The Forest of Vanishing Stars(22)

Yona nodded, and though he held her gaze for a few beats more, as if waiting for her to disappear if he blinked, he eventually turned and moved into the woods.

In the silence left in his wake, Yona could hear herself breathing, could feel the stillness all around her. There was a slight lapping of the water against the banks, the fish struggling to free themselves from the net. The whisper came through the trees again, but it wasn’t Jerusza’s voice she could hear. This is your path, it said. She took a deep breath and got to her feet.

In the ten minutes before Aleksander returned with Leib, Yona had waded back into the stream and quickly, expertly collected most of the fish whose gills had become lodged in the net. She was holding the basket when they arrived in the clearing, and when Leib’s eyes went first to it instead of her, she knew instantly that he was very hungry. Up close, he looked younger than he had from a distance, perhaps only sixteen or seventeen. He was slim, long-limbed, with a nose as sharp as a crow’s beak, and a smattering of stubble on his narrow chin.

“Fish,” she said in greeting, and when his gaze moved to her, he looked confused. “It’s too dangerous to build a fire now, for the smoke could be seen from miles away on a clear day like this, but you will have plenty to eat tonight, I promise.”

He blinked, looked uncertainly at Aleksander, and then turned his gaze back to her. He cleared his throat. “Aleksander tells me you have helped us. That the fish yesterday were from you?”

“Yes.” Yona didn’t elaborate. Instead, she gestured for him to sit down.

“Thank you,” Leib said, his voice low as he settled across from her.

Yona nodded without looking up, embarrassed by his gratitude.

“Leib, this is Yona,” Aleksander said. “Yona, Leib.”

“Hello.” Leib regarded her with curiosity.

“Hello.” She didn’t know what else to say, so she looked hastily away, then she glanced at Aleksander, who was watching her. He gave her a small, encouraging smile.

She turned back to Leib. “Um, you look hungry. I will pick some berries. You can scale the fish?” As soon as she said it, though, she wondered if he carried a knife. After all, why would he, this village boy who didn’t know the woods? But he surprised her by pulling a folding blade from his pocket and holding it up.

“Sure.”

“Where did you get that?” She hadn’t meant to sound accusatory, but when he flinched, she knew she had. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I only meant to say that I’m surprised. I would not have thought you would be allowed to have a weapon in the ghetto.”

“I wasn’t.” He glanced at Aleksander. “But once we were far from Mir, Aleksander insisted we venture into a few villages and take what we needed,” he explained, avoiding her gaze.

“But only what we needed,” Aleksander cut in. “The villagers, they are facing hard times, too. But there were things we needed to survive.”

Yona nodded her agreement, in awe that he had figured out how to do such a thing—and apparently to do it with some level of morality. “You have scaled a fish before, Leib?”

“I’ve seen my mother do it. I can try.” He grabbed one of the small fish by its tail and put the blunt edge of his knife against its midsection. As he scraped, silver scales sparked into the air like a burst of light. “Like this, yes?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, giving him an encouraging smile. “Just get the scales under the collar there, too. Good, good.”

He smiled as he held up his fish to examine it. In just a few swipes, he had wiped it clean.

Yona smiled back. “You’re a natural, Leib.”

He looked down, the smile suddenly sliding from his face. “If my father could see me now. He teased me for having a book in my hand all the time. Said I’d never survive if anyone took away my stories.”

A small silence hung over them, and then Aleksander patted Leib on the shoulder. “He would be very proud, Leib,” he said, his voice deep and warm. Yona nodded, but still, Leib wouldn’t look at them. When he finally turned, Yona could see tears in his eyes, which he quickly wiped away with a look of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting to his feet. He strode away into the trees without another word, and beside her, Aleksander sighed as they watched him go.

“The grief comes in waves,” Aleksander said simply after a moment.

“I’m very sorry.” Yona felt suddenly awkward as they lapsed back into silence. “The others who are with you,” she asked after a moment. “Their grief is similar?”

Aleksander glanced at her. “Yes.”

“And have any of them spent a winter in the wilderness before?”

Aleksander choked out a laugh like Yona had never heard, one devoid of mirth and filled only with disbelief and pain. “No. We all came from comfortable lives in the villages outside the forest. We were tailors and bookkeepers, shop owners and students. None of us could have imagined a day that our homes would be gone, and we’d be running for our lives into the depths of a forest we don’t know at all.”

It wasn’t fair, any of it, and though the thought of being around more than a few people after a lifetime alone was enough to make her pulse race with fear, she wondered whether this was her path, the fate Jerusza had been talking about. “Your group,” she said abruptly, and then she took a deep breath and dove off the cliff into the deep unknown. “I would like you to take me to them. Tomorrow. If it’s all right with you. I—I would like to help.”