CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Austėja

She’s gone.

Up on the High Hill, the breeze circles. Weaving in between bodies, familiar faces in mourning. A cuckoo calls. Hoo woo. Hoo woo. People glance about anxiously.

Senelè gave me the gift of trusting my instincts, leaning into my connection with the forest and, most importantly, trusting myself. I will hold her wisdom within me; it’ll strengthen my bones, direct the blood flow through my body, sharpen my senses. I will keep hold of the old ways so they don’t fade as Senelè feared. I owe her this.

I must be careful. Now that a seed has been planted in the Duke’s mind about witchcraft and sorcery, those seeds will not perish with Senelè. Out of fear, paranoia grows, and if I am not careful, this little seed will flourish into a forest. I cannot bring more harm to my family.

I will carry on the old ways for Senelè but I will also be cautious like Motina.

Senelè is where she wants to be. From the moment Tévas’s soul flew away, so did hers. We have all mourned his loss, but Senelè never recovered. She inhabited her son, cough and all, succumbing to it in her very last breath.

She’ll be at peace now.

‘Are you ready?’ Motina asks.

‘Yes,’ I say, stepping forwards to join her and Danutè. The three of us are draped in white scarves again. Two funerals bookended by two winters. Just the three of us.

For now.

The Duke and his men have escorted Tomas to the city, and Margusz too has left after delivering a sermon for Senelè, so only the settlers remain in Musteika. We have all changed, though, since the arrival of our new overseers last winter. No doubt there will be more change to come.

Smilte and Krystupas stand separate from the gathering, on the surface mourning a member of the bičiulystè, but underneath mourning their firstborn, and nursing the humiliation and horror of his actions.

In time, we’ll be able to look towards the future, instead of the past. Because in the past lies hurt and pain. The future is tantalisingly hopeful.

My stomach flips. I can sense his gaze upon me. At Senelè’s graveside, I glance over my shoulder and our eyes lock. As Jonas watches me, he tells me everything he wants to say but cannot in this moment.

I am sorry for your loss. I am sorry for everything. I am here. I am waiting.

I smile but it fades quickly as the Duke’s threats in the forest linger. I can only hope Tomas’s accusations have swayed his interest away from marrying me. The Duke is ambitious and will not be associated with any real – or imagined – sorcery. It would damage his reputation.

The coffin is made of both conifer and spruce, as I insisted. One to keep the positive energy in and one to keep the negative energy out. The way Senelè would have liked it.

Senelè’s body will lie in peace in the earth surrounded by forest, and her soul will float about the High Hill, telling stories to Tévas and reuniting with her long-lost loved ones.

‘It’s your turn,’ Motina says, prompting me to step forwards.

I study Senelè’s wrinkly, scarved head and I blink to imprint her on my mind. So I can carry the image of a peaceful death and let go of the haunting images of Stanislaw. I fall to my knees, sinking into the dampened earth.

I make offerings for Senelè’s afterlife.

A chunk of rye, a sprinkle of salt and ashes from the hearth.

Now she can look after Gabija, and our family, as she lives alongside us.

Thank you. Thank you for being in my life, Senelè. For teaching me to be myself, for helping me to embrace the old ways. I will take this with me, and I will be open to the new ways. Because we must adapt if we are to survive.

To survive, we must let go of some of our ways, to protect our family from threats. I’m sorry, Senelè, but we must let the eternal flame go out. I will relinquish the practice but not the memories.

The tears flow and my voice cracks, but I part my lips and succumb to the sorrow. My last parting gift, my lament, to Senelè.

‘Oh, my dear grandmother, why did you have to leave us? Oh, why did you have to take a trip up to the High Hill? If only you had a look at your two granddaughters, If only you stayed here and cared for us …’

I am joined by the women, falling to their knees, at one with the earth. Motina and Danutè either side of me. We unite with our voices. Weeping, singing, pleading, processing, releasing.

‘If only you hadn’t flown away to the High Hill! Ask the earth to let you go, to open the windows and let you fly. Travel back along the high road and come back to us. Follow the bright sun, she will show you the way …’

The cries muffle words and I draw in a deep breath to ease the shudder in my rib cage. I pull a handkerchief from my pocket and dab my eyes. As I pull it away a distinct buzzing sound catches my ear, followed by a light tickle on my hand.

A bee.

It has been happening with increased frequency since Senelè left. They must be confused. My salty tears should repel them. I may be one with the forest, but I am not cloaked in pollen. It flutters its wings and rubs its tiny hands together. A little pollen sac sits on its leg.

It is beautiful.

I catch Motina’s eye, and she beams back at me. I know what she’s thinking. A bee does not sting a bad person. Bees choose their keepers.

She is right, and so was Senelè. I do have a special connection with the forest. One that cannot be described with words because it is felt in my heart.

The bee flutters away and my heart swells with a renewed sense of self. Of who I have become.

I am a good person. An agent of the forest.

A beekeeper.

I am Austėja.

I am goddess of the bees.