The Winter Boy

by Sally Wiener Grotta

  “No, but if you learn to read people, some will think you are.”

  “You’re not talking about sex anymore, are you?”

  Tayar smiled.

  “This is it, isn’t it? What it is to be an Alleman.”

  “Part of it.”

  “Knowing a woman’s pearl?”

  “No. Pearls and oysters — and the inner room itself — aren’t the goal. They’re a road we travel together as you learn and refine your skills.”

  “But it’s about the pearl, too, right?”

  “No, it’s about the woman, about learning to read me and anticipate my most intimate impulses, needs and desires.”

  “How?”

  “Watch for subtle changes in my skin and eyes, my breathing and posture. Notice when my muscles contract, twitch or become suddenly flaccid.” She gently traced his inner arm with her fingernails and gestured for him to look at his skin as it reacted to her touch. “Watch for pleasure bumps like those, or a flush of color, or the widening of my pupils. Be aware of a slight elevation of body temperature or a quickening of the pulse. Listen to the rhythm and depth of my breath.”

  “But even if I can see all that, what does it mean?”

  “All I want you to do now is be aware of any changes in my body, face or voice. Just looking for them will help hone your senses.” With a grin, she leaned closer to him. “Come here; I’ve had enough theory, haven’t you? After all, this is the inner room.”

  She led him to a carpeted platform, where he lay down and reached for her to join him. Instead, Tayar sat beside him and leaned over to take his member in her mouth.

  “Hey!” Dov bolted up and pulled away, to sit against the upcurve of the platform.

  Tayar rolled back onto her haunches next to him. “What’s the matter, Dov?” she asked, using gentle, yielding tones.

  “That’s… it’s unnatural.”

  “Why, dear?” Her hand rested on his thigh, just inches from his groin.

  “It just is. Only perverts…”

  “Ah, I see.” As natural counterpoint to her words, her hand moved slowly upward, over his smooth, muscular flesh. “But Dov, can anything we do together, here in our inner room, be perverted?”

  “It isn’t the way I want you.”

  Tayar languidly drew her hand along the boy’s penis, then raked her fingers through the surrounding coarse hair. “Do you remember smelling me?”

  “Of course. That was great.”

  “You didn’t think it would be, though, did you?” She varied her touch slightly, using her nails on his inner thigh.

  “No, but that isn’t the same. I never heard of anyone using smell for sex.”

  “Do you like kissing me?” She played her lips along his neck until he could resist it no longer; he bent to fill his mouth with hers. Withdrawing from his lips, she stroked then kissed his shoulder and chest, punctuating her words with action, using her lips and hands. “I certainly enjoy kissing… smelling… tasting you.” Her hands grazed his groin, while her mouth and tongue explored the textures and flavors of his abdomen and thighs. His sweat tasted acrid, both nervous and aroused. “And I will kiss you wherever I want, because it gives both of us pleasure.”

  She kissed the smooth tip of his phallus lightly, then more deeply and still deeper, until it gradually filled her mouth. Dov’s protest was swallowed by a deep-throated groan. She felt his hands reach for her head and start to pull her off him. Instead, he stroked her head and back, down to her stomach and lower, reaching to caress her pubis, using his fingertips to manipulate her nether lips as she had shown him with the oyster. His hands were stiff and awkward, but he was so eager to please that her body responded, with a sharp, tense, almost painful contraction.

  “I can’t hold back!” he moaned.

  “Then don’t,” she mumbled.

  “No!” He rolled over onto her and entered her. The extended gusts of his orgasm lasted long enough to ignite her own. Then he fell away from her and immediately collapsed into a deep sleep.

  While he slept, Tayar retreated to her bedroom for a pleasure meditation to relieve the ache in her nether lips, knowing that soon, she would no longer need to do it for herself.

  Exhilaration jarred the rhythm of their days, so that the boy and his Allesha lost track of time. In the dark inner room, morning became the time they decided to have breakfast, whether or not the sun had recently risen. Night was another relative term that had nothing to do with a moon, stars or sleep. All was blurred by the acute sexual revelations of the stage.

  Gradually, Tayar taught Dov to read her flesh, the tone of her sighs, her breath. She constantly changed her signals, becoming a different woman with each encounter, forcing him to see and learn her anew. Soon, he was experimenting more freely with his hands, lips and tongue, first using the oysters and pearls with her guiding him, then practicing on her body with her releasing all control so she might enjoy the pleasure he gave her. How difficult it was to then direct his attention away from focusing on her pearl and back to the entire woman.

  One evening, when Dov had discovered how her pleasure could build from one release to the next, he suddenly became silent. It seemed to her that he was quivering on the brink of the next step, but was unwilling to acknowledge his doubts. Instead, he studied her even more closely, seeking answers in his newly acquired perceptions. Tayar allowed a single tear to trickle and a gasp to catch in her throat.

  Gently licking the tear from her damp cheek, Dov asked, “Why are you crying, Tayar?”

  “Tears aren’t always a sign of sadness. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we use the same word — touch — to describe both inner and outer experiences. You touch my skin, and it touches my heart.”

  “But you never cried before. Does that mean that you weren’t touched before? That I didn’t satisfy you?”

  “You’ve always given me pleasure, Dov.”

  “But I wasn’t a very good lover before, was I?”

  “Is anyone ever as good when they start as they can become when they learn and grow?”

  He paused, then shrugged his shoulders. “There’s something I still don’t understand. Why is sex the way you train Allemen? I mean, it’s got to be more than how you get us to come here and listen to you.”

  “Yes, much more. Imagine you’re an Alleman who’s been sent into the midst of two warring tribes, seeking a path toward peace for them. Each side makes demands which change constantly, yet you need to find what will truly satisfy both. It takes patience, knowledge, flexibility and, above all, an instinct for understanding strangers that grows out of constantly focusing and refocusing your perceptions.”

  “You mean that the Peace is like a woman’s body?”

  “In many ways, it is. Both require the same skills — constant care, creativity and awareness — as does any relationship worth having.”

  “But isn’t sex sort of an extreme way to teach it?”

  “As you said, it got you here.” Tayar paused and gave him a small, pensive smile. “But it’s much more than that. What you learn in passion, you’ll never unlearn. It becomes as much a part of you as the instinct to breathe or think.”

  “So, you expect me to use sex as an Alleman?”

  “Actually, no. It’s too powerful, weighted by a wide variety of taboos and social conventions. Using sex in diplomatic situations can become a barrier to achieving understanding.”

  “But the Alleshi use it.”

  “Only here in our Valley with very special boys, and only as a teaching aid.”

  “Then I think it’s time for you to get back to work. Teaching, that is.” He grinned, leaning over to lightly trace her right nipple with one finger, while he played his tongue and lips along her neck, sending chills down her spine.

  The Exhilaration Stage lasted almost a week. One morning, while sitting in her bedroom, writing in her journal about the past couple of days, the young Allesha realized that the stage was aptly named. Not only for the boy, but for h
er, too. She felt heightened, energized. Just the memory of the evening Dov had decided to search for an oyster pearl that most closely resembled hers, while the two of them laughed uncontrollably, caused a shiver of pleasure. Yes, he was a good student, and was becoming a superb lover.

  Just then, she glanced at the wall mirror, and what she saw shocked her. She closed her eyes, blocking out the woman in the mirror, not wanting to see the unfettered joy that seemed inappropriate for an Allesha in Season.

  Not without Jared.

  Not with a Mwertik.

  She took slow, deep, calming breaths. When she opened her eyes again, she barely noticed that her smile had dimmed; instead, she was focused on the days and weeks ahead.

  It’s time to bring Dov’s new sensitivities out of the inner room, to teach him how to use and control them. If he is to be prepared for all the duties and dangers of being an Alleman, and to survive whatever lies ahead, I must teach him to read people and situations, as well as he has learned to read me. And it must all be accomplished before his Service Days. How little time I have left!

  Resolved to move forward, the Allesha rose from the chair, ready to take her Winter Boy to the next stage. But as she stood, tears suddenly erupted, streaming down her cheeks.

  Everything’s such a tangle! Kiv and Dara. Jared and Dov. And always the Mwertik, out there, hovering over everything I love. Murderers. Butchers. Must Dov be sacrificed as Jared was?

  Stop this immediately! she chastised herself. What use can I be to Dov if I can’t control my own emotions? I can do this. I must do this.

  She gathered all her strength, burying her unreined emotions deep within, where they couldn’t affect the boy’s Season. Too soon, it would be over. Only then would she have the freedom to deal with her personal demons.

  When her tears were spent, she washed her face and brushed her hair, determined to erase all signs of her private turmoil before leaving her bedroom.

  As she crossed the greeting room, she heard the boy coming from his room. She turned to embrace him, but he held her at arm’s length and looked deeply into her eyes. Yes, there were definitely drawbacks to having taught him to read her so well.

  “What’s wrong?” His voice was soft with concern.

  “Dov, I must go out for a while.” She barely controlled the tremor in her voice.

  “Are you okay?”

  She hugged him quickly, to break the hold of his eyes on hers. “Everything will be fine.” She darted into the vestibule, put on her coat, grabbed her hat and gloves and left the house.

  Dov went to the front window and watched as she ran through the snow. She forgot to put on her boots, he realized, and almost rushed after her to give them to her. But he stopped himself. She doesn’t want me to follow her.

  Chapter 54

  Tayar/Rishana fled through the snow with no conscious destination. All she knew was that she had to remove herself from her Winter Boy before she tainted his Season with her inner turmoil. Only when she realized her blind escape had led to the library did she recognize that she no longer sought comfort or reassurance. She needed answers.

  Rishana entered the library with the confidence of one familiar with its paths, so that none would have reason to offer to guide her — or ask questions. After all the time she had spent in the library with Savah, sometimes helping with her research, Rishana felt sure she’d have no difficulty finding her way. But she made a wrong turn and eventually found herself much deeper in the bowels of the mountain than she had ever been. The well-groomed, angular hallways with their regularly spaced gas sconces became increasingly darker rough-hewn narrow tunnels with fewer and often dim or extinguished lights. In some places, she had to duck to avoid hitting her head. She doubled back a few times, but became even more disoriented among the twisting, forking paths of the labyrinth.

  Then, as she rounded yet another barely lit narrow bend, she peered down a pitch-black tunnel with no illumination at all. Tired and defeated, she leaned against the chill craggy wall and wondered if she would ever again see the light of day. If she never found her way back, would they even know where to look for her?

  When Rishana had first heard the rumors of those legendary caverns of lost knowledge that were supposed to be locked away somewhere in this stone warren, she had scoffed. How could anything be truly lost here in The Valley? Now she was beginning to understand how deep and dark the secrets of the Alleshi could be.

  Suddenly, a tiny flicker of light approached from out of the darkness, so unexpected and incongruous that she thought she imagined it. But as it drifted forward, she saw it for what it was — a candle — and the figure of the woman carrying it came into welcome focus.

  “Elnor! Thank goodness.” Rishana was so relieved that she didn’t see the furtive glance that Elnor gave her as anything other than surprise.

  The older Allesha walked into the dim light where Rishana had cowered, pinched the wick of the candle to extinguish its flame and pocketed it. “Rishana, what on earth are you doing down here?”

  “I’m lost.”

  “Obviously.” Elnor, who was usually so loquacious, said nothing else. She walked away, looking back only once to be sure that Rishana was following.

  When they reached an area of the library that was familiar to Rishana, she thanked Elnor, who barely nodded before moving on. It wasn’t long before the young Allesha located the room she sought.

  On a high shelf deep in the room, Rishana/Jinet found Mistral’s journals. She rolled a ladder over to them, sat on its upper step and browsed through the dozens of small leather-bound books. Soft and flexible in her hands, they conveyed a sense of the years and miles these journals had traveled to rest here under the mountain. She leafed through them, following the chronology of Mistral’s service, but the ones she sought were missing. Mistral’s journals stopped abruptly about eighteen years ago, leaving a large empty space on the shelf.

  She knew that Jared had delivered his journals to The Valley every year of his adult life, as did every Alleman. After his death, their son, Eli, had brought Jared’s last journal to the library, fulfilling his father’s final obligation to the Alleshi. Jared’s journals were in the same section as Mistral’s, on a shelf about shoulder high. Once more, most of the shelf was empty, with Jared’s last journal dated from eighteen years ago. Scanning the nearby shelves, she looked for Tedrac’s journals, convinced by now that most of his would also be missing.

  “You won’t find it here.” Savah’s soft voice punctuated the silence as loudly as a rifle crack.

  The young Allesha spun around to look at the small, round woman she had once believed was her dearest living friend.

  “Come,” Savah said from the doorway, before turning to leave.

  They walked in silence, until they were in Savah’s study. To Jinet’s astonishment, Savah removed a set of keys from her bodice and locked the heavy oak door behind them.

  Savah was the first to speak. “Your feet are soaked. What are you thinking of, going out in the snow wearing nothing but those house shoes? Where are your boots?”

  Choosing to not hear Savah’s concern, Jinet shook her head. “Savah, you lied to me.”

  “Never,” Savah said emphatically. “Now take off those wet shoes before you catch a cold.”

  “Forget the damn shoes!” Jinet’s heart pounded in her ears. “How can I ever trust you again?”

  Savah recoiled as though struck. “Do all the years we’ve known each other mean nothing?”

  “That’s what I should be asking you.”

  “I never lied to you. I always told you the truth.”

  “What form of truth, Savah?”

  “There is only one form of truth. I just couldn’t tell you all of it. You weren’t ready.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  “Are you, dear?” Savah sighed deeply.

  “No more secrets, Savah!” Hearing her own shrill voice, Jinet took a deep breath and said more evenly, but no less vehemently, “You’ve no choic
e and neither do I. I know too much already, and yet I don’t know anything.”

  Without another word, Savah pressed a seemingly solid plank on the wood-paneled wall behind her makeshift bed, and the plank’s face slid sideways to reveal another lock. Savah opened that lock with a key from the same ring, and a section of the wall opened. Behind it was a small alcove. She stepped back, so Jinet could see that its four shelves were lined with journals. Jinet stood and took one at random.

  Savah pointed to the upper shelf — “These are Mistral’s.” — Then to the second shelf — “These are Jared’s.” — And to the next-to-last shelf — “Tedrac’s.”

  “The bottom shelf?” Jinet asked.

  “Mine.”

  Jinet leafed through the journal in her hand. When she saw Jared’s familiar scrawl — the writing of a man whose hand could never keep up with his thoughts — her throat burned with tears she refused to shed. She didn’t notice Savah leaving the room until she heard the door close once more and the key turn. Savah had locked her in! But Jinet refused to be distracted, not even by the fact that she was now ostensibly Savah’s prisoner. She pulled a chair closer to the alcove and began to read.

  Savah returned later, after Jinet had skimmed through one of Jared’s journals and half of one of Mistral’s. Jinet looked up from the page she was reading.

  “Do you understand now, my dear?” Savah asked.

  “No.”

  Savah glanced at the open volume in Jinet’s lap and picked up the one on the floor beside Jinet’s chair. “No, I suppose not. These two won’t make any sense unless you read the others that came before them.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Savah sat in the other chair and leaned back into its deep upholstery. “We didn’t set out to have a Mwertik among us, but when it happened, we realized what an opportunity it could be to mend our world through him.”

  Jinet steeled herself to ask, “Jared knew?” though she dreaded the answer.

  “Yes.”

  “In other words, he lied to me, too.” It came out as a gasp, as though the air were suddenly too thin to fill her lungs.