Words on Fire

By the time we finally emerged from the woods, the morning sun was low in the sky. It was a welcome bit of warmth, though the light was hardly a friend to us. We wouldn’t get away with crawling or sneaking around any longer. Border guards at this level would be on horseback, with better visibility than those on foot and more speed to chase us.

I looked at Lukas and we seemed to exchange the same thought. We couldn’t hide. We simply had to do our best to stay out of the way of the soldiers, and if that was impossible, then we’d test ourselves by playing out our roles as children of a peasant farmer.

Playing the most dangerous game of our lives.

I had time to reflect as I walked beside Lukas that morning, time to think about who I’d been and who I now was. In all my life, I’d never felt as strong as I did following this first border crossing, nor had I ever understood more that my life mattered as I did now.

I thought of my name, Audra. In Lithuanian, it meant “storm.”

Before today, it had never felt like the proper name for me. Rather, I’d have expected that I should be named for a mouse, or a soft breeze, or named for the moment after a whisper, when no one is quite sure whether you’ve spoken at all.

But now I had grown into my name. I was the storm.

I redoubled my grip on the sacks slung over my shoulder, bracing myself against the wind coming at me, and continued down the path.

I’d come this far. No matter what was ahead, I could not stop now.

I wouldn’t stop now.

And I understood, more than ever before, that the lives that depended upon me to succeed wanted to breathe in the air of a free country and exhale words spoken in our own language. I no longer worked for myself, or for my family. I had become a smuggler in the service of Lithuania.

Lithuania as it should be.

Free.

Lukas and I passed through the final ring of border guards without seeing a single person, and by midmorning caught a ride with a friendly trader who said he’d take us as far as Šiauliai, near where Lukas said we’d meet Ben.

“Why don’t we deliver these books first?” I asked.

“I don’t know the priest. He’ll be less suspicious if the books come directly from Ben.”

So we rode in the back of the wagon, both of us sleeping flat on our backs, too exhausted to care whether we looked ridiculous, whether we were headed in the right direction, whether we could trust this trader. I only woke up when Lukas shook my arm, saying, “We’re here, Audra. We need to go.”

I groaned but rolled out of the wagon and onto my feet. The sun had shifted in the sky, though I wasn’t sure how far we’d gone or exactly what time it was. At least my clothes were dry and I was warm again.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way,” Lukas told me after the trader had left. He couldn’t be serious!

I picked up my two sacks of books. “How far?”

It probably wasn’t far, but no matter how he answered, it would seem like half a world away. After all the walking I’d done lately, my legs were tired, my boots had holes in them, and I would’ve really preferred if the trader had just taken us all the way to wherever Ben was.

Lukas and I turned down a dirt road marked only by wagon wheels that had crossed it from time to time, though even the road was overgrown with thick grasses. I took comfort from that. This wasn’t a place where many people had gone before, which meant it wasn’t a place the soldiers would have much interest in.

“What do you know of the Hill of Crosses?” Lukas asked as we walked.

“Nothing.” Which was true in the most literal sense. I’d never heard of it and could only guess that its name had some religious significance.

“I read a book on it,” Lukas said. “About sixty years ago, there was an uprising here—”

“The one that ended with all our books being banned?”

Lukas chuckled. “No, that uprising was thirty years ago. But every generation has to try to prove itself against the Russian Empire, I suppose. And every uprising fails sooner or later, including the one sixty years ago. That fight happened on the same hill where we’re now headed, and it became a major battle. So many fighters were killed that most families couldn’t find the bodies of their loved ones. With no other way to mourn their loss, one family placed a cross on the site of the battle. And then another did it, and another. I heard that by now, there are over a hundred crosses.”

“In honor of the dead?”

Lukas shook his head. “Yes, but it’s so much more now. The crosses are a reminder of the people who belong to this country, those who have fought to preserve it. It’s in honor of all Lithuanians.”

“Like you?” I turned to him. “Were you born here in Lithuania, Lukas?”