CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Austėja

Light slips through gaps in the walls, the morning star rises, and so too do my nerves.

The honey sits a couple of inches lower than the Hollow Watcher’s marks. They will think we stole the honey, and we will be punished.

I cannot tell them Motina lost her mind. That she sabotaged the most important thing in her life, during the most important harvest we’ve ever had. Imagine telling the Duke! Or the new priest. They would take her away or force us to recompense them for her sins. Or worse. Stanislaw’s face creeps in: the blood, the gore. That was punishment. Is this what they’ll do to Motina?

I won’t let that happen. There has to be another way.

I sit up in my cot and rub my thumbs over the palm of each hand. They are reddened and raw. Hours of boiling pots of water, soaking cloths and layering them, steaming, over the honey puddles to melt them away. Scraping, brushing, wiping. I salvaged only a little honey from the mess. Senelè and I were up most of the night, though it was I who did most of the scrubbing while Senelè tended to the new flame.

She was irate. Devastated. In despair. Her beloved flame burned out. ‘Gabija will punish us,’ Senelè muttered over and over again.

How can we possibly be punished any more than this?

Motina was barely lucid through the night. Senelè and I gave up trying to understand what happened while we were all gone. We only know that Smilte’s double-strength mead sent her over the edge.

Now, the flame crackles and burns. Senelè has rekindled it, nurturing it throughout the early hours.

Praying to Gabija.

She offered bread and salt. A bowl of clean water sits by the hearth so Gabija can wash herself. I know Senelè will not venture far from the hearth in the days to come.

It’s as if everyone has turned mad. Senelè mutters and mumbles in her sleep after circling the hearth for hours. Motina tosses and turns and jerks in her sleep. Danutè lies curled in the foetal position, so that she looks half her size, a crinkle of worry between her brows.

My eyes burn as I lie in wait. Waiting for the forest to give me answers. To guide me. The only answer that comes is to harvest from the new hollows. It is an awful thing to do as those bees will not survive winter. But without the correct amount of honey, will we?

Please, Gabija. Žemyna. Vejas.

Fire. Earth. Wind.

God.

Dear Lord, please help us. Please.

Silence. Then the crunch of boots on earth. Footsteps.

I throw aside the blanket and pull the door open. There stands Jonas. A large pine branch rests across his shoulders and hanging from each end is a timber bucket. His face glistens with sweat. He stops when he sees me. A weary smile.

I put a finger to my lips to stop him from speaking and fetch my coat, pull it over my nightdress and step outside, carefully closing the door behind me. I tiptoe to him, bare feet on dewy grass.

Jonas has lowered the branch and the buckets to the ground. The smell of pine resin drifts up, and something sweet too. I look into the buckets.

I gasp. ‘Honey?’

‘Yes, it’s for you. For your family.’ He shrugs. ‘To pay your taxes.’

My hand clutches my chest. ‘Oh, Jonas. I can’t take that from you. What if the Duke finds out? You will be punished for cheating him. You must keep it to pay your own taxes.’

He glances around and steps closer. ‘You must take it. It is not from our hollows anyway.’

‘It’s not?’

He shakes his head. ‘After our trip to Alytus that summer, I learned of log hives. Fallen trees with carved-out hollows that can be hung on a low branch of an upright tree or at ground height. Easier to harvest and less travelling. I began to collect my own. My father had no interest in them: he’s stuck on the old ways. I knew the taxes were to be raised, so I have been keeping them in secret. Far from our own hollows. And a few of them swarmed last summer.’

My mouth drops open slightly. I am lost for words. Log hives? I have never heard of such a thing. ‘But if the Hollow Watcher doesn’t know about them, what did you plan to do with them?’

He shifts on his feet. ‘I planned to leave.’

My stomach drops. ‘You did?’

Our eyes meet. ‘That was before we began to spend time together; then I thought I could bring them here with me if we wed. But now you are to marry my brother …’

‘Oh, Jonas, but why would you leave?’

‘I cannot stay here.’ His voice deepens and rumbles, like thunder. ‘I cannot live with my parents for eternity. I know that it’s my duty – it’s expected of me. But my father and I do not get along. My mother has always favoured Tomas. I want to have a family of my own, do things my own way. I want to break free of them.’ He steadies his breath. ‘I cannot see you wed to him.’

His words vibrate through my body, his pain twisting my stomach in a knot. I too had dreamed of escaping, moving to the city, leaving behind beekeeping, for good.

But now things have changed. And then changed again. I could not possibly leave Motina the way she is. Or Senelè. I couldn’t abandon Danutè.

I must stay.

‘But if you give this honey to us, you will have nothing to take with you.’

‘Don’t worry about me.’ He reaches for my hand. Hardened and yet soft, callused and tender. Calming on my burned palms. ‘You must take this honey and pay what you owe. I cannot live with anything happening to you or your family.’

I draw in a breath. ‘I will take it,’ I say, because I have little choice. ‘But I will be in your debt.’

Relief washes over his face. ‘Let’s get this inside before anyone sees us.’

He follows me in, and I close the door behind us. Everyone is still asleep. The hearth is high in flame again, a freshly laid log on the fire. Senelè’s eyes are closed, and her chest rises and falls. She does not snore.

‘Which one is for the Duke?’ Jonas asks in a whisper. I’m grateful he doesn’t question me about Motina. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway …

‘This one,’ I say, pointing to the barrel on the right.

Jonas heaves up one of the buckets and pours it into the barrel. It rises to the line marked by the Hollow Watcher. I release my breath; my heart slows down.

He tops it up with the second bucket which brings the levels above the line and then empties the rest into our family barrel, scraping the sides with his knife.

‘Try some,’ he says, holding up his knife, the tip swathed with a chestnut-coloured syrup. ‘It’s flaxseed flavoured.’

I scoop up a dollop on my index finger and press it against my tongue, to catch the remaining honey. It is nutty and sweet. ‘Delicious.’ Jonas grins and my smile wavers. ‘I am so sorry to take this from you. I feel awful.’

‘It’ll be okay.’ He taps on the Hollow Watcher’s mark. ‘You’ll get through this harvest now. We all will.’

‘Thank you.’

Jonas’s lips glisten with honey and all I can think about is tasting them. I swallow the dry lump in my throat. Lick my lips. He watches me. The air tightens between us, as if the wind is pulling us together.

Senelè hiccups in her sleep and I flinch.

‘I should go,’ he says, his sweet breath tickling my cheek.

‘Yes.’

At the door, Jonas pauses. He begins to say something but then shakes his head, his cheeks red.

‘Bye, Jonas,’ I say into the wind. He strides across the clearing, two emptied buckets in tightly gripped hands.

The pine resin smell tickles my nose. He has left the branch. I pick it up and inhale it. Woody and barky and smelling like Jonas. I rest it against the side of the house and when I look up again, he is gone.