The Winter Boy

by Sally Wiener Grotta

  “Arranging marriages between prominent families in each village has been known to help. Or we teach each village a new skill that the other needs, so they must barter for each other’s help. In one case I know of, the Council of Allemen relocated a village to more fertile land that contained a rich copper mine, to get them away from their enemy. But that was an extreme situation that created other problems we’re still trying to resolve. Hate doesn’t disappear overnight, not even after a couple of generations. But, eventually, peace supplants war, simply because it’s better — and more profitable.”

  “Don’t those villages take offense at our interfering? I know I wouldn’t want a bunch of outsiders telling me how to run things, or secretly trying to change me, or — skies! — moving my village just to suit some far-reaching plan of a bunch of old women and their cohorts.”

  “True. If the path we choose is offensive, does it matter that the goal is worthy? Peace that extinguishes a people’s pride or disregards their history is tenuous and certain to fail. Yet how can we not try, when so much is at stake?” She remembered what Savah had told her, and she pushed ahead into her personal hell. “Then there are the Mwertik Zalogs.” Despite her best effort, the words came out as a hoarse whisper, revealing her deep-seated pain.

  “Tell me.” Dov’s voice was gentle and kind. His hands continued to give, though Tayar had stopped massaging his foot.

  “You’re too young to remember a time before the Mwertik raids, when the Great Alliance was indeed whole and inviolate, when all living within the Peace knew true security. Then they came. From where, we don’t know. We don’t even know their name or village.”

  “But they’re the Mwertik Zalogs.”

  “All ‘Mwertik Zalogs’ means is ‘murdering raiders,’ in the language of the first border village they attacked.” She looked at him, measuring time by lives. “We initially heard of them about eighteen years ago, around the time you were born. Even then, it was something that happened elsewhere, a concern beyond our influence. But year after year, the raids came closer and more frequent — always unrelentingly brutal. They take no hostages, ask for nothing, just murder everyone in sight. They burn the fields, poison the wells, slaughter the animals, raze the villages. We’ve never seen anything like it, not since the Great Chaos. Total and mindless destruction, with no apparent reason or purpose.”

  “Yeah, my pa told me.”

  “What did he tell you of them?”

  “That no one can predict where and when they’ll attack. That’s why Pa insisted that we wait for caravans for every portion of our trip here, even though I know he goes off on his Alleman solo ventures.”

  “Yes, he does, because he must. I wish it weren’t so.” Tayar sat up, so that her foot slipped from his hands. “Dov…”

  “Hey!” He reached for the foot, but was stopped by something in her eyes.

  “How would you deal with the Mwertik?” she asked.

  “Like they deserve. Let them come near my village or my family or you, and they’ll see how quick an arrow can fly or a rifle shoot.”

  “But then you’d be no different from them, would you?”

  “Yeah, I would. I’d be protecting my people. They’re just murderers.”

  “But do we know that, Dov?”

  “It’s the one thing we know about them; they’re murderous animals.”

  “Like the men in The Battle Is Over? Dov, what if one of the men in that tale were a Mwertik?”

  “Which one?” He paused to consider his own question. “Bet it would be the one who killed the other in his own spirit house.”

  “Would that alter the way you interpret the story? Earlier, we were ready to understand both men and how they could hate each other. Now, if we cast one as a Mwertik, why does that change our empathy? Does the need to break the cycle of hate change when it’s our hate?”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Don’t say anything, if no words form in your heart. But promise me you will think about it.”

  “Why is it so important to you?” he asked.

  “Because I do hate the Mwertik. Yet if we are to survive as a people, if we are to find a path back to the Great Peace before it is ruined, we must learn how to turn even them.”

  “Turn them or destroy them.”

  “No! Destroying them would destroy us as well.”

  “But,” Dov said, “if they war against us, we must fight — and fight to win. With the Mwertik, that means crushing them completely.”

  “How can we be so sure? I hate them with all my being, but I hate even more what that feeling does to me. I don’t know what they are, other than vile, skulking murderers. But I need to find out. How have we failed so thoroughly that they should seek out and butcher our people, destroying everyone and everything in their path? What is it about who we are and what we do that should spawn such malice? We know nothing about the Mwertik. How can we know whether we can or can’t turn them, until we try?”

  “So, if it’s war, you still wouldn’t fight?”

  “Dov, I would fight to my last breath for our Peace. But I’d rather live for it, even though that’s often the harder choice. If I am to believe in all that has shaped who I am, I will have to learn to respect the lives of even my deepest enemies.”

  “I don’t know if I could do that… respect the Mwertik.” Dov visibly shuddered at the thought.

  Tayar doubted she could either. A part of her wanted to revel in the pain of Jared’s savage murder, holding it close to keep the memory vivid. “Let’s try to forget about the Mwertik for the moment, Dov. Imagine you are already an Alleman, and you have been sent out beyond our borders to try to bring peace to those two villages in this story.” She touched the book from her lap. “What would you do?”

  “I don’t know enough about them. So, I guess, I’d have to find out what I can.”

  “Yes. That is one of the primary reasons your father and some of our other Allemen are sent out beyond our borders, to learn what they can of the ways and wants of other people.”

  “Has Pa brought any new villages into the Alliance?”

  “Oh yes, he specializes in First Meets. Hasn’t he shared any of his experiences with you? They’re quite stirring.”

  “No, Pa doesn’t share anything with me, except a home and Ma.”

  “Yes, I see. Well, someday, you must ask him about his work. He’s quite good at it, and I believe that you have inherited much of his talent.”

  “There’s nothing of him in me,” Dov said angrily.

  Tayar chose not to dilute the lesson by trying to tackle that deeper pain. Instead, she stood, leaned down to kiss him, and whispered, “Meet me in the inner room.”

  Chapter 40

  Dara/Le’a was in her bedroom preparing for the boy’s daily visit when she heard him call from the front door. Dov was early, and from the breathless joy in his voice, she wondered if he’d jogged all the way. When she entered the greeting room, he lifted her off her feet and twirled around.

  “Well, someone is in a good mood,” she said from on high.

  Dov set her back on her feet, and brushed his greeting kisses on her cheeks and lips. “Oh, Le’a! Have you ever seen a more wonderful day?”

  She recognized the signs. Rishana/Tayar had obviously used yesterday’s crisis to move forward into the Awakening Stage. Judging from the boy’s excitement, last night’s inner room session must have been lively. “Come into the kitchen, if you can calm down long enough to sit with me.”

  “For you, anything.” He held the kitchen door for her, in a playfully exaggerated display of courtesy.

  While Le’a put on the tea kettle, Dov piled a plate with jaut0bakedcookies. Then they sat together, he beaming, she watching and waiting. She waited some time. He seemed content simply sitting there, grinning and daydreaming. The whistling kettle propelled him from his seat, to prepare and pour their tea. Yes, an endearing stage, indeed. If only she could relax and enjoy it.


  Dov sipped the tea, ate two cookies with appropriate expressions of appreciation for her baking, and still wasn’t forthcoming with conversation. So, Le’a decided to start it. “Tell me, what did you read last night?”

  “Oh, it was a strange story called The Battle Is Over.”

  “An interesting choice. What did you think of it?”

  He reached for another cookie and nibbled it thoughtfully. “It was easy to see why my person… I mean the person whose words I was reading…was so angry. Everything that mattered to him had been destroyed by the other guy’s people. So, he killed him. But, if I’d been reading the other guy’s words, I think I would have seen it from that side, and not understood why I — that is, he — was killed. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Do you see how that can relate to what we discussed about reactive and thoughtful behavior?”

  “They’re completely reactive, aren’t they?”

  “Are they, Dov? What about the man who wanted to break the cycle?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t succeed. I don’t think he could ever succeed, because… oh, I get it. It was one way, wasn’t it? He was being thoughtful, but it was so new for all of them that he was the only one, and everyone else was being reactive, so it didn’t work.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re correct. That’s why life was so savage during the Great Chaos. Only when we were able to break the cycles of hate and violence could we begin to establish the Alleshine Peace.”

  “Are there cycles the Alleshi failed to break?”

  “Oh yes, we have failed many times, but we have always persevered. Generations pass. Time can change even the most obstinate enemies, just as a small stream can wear down even the highest mountain.”

  “But that won’t work with the Mwertik, Le’a. It’s one thing for Tayar to believe it will. She’s so gentle and kind; she thinks listening carefully and giving whatever is needed can solve anything. But if we went to the Mwertik like that we’d just be going into their spirit house to be slain.” He shook his head slowly.

  “Our Tayar is a creature of great hope and faith.” Le’a stared out the window, remembering when she, too, believed that their Peace was inevitable and inviolate, rather than the fragile weave she now knew it to be. “The Mwertik appear to war not for hate or survival, but because that is what they want. They have no concern for anybody, not even their own, apparently taking joy in killing. But somehow, we have to get them to listen to us.”

  “When we beat them at their own game, they’ll have to listen.”

  “Like the men in The Battle Is Over.” She sighed, letting the boy see her disappointment in his response. “Then the cycle of hate will continue to escalate.”

  Dov’s dark eyes flashed at the slight rebuke. “Well, what would you do?” he demanded.

  “Somehow, we must forge a way to persuade the Mwertik to sit down and listen to us willingly. Until then, we must watch carefully, listen closely, try to learn what it is that they need and want from us.”

  Dov crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “Well, while you’re looking for answers, I’ve got to worry about keeping Ma and Lilla safe, and yeah, you and Tayar, too. I still think the one answer would be to fight the Mwertik on their own terms.”

  “Then you would be like them, just as reactive, entering into their cycles of violence.”

  “So, what would you have me do? Nothing? Should I just sit here inside your Peace borders and wait, like a pig in the pen rooting about happily, not knowing that all his life he’s been marked for slaughter?”

  “But you are not a pig, nor any kind of animal. You are human, learning to be an Alleman, learning the thoughtful path.”

  “Well, I don’t think the Mwertik see it like that.”

  “Then we’ll have to find a way to show them, won’t we?”

  Chapter 41

  Tayar/Rishana tried to lose herself in her cleaning, but her mind was elsewhere, struggling to decipher the various conflicting conversations she’d had with Kiv and Dara. When she realized that she had polished the same table three times, She collapsed into her bedroom armchair. She opened her journal, hoping that writing down her thoughts would help her sort what she knew to be fact from what she could only assume or extrapolate.

  If Kiv is as malevolent as Dara would have me believe, then how could Kiv be an Allesha? Or are my own lifelong beliefs about the Alleshi flawed?

  If Kiv isn’t the vile woman Dara would have me think, if she is exactly as she appears — simply a woman struggling to find answers to help save our Peace — what does that say about Dara?

  If I can’t trust Dara’s judgment and integrity…

  Rishana couldn’t finish that sentence, unable and unwilling to imagine how rootless her First Season could become, if Dara weren’t who and what Rishana needed her to be.

  Rishana was so distraught that she didn’t notice the design her fingertip unconsciously drew in the fresh furniture oil on the chair-side tabletop. Over and over, it traced a circle and jagged lines, almost as though her finger had a will and memory of its own.

  As her finger doodled, her mind wandered, not so much in circles as in escalating spirals. Kiv and Dara were each pulling at her, insisting on her loyalty, demanding that she have faith in them and the way they trained and guided not only her, but also their boys and Allemen, their allies and enemies.

  Enemies! She suddenly realized, Dara doesn’t just adamantly disagree with Kiv and distrust her. Dara hates and fears Kiv!

  But that’s not possible, not between two Alleshi.

  Shaking her head in denial, she saw the designs her fingertip had drawn absentmindedly in the oil on the sidetable. She stared at the various circles and lines that were the shape of the scar on Dov’s foot.

  Without her eye to guide them, the designs were distorted. One was smaller than the actual scar and shaped slightly differently, as it must have been when it was first burned onto an infant’s sole, before it was transformed by his growth.

  When she saw that one shape, her heart contracted into itself, a painful clutching weight in her chest. For what she saw was identical to the runes that had been carved into Jared’s flesh by his murderers.

  The boy didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary about their afternoon and evening together. Even in the inner room, the young Allesha managed to suppress her inner turmoil, maintaining the outward appearance of full involvement. But she slept fitfully that night.

  The next morning, she applied extra makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes. As soon as it was feasible, she sent Dov off to Le’a, and rushed to the library to find Savah.

  Rishana/Jinet walked briskly through the library’s winding corridors and practically collided with Savah outside her study. Savah took one look at her and knew immediately that something was amiss.

  “Jinet, what’s wrong?” Savah asked, as she guided her into the small room.

  “Savah, tell me about this symbol.” she brandished a small piece of paper.

  “What is it?” Savah asked, as she took the paper and glanced at the design Jinet had drawn.

  “How could you forget?”

  Savah looked from the symbol to Jinet and back again; she appeared to be weighing the paper against the young Allesha’s face, reading both. “Jared?”

  “Yes. The horrid mutilations.” The room seemed smaller and darker than Jinet remembered, or was it that she was so focused on the drawing that she couldn’t see anything else?

  “Why now? What has happened that has so unnerved you, my dear?”

  “My Winter Boy has a scar on his foot that matches that.” Jinet pointed to the drawing. “Or almost matches it. His foot has grown since he was burned as a child, by some medallion, he said. It’s distended and distorted by the years. So I didn’t recognize it at first.”

  “A medallion?”

  “Well, he doesn’t remember what happened. Mistral told him that he stepped on a red-hot medallion when he was only a baby, just learning
to walk.”

  “Yes.” Savah nodded. “That’s a likely explanation.”

  “Savah, are you going to tell me what that is?”

  “But I thought you knew, Jinet. It’s a Mwertik symbol. As far as the Council was concerned, the mutilations were the final proof that the Mwertik had killed Jared.”

  “Yes, I know that.” Jinet’s voice rose in undisciplined irritation, and she didn’t care. “But why would it be burned into my Winter Boy’s foot?!”

  “Perhaps…” Savah paused. “His father is one of our Mwertik specialists. It’s not unlikely that he could have found one of their medallions. Isn’t that a possible explanation?”

  Jinet sat down with a thump. “I didn’t recognize the scar at first. How could I have not seen it for what it was?”

  “Is that was this is about, dear? Do you fear that you are forgetting?”

  “No! I will never forget.”

  “Of course not, dear. But it frightened you, the possibility. Didn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so, Savah. But I don’t know. It’s just that,” she pointed to the paper, “coming on top of Kiv’s concerns.”

  “Kiv,” Savah stared at the paper in her hand. “Sometimes, I think that busybody retired just to give herself more time to stick her sharp nose into everybody’s business.”

  “That’s almost exactly what Dara said.”

  “Oh? Yes, I suppose she would.”

  “That’s one of my problems, Savah. Dara hates Kiv.” Jinet stared at the small, gentle woman who had taught her more about love than anyone other than Jared himself. “Savah, do you agree with Dara about that, too?”

  “Hate is a very strong word, dear. I fear how far Kiv may be willing to take her call to violence against the Mwertik.” Savah paused. “I wonder what she would do if some of our own stood in her way. Yes, I suppose when it comes to Kiv, Dara and I tend to agree, but hate—” She shook her head, though Jinet wasn’t sure if it were in denial or in response to something else.