Sing Me Your Scars (Apex Voices Book 3) (7 page)

“Papa, was I a good girl for the nurse?”

“Of course you were. Miss Ruta said you were
very
good.”

“She had a sad face. I thought…”

“No, no, you are always a good girl. Always.”

“When I feel better, I should pick flowers for her. Would that be
okay?”

Andrius’s chest tightened. For a moment, the words caught in his
throat. He nodded. “Yes, it would be very nice.”

Outside the window, storm clouds gathered and thunder rumbled in
the distance.

“Is Perkūnas angry?” Laurita asked.

He laughed. “Maybe he is.”

She gave him a small smile. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“Who makes the snow?”

He tapped his chin. “I wonder. Is it Perkūnas?”

She shook her head. “No, he makes the thunder.”

“Jūratė?”

Another shake. A small giggle. “No, she lives in the sea.”

“Ahhhh, I know,” he said, raising his hand. In his palm, a white
ball of snow shimmered in the light. “
I
make the snow!” He tossed it up
in the air. It broke apart, and snowflakes fell down around her, alighting on
her lashes and nose. The room filled with the smell of pine and cinnamon.

She gave a weak laugh, her breath emerging in a vapory plume. As
the snowflakes melted, he could not help looking over both shoulders. No one
could possibly have felt such a small magic, and the curtains were shut tight,
but still…

“You have the best magic in the world,” Laurita said.

He kissed her forehead. “I have the best daughter in the world,
but now, you must go to sleep.”

“Okay,” she said, her eyes already half-closed.

He pretended not to notice the pale cast to her skin. The shadows
beneath her eyes. Her frail limbs. The breath wheezing in and out of her lungs.
Just as he pretended not to see the soldiers outside. It was

safer

better that way.

§

Andrius tossed and turned in his own bed, hating the way the
space beside him felt like a country he could only dream of visiting. Wind
rattled against the glass, and a boom sounded in the distance. Maybe
Perkūnas was wielding the bolts of thunder and lightning. Maybe not. He
was also the god of war, yet he seemed in no hurry to strike down the invaders.
Perhaps he didn’t care at all.

The rest of the world was far too busy watching Paris fall to the
Germans to worry about Andrius’s country and the suffering of its people. There
were whispers of ways out, of soldiers who would look the other way for the
right amount of money, but he did not have the money, and Laurita was not
strong enough for travel.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. A trace of magic lingered on
his skin, giving his palm a luminescent appearance. Such a small thing. Such a
huge risk. But it was all he had.

Saulė had always loved the snowflakes, too.

He rolled over to the empty
side of the bed and buried his face in her pillow. He could still smell the
scent of her skin. Tears burned in his eyes. He inhaled deeply, pulling in her
scent as far as he could.

She would still be with them if he hadn’t let her go out on her
own. He’d known it was dangerous. But she’d smiled and said she’d be right
back, she was only going to the market, and he’d kissed her on the cheek and
said, “Okay.” He should’ve said no, it was not okay. He was supposed to protect
her.

He punched the mattress and sobbed into the pillow. It was all
his fault and there was nothing he could do. He could only pray they took her
to Siberia. At least there she would have a chance. A tiny one, but better than
the alternative.

“Oh, Saulė,
I miss you. I miss you so much,” he said,
his voice muffled. “Please forgive me.”

He should’ve done something.
Anything.
He cried until his
throat ached, then clasped his hands together and prayed. He prayed Ruta made
it home safe and sound. He prayed for his country. He prayed for Saulė.
And last, he prayed for a miracle for Laurita. He wished with all his heart
she would see her seventh birthday. Surely the gods could grant him that.

§

Coughing woke him in the middle of the night. He stumbled in
the darkness, banging his shin on the doorframe. Laurita was hunched over in
the bed, her hands cupped over her mouth. The coughs came out ragged and thick.
He rubbed her back and held a cloth to her mouth until the coughing subsided.

After he wiped the blood from her lips, he tucked the cloth away
before she could see it and measured out a spoonful of the medicine Ruta, his
wife’s best friend in the time before fear and soldiers, had risked her life to
bring. It was not a curative (those medicines belonged to other countries,
countries without soldiers and tanks invading their lands) but would make
it…easier for her.

Laurita made a face. “I don’t like medicine.”

“I don’t either.” He smiled. “Here, let’s make it taste better.”
He waved his hand. The liquid turned amber; the sweet smell of flowers wafted
from the spoon. She swallowed it down and smiled.

“Will the medicine help me get better?”

“Yes, it will.”

“And when I am well, will Mama come back?”

He swallowed hard and forced his lips into a smile. “I’m sure she
will finish her work and come home soon.”

A little lie. Just like the taste of honey in her spoon.

“I wish the soldiers could find someone else to help them. I miss
her, Papa. I miss her so much.”

“I miss her, too.”

“Magic me a story, Papa.”

“I wish I could, but you know it would make the soldiers angry. I
will tell you a story instead.”

“Okay.”

“And what story do you want to hear?”

Her face brightened. “Jūratė and Kastytis.”

He smiled. Saulė had told her the story time and again. He
always thought it too sad for a small child, but it was Laurita’s favorite. He
readjusted the curtains, fluffed Laurita’s pillow, and pulled the blanket up to
her chin.

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful mermaid goddess who
lived under the sea in a palace made of amber. Her name was Jūratė,
and she had a long tail with scales the color of the sky just before the sun
sets.

“And there was a handsome fisherman named Kastytis who would come
to the sea every day to catch fish, but one day, while Kastytis was in his
boat, Perkūnas was angry and made a big storm.”

Andrius let a little magic slip free. Just a touch of the salt
tang of the Baltic Sea and a darkening of the air near the ceiling to resemble
a storm cloud.

“Kastytis fell into the sea. Jūratė saw him fall and
rescued him from the waves. She took him home to her palace, and they fell in
love.

“But this made Perkūnas very angry. He didn’t think
Jūratė should love a mortal man like Kastytis. He wanted her to marry
Patrimpas, the God of Water. In his anger, he sent a lightning bolt from the
sky through the water.”

Andrius made light flash in the air, one quick snap of soundless
bright.

“The lightning hit Jūratė’s palace, shattering it into
thousands and thousands of fragments, and poor Kastytis was killed.

“Perkūnas punished Jūratė by chaining her to the
ruins of her castle. And now, when storms strike the sea, you can hear
Jūratė crying for Kastytis, and you can find her tears washed upon
the shore.”

He held out his hand and opened his fingers, revealing a tiny
piece of amber that Laurita took and held up to the light. It glowed with a
secret fire, then it winked out of sight. She put her hand down and looked at
him for a long time without speaking, her mouth set into a frown, her eyes
filled with a seriousness far too advanced for her years.

“Perkūnas should have not made the storm and the thunder. He
should’ve protected the palace instead, and he should’ve left Jūratė
and Kastytis alone.”

“It’s just a story, little one. Only a story.”

But the frown did not leave her face.

“Papa, why does the magic make the soldiers angry?”

“I don’t know,” he lied.

§

From his bedroom window, Andrius could see the edge of a
striped awning at the end of the street. A theater, its stage now silent and
dark. He’d performed there a long time ago, but he still remembered the heat of
the lights and the gasps of surprise from the audience.

The best magicians could make the people forget they were seated
indoors, could transport them to another time, another place. Lithuanian magic
was no mere sleight of hand or game of misdirection, but a gift from the land,
born from the spring breeze and the winter chill, the fir tree and the rivers.

It could create lions from shadows and birds from candleflame.
Could send snowfall on a summer day and turn tears into rain. Even if you were
not in a theater during a performance, you could stand outside and feel it in
the air, a silent music pulsing from the magician’s fingertips. It was power,
but not of control or destruction. It gave hope. Happiness. Strength. All the
things the Russians wanted to take away.

Saulė had not wanted him to stop performing, but life on the
stage belonged to a man without responsibilities. He’d traded the theater for
small magics to make her smile and later, to calm their infant daughter. A
choice he never regretted.

And if he had he not made that choice… He closed his eyes. He’d
heard whispers that even the old magicians who’d lost their magic to disease or
dementia had disappeared.

How he had escaped notice, he didn’t know.

§

“I don’t want to eat, Papa.”

Andrius set the bowl down and smoothed her hair back from her
forehead. “But you must. You need your strength.”

She shook her head. “I will eat it later.”

“But the rabbit might eat it first.”

“The rabbit?”

“Yes, the rabbit.”

He cupped his hands together, blew into them, and opened his
palms to reveal a tiny brown rabbit, its nose wiggling, its ears twitching. He
placed the rabbit on the bed. It hopped once, twice, three times, and Laurita
giggled and clapped her hands.

“Can we keep him?”

“Only for a little while,” he whispered.

He guided the rabbit over to
Laurita’s bowl. It dipped its head in.

“No, rabbit, that’s my food.”

“Okay, you eat it then.”

She took several spoonfuls, watching the rabbit jump around on
her bed. When the soup was gone, the rabbit turned translucent, shimmering at
the edges. Then it disappeared.

“Can you bring it back?”

“No, it’s too dangerous. I will tell you a story instead.

“Once upon a time, the Grand Duke Gediminas went on a hunting
trip and made camp atop a high mountain. That night, he dreamt of an iron wolf
on the mountain. The wolf howled and howled and howled and sounded like
hundreds of wolves.

“When he woke, he told the
priest of his dream. The priest said it meant that Gediminas was to build a
city on the mountain. The city would be as strong as iron and stand tall for
hundreds of years.

“Gediminas had his castle built, and it still stands today, here
in Vilnius.”

He held out his hand. On his
palm rested a miniature version of the circular castle, the striped flag of
Lithuania flying strong and proud.

“I think you would build a better castle, Papa. A bigger,
stronger one to keep everyone safe.”

Andrius bent over the bed to adjust the blankets. “Everything
will work out fine, little one. I’m sure of it.”

He hoped his voice sounded convincing.

§

Andrius was sleeping in a chair in the front room when
footsteps thudded in the hall. Coarse voices spoke in Russian. He sprang up
from the chair and ran into Laurita’s bedroom. She was sleeping soundly. He
closed her bedroom door, his mouth dry, his palms sweaty.

His hands twisted. Maybe the soldiers would not check the rest of
the apartment. He stood up straight, took a deep breath, and waited three feet
away from the door.

Someone shouted. A soldier
laughed. A woman screamed. He covered his mouth with his hand and cast a gaze
toward Laurita’s door.

Please let her sleep through it
, he thought.

More footsteps. Closer now.

Prašau, prašau.

He dropped his hands at his
side. He would not let them see that he was afraid. A thump. Another laugh. A
sob. A child’s cries.

Prašau.

Then the footsteps led away.
Away
. His shoulders sagged.
He could not hold in his tears.

“Ačiū Dievo,” he whispered.

They were safe. This time.

“Papa?”

He rushed into the bedroom.

“I heard voices.”

“It was just the neighbors. That’s all. Go back to sleep now.
Everything is fine.”

“Okay.”

He sagged against the doorframe. No more magic. It was too
dangerous. And what good was it? All the magic in the world couldn’t make her
well again.

§

A soft knock sounded at the door just after the sun rose.
Andrius opened it a crack, saw Daina standing in the hall, and ushered her in.

“They took Gedrius and his whole family,” she whispered. “But I
saw one of them visit Raimondas’s apartment after they took them away.”

“Raimondas? No, he wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t.
He is a good man.”

“He is a scared man, like all of us, and scared men do foolish
things sometimes.” She touched his arm. “You must be careful.”

Andrius raked his fingers through his hair. “I am careful”

She took his hands and gave them a small shake. “No, you need to
be
careful
. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

A sick feeling twisted inside his belly. “If something should
happen to me, will you…” He cleared his throat. “Will you care for Laurita?”

She nodded slowly. “I will do what I can.”

After she left, he stood in the doorway to Laurita’s bedroom and
watched her sleep. Her breath was too shallow, the movement of her chest, too
slight. Tears ran down his cheeks.