Heart of the Wolf

by Saranne Dawson

  And from him, only those same words as before—the decision is yours.

  What more might have been said—or rather, not said—they would never know, because a noisy group of Rina’s friends came into the kitchen at that moment, breaking the silent conversation.

  Late in the day, Rina took Jocelyn out to the cleared courtyard, where a space had been set aside for ice sculptures. Rina and her partner had to prepare their ice, which they would begin carving the next day. The judging was on the final day of the three-day festival.

  There were more than two dozen teams entered in the contest to see who could create the most beautiful sculpture. Each team began with a huge pile of snow that had to be molded into a desired shape. Then, when they had created the outlines of their various sculptures, they poured water over the snow. By morning, it would be a solid block of ice, which they would then carve with picks and knives.

  The designs were kept secret, but Rina had shown hers to Jocelyn. Her sculpture was to be a great bird, lifting its wings to soar into the heavens. Jocelyn could not imagine how such a thing could be created from ice, but Rina was confident of her abilities and those of her partner, a youth in whom she had clearly more than a passing interest.

  While she was helping Rina and her friend pile

  the snow into a mound, Jocelyn saw other young people practicing for another event of the festival— the "snow-walker" race.

  Snow-walkers were devices made of wood and leather that were then strapped over boots. The fronts curved upward slightly, but otherwise, they resembled over-sized soles for shoes. She hadn’t tried them herself, but she’d already seen how easy they made it to walk in the snow. The race began at the bridge, then continued onto the trail on the far side before returning once more to the bridge. Since no one was allowed on the actual trail until the race began, the contestants were practicing in the courtyard.

  Rina paused to watch some of her friends who were contestants. "Several of the men have been working on a new type of snow-walker," she said. "They’re calling them ‘snow-runners’ because you can go very fast on them. I haven’t seen them, but Father says they're long and thin—as long as the person is tall."

  "But how can they possibly walk in something like that?” Jocelyn asked.

  "They’re really intended to carry you downhill,” she explained. "Then you have to take them off and carry them up again. Father thinks they could be very dangerous, although he's already tried them himself, of course.” She said the last with a grin.

  "When he was younger, he always won the snow- walker races—and the summer races as well. In fact, he won just about everything. Now, of course, he says he’s too old."

  Jocelyn immediately thought about the hard

  body that had been pressed against hers—certainly not the body of an old man. Then she spotted him as he emerged from the fortress and lifted a hand to wave at them before turning in the other direction.

  If all I am to ever have of him is memories, she thought, then I want more than I have now. She must find a way to tell him that. Why did she find it so difficult? Was it because, deep down inside, she still feared that he was more than a man?

  The busy day was finally over, and darkness brought the eve of the Turning. They gathered in the great room of Daken’s suite before a blazing fire and drank the sweet, spicy wine that Tassa served warm.

  Jocelyn noticed a small pile of logs to one side of the hearth. They were much smaller than the big logs for the fire. She stared at them quizzically, seeing that someone had stripped away all the bark, leaving only a smooth, pale surface. There were four of them, all cut to the same length.

  Just as she was about to ask what they were for, Daken picked them up and gave one to Rina and another to Tassa, then brought one to her. When he saw her puzzled expression, he turned back to his daughter.

  "Have you explained this tradition to Jocelyn?”

  Rina shook her head. "No, I forgot about it—I mean, I forgot to explain. There was so much else to do.”

  "It doesn’t matter," Daken said gently when he saw his daughter’s embarrassment. "Jocelyn can decide now whether or not she wants to take part.”

  He turned back to Jocelyn, still holding the last

  log. "It is traditional at the time of the Turning to carve into a log a word or words to describe that which you have liked least about yourself during the past year. Then all the logs are piled into a great bonfire that will be lit tomorrow night, the first night of the festival.

  "The belief," he said with a slight smile, "is that the fire will cleanse you of that particular behavior. Whether that is true or not, it does provide a time to reflect on what you’ve done and who you are— and who you wish to be."

  Jocelyn took the log from him. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised by this tradition. It seemed all of a piece with what she knew about the Kassid. She’d spent enough time with them to know that they seemed constantly to be trying to improve themselves in one way or another.

  Rina and Tassa had already begun to carve their logs with small knives, and Daken now produced one for her. She took it, then frowned at the log. “I must give this some thought."

  "How fortunate you are to have to think about your failings," he said drily. "For most of us, the only thought required is to decide which of our many failings is the worst."

  Jocelyn laughed. “That is exactly what I meant.”

  She found the exercise intriguing. She frequently berated herself for her many flaws, but she’d never tried to consider them all at once—and then decide which was worst.

  She knew she was often impatient. That particular flaw came to mind in light of Daken’s very great

  patience. And yes, she was sometimes insensitive to others whose lives she affected. Daken had pointed out that unpleasant trait in regard to Tanner, the dead guide, and he also provided a contrast by his constant concern for the welfare of those around him.

  Her frown deepened. It suddenly seemed to her that, despite these admittedly serious flaws, her biggest problem was a lack of a sense of completeness, the understanding of self that confers self-assuredness. And once again, she knew that she had thought of this because she saw that quality existing in abundance in Daken.

  She made an involuntary sound of disgust. All she seemed to be doing was measuring herself against Daken—to her very great disadvantage. He had taken a seat near her, and she realized she'd made a sound only when he spoke in a low, amused voice.

  "Searching oneself can be a difficult undertak- · » mg.

  "Especially if one does it by comparing oneself to another," she replied without thinking.

  He laughed softly. “I have had many more years to work on myself, Jocelyn—and I still have very far to go." Then he laughed again.

  "Of course, if you weren’t referring to me, then I will have to reconsider what I put on my log— change it to arrogance."

  "No, Daken, arrogance is not one of your faults,” she replied. "Do you tell each other what you put on your logs?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes. And sometimes not."

  She stared at the log he hadn’t yet begun to carve. “Will you tell me what you will put on yours?”

  "I have been thinking about it, of course; we all do that. But this year, I have thought more about it that in the past. The word I will carve is 'tchupizh'. It’s difficult to translate. The Kassid language has far fewer words than Ertrian because we often express a whole idea in one word.” He paused, frowning.

  “It is too much pride—but more than that. Too much certainty that nothing can change me. That is an inadequate explanation, but I can do no better with it."

  He lapsed into silence and began to carve his log. Jocelyn wondered what had prompted his decision. If any man seemed unlikely to change, it was Da- ken. But then her thoughts were interrupted as Rina spoke up.

  “I am going to cleanse myself of inattention— carelessness. I spend too much time in my head and not enough paying attention to others."
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  “I think that is a problem of your age, Rina," Jocelyn said with a smile. "You are at an age for dreaming. But you’re also very wise to know that. I certainly wouldn't have at your age.”

  Rina smiled at her and Jocelyn thought for the first time that Daken wasn’t the only one she would miss when she left here. She’d grown very fond of the girl, and thought that her affection was returned.

  Tassa was busy carving her log, but said nothing. She was a very private woman, though always kind

  and generous. Jocelyn had learned from Rina that Tassa had long ago planned to marry a young man who died in a climbing accident, a sport practiced by many Kassid men. According to Rina, there’d never been anyone else in her life.

  Jocelyn glanced over at her as she bent over the log and suddenly thought she might be seeing herself in years to come. I too am going to lose the only man I could love, she thought with a deep, deep pain that seemed to wrack her very soul.

  She didn't want to look at Daken in that moment, but her eyes slid in that direction anyway. His gray head was bent to his task, his long fingers holding the delicate knife with great dexterity. She had already seen how he wiled away the long winter evenings by carving wonderful likenesses of forest creatures.

  She knew so much about him—and so little, she thought sadly. There were things he would never tell her and she would never ask about. How could she possibly love such a man—and yet she knew she did.

  She began to carve her own log. When she had finished, she wasn’t satisfied with the results, but it didn't really matter. She knew what she meant. She wanted to rid herself of her foolish dreams, of that deep-down belief that if she wanted something badly enough, it would happen.

  Jocelyn awoke the next morning to another day of brilliant sunshine—and once again, to impatient rapping at her door. She hurried into a robe and opened it to find a positively glowing Rina standing there, actually dancing in place in her eagerness to get on with the festivities.

  Rina’s enthusiasm was infectious. Jocelyn could remember her own eagerness for such events when she was Rina’s age—the carefree joys of childhood she hadn’t thought about since the burdens of her present position had begun to weigh so heavily on her.

  Within the hour, they were out in the courtyard where Rina's partner in ice sculpturing was already hard at work amidst the other teams. Slivers of ice flew in the clear, cold air, accompanied by the dull thunks of picks, hammers and chisels.

  Jocelyn watched them for some time. The rule didn’t permit her offering her own assistance. Then when standing in one place became uncomfortably cold, she began to wander about the busy court yard. She hadn’t seen this many people out here since the snows had begun and the market has moved indoors. Everyone she encountered was in high spirits, adults as well as children.

  She saw people beginning to bring their carved logs out to the large space set aside for the bonfire and paused to inspect them. She couldn’t read the written Kassid language as yet, since she was having more than enough difficulty with the tongue twisting spoken language.

  As she stared at the logs, some of which were nearly covered with writing, she thought again about that secret room at the palace. Unless he memory was inaccurate—and she didn't believe it was—there was no resemblance at all between the golden writings on those walls and the writing she saw here.

  But the rest of it was so very clearly Kassid, she though—the black stone, the drawings of wolves, even the door to the room. Every time she thought about that mysterious room, her thoughts were accompanied by a nameless fear. Deep down, at a level she could feel but not explain, she knew that the room held some very great significance. How could it not? It was an alien presence within the very walls of her palace, the palace built by her own ancestors.

  Why don’t I ask Daken about it? she wondered. Was it because she feared the answer—or because she knew he was already withholding things from her and she wanted to keep that room as her own secret?

  She pushed away these thoughts as several more people came up to place their logs on the growing pile. Then she thought about her court and wondered if she could start such a tradition there. It could certainly prove useful, but she smiled wryly as she thought about her arrogant courtiers pondering their weaknesses.

  “Did Rina wake you at first light?” a familiar deep voice asked, drawing her quickly out of her reveries.

  She turned and smiled at Daken as he tossed his log onto the heap. "No, not quite. But I'm afraid I’ve caught her enthusiasm. Are you entering the races?" She saw that he was carrying a pair of snow- walkers.

  "Rina said that you thought you were too old for such things," she teased. “But she said you always won.”

  He laughed. "Size has its advantages, and so does the fierceness of youth. No, I’m not racing. I’m part of the team that will check the trail before the races begin. There is always the danger of a zhakash.” Seeing her frown of incomprehension, he hastened to explain.

  "Sometimes, the snow on the mountain above the trails can break loose. If it's bad enough, pieces of the mountain can fall as well. It rarely happens up on this trail, but we need to check it to be sure."

  "But what do you do when it does happen?” she asked, imagining the trails obliterated by snow and rock.

  "Most of the time, it’s simply an inconvenience. We just take another trail. But there are a few places where that isn’t possible. Then there’s nothing to do but dig our way out. That hasn’t happened in many years, thank the gods.”

  At that moment, several other men called out to him from across the courtyard, and he excused himself to join them. Jocelyn watched him walk away, balancing the snow-walkers easily on one wide shoulder. She felt such an indescribable sense of loss when he left her—even now, when she knew she would see him again. How would she survive the permanent loss to come?

  For one brief moment, a moment she knew she could never allow herself to repeat, Jocelyn wished that she weren’t the Empress of Ertria—that she

  could be an ordinary woman and stay here forever with this man.

  But the moment passed quickly as that longing gave way to anger with herself. Such weakness was unacceptable. She wasn't a woman; she was an empress. It was understandable that she would indulge in such foolishness here, but this was no more than an interlude in a life that had been ordained years ago, when her brother Arman had lost his life at the edges of these very mountains.

  She began to walk through the bustling courtyard until she reached the far end, where children’s excited voices could be heard. Small mountains of snow had been piled up there and dozens of children were swarming over them, either careening wildly down the slopes on their big wooden discs or dragging them back up again.

  Jocelyn had seen these discs before. They were curved slightly like saucers and polished to a perfect smoothness to make them glide through the snow more easily. Along each side were raised portions with handles that allowed the child to more or less guide them. She found them fascinating, and every time she saw them, she had to fight down an urge to try it herself.

  A few adults stood about, keeping an eye on the children. Jocelyn saw that Sheela, one of the women members of Daken's council, was among them and went to join her as they watched the children’s antics.

  "It scarcely seems possible that winter is half gone,” Sheela said, shaking her mostly gray head

  as she tossed back her hood. "But for you, I guess that the time has passed very slowly.”

  Jocelyn murmured assent, although she too believed time had passed quickly.

  "You must miss your friends and family,” Sheela continued, “but what you face when spring comes cannot be pleasant."

  Once again, Jocelyn retorted to banalities. She did in fact miss a few people—Hammad, several cousins, the new people she had begun to gather as advisors. Even Eryk. But the sad truth was that there was really no one at the palace, now that her father was gone, to whom she felt really close. It was the price of bein
g who she was.

  "I am heartened by the response from the other fortresses,” Sheela went on. "Since they are even farther from the borders with your lands, I had expected them to feel less urgency. It speaks well of them that they think not only of themselves, but rather of our people as a whole.”

  Then she frowned at Jocelyn's confusion. "Has Daken not told you?”

  "Told me what?"

  "The word came yesterday from the other fortresses. They have voted in favor of the alliance."

  She hesitated, then shrugged. "Daken is very protective of you—too protective, perhaps. He probably decided to wait until the decision is made here. The other fortresses are quite small, so even though their decision is important, it is here that the matter will truly be decided.”

  "Perhaps he doesn't yet know,” Jocelyn suggested, fighting a rising anger with Daken.

  "Oh, he knows. We spoke of it yesterday. Do not be angry with him, Jocelyn. His intentions were good—and it is his support for your cause that gives it hope.

  “I know he's told you that each of us makes up our own mind, and that is true. But in a matter as grave as this, we all look to our leader for guidance. Our leaders are always respected—but none more than Daken. We would have to look far back in our history to find a leader like him. Durka, the leader before Daken, once remarked that greatness sat easily on Daken's shoulders, and I think he was right."

  "Sometimes it seems to me that his greatness is a burden those around him are left to bear," Jocelyn remarked without thinking.

  Sheela laughed. "I could not have put it better myself. In fact, Erina, Daken’s wife, once said much the same thing."