Chapter 22 Stasya
22
Stasya
Her anger came out in a great scream, a flood of hot fury. There were people out there, she could hear them moving about in the courtyard, she could hear the pigs grunting. ‘Let me out!’ she yelled. ‘I want to see the Ruler! Let me out now!’ At least, that was what she tried to shout, but there was too much in her head, and she was sobbing, and the words that tumbled out might have sounded like nonsense. There was no response. The door remained shut. She shouted until she was hoarse. Beat on the door until her hands were red raw. Wept until there were no more tears in her. How dared they do this? How dared they hurt poor Irina, who had lost her only son and her home and her work, who had seen her whole world turned upside down? How dared they take a finger from a woman whose hands created the very sustenance folk depended on? Irina’s baking had not only filled folk’s bellies, it had been a daily reminder of home and community and harvest, of what nature gave them, of … How could anyone do something so foul?
In the end she slumped to the floor, exhausted. Nobody was coming. Nobody cared. Where had they taken Irina? Why had they done this, why, why, why?
She knew the answer, of course. To make Stasya talk. To make her do what the Ruler wanted. It was an evil thing, a terrible thing. It sent shivers through her whole body, a shaking she could not control, even with the two sacks wrapped around her shoulders. They felt damp; where had that come from? In the dim light from the little high window, she examined the rough fabric and felt her stomach heave with nausea. Blood. It was on her clothing as well. Now, when she looked, she saw a big dark stain on the floor, with wisps of sticky straw here and there. What had happened here was surely more than the severing of a finger. What had they done?
A rustling beside her, and there was Flip, a dog now, pressing against her, gazing up with sad eyes. She gathered the little creature to her chest; the warmth was a comfort. Flip might have witnessed everything. But … was it fair to ask her for the story? To make her relive it? Was it so important to know?
I have to. I owe it to Irina. Stasya shared a mind-picture with Flip: Irina in the shadows of the storage chamber. Irina with the ring on her hand. Someone at the door, sliding the bolt open. What happened? She stroked Flip’s ears gently, though her hands were trembling. It was terrible, I know. But please show me if you can. We must help her.
Flip’s reluctance was in every inch of her small body. Her mind- pictures reached Stasya in brief flashes, as if they were too dreadful to hold for more than the space of a breath. ‘Good girl,’ Stasya whispered. ‘Brave girl.’ She had expected to see scenes of torture, and she did. One man held Irina, splaying her hand against the wood of the door. A second man, one she recognised, cut off her finger with such speed and precision that she guessed he did this kind of thing often. A tall, silent man. Stanislav. Stasya choked back bile. No attempt to stem the flow of blood. Nothing. They were going to leave her bleeding and go … but no. In the image, something created a distraction above the men. Both looked up, their attention caught. In that moment, quick as a darting swallow, Irina seized the knife one-handed from Stanislav and plunged it into her own heart.
Beyond words. Beyond thought. Stasya held Flip tight as sounds washed over her: a bird crying outside as it flew past, the shout of one man to another as they rolled something across the courtyard, water trickling down a wall. Out there, it had started to rain. In here, rats scuttled within the walls. Irina was gone. She was dead. Perhaps that was what she had wanted all along, once she had lost Tomas. But no, surely not; on those better days, at Laima and Ivo’s farm, she had spoken of going back to Heartwood when it was safe, to find out where her son was buried, to lay flowers, to say prayers. This … this was impossible. Intolerable. She had to do something. She had to confront the Ruler, make her understand. She had to get out of here, now, right now. She would get out, and if they tried to shove her back in, she would fight with every weapon she had. Which meant … which meant using her gift the other way. The perilous way. ‘Rats,’ she said aloud to Flip. ‘They could help.’ Rats couldn’t break through stone. But the door that separated the storage room from the main part of the barn was of wood, and not as sturdy as it might be. She couldn’t slide the bolt open from inside, but …
Stasya closed her eyes and tried to breathe steadily. She reached out to the rats, opening her mind to them. One in particular seemed to be a leader, alert, sharp, aware of her, so she shared the image with him first: many rats gathering at the base of the door, gnawing, gnawing. Making a hole that grew and grew and eventually was big enough for a young woman with broad shoulders to squeeze through. She’d deal with the outer door once she got there. She sent the rat leader an image of herself saying thank you when it was done. It would have been good to be able to promise cheese or carrots or … Ah. She did have something to give them. She shared a picture of fresh beans and peas, hoping rats actually enjoyed those things as much as she did. Then she sat quiet, waiting, and while she did, Flip sent a mind-picture in which she transformed into a very large dog indeed, then rammed the door with her head and somehow broke it down. ‘No,’ Stasya said aloud. ‘Do that and everyone will call me a witch.’
The wait felt endless but was perhaps not so long. The rats crept out from their secret tunnels, more and more joining the army that gnawed on the wood. Stasya could not stop wondering if she could have saved Irina. Would the Ruler have spared her friend if Stasya had agreed to her demands? The cruel death of one innocent against the breaking of her solemn vow to defend the forest … they could not be weighed up against each other. Both were wrong, so terribly wrong, and the Ruler couldn’t see it. She was surrounded by people who did her bidding without question. That sort of power was bad for a person. It made them believe nothing was as important as getting their own way.
The hole in the door was growing. She could have lain down on the floor and stuck an arm through, maybe both arms, but not yet her head and shoulders. ‘Head Rat,’ she said, making the images as she spoke, ‘make it big enough for me to scramble through. Not to get stuck, that would be bad. Please tell your tribe they are doing a fine job.’ Flip was following their every move, her body as tense as a hunting wolf’s, and their nervous glances, the twitch of their ears, told Stasya they knew it. ‘The dog will not hurt you.’ An image of Flip curled in a ball, sleeping. She sent that one to Flip as well as the rats, in case she needed a reminder. She’d need Flip in bird form, safe out of doors, before she tried to leave the storage chamber. It didn’t matter if the rats saw the dog change, but humankind was different. Once she was out, she’d be tempted to hide or try to run. She could feel the urge now, all through her body. But as far as she knew, Lukas was still somewhere at Dragon’s Keep. She could not leave him to his fate, whatever that might be. Besides, there was no convenient way out, no secret passage or tunnel she knew of, no carts being drawn up somewhere so she could sneak a ride and creep out once they were free of the place. Dragon’s Keep was a nightmare. Yet, oddly, there was still some kindness here; some folk who would speak to her as if she were a real person, some who would offer gifts: the vegetables which had proven so useful, a smile, a friendly word or two.
A plan. She needed a plan. The hole was nearly big enough now, if she wriggled through on her belly like a snake. Then the outer door. There might be tools in the barn that she could use to break through. Then … she’d need to be brave. Hold her head high. Speak to the first person who saw her, tell the truth, ask to talk to Lady Elisabeta straight away, not wait until tomorrow. Tell Irina’s story. Make the Ruler understand.
She had never wished so hard to have Flip’s shape-changing gift. Oh, to grow wings, to be a bird and fly out that window and away. Or to become a beetle and crawl out between the stones, entirely unobserved. To confront the Ruler in the form of a great bear or a fierce wolf or a sharp-taloned bird of prey. But she could not, and she would not use Flip in that way, to guard her or intimidate folk. She had lost one friend; she would not risk another. ‘Don’t forget,’ she said now, showing the little dog what she wanted. ‘Stay in bird form, wait for me, and if I don’t come back, fly home to Heartwood and be safe, sweet one. Please do as I ask.’
Flip made a gruff noise that might have meant yes or no. The rats, startled, turned their heads to look, then as one scampered away from the hole they had chewed out. With so many, the task had not taken as long as Stasya had feared it might. Time to go. Time to get out of this place. She spread the sacks on the floor, away from the blood, and emptied the bag of peas and beans onto them. The rats moved in; she hoped all of them would get a share.
Squeezing out of the storage area was not hard; the rats had done a good job. Once in the main part of the barn, Stasya swallowed her tears and looked for a way out. The main door looked too sturdy to yield to kicks, and she’d seen those iron reinforcements on the outside. But there was a window in that wall, a window she judged big enough to climb through. It was high up, but not as high as the tiny one in the storage area. And there were jutting timbers here and there that would serve as footholds. Stasya was used to climbing trees to pick fruit or rescue wayward cats. She had fixed holes in folk’s roofs. Getting up there would be easy enough. Getting down on the other side might be more of a challenge. Never mind that. She must escape. She must go now. She would find the Ruler on this day of blood and death, and she would make her understand what she had done.
She climbed. She was barefoot, and there were splinters. Still, she hauled herself up and up again until she could see through the opening. The angle was awkward. The courtyard below looked empty, but she could not see every corner. Still, no choice but to go through and down. She lowered herself, fingers gripping the windowsill, feet seeking any purchase they could find. It wasn’t so very far down. She could do it … she could …
She froze, unable to move. She was breathless after even that short climb, and her head felt dizzy. Do it, Stasya, she commanded herself. Think of Irina. Think of Tomas. Think of Lukas. Think of Heartwood. Her hands hurt. Her back hurt. She wanted to scream. Do it. An awkward, twisting stretch. Toes wedged into a tiny crack, arm reaching for a drainage pipe that might, just might, support her long enough. Nearly there …
‘You! Girl! What do you think you’re doing?’
She fell. Someone caught her, setting her on the ground, holding on to her arms. For one wonderful moment she thought it was Matiss. But no; it was another of the royal guards, another unknown face, another body so strong that there would be no point at all in trying to fight.
‘How in the name of the gods did she get out?’ Another guard, and another after him, striding across the courtyard. While the first one held on to her the others slid open the bolt on the barn door and vanished inside.
‘What in all hells is this?’
‘Rats! Gods! A cursed army of them! Here, give me that shovel!’
Squealing, crashing. A flood of pain into Stasya’s mind, a crushing, snapping, brutal onslaught. There was no way to close herself off from it. The rats were under attack. They were dying in agony because of her. Because of what she had asked them to do.
And then came the barking. A small dog shouting defiance against two armed men.
Bird! Be a bird! ‘Don’t hurt her!’ Stasya screamed.
The space of a breath. A shout of shocked disbelief from the men. And a tiny bird flew out through the open door of the barn and away.
‘Did you see that? It changed!’
‘Sorcery! Witchcraft!’
Another silence. The hands of Stasya’s captor dug into her arms. The others emerged from the barn, faces pale with shock.
‘This is your doing.’ And when Stasya said nothing, ‘You worked some sort of spell, didn’t you? First with those rats and then with the dog? Answer me!’
She drew a ragged breath. ‘I want to speak to the Ruler. Take me to her. I will account for myself there.’ Another breath, more of a gasp despite her efforts at control. ‘Now! Take me to her now!’
They stared at her, not seeming to understand. Then one of them said, ‘Oh you’ll see the Ruler all right, no doubt of it once she hears of this . But folk of your kind don’t name the time and place for such a meeting. You’ll see the Ruler at a time of her choice.’ He glanced at the others. ‘She can’t go back in there. Where do we put her?’
‘Find Stanislav. Ask him.’
A silence. Glances passed between them; it seemed none of them was keen to volunteer for that duty. Maybe even Stanislav’s fellow guards were scared of him.
‘There’s that lockup on its own. Been empty a while. You know the one I mean, down near the stables? No getting out of there. All stone. You’d need a dragon to break you out of that place.’ A pause. ‘I still can’t believe it. But I saw it with my own eyes. Rats. An army of rats. And the dog …’
‘Yes, well, keep it to yourself until the Ruler’s been told. Don’t want word spread around the whole place. Now come on, you. Only place for you is shut away where you can’t work any more of your sorcerous tricks.’
‘What about the dog?’ asked one of the others, his voice not quite steady. ‘If it can turn into a bird, what’s to stop it turning into a … a bear or something?’
‘Not without her. Anyway, it’s gone. If it’s stupid enough to come back here, it’ll get what’s coming to it. Like those flea-ridden rats. Good riddance.’
She could have argued. She could have struggled, but with three of them to one of her, that would have been pointless. At least, as things were, she knew they would report this to Lady Elisabeta. Flip had turned the botched escape into a disaster; why had she not changed to bird form as soon as Stasya was out? Now the Ruler was going to ask her about the other side of her gift, the side she had kept secret even from Lukas. Lady Elisabeta was going to demand that Stasya use that ability to help her get to the Hermit. To call on the help of wolves or bears or elk. After what had been done to the rats, it didn’t bear thinking about. So, no screaming and fighting, no demands, she would just keep walking along and do what these guards told her to do. Then she would wait until the Ruler called her, which would surely be soon. She would wait in this lockup, and while she was there, she would plan what to say and how to keep calm while she was saying it. Be safe, Flip, she thought as they marched her on, one on either side and the third following. Stay away for now. Wait until I call for you. Please wait. It may be a long while.
Time passed, and nobody came. The floor was hard and cold under her aching body. It was like trying to sleep on ice. Not that sleep was possible. Any time she managed to nod off, she was soon woken by a night mare of bone and blood, blows and vile words. Irina’s dead eyes staring up at nothing. Flip captured and hurt. Lukas all alone, cold, hungry, desperate. And what came before: the fire, folk screaming, folk burning. The fall of the Ancestor, a great doom on Heartwood.
This time they’d put her in a tighter space. Stone floor, stone walls. No window, only some tiny holes high up that allowed her to tell night from day but would hardly admit a moth. There was a hatch in the barred door, far too small to offer any chance of escape. Once or twice, since they threw her in here, someone had opened that hatch and looked in, then shut it again without a word. What were they checking? Whether she was alive or dead? Did they care? Perhaps they thought she, too, had the ability to change into a bird. Once, she thought the eyes that looked in were those of Stanislav.
She’d tried her best to work out where the place was, but when they’d brought her here, she’d been hurt, scared and angry all at once, and her feelings had crowded out clear thinking. The cell was reached by a passageway, she recalled, and one of the doors they’d passed had been a half door. She had smelled horses. Near the stables, then. But where were they in relation to the servants’ quarters or that garden or the Ruler’s council chamber? She had no idea, and without Flip to spy for her, there was no way to find out.
The last time someone had opened that hatch it had been dark out there, save for the flicker of a candle. It was night. Why hadn’t the Ruler summoned her? It made no sense. If Lady Elisabeta was so desperate to learn her secrets, why had Stasya been left in here even after those guards reported what had happened with the rats and with Flip? They must have told her what they’d seen. Why leave it so long?
Her mind was turning in circles. Her belly hurt. They’d given her a bucket for a privy; that was all. No blanket, and she was still in her filthy clothes. When you were in such a state, it was hard to be brave. Hard to make a plan. Hard to summon up the will. For Irina , she told herself. For Tomas. For every soul who died in Heartwood. For them, I must be strong.
The hatch creaked open again. At first she did not look up, fearing to meet the eyes of Lady Elisabeta’s torturer once again. Then came a murmur in the half-dark. The clink of a cup.
‘Stasya?’
She recognised the voice and was on her feet in a moment, despite the aches and pains in her body. ‘Pavel?’
‘Ssh!’
She moved closer, right up to the hatch. She could see him dimly; the candlelight caught the gleam of his fair hair.
‘Take this.’ Pavel passed through a cup of water, a hunk of bread. ‘Don’t tell anyone I was here. Hide the cup.’
‘The others,’ she whispered. ‘Are they back yet?’
He shook his head. ‘Here,’ he said, and squeezed a tightly folded bundle through the opening. The hatch closed without a sound. She did not hear him walking away, but she knew he was gone.
Unfolded, the last gift proved to be a rough blanket, perhaps used in the stables, for it had a smell of horse dung and hay. Would Pavel be in trouble when the other guards noticed it in the cell? Would they interrogate her about who had brought it, and perhaps start cutting off her fingers? And where could she hide a cup in this place of hard stone? Never mind that. She would eat, she would drink, but not too much – she must save some for morning. She would wrap the blanket around her and be warm, or at least not quite so cold. She dared not try to sleep, not now she knew what horrors sleep would bring. She would get as comfortable as she could, and she would tell herself a story. A story of hope and courage. A story of friendship. A story of nature’s magic, and how it could heal wounds that went deeper than the body. And in time the sun would rise again and it would be morning. A new day.
‘Once upon a time …’
‘Ah.’ Lady Elisabeta looked Stasya up and down, wrinkling her nose at the smell her captive had brought into the council chamber. ‘You’re here, then.’
It was not a question; no need to find an answer. Silence was safer anyway; she was a hair’s-breadth from screeching like a madwoman, weakened though she was. Anger seethed in her at the sight of the Ruler standing there in another of her jewel-coloured gowns, with her glossy hair all plaited up and her warm fire burning on the hearth behind her. What would a person like her know of hunger or cold or fear? What would she know about friendship, kindness, the bonds of family and community? Stasya stood and waited, clutching the horse blanket around her shoulders. Her feet felt cold on the tiled floor of the council chamber, and they hurt; it had been too dark in that place to get all the splinters out. Now it was day, and she felt dizzy and weak and sad. She’d asked for this meeting, but now she wondered if she might collapse before she got a word out.
‘Changed your mind? Decided to see sense at last?’
Words came. ‘You mean, after your men tortured an innocent woman, a good woman who was a wife, a mother and a friend, who worked hard to help provide for every person in Heartwood? After they killed her? Why would that change my mind?’ And after a moment’s silence, ‘My lady?’
The Ruler’s lips thinned. Her eyes narrowed. ‘It is my understanding that the woman took her own life and chose to do so in a spectacular and somewhat untidy manner. Be careful what accusations you make, young woman. That was no doing of mine.’
This was a twisted and perilous path, not to be taken at a run. Stasya knew the truth about Irina only because Flip had shown her those terrible mind-pictures. And she must keep Flip out of this at all costs. ‘I was presented with a … a finger, my lady. Irina’s finger, with her silver ring. And one of the guards told me she was dead. There was … there was blood, a lot of blood …’ Stand up straight. Hold back those tears.
‘As I said. If a guest in my household decides to take matters into her own hands, I can hardly be blamed for the consequences.’
‘She did not cut off her own finger, my lady. Irina was a baker by trade; she worked with her hands. The ring was a token given by her late husband, whom she loved. Why would she do such a thing?’
Elisabeta smiled thinly. ‘Why indeed? It is possible that injury occurred while my guards were moving her to a new location; perhaps she attempted to resist. These things happen. They happen in particular when people choose to be stubborn. When they refuse to cooperate.’
Would she be next to lose a finger? Perhaps all of them? She looked down at the floor, where the tiles seemed to be moving strangely. Why was it so hard to speak?
The silence drew out, until the Ruler spoke again. ‘I’m told some remarkable things occurred yesterday, concerning your escape from a locked chamber and … your dog. Where is your dog?’ Elisabeta glanced around as if expecting Flip to dart out from under the table or appear from a corner.
‘I don’t know, my lady.’ True enough. ‘I haven’t seen her since your men moved me to that place near the stables.’ Stay away, Flip, wherever you are. Say safe.
‘Mm-hm.’ The Ruler put her head on one side, as if in question or disbelief. ‘I’m told my men saw her transform into a bird. An unbelievable thing, yet it happened. My guards are not prone to fits of wild imagination. Did you do this? Did you use some kind of magic? Answer truthfully.’
‘I can’t change a dog into a bird. I have no magical powers. I’m an ordinary farm girl.’ Stasya drew a breath, then added, ‘Perhaps your men were mistaken. Maybe Flip bolted out of the barn so quickly that it looked as if she were flying.’
‘I do not think they were mistaken. And what about the rats? A tribe of rats that ate a hole in the wall to let you out. Don’t tell me that was not of your doing. It was an odd event, an unnatural thing, akin to the workings of witchcraft. And you understand what the penalties can be for that, yes?’
Stasya imagined herself burning, drowning, being slowly tortured to death. ‘I’m only trying to do what’s right,’ she said. Why was it so hard to get the words out? Her head was reeling. ‘It’s not magic. It’s not sorcery.’ She wanted to say, Set us free, let us go, and we will never trouble you again. But that was a promise she would never make, no matter what it cost her.
A long silence, then, while the Ruler gazed at her, and Stasya thought of all the things she had been so desperate to say. It was pointless to try, and not only because she felt as if she might collapse any moment. The look in the Ruler’s eyes told her the woman would do anything to achieve her end, whatever the cost.
‘You still won’t agree to it, will you?’ The Ruler spoke as if she had looked into Stasya’s mind. ‘You won’t lead my party to this place, the Hermit? I don’t need to ask; I see it on your face. Even after the death of your friend, which might have been avoided had you seen sense. Even after that. It would be easy for you, Stasya. You know the forest. You know ways to pass through it without cutting down trees, without disturbing those things that seem so important to you. What if you guided a group that way? Not a war party, merely a group of travellers interested in what they might find there. You might use your … unusual ability … to keep that party safe from wild animals as they passed through the forest. They, in their turn, might protect you from folk who would not hesitate to harm a young woman if the opportunity arose. We would keep you safe; we would provide food and shelter. And when it was done, you would be free to return home. Does that not seem a reasonable request?’
Reasonable. From the person who had sent the Commander to Heartwood? Who had not hesitated to condemn poor Irina to torture? Who had caused her death as surely as if she herself had used the knife? The words burst out, a torrent of them, unstoppable. Her voice rang from the high ceiling of the council chamber; her fists banged the table; her whole body was alight with fury. With the words came gasping breaths and sobs and a wildness that made her tear at her own hair and stamp on the hard floor, heedless of her aching feet. It built and built until she could not see the Ruler, could not hear her voice, did not know anything but the terrible injustice of it, the hurt, the cruelty, the destruction. In her mind, over and over, the Ancestor toppled and fell, and creatures fell with it, dead, maimed, hurting, terrified. And over and over Tomas burned in the fire, and Irina lay lifeless in her blood, and good folk toiled and suffered.
The Ruler was talking again, but Stasya was on the floor, screaming, and she could make no sense of the words. Whipping … fifty lashes … two chances … see sense … Dimly, through the anguish, she was aware of being taken away. Carried, eventually, while she moaned and wept and struggled. The light changed and changed again. She was back in the cell near the stables, on the floor, with new bruises. The door closed; the bolt was rammed across. The hatch opened, and she heard a voice. Not Pavel. Someone with a deeper, darker tone. And now she heard the words. ‘Don’t forget. You have two chances to stop this punishment, provided you agree to the Ruler’s request. Your guards will return to check on you twice during the daylight hours. If you change your mind, you have only to let them know. Otherwise, you will be summoned at dawn.’
Silence for a little, as she lay sobbing, barely understanding.
‘Thirty lashes might be sustained,’ the speaker continued, his tone level, ‘though the recipient would be severely damaged. Fifty is a death sentence.’