30
The Elders
Peter walked to Chust. As he went he chewed on some rye bread he’d found in the jar, trying to quell the ache in his belly and find some strength. By the time he reached the village, the bread was all gone, but his hunger remained.
“That will have to do,” he said.
He had no plan, but as he walked down the main street he suddenly thought that maybe he should start at the hut at the edge of the forest. That was where he had last seen Agnes. Maybe daylight would give some clue as to where she had gone. Maybe some tracks.
The thought of daylight made him look to the sky. The earlier morning sun had vanished behind a high and thick bank of cloud. But it seemed light enough, and he had no choice. He would go back to the hut.
He retraced his steps back up the main street. As he went, his thoughts were invaded by the events of the night. He had seen things that were not possible, or rather that his father had told him were not possible. All his life Tomas had told him to ignore the stories they heard, as they moved from one town to the next. Now, in the smallest, most God-forgotten place they had ever lived, it had all come true. It had all come to life, just as Radu and Stefan seemed to have done.
He was passing underneath a high window when his attention was caught by raised voices.
He might have walked on, were it not for two words.
“…Shadow Queen…”
He paused, but could make out no more, because of the babble of voices. Deciding he was wasting time, he hurried on toward the hut.
It looked so different by daylight. What had been a place of living terror a few hours before was now simply lifeless—cold and empty. By day, though still not welcoming, it held none of the horrors of the night.
Peter hunted around, but found nothing. Enough snow had fallen in the night to obscure even the frantic marks Radu had made scrabbling for the millet. The wood from the shattered door lay cast around, almost hidden but for one or two spikes of timber.
And in the freshly fallen snow there was not the slightest sign of a footprint, or anything else that might have given Peter a clue.
Inside, his search was just as useless. There was nothing there but the bed, the stool, and piles of unspun wool.
The only thing he learned from his visit was that it had been real. Everything he had thought he had seen, all the awfulness, had really happened.
He sat on the stool, wondering what to do. In truth, he knew there was only one answer, but he didn’t like it. He must walk back to Chust, find an Elder, tell what had happened, and ask for help looking for Agnes.
The Elders. Old Anna, taciturn but fearsome. He certainly didn’t want to face them. And then he realized—those voices floating down to him from the window had come from Anna’s house.
An irrational anger seized him, and he stormed back into Chust.