Children of the Wolves Read Free Page B

where they dressed and had their private time. She had embroidered the sides and hem of the curtain with symbols that no one understood, thick black runes that persisted in her mind without meaning. She had transferred them to the curtain because she thought they might serve as some sort of talisman. That one day they would evoke a memory, true and important, and she would awaken then and take her rightful place in their society.
    In her mind, the runes were the source of power and fearlessness, although she didn’t know why. The thick embroidery made the netting hang in stiff folds that rustled when she touched it. But it elicited no memory, no matter how long she stared at it each night.
    As she pushed the curtain aside, she turned to Michael and said, “Good night,” then bowed to him as she did every night, formally and without thought. She slipped behind the curtain, which whispered into place, blocking him from view. If only she could draw a curtain in her mind as easily.

Chapter Two
    The day-keeper knocked on the door and called the morning hour. Michael stirred on his pallet and stifled a moan. Glancing up at the narrow window set high in the wall above his bed, he saw a shaft of bright sunlight that confirmed the day-keeper’s words. Not that the day-keeper had ever been — or would ever be — wrong about the time. She wouldn’t dare. Didn’t Jelena realize how precarious the existence of the unawakened was? How desperately they tried to be accepted into the community, how callously the people treated them? Why did she want to choose that for herself, when he was willing to remain her protector for as long as it took?
    In his talks to the people on meeting day, he tried to explain how important it was to treat the unawakened well, to treat all the people well, but the prejudice persisted. The unawakened contributed nothing to the tribe; they gave nothing, they only took. That was the belief and he couldn’t eradicate it no matter how hard he tried. And Jelena wanted that for herself?
    He sat up cautiously, his head throbbing as if he’d drunk too much ale the previous night. The people had awakened both a brewmaster and a vintner some years past, but he hadn’t been drinking last night. He simply hadn’t gotten enough sleep, tossing restlessly as he tried to forget the trader’s ripped body and the people’s fear and Jelena’s anger over her wolves being accused of the attack; as he tried to devise ways to convince Jelena to accept that he would be — wanted to be — her protector for as long as needed. Forever, even. Forever would surely cause talk, but what was the use of being in a position of power if it couldn’t occasionally be used to one’s advantage?
    The curtain rattled as Jelena stepped into the main room from the alcove where she slept.
    â€œI’m not dressed,” Michael groaned, falling back against the pallet and grabbing the blanket up to his waist. In the hot summer months, he slept naked. In the first years, he had wondered if she ever noticed. Now he knew she did but what she thought about it she never said. He remembered the night she’d watched him from her alcove. He had stripped, then noticed a gap in the curtain; but he did nothing, he said nothing, he just stood there, letting her look, aware of the way she held her breath, her hand on the curtain to pull it closed, and yet she had not pulled it closed —
    â€œI’m not looking,” she responded. Unlike that other night. He sighed. Her remark was clear enough, but he rolled to his side anyway to hide the evidence of his arousal. She had already changed from the thin, short shift she always slept in during the summer months. She seemed to think it more modest than sleeping naked, but her sleeping naked would probably have tortured him less than the near-nakedness of the shift, tantalizing and teasing him with what was beneath. Now she wore the