CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Austėja

I wonder what Tévas is doing right now. I am perched upon a log at the edge of the church clearing so the High Hill is in my sights, and my thoughts drift to my father. His absence.

He loved festivals. The singing and feasting and spending time with our people. No responsibilities or hard work, for one night, relishing freedom. While harvest festival is everyone’s favourite, spring festival is a close second.

Where is he now? Is he living his life on the High Hill as Senelè believes? Or is it as Motina and the visiting priests say and he has gone to heaven? That he is higher than the hill, up there in the night sky, beyond the clouds, looking down upon us. I like the idea of him soaring up there like an eagle, protecting us. But I’d also want him to be living his own life too. Climbing trees, feasting on honey and in the good company of my brother and other relatives.

It should no longer surprise me how life can change in an instant. When my brother passed last winter, I felt then for the first time in my life a deep sense of loss. Azuolas was more reserved than Tévas, but his absence was like the gaping hole left by an uprooted tree: at surface level it is concealed but the damage is palpable when you peer a little closer. Now with Tévas gone, it’s as if every pine in the forest has been wrenched from the earth and tumbled aside. It’s as if there’s a big gaping hole in my gut that will never be filled.

I liked the way Tévas made people laugh. He had a way of making us feel united. We need that now more than ever.

There is smiling, laughter and singing, but there’s an edge to it all. Hurt and quiet simmering away underneath like a winter broth. Without Tévas everything feels different. My relationship with Motina is harder with Tévas gone. I know she is angry with me but she has deliberately avoided talking about the church and the Duke. Like thunder, her disgust rumbles through my body; waves of emotion wash over me at every turn.

Tévas was always like the bridge over the river, keeping us connected even when it felt like we were flowing in different directions. Without his light, everything feels dark and heavy. Motina is distant and preoccupied. She’s standing with Elena and Aldona but her fixed smile never reaches her eyes. Two deaths and someone tampering with the hollows have troubled her.

The younger children play games and run around the fire. Staying up late and being free to roam is one of the joys of being a child. I no longer feel like a child, but I don’t yet feel like a woman either. I cannot run wild at night at spring festival, but I am also not accepted into the adult conversations. I am not supposed to speak up at all.

I don’t know what came over me that day. Only that I forgot he wasn’t one of us. I’d seen him and thought of the rabbit in the forest, kind eyes, jittery and submissive. In the forest, I spoke to him like he was one of us, knowing he was not. I spoke of the old ways, and he showed interest. He wanted to learn more. He did not judge me. But maybe I am wrong?

Once I learned he was the Duke, I should have said nothing. I should not have spoken of the old ways at all. Albertas had warned us that the punishments could be harsh. He had always tolerated or deliberately ignored the traditions and beliefs of the old ways. He’d told us about what happened to people accused of witchcraft. As long as we attended church and followed the commandments, he allowed us to do as we pleased. The new priest, and the Duke, may not be so understanding.

I was wrong. The Duke is no rabbit. His eyes, though kind and curious, are guarded too. He stood tall before our community, broad-shouldered and still. The rabbit from the forest was no longer jerky but at ease in the company of men, even peasants. In that building, the church, he was protected from our wild forest. His forest.

He’s talking to Aldona’s husband Liudvikas now. Their stances are relaxed, each with a mug of mead and colour in his cheeks. Apart from his refined clothes and unweathered skin, an outsider might consider the Duke one of us.

I know I won’t make that mistake again.

‘Evening, Austėja.’

‘Jonas?’ My breath catches as he steps out of the shadows of a pine tree.

‘How is your evening?’

My heart flutters and I’m not sure why. I am embarrassed by the way I spoke at the church. But there’s something else. When we were children, Jonas was always sensible and calm in comparison to his boisterous brothers. Now he is all grown up and he is the same, but he is also different. His dark eyes hold mine and it is as if he can see inside me.

‘I’ve brought you some of our bread.’ He smiles and his whole face softens. I could see myself marrying a man like Jonas, if I were not so intent on escaping our bičiulystè.

I take the bread and his fingertips brush mine. The nerves in my hand tingle.

‘Thank you.’ I sink my teeth into the spicy-sour rye bread. It has been quite the feast tonight. For the first time all winter my belly is satiated, but Smilte’s bread is the best I’ve ever tasted, so I eat more. Trying to fill that other empty hole.

‘How are you?’

I am about to offer a frivolous answer about the celebration but when I see the serious expression on his face, I know he does not care at all for the festival. I stare at the bread but in my mind, I am taken back to the Hollow Watcher and the tree and the blood. The dream. ‘I cannot stop thinking about what happened.’

‘Me too. It is inhumane.’

‘Yes,’ I say, and I know what we are both thinking. How what happened is too human. Too brutal.

‘What do you make of him, the Duke?’ Jonas asks. His eyebrows draw in to his pointed nose.

The Duke now speaks with Elena’s husband, Dominykas, whose arms are crossed over his chest; he does not look at the Duke as he speaks.

‘I do not know. He seems more involved than his uncle. I do not yet know if that is a good thing.’

‘He’s an outsider. He and his men arrived before the Hollow Watcher met his demise. We must remember that. There are other possibilities.’

‘Are there?’

Jonas nods, his gaze drifting back to the Duke.

My skin tingles. I want him to look at me again. I want to forget about the loss and the pain.

When his gaze does settle upon me again, his eyes have darkened. He no longer sees deep inside me. Instead, it’s as if I am no longer here. I’m invisible.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. ‘We must protect our people.’

‘What do you mean, Jonas?’ I ask, but he has already turned and disappeared into the crowd.

The night breeze teases me and a shiver crawls over my skin. I pull the shawl across my shoulders and tuck it against my chest, glancing over to the gathering at the church. My people. My bičiulystè. The only people we can trust.

⚜

‘I’ll just be a moment,’ Aldona calls as she disappears inside and then re-emerges at her door with a curved knife in hand. The sun reflects off the steel and a star shape stretches outwards and upwards in the light. Its sharp edge and sturdy handle can cut cleanly through a turnip, chisel into timber or open a person’s stomach so their intestines tumble out. There are other possibilities. Sweat breaks out on my brow and I wipe it away.

‘Is it not made the way you’d hoped?’ Aldona twirls the knife in her hand.

‘It’s perfect. Motina will be so pleased. Thank you.’

Liudvikas had kindly offered to make her a new tool. Tévas had taken his with him and we only had an old-fashioned version that Motina carried with her every day. It was made by her father’s hands. What do I have left of my father?

‘Liudvikas will be pleased. Harvest will be tough without your father, so we are happy to make it easier on you and your mother in any way we can.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, but I know there is no more they can do. With no grown children to help them, Aldona and her husband are very much on their own at harvest. We will have to do our best to manage without Tévas.

I once fantasised about leaving Musteika and moving closer to the city. Getting married to someone who is not a beekeeper, even though it would annoy Motina. Now it really seems like a fantasy. There is no way I can leave. Too much has happened. I do not yet know of Tévas’s last request of me; I do not know what happened to the Hollow Watcher; but I do know I must stay until I have found the truth about both those things. Besides, Motina will never let me leave the bičiulystè. While most girls in the Baltics leave their homes and join their husbands’, it is different for beekeepers. The men – with some exceptions, of course – join their brides’ families. Only the second-born son remains with his parents. If I can prove I am useful then perhaps Motina will not be swayed by Senelè to have me married to a beekeeper just yet. I am not a stork who can be confined to a nest, not when there are truths to be found in the forest. Motina has made it clear I will lose such freedoms when I am married.

‘Have you seen Elena today?’ Aldona asks. I have been lost in my thoughts, but she has not noticed. She has collected her coat and a loaf of bread. ‘I am to visit her now. Would you like to join me?’

‘Oh, I should probably get this back to Motina.’ I tuck the knife into my pocket.

‘At least come by and say hello. Elena will be grateful. Her youngest has a toothache and has kept her up all night long. Not to mention she is anxious about what happened to the Hollow Watcher.’

I hesitate. ‘Okay, I will stop by for a brief moment.’

Aldona’s face breaks out into a smile. ‘Wonderful. It’s such a beautiful spring day today.’

‘Yes.’ And it is. The sky is a gaudy blue with no cloudy blemishes in sight. It’s deceiving. ‘But the storms will come soon.’

Aldona shakes her head. ‘Oh, it’s much too early in the season for a storm. Let’s not worry ourselves about that. Let’s enjoy this nice weather while we have it.’

I nod and look away. She’ll see it soon enough anyway. In one or two days, the clouds will roll in, dark and heavy. The earth will rumble, and the sky will light up with sharp spikes blasting downwards. When Perkūnas, god of thunder, visits us, Senelè becomes particularly excitable. Motina is on edge because the bees are irritable. Bees don’t appreciate storms, but I do. There’s something about the sky in full blight, reminding us that we are small, insignificant. That we are no more important than one lone pine tree in a forest, or a giant stork in the canopies, or a rodent in the undergrowth.

We are all equal.

Thinking of Perkūnas makes me feel brave. Brave enough to ask the questions that Motina wants quietened.

‘Aldona, can I ask you about your hollows?’

‘Of course, what is it?’ She looks at me sideways as we skirt the swampy marsh and then Elena’s house comes into view.

‘When you inspected them, did you find any of them damaged? I mean, did you lose any bees?’

Aldona’s gaze drops. ‘Ah, yes, we lost two bee families. It never does get any easier.’

‘Oh? You mean you lost two hollows? Were there any signs of obvious damage?’

‘One tree had large claw marks in the bark and the wedge had been pulled out. It was quite obviously the work of a bear with a sweet tooth. And the other … well, the wedge had been pecked and had fallen aside. It was likely a woodpecker. The bees would’ve frozen over the winter. That is a thought hard to endure.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Austėja.’ Aldona stops and faces me. We are outside Elena’s house. Two younger children are running through the wildflowers beside the barn. ‘Is there something on your mind?’

I breathed in, out, in again. ‘Did Motina talk to you about the hollow that had been damaged?’

‘We spoke at spring festival. She told me she was very saddened about losing her hollow.’

‘She didn’t say anything else?’

‘No. Should she have?’

Why didn’t Motina tell Aldona that we’d lost more hollows? These are her friends. There are no secrets here. Surely Motina couldn’t possibly believe the bees all left with Tévas? Why those five and not the other fifty and why only those hives near the bloodstained oak?

Maybe, as Motina says, they do sense negative energy. If she truly believes the bees left with Tévas then she won’t tell anyone. She’s ashamed.

I swallow back the lump of uncertainty in my throat. I want to say more, to tell Aldona the truth. Maybe she would have another perspective, another reason for the loss? But then I recall Motina’s face, her hardened face after the meeting at the church, how disappointed she was by my speaking out.

‘It’s nothing. Motina is just taking it hard. Tévas, and then the hollows. And the watcher, of course.’

‘So many losses one upon the other. Log upon log like a wood stack. Your mother is strong, though, Austėja. She will not fall. And you must be strong for her, too. Best not to overcomplicate things. Or say too much.’

My cheeks flush. Does everyone share the same opinion of me? ‘Of course – thank you, Aldona.’

I feel more confused than ever.

Elena comes out then and Aldona rushes to her, kisses her on both cheeks and swoops up the toddler on her hip. ‘Hello, beautiful one. I hear you have a toothache.’ The toddler grimaces and points to her cheek. ‘Oh yes, that would be very painful. I have just the thing for you. Propolis and honey to ease the problem.’

‘Oh. Aldona, thank you. I have so many things to do today and she won’t let me put her down. She’s barely slept all night and day.’ Elena’s face is tired, and she kneads her waist with her knuckles. She sees me then and is surprised. ‘Austėja, how lovely to see you.’

‘She’s accompanied me on this pleasant walk,’ Aldona says with a genuine smile, but her tone makes me wonder if I must now take my leave.

‘The spring festival was lovely, wasn’t it?’ Elena asks.

‘Yes, it was nice.’

She looks at me and lowers her voice. ‘It must have been difficult without your father here.’

My throat feels thick and I cannot speak. I blink back tears and nod. Why did Tévas have to leave us? Why now? If only he’d been here when the Hollow Watcher was murdered, or the hollows destroyed. He’d know what to do. He’d find a way to make sense of it all. He’d take charge. No one else is doing that. The priest is new and he doesn’t know us, and he will do as the Duke says. He wants to dismiss the death as a bear attack and perhaps that would be good for our people. But what if, as Jonas implied, it was not one of our people who hurt the Hollow Watcher? What if it was someone else? I must know. I want them to face the consequences of their actions.

I want to feel safe again.

‘Are you feeling okay, Austėja?’ Aldona asks. Her pale brows draw in and her mouth puckers out to the side as though she is biting the inside of one cheek.

‘Yes, I’m just a little tired. I should make my way home.’

‘Of course,’ Elena says. ‘It was so lovely for you to stop by. Say hello to your mother and grandmother for me.’

‘I will.’

In the clearing outside of Elena’s house, I start towards the path around the marshes. I look back at the house and see Aldona and Elena disappear inside. I turn my back on the path and take the trail into the forest.

Jonas’s words swirl around my head. There are other possibilities. It feels as if Aldona berated me. Encouraged me not to say too much. Am I supposed to dig further or retreat? Everyone but Jonas wants me to remain quiet. Jonas wants me to think on it. I don’t know what to do.

Now I’m weaving around pines, circling oaks, until I reach the bridge. By the bridge, zibutes, violas, sweep over the side. I stop upon hearing the familiar hum of honeybees. I crouch down and find them hopping about from one purplish-blue flower to another. Gathering nectar in their tiny leg pouches.

They remind me of Motina. Always working hard, following the rules. She’s happy to be confined because she can do what she loves. ‘Do any of you wish to break out on your own?’ I whisper. They hum in response and I assume they do not. They seem happy enough. I wonder if they are bees from our hollows, or Aldona’s or perhaps Elena’s or Smilte’s. They can travel many miles, especially if they are searching for their favourite flowers.

The bushes rustle and I rise, my senses on alert. It could be a rabbit or a mouse, but then I see its dark green scaly skin and yellow collar. A grass snake. I remain still, knowing it will not hurt me unless it feels threatened, and relieved that it is not a poisonous asp. It’s probably a male snake. In early spring they tend to emerge first and bask in the sun. It reminds me of the story Senelè tells of the old times, when the grass snake was frequently kept as a pet. They lived under a married couple’s bed or in a special place near the hearth, because they are sacred to the sun goddess. I find it hard to believe that snakes were kept indoors. They aren’t the type of animal to remain cooped up in one spot. They like to roam and hunt. Senelè holds on to these stories, but at least she does not practise this belief. I wouldn’t sleep well if a snake slept under Motina’s bed. An eternal flame is one thing but a pet snake is quite another.

The bushes rustle again as the snake retreats. The bees have moved on and their gentle hum fades. I breathe out slowly and cross the bridge.

Without realising, I arrive at our hollows. At the oak where I felt my father’s spirit leave us, the same oak where the Hollow Watcher’s body lay slain. Why do I keep returning here? My body is pulled towards the bloodstained oak, only the blood is no longer visible. The snow has evaporated, and all traces of the Hollow Watcher are gone. Except for the images that remain in my mind.

I shouldn’t be here. But I need to know. I must know what happened to him. There must be a reason that I was the one who discovered him. Tévas says everything happens for a reason: God plans it that way. Did he plan for me to find the Hollow Watcher? Is there something more he wants from me? Or is it as Senelè says, and I have a gift?

Soft voices trickle through the forest from the direction of Smilte’s house. My instinct is to flee but I cannot move my feet. Images flash. The body. The blood. The dream.

My heart thumps hard against my chest.

Two familiar shapes appear. Jonas and Tomas.

‘Austėja.’ Jonas steps ahead of his brother. ‘I hope we didn’t frighten you.’

I realise I am cowering by the oak. I spring away and wipe my hands on my dress, as if to wipe away invisible blood. My voice is shaky. ‘A little.’

Jonas glances back at his brother. ‘I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to. We’ve just been keeping an eye on the hollows.’

‘Oh, you don’t need to be doing that.’

‘My motina promised yours that we’d pass through the area every day. Just to make sure everything is okay.’

‘Did my mother ask you to do that?’

His eyes crinkle at the edges. ‘No, she did not. We insisted.’

‘Well, that’s very kind of you. But what do you expect to discover out here?’

He swallows and for a moment he looks uncertain. Tomas steps closer to him. ‘Until we learn the truth, we must be certain no one else will harm the hollows.’

The other possibilities that Jonas mentioned. This means they believe the person who hurt the Hollow Watcher was an outsider. The Duke, his henchmen or the priest or someone from far away. It is ridiculous to think any of them would risk their positions to do such evil. Then again, it is ridiculous to imagine any of us executing the Hollow Watcher. Maybe it was just a bear …

‘Do you think we’re at risk of further harm?’ I ask Jonas, but it is Tomas who responds.

‘I think it was a worthless honey thief. Stanislaw was just collateral.’

My brows knit together. A thief? That would make Stanislaw innocent.

Jonas rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t listen to my brother. If anyone outside the settlement passed through the forest, we would know.’

‘We must be careful, anyway,’ Tomas says. ‘We must protect our hollows and each other. There’s no need for you to worry, dear Austėja. That’s why we are here.’ He tucks his hands into his pockets and wanders off, occasionally glancing up at the treetops as though they hold the answers.

My cheeks feel warm. ‘Goodbye, then,’ I say and, before Jonas can farewell me, I dart back through the forest to the bridge.

Tomas speaks to me as if I am a child. As if I mustn’t worry myself with these grown-up problems. Does he think he’s some kind of hero? He doesn’t realise I am part of this. I found the Hollow Watcher. I have a responsibility to see this through. To find the truth. Even if it means confronting one of our own.