Wolves of the Calla

donkeys. He took a deep breath, let it out, then drew in another and looked up at the deepening sky.

'Man Jesus, I don't believe in you,' he said. 'But if you're there, help me now. Tell God thankee.'

Then he went inside and closed the Gathering Hall doors a little harder than was stricty necessary. The talk stopped. A hundred and forty men, most of them farmers, watched him walk to the front of the hall, the wide legs of his white pants swishing, his shor'boots clacking on the hardwood floor. He had expected to be terrified by this point, perhaps even to find himself speechless. He was a farmer, not a stage performer or a politician. Then he thought of his children, and when he looked up at the men, he found he had no trouble meeting their eyes. The feather in his hands did not tremble. When he spoke, his words followed each other easily, naturally, and coherently. They might not do as he hoped they would—Gran-pere could be right about that—but they looked willing enough to listen.

'You all know who I am,' he said as he stood there with his hands clasped around the reddish feather's ancient stalk. 'Tian Jaffords, son of Luke, husband of Zalia Hoonik that was. She and I have five, two pairs and a singleton.'

Low murmurs at that, most probably having to do with how lucky Tian and Zalia were to have their Aaron. Tian waited for the voices to die away.

'I've lived in the Calla all my life. I've shared your khef and you have shared mine. Now hear what I say, I beg.'

'We say thankee-sai,' they murmured. It was little more than a stock response, yet Tian was encouraged.

'The Wolves are coming,' he said. 'I have this news from Andy. Thirty days from moon to moon and then they're here.'

More low murmurs. Tian heard dismay and outrage, but no surprise. When it came to spreading news, Andy was extremely efficient.

'Even those of us who can read and write a little have almost no paper to write on,' Tian said, 'so I cannot tell ye with any real certainty when last they came. There are no records, ye ken, just one mouth to another. I know I was well-breeched, so it's longer than twenty years—'

'It's twenty-four,' said a voice in the back of the room.

'Nay, twenty-three,' said a voice closer to the front. Reuben Caverra stood up. He was a plump man with a round, cheerful face. The cheer was gone from it now, however, and it showed only distress. 'They took Ruth, my sissa, hear me, I beg.'

A murmur—really no more than a vocalized sigh of agreement—came from the men sitting crammed together on the benches. They could have spread out, but had chosen shoulder-to-shoulder instead. Sometimes there was comfort in discomfort, Tian reckoned.

Reuben said, 'We were playing under the big pine in the front yard when they came. I made a mark on that tree each year after. Even after they brung her back, I went on with em. It's twenty-three marks and twenty- three years.' With that he sat down.

'Twenty-three or twenty-four, makes no difference,' Tian said. 'Those who were kiddies when the Wolves came last time have grown up since and had kiddies of their own. There's a fine crop here for those bastards. A fine crop of children.' He paused, giving them a chance to think of the next idea for themselves before speaking it aloud, 'If we let it happen,' he said at last. 'If we let the Wolves take our children into Thunderclap and then send them back to us roont.'

'What the hell else can we do?' cried a man sitting on one of the middle benches. 'They's not human!' At this there was a general (and miserable) mumble of agreement.

One of the Manni stood up, pulling his dark-blue cloak tight against his bony shoulders. He looked around at the others with baleful eyes. They weren't mad, those eyes, but to Tian they looked a long league from reasonable. 'Hear me, I beg,' he said.

'We say thankee-sai.' Respectful but reserved. To see a Manni in town was a rare thing, and here were eight, all in a bunch. Tian was delighted they had come. If anything would underline the deadly seriousness of this business, the appearance of the Manni would do it.

The Gathering Hall door opened and one more man slipped inside. He wore a long black coat. There was a scar on his forehead. None of the men, including Tian, noticed. They were watching the Manni.

'Hear what the Book of Manni says: When the Angel of Death passed over Ayjip, he killed the firstborn in every house where the blood of a sacrificial lamb hadn't been daubed on the doorposts. So says the Book.'

'Praise the Book,' said the rest of the Manni.

'Perhaps we should do likewise,' the Manni spokesman went on. His voice was calm, but a pulse beat wildly in his forehead. 'Perhaps we should turn these next thirty days into a festival of joy for the wee ones, and then put them to sleep, and let their blood out upon the earth. Let the Wolves take their corpses into the east, should they desire.'

'You're insane,' Benito Cash said, indignant and at the same time almost laughing. 'You and all your kind. We ain't gonna kill our babbies!'

'Would the ones that come back not be better off dead?' the Manni responded. 'Great useless hulks! Scooped-out shells!'

'Aye, and what about their brothers and sisters?' asked Vaughn Eisenhart. 'For the Wolves only take one out of every two, as ye very well know.'

A second Manni rose, this one with a silky-white beard flowing down over his breast. The first one sat down. The old man, Henchick, looked around at the others, then at Tian. 'You hold the feather, young fella—may I speak?'

Tian nodded for him to go ahead. This wasn't a bad start at all. Let them fully explore the box they were in, explore it all the way to the corners. He was confident they'd see there were only two alternatives, in the end: let the Wolves take one of every pair under the age of puberty, as they always had, or stand and fight. But to see that, they needed to understand that all other ways out were dead ends.

The old man spoke patiently. Sorrowfully, even. ' 'Tis a terrible idea, aye. But think'ee this, sais: if the Wolves were to come and find us childless, they might leave us alone ever after.'

'Aye, so they might,' one of the smallhold farmers rumbled—his name was Jorge Estrada. 'And so they might not. Manni-sai, would you really kill a whole town's children for what might be?'

A strong rumble of agreement ran through the crowd. Another smallholder, Garrett Strong, rose to his feet. His pug-dog's face was truculent His thumbs were hung in his belt. 'Better we all kill ourselves,' he said. 'Babbies and grown-ups alike.'

The Manni didn't look outraged at this. Nor did any of the other blue-cloaks around him. 'It's an option,' the old man said. 'We would speak of it if others would.' He sat down.

'Not me,' Garrett Strong said. 'It'd be like cuttin off your damn head to save shaving, hear me, I beg.'

There was laughter and a few cries of Hear you very well . Garrett sat back down, looking a little less tense, and put his head together with Vaughn Eisenhart. One of the other ranchers, Diego Adams, was listening in, his black eyes intent.

Another smallholder rose—Buckyjavier. He had bright little blue eyes in a small head that seemed to slope back from his goatee'd chin. 'What if we left for awhile?' he asked. 'What if we took our children and went back west? All the way to the west branch of the Big River, mayhap?'

There was a moment of considering silence at this bold idea. The west branch of the Whye was almost all the way back to Mid-World… where, according to Andy, a great palace of green glass had lately appeared and even more lately disappeared again. Tian was about to respond himself when Eben Took, the storekeeper, did it for him. Tian was relieved. He hoped to be silent as long as possible. When they were talked out, he'd tell them what was left.

'Are ye mad?' Eben asked. 'Wolves'd come in, see us gone, and burn all to the ground—farms and ranches, crops and stores, root and branch. What would we come back to?'

'And what if they came after us ?' Jorge Estrada chimed in. 'Do'ee think we'd be hard to follow, for such as the Wolves? They'd burn us out as Took says, ride our backtrail, and take the kiddies anyway!'