The Amber Owl (Heartwood #1)

Chapter 45 Stasya

45

Stasya

At the time it seemed fragmented, dreamlike, though the feelings that coursed through her were entirely real and painful. The Forest Folk moved with the quiet of wild creatures and the grace of dancers, even when digging graves and carrying the bloodstained corpses of the fallen to their resting places. For Rihard’s guards, the words to be spoken were simple enough. All were known by name to one or other of the team, and the men took turns to speak, each offering a brief but compassionate statement about the one being laid in the earth. These had not been evil men, simply folk doing the job they were required to do. It was their misfortune to find themselves under the Commander’s leadership. She found herself shedding tears for each and sending a silent message to the wives and sweethearts, the children, the bereaved parents, the brothers and sisters who might never know what had befallen their loved one. And she asked the forest to receive them kindly; to let their bodies become part of the rich soil that sustained life here. Through that magic, these men would live on in a place of peace and beauty. Their stories would be woven into the long tale of Heartwood; they would witness the passing years as the ancient trees did.

They laid Pavel to rest with prayer and song. Matiss spoke. ‘He was a friend; a brother; a comrade in arms. He was a husband and father. His little son is named Tarvo, and his wife is Hanna. As he took his last breath, he thought of them. May he walk in the light now; may he find peace.’

It was Aleksis who stood by the Commander’s grave. There was a look on his face that Stasya had never seen before; whether it was fury or grief or sheer exhaustion, she could not tell. He stood there in silence for a while, as if lost for words. But this was the Ruler’s senior adviser, someone whose duties included finding the right words for any occasion. She wanted to go and stand beside him; to take his hand as one might to reassure a frightened child. But she held back, and eventually he spoke.

‘This was a man whose past errors haunted him; whose failures governed his decisions. I will not dwell on his faults. He is gone now. The words Lukas spoke at this man’s death were wise and compassionate. May you find forgiveness in the Afterlife. And I will add, May the embrace of the forest, the songs of birds, the sound of rippling water, the passage of sun and moon across the sky grant you peace.’

Stasya had not believed him capable of such a speech. This was a man of power games and intrigues, of planning and calculation. And yet … and yet … She would be a fool to think the journey had not changed him profoundly. Just how much, she had not realised until now.

—

Aleks had asked her about burying the wolf – how should it be done, and where. She had spoken to Mistress Kadri again, wanting her agreement. And she had asked Flip, showing her different pictures of how it might be. In the end, they carried the corpse some distance from the spot where the creature had fallen, and only a few of them came to bear witness: Stasya and Lukas, Aleksis and representatives of the Forest Folk: Kadri, the man named Juho and two others. And Flip, who had become an unusually small raven.

They laid out the body beside the grave, with a green cloth covering the wound that had killed him.

‘Ready?’ Stasya asked, and the others nodded or murmured yes .

The wolves were not far away. She could feel their presence. A risk, certainly. She opened her mind to them; tried to convey that this was a ritual of farewell, of gratitude, of sorrow and recognition. And after a long time, or so it felt, there came a mind-picture in return: the pack moving close under the trees, but not too close. Waiting in the shadows. Watching. Her eyes were shut, but she knew from the small sounds made by her companions that the wolves were present, not only in her mind, but also in physical form. She opened her eyes, looked down at their fallen leader and began her story.

‘Once upon a time, a tribe of wolves lived in Heartwood Forest, up in the higher reaches where few human folk walked. It was the realm of the Forest Folk and of many kinds of creatures. On a spring night when the woods were alive with the calls of owls, a wolf cub awoke in the den and sent his tiny howl up toward the moon, feeling deep in his bones that his life would be one of courage and service. His mother woke and licked his fur, settling him back to sleep before he could disturb his littermates. He dreamed of being big and bold. He dreamed of leading the pack, one day when he was grown.’

As she told of the young wolf growing up and watching his father and learning about keeping the balance for the pack, Aleks and Lukas lifted the body of the slain wolf into the grave. The Forest Folk sang a soft wordless melody, their music reflecting the course of the tale as the little wolf experienced fear and loss, love and opportunity. In time he found his mate; he became leader; he fathered his own small ones. He was a protector, a wise elder. His wisdom and that of his beloved mate helped the pack through bitter winters; through times of storm; through the loss of a cub taken by a great eagle. She spoke, in the end, of his untimely passing.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, fighting back tears. ‘So deeply sorry. And I will be forever grateful to your kind. You saved our lives today. And more. From this act of courage may rise new hope. Your leader’s sacrifice may help us to save the forest and all who dwell in it.’

The music came to an end. Kadri and Juho moved forward to fill in the grave. He had a wooden spade; she knelt and used her hands.

‘Rest well, brave spirit,’ Stasya said. ‘And to your pack, deepest respect. May you raise strong young; may you live your lives as he did, with courage and honour.’

The job was almost done. Kadri and Juho stepped back from the grave and Flip, once more a dog, crept forward to hunker down at the edge of the disturbed soil and lay her muzzle on the ground, as if in mourning. The wolves howled their lament, their voices ringing out through the forest. Their song was of both sadness and celebration, for this was not only a ritual of loss, but the recognition of a life lived well and to the full. Flip added a howl of her own; perhaps only Stasya heard it.

They retreated, then, human and Forest Folk together. Perhaps the wolves moved in once they were gone, to keep their own vigil at the grave site. Perhaps they slipped away into the depths of the forest. Stasya never knew.

—

It was curious indeed how short the path to the Hermit seemed that day, proving again that the rules of the outer world did not apply in this realm of the Forest Folk. Nobody talked much along the way, and Stasya guessed that Aleks had not yet told these people about the boy who had gone missing all those years ago or asked whether a man of human lineage lived among them still.

Those who had come to the rescue along with Kadri and Juho seemed to Stasya varied in appearance. Some, like Kadri, had features that marked them out clearly as something other than human: those unusual eyes, or the strong bones of the face, or an indefinable difference in bearing. But some so closely resembled human men or women that it was only the green and brown of their loose tunics and trousers, and the use of leaves, vines or flowers to hold back their flowing hair or to wear as decoration, that indicated a difference. Now that her companions were clad in their borrowed clothes, she thought Karolis might easily pass for one of the Forest Folk. Perhaps she, too, could have passed for one of them. Matiss was bigger than any of their men. Lukas, with the tracking dog by his side, still seemed to her entirely of the human world, a man who belonged there with his own tribe. As for Aleks, she could not imagine him as anyone but himself. A man with a purpose. A driven man yet plagued by self-doubt. Why had he not yet asked that question?

As they passed along forest tracks and walked by lonely lakes and climbed a precipitous, winding path up a rocky escarpment, she thought about the old tales in which so many travellers went missing in these parts, never to be seen again. Might not some of those missing folk have encountered these apparently peaceable people or their antecedents, and chosen to live with them rather than return to the human world? Among the Forest Folk, might there not be some whose blood blended the human with the uncanny? That would be a tale full of possibilities.

—

They reached the Hermit before nightfall. Nobody commented on the oddities of distance. Wounded and exhausted as they were, relief outweighed all else. Matiss badly needed rest, proper rest in a comfortable bed. Lukas was in pain again. Stasya saw through his efforts to hide it. The tracking dog had walked by his side all the way. Lukas had given him a new name: Shadow. Flip had spent most of the journey on Stasya’s shoulder in the form of a wren.

‘Nearly there,’ Juho said as they hauled themselves up the last stretch. The stark rocky heights of the Hermit towered above them, but the place was softened by the trees that grew around its base, not pine and larch here but gentler birch and willow, in which birds exchanged quiet observations. The path ended in a broad open area, clearly a gathering place. Under the trees that bordered it Stasya glimpsed signs of a settlement: dwellings made from branches and woven foliage; a spot where there must be a freshwater spring, for there was a pool, and stones placed for seating, and various scoops and jugs standing nearby.

For a while she was too breathless to speak. Aleksis touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘Look!’ he murmured, pointing. His voice was full of wonder.

There it was: the cave mouth of her visions, just as she had described it to her companions. And there was the old woman, clad in a robe the hue of birch leaves in springtime. Her white hair was in long plaits and she wore a circlet of twigs and leaves. Her face was a map of age and wisdom; her grey eyes were bright.

‘Come,’ Kadri murmured, gesturing for Stasya and Aleksis to move forward. ‘Mother Rowan, here are the travellers. We made good time. There have been losses. Some are injured, and all are weary.’

As Stasya approached with Aleksis by her side, the crone had eyes only for her. She stretched out her arms in greeting. ‘Welcome, my dear.’ The warmth in her gaze and in her voice filled up Stasya’s heart. ‘We have seen glimpses of your journey. A long way. A path of many challenges. You have been stalwart.’ She turned her head to look at Aleksis. ‘And you, the seeker for truth. At last you are here. Welcome to you and to your companions.’

Stasya had seldom seen Aleks lost for words. But now he seemed rooted to the spot, struck dumb, his gaze on Mother Rowan. ‘You … you know me? You know …?’ His voice was so unsteady that Stasya feared he might collapse. She reached out to lay a reassuring hand on his arm. It’s all right. It’s all right, Aleks.

‘We know of you, yes. And there is one among us who knows you, Aleksis son of Feliks.’

A figure appeared behind the old woman. Stasya sucked in a breath. Again, the vision had become reality. A tall person in a hooded cloak. As she stared, and as Aleks tensed beside her, the figure pushed back his hood. His was a face of great charm, handsome, open. A human face.

‘Aleks!’ he exclaimed, and a joyful smile lit up his features. ‘You’re the image of your father!’

‘And you,’ Aleksis breathed. ‘Lord Kasimir reborn … And yet, still truly yourself, my friend.’ Tears flooded his cheeks. The two moved forward and threw their arms around each other, and Stasya found that she, too, was weeping. Good tears. The tears a person sheds at the end of a wonderful tale of losing and finding, heartbreak and heart-mending, sorrow and joy. This was a story beyond her skill to tell.

Mother Rowan’s smile was gentle. ‘There are many tales to be told here,’ she said, and Stasya wondered if the wise woman – for such Mother Rowan surely was – had the ability to read her thoughts, or was simply very good at seeing the truth in a situation. ‘Time enough for that later. Let us leave these two friends to renew their acquaintance in private. Travellers, you need rest.’

Juho stepped forward to usher Matiss, Lukas and Karolis away under the trees, with the dog at Lukas’s heel. Markus put his arm around Aleks’s shoulders and the two of them followed. None of them looked back, and Stasya found herself feeling just a little sad. They don’t need me anymore. Which was foolish. After the exhaustion, the fear, the deaths, the bloodshed, she should be feeling nothing but delight that the quest was over, the lost one found.

‘You and I,’ Mother Rowan said, taking Stasya’s arm, ‘have much to discuss. The past, the present, the future. Weighty matters. And I have wonders to show you. But for now, let us spend some time in quiet reflection, just the two of us. Then you’ll want to rest. You are weary in body and spirit, I think.’

A chirping comment from Flip, who still occupied Stasya’s shoulder, made the wise woman chuckle. ‘How could I forget you? The three of us, of course,’ she said with a wry smile, giving a nod in the bird’s direction. ‘You, too, have acquitted yourself well, young one.’

Was it possible that Flip belonged here, among the Forest Folk? That she had been sent to Stasya on some kind of mission? Surely not. Years had passed since the day she’d discovered the little dog trapped in the forest and rescued her. It didn’t make sense. Perhaps the wise woman was referring only to what she’d seen in visions: Flip changing her form, Flip saving lives. Flip comforting Stasya. She had most certainly acquitted herself well. Those times of hesitation and reluctance were no more than anyone might have felt on such a confronting journey.

‘You’d rather be outdoors, I imagine, on your own,’ Mother Rowan said. ‘Travelling with a bunch of men, you’ll have missed your quiet time under the trees. But this is the hour for biting insects, so we’d best retreat inside. Most of our folk live out in the forest, but my dwelling is within the caves. I have room for you there. And the little one, of course. A private corner. Come, I’ll show you.’

—

There were so many questions to ask. Stasya did not know where to start, or what might perhaps cause offence. The private corner proved to be quite a spacious cavern with a hearth on which a small fire burned. The smoke did not fill the chamber but rose through what looked like a natural chimney within the rock ceiling. There were two shelf beds, each with a straw mattress and neatly folded blankets; an oak dresser holding pots, cups, bowls and other useful items; garments hanging from pegs attached to the stone wall. Bunches of dried herbs dangled from a natural protrusion high above them – surely too high to be reached by anyone who could not fly. Two cushioned chairs stood by a small oak table. It was a home. It felt almost like her own home, back on the fringe of Heartwood. It lacked only the picture of Mother and her creatures … but in a sense, Mother was here. That was how it felt.

Flip, a little dog again, leaped onto one of the beds and curled up, making herself comfortable. Mother Rowan had busied herself filling cups from a flask; she handed one to Stasya. ‘This is a very fine mead. Not made by me; there’s a skilful brewer among the folk here, Ilona is her name, and she makes excellent use of what the seasons offer us. Sip slowly. It’s quite strong, and you are tired.’

‘Thank you.’ It was indeed strong. One sip, and Stasya’s mind filled with the warmth of summer, and bees working around a hive, and fruit ripening on trees. ‘It is so good to be here, Mother Rowan. I feel … I feel as if you are an old friend, or even family, but I’ve never met you before.’ Stasya felt her cheeks grow hot. Why had she blurted that out, when this was someone important, a wise woman among the Forest Folk, and she was … ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t mean to be …’

‘Honest?’ Mother Rowan was smiling again. ‘You have met me before, Stasya. In your visions. Unless I am wrong in thinking you saw me there. I only wish my own visions had revealed a little more. In time, perhaps you will tell me your story. You have remarkable gifts, my dear. More powerful than you realise, I think. Who taught you to conjure visions in the fire and water?’

‘My grandmother. If she had lived longer, I might have learned better control over the other thing. The link with creatures. I … Maybe you saw. When I call on creatures for help – I only do that when things are desperate – they can end up suffering, even dying because they came to my aid.’ Oh gods, now she was crying again. ‘Sorry.’ She dashed away the tears. ‘We were followed and there was a fight on the way here. A terrible, fierce fight. I called on wolves to help us, and one of them was brutally killed. My fault. It’s not the first time my gift has caused terrible harm.’ In her mind was the sound of boots kicking and trampling as the Ruler’s men crushed those rats to death. ‘Grandmother died when I was eleven. I was on my own after that. And I haven’t always got things right.’

There was a silence. Stasya sipped her mead. From outside, faintly, came the sound of someone singing.

‘What was your grandmother’s name, Stasya?’ The question was gently put.

‘Helvi. She was a storyteller; I learned that from her, too. I was sent to live with her in Heartwood when I was four years old. I don’t remember my parents.’

‘Mmm. So there is an untold story there. Have you wished to know more about them? Tried to find out?’

Stasya shook her head. ‘They’re gone. Dead. Grandmother never spoke of them; whatever their story was, I think it made her sad. And there was nobody else to ask.’ She met the wise woman’s gaze. ‘Maybe we both have questions,’ she said, and felt herself smiling.

‘Maybe we do. And since you and your fellow travellers are not only worn out, but also injured, it will be necessary for you to stay with us some while, until all are mended well enough to attempt the journey back. You and I have time to talk. I might, if you wish, teach you some further controls over your gift. More than that, if you wish. For now, I have something to show you. But first, perhaps one question each? What is most pressing, my dear?’

Where to start? Flip, Aleks, the forest, the Ruler, the whole woeful situation at court … Impossible to choose from those. ‘It’s a personal question,’ she said. ‘Don’t answer if you prefer not. But … are you one of the Forest Folk yourself? Or are you fully human? It’s just … in some ways, you remind me of my grandmother. I feel safe here, with you. I haven’t felt truly safe for a long while.’

‘That is hard to answer. I have lived many years among the Forest Folk. My heart lies here; my true calling lies here. I grew up among human folk. Like you, I chose to come here. Perhaps as a newborn babe I was human. As an old woman I am more than that, I believe.’

That was another story: a mysterious, almost magical one. Stasya was not sure she understood it, not fully. Perhaps that would take time.

‘And so could you be, Stasya,’ said Mother Rowan. ‘You have the makings of a wise woman already. Should you choose to stay here among us, I would guide you along the path of learning. The folk of this community would introduce you to wonders you would never encounter in the outside world. Deep wisdom. Understanding beyond words.’

How wonderful. How blissful to live here in the heart of the forest, among these calm and understanding folk, with a kind friend and wise teacher. But … ‘Would there be a … a purpose … beyond gaining wisdom and skills? Would I then go back to the human world?’ She imagined returning to Heartwood after ten years, twenty years, for surely this path of learning would be long. If folk had suspected her of witchcraft before, how much more likely would that be after living among uncanny folk? It would be as if she had suddenly stepped out from one of those old tales. They’d drown her, burn her, destroy her.

‘I have a purpose here,’ said Mother Rowan. ‘I’m known as the Forest Guardian. My work is to watch over Heartwood Forest; to guide folk in understanding its special nature and how best to learn from it and look after it. And to share the wisdom of storytelling. We can speak more of this later, and there are some among the Forest Folk who will be happy to give you their understanding. About what I do; about what they do. We play a part in the outer world, the human world, as well. But I do not go beyond the borders of this land these days; I’m growing older.’

It was almost too much to take in. ‘So … the Forest Folk do cross those borders sometimes? Go out among human folk?’ Stasya could only imagine the risks that would bring, when there was such distrust out there. But then, there were some among the Forest Folk who might pass as human men and women. She imagined them at Dragon’s Keep, and what terrible things Lady Elisabeta might do if she discovered their true nature.

Mother Rowan smiled. ‘Your one question became several, Stasya. I think it’s my turn now.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘My question is this,’ said Mother Rowan. ‘Who made your amber owl?’

A simple, easy question was not at all what Stasya had expected. She reached to touch the owl, which hung outside her borrowed tunic. ‘Lukas. My friend from home, who came with us here. He and I found the amber in a lake we call Clearwater, and he carved the owl from it.’ She noticed, then, that Mother Rowan also wore an amber token around her neck. It was a bird in flight, perhaps a swallow, delicately crafted.

‘But Lukas did not provide that silver chain, I imagine.’

‘It’s a long story. After the Ruler’s men came to our village my owl was taken. First by the man they called the Commander, and later by Lady Elisabeta, the Ruler. Aleks – Master Aleksis – got it back for me, before we left court. When he returned it, he provided the chain; the original cord was broken when the Commander … when he …’

‘You need not tell that part. I know the man was brutal. The ill work he did in your settlement will take some mending.’

‘There are good folk there,’ Stasya said. ‘But they lost so much. So many people dead or injured; terrible damage from the fire. And the trees … He made the men cut down the Ancestor. He killed her. She’d stood watch over our village for longer than anyone could remember. She’d provided a home for more creatures than anyone could count. I don’t know how that can ever be made good again, Mother Rowan.’

‘We will speak more of this. And of your friend Lukas, for I think he is one of those who might make a difference in the village, and perhaps in that part of the forest. A true friend; one who has listened to you and learned from you. A good man.’

‘He was brave. On the journey. But he’s hurt, though he doesn’t like to admit it.’ Stasya would always remember Lukas drawing the knife across the Commander’s throat, and the strange calm in his voice as he spoke those words. She would always remember the hideous moment when she’d realised he was the one the Ruler had threatened to whip to death. Sometimes it was hard to recall the peaceful times in the field, the goats quietly grazing, the stories shared. ‘Lukas would never have chosen to come here, even though he loves the old tales of uncanny things. He wanted to go home; to be with his family. But if Aleks and his friends hadn’t got us out of Dragon’s Keep, Lukas would have been killed. Cruelly killed. It wasn’t safe for him to go back to the settlement then, with the Commander still there, so he came on with us.’

‘Thinking to protect you, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps. Even though there were three court guards with us. He didn’t trust Aleks. Master Aleksis. I don’t think he does even now.’

‘And you? Do you trust him?’

Stasya wondered what Aleks and Markus were talking about now. Such a long time; so many years apart. They’d only been children. What if Markus didn’t want to leave this peaceful haven? What if he had no interest in becoming Ruler of the Northlands? Even if he did say yes, what lay ahead would be hard. Lady Elisabeta was formidable.

‘Aleks kept the most important parts of his story secret from Lukas and me,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t explain his reasons for wanting to come to the Hermit while he thought someone might overhear and take information back to the Ruler. So I doubted him, even though he’d saved our lives. I suspected he wanted me on the journey only to guide him safely through the forest so he could claim the treasure the old tales speak of. After a long time, he told the full story about losing his friend as a child, and about who Markus really is. By then I’d learned to trust him anyway. I can see he’s a good person. He’s driven by his mission, but he also cares about his friends. He cares about the Northlands and making it a better place. I’m happy he found Markus here, among your people. But … I don’t know what will come next, except that it will be dangerous and difficult. For all of them.’

Silence, then. Mother Rowan was looking at her as if she expected something more, but there was no more to say. Eventually the wise woman said, ‘Come, then. Before you rest, let me show you what lies within and beyond this dwelling place. The tales do indeed tell of treasure hidden here, guarded by unknown forces. We have neither sleeping dragons nor fearsome fey warriors, though our folk can take on that role if required. The secret nature of our realm has been protection enough. Human folk seldom step past the barrier unless we choose to let them in. Thus it was with young Markus, a human child found deep in Heartwood all alone. He had spent many days wandering, drinking from forest pools, eating what little he could find. One of the Forest Folk, out on a mission far beyond our border, came upon the boy in a place frequented by bears and brought him back here. The child was too exhausted, too frightened, to tell us who he was and where he had come from. While he recovered within our community, I sought answers in the water and in the fire. What I saw convinced me that he should stay with us, learn what the young people of the Forest Folk learn, discover ways of wisdom and paths of peace. I saw that he was destined to be a leader among human folk. But only if we strengthened him, taught him to hear the voices of the trees, the rocks, the creatures of forest and lake, would he grow strong and wise and courageous enough to be, not only a good leader, but a great one. Great in justice and wisdom; great in forbearance, in tolerance, in his embrace of all living things.’

It was hard to know what to say, so Stasya held her tongue. Lord Kasimir had lived the rest of his life believing his only son dead. People had searched long and hard for Markus. Aleks had borne the burdens of guilt and sorrow all these years. The decision to keep the child, a boy even younger than poor Tomas, seemed cruel, though the intentions had been good. If Aleks were here, he would ask the hard question. He would not hesitate. Perhaps he had already asked Markus. She wished she could hear that conversation.

‘Come,’ Mother Rowan said, rising to her feet and gesturing toward an opening in the wall, where a passageway seemed to lead directly into the mountain. ‘Will you bring the lantern? It’s quite dark on the way in. Leave the little one to her sleep.’

Flip twitched an ear, then curled herself still tighter on the bed. Stasya took up the lantern and followed the old woman along the curving tunnel through the rock. The roof was high. Even Matiss would be able to pass through without stooping. Had this place been laboriously carved out by hand? Made by magic? Or perhaps it had formed naturally over the course of more years than anyone could count.

‘There were trees here once, in another age,’ Mother Rowan said. ‘Great, wonderful trees something like the one you called the Ancestor. Such things they witnessed in their long lives: the fall of kings, the deeds of heroes, the passing away of tribes and the grief of survivors. Courage and cowardice; justice and tyranny; love and hate. No wonder old trees are so full of wisdom. This way, now. Watch your step.’

The rock floor was uneven here. Mother Rowan was walking ahead of her while Stasya held the light, but the old woman seemed to have no trouble finding her way or staying steady. Well, she had said she was something other than human now; perhaps finding her way in the semi-dark was a skill she had come by during her long life among the Forest Folk.

The passageway opened up and they were in a larger cavern, where there was natural light. Something whirred past overhead, making Stasya start. Bats, she thought, smiling as she gazed upward. There they were, hanging neatly in groups, their dark forms like shadows in corners of the cavern roof. The one that had taken flight settled again. Stasya opened her thoughts to them; sent a message in mind-pictures. We come in friendship. We mean you no harm. Rest well, small ones. And felt the faintest response, like a contented sigh: Rest. Sleep.

The light came from a narrow gap where the stone opened to the outside world. Through that opening came a faint sound of birdsong, a twilight conversation. Closer at hand, Stasya could hear a trickle of water.

‘Set the lantern down over there.’ Mother Rowan gestured, and Stasya saw there was a pool in the cavern, small and round, the water touched by the light from above. She put the lantern down where she was shown, by the wall, and came to stand beside the wise woman, looking into the water.

‘A place of visions,’ she said. ‘Is this where you …?’

‘One of the places, yes. We will try together, but not now. You are weary. It can be hard to find the right question at such times. I have something else to show you. Look up, above the lantern. What do you see?’

How had she not noticed it before? Her mouth dropped open; she blinked and looked again. The cave wall, illuminated from below by the soft light, was golden, glowing, rich as fine clover honey. Stasya stepped closer. She held back from touching; to do so would seem almost like sacrilege. ‘Amber,’ she breathed. Gods, if Lady Elisabeta ever found out about this, she would wreak absolute havoc on the mountain. Fire-breathing dragons would not be enough to hold her back.

‘Indeed. And not only in this cave, Stasya. Amber is found in many places within the Hermit. The rocks hold a honeycomb of chambers and passageways. Guarding them is part of our people’s ancient trust. If we take from the store of amber, it is always with the forest’s permission, and with due ritual of thanks. And never for selfish reasons. This amber heals; it protects; it guards. But only if it is both taken and worn in the right spirit.’

Stasya’s hand went around her amber owl, gently, in recognition and thanks. She could find no words.

‘We will sleep now,’ Mother Rowan said. ‘I’ll show you where we go to relieve ourselves and where we wash; that’s close by and entirely private. Then rest until morning. We might seek answers in the water then. Later in the day there will be a gathering to celebrate the arrival of your party. A feast, singing, an exchange of stories. But only when all of you are well rested and able to join in. Don’t look so worried, my dear; it will be a joyful gathering. You might be invited to contribute a story. Nothing more would be asked of you. The folk here know you walk under my special protection now.’

‘Really?’ The idea seemed at the same time unbelievable and entirely right. Mother Rowan saw in her the next Forest Guardian. An apprentice. A student on a very long path of learning, if she chose that way.

‘Yes, really. Now, come, I’ll show you where to wash. You look half-asleep on your feet.’

‘I expect the bats are waiting for us to retire before they fly out on the hunt,’ Stasya said as they returned to the dwelling place. She could sense it; the air was alive with their need to be on the wing.

Mother Rowan glanced back at her. ‘I expect so,’ she said with a grin. ‘They are a little late to leave.’