Page 9 of The Amber Owl (Heartwood #1)

9

Stasya

A nightmare. If only she’d got up sooner, if only she’d known … Flip had woken her with a not-so-gentle peck to the ear. Stasya had smelled smoke, looked out and seen the flames, then dressed in a rush, making it clear Flip must stay home for her own safety. She’d run all the way down to the settlement, until the heat was in her face and the screams and wails were crowding her thoughts and she knew she was too late to stop this, too late to do anything but help deal with whatever came next. Up by the barn, nobody was saying much, apart from things like drink this , or show me your arm , or this might hurt, try to keep still. She should have known … But she had known. The vision had shown her this, the eerie light, the veiling smoke, the folk in pain, the conflagration. She should have done something. She should have told someone. But how could she have done that without the community turning on her? Good people did not perform rituals. So most folk believed. Decent people did not conjure visions. To do so, and to have the vision come true, was to work dark magic. Perhaps to be held responsible for whatever unfolded, as if the seer brought the vision to reality. People knew she’d learned the art of storytelling from her grandmother. But the skill of scrying had been taught in secret. Grandmother had made sure Stasya understood the perils of making this skill public knowledge.

Local folk and the Commander’s men were working side by side, almost indistinguishable in the strange light. Fire had devoured the barn. Whether there had still been prisoners in there, she did not know. She joined the workers in their grim tasks, not speaking to anyone unless she must. Nodded in response to the question, Can you help me with this? Shared the weight of an unconscious man with one of the guards, all the way to the hall, where they passed their burden over to the village women who were dealing with the injured. Helped another man to walk the distance, his arm around her shoulders as he hobbled along beside her. He could hardly bear to put his right foot on the ground. He’d fallen, he told her, while running up to the fire with buckets of water. He kept on talking, blaming himself for spilling the water and for not taking care and now for wasting folk’s time with what might only be a sprain, until Stasya lost her hard-won composure and told him to save his breath. She’d seen Aleksis giving orders – where was the Commander? – and men carrying away bodies, not to the hall, but to some other place. Bodies disfigured by burning. Bodies whose identities she could not even begin to guess at. She hadn’t seen Jurgis anywhere. She hadn’t seen Lukas.

Another trip. Another man to help down to the hall, one of the locals this time. Oskar was around her own age; he was one of Kristina’s many admirers. Not burned but struggling to breathe and so weak he could barely stay on his feet. He needed someone on either side or to be carried. But although he was of fairly slight build, she was growing tired. Could she perhaps put him over her shoulders? No, not sensible while he could hardly draw breath. She glanced around, wishing Lukas was there.

‘Need help?’ It was the big man, Matiss, walking to her out of the smoke like some warrior from an old tale. Though this warrior was exhausted. And sad. It was written all over his face.

Stasya nodded. On a night like this, differences must be set aside. ‘He’s having trouble breathing. Caught in the smoke too long, I think. Could you help carry him?’

‘I’ll take him.’ Matiss scooped Oskar up without apparent effort, cradling him across his body as a person might hold a child.

‘Thank you. I’ll …’ She looked around. Someone else was sure to need her help.

‘Walk with me. The survivors are all out now. And I want to talk to you.’

So she did, helping to steady Oskar when they went over rough ground. Matiss said nothing until they were well clear of the barn.

‘Your friend, the goatherd. He got out alive, but he’s hurt. I thought you’d best know that before you see him down there.’

Stasya froze for a moment. ‘Lukas? But he was free, I heard they’d let him go—’

‘We’d best keep walking.’

‘Tell me!’ She went on, keeping pace with him, though part of her wanted to run, to be there right now, to see for herself.

‘Your Lukas was a hero. He came to help fight the fire, and he went into the barn to rescue his father. Everyone else had given up by then. The place was full of smoke and starting to collapse. He got his father out. Both of them were burned, and the older man has … other injuries.’ She made some sort of sound, and Matiss went on, ‘I’m sorry, Stasya. We have one fellow with some healing skills, and he will do all he can to help.’

‘Burned,’ she echoed in a voice like a crow’s. ‘How badly?’

Matiss stopped briefly to adjust Oskar’s weight in his arms, then moved on. ‘We’ll check down at the hall. After he carried his father out of the fire, Lukas collapsed.’ Another silence. ‘They were lucky to get out alive, Stasya.’

For a moment she was speechless. Feelings flooded through her, warring with one another. Rage rose to the top. ‘Where was the Commander when this happened? This is on his head! And on yours! Why did you come here? Your kind knows nothing but destruction and ruin!’

This time, the silence drew out so long she thought he was not going to answer. Then he said, ‘Rihard – the Commander – was otherwise occupied, or so I’m told. Had he been sleeping in his usual quarters, he might have perished in the fire, as others did.’

Words rushed to her mouth, bitter as bile. I wish he had perished. He deserves to die for what he has done. She made herself swallow them.

‘As for myself,’ Matiss said, ‘I answer to Master Aleksis and, through him, to the Ruler. I caution you against making such comments where others can hear them.’ He was overtaken by a sudden fit of coughing and needed to put Oskar down. Stasya moved to support the injured man, who stood shakily, his hand on her shoulder. Watching Matiss as he bent over, trying to clear his lungs, she knew this was no ordinary cough.

‘Smoke,’ she said. ‘You were in there too.’

The spasm passed. Matiss wiped a hand across his mouth. ‘I got a couple of men out, yes. Saw your friend heading in, tried to warn him, but he was set on saving his father. Brave lad.’

They got Oskar to the hall. Hawk Man was there, apparently in charge. Stasya felt relief that the Commander was still nowhere to be seen. Women were busy with blankets, water skins, rolls of cloth for bandages. The benches where folk would sit for a meeting had been moved to the sides, and the space was full of pallets. Almost all were occupied. There was a smell: blood, dirt, sweat, smoke. A couple of women were moving among the injured, speaking quietly to those who could hear, listening to those who could respond, checking on those who lay limp and silent. And one of the Commander’s men was kneeling by a pallet at the far end, with Kristina beside him. A glance told Stasya the person lying there was not Lukas, but his father. What to do … where to go …

‘You could help.’ Matiss still stood beside her, though he had passed Oskar over to another man who was steering him to an empty pallet. How many of these folk would die right here, lacking the expertise of a physician?

‘Me?’ Yes, she could carry heavy things, run with messages, fetch water from the well. But she was no healer.

‘You tell a good story. In times of trouble, that helps. When a man’s in pain. When he’s scared. When he has to wait, not knowing what’s coming.’

He was right, of course. But how did he know she told stories? Oh. He’d been outside the door when she’d told the tale of the amber owl, thinking only the Commander and Hawk Man could hear. ‘Matiss?’

‘Yes?’

‘Could you find out where they’ve put Lukas?’

The big man nodded and left her. Stasya forced down the urge to rush off in search of Lukas herself, to find answers when there were no answers. Rasma was not here with her husband. Perhaps Lukas was back home, under her care. Or maybe she was out searching for her son. Stasya moved between the pallets; stopped beside a man who was reaching blindly upward. Not a villager; one of them . Right now, that didn’t make any difference.

She crouched down beside him; took his hand in hers. ‘It will be all right,’ she murmured, hoping it wasn’t a lie. ‘You’re safe here. Just wait a bit.’

‘I’m scared.’ Like a child, but with a rasp in his voice; this was surely another affected by the smoke. ‘My chest hurts.’

She glanced over to the spot where Aleksis was now conferring with some village elders, Vidas among them. Outside, someone was wailing. Shut it out , she told herself. You can’t do everything. But perhaps there was one thing that might ease this man’s suffering, at least a little. ‘Can you sit up, if I help you? You might be able to breathe more easily. Good, well done.’

He gripped her hand more tightly, as if afraid she might leave him. She settled by him, helping him stay upright.

‘Do you know the tale of the brave soldier and the giant frog?’

His lips twitched; perhaps that was a smile.

‘Once upon a time …’

She moved from one man to another, keeping her voice soft, pushing down the need to run, to scream, to curl up with her hands over her ears and wish it all away. She told tale after tale; held the hands of the fearful, the suffering, the dying. It was hard to shut out the sounds of pain and distress. She tried not to look beyond the man she was comforting; tried not to see the moment when a blanket was drawn over a limp body, covering even the face. Time stretched out, impossible to measure. Women came in and out, some helping to tend to the injured, some bringing supplies, some seeking out a husband, a father, a brother, a son. Men came in and out, some to speak to Hawk Man or one of the guards, some to collect one of those covered forms and carry it out of the hall. The man she’d seen earlier tending to Jurgis must be the healer Matiss had mentioned; he went around to everyone in turn, examining injuries, speaking to the women in attendance, conferring with Aleksis.

Stasya finished a tale. This man had burns to his feet; he would not be marching with his fellow guards again. Agnese came and applied poultices, wrapping the wounds in linen, speaking kind words as she did so. She acknowledged Stasya with a nod.

Matiss had been gone a while. There was a knot of dread in Stasya’s stomach. Perhaps the big man had been caught up in other things and had not had time to look for Lukas. But her mind showed her other pictures, dark ones. Kristina was still in the hall, sitting beside Jurgis. She’d applied some kind of salve to her father’s wounds, then bandaged them. She must know something. Would Lukas’s sister be so calm if she, too, did not know where he was? She should go and ask. But Kristina wouldn’t want to be bothered by her. When had the folk of Heartwood ever really wanted her, unless there was hard work to be done? Stasya thought of Flip, all alone in the cottage. There was a powerful longing in her to feel the familiar weight of the little dog on her knee, to be warmed and comforted by her touch. Shut it down, Stasya , she ordered herself. To bring Flip to her at such a time was to put her friend at risk. Never mind that Flip, in bird form, could have gone searching more or less unobserved. Never mind that Flip might have found Lukas swiftly. She would wait. Or … she would make herself go and speak to Kristina. Now.

She got to her feet, cramped from so long sitting on the floor. Made her way carefully between the pallets, heading for the spot where Jurgis lay. Wondered if, the moment she said Lukas’s name aloud, she would dissolve into tears in front of all these people. But before she could reach Kristina, there was Matiss. He went first to Aleksis. The two conferred briefly, then Matiss turned toward Stasya. What message her face held, she could not imagine, but he moved to one side of the hall and beckoned her over. People were watching. Agnese. Kristina. Others. Disapproval was written all over them. What did they imagine, that she had made friends with the enemy? That she was trading secrets? If Matiss shouted at her and marched her away, would they think, Good riddance?

He spoke quietly, his words only for her ears. ‘Some of the injured were taken to a smaller barn, further to the south. Your friend is among them. Aleksis is sending our healer there now.’

‘Can I go and see him?’ The words were out before she could stop them. ‘How bad are his burns?’

‘I don’t have that information yet. The Commander has claimed that place as his temporary headquarters.’ Matiss’s voice was barely a murmur. ‘You should go home.’

She felt as if she were being pulled in all directions at once, though she stood perfectly still. Breathe, Stasya. ‘You need to tell his sister,’ she made herself say. She indicated Kristina, who was still looking her way.

‘Aleksis will speak to her. Stasya, I strongly advise you to go home now. I’ll find someone to escort you—’

A scream from just outside, a jarring, tearing sound. The door slammed open and in strode the Commander, with a woman following, her mouth open wide, her hands clinging to his tunic so she was half-dragged after him. Her face was a mask, a thing from an old tale of grief and fury made real. Her shrieking made Stasya’s heart clench tight in terror. It was Irina; Irina of the orderly bakery, the calm manner, the steady, quiet work. What could have done this? Only one thing, Stasya thought. Only one terrible, unthinkable thing.

Irina held on until two guards peeled her off the Commander and restrained her. Still the words flooded out. ‘You killed my son! You killed my Tomas! Not even twelve years old, a child! You are a menace, a vile curse! Torturer! Murderer! You have ripped out our hearts!’

The Commander struck her in the jaw with his clenched fist. Pinioned as she was by her two captors, she could not avoid the blow. Stasya started forward; Matiss laid a restraining hand on her arm.

Irina sucked in a laboured breath; squared her shoulders. ‘I will not be silenced!’ She spoke through sobs, but still she met the Commander in the eye. ‘I speak for all the women of Heartwood! You have brought nothing but evil to this place! If your mother could see you now, she would regret the day she gave you birth!’

He struck her again, harder this time, and she sagged between the two guards.

‘Commander.’ It was Aleksis’s voice, perfectly calm. ‘I’ll deal with this.’ He moved toward the group with steady purpose.

‘I knew that woman was a troublemaker. Take her away. Put her under guard. Leave her to consider her actions overnight.’ The Commander spoke as if he had not heard Aleksis. As his guards took Irina out, he dusted off his tunic as if to remove any trace of her and folded his arms. He cast his gaze around the hall. Matiss stepped in front of Stasya as if to shield her. But she didn’t want his protection. She didn’t want to hide away. It was time to be seen; time to be heard. Never mind that more guards were coming into the hall, perhaps drawn by Irina’s screams, perhaps following the Commander’s lead. She stepped away from Matiss and met the Commander’s eye across the rows of pallets. Let him listen. Let him hear.

‘That woman, as you call her, is a respected elder of this village! You and your men have been fed all this time because she’s worked herself to exhaustion baking for you. Is what she said true? Has Tomas been killed?’

The Commander opened his mouth to respond, but Aleksis was quicker. ‘Sadly, that is true. There was a young boy among the dead; killed by a fall of burning timber. A freak accident, which we very much regret. I believe this was the baker’s son.’

Tears stung Stasya’s eyes. That sweet boy. A good son, full of such promise. This was too big, too sad, too terrible to speak of in anything but a story. ‘Once upon a time,’ she said, somehow finding a voice that would reach every ear in the hall, ‘a monster came to a peaceful settlement. What little the folk owned, the monster broke or spoiled or burned. Even the trees were cut down. Nobody knew why he was doing it. Nobody wanted him there. But they could not drive him away, not even when their sons and brothers and fathers were maimed or killed by the terrible work he forced them to do.’

‘What is this nonsense?’ roared the Commander. He seemed about to charge straight at Stasya, even if it meant striding across the rows of pallets with their sad occupants, but Aleksis put a hand on his arm, and a guard did the same on his other side. Stasya went on.

‘The local folk could not fight him. He had lackeys at his bidding who would frighten and beat and starve those who spoke out against him. So, the villagers tried being kind. They baked him delicious bread. They slaughtered their goats and sheep so he and his men could eat roast meat, even though that meant lean years ahead for the farmers. They built a place for the monster and his lackeys to sleep in and be sheltered from the rain. They did the work of destruction that he ordered, and every night they came home weary and hurt and despairing. Some died in accidents. Some died by fire. Even children died. What did the monster want? A treasure. A treasure that was so far away, so hard to reach, that more and more folk would fall in the monster’s pursuit of it. This treasure was known of from ancient tales. Who knew whether it really existed? The tales told of spirits that haunted the forest, their cries enough to freeze a man’s blood in his veins. They spoke of uncanny folk living high in the hills, folk who could make trees walk and cause rivers to rise and fall at will. And everyone knew the forest was full of hungry wolves and bears. The monster must surely be out of his wits to think of going into its heart, even if such a journey were possible. Everyone in the village would be dead and their lovely home a wasteland before a way to that treasure could be found. What were the people to do? Who could help them?’

The hall had fallen eerily quiet. Matiss had not moved from his position beside her, though she sensed the tension in him; he was ready to act at an instant’s notice. From across the sea of pallets, the Commander glared at her, red-faced. The silence drew out, until he said, ‘Well? How does the tale end?’

Stasya held his gaze. If only she could see into his mind, the way she’d be able to do if he were one of those wolves or bears, or a dog, or a bird. If only she could understand why . ‘Only you can make the ending, sir.’ She kept her voice calm, though the drumbeat of her heart was strong and fierce. ‘It is your story, and it is not yet finished.’

The Commander drew a shuddering breath. She expected him to shout again, but he simply turned to Aleksis and said, ‘You told me you’d deal with it. So deal with it. Get her out of here, lock her up where she can’t cause any more trouble. The girl’s out of her wits. Needs to be put away for life, if you ask me.’

By her father’s pallet, Kristina rose gracefully to her feet. ‘She speaks for all of us,’ she said. And if her voice was shaky, her gaze was not. ‘She speaks the truth.’

Grey-haired Agnese stepped forward from the bench where she’d been cutting cloth for bandages. ‘She speaks the truth.’ Then, one by one, every woman in the room stood and faced the Commander, echoing those words. The hush that followed was profound.

The Commander broke the silence. ‘Take her away!’ he rapped out, glaring at Aleksis. ‘You see what she’s doing, stirring folk up with her stupid stories! Get her out of here!’

Stasya brushed away sudden tears. When Matiss took her arm to guide her to the door, she did not resist. She was suddenly too tired to argue, too tired to attempt an escape, even when they were out in the open. She stood waiting while some kind of silent communication happened between Matiss, Aleksis and the young fair-haired guard who had helped hold the Commander back when he seemed about to charge at her. That man was familiar. She thought he’d been there when she calmed the horse. Another of Aleksis’s men.

They took her only as far as the bakery. The door was not barred. Inside, the place was still warm from the day’s work. There was no sign of Irina.

‘You’ll stay here for tonight,’ Aleksis said. ‘I’ll put guards on both the doors. I want your promise that you won’t try to escape. If you won’t give that, we’ll have to restrain you in some way.’

Stasya nodded. She stood still while Matiss lit lamps. The other guard walked around as if checking for hidden assailants. She wanted to see Lukas. She wanted to know if Irina was all right. She needed Flip. But there was no point in asking. Perhaps, if she did what they wanted now, they’d let her go home when the sun rose.

‘Your little dog,’ said Matiss. ‘All right on her own up there?’

Would he go and fetch Flip for her if she asked him? Maybe yes. But she didn’t want anyone inside her cottage. ‘She’ll be all right until morning.’

The men exchanged another look. She could not read it. She was so tired that things were starting to blur before her eyes.

‘Get some rest,’ Aleksis said. ‘You’ll be safe here. Matiss, Pavel, stay alert.’ And with that, he was gone. Matiss stationed himself by the main door of the bakery, first bolting it from the inside. The other guard, Pavel, took up a post by the back door. It seemed neither planned to sleep.

‘Don’t you need rest too?’

‘We’re trained to cope without. Not forever. But for long enough. Go on, do what you need to do. Wash, sleep. We won’t disturb you.’

The habits of the bakery died hard, despite everything. A bucket of water stood ready near the stove. Stasya washed her hands and splashed her face. Thinking of Irina, thinking of poor Tomas, she built up the remnant of the fire, boiled a kettle, brewed tea. Tea was good when you were tired out and your thoughts were full of darkness. More from habit than anything, she got out three cups and filled each. ‘There’s tea, if you want,’ she said, taking her own cup with her as she retreated to Irina’s sleeping quarters, which were screened from the working area by a curtain. A proper all-over wash and some fresh clothes would have been welcome, but the pump was outside, and she wasn’t going to ask for permission. As for relieving herself, there was a pot in the corner for the purpose. She would empty it in the morning.

Small sounds came to her as she lay on Irina’s shelf-bed, feeling the ache of utter exhaustion in her body. The clink of cups. Matiss’s deep voice and Pavel’s lighter one in muted conversation. Well, they’d locked the place up. They hardly needed to stand at the doors all night. Though there was a monster out there; it wasn’t only in the story. Tomas was dead. She couldn’t get her mind around that. Then there was Lukas, who might be all right and might not. Jurgis, a respected leader in the village, unable to stir or speak a single word, it seemed, even with the Commander a few paces away roaring his anger. And Kristina, the village beauty with her delicate embroidered creations, standing up like that, speaking out when she knew what the cost might be. Agnese, a quiet grandmother. The other women. They had all supported her. But for nothing. The Commander was deaf to their voices. Deaf to reason.

I’ll be home in the morning, she thought. Home with Flip. She imagined walking into the forest with the little dog by her side, moving on soft feet under the towering trees, hearing nothing but the song of the wind and the whisper of the grasses. No Commander. No guards. No people at all. Just herself, and Flip, and Heartwood.