topaz’s face. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and well.”

  Derek loomed tall over her. “Are you ready now?”

  “She saved my life. She went after that attacker with no thought to her own safety. Like a mother would,” Jelena said. “Selfless and without conditions. They love us, Derek. They love us as if we were their children.”

  “Ay,” said Derek, and she knew it was because he didn’t dare say otherwise.

  “We are no longer people of the Way,” she said, rising to her feet. “Nor yet are we people of the wolves. We are Children of the Wolves.”

  Derek’s face was uncustomarily expressionless as he followed her to where the group had gathered, awaiting her command to leave.

  She swung onto Horse’s back and surveyed the expectant faces of the One and of her own. The five wolves gathered around Horse. They were ready now.

  She flicked the reins and the bay began walking east.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Michael could tell the difference even before he and Rufus entered the main gate. The village was quiet, far quieter than it should have been, and the wind carried the stink of death. He could see the lazy smoke of a pyre drifting across the sky.

  “Danielle,” he said to Rufus. She’d lost considerable blood during the stillbirth and might not have recovered. He spurred his horse on.

  “Michael!” the lone sentry called. “By all that’s good, you’re here!”

  A chill gathered in the pit of Michael’s stomach. “What is it?” he demanded and then he saw the wreck of the eastern paddock, the scorched timbers on the roof of the main hall. The sentry lifted a scarred face to him.

  “What happened?” he said hoarsely, sliding off his horse, barely pausing to throw the reins over a post. “The Sithans?” he hissed.

  “No one knows. They came at night. We didn’t see their faces. The riders were away. and — ”

  “Away?”

  “Ay. Following a rumor that the smith and Jelena had been taken by the Umluans. The riders went out to find them.”

  “By all that’s good,” Michael said, taking in the devastation of the village. “Charmaine should have known better — ”

  “She would have thought she was doing what you wanted.” Rufus finally spoke. “It is a blind eye that cannot see how you feel about Jelena.”

  “Where is she? Charmaine?” Michael demanded.

  The sentry pointed silently at the pyre.

  “No,” Michael said. “Not Charmaine.” He reached out a hand for Rufus, but the other man shook free and strode to the funeral pyre, dropping to his knees in front of it. After a moment, Michael followed him.

  “I am so sorry,” he said, and words were inadequate to express his grief.

 
; “Michael,” a hard voice spoke from the front steps of the main hall. Michael looked up to see Maurice flaring at him. “About time you returned to your duties.”

  “Where is the council?”

  “Convened,” Maurice said curtly and turned to go back inside.

  Michael followed, the fatigue from his journey making it hard for him to take in what had happened.

  The interior of the main hall was a shambles, with chairs and tables overturned, crockery smashed, dried blood staining the worn wooden floor.

  Maurice flung open the door to the council room and took his seat. Michael turned to take his accustomed place but saw Teresa there. His brows lifted in surprise but he said nothing, merely took a seat on the bench along the far wall.

  “Teresa has assured us that this disaster could not have been the work of the Sithans, with whom we’ve become good trade partners,” Maurice said.

  Michael glanced at Teresa.

  “They express their shock and sorrow,” Teresa said, her face carefully schooled to show no emotion. “They have promised to advise me — us — if they learn of any information that could shed light on the… event.”

  “Tell me what happened,” Michael said.

  Teresa sat primly, staring at her fingers while the elders exchanged looks around the table.

  “Forgive us,” Cara said, and there was an edge of steel in her voice. “But we did not approve your journey to chase after that — that woman and the pathetic fools she stole away with her. If you had been here, as was your duty, this attack might not have happened and it certainly would not have been so successful.”

  Michael already blamed himself for not being with the villagers when the attack came, but the accusation from Cara was hardly supportable after all he had done for the tribe. Just once he had done something in his own self interest, and now it appeared they were going to hold him responsible for the attack.

  It seemed, he thought suddenly, all too neat and contrived. It just so happened that he left, and it just so happened the riders were called away and it just so happened that an attack occurred at the intersection of these two events.