The Amber Owl (Heartwood #1)

Chapter 30 Stasya

30

Stasya

Two days had passed since Pavel left on his solitary mission. Two days cooped up in this place, with far too much time for brooding. On this farm they were all accommodated in a barn, horses at one end in stalls, Aleksis’s team at the other. The farmhouse was quite a distance away, and they’d seen little of its occupants, though fodder for their horses and supplies for themselves were left outside the barn door daily. Once or twice Aleksis had gone out to talk to someone, but he did not report back, and nobody asked.

Lukas still hadn’t talked to her, not properly, and it hurt. They were on the very edge of the great forest, so close she could feel it, breathe it, smell it. She longed to walk up over the fields and in under the trees, to find a mossy rock and sit there for a while, on her own or with Lukas. The trees called to her. She needed to acknowledge them. And up there, her friend might have been prepared to talk. But Aleksis had made it clear nobody could leave the barn except to draw water from the well or to relieve themselves. The risk of being seen was too high.

Even Matiss was edgy. There was a shadow over them all, something new and troubling. Perhaps it was being uncomfortably close to Sweetwater. When Stasya finally managed to sleep on the second night, her dreams were full of bad memories. She saw the Ancestor toppling; she felt the fragile neck bones of that tiny, damaged creature snapping under her fingers. She heard the crackling of fire and the screams. She saw Irina plunging the knife into her own heart, and the whip laying raw the flesh of Lukas’s back, as stroke upon cruel stroke the punishment forced the life from him. She woke from that nightmare with a start, her heart pounding, her face wet with tears.

‘All right, Stasya?’ someone asked, and in the darkness of the barn, she could not tell who it was. Not Karolis. The men were taking turns at sentry duty in case of unwelcome night visitors, and Stasya could see him standing very still by the half door, a faint light turning his bearded features into those of some warrior from an ancient story. That was not cold moonlight, but the approach of dawn.

‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ Perhaps she had been sobbing. Or screaming. Or saying something she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to hear. Oh, for her own little house and her own hearth fire and the peace of being alone with Flip … Would she ever return there to pick up her old life? She thought of the picture on her wall, Mother and her creatures; imagined Pavel looking at that image right now, perhaps by flickering candlelight.

‘I was awake already,’ Aleksis said. ‘Bad dreams?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Pavel may be back by the end of the day, if he’s made good time. And we can move on.’

Stasya sat up, arms around her knees. Flip wriggled, then settled again on the straw pallet. Matiss rolled over heavily. ‘Must be close to sun-up,’ he said. ‘Birds are starting a conversation out there.’

No sound from Lukas. Whether he, too, was awake, there was no telling.

Another day to get through, maybe more. Days when she couldn’t walk up to the forest edge, so near but yet so far. Days when she couldn’t be on her own for longer than it took to go out to the privy – a ramshackle shed over a pit – and come back in again. The dark things started to crowd in again, filling her mind, blotting out everything good. The verse, she had to say the verse. ‘The oak’s deep roots … I, too, will be stron g …’ She whispered her way through it, taking her time, making herself breathe. ‘… I, too, will dance. ’ She pictured Mother again, this time walking barefoot on the shore of Clearwater, with a retinue of creatures following. They were not the same as those in the painted image. There was a kind-faced black bear, a handsome red fox, a young goat with proud horns. In the trees close by, a squirrel kept pace, leaping, climbing, scampering, so quick it seemed less creature than flash of light. A keen-eyed hawk flew above. Oh, there was a story to tell. The creatures walked with purpose. Where were they going, and why? Would they finish their journey? Who would fly and who would fall? Would there ever be a time for dancing?

She lay down again. Flip snuggled close, welcoming the warmth. Outside, more birds were joining in the dawn greeting, their voices chiming sweet and strong. Awake! Awake! The story teased at her, calling out to be told. If she had to be shut away in a barn even when the sun was shining and the birds were singing and the forest was just out there waiting, there had to be a way she could push back the storm of fears and troubles that was filling up her head. There had to be a way to get through the day. And there was, of course. What could be better than telling tales? Perhaps not that tale, though it had seized her imagination now. How could she invent an ending for it until Aleksis told the story he held so close? And even then, it was not for her to finish it. All of them would play a part.

—

Some folk loved to tell stories. For some, like Lukas, it depended on who was listening. She knew he told stories to his young sisters at bedtime. Perhaps because of that, his tales tended to be of heroic adventures, and all of them had happy endings. It came to Stasya, looking across the barn at Lukas and Karolis working through the exercises together, that this might be a way to get her friend talking to her again. The bond between them had been as strong as the roots of an old oak. It couldn’t be broken forever.

She waited until all of them were eating their breakfast, seated on benches near the little stove. ‘I’m finding it hard to be cooped up inside with not much to do,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we tell some stories, Lukas?’

Lukas mumbled something. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Yes, he was angry with her. But there were other reasons for his dark mood. He longed to go home, he was desperate to check on his family, he was injured. She couldn’t expect him to act as if nothing had changed.

‘Matiss, how about you?’ she queried, hoping for better luck.

Matiss grinned. ‘I need time to think something up. I’m a bit out of practice. Maybe later in the day?’

‘Makes sense,’ said Karolis. ‘Lukas, I want to check those burns and bandage up what needs covering before we’re on the move again. We’ll need time for that this morning. When it’s done, I’ll be happy to tell a story. I’m seriously tempted to include a few warrior monks. Or would that be a bit close to the bone?’

‘How about warrior toads?’ suggested Matiss.

‘It’s all too easy to imagine a certain leader as a toad,’ Karolis said with a crooked smile. ‘I’ll give it serious thought. How about you, Aleks?’

Aleksis glanced Stasya’s way. ‘My mind is too much on other matters. The rest of you do as you wish, later in the day. For now, make sure you’re ready for travel. Provided Pavel gets back tonight, we’ll be making an early start. The farmer will supply us with some rations.’

‘And if you haven’t run through your exercises yet, do it,’ Karolis said. ‘We have a very long walk ahead. Or more of a climb, from the sound of it. With surprises along the way. That’s if there’s truth in those old tales.’

Matiss had finished eating and was adding wood to the stove. ‘I’ll warm up more water. Last chance for a good wash. It’ll be cold dips in a stream from now on, I imagine.’

‘Clearwater’s not bad for swimming,’ said Stasya. ‘But cold, yes.’ An image came to her: Mother on the shore, her creatures with her, startling in their odd companionship. She wondered what surprises this journey would hold. What dangers. Maybe, what opportunities. If they climbed high enough, travelled far enough, they might find both wonder and terror. Both were present in the old stories. Then, of course, there was the undeniable fact that in none of those tales did human folk ever reach the Hermit and return home alive and well. Now was not the time to dwell on that.

The day unfolded. After the bath – a stand-up wash in a shallow pan of warm water, but still welcome – Karolis dealt with Lukas’s burns once more while the others got to work feeding the horses, preparing food, hanging clothing by the stove to dry and packing things away. They worked through the exercises, each in their own time. Stasya noticed that Lukas was having what looked like a proper conversation with Karolis, though she was too far away to hear what they were saying. This was definitely an improvement on the brooding silences that were so unlike her old friend. When the salving and bandaging were done, Lukas lay down on his pallet and closed his eyes. Whether he was exhausted from the treatment or troubled about the coming journey or simply wanted to shut out the rest of them for a while, Stasya could not guess. It did not bode well for the long challenge ahead.

As if to recognise that challenge, the farmer brought over a pot full of hearty stew, rich in mutton and vegetables. He called quietly from outside the half door to let them know it was there, but by the time Matiss went to collect it, along with a package of provisions for the road, the man was gone. They ate in silence, each deep in their own thoughts.

Flip accepted a share of Stasya’s meal but was plainly unsettled. Every sudden move startled her; at every sound beyond a murmur she was sharply alert, checking the danger. Eventually Stasya carried the dog to her pallet and sat with Flip on her lap, sharing soothing images in silence. The men got on with clearing up after the meal; none of them looked in her direction. Whether Aleksis had spoken to any of the others about their earlier conversation, perhaps revealing what she had told him about her link with Flip, there was no knowing. She had not asked him to keep it secret, but Aleksis surely understood the peril of sharing such information even with … what? A friend? An ally? This group could hardly be called a team; she and Lukas were only here because they’d had no choice. She wished she could trust Aleksis. But how could she, when he still wouldn’t explain why they were doing this?

If only she could ask Flip what was troubling her. But that would mean showing the little dog a series of possible disasters: falling down a cliff, losing the way in the mist and never finding it again, being confronted by uncanny beings intent on harm. Is it this? Or this? Or maybe this? Even gathering and eating the wrong sort of mushrooms was a deadly danger. Stasya simply stayed quiet and held the dog close. She turned her thoughts not to terror but to simple beauty. The peace of the great forest. The songs of many birds, blending into a great tapestry of sound. The delicate footprints of a hedgehog; the soothing sound of wavelets washing onto the shore as a family of swans passed by, ruffling the still water; the fragile, perfect wings of a butterfly. On her lap Flip settled, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady.

—

They gathered, later, by the stove. Matiss brewed tea; this orderly activity had become something of a ritual. Stasya passed the cups around. Storytelling time was here, and suddenly she was lost for words.

‘Who’s going first?’ asked Karolis. ‘Any volunteers?’

‘Stasya should be first.’

Stasya nearly spilled her tea. Coming from Aleksis, this felt a little like an attack. Not a lethal sword thrust. It felt more like the opening move in a game of combat, in which the weapons were words. The only way to answer it was with a swift countermove.

‘I’ll start my story now,’ she said. ‘But I won’t tell all of it, just the beginning. We have a long distance to travel, and we’ll need to stop at night. Sometimes it’ll be cold and uncomfortable. We may be tired or scared. And it’s at times like those that people most need a good story. I’ll tell you part of mine as we go, any time it feels right. And if any of you wants to do the same, you can.’

‘That’s some challenge,’ observed Karolis. ‘A test of the memory, among other things. You’re right, though. It might help us stay sharp when we’re feeling weighed down. Or worn down.’

‘Not sure I’m up for an epic.’ Matiss sounded amused. ‘What say we add an easier option, tell a short tale if you’re in the mood, or a longer one in instalments? That way we get a mix of the heroic saga with the sort of thing that gives you a good laugh.’

There was a murmur of agreement. They had kept their voices low all day, mindful of the risk of unwanted visitors. Stasya glanced Lukas’s way and got a nod in return. A slight recognition, but it was enough to warm her heart. Somewhere, deep down, her kind friend was still there.

‘Once upon a time,’ she began, ‘in a place that was either near or far, either in this world or in another, a strange set of companions set out on a journey. There was a far-seeing hawk, a brave red fox, a strong black bear with kind eyes, a nimble squirrel whose coat bore a sheen like gold. Where they were going, nobody knew; folk watched them pass with wonder in their eyes, for might not a fox or hawk catch and devour a squirrel? Might not a bear, in its turn, make a quick end of the fox? But the four moved on as one, in peace and purpose, the hawk flying above, the others following, each in his own fashion.

‘There came a time for rest. The companions sheltered in the lee of a stone wall encrusted with moss. Hawk perched in the strong branches of a venerable oak; Squirrel found a convenient hollow in that same tree, and after checking that it was not already occupied, settled himself there. Bear and Fox dug out a shallow depression in the earth by the wall and curled up together for warmth. The night was long. The moon shone bright. Owls called their wise prophecies into the chill air, but whether anyone understood them, I cannot say. The companions slept; or half-slept, for Hawk never quite shut his eyes, and the others were restless, their thoughts on the long way ahead.

‘Now it happened that nearby, a great ill had fallen on a peaceful place. The animals who lived there – goats, sheep, chickens – lived good enough lives, though a life can be short indeed if one’s fate is to become food for humankind. They had learned to accept what they could not change. They were grateful for the safety of the walled field, the freedom to graze together in the sun, the fresh water in the trough and the kindness of their keepers, some of whom brought treats such as fresh carrots, and some of whom brushed them, and some of whom sang them sweet songs and held them with gentle hands, right up to the moment of death. Wild creatures, too, dwelt in that place, in the secret parts of the great forest. Those of the farm and those of the forest lived close, but separate. But now everything had changed. The orderly farms were no more, their work disrupted, their stock no longer cared for, their good folk set to ill work under threat of violence. The only choice, for those who could still move freely, was to flee that place and seek a new life elsewhere.’

Not a sound from her audience. Was Lukas wiping away a tear? He, at least, had recognised himself in this tale.

‘So it was that when the sky began to lighten and the birds were heralding the approach of dawn, our small band of travellers awoke to find that they had company. Their strangely assorted crew had become still stranger, for nearby stood a sturdy long-horned goat, who looked ready to take on the most fearsome of them – that was Bear, without a doubt, despite his kind eyes – should it prove necessary to do so. And there was another with him, or maybe two others.

‘Now, bears do not speak the same tongue as goats, any more than hawks and squirrels share a spoken language. But there are ways of understanding even between creatures so different in form and character. The gaze, the stance, the way the hackles rise or the wings lift or the head turns. The silent tongue can be more eloquent than the voice. The goat dipped his head, as if in recognition of the strangers. When the great horns rose again, the goat had his eyes on Hawk, seeing him immediately as the one to whom any sort of approach must be made. The bird had by this time flown down from his perch in the oak, and settled himself atop the drystone wall, just beside the bear. He put his head on one side as if to say, Go on, then. ’

At this point Matiss put up a hand as if to indicate a question. Stasya gave him a nod of encouragement.

‘What about the other one you mentioned? Or two? Did they show themselves?’

It was a good question. She’d have to include herself and Flip in this tale. The tale she’d had no intention of telling yet; the tale that had insisted on being told. The trouble was, she hadn’t yet worked out what animal she would be. Nothing seemed quite right. An owl, perhaps; but that didn’t work, since the group had to travel mostly by day. Ah! She had it.

‘As the goat considered his reply, his two companions emerged from the woodland behind him. One was a little dog, the sort of creature you would expect to find sleeping on a mat in a cosy cottage. It was so small, a hawk could have seized it and ripped it apart in moments. It was not much more than a mouthful for a hungry bear. The look in its eyes as it cast its gaze around the strange company was not one of terror, as you might expect, but of careful examination. A person might translate that look as, Are you worthy? Are you brave? Are you fit to travel with us?

‘As for the goat’s other companion, nobody was quite sure what she was. A warrior? A human woman? A ghost? Or something else, perhaps from another world? She wore a grey cloak that seemed sometimes like mist, and sometimes like shadow, and sometimes like ordinary wool. Her hood shielded her features; all that could be seen was a pair of bright eyes, regarding them gravely. In one hand she bore a staff of oak, in the other a bag that made a sound as she moved, as if it might hold shells or pebbles or fragments of glass. Or indeed, something far stranger. Bones, maybe.

‘Bear padded forward a few steps. He halted before the woman, if woman she was, and dipped his head in a gesture of respect. Welcome here, stranger. We will not harm you. It happened, by odd chance, that he had guessed who she was. Once, two winters ago, such a woman had taken a painful thorn from the foot of his mate and had spent time salving the hurt. And he knew what she was: a storyteller. The little dog was her heart-friend.

‘Once Bear had made the first move, the others came up one by one to greet the newcomers, each in his own fashion. Hawk was last to do so. Like most of his kind, he was naturally wary. He knew humankind could not always be trusted. Hawk was leading his friends into danger, but it was a danger they understood, a quest they had agreed upon. The goat, the dog and the storyteller were an unknown quantity.’

Stasya paused, taking a sip of her tea. She made herself look at her companions, wondering if the manner of her tale might have offended them. She was about to call a halt when Matiss said, ‘Go on, then. If you will.’

‘I hope nobody gets eaten in this tale,’ said Karolis.

Aleksis set his cup down. His gaze was intent, his dark eyes fixed on Stasya. ‘This might almost be part of my own story,’ he commented. ‘But you cannot know how it unfolds. Or why.’

‘None of us knows.’ Lukas spoke at last, and Stasya knew instantly that her story had touched the right part of her old friend. The heart. The goodness he had somehow held onto through everything, though it had surely hung by a thread. ‘That’s the magic of stories,’ he went on. ‘Every time a tale gets told, it’s different. You and Stasya might tell the same story, but one would be yours and the other hers. And both might change from day to day. And the ending … that can be anything you want it to be.’

Aleksis was gazing at him as if Lukas had suddenly grown wings or started dancing a jig. What had he expected, that a goatherd would have no insights into such a thing? Stasya reminded herself that he had hardly had an opportunity to see the old Lukas, the fine, brave one. That man had already been beaten down by the time the Ruler’s senior adviser came to Heartwood.

‘The story will go where it goes,’ she said, working on sounding calm. ‘And nobody will get eaten, I will make sure of that. I don’t expect my adventurers to encounter any warrior toads or other beings of that nature. Though a person never knows.’ And, when none of them made comment, she said, ‘That’s enough from me until some other time. And if I’ve— and if—’ Her words deserted her all of a sudden. Why had she told this story, as if she knew these men well enough to put them in a tale, as if she had the least understanding of what they really thought of her or why they were travelling or anything at all? She’d been in the same space, stripping off to bathe and washing her most intimate garments and even sharing a joke or two, and perhaps she had made a complete fool of herself, a laughing stock, or maybe it was the same as at home, where folk tolerated her because she was useful, but behind her back talked about her as if she were some sort of freak. Maybe … She put her hands over her face.

She heard Lukas move; knew without seeing that he had squatted down by her side. ‘Stasya. It’s all right. Just take a breath. Take your time.’

‘Great story,’ observed Matiss quietly. ‘And a good place to stop. Now we’ll be thinking up a hundred ways it could go on, all of them different.’

‘Fox might be called in to deal with the warrior toads. I’d like to see some heroics from him,’ said Karolis.

‘I think Bear might be a little afraid of toads,’ said Matiss. ‘Especially toads with weapons.’

Stasya was whispering Grandmother’s verse, her hands still covering her eyes. ‘The sun gleams on the still pool … I, too, will hold the light …’ When she managed to take away the shield, it was to meet Aleksis’s gaze full on. There was something different in his expression now, as if her tale had woken up some part of him usually kept hidden. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ she made herself say. ‘It’s one of those stories that wants to be told.’ Lukas shifted by her side, as if to remind her he was there.

‘The story was remarkable,’ Aleksis said. ‘You have a gift, Stasya. But it takes a toll, I can see that.’

‘I just thought … I thought …’ I thought maybe I had made a fool of myself. I thought I’d made a mistake … Why were the words so hard to get out now? This was how she’d felt when she was six or seven and shrank away from the other children of Heartwood because she knew they would make fun of her. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered, looking down at her hands, now clutched together on her knee, knuckles white.

‘More tea,’ said Matiss. ‘And don’t tell me you’re all awash with the stuff. You’ll miss it soon enough; I doubt I have enough to supply our whole journey.’ The sounds of clanking and clinking, the stove door opening and the poker stirring up the fire, told Stasya he was putting his words into action.

‘There are always herbs to be found in the forest,’ Lukas said. ‘Plenty for a good brew at this time of year if you know where to look, and you can use them fresh or dried. We can show you.’

‘Ah,’ said Karolis, and Stasya could tell he was smiling. ‘Every time someone speaks, I’ll be imagining a new part of your story, Stasya. How the wild creatures wondered whether the goat would be a help or a hindrance, and how they discovered he knew things they’d never heard of. Not tea; I doubt any of them would have considered drinking that. But other things a goat would know that a bear or a fox or a squirrel might not.’

‘A squirrel would know about herbs,’ Lukas said. ‘At least, which could be eaten safely by his own kind.’ A pause. ‘I’ll tell a story while you’re making the tea, if you like.’

At that, Stasya unclenched her fists and straightened her back. I, too, will stretch high. I, too, will be strong. ‘I’d like that, Lukas,’ she said.

He told a familiar tale, one of their favourites, about a farm dog that got in trouble by hiding a strange creature and stealing food to keep it alive. It was a story of courage and resilience, and also of the longing for home and hearth, and when it drew to a close, it was greeted by the few moments of complete silence it deserved. Then everyone spoke at once, telling him how much they’d enjoyed it, and in Karolis’s case, applauding.

‘Ssh!’ hissed Aleksis, rising silently to his feet. His eyes were on the half door, beyond which the light was starting to fade. They’d been so caught up in the stories that they’d forgotten the need to stay alert, to maintain some kind of watch. Now, all was quiet. But by the door stood a figure, cloaked and hooded. Aleksis reached for the knife at his belt. Matiss and Karolis drew concealed weapons, while Stasya froze with Flip in her arms. Beside her, Lukas had gone deathly still.

‘It’s me, Aleks. Pavel.’ The figure pushed back his hood, revealing a head of golden hair. ‘May I enter without being skewered by one or other of you?’

Stasya released a breath she had not known she was holding, as Matiss went to open the half door and welcome Pavel in. Outside, the sky was fading to dark and the birds were singing their farewells to the day. Pavel’s smile did not disguise the pallor of his face or the shadows around his eyes. He looked worn out. Aleksis threw his arms around the traveller in a hug, surprising Stasya, though the relief on Aleksis’s face reflected her own feelings. The one-man venture had been risky indeed. Nobody plied the traveller with questions, though every face wore the same eagerness to know his story, Lukas perhaps more than the rest, for reasons that were plain to Stasya. Once Pavel was seated by the stove, with a bowl of food they had set aside in hope of his return, Aleksis asked him for a report.

‘I didn’t stay there long. At the settlement. Too many folk about. I didn’t go inside Stasya’s house, but you were right, Stasya, there was nobody living there as far as I could see. I got some quite good views from up in that area. The bad news is, the Commander and his troop are still there, in a new camp. I didn’t see any work parties or the like, but there were guards around, and some activity up on the forest edge, near where they were cutting before.’

‘Could you tell how far they’ve moved into the forest?’ Aleksis asked. ‘Signs of clearance, a track being made?’

‘I couldn’t get close enough to tell. The risk of being spotted was too high. But as I said, not much sign of work parties, no folk carrying tools up there. Not much movement in and out of the settlement by anyone. I’d say they’ve put the whole venture on hold. Our sudden departure from court might have something to do with that.’ Pavel looked around the small circle of listeners, each of whom was hanging on every word. He caught Lukas’s eye. ‘I did catch a glimpse of your father at a distance, Lukas. Not hard to pick him out, since he’s an older version of yourself. He was walking around, talking to other folk. Looked to be in good health.’

Lukas dashed away sudden tears. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You can’t know how welcome that is to hear.’

‘Pavel,’ Aleksis said, ‘on your way there and back, was there any sign of parties that might have been out looking for us? I’m assuming you stuck to the plan, avoided places where you might attract notice. But …?’

‘One or two riders on the road, a long way off. I couldn’t tell if they were the Ruler’s men, or the Commander’s, or simply some local fellows about their own business. Anyone tracking us covertly is not going to be wearing the Ruler’s colours.’

‘Good job, my friend,’ Matiss said, putting a hand on Pavel’s shoulder.

‘Are you up for an early start tomorrow?’ Aleksis asked. ‘We need to get out of here as soon as we can. Every day we stay is another day’s risk to the farmer. And another day closer for whoever Elisabeta’s sent after us.’

‘I’ll manage.’ Pavel shifted a little on the bench. ‘A bit sore here and there, but a good night’s sleep will help.’

‘You, Lukas?’ Aleksis queried.

‘I’ll be fine.’ His tone forbade further discussion.

‘Very well.’ Aleksis spoke with calm confidence. ‘We leave as early as we can. Before you sleep, check that all your things are packed and ready to go. Fill water skins. Don’t leave anything behind. And may good fortune walk by our side.’ He turned toward Stasya and Lukas. ‘I think we all enjoyed the stories. They have an amazing capacity to lift the spirits. But once we’re out there we must stay watchful. We must keep quiet. In the forest there will not only be hungry animals, but most likely folk hunting us.’

Stasya could have pointed out that she probably knew more than he did about moving safely in the forest – wasn’t that why she was here? – but she did not. Instead, she rose with Flip in her arms and headed off to her pallet. She fixed her mind on the good things. Lukas had told a story. His father was alive and well. Pavel was safe, and the news was not as bad as it might have been. And tomorrow, oh, tomorrow, she would be back in the welcoming arms of the forest.