Chapter 10 Stasya
10
Stasya
For a few hours she slept like the dead. Voices woke her. She sat up, still groggy. The high windows of the bakery showed faint light; dawn must be near. Matiss was talking to someone, beyond the dividing curtain. The other voice was not Pavel’s. Was that Aleksis? What was he doing here so early? Half-awake, she struggled to catch their words. Something about moving quickly. Something about a cart. Horses. Names of places. Some she knew: Sweetwater, Vita’s Hope. Some she had never heard of.
Could it be that the Commander had given up his ridiculous mission and was withdrawing his forces from Heartwood? Had the destructive fire finally convinced him the cost of his venture was just too high? Or was that too much to hope for? As the vile memories of yesterday returned to her, Stasya got out of bed. She wished she had not slept in her clothes, though what alternative was there under the circumstances? All too aware that she was grubby, dishevelled and still half-asleep, she drew aside the curtain and stepped out into the bakery.
The three men standing in conference by the table fell instantly silent. Matiss, Pavel, Aleksis. Each wore the same expression as they turned to look at her. Alert. On edge.
‘What?’ She glanced from one to another. ‘What’s happened now?’ She held back the words, When can I go home?
‘We’re leaving.’ Aleksis’s tone was calm, steady. But Stasya felt the restlessness in the group, a need to be moving.
‘All of you?’ The Commander was giving up? Oh, how she longed for this to be true.
‘A smaller group only. I will lead it; some of my men will accompany me. We’ll convey the more seriously hurt to one of the larger settlements, where they can receive better care. Some will travel on to Dragon’s Keep with us.’
‘Dragon’s Keep?’
‘The Ruler’s residence,’ said Matiss. ‘You’ll be going there. And we must leave soon.’
Stasya was without words. This was a joke, surely. Why would she go anywhere? She wasn’t injured or in need of care. And what about …?
A sound came to her ears. A little dog barking. She must be just outside the door. Oh, gods. ‘We live here. Flip and me. This is our home. Our forest. I can’t go—’
‘There’s no time for this.’ There was a harder edge to Aleksis’s voice now. ‘You will come with us. Willingly, I hope. I don’t want to have to restrain you. Come freely, and you can make yourself useful on the way. As for why, the Ruler wants to speak to you.’ And when she simply stared at him disbelieving, he added, ‘Lady Elisabeta has requested your presence at court. It’s my job to get you there safely. Now gather whatever you need and be quick about it.’
Gather what you need. But her things were all up at the cottage. Her clothes, her hair comb, the precious objects she had used for that last ritual. The painting of the Mother. She made herself breathe; swallowed the scream of protest that was building inside her. ‘I ran down here to help. When I saw the fire. I brought nothing but the clothes I’m wearing.’ Don’t make me come with you, don’t, don’t. Don’t make me leave the forest.
‘The baker will also be travelling with us,’ Matiss said. ‘She will not come back here beforehand. Take what you need from her things; you might gather some necessities for her also. Hurry, please.’ He turned to the other men. ‘Go ahead, I’ll meet you down at the gate.’
As soon as the door was opened Flip came barrelling in, ending the charge with a wild leap into Stasya’s arms. ‘I can’t— I don’t—’ Stasya stumbled over her words, clutching the little dog to her chest. ‘What—?’
‘Go on, Pavel,’ Matiss said. ‘I’ll bring Stasya.’ And when Pavel had followed Aleksis out, shutting the door behind him, the big man said, ‘Your friend Lukas will be with us. His burns need expert attention. He might welcome your support on the journey.’ And when Stasya gave no answer but an indrawn breath, he added, ‘You need to come. You spoke out earlier; drew the Commander’s attention, and not in a good way. Now, can I help you gather what you need? By the time we walk to the gate, they’ll be ready to leave.’
Dimly, Stasya remembered that the Commander had now established his headquarters further away; perhaps they were leaving early to avoid some sort of scene. But a whole group of riders? Horses and carts? Those would be hard to overlook unless a man was sunk very deep in sleep. Lukas. They were taking Lukas.
‘Stasya. We must go.’
She set Flip down. Found a bag, stuffed some items in. Irina’s comb. Some clean rags, kept for dealing with the monthly bleeding. Hers was due soon; she could only hope she would not have to deal with it until after they reached this place. She chose sparingly from Irina’s clothing. For herself, a nightrobe, a shawl, a gown that would be too short and uncomfortably tight, but that hardly mattered. If they’d let her go home first, she could have packed her spare tunic and trousers, twins to the ones she was wearing. But they were out of reach, and she would not fit into Tomas’s things, even if she could have made herself take them. For Irina, she snatched up some items the baker wore often. And one precious item: Irina’s wedding ring, which she did not wear while baking; it was on its shelf beside the bed. A narrow silver band, memory of a husband who had perished from a winter ague when Tomas was only an infant. If Stasya had still had her owl, she could have strung the ring on the same cord for safekeeping. Oh, the amber owl … What would the Commander do with it? The thought of it in his hands horrified her. But she could not ask about it; these men were in a rush and would not listen. She slipped Irina’s ring into her tunic pocket, willing it to stay there. A knife would have been useful; her own had been left in the cottage when she rushed out to the fire. But she could not take one from Irina’s kitchen supplies without Matiss noticing, and she was sure he wouldn’t let her keep it.
Flip had jumped up on the shelf-bed and was watching solemnly. There was no time to exchange any messages with the little dog. It might have been better if Flip had arrived in bird form, but it was too late for that now. The men had seen a dog, and that meant no more changing while she travelled with them. Heartwood … they were leaving Heartwood … That knowledge was a cold stone inside Stasya, weighing her down, chilling her spirit. There was no escaping this. Not with Lukas in these people’s grasp. The talk of better care might be all lies. Was it really likely there would be skilled healers in those other settlements? She’d been to Sweetwater. It was bigger than Heartwood village, yes, but in other respects much the same. Not grand. Not wealthy. Did they plan to leave Lukas and Irina there?
They left the bakery. In the pre-dawn light, the settlement was eerily quiet, though now Stasya could hear sounds of activity from the direction of Vidas’s front gate. Matiss carried the bag; Stasya carried Flip. It felt like a walk to the scaffold. Like the end of all good things. Like a terrible dream, one that grew still more troubling when she saw two carts waiting, each with a pair of horses harnessed up – there was a tall and handsome creature she recognised – and a small contingent of mounted guards close by, Pavel among them. Aleksis stood by the carts. In the early light, he looked especially grim. That should not surprise her; there were injured men in the cart nearest to her, men who wore bandages around their heads, makeshift splints on their limbs; men who lay still, men who sat upright on the straw, backs against the cart’s wooden sides. No sign of the person who had been tending to the injured last night. Who would look after them on the journey?
Matiss gave her a gentle push toward the second cart, which was also cushioned with straw. A man sat ready to drive. And there in the back … that figure lying in the straw, his head pillowed by a bag, was Lukas. He was a wan shadow of her hardy, smiling friend. His eyes were on her; his lips formed her name. Beside him in the cart was Irina. She sat slumped over, head bowed, fingers toying with a wisp of straw. A sad ghost. Her wrists were joined by a length of knotted cord, as if, unrestrained, she might leap out of the cart or try to attack someone. Her russet hair, usually pinned up in a tidy roll, lay in a tangle across her shoulders. Did these men not understand that she had just lost her only child? Stasya hugged Flip closer for a moment, then lifted the dog into the cart. Matiss threw the bag in and helped Stasya up. As the sun crept up over the horizon and the convoy got under way, she settled next to Irina, murmuring a greeting to which the other woman made no response at all. Flip curled up beside Lukas as if to keep him warm.
Stasya told herself she would not look back. She told herself she would not shed tears, even though her heart was breaking. But as dawn came nearer and the morning birds of Heartwood lifted their voices in celebration of the light, she gazed on the passing forest, knowing this was goodbye, perhaps for ever. It had happened so fast. She hadn’t said farewell. She hadn’t gone to the fallen Ancestor and spoken the right words. Maybe there were none. Could any words be deep enough for the hurt her own kind had inflicted on this ancient place? For the losses suffered by those that made it their home? Every living thing, from the great bear to the tiniest dragonfly, from the tall pine to the creeping moss, would suffer for no better reason than the greed of humankind. Every creature would, in time, feel as she did now: ripped from her home, set adrift on a journey she did not understand. Powerless to stop this. Breaking the solemn promise she had given when Grandmother was on her deathbed.
She needed to scream. The words of grief and fury were clamouring to be set free. But she could not let them out, not with Lukas lying limp and defeated beside her, and Irina sunk deep in her own sorrow. Not with the injured guards in the other cart, perhaps in pain. It would only get worse with the jolting. She wished she could help them. But how?
The wheels rolled on; the horses’ hooves thudded on the pathway. The noise almost drowned Lukas’s voice. ‘Stasya? Tell us a story.’