The Amber Owl (Heartwood #1)

Chapter 1 Stasya

1

Stasya

‘I saved a life this morning,’ she said.

‘Really? Tell me!’

Lukas tilted his curly head back against the great sun-warmed rock and closed his eyes. This was their precious time. Here on the edge of Heartwood Forest, they could look down over the sloping field where Lukas often brought the goats in the late afternoon and share tales: the old ones about the forest, of which there were many, and new ones they invented as they went along.

At some distance below them lay the settlement, whose sounds – someone chopping firewood, the creak of cart wheels, children shouting as they chased a ball – were muted. After her long day’s work, in this place Stasya could breathe.

The many voices of the great forest came to her, from the song of wind in the tall pines to the scuttle of tiny feet in the undergrowth. Flip had crept onto her lap and now lay curled up there, a small warm presence, dreaming. High above, birds exchanged calls. Not far off, a stream flowed over stones, making a rippling music.

‘It was down near the burial ground, when I was on the way to Vidas’s farm; I’ve been helping him with the sheep today. You know that paling fence, the one with the carving at the top? I saw a lot of magpies close by. They were acting oddly: coming in close, then edging away. And so quiet. Not a sound.’ She couldn’t tell the full truth, even to the trusted friend she’d known since they were children. Lukas knew she sometimes saved creatures in trouble. What he didn’t know, what nobody but Flip knew, was that she could open her mind to theirs, understand their thoughts and share her own with them. If that gift ever became public knowledge, she wouldn’t only be labelled strange, weird, a loner. They’d call her a witch, and she’d be lucky to escape with her life.

‘I came up closer,’ she went on, ‘and I saw a magpie hanging from the fence. Its neck was wedged between two of the uprights and it was completely limp. I was sure it was dead. But the other birds were all looking at me, waiting for something. I came in close and put my hands around the hanging one, thinking I could at least give it a kind burial. And then …’ Stasya paused, glancing at Lukas. He was tired from his long day on the family farm. But the look in his eyes told her he’d been captured by the tale. Even Flip was sitting up, ears pricked, wanting more.

‘And then I felt it twitch. It was still alive. I eased it upward as gently as I could, talking to it all the time, hoping that might help.’ She’d spoken to it, not only in words but also in mind-pictures. There, brave one. You’re safe now. And look, your friends are all waiting for you. ‘I thought it might be terribly injured or too weak to fly. But as soon as I opened my hands it was off into the trees, and the others went with it, bursting into song. It sounded like they were saying, Free! You’re free!’

Lukas gave a sigh of content. ‘A wonderful true story. You’ll be a friend of magpies from now on. But maybe you already are.’

They sat in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. Stasya thought how lucky she was to have such a true friend. When she’d been sent to Heartwood to live with Grandmother, as a child, the other boys and girls had taunted her, calling her freak or cry-baby. From the first, Lukas had defended her, though he was only a little older. He’d understood that sometimes she couldn’t find the words people wanted, and sometimes had so much in her mind that it was like a flood, drown ing her so the only thing she could get out was a scream. He’d known there were times when she needed to be alone.

Like most people in the village, Lukas’s family still thought her odd. They did talk to her sometimes. Had to, when they needed her to work for them. All the local farmers knew she had a knack for keeping animals calm. None of them questioned that, not to her face anyway, because it was so useful. But Lukas’s parents did not want her as a friend. Not for themselves and especially not for their only son. That had never changed, even though Lukas and Stasya were no longer children, but man and woman.

‘Your turn now,’ she said. ‘Unless you’re too tired.’

Lukas sat up straighter, putting his arms around his knees. ‘I’m never too tired for a story. This one is called … Cake Magic.’

He made Stasya laugh with a tale about three brothers on a quest to find treasure, and how two were tricked by a wily monster that stole the first brother’s best shoes and the second brother’s lucky hat. The third brother found the way to the monster’s secret hoard by offering a share of the excellent plum cake he had baked and brought with him. Nobody had ever given the monster a gift before, and he was so delighted he handed the young man a bag of gold in exchange.

By the time the tale was done, the goats were gathering in the lowest corner of the field, by the gate. Time for the shelter of the barn and a warm bed for the night. They knew the dark was coming.

‘I’d best be moving them on,’ Lukas said, rising to his feet. He reached out a hand to help Stasya up.

‘Thanks. See you tomorrow?’

‘If I can.’ There was a shadow over his features now. ‘Father wants me for slaughtering in the morning. And there’s other work later.’

No need to ask more. The goats weren’t kept only for milk, but also for meat; slaughtering was just part of the job. And although Farmer Jurgis had other helpers, he knew his son was best at doing it: swift and sure, so the creatures didn’t have time to be frightened. If they were spooked, Jurgis said, it spoiled the meat. Lukas did what he had to do. The farm would be his one day, and his father needed him. But he hated the killing. His goats were dear to him. They all had names of his choosing. Stasya saw the pain in his eyes and knew he would lie awake in the dark. Jurgis had asked her to help with that job once and she’d said no, even when he offered her a substantial payment in the household goods that sustained her and Flip. Lukas had been furious with his father.

‘You do it as well as anyone could,’ Stasya told him. Lukas gave a half-nod. He kept hold of her hand. After a little, she said, ‘I’d best go now. Come up and see me tomorrow if you can. Later on. It might help.’

‘I may not be fit for company.’ He attempted a smile.

‘If you can’t sleep tonight, think of good tales, not sad ones.’

‘I’ll try.’

She watched him go, a fine man now, taller than his father.

He shepherded the flock out of the field, made sure the gate was securely fastened, raised a hand to her in farewell as he headed down toward the farm.

Stasya’s home was the other way, further along the forest edge.

She took a long, looping path, past the Ancestor.

While Flip investigated something among the roots, Stasya paused, as always, to lay a hand on the great oak’s trunk and thank the tree for watching over the valley and the settlement.

The Ancestor spread her limbs wide, offering shade to all who passed.

Her hollows and crevices had housed a myriad of small creatures over the years.

In the shelter of her canopy, generations of birds had reared their young.

Her acorns had nourished squirrels through the chill winter.

Her fallen timbers had been carved into objects of beauty; they had warmed both hearths and hearts.

The folk of the village gathered by the tree to celebrate betrothals and hand-fastings, to give thanks for babes safely born, to sing farewell to folk who had passed to the Afterlife.

The Ancestor had guarded the people of Heartwood settlement since a time before memory.

Stasya murmured farewell, then gathered Flip up and walked home to the cottage that had been theirs since the bleak season when Grand mother had died, peacefully in her bed, when Stasya was eleven years old.

The place suited her.

It was far enough from the settlement to deter unwanted visitors but near enough so she could present herself quickly for work if someone needed her.

Best of all, it was right on the forest edge.

She could walk under the trees every day, drink in the sights and smells and feelings, let her mind fill with new stories and old.

She could check that all was well, tend to creatures that needed her, and keep a watchful eye on all growing things, as Grandmother had for most of her lifetime.

Sometimes Lukas came with her; more often Stasya went alone.

If the tales and rumours didn’t keep folk out of the forest, fear of wolves and bears did.

People would venture in a certain distance to gather firewood, but once the task was done they’d be quickly out again.

Back at the cottage she kindled a fire on her little hearth, heated water, cooked herself a meal of vegetable soup.

The baker, Irina, had given her a small loaf in part payment for yesterday’s work, and most of it was still left; it would go well with the soup.

She’d be helping at the bakery again in the morning but she’d be free after that, unless some new need for her arose.

‘We might go walking, Flip,’ she said aloud.

‘Up as far as Toad Rock, hmm?’ She pictured the place in her mind.

But Flip was gnawing on something she had brought in from outside and did not respond.

The little dog preferred to catch her own food, which was fine with Stasya provided she dispatched her prey swiftly and not too close to the house.

After the meal they sat awhile by the hearth, and Stasya used mind-pictures to tell Flip her favourite bedtime story, which was the true tale of how she’d found the dog trapped in brambles deep in the forest and brought her home, years ago.

Later still, after Stasya had taken off her work clothes – an old tunic and trousers that had belonged to Lukas – and put on her nightrobe, she and Flip lay in bed as the long twilight gave slow way to night.

They fell asleep to the sighing of wind in the pines and the soft calls of owls.

That was the last good day.