Impiri was a person of standing in the village and people still listened to her. Her grandfather had led all of their ancestors through the Calamity. Her father, and Ada’s, Dane Marshall, had been the best Leader they had ever had. Even if her husband struggled to fill his shoes, he was still the head of the village. Many would blame Illya if that was what she told them to do. It would be less frightening than facing the real problem. He tried to glance back at Sabelle without being obvious, wishing he could see her face, but she was too far behind him.
Elias was nodding. “We’ve gotten careless. We have to remember that the founders survived when so many others didn’t. We can’t forget their ways.” Illya looked around the circle. Ada was red-faced with clenched fists. A few people looked uncertain, but too many nodded in ready agreement.
Elias looked at Impiri and put his hand on her shoulder.
“He’s just a boy. And there are things of the Olders all around us,” he said. Impiri narrowed her eyes at Elias.
“There is a disease here and it has to be cleaned out before it is too late,” she said then turned back to the crowd.
“We must find each thing of the Olders that has wormed its way in and burn it.”
“Time someone did something about the way things are going. People forgetting what the Founders taught. I don’t hold with it,” Jimmer Duncan said, nodding. Elias frowned, his eyes darting from Impiri to the other people. He sighed.
“If there is corruption, we can clean it out. The shoots have returned. We have time,” he said, holding up his hand. He raised his voice so that it reached over the hum of the crowd. “We have been given a second chance.”
“Don’t need to be feeding people that bring curses down on us either,” Jimmer continued, muttering under Elias’s words.
“Yes,” Impiri said. “It is a new chance.” She looked from face to face in the circle, squinting in the dimming light as though she could see the corruption hiding inside each of them.
She moved from Ada to Uncle Leo, to Benja, then to Illya. Before she could say anything, a wail sounded through the crowd, anguished and terrible, driving a chill to his core.
Jannica Myr staggered into the firelight.
“It’s too late,” she said.
She was clutching a small bundle to her chest, sobbing.
“He’s gone. My boy is gone.” Her voice cracked. Her eyes squeezed closed; then her lips parted in a silent sob.
Another one lost.
Illya’s heart dropped into his stomach. He looked around for his family, suddenly frantic to find them. The sight of the lifeless boy was burned into his mind, remaining even after he had turned away.
Molly.
Stumbling, Illya broke into a run, gripped with fear that he would find her in the same state. Behind him, the people murmured like a swishing sea, and breaking through the sound came Jannica’s sobs.
“A shame, but one less mouth to feed,” a man muttered as he passed. Illya stumbled. The little boy was the fifth person they had lost to starvation that winter. A person could last through much, but when they were weak, or very young, the fear of finding them still in their beds never to wake again was real.
Illya burst through the door and found a scene untouched by the tragedy outside. His mother sat with Molly on her bed. Together, they were drawing pictures on the dirt floor. He looked down, and his heart clenched. His sister’s hand was tracing a lumpy circle.
“We are having a feast,” she said and smiled up at him. Her eyes were happy despite the sunken cheeks and dark hollows below them.
“I’m eating a potato.”
“I have ramps, greens, fish, and a whole rabbit,” his ma said, pointing at the other pictures on the floor. Illya swallowed, for a moment finding himself unable to speak. He sat down beside them.
“First shoots,” he said. “They’ve found the first shoots.” Both of them looked up at him, wide-eyed. Grenya smiled, the crease between her brows softening. Illya put his arm around his little sister’s shoulders and hugged her close until she squirmed away.
Later, after Molly was asleep, Illya told his mother about Jannica and her little boy. She gripped the table edge, going pale.
“Another one.” She shook her head, gazing down at Molly’s small face.
“It won’t happen to her. We won’t let it happen to her,” she said. Illya nodded, though he knew that they would be just as helpless as Jannica had been if it did.
“We can get by a little longer.” He paused. “We have to.”
Then, because he couldn’t stand taking the thought any further, he turned away and pulled the book out from between his furs.
He scanned the text for two-letter words, letting the rows of letters, orderly and clean, fill his mind. He traced them in the dirt with shaking fingers, making shapes that, while not as perfect as the ones in the book, were at least recognizable. There were a lot of them, but as he drew, he found that many had the letters he already knew.
His mind skipped feverishly from clue to clue. He read “am,” and “as,” and “is.” Then he found “if,” “go,” and “my.” Now he knew m,a,s,o,n,i,f,g,y. He glanced at Molly, sleeping peacefully in her furs, and held his breath as he watched her chest rise and fall. He rubbed the back of his neck, remembering what Impiri had said and what Jimmer had said before Jannica had come. He thought of the people standing by, too many agreeing with them.
If Impiri had known that he was reading, she would have him thrown out of the village without a thought.
He turned the page to the picture of the fat man. The Olders had never sat by helplessly watching their children starving; he was sure of it. He set his jaw and focused on the letters again. If he could learn their secrets, maybe he wouldn’t have to watch her starve.
“Is” was a funny one. The sound of “s” in mason was not quite the same as the sound it made in is. It was like it was dragged out, and he couldn’t figure out why. Illya went through the text, saying the letters he knew out loud as he came to them, trying to match them to words he knew. There were many that he couldn’t guess at, but sometimes, when he sounded the letters out in longer words, he could tell which sounds filled in the gaps.
He read “can,” “day,” and “hands.” Each new sound unlocked more and more. Soon he had so many sounds that he had to stop and draw them all out in the dirt, with a picture of a word that started with the sound beside each letter he knew, just to keep track.
He read “fast,” and, a short while later, “past.” He grinned as he added p to his list, beside Molly’s potato.
CHAPTER SIX
“YOU’RE NOT SERIOUS. You can read this?” Benja demanded. They sat together on the riverbank, watching a fish trap they had just set. Benja was looking at a page with a picture of a shining red car. There was a square of short green grass with fat people standing on it beside the car, and a large house in the background.
“Well, kind of. I haven’t read very much yet,” he said. Benja looked up from the page, staring at Illya with his mouth still open. Illya reddened. He tried to skip a stone across the water and failed. The rains had come and the river was muddy and raging. Most of the snow had washed away, and the paths through the village had all become running streams.
“You found something big here, Coz,” Benja whispered.
“I guess so,” Illya said, grinning.
“We can see how they did things,” Benja said.
“Maybe even do some of it too,” Illya said but hesitated. “I want to know how they lived. They had so much.” He glanced past the trees towards the broad path with some longing.