Words on Fire

Mama had warned me once that drawing the attention of the Cossack soldiers could cost a person their life.

Her life. Papa’s life.

I curled into a ball, burying my head in my arms so that if I did cry out, if I screamed out the pain I felt at what had just happened, no one would hear me.

By now, my home was surely engulfed in flames, though nothing I could imagine explained why they had burned it, or why they had even come.

Except that maybe I could explain it.

My father had hidden a wrapped package inside his shoulder bag. My mother had chosen to pass it to my care rather than to save her own life. I had just lost my parents because of that package.

Whatever it was, the soldiers considered it valuable enough that they were after me now. I had to deliver it to this woman, Milda, or else my parents’ sacrifice would be for nothing. But once it was in her hands, I wanted nothing more to do with it. Whatever it was, it had just cost me everything I loved.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d lain in the underbrush, but the soldiers seemed to have left the forest some time ago, and the air around me was dark now except for a partial moon that hung low in the sky. I didn’t know this Milda Sabiene, nor had I ever been to Venska where she lived, but I knew I shouldn’t stay here. The soldiers would return, probably in greater numbers. They would find me. Then I would be captured too.

Besides, I couldn’t stay here, watching my home, my family, my life turn to ashes before my eyes. I was already broken and empty, hollowed out to nothing. If I stayed any longer, I’d lose the will to move ever again. I would die here.

Tentatively, I crawled out from beneath the brush, though when I tried to stand, my right foot crumpled, bringing a sting that made me gasp for breath. I must’ve injured the ankle when I jumped off the slope and was only now realizing how bad it was. I gritted my teeth together and hobbled forward. An injured ankle was the least of my worries now … unless the injury created worse problems. Was I headed toward Venska? I didn’t know. What would I do if I got there? I didn’t know that either.

I limped along for some time before I saw lights in the distance and heard the playful sounds of laughter and music. I froze and squinted at the lights, trying to understand them. Then I remembered what it was and shook my head in disbelief.

This was Midsummer’s Eve, an all-night celebration for Lithuanians. The night of magic.

If my father was gone, then magic was gone as well. I wouldn’t believe in it any longer; I couldn’t.

Nor could I believe that the midsummer festivities were still continuing. Didn’t they know what had happened to my parents? How could all these people dance and sing and laugh with one another on a night as horrible as this had been?

The voices were coming nearer to me, and once again I ducked beneath the undergrowth, burying myself inside the summertime foliage. I had to. My eyes would be swollen and red from crying, and my clothes were filthy from the tumble I’d taken. I’d stand out from the group for certain. If the Cossacks were still looking for me, I couldn’t take the chance of anyone here turning me over to them.

I’d no sooner hidden myself than the party filled the clearing around me: what sounded like dozens of happy people without a single serious thought on their minds.

“It’s not yet midnight!” a boy called. “It won’t do any good to look for the fern blossom now!”

More laughter followed his statement, with girls calling back that they had plenty of grasses to gather until midnight.

“Weave your wreaths, then,” he replied. “I will set mine out on the river with any of you pretty girls!”

They giggled and shooed him away and I tried to smile, thinking of the fun I would have had if the night had gone as planned. At exactly midnight, two people in love would set their wreaths out on the water. If they floated together, the couple knew the fates wanted them to marry. And if the wreaths separated, they were also warned to separate. That was nothing to smile about.

“Pardon our intrusion,” said a deep Russian voice, “but we are looking for a fugi

tive.”

I caught my breath in my throat, recognizing the voice of the soldier who had followed me into the forest earlier. I heard the snort of a horse. Perhaps the soldiers had returned to my home for their horses and ridden around the forest to this place.

There were sounds of more horses, so I knew this soldier wasn’t alone. It didn’t matter how many more had come. I couldn’t outrun a single soldier on my injured foot.

“My name is Officer Rusakov and I am new to this district,” the man continued. “The fugitive is a blond girl in braids wearing a white blouse and skirt.”

“Sir, you’ve described most of the girls in Lithuania tonight,” the boy who had spoken before said.

His comment wasn’t taken kindly. I heard him gasp as he was hit, perhaps with the butt of a soldier’s rifle, and he fell to the ground.

“This girl was a child, perhaps no more than twelve or thirteen,” Officer Rusakov continued. “She is the daughter of Henrikas and Lina Zikaris. They have just been arrested.”

My heart skipped a beat as I absorbed his words. My parents were alive, both of them? For the first time since I’d seen those soldiers come up the hillside, I felt a sliver of hope.

Then Rusakov added, “We wish to see to the safety and care of the girl.”