Children of the Wolves (31 page)

She smiled and told him she was flattered and caught her breath once again at the deep and solid faith and trust her people had in her.

The swords had long since been forged. She and the other fighters practiced hours a day, the kata she had taken so long to remember, the practice drills, the free fighting that often closely resembled real fights even down to flesh laid open.

She sometimes rode Horse from one end of the territory to the other, to see the fields ready for planting, the glittering nets of the fishers shining beneath the midday sun, the ranks of warriors practicing under the command of her second, the clack of shuttle and loom when the weavers set up outside on a good day, the ringing hammer blows from the smithy — Derek was training up several apprentices and rarely did smith work himself anymore, only when Jelena specifically asked him to. He held up high hopes that Tasha would become a master swordmaker.

She showed the sewers how to crush beetles for their lacquer and to collect the reeds that grew on the riverbank to make the lightweight lacquer armor that could stop a sword thrust. She turned Greco to making the helmets and face shields, he fashioning the stuff of nightmares, fiery red and black wolf faces for them, creating the pieces with meticulous care, painting and shellacking the features into a frightening semblance of reality.

When the Jackals came late in spring, Jelena signaled her warriors. They leapt on their horses, their helmets and face shields frozen in ferocious smiles; and they ran the Jackals down.

They did not range beyond their borders, but they would not allow any encroachment upon their territory. Soon the neighboring tribes whispered among themselves that it was best to avoid the place of the wolves. Their warrior chief was a woman, it was said, and by all that was good, everyone knew what that meant.

• • •

Derek drew Jelena away from training one hot summer morning, asking for some time alone with her. She agreed, but not happily, because she was afraid that he was going to press her to partner with him.

She found a spot away from prying eyes and sat down, patting the ground next to her for him to sit, too, but he merely shook his head at her and paced, trying to gather his thoughts. When finally he spoke, his back was still to her, which she felt did not bode well for the conversation.

“You know I haven't been entirely happy here,” Derek said. “I'm not complaining, I'm more contented here than I ever was in that other place. But I'm an explorer.”

“Oh,” said Jelena. This was not at all what she'd been expecting to hear.

“I'm not the man to stay settled here,” he went on. “And now I have the choice to make my life the way I will.”

“You're leaving us,” Jelena guessed.

“Ay.”

“I would not stop you. But it is dangerous alone.”

“I'll not be alone,” Derek said and here Jelena grew still because he couldn't possibly intend or expect her to come with him.

“Sarah has consented — ”

“Sarah,” Jelena gasped.

Here Derek finally swung around, a dark scowl on his face, his hands clutched into fists.

“Ay, Sarah,” he grated out.

“Of course. And Cat?”

“Coming with us,” Derek said. “They both want to see what the world has to offer.”

“And there are others?”

“Ay.”

“Then take what you need. And may you always have a comfortable place to sleep at night.”

Derek's face broke into a grin. “Since when have we cared about comfortable sleep?” he demanded.

“I hate to see you go,” Jelena said. “But you are your own man and you are free to do as you wish. I could not have made this journey without you.”

“Ay,” said Derek. He knew his worth.

“You will always have a home here.”

Derek nodded, and his eyes misted. Jelena leapt to her feet and ran into his arms where he held her tightly.

“I would have wanted it to be you,” he said gruffly. “But you gave your heart away before I had a chance to win it.”

Jelena wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “I wish it could have been you,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “Far simpler. Easier on everyone.”

“Sarah is a good woman,” he said. “I'll do right by her. But perhaps you could pine for me just a little.”

Jelena grinned. “Just a little. Longing for you will keep me up five, ten minutes every night.”

“See that it does,” Derek said with mock solemnity, then put Jelena away from him and she knew that was the last they'd ever speak of what might have been.

One early fall day, the border guards escorted a small group of Wudu-faesten to the main hall. Jelena wore her usual linen tunic embroidered with white wolves. She wore no symbol of power or authority but one could not enter her presence and not know that she was a force to be reckoned with. She turned when the door was flung open and the border guard bawled, “Entourage from the Wudu-faesten seek an audience with Jelena of the Wolves.”

Jelena laughed in the back of her throat. “Thank you, Geoff. You know that formality isn't necessary.”

She moved forward and stopped with a sudden shock when she saw the emissary. She lifted her chin and continued forward, bowing in welcome. She gestured for the group to sit, then joined them at table. Within a few minutes, tribe members brought mugs of warm tea and plates of thick bread with butter.

“You're welcome here, Lana, Tomas. Michael,” she said. Here she hesitated. He looked exhausted and worn, but his sapphire eyes still glowed and he held himself proud and erect.

“I didn't realize how extensive your holdings are,” Michael said, sipping the warm drink and letting it trickle down his throat. “Nor how large your tribe is.”

“We are fewer than two hundred now,” Jelena said. “Earlier in the year, Derek took several dozen families to establish a connected tribe to the west. He likes the mountains, you know. I have always been a plainswoman.”

“No,” Michael said, smiling gently. “For a long time you were protected by the trees.”

She felt something of a shock in her heart. “Yes. Then let me say that I have always felt an affinity for the plains. Even when I was protected by the trees. Tell me, Michael, why have you traveled here?”

“Bertha is dying.”

Jelena took her breath in sharply. “Bertha? That can't be.” It seemed impossible that Bertha could ever die.

“The Sithan continue their raids,” Michael explained. “Last month, Emma was killed and two of the kitchen helpers.”

“They murdered Colleen in the spring,” Lana said flatly.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Jelena said. “We have been through much the same and I know what it means to lose one of my own.”

“Bertha was mortally wounded protecting one of the trueborn during the last raid,” Michael said. “We know that they want the riches of our mines. The elders talked about giving them the mines, about our moving and resettling elsewhere. But how could we leave the saved behind?”

“So we gave the elders leave to go,” Tomas said.

Jelena's eyes widened in surprise. “But — that — well, by all that's good, I wasn't expecting to hear
that
today.”

“Bertha asks that you come to her one last time,” Michael said. “She is the eldest of our tribe and we want to honor her last wishes.”

“Of course I'll come,” Jelena said. “I must just take care of a few duties here and then we can set out.”

“Perhaps we could rest a bit?” Michael smiled. “It was a long journey.”

Jelena's smile broadened. “Didn't you used to say to me, Michael, that there will be time enough for rest once you're dead?”

• • •

Bertha was ashen, her breath coming in faint sighing moans. Jelena threw off her riding cloak and ran to Bertha's pallet. She knelt next to the woman and took her hand. Bertha seemed somehow shrunken, thin and fragile, although not long ago, she would have been her robust and hearty self.

Jelena pressed Bertha's hand against her cheek, knowing her tears flowed freely.

“Bertha, I'm back. I'm here.”

Bertha's eyes fluttered open. “Took your time, did you?” she whispered, the breath catching in her throat.

Jelena smiled through her tears. “I had chores to do. I can't drop everything just to be at an old lady's beck and call.”

Bertha had the ghost of a smile on her face. “I'm going to miss you, child. None of this turned out exactly as planned.”

“None of what?”

“This,” Bertha said, her hand moving feebly on the blanket, but Jelena supposed she meant for the gesture to encompass the world of the Wudu-faesten.

“I've always said, we can't know the will of the makers,” Jelena shrugged.

Bertha smiled broadly this time, a real, honest smile. “I don't mean to contradict you, child. But indeed we can know the will of the makers. And this was not it. I should know,” she said and opened her eyes to look directly at Jelena. “I was one of them.”

“By all that's good — ” Jelena whispered. She rocked back on her heels, clutching Bertha's hands between hers.

“But you,” Bertha chuckled. “Weren't you the surprise? Who knew that we would finally get our warrior — only by that time she'd be head of her own tribe?”

“Who knew?” Jelena repeated, smiling. “Yes, I knew that must be my calling. But when I turned my back on my birthright, I realized that — ”

“That you were taking not just one but two tribes into uncharted territory, directions no one planned or thought up.” Bertha closed her eyes again, her breath coming in labored measures. She stayed quiet for a long time and then began again. “It was never my intention to destroy the Wudu-faesten,” she said. “Just to send them in a different direction. Where they would treasure the discovering as well as the remembering. Where they would honor the newlyborn and the trueborn in equal measure, where they would accept the awakened and the unawakened alike. And make no distinction between them.”

“I see,” Jelena said.

“Do you? I wonder. Because the Wudu-faesten cannot survive much longer. And neither can you and yours.”

Jelena bristled. “We're doing fine. Our crops are growing, we had our first trueborn child this spring — ”

Bertha waved a hand. “Your tribe … is out of balance. The Wudu-faesten are also out of balance. To create balance you must have harmony. The hard and the soft, the scholar and the warrior.”

“The way of no way,” Jelena said.

“You must not abandon your people for your children,” Bertha said, “or neither tribe will survive.”

Jelena glanced at Michael, who stood behind her. Bertha chuckled, the laugh turning into a moan of pain.

“Yes, child,” Bertha said. “It is time now.”

“I thought that time had passed.”

“It comes again. It always does; it is the Way.”

“It is the Way,” Jelena agreed with a smile, and leaned down and kissed Bertha's cheek. “Good bye, old friend,” she whispered, the tears coursing down her cheeks.

• • •

“I was thinking today,” Jelena said to Michael, “that a great deal of hard work and effort could have been avoided had I done one simple thing. When I consider leaving the tribe and taking the unawakened with me, and securing our territory and planting the fields, fishing the river, building the paddock, capturing the wild mustangs, training the warriors, fighting off the Jackals … Quite a lot of it was not strictly necessary. Had I done one simple thing some time ago.”

“Yes,” Michael said comfortably. “But then, think how I feel. Had I done one simple thing some time ago, you wouldn't have gone to all that trouble. It makes me feel guilty. I could have saved you quite a bit of work.”

“Well,” Jelena said. “We were young and foolish.”

“We're still young and foolish,” Michael said with a grin. “I set out after you. Bertha told me to go south.”

“I went north.”

“Ay. At the time, she said south, so I went south.”

“Had you gone north …” she said with a sigh. “In the name of the first born, no wonder I'm tired all the time. I've been quite busy.”

“Now is no time to rest,” Michael said.

Jelena folded her arms across the saddle horn and leaned forward. She saw the riders in the distance, headed her way. She and her tribe had made the rendezvous point an hour or so early. She'd sent out scouts and they'd already reported back. The wolves seethed around the bay stallion, who had finally learned to ignore their presence.

The day was barely beginning to break. The horses stamped their hooves restlessly, her warriors still and sturdy in their battle dress. They wore armor, helmets and face masks in red and black lacquer, the shapes strange and frightening. As they were meant to be. She had her helmet in hand as the company of Wudu-faesten approached.

Michael wore the chainlink the mechanic so lovingly fashioned for the riders. He clinked musically when he moved. She herself clicked, the lacquer plates of her armor clattering against each other like the chittering of beetles.

Michael leaned forward and kissed her cheek. Her second, Yahood, cantered forward as Rufus, Michael's second, did.

“The strategy is simple,” Jelena said. “Don't get killed. Try to avoid serious injury. Make a lot of noise, trample what you can, set fire to what you can't. We are going to ride like the wind and sweep through the territory of the Sithans so quickly they will not have time to arm themselves.”

“Ay, simple enough for me,” Michael said.

“And we will do it again and again until they beg for us to leave them alone. Then we'll think about it,” Jelena said. “And if we're feeling generous that day, we will cease. But until that time arrives, we will come against them as often as needed. We will hammer them until they give up their warlike ways.”