Children of the Wolves (12 page)

The man on the pallet screamed once more, then began to cry. Teresa gathered him into her arms and held him, stroking his back as he cried. She reached for the blanket as he began to shake and wrapped it around him, holding him close to her. “I am here to guide you, Rodrigo,” she said. “I am here to protect you.”

The caretaker smiled happily at them; the bonding was taking place without a hitch. It didn't always go so smoothly, Jelena guessed. Then Michael turned to her and said, “Let's leave them to it.” He grasped the caretaker's hand and thanked her. Jelena followed him down the passageway and back into the sunlight.

“How did she know his name was Rodrigo?” she asked. “Who told Teresa?”

Michael smiled at her. Amusement colored his voice when he spoke. “No one told her his name. She chose it. She named him.”

Jelena stopped, cocked her head at him. “That explains how I got my name,” she said. “I couldn't be a Linda or an Anna, could I?”

Michael grinned at her again, took her hand, and walked with her out of the cave.

“So much,” Cara said, passing a weary hand over red-rimmed eyes. “Awakenings and deaths and newbirths. It's difficult to keep up.”

Jelena delivered the pot of tea to the table.

“It has been very demanding,” Archibald agreed with Cara.

Jelena thought, but didn't say,
So what have you done to meet the demands?
It seemed to her that Michael bore the brunt of the duty. Exhaustion etched his face. He slumped in his chair, his legs stretched out on a hassock in front of him. As usual, Michael was the only outsider privy to the discussion of the council — well, and Jelena, too, because he was her protector.

Irritation flared in Jelena. The elders would make a decision and hand it down to the tribe and then say the tribe had reached a consensus. But the elders hadn't asked anyone. Except Michael. And despite her regard for Michael, he didn't represent the thoughts and feelings of everyone in the tribe, either.

“It is my belief that the trader was captured by a hostile tribe — probably the Sithans — and tortured. I have told you this.” Michael slanted a glance at Jelena. “At the time, I suggested wolves because I didn't want to panic the people.”

The eight elders didn't respond.

“We must prepare for war.”

War.
There
, Jelena thought.
It was said, he had said it.
If the Wudu-faesten wanted to survive, they would have to face the truth. The silence, taut and heavy, hung over the room. And no one seemed to want to meet anyone else's eyes.

Cara darted a glance at Jelena. “Jelena, dear,” Cara said. “Perhaps you could find Rufus and let him know that Michael is occupied?”

Jelena cleared her throat. She had been waiting for this opportunity. Usually to petition the elders, one had to go through channels and it could take quite a long time, but what she didn't have right now was a long time. Her lack of action had already altered the world; Michael should now be protecting Rodrigo. He said they must prepare for war, but inevitably the burden would fall to him. So she was going to intrude; she was going to break with tradition.

“Pardon me,” she said, and bowed her head. “But I am here to request a favor of the elders.”

Michael's booted feet hit the ground. “Jelena,” he said urgently, sitting upright in his chair. “No — ”

Jelena rushed ahead, her voice louder than his. “With your leave. We have many concerns in our community. Potential war with a neighboring tribe, the violent death of the trader, the equally tragic and unexpected death of a trueborn, a newlyborn just arrived, a newly awakened member of the tribe — all of this has created unceasing demands on this council and on the pastor.” She paused and drew breath, stealing a glance at Michael, who had folded his arms across his chest and now sat staring stonily at her. She looked away and hurried on.

“I was newlyborn seven years ago.” She swallowed hard. A lot of promise had come and gone since then. “No one has ever gone that long without awakening. Therefore, I believe we must assume that I am one of the unawakened.” She paused for a moment, as if to hear protests, but no one argued with her words. Not even Michael.

“And so, accepting that I am unawakened, I ask that you grant this request. To release Michael from his vow to protect me, so that he might protect the community.”

She thought the last sentence sounded rather well. Archibald leaned forward and said, “Jelena, that's not Michael's job — to protect the community. He is our spiritual guide, indeed, and he commands our riders as well. But he isn't — ” Here Archibald stopped and glanced at Michael, who had a wry smile on his face. “That is to say, we can't expect everything of Michael. We don't expect it. We have others who — ” He trailed off and harrumphed into his mustache.

“Look at him,” Jelena said softly, nodding towards Michael. “He is exhausted and torn in too many directions. Please, I ask you, let him be free of his duty to me.”

Maurice glared suspiciously at Jelena. “You're not asking this because — well, because you'd like to have a different relationship with him?”

Michael glanced in Jelena's direction with interest, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Certainly not!” Jelena flushed, embarrassed to her core.

“Well, then,” Maurice said. “Well, then. Jelena, my dear, you do know what this means? No one has ever awakened once they've left the guardianship of their protector. You understand that you are binding yourself to a life — well, a life as something less fulfilling than it might otherwise be? With Michael as your protector, you are thought of as a newlyborn. With all of the rights and privileges of any tribe member.”

“Yes,” Jelena said steadily.

“But, if you have no protector, you become one of the unawakened. We try to be fair to the unawakened, as you know. We feed and clothe them and find a purpose for them, although they do not having a calling. But — it is true that some of the tribe feel that they are a drain on society.” Here he glared at Archibald. “And there is some bias. Plus the work is — well, it's less interesting.”

“I understand,” Jelena said, her voice still even.

Maurice glanced around the table. His eyes stopped at each of the seven other elders, all of whom inclined their heads in agreement.

“Then, as a senior member of this assembly, I hereby grant your request. You are now recognized as an unawakened, with different duties and obligations. Michael, you are hereby released from your obligation to protect the newlyborn Jelena, who has passed from that state to this.”

Michael nodded once, his face strained. He didn't say anything. He didn't look at Jelena.

“Thank you,” Jelena said, bowing to them once more, then turned and left the room.

• • •

She'd done the right thing, she knew it. She could tell by how quickly word spread through the community. It seemed she'd barely stepped outside the council room when Bertha came bustling up, saying she could use Jelena's help in the kitchen.

“But I sew,” Jelena protested. Indeed, she had intended to return to the weaving room to tell Amy that she'd finally been brave enough to do what needed to be done. Amy would have hugged her and consoled her and made a joke to see her laugh.

“Not anymore, dear,” Bertha said kindly. “They'll have someone else along doing that soon. Probably Rodrigo.”

“But I — ” Jelena thought of the heavy embroidery threads the trader had brought back for her on his penultimate trip, bartering some of her tunics for the deep blues and burgundies, the flashing silver and copper. They belonged to the community, not to her. The chest she kept them in, carved by the carpenter the third year after she'd been newlyborn, also belonged to the community. They were hers to use, but they did not belong to her. Now it seemed as though someone else would have the use of them.

“Cup of tea, dear,” Bertha said, as Jelena sank onto the bench against the kitchen wall. “Fix you up in no time.” She suited the action to the word. “Drink up now, then give me a bit of help here. Mind, I believe you did the right thing, no use pretending any day now you'll reckon your pastself.”

“Right,” Jelena said. Right. Yes. Exactly so.

“You'll be wanting to gather your clothes,” Bertha said, turning back to the big black stove. “Now's the time, I'd say.”

“I don't understand.”

“Teresa and her newlyborn will be taking over those quarters. I expect Michael will make a room in that meeting hall of his. We've got quarters off the kitchen. You'll do fine here.” Bertha nodded toward the blackened oak door that separated the kitchen from the sleeping rooms.

“Yes, of course,” Jelena said. It was the right thing to do, but she hadn't quite realized that life would change so completely, or so quickly. Still, better to be realistic and get on with it. Her contributions would change, that was all. She might even be able to cook. Who knew?

Following Bertha's advice, she slipped outside so she could avoid going through the dining hall, and sidestep the questions and curious stares of the people she knew. Entering by the front door, she hurried upstairs to the quarters she had so recently shared with Michael.

Her hands shook as she pushed the curtain aside and entered the sleeping alcove. All these years, Michael had been sleeping in the next room, right there if she ever needed him. But he wouldn't be there anymore. She wondered how that would feel. She'd find out soon enough.

She grabbed up her winter tunic and heavy woolen cloak, then rolled her boots and her thick woolen socks into the cloak. Her hands trembled as she opened the small chest that contained her embroidery thread and needles. She ran her fingers through the silks, like holding a rainbow in her hands. She sighed and closed the lid, setting the box aside.

“I don't think anybody would mind if you took that with you,” Michael said. Her back stiffened; she hadn't heard him approach. The affection in his voice was worse than anger would have been.

“You startled me,” Jelena said, catching her breath. She trailed a hand on the chest and glanced up at him again, feeling shy. She had known him seven years. For some reason, she'd thought he would be angry with her. But it turned out he was relieved, glad to no longer bear the burden of protecting her. “If you think it will be acceptable.”

“I'm sure of it.”

“Thank you.”

“Jelena — ”

“Yes?”

“Did you — was there any other reason you asked for me to be released from my duties as your protector?”

“Any other reason?”

“Other than your concern that I have too many other obligations to be your protector,” Michael said gently.

“No,” she said firmly. It was too late to change anything. “No, you have too many demands on you and I'm obviously unawakened. It's just time to accept the way it is, that's all. Best this way.”

“I see.”

She gathered up her belongings. He stayed just inside the doorway, watching her. She hesitated, then began, “Michael — ” only to glance up and see Rodrigo and Teresa at the door.

“I'm sorry! We didn't realize you were here,” Teresa said. “Rodrigo was tired and I was going to show him the space, but we can — ”

“No, no,” Jelena said, moving out of the small sleeping alcove into the main room. “Feel free.” She smiled at Rodrigo, bowed at the waist to him. “I'm Jelena,” she said to him. He wouldn't remember meeting her earlier in the caves. He inclined his head shyly and she pulled back the curtain to her former sleeping room and said, “Here's the place. It's nice and cool in the summer, warm and snug in the winter.”

He smiled at her and walked forward delicately, as if unsure of his step. A landsman aboard a ship. He paused at the curtain, looking at the black symbols she had embroidered there. His eyes widened. “The way of no way … the hard and the soft, the day and the night …” Then he stopped and shook himself, smiled apologetically at Jelena and went into the room to lower himself to the pallet. Jelena frowned after him but said nothing. She understood what he meant but she didn't understand how he could know it. Perhaps when he awakened, he would explain.

She passed by Teresa without a glance, paused by Michael and gave him a tiny kiss on the cheek, just as a sister might. He watched her go, leaning against the wall as if he hadn't a care in the world.

Just as well. The outcry if the pastor had partnered with an unawakened woman would have been loud and fierce and unbearable. More than she could ask of Michael. Although she thought she herself might have been able to bear it, for him.

No wonder the unawakened threw themselves to the wolves, Jelena thought as she washed yet another cup. Everyone else moved with a sense of purpose, a higher calling — even Bertha. Especially Bertha. For Jelena, the days passed with an unutterable sameness. The chores never changed and the hope of awakening, so often the source of frustration, had disappeared, leaving nothing in its place but flatness, and emptiness.

That evening, a few weeks after she'd declared herself unawakened, she pushed the kitchen door open to a buzz of excitement. Bertha was in intense consultation with Cara over specifics of a menu. Puzzled, Jelena turned to little Matthias, a trueborn boy who served as a helper in the kitchen.

“Bertha says we're to host visitors,” he reported, eyes wide at the thought.

Jelena eyed the dishes piled in the sink and resolutely turned her back on them.

“What visitors?” she asked.

“They say it's to be the Sithan warriors.”

“The Sithans!” Jelena's voice rose a few notes higher than usual. She stole a glance at Bertha and Cara, who ignored her. “Why are they coming?” she asked, lowering her voice. But here Matthias's small supply of knowledge dried up. He shrugged his thin shoulders, picked up the wooden bucket and went over to the pump.