Page 47 of The Amber Owl (Heartwood #1)

47

Stasya

She woke early after a night of blissful, dreamless sleep. Mother Rowan was already up, tending to the fledgeling fire. It was light outside; not the first light of dawn, but the warmer glow of a fine day in the making and a bright summer to come. As Stasya rose from the bed, Flip edged over into the warm space she had left.

‘May I help?’ Stasya asked.

‘Have a wash first, get dressed, take what time you need. I’ll brew some tea.’ The wise woman added more wood to the fire, then rose to her feet. ‘Did you sleep well, my dear?’

‘The best sleep I’ve had in a long time, thank you. It’s so peaceful here.’

Some time later, they were by the pool in the inner cavern, side by side. The bats had settled to sleep long since, though an occasional whisper of movement passed through the shadowy mass of them. Enough light was entering to show Stasya her own reflection, and she was shocked by how gaunt she looked, how worn out. This was surely a far older, sadder person than the Stasya of Heartwood. Yet here she was, with a wise friend, in the safest of places and among peaceable folk. The forest was all around her. Her companions of the journey were here too, all but one. Why was that face in the water so weary, so full of doubt? ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for this,’ she admitted. To seek wisdom in the fire or the water, a person needed to clear their mind, to open it to possibilities. To find the right question, a person needed to be calm and peaceful.

‘What is your usual practice, Stasya?’ Mother Rowan asked. ‘We are within the earth, with the water before us. This, perhaps, to represent fire.’ She fished a twig from her pocket and laid it by the pool. One end was charred, perhaps from the hearth fire.

Stasya reached into her own pocket and withdrew a feather that had lain in her path as she approached the Hermit. Soft, grey, with a touch of vivid blue: a thing of wonder and beauty. She placed it gently alongside the twig. ‘There’s a verse my grandmother taught me. After I slow my breathing, I say that, one line at a time.’

‘Good. Shall we begin? Take my hand, if you will. It is for you to ask the question when you are ready.’

The two breathed together, a gradual slowing. In her mind, Stasya thanked each of the elements in turn for the blessings it bestowed. Then, when it felt like time, she spoke the familiar words. ‘The oak’s deep roots hold fast to the earth. I, too, will be strong. ’ Standing up to an attacker. Keeping on going, even when she was worn out and sad. Ending the pain of a small creature beyond saving. Challenging the Ruler. ‘The graceful willow moves with the wind. I, too, will dance. ’ Not yet. But soon, perhaps, in this realm if not her own. The lost boy was found. Despite the challenge ahead, this was a time of joy. ‘The mighty ash towers to the heavens. I, too, will stretch high. ’ To climb a rock face. To reach out a hand to the Ruler’s senior adviser when he lost his way. Perhaps, in time, to become a wise woman. ‘The sun gleams on the still pool. I, too, will hold the light. ’ She had held the lantern for Mother Rowan; she had seen the wonder of the caves. But there was a greater light to hold: the light within. Not only to keep it burning, but to share it. Mother Rowan might teach her about that, if she chose to stay.

She asked the question in a murmur. ‘I seek guidance for the pathway forward. Choices lie ahead for me. Which is best, wisest, most true?’

They waited, hand in hand. From beyond the cavern came the morning voices of birds, a rising chorus. A flutter of wings closer at hand, and Flip landed on Stasya’s shoulder, a tiny owl. It was not long before their reflections on the water broke up and reformed as something new. A scene of fields and trees and modest houses; a village hall, a bakery … And there was Lukas, older but unmistakable, striding across the square. Two curly-haired children were running around him, playing chase. Lukas looked out of the water and raised a hand in greeting. His smile was radiant; he was a picture of contentment. Beside him walked an old and somewhat familiar dog.

The vision faded, and slowly, slowly another formed in the water. Stasya’s breath caught. The scene was the Ruler’s council chamber, and it made her gut churn, almost jolting her out of the trance. Mother Rowan squeezed her hand gently and she gained control of her breathing once more.

People at the long table. Familiar people. Markus, with Aleksis by his side. And more folk, their manner and dress telling her this was a council of elders or leaders, people of power. Aleks was talking, intense, passionate, troubled. Gesturing. Matiss stood behind him on watchful guard. No sign of Karolis. A man stood up and interrupted Aleks, a man whose expression chilled her heart. Aleks’s jaw tightened; his hands became white-knuckled fists. He sprang to his feet, eyes furious, and the image faded away. What sort of answer was that?

Mother Rowan squeezed her hand again, as if to say Wait, and now a different image appeared. Great trees above; a forest clearing below. Two women sat there among moss-cloaked stones, while a little dog busied herself investigating something in the undergrowth. Through the high canopy, sunlight filtered down on the women. One was of middle years, her chestnut hair threaded with grey. The other was a wizened ancient, but Stasya knew her as Mother Rowan. The two looked relaxed, content; they were deep in conversation. Each wore the robe of a wise woman. Each bore around her neck an amber talisman; one was a swallow in flight, the other an owl. Stasya reached up, now, to touch her own amber owl, and felt the brush of Flip’s feathers against her cheek. The image faded and was gone. Only the water, and the two women reflected there, one getting on in years, the other young. For a moment, they looked like two of a kind.

Stasya found herself unable to move. Mother Rowan released her hand, then put an arm around her shoulders and ushered her back to the other room, and to the table. ‘Sit, my dear. Take some time.’

‘That was … it was …’ It was no help at all. She couldn’t say that. There was always something to be learned from visions. But right now, she couldn’t think what it might be. Not long ago she had been filled with delight that the wise woman would consider taking her on as a sort of apprentice; deeply happy that she might make the Hermit her home. But shouldn’t the vision have shown her following the other pathways? There had been nothing of her in them. Unless the Lukas of the future had indeed turned that joyful smile on her. Unless the Aleks of the future had been looking in her direction for reassurance. She did not think she could believe in either of those. Herself as a village wife, a mother of children, with Lukas’s disapproving parents part of her everyday existence, and scarcely a moment of the day free to be alone under the trees? Herself seated at a council table with the leaders of the Northlands and beyond, where someone like her would surely never be taken seriously, even if she could manage to get her words out? She had loved the image of herself with the wise woman, quiet under the trees, working together. It was the kind of life she had always longed for. Had something changed in her, that it no longer felt like enough?

Mother Rowan set a fresh cup of tea in front of her, along with a small platter of cheese and dried fruit. ‘Remember,’ she said, ‘these visions do not show you what will be, only what might be. Perhaps the answer lies elsewhere entirely. Or perhaps the possibilities are more flexible than you believe. Maybe they can be stretched to fit.’ She sat down opposite Stasya, lifting her own cup to take a sip. ‘This morning, before the gathering, you might go to visit your friend in the healers’ house. I think he would welcome that. And you might have a word with Master Aleksis, in private. Ask him about his plans.’

‘The possibilities may … stretch? Are you saying there might be a place for me in more than one of these?’ How could that be?

‘The future is yours to make, Stasya. Don’t rush to a decision. There is time.’ Mother Rowan’s voice was gentle. ‘I find it helps to turn your dilemma into a story. Think on that. I should make it clear that wherever your choices take you, you will always be welcome here. Have no fear that you will ever be barred from this realm. You belong here, just as I did. But perhaps you also have a place in the human world, and work to do there.’