Words on Fire

“In hopes of reminding you of how much you have lost.” Rusakov leaned lower to stare at me. “If you truly miss them, then I will send you to Siberia to join them. Yes, it’s true that you may not survive the trip, just as your parents may not have s

urvived it—I’d hate for you to go all that way and find yourself alone there, with nothing but ice and chains and convicted criminals for company. You will be assigned the same work as the adults. If you think carrying a sack full of books is heavy, wait until you are given a railroad tie to drag by yourself for a kilometer through knee-deep snow.”

I didn’t want that. I didn’t want any part of going to Siberia. Much as I missed my parents, I knew they wouldn’t want me to join them there either. If, as Rusakov said, they had even survived the trip.

I glanced up. “You want the name of that boy who you think is smuggling books. Why?”

“He is giving me a great deal of trouble, and it must stop. I believe he is working for a smuggler named Ben Kagan. Do you know that man?”

My eyes darted and I pressed my lips together, determined not to say a word, not to reveal a single thing.

But Rusakov leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “Don’t think of them as people. Think of them as your pathway to freedom. When I have what I want from you, I will put you in a wagon that will take you anywhere in the Russian Empire that you wish to go, even back to your land on that little hillside if you like. You can start a new life there, an honest life, a law-abiding life, loyal to the tsar.” He shrugged. “Or I will put you on the next train to Siberia. You do not seem properly dressed for the trip. I hope that will not be a problem.”

I closed my eyes, pouring all my strength into holding my emotions together, into keeping myself from dissolving into a thousand pieces. I genuinely did not know what to do.

Rusakov reached into the pocket of his uniform and withdrew a single piece of paper and a pen. “Shall we begin?”

Lukas and Ben weren’t just people to me. Nor were Milda and Roze and the priest and everyone else I’d met along the way—names Rusakov would surely demand if I cracked and gave him Lukas’s name.

These people were my friends. And they had opened my eyes to a world I’d never known existed, a world built of letters that made words that made magic—real magic—come alive in my mind.

I would have to pay a terrible price for that magic now.

Sensing my inner turmoil, Rusakov left the paper and pen on the table, then stood and said, “I’ll be back for you in one hour. I expect to see names of these criminals on that paper when I return.”

And he left. It struck me as odd that he hadn’t asked if I had any ability to write. He must have assumed I could. And I could. Maybe I wouldn’t spell everything correctly or write it in the prettiest handwriting, but I could write. I had written, was still writing, creating my own magic on paper. I could certainly do a bit of that writing now. But what to say?

Officer Rusakov had left me the box with my parents’ things. I riffled through the contents, sniffed the handkerchief that still smelled like my mother and the pipe that carried me back home again to evenings with my father in front of the fire. But it was the small key at the bottom that made me most curious. It must have some importance or my parents wouldn’t have carried it with them. I didn’t know if it had been with my father or mother but I supposed it didn’t matter. The key was yet another secret they had kept from me. I slipped it into my apron pocket and then sat in the chair in front of the paper, hoping if I stared at it long enough, the answer for what I was supposed to do would magically appear.

The longer I stared, the heavier my eyes became. Finally, I scrawled a name on the paper, and hoped I’d made the right choice, then fell asleep.

I woke up when I heard the key turn in the lock outside my room, then Rusakov marched in and snatched the paper from beneath my wrist. I sat up straight, trying to orient myself again and to appear more alert than I actually was.

But almost instantly, Rusakov pounded his fists on the table, then leaned down to look at me. “Do you think this is a joke?”

My heart began to race. “No, sir.”

He pushed the paper toward my face. “I asked for the name of that boy.”

“You asked for the name of criminals. The only one I know by name is you … sir. Lithuania should be a free country. You and the other soldiers occupy it illegally.”

He ripped the paper into strips, though I still saw the various letters of his name waft in pieces to the floor. “You will get your wish to see your parents again. You will be on the next train bound to Siberia, with nothing on your back but the clothes you now wear, and nothing in your belly but your last meal before coming here, all of which are more than you deserve. I will make an example of you, show the other peasants that there will be no mercy given to those who violate the orders of the tsar.”

I had not expected any mercy, but even the thought that I might see my parents again failed to give me any comfort. An icy shudder shot through me. Siberia sounded like a big place, a terrible place. There were no guarantees I’d find my parents, even if they were still alive. Even if I arrived there alive.

“Do you think you’ve saved your friends, that they will be safe now that you have refused to name them? I will find them, Miss Zikaris. I will see that they get what they deserve, as will you. Nothing you have done here should cause you any pride.”

“No, but I believe my parents would be proud, and that is enough.” My voice sounded stronger than I felt.

He frowned at me, doing a far better job of holding in his temper than I was of holding in mine, then knocked for the door to be opened and slammed it shut behind him.

I wished I could have felt some measure of victory at what I’d said and done, that I could dismiss my fears knowing that at least there had been a purpose in my actions.

But I couldn’t. In the end, I sank into a corner of my small room, knowing that when the door opened again, no matter what Rusakov’s orders were, I was doomed.

And worse still, knowing that I had just assured the same fate for the two people in the world I loved the most. I hoped that what I’d said to Rusakov had been correct, that my parents would be proud of my decision. If they weren’t, then at least I hoped that, one day, my parents would forgive me.

I doubted the day would ever come that I might forgive myself for failing to save them.