CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Austėja

I spy Jonas through the pines as I make my final descent from a linden tree. My last one. Fifty hollows in four days.

The linden hollow’s opening was small and it was tricky to pick away at the honeycomb. I’ve taken less than I am meant to, but it is better than nothing. I don’t want to damage the bees’ food source for winter.

‘Austėja.’

I drop to the ground, loosen the ropes around my waist.

‘Can I offer my help?’

I shrug. ‘I’m done for the day. I’ve already sent Danutè back with a full bucket. I just have this, here.’ I point to the small honeycombs in the bucket by his feet.

‘Oh.’ He breathes out heavily. ‘I’m sorry: I wanted to get away sooner. I know you’ve been doing all this on your own. I’d finished my hollows early, but my mother kept coming up with new tasks for me to do.’

I sigh. ‘She sent your brother.’

His chin snaps up. ‘Tomas?’

‘Yes, he helped me with a couple of hollows.’ And he was perfectly pleasant. I didn’t mind his company, until he spoke of our proposed marriage.

He said, ‘You don’t need to worry about your mother. We will be well off once we are wed.’

We aren’t yet officially engaged so his comment annoyed me. And I will always look out for my mother. I do not need him for that.

Jonas shakes his head. ‘That explains why she kept me busy, then.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Our eyes meet. ‘Me too.’

‘Austėja, I’ve tried—’

‘It’s okay,’ I say, my voice wavering. ‘I know.’

A pause. ‘I brought your mother a swarm.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I overheard her talking to my mother about you being wed. I knew they had Tomas in mind. He is the first son. But I’ve always wanted to be out of that house. I’m not like them … I promised to bring her a swarm. And I did.’

‘You did? And then what?’ I hold my breath.

‘Tomas brought her one too. She chose him.’

My stomach tenses. ‘She chose him?’ I know she takes the bičiulystè rules seriously, but bringing a swarm can create new rules, new ties. She could have chosen the man I wanted to marry, but she didn’t. Betrayal tears at my insides. Why would she do that?

‘You can’t marry him.’

The ropes drop in a heap on the ground and I step outside them, moving to Jonas. ‘I don’t want to, but I don’t have a choice, Jonas. I know this will be difficult for both of us, but we’ll have to find a way to live with it.’ Finally voicing what we both feel.

He shakes his head, takes my hand. Our hands tell the story of harvest. Scrapes, cuts, calluses, dirt-embedded nails. Warmth. ‘You don’t understand. He’s not …’ Jonas squeezes my hand tighter, drawing me closer. He peers back over his shoulder, lowers his voice. ‘He’s not a good person.’

I gulp. I feel safe with Jonas, but his words set me on edge. Everything about his demeanour is worrying. Why is he saying this about his own brother? Jealousy? No. It’s more than that. He knows something …

‘He’s arrogant and, well, not all that likeable, but that doesn’t make him a bad person.’ My mouth is dry and lumps of unease form in my throat. I have to convince myself it will all be okay because I cannot envision a life that is not.

He sighs, and lowers my hand, but does not let go. Our arms swing in the tender breeze. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. Only, Jonas is not mine. He is not my future.

‘Jonas, will you do something for me?’

His hand stills mine but my heart beats frantically. ‘What is it?’

I free my hand and step back. I close my eyes for a moment, drawing on what little strength remains after a wearisome day. My hand clasps on the object in my pocket and then I place it in Jonas’s hand. ‘Will you return my tévas’s knife to his grave. Please? I can’t bear to do it on my own.’

‘Yes, of course.’ He pockets the knife and then reaches for my hand again. ‘Listen, Austėja, there’s something I need to tell you—’

‘Austėja!’

We jump apart, heart racing, body on alert. Danutè runs towards me, her face flushed, eyes wet. ‘Austėja,’ she says again, her voice catching in the breeze. She falls into my arms.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s …’ She pants heavily. She must have run the entire way here. ‘I—’

‘Take a deep breath, little sister.’

Danutè draws in a shaky breath; it catches in her chest. ‘It’s Motina.’

I stiffen. ‘Is she okay?’

Danutè licks her lips and shakes her head. ‘I can’t explain it. You must come home now.’

‘Where’s Senelè?’

‘She’s visiting Aldona. Please, we must hurry.’ She points at Jonas. ‘You should come too.’

Jonas catches my eye and I nod. Yes, come. I do not know what lies ahead. He hauls up the rope, looping it over his shoulder. I fling my tools into the basket and pick up the bucket. ‘Let’s go, then. Quick.’

Danutè says no more, only confirming that Motina is alive as she trails behind us on the forest path. I drop everything outside the house and glance back at my sister. She hides behind Jonas and points to the door. He watches me, waiting for direction.

‘Wait here,’ I say, sounding more self-assured than I actually feel.

I push open the door and the first thing that hits me is the sweet smell of honey. And then I see it. Honey.

Everywhere.

Motina is curled up on the floor beside one of the barrels.

‘Motina.’ I rush to her side, roll her towards me and am relieved to see the rise and fall of her chest. ‘Motina?’

‘Austėja.’ Her voice quivers. ‘Oh, what have I done?’

‘Motina, are you hurt?’

She mumbles her response. ‘No.’

‘There is honey everywhere.’ Panic rises, my heart knocking against my ribs. The Hollow Watcher visited earlier, checked the barrels. Marked the honey levels. He knows how much we have and tomorrow he will know we have cheated him. What will happen to us then?

‘I could not stop him.’

‘Him?’

Her eyes snap open and she throws her arm out, index finger at the doorway. ‘Him!’

‘Jonas?’

Motina blinks. ‘Who?’

I tuck my arms under her armpits and pull her up to sit. She is sticky all over.

She shakes her head. ‘No. Not him. Albertas.’

‘Albertas? The old priest?’

‘Yes!’ Her voice rises. ‘Who else?! He came here and made this mess. He was gorging on the honey. Our honey. How could he do this to me?’

I share a worried glance with Jonas. ‘Motina, Albertas is not here. No one is here.’

‘He must have left; if you leave now, you may find him on the path.’

‘We just came from the forest path. We’ve seen no one. You’re not making any sense.’

‘He ate it all and he made this mess,’ Motina says again, but this time with less conviction. ‘He did.’

My stomach drops as I examine my mother. Motina’s mouth is smeared with honey, her hands are caked in it, and it’s pooled all around her. There are no footprints but her own. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she reeks of mead.

‘Oh, Motina. What have you done?’

⚜

After her face is wiped clean and her hair combed out, Motina is tucked into bed and immediately falls into a deep, spasmodic sleep. I don’t know what she sees when she closes her eyes, but it must be frightful. Why else would she have done this?

And what does it have to do with Albertas?

Danutè shivers despite the warmth holding on to the day as dusk falls. I usher her out of the way, sit her down on her bed and wrap a shawl around her shoulders.

‘What am I going to do?’ I whisper.

‘Jonas said he could help us,’ Danutè says, through chattering teeth.

‘Yes, but not right now.’ I sent him home but he said he’ll be back early in the morning. He also plans to tell the others we’ll not be feasting tonight. But we cannot miss the final night, tomorrow, to mark the end of harvest.

I can’t see what he can do to fix this mess. And I’m ashamed he has seen my family fall apart, my mother at her worst. Motina will hate that I’ve seen her this way, let alone someone outside the family, even bičiulystè. She always keeps things to herself.

I had no idea that it had become this bad. Was it only a few days ago we were bathing in the stream? And in that short time my mother has lost her mind, bathing in honey. I knew she’d taken the injury hard, but I thought the mead was helping her rest. Recover. Instead, she has unravelled and bears no resemblance to my beloved stoic motina.

I shiver too. Tévas once told me a little about my maternal grandmother, how she turned to mead and away from her daughter – my motina – when her husband passed. How she withdrew and mumbled and talked to herself. How happy Motina was to leave that life behind. How the bees had been her escape.

Now she can’t serve the bees. That has been taken from her and she is behaving in much the way Tévas described my grandmother behaving.

It is scary. Because I don’t have someone like Tévas to look out for me. I have Tomas … that’s if news doesn’t get back to him about what Motina did. It would not help us to have knowledge of Motina’s decline spread among the community. If it gets back to the Duke or the priest she could be taken away from us. We could lose everything.

I can trust Jonas. He’ll keep it to himself. His stable presence gave me the courage to take control of the situation. He makes me feel capable.

I survey the damage and sigh. There is no use moping about those two boys. Right now I need to find a way to scoop the honey off the floor and see if any of it can be salvaged.

A loud gasp from the doorway. Senelè stands there, her forehead damp and her scarf slackening about her face. She covers her mouth; her skin goes pale.

‘Senelè, let me explain—’

‘Gabija!’ She is not looking at the barrels or the honey or even Motina in her fitful sleep. She points at the hearth.

The sacred fire has burned out.