Uprooted(92)
Author: Naomi Novik

The river rushed quick and deep here around the castle, leaving the city behind, going east. A hunting bird cried high above, a falcon wheeling in wide circles around the castle: was that Solya looking down at us? I snatched up a handful of reeds from the bank, without any incantations or charms: they had all gone out of my head. Instead I pulled a thread out of my cloak and tied the reeds at two ends. I threw the bundle down on the bank, halfway in the water, and flung magic at it. It grew into a long, light boat, and we scrambled in even as the river tugged it off the bank and dragged us along, rushing, bouncing off rocks on either side. There were shouts behind us, guards appearing on the outer walls of the castle high above.

“Down!” Kasia shouted, and pushed the children down flat and covered them with her body. The guards were firing arrows at us. One tore through her cloak and hit her back. Another landed just beside me and stuck into the side of the boat, quivering. I snatched the feathers off the arrow-shaft and threw them up into the air above us. They remembered what they’d once been and turned into a cloud of half-birds that whirled and sang, covering us from view for a few moments. I held on to the sides of the boat and called up Jaga’s quickening charm.

We shot forward. In one lurch, the castle and the city blurred back and away, turned into children’s toys. In a second, they had vanished around a curve of the river. In a third, we struck on the empty riverbank. My boat of reeds fell apart around us and dumped us all into the water.

I nearly sank. The weight of my clothes dragged me backwards, down into the murky water, light blurring above me. The cloud of Kasia’s skirts billowed next to me. I thrashed for the surface, blindly grabbing, and found a small hand grabbing back: Stashek put my hand on a tree-root. I pulled myself up coughing and managed to put my feet down in the water. “Nieshka!” Kasia was calling; she was holding Marisha in her arms.

We slogged up the soft muddy bank, Kasia’s feet sinking deep with every step, gouging holes in the earth that filled slowly in with water behind her. I sank down on the mucky grass. I was trembling with magic that wanted to spill out of me in every direction, uncontrolled. We’d moved too quickly. My heart was racing, still back there under the raining arrows, still in desperate flight, and not on a quiet deserted riverbank with waterbugs jumping over the ripples we’d made, mud staining my skirts. I’d been so long inside the castle, people and stone walls everywhere. The riverbank almost didn’t seem real.

Stashek sat down in a heap next to me, his small serious face bewildered, and Marisha crept over to him and huddled against him. He put an arm around her. Kasia sat down on their other side. I could gladly have lain down and slept for a day, a week. But Marek knew which way we’d gone. Solya would send eyes down the river to look for us. There was no time to rest.

I shaped a pair of crude oxen out of riverbank mud and breathed a little life into them, and built a cart out of twigs. We hadn’t been an hour on the road when Kasia said, “Nieshka,” looking behind us, and I drove them quickly into a stand of trees some way back from the road. A small haze of dust was drifting up from the road behind us. I held the reins, the oxen standing with plodding obedience, and we all held our breath. The cloud grew, unnaturally fast. It came nearer and nearer, and then a small troop of red-cloaked riders with crossbows and bared swords went flashing past. Sparks of magic were striking from the horses’ hooves, shod in steel caps that rang like bells on the hard-packed road. Some work of Alosha’s hands, now being turned to serve the Wood. I waited until the cloud was out of sight again up ahead before I drove our cart back onto the road.

When we drew into the first town, we found signs already posted. They were crudely, hastily drawn: a long parchment with my face and Kasia’s upon it, pinned to a tree next to the church. I hadn’t thought what it meant to be hunted. I’d been glad to see the town, planning to stop and buy food: our stomachs were pinching with hunger. Instead we pulled the cloaks over our heads, and rolled onward without speaking to anyone. My hands shook on the reins, all the way through, but we were lucky. It was market day, and the town was large, so close to the city; there were enough strangers around that no one marked us out, or demanded to see our faces. As soon as we were past the buildings, I shook the reins and hurried the oxen onward, quicker, until the village disappeared entirely behind us.

We had to pull off the road twice more, packs of horsemen flying past. And then once more late that evening, when another king’s messenger in his red cloak passed us going the other way, racing back towards Kralia, hoof-sparks bright in the dimming light. He didn’t see us, intent on his fast pace; we were just a shadow behind a hedge. While we were hiding, I caught sight of something dark and square behind us: it was the open doorway of an abandoned cottage, half lost in a stand of trees. While Kasia held the oxen I hunted through the overgrown garden: a handful of late strawberries, some old turnips, onions; a few beans. We gave the children most of the food, and they fell asleep in the cart as we drove back onto the road. At least our oxen didn’t need to eat or rest, being made out of dirt. They would march on, all night long.

Kasia climbed onto the driver’s seat with me. The stars had come out in a rush, the sky wide and dark so far away from anyone living. The air was cold, still, too quiet; the cart didn’t creak, and the oxen didn’t huff or snort. “You haven’t tried to send word to their father,” Kasia said quietly.

I stared ahead, down the dark road. “He’s dead, too,” I said. “The Rosyans ambushed him.”

Kasia carefully took my hand, and we held on to each other as the cart rocked onward. After a little while she said, “The princess died next to me. She put the children in the wardrobe, and then she stood in front of it. They stabbed her over and over, and she just kept trying to stand up in front of the doors.” Her voice shook. “Nieshka, can you make a sword for me?”

I didn’t want to. Of course it was only sensible to give her one, in case we were caught. I didn’t fear for her: Kasia would be safe enough fighting, when blades just went dull on her skin and arrows fell away without scratching her. But she would be dangerous and terrible, with a sword. She wouldn’t need a shield, or armor, or even to think. She could walk through fields of soldiers like cutting oats, steady and rhythmic. I thought of Alosha’s sword, that strange hungry killing thing; it was tucked away into that magical pocket, but I could still feel its weight on my back. Kasia would be like that sword, implacable, but she wouldn’t only have one use. I didn’t want her to need to do things like that. I didn’t want her to need a sword.