Chapter 32 Stasya
32
Stasya
Before the long day turned to dusk, they reached the shining expanse of Clearwater. Thus far, finding the way had not been hard. The forest was dense, but she knew how to recognise where creatures large or small had passed. Voices reached her, too, from time to time; voices the others who travelled with her could not hear. Welcome, friend. Ah! You’re here! And as they came closer to the lake, she began to see signs of a kind she had spotted before in this place. A forest animal was not likely to arrange pebbles in a small, neat heap beside a branching track, as if to indicate which was the safer way. A bear or marten or hedgehog did not twist grasses to form a kind of knot or lay leaves out in a pattern on a mossy rock. Flip saw them too but hurried on past. That was wise. Best not to draw such things to the attention of the others. But she wondered, now, what Aleksis would think if she showed him, after his talk of folk perhaps living on the mountain, higher up. What sort of folk would leave cryptic messages such as these? Would a climb to the Hermit become the kind of adventure undertaken by heroes in the old tales – heroes who inevitably came to grief in one way or another? Or had the patterns been no more than the result of children playing by the lake, part of an innocent game? If so, who were those children and how had they got here?
As the sky darkened, the air grew chill. A brief dispute in lowered voices was resolved when Stasya pointed out the folly of freezing to death when most likely there was nobody else around to spot the light from a campfire. She glanced at Matiss, whose bearded features wore a hint of a smile. ‘Also, no fire means no tea.’
In the end they dug a small pit for their fire, on the shore but away from the water. The stretch of forest near the lake provided a good supply of fallen timber for fuel, and Matiss’s sizeable pack proved to hold a folding contraption from which a small pot could be suspended over the flames for heating water.
Stasya found a private spot under the trees to relieve herself; by now, a simple gesture toward the others was enough to ensure she would not be disturbed. She washed her face and hands in the nearby stream. Maybe, in the morning, there might be time for a quick swim before they moved on. Though maybe not, in view of the need to keep her clothing dry. She’d have to hope for warmer weather higher up, and perhaps a chance to stay in one place for long enough to wash and dry things. And what about her moon-bleeding? If the Hermit was as far away as everyone seemed to believe, it would come again while they were on the way. Was that the reason the heroes of the tales were so often men rather than women? She resolved to tell a story, some time, where that particular issue proved to be the key to completing a quest. She contemplated this as she sat by the fire, watching as Matiss performed his tea-brewing routine with a skill indicating long practice. She wondered, not for the first time, where the big man’s family was, and whether it included, or had included, a wife and children. If he had been a friend of Aleksis since they were boys, he must be younger than she had first thought: perhaps less than thirty. Stasya’s thoughts turned to her own father, long gone, little known. Had he been a kind man like this one? If so, wouldn’t her grandmother have told her stories about him, stories she could have kept as memories? Too late to find out now. Her people were all gone.
After a meal of dried meat and hard waybread, Karolis entertained them with a tale of how the warrior toads attempted to take over a certain forest pool, and how an odd alliance of newts, frogs and salamanders defeated them with clever tactics, no weapons required. Matiss contributed a strange tale of ghosts haunting a grain store. Then they organised a roster for night watch. Stasya thought it unlikely any pursuers would come up here in the dark, but Aleksis was adamant about the need for vigilance and took first watch himself. Stasya and Lukas were excused. If necessary, Aleksis said, they could be added to the roster another night, but he needed Stasya to be fully alert in the morning to guide them on, and Lukas looked asleep on his feet.
Flip had caught something for supper and eaten it a short distance away, crunching busily until nothing was left but a few scraps of hairy pelt and a heap of tiny bones that shone white under the rising moon. Now, as Aleksis found a spot to keep watch, shielded by trees but allowing a wide view, the others settled for the night beside the remnant of the fire. Stasya decided warmth was more important than privacy. She unrolled her bedding and set it down an arm’s length from Lukas. They’d all be wishing for extra blankets once the fire went out. And the ground was hard. But she was in the forest; she was where she belonged.
Owls called in their mysterious language. There were other creatures not far away; Stasya caught snatches of their thoughts as they passed, some moving with stealth, waiting for the moment to dive, to snatch, to dart away with prey held fast in beak or jaws, some creeping low, shielded by the undergrowth, using all their skills to evade capture. There was no right and wrong in these small lives, no good and bad. The hunters killed to feed their young. The hunted might be carrying seeds or berries back to the den or nest for the same purpose. You lived your life and did your best to survive. Only human lives were more complicated, she thought as the others settled to rest, each in his own space. Or so it seemed now that she’d been taken away from the only life she’d known and plunged into the power struggles of court, and forced to endure situations she’d hardly dreamed might exist even in her worst nightmare. She wondered about the boy Aleksis, growing up at Dragon’s Keep with all that going on. It was a wonder he hadn’t gone completely crazy. But then, maybe court had been different back then. A kinder, more settled sort of place. When Aleksis spoke of the old Ruler, Lord Kasimir, it was in a gentle, almost reverent tone. Perhaps the cruelty, the harsh punishments, the strict rules were all down to Lady Elisabeta. But hadn’t she only been Ruler for a short time? It didn’t make sense. Unless she was the crazy one. Why hadn’t they all stood up to her?
Stasya rolled over, trying to get comfortable. The hard surface was not helping the aches that came from a long day’s climbing. She tried not to think of a soak in a warm bath or a bed with a soft mattress and a padded quilt. It felt like a very long time since she had experienced such pleasures. And it would be even longer before she enjoyed them again. Quite likely she’d never return to Heartwood. She would run off on her own rather than be taken back to court. Better to live wild in the forest than bend her will to that of the Ruler. She rolled over again, trying to pull the blanket more tightly around her.
‘You all right?’ someone asked. Not Lukas; she knew he would not try to talk to her with the others so close by. She raised herself on one elbow, glanced around. Pavel was sitting up, his golden hair touched by the firelight.
‘I’m fine.’ It was a lie; she wished she could banish the longing for warmth and comfort, which felt almost shameful when she considered what might have happened if Aleksis had not decided to get her and Lukas out of Dragon’s Keep. ‘A bit cold, that’s all.’
On the far side of the fire, Matiss rose without a word. He stirred up the embers and added a sizeable log.
‘Aren’t we supposed to let it die down now?’ Stasya asked. ‘Oh. Thank you,’ as Karolis passed her his cloak. ‘But now you’ll be cold.’
‘I’m tough. And I still have my blanket.’
‘At least it’s not raining,’ put in Pavel.
‘Don’t tempt fate,’ Matiss said. ‘As for the fire, that’s my decision. If our fearless leader disapproves, I’ll bear the consequences.’
It was, in fact, unlikely that Aleksis had heard any of this interchange, standing where he was, well away from the group. It occurred to Stasya that renewing the fire might give her an opportunity; a risky one, perhaps, but worth taking. She’d need to wait until they were all asleep. Would that log burn for long enough?
—
Some time later, with the others still and silent under their blankets, she decided to try it. The fire would soon be down to embers again, but for now there was enough flame left there. She could have added more wood, but that might have woken someone or attracted the attention of Aleksis, who still stood watch. Stasya judged he might have another hour or so before it was time for one of the others to take his place. A long, lonely vigil.
She crept over to the fireside and settled cross-legged there. Flip had been curled up beside her, deeply asleep, but there had been no need to wake the little dog. In the space of a breath, she had flown to Stasya’s shoulder and now perched there waiting, an owl no bigger than a child’s fist.
Tonight she could not lay out objects representing the elements or pace a circle lest she wake the sleeping men. Stasya reached into her tunic and drew out the tiny form of the amber owl. Its wise gaze would strengthen the ritual.
She went through the pattern of breathing, slow and slower. She calmed her body, cleared her mind. It took some doing, for her thoughts were a tangle of dark memories and fears of what the future might hold. Then there was the distraction of Aleksis, not so very far away and still wide awake, unless he had mastered the art of falling asleep while standing bolt upright. If he did happen to look her way and guess what she was doing, she hoped he’d have the common sense not to disturb her. Breathe, Stasya. Banish those thoughts. She looked out over the lake. The moon was reflected there, mysterious and powerful. Some night creature was chirping. Hear me! Hear me! Listen! Another answered, further down the lake. I hear! I hear!
Stasya gazed into the fire, watching the changing patterns of the flames. She thought of the painting on the wall in her cottage; pictured the woman beside the water with the creatures from the tale she herself had told: hawk, squirrel, fox, bear. In a whisper, she asked her question. Not, Can I trust Aleksis? Not, Will my life ever be as it was before? She wanted answers to both. But the most important thing now was this: ‘What lies ahead of us, up on the mountain? How can I find the strength and courage to meet it?’
She waited, her back straight, her hands open and relaxed on her lap. Against her cheek she felt the gentle ruffling of the owl’s feathers and sensed Flip’s silent message: I’m here. All will be well . Out in the forest a creature cried out, and for a moment Stasya felt a searing pain in her belly, so strong that she sank her teeth into her lip to hold back a cry of her own. The sound was cut short; the pain faded. Out there, a life had been lost. While she prepared for the ritual, it was harder to maintain a protective shield over that part of her mind; in a way it felt wrong to do so, for if she could help an animal in trouble, surely she should. But not this time. Every night, owls would be hunting in the forest; every night, small creatures would be killed so bigger ones could eat. It was not for her to intervene in that. She was no goddess.
She raised one hand to touch the amber owl and quieted her thoughts again. For a while the flames showed nothing but their own dancing pattern, and she began to wonder if it was nearly time for the watch to change. Better if the men did not see her doing this. It was not witchcraft. Not exactly. She did not work spells. Knew nothing of them, save for a few rhymes Grandmother had taught her, a few blends of herbs that might reduce pain or help keep a person calm. If that was magic, and some folk might say it was, then many women in villages like Heartwood could be called witches. But if a person worked on the land and lived in a settlement like theirs, some things were tolerated because they were useful. A herbal mix to dull pain; a rhyme that would help the most restless child fall asleep. Small things. Small, important things that helped keep folk and their animals healthy and content. If it was magic, it was the magic of the hearth, simple and good. It took a person like the Commander, or that priest from the Church of the Godly who had once visited Heartwood, to sow the seeds of doubt about such practices.
Now there was something new in the flames: a pair of hands, reaching out. It was the old woman Stasya had seen before, with her long white hair and her steady gaze. Beckoning. Come. Come closer. The rock wall behind her, and the entry to what might be a cave. Then, swift as a blow, a sequence of images that made Stasya’s gut clench tight. Mist and confusion. A narrow way with a formidable drop to either side, the sort of place where a single misstep spelled death. Then, suddenly, weapons drawn, blood spilled, screams and shouts and confusion. Who was that falling? Who held that knife? A momentary glimpse of Aleksis, his face sheet-white, his eyes blazing with a fury that jolted her heart. Then, as quickly, the chaotic scene was gone and the old woman was there again, a wry smile on her lips . What is it you truly want? she seemed to say. Who would you be? What would you do with your life? Without waiting for an answer, the crone pulled her hood up over her hair and turned away. The vision faded and was gone.
Stasya closed her eyes as the fire died down to embers and ash. Was that what lay ahead: fighting, confusion, disaster? Should they turn back? But that might see them all at the Ruler’s mercy. Might the old woman’s questions be answers to her own question about being brave? Perhaps she need not share this with anyone. But if the vision came true, and some of them lost their lives …
‘Keeping vigil, Stasya?’ Aleksis spoke softly, but still she started in fright, her eyes snapping open to see him standing quite close, across the fire. How had she not heard him approach? Matiss was getting up, ready to take the next watch. Those images would not leave her mind: Aleksis white, shocked, furious. Someone falling, falling. Tears pricked her eyes; she scrubbed them away.
‘Just trying to warm up,’ she mumbled, getting to her feet. But that was a lie, and although she did not fully trust the man, she owed him better. ‘And … seeking some kind of wisdom. Sometimes it comes this way. In the flames.’ Flip chose that moment to flutter down from her shoulder and become a dog again, contributing to the awkwardness of the situation. Both men stared; neither had seen the transformation at quite such close quarters before.
‘Did you see anything useful?’ Aleksis reached down to warm his hands at the fire, though there was little heat now. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘I need to think about it for a while. It was … confusing. If I can work out what it meant, I’ll tell you. Now I need to sleep. And so do you, Aleks. I think you’ve done more than your share of the night watch.’
The shadow of a smile crossed his features, gone almost before she saw it. ‘True,’ he said. ‘Matiss, don’t extend your watch; wake Karolis when it feels like the right time. We may not need Pavel tonight. He has more reason than the rest of us to be tired.’
Stasya had thought it might be hard to go back to sleep, with the dark images chasing one another around her mind. But it seemed she, too, was tired, for when she woke the dawn chorus in the trees was beginning, and she found she was almost as warm as if she were tucked up in her bed back home. She remembered Karolis giving her his cloak. But now, as she sat up, she realised Lukas was right beside her; they’d been sleeping back to back, with Flip squeezed in between them, and they had two blankets over them as well as the cloak. No wonder she’d been warm. Just how that had come about, she had no idea. They were in the same spot where she had fallen asleep, so it must have been Lukas who moved. Comfortable as the arrangement was, she couldn’t stay like this. The others would get the wrong idea entirely.
Awkward. Or it would have been, had Matiss not appeared at that moment with an armful of fallen branches and started rebuilding the fire. The sun had yet some time before rising; the birds were early with their greetings to the light. She got up, laid the blankets back over Lukas and Flip, and felt around for her boots.
‘Tea,’ murmured Matiss. ‘After you do your business, maybe you could fetch me some water.’ He handed her the empty pot.
‘Of course. I hope you slept well.’
‘I did, thank you. No alarms during the night. We should be good for an early start.’
They were all waking now, some quickly, some more gradually. Stasya made her way to a spot where she was well out of view, relieved herself, then went down to the lake’s edge for water. Boots off, trousers rolled up, she dipped the pot to fill it, then stood ankle deep, simply breathing while the birdsong swelled and rose and danced across the water and through the trees and high into the air. From here, she could not see the others. Who would you be? said the voice in her mind. What would you do with your life? There was no easy answer to that. It was a question about hopes, dreams, possibilities. What was the point of that when right now every step was governed by other people’s decisions, their rules, their choices? Unless she ran off to be a hermit in the woods, answerable only to herself. A life lived entirely alone, save for the forest creatures. Once, she might have convinced herself that such a life would be perfect. That it would be enough.
Ah, well. She was certainly not alone now. And if she had to be among other folk more or less all the time, she could have done much worse than her current companions. But the vision had thrown a shadow over the way ahead. On the one hand, it had shown someone wise, a possible friend, a mentor; but it had also shown pain, fear and loss. Should she tell Aleksis? Or should she wait? Often the true wisdom in a vision came clear only after time for thought. Right now, she had no idea what those disturbing images meant; only the voice of the crone rang true. A call to move on; to be brave; to live her life in the spirit of Grandmother’s verse.
The water. The tea. She’d best go back. But … what was that, under the foliage at the forest edge? Something out of place, something half-hidden there? Her spine prickled; she remembered the day she had first found Flip, a prisoner in the thorns. There was no voice in her mind now, no silent plea for help. She crouched down to look, and there in the undergrowth was a sign, woven into the prickly lower branches of a red-berried bush. Not made by human hand, surely, unless a person could do such intricate work while wearing thick protective gloves, for the thing was studded with vicious thorns. She would not touch it. But as she looked, wondering what the complex swirling pattern of it meant, the noise came, so deep and booming that she shielded her head with her arms and curled in on herself like a frightened child, thinking of lightning, thunder. But this was no storm. The monstrous sound rang out all around her, like the voice of some huge angry god, and there were words in it. ‘Go back! Leave this place!’ And a drumbeat, deep, insistent, ominous. Yet not a drum, for this, too, had words in it, words in some tongue she could not understand.
Quick. Grandmother. The verse. Stasya forced herself to stand, to stretch her arms out before her, palms up. To open her eyes, with the great noise still surging over her, around her, through her. Where were the others? Wouldn’t someone come running to find her? She did not look down at the thorny sign, but up toward the tall pines of Heartwood Forest.
‘The oak’s deep roots hold fast to the earth.’ A pity her voice was so shaky. ‘I, too, will be strong.’ Stasya thought of the Ancestor; thought of young trees growing, keeping the ancient story alive. Her ears were aching from the sound; she thought of Grandmother’s soft voice, singing young Stasya a lullaby.
‘The graceful willow moves with the wind. I, too, will dance.’ Out on the water, a pair of swans moved, reflecting each other’s pose, their snowy plumage touched to gold by the early light. Clearwater was as beautiful today as on that long-ago, glorious day when she and Lukas had first discovered the place. Stasya thought of Kristina’s embroidery, flowers and petals captured in linen and wool; a magical dance. She remembered Kristina’s words of courage in that place of horror and sadness. If the world came to rights, there would be dancing in that woman’s future.
Was the booming sound dying down, just a little? Her head still throbbed with it. She would not look at the sign.
‘The mighty ash towers to the heavens. I, too, will stretch high.’ She looked skyward, raising her arms in greeting. There is always hope. This thought came in her grandmother’s voice. Always. Find what is good and true within yourself. Look for it in every living soul.
A bird flew over, graceful, lovely. A lark, singing of freedom. Oh gods, what a gift! Tears rolled down her cheeks. She let them fall.
‘The sun gleams on the still pool. I, too, will hold the light.’ She laid both hands over her own heart. I will , she thought. No matter what happens, I will. A promise to Grandmother, to the old woman in the vision, to the Mother of the painting. And to herself.
There was Lukas, walking barefoot along the shore toward her. He seemed in no hurry. At last the sound was fading away. It dwindled from a great roar to a growl to a murmur. Now she could hear the wavelets lapping on the lake shore, and the breeze in the birch leaves. The frantic drumbeat of her heart calmed and slowed. She looked down at the woven sign. Wondered how the thorn bush had felt about being twisted and contorted and made into something evil, something it was surely never meant to be. Had the tight weaving loosened up a little now? Lost some of the malign force that had been worked into it?
She squatted down again. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, without touching. ‘So sorry someone did this to you. Uncurl if you can. Slowly, slowly. Your berries are beautiful, so red and shiny. Maybe you could feed a bird? Maybe you could stretch up toward the sun? You chose a lovely place to grow. I’m sorry you were hurt, and I wish you well.’ She rose and turned, and there was Lukas, only three strides away, watching and listening.
She spoke before he could. ‘Did you hear it? The sound, the roaring voice?’
He looked at her as if she were mad. ‘What voice?’
‘A huge noise, as loud as a thunderstorm …’ Stasya stepped away from the thornbush, down onto the shore. ‘I can’t be the only one who heard it.’
‘We didn’t hear a thing,’ Lukas said. ‘What were you doing just now? Who were you talking to?’ He motioned toward the thornbush, but when she glanced back, the woven sign was all but gone; only a few crooked stems, a few broken twigs showed that it had ever been there.
‘It doesn’t matter. I was supposed to be fetching water; where’s the pot, I’d better—’
‘I’ll do it.’ Lukas had the pot in his hand. ‘Are you all right, Stasya? You look a bit …’
‘I’m fine.’ She would be fine at some point, thanks to Grandmother’s verse. But what had that sound been, that terrible voice? Why would she be the one to hear it and not her companions? Because, without her, they might not reach the Hermit?
Lukas had waded into the lake and filled the pot. He was waiting for her. She wouldn’t talk to anyone about what had just happened. But this might be her only opportunity to talk to him about something else.
‘Lukas, there’s something I need to ask you before we go back. I saw something last night, in the fire, after I’d asked what might lie ahead. It was … terrifying. A fight, knives and blood, someone falling. Aleksis was in it. And the rest of us, I think, though that wasn’t clear. I don’t know if I should tell them about it.’ And when he simply stood there, not quite looking at her, she said, ‘What do you think?’
He met her eye, just for a moment, and the morning light showed Stasya how weary he was, even after a good night’s sleep. And angry, still. She’d thought the rift between them was mended, but Lukas turned and headed back toward the camp without a word.