Enna Burning (2 page)

Enna peeled the dough off the table and threw it down again. “Look at me, Finn. When we met in the city two years ago, did you see me in this kind of life? Kneading this dough, living out here like my ma, tending the house and animals, and talking to myself for company? She was married at my age, but that doesn’t fit me, does it, Finn?”

“Somehow, I can’t think of anything you could do that would surprise me,” he said. Enna pushed him playfully with her shoulder. He took a couple of off-balance steps, but she suspected he did it on purpose to make her feel tough. “What do you think you’ll do?”

“About Leifer? Knock his head and listen for the hollow thunk.”

“No, about you.”

Enna paused. “I don’t know, Finn. I need to do something.” She flexed her hand and watched the sinews stretch. “I feel like I’m homesick for something, maybe for Isi and the old days in the city. When I was an animal keeper, it was hard work, but I loved the winter nights or rain days when all us Forest-born would hole up in the workers’ hall, Isi and Razo and the rest, and play games and hear tales and watch the fire.” She smiled. “And later, too, when stuff was happening, and we helped Isi from the louts who tried to kill her, and she married the prince. What a wedding, huh? You in fine cloth and holding a javelin and all? And the nights up in the palace when you came to visit, and Isi would have a picnic on the throne room floor and invite all the animal workers.”

Finn nodded. “Times I thought I could stay there forever, and I thought you’d never leave.”

“Me too, once.” Enna stopped pounding the dough and watched it rise. “But later, I don’t know, I felt different, like I was just a guest, you know? With all the courtiers and ladies-in-waiting and guards and everything, after a while, it didn’t seem like Isi needed me anymore.”

“But you had to leave, for your ma,” he said.

Enna nodded. “I know, and I stayed because I thought Leifer needed me. But lately . . . it seems like all he really needs is a good kick to the head.”

“I’d miss you, Enna, if you left the Forest . . . if I couldn’t see you much.”

“Well, thanks for that.”

The ease of the moment made Enna realize just how many times they had stood together in such an exchange, Enna talking about whatever was on her mind, Finn listening. She thought that perhaps he had heard more of her thoughts than any other person. She turned to look him over. He noticed and glanced away.

“Huh, what a patient person you are, Finn,” she said. “I should be more like you.”

Finn shook his head. “No. If I’m patient, then you don’t have to be, because one of us already is.”

Enna did not argue. To Finn, the point seemed to make perfect sense.

They worked together until the house was clean and bread hot to eat, then sat outside to watch the night come on. The tree shadows merged into a general darkness, broken only by pale splatterings of moonlight. The crackle of a pinecone underfoot startled Enna upright in her chair. Leifer emerged from the Forest blackness.

“Oh,” she said, leaning back. “It’s just you.”

He came up behind her and rested his forehead on the crown of her head.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“That’s the first bit of sense I’ve heard from you in days.” She hoped Leifer might be all right after all and gave a friendly tug to the back of his hair. “Say hello to Finn.”

“Hello, Finn. I can barely see your face. Dark, isn’t it?”

Leifer walked over to the yard fire pit, his back to them. Enna saw an orange spark, then the pit was blazing. He turned to her, his smile lit by the orange glow.

“How’d you . . . That was a fast fire,” said Enna. “What did you put in there besides wood?”

Leifer ignored her question. “Finn, I’m glad you’re here. I was just thinking I needed to talk to someone like me who’s always been Forest blood to bones, someone who never ran off to live in the city.”

“I’ve been in the city many times,” said Finn.

Leifer waved off his comment. “Yes, to marketday, and to visit your old friend the
princess.
” He hit that word with a touch of mockery that immediately put Enna on her guard. “But it’s clear where your allegiance lies.”

Finn glanced at Enna for a hint of how to respond, but Leifer did not give him time.

“Just listen a moment—don’t interrupt, Enna—because I’ve been thinking. We’ve done all right in the Forest, haven’t we? Now the borders of Bayern have tossed a noose around the Forest and claimed it a boon. I don’t trust them, Finn, touting their cobblestones and saddled horses and all the while enslaving Forest girls and boys.”

“Enslaving?” said Finn. “I don’t think—”

“There are others who see like we do, Finn, others who would join a fight if we decided to rebel.”

Enna felt her jaw lower in awe, and she waited for Leifer to laugh and admit he was joking. But there was a hardness in his voice she had never noted before, and he flexed and unflexed his hands as though he meant action.

“Leifer,” Enna began.

“Hush, Enna,” he said. “You know, Finn, lately I can’t stop thinking about Bayern over there, eyeing our lands and trees and using our people—and it all started with that meddling, foreign princess.”

Enna croaked a dry laugh. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare start belittling Isi with me sitting right here.”

Leifer turned his back to the fire, and she could see only the glint of one eye. His voice was thin. “I know she’s your friend, and I’m supposed to be scared of her because of the rumors she can summon birds and wind. I say there’s something bad about her, and when I get the fight going, she’ll be the first to burn.”

“Leifer!” Enna stood. “How dare you talk like that?”

“I’m talking to Finn, Enna. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“You think I’ll stand by while you threaten the princess?” said Enna. “You know I won’t.”

“Hush, I said.” Leifer crossed to the fire and threw pinecones into its heart. They hissed and popped.

“I can’t believe what I’ve put up from you this week. Poor Finn has sat patiently through your crazy talk, but when you start mouthing off on Isi, well, you’d be half a horse not to think either one of us would knock you down flat before we’d allow you to say another word.”

“I said shut up!” Leifer turned. Enna could see his face caught up in the fire’s shivering orange glow. His shoulders and arms trembled, and his expression was so foreign, she could scarcely believe he was her brother.

“Leifer,” she said, suddenly afraid, though she did not know what she expected would happen.

Leifer grimaced as though fighting pain, then cried out. Enna felt a rush of heat and a sudden sting. She looked down to see her skirt on fire.

Enna screamed and dropped to the ground, trying to kick off the blazing skirt. Finn tore off his coat and beat at the flames. He extinguished them, and Enna lay still, breathing hard.

“Are you all right?” said Finn. He knelt beside her, his anxious hands hovering over her legs, afraid to touch them. “Enna, are you all right?”

Enna nodded, too stunned to speak. She looked up to where Leifer stood, his hands covering his mouth. Finn arose, putting himself between Enna and her brother.

“Leifer,” said Finn, like a challenge.

The fire at Leifer’s feet died down, feeding leisurely on the wood. The low yellow light lit his features from below, exaggerating the creases in his forehead and under his eyes so that he looked like a very old man. He stared at Enna, and he seemed his old self, her brother, the little boy who had put beetles in her bed, the young man who brought her a bucket of mushrooms as proudly as if he had found gold. There was a sad horror in his face as he seemed to realize what he had done.

“Enna. I’m sorry. I, I didn’t mean . . . ” He turned and ran into the trees.

“Leifer!” He did not turn back. Enna exhaled slowly and felt her chest shudder. “What just happened?”

“I didn’t see, it was so fast,” said Finn. “Do you think he’s got fire, you know, like Isi has wind, and he can control it? But why would he hurt you?”

“I don’t know.”

Finn helped Enna into the house and looked at her red ankles, humming to himself as though to ease her worry. He would not leave her alone long enough to fetch her neighbor Doda, so he himself applied soothing lard to her legs and wrapped them in clean rags. His natural calmness made the strange night and the biting pain feel easier to bear.

“I’d best stay with you for a time, make sure he doesn’t try . . . whatever it is he did.”

Enna stared at the hearth fire. “All those bedtime tales were preparing me for this. Isi once said that hearing and telling unbelievable stories make it easier to believe when strange things happen.” She found she could believe what Leifer had done, but what frightened her was the unknown of what he would do next.

They both were silent, watching the hearth coals throb orange in the ashes. Even the sight of fire made Enna’s ankles feel worse. Just then, she thought burns the cruelest wound. Enna’s mother used to call the ache from cuts and bone breaks “the feeling of healing,” but the burn kept on burning as though the fire were still in her skin, using her body as fuel.

A lump of blackened wood crumbled in the hearth, and a yellow flame rose higher for just a moment before pulling back inside the embers. Enna closed her eyes against it, heard Finn creaking in the rocking chair to the pulse of her blood in her wounds, and knew she could not wait for Leifer to act again. She needed help, and there was only one person to ask.

.

Enna sent Finn home the next morning, though he protested valiantly.

“I’ll be fine, Finn,” she said. “Leifer won’t show his face here for a time, I think. I’ll ride out with Doda tomorrow for marketday, and we’ll pick you up along the way.”

She had saved a number of eggs in the cool root cellar, and they would fetch a better price in the city than at the Forest marketday. Though after several months’ absence from the capital, she had more important reasons for wanting to return than the prospect of some extra coin. If anyone could counsel her on Leifer’s situation, it was Isi.

A day later, Enna left her house for Doda’s. She checked her pack to make sure she had flint and kindling, and when she looked up again, Leifer stood before her. She tried not to flinch. His clothes carried evidence of the Forest floor, the red indentation of fir needles still marking one of his cheeks.

“Been by yourself for two days?” asked Enna.

“Yes.” His eyes looked haunted, wide open, like someone who has had too much sleep and awake still seems to dream.

“Da used to say, ‘There’re smarts in Leifer’s head like there’s fire in flint,’” said Enna, “‘but you have to knock the flint to get to the flame.’”

Leifer bowed his head. She thought the memory might make him laugh, then was glad he did not. He had no right to laugh yet.

“I’ll expect you to keep an eye on things while I’m gone,” she said, “and I’d better not find any roasted chickens waiting for me.”

He nodded solemnly.

She felt a bit annoyed by the lack of confrontation, and her voice hardened. “And maybe you could give me any coin you’ve saved so I can buy myself a new skirt.”

Leifer covered his face with a hand and cried. Enna stood beside him, her hands on her hips, and felt a little more satisfied.

“I’m sorry, Enna. I swear I’ll never burn you again,” he said.

Enna whistled long and low. “A brother should never get to a point where he has to make that kind of a promise. ‘I’ll never burn you again.’ That’s just sad, Leifer.”

Leifer laughed ruefully.

“And where’ve you been?” she asked. “What you do with the fire—can you just get rid of it?”

“I can’t.” His voice was raspy from crying or thirst. “You don’t understand if you ask me that question. I have to use it.”

“Why?”

“I can’t . . . ”

“Just tell me why, Leifer.”

“Look,” he said gently, “it’s different than you imagine. It’s . . . there’s a need, and . . . it’s not a bad thing, Enna. I don’t know what happened the other night. I lost control. You were trying to stop me, like you were my enemy, and I had to . . . I’m sorry. But I believe that I’m learning to control it.”

“Then teach me the fire, too, so I can help you,” she said, feeling suddenly bold, but a little afraid, like balancing on the edge of a precipice just for the thrill. But she felt confident, too, that she could handle it better than Leifer. For all he was older, Enna had taught a young Leifer to use a slingshot, and Enna had been the first to climb a tall tree. Enna had trained him to set up his kindling and send the flint’s spark into pine shavings.

“Teach me, and together we can figure this out,” she said.

His lips twitched, a hint at a smile. “It would be nice, I think . . . but I can’t. I don’t think I should.” He paced away from her. “I want to figure this out for myself. It’s my chance to make everything better.”

“Everything what? And since when did you care about anything but the four seasons and salt on your porridge?”

“Since I . . . since I learned about the fire.”

Enna hefted her pack on one shoulder. “Then I’d best go. While I’m gone, don’t be rash, all right?”

She shook her head at herself as she walked away. It was almost funny, telling a boy who set his sister on fire not to be rash.

It was a relief to settle in the back of Doda’s small wagon and feel the productive motion of the donkey’s step and the uneven road. The trees jolted by, and she imagined they, not the wagon, were jumping and tilting like dizzy children.

The wagon was crowded with Doda’s carved wood bowls, as well as two Forest girls Enna knew casually. Enna took care to keep her legs isolated, but the occasional bumps knocked her crate against her ankles, and she winced.

“What happened to your legs?” asked one of the other riders.

“Nothing,” said Enna. She refused to let Leifer become a bit of Forest gossip.

Doda picked up Finn and his bag of home-knit pullovers an hour into their journey. He was quiet, occasionally passing a worried glance over Enna’s legs or face. She wanted to talk to him about Leifer, but not in front of the other travelers. He seemed to understand, so they rode in silence.

The party camped that night, and by afternoon of the next day, Doda’s wagon was one of hundreds heading down the main road to the city. The land was open there, stripped of trees and striped with farms that rolled where the earth rose and fell. The city itself was built on the tallest hill, completely ensconced in an ancient stone wall five men high. The lines of the city led the eye to look up, where the three- and four-story buildings grew and dozens of towers and turrets ascended, red tile roofs topped with iron spears. Up the sloping streets, at the highest point in the city, the palace blazed, pale stone washed orange in the setting sun.

The guards at the gates had tripled since Enna had last been through them, and the line of wagons moved painfully slowly. When Doda’s wagon finally passed the gates, night had fallen. They set up their camp on the stones of the market-square, back to back with many other Forest dwellers and merchants of other towns here to make their monthly profit.

Enna sighed as she finally sat down while Finn prepared a quick meal. Sidi, one of the girls from their wagon, was gushing to the others about her imminent wedding.

“Embo’s got a plot out by his da’s, and we’ve got enough coin saved up to buy a goat next spring. And Embo’s been cutting and storing wood for our house for a year. . . . ”

Finn glanced at Enna, and she rolled her eyes at him and smiled.
Embo’s been storing wood
, she thought mockingly.
He sounds duller than winter.

Sidi was still singing Embo’s praises when Doda returned from stabling the donkey, sat beside Enna, and shook her shoulder teasingly.

“Mercy, Enna,” said Doda, “you shouldn’t let your face show how jealous you are of that Sidi.”

“Ha,” said Enna.

“So what about it, girl? When’re we going to see you secure your own Embo?”

“You’ll never see me with an Embo,” said Enna. “For one thing, our names would sound horrible together.”

“Excuse me,” said Finn, stepping around Doda to leave their camp and walk out into the market. Enna wondered what friends he was seeking out so late at night.

Doda thumbed in the direction Finn had gone. “What about . . . ?”

“Finn?” Enna smiled and looked down. “When we were younger, our friends teased that we’d end up together, but it was all nonsense.”

“Was it?” Doda raised her brows. “I wonder. Seems to me the boy might be fond of you.”

Enna shook her head. “We’ve been friends for years and he’s never said a thing. He’s a nice boy. Truly the nicest boy I’ve ever known. How does one person get to be so nice, Doda? Did his ma nurse him on honey milk?”

Doda nudged Enna with her boot and laughed. “Nice? Seems like you might like nice.”

Enna straightened and sighed with exhaustion. “He’s just Finn. We’ve been friends too long and I know him too well, you know? And he’s still a boy, Doda. If I ever find a man, he’ll have to be a man, really a man, to handle me.”

Doda shrugged and crawled into her bedroll. Enna lay down carefully, arranging the blankets around her ankles, and turned on her side. There, sitting against the wall, was Finn.

“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know you’d come back.”

He did not answer. In the light of the crescent moon, she could not see where he was looking.

“Finn, did . . . ” She started to ask him if he had heard her speaking to Doda, then decided that she did not want to know. What had she said, anyway? She could not remember exactly, just that she and Finn were not a couple, surely something he already knew.
No harm done
, she thought—she hoped. She bade him good night and uneasily tried to fall asleep.

Enna woke in the bruised-eye blue of predawn to the creaking of wagons and scratching of dragged barrels. Finn slung his sack of knitted goods on his shoulder and wandered off to sell elsewhere, a halfhearted smile on his lips as he nodded farewell to Enna. She did not know if she had hurt his feelings the night before, and she realized that if she had, Finn would never say a word.

Enna set up her crate of eggs next to Doda’s wood bowls, and as soon as marketday crowds wandered in, she began to pitch lower prices than normal. It would be nice to make some extra coin, but her gaze kept wandering to the rising streets, up to the wind-fingered orange flags on the palace turrets.

Across the market-square, Enna thought she eyed a small group of palace guards, and she strained on tiptoe to spot any familiar faces. They were lost in the crowd. A woman purchased a dozen eggs, and when Enna had filled her basket, she blinked at what was revealed. Inside her crate, in the middle of her cream and pale yellow supply, sat one orange chicken egg, the color bright as a poisonous berry.

Enna peered covertly at the crowd. There, walking steadily but quickly away, she was sure she spotted an all-too- familiar figure. A boy of fifteen, slight, unremarkable but for a shaggy head of hair that stood nearly straight up. Razo. He had been an animal worker in the city as well, and Enna remembered often wondering with Isi and the other girls if his hair naturally stood on end or if he encouraged it up to compensate for his short stature.

Enna put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile as her thoughts turned mischievous. When she had kept the king’s chickens in the city, Razo had spent a week slipping brightly painted eggs under one of her hens and had Enna convinced that the creature was suffering some horrible ailment. There had been pranks to get back at him in the past, but it seemed the gauntlet had been thrown yet again.

Enna held up the odd egg, threw back her shoulders, and shouted.

“The orange egg! I have it, the orange egg of the omen!”

A bent woman stared at her suspiciously. “What are you gabbing about, girl?”

“Haven’t you heard of the orange egg that guarantees the finder fortune and long life?” Enna turned slightly to the gaping Doda and winked. “It’s a treasure. And to celebrate my luck, I’m selling all my eggs for half the price!”

No one seemed to have heard of a portentous orange egg, but Enna’s exclamations and prices brought in a small crowd. Enna glanced slyly to where Razo had gone. She could see him standing among his brothers and their wooden goods for sale. His gaze was directed at her, and he seemed completely stunned.

It did not take Enna long to empty her stock of eggs and attract curious bystanders as well. People walked away, muttering about the special egg to their companions. Razo soon stood a few paces away, staring at Enna and looking fretful.

“Razo,” she said, and smiled at him. “I haven’t seen you since my last trip to the city. How’ve you been?”

Razo nodded in answer and shuffled closer. “Wh-what you got there, Enna-girl?”

“Don’t you see?” she said with high enthusiasm. “It’s the orange egg of the omen.”

Razo groaned. “Oh, Enna, there’s no orange egg . . . ”

“How can you say that? Look!” She held the thing up close to his face and barely kept from laughing.

“Enna, shh.” He looked around uncomfortably. “I feel bad now. I only meant it as a joke, really, a kind of ‘hello, I’m here, too,’ you know? I was sure you’d know it was me. I didn’t think you’d get so worked up—”

“There she is!”

Three palace guards with iron-tipped javelins interrupted Razo’s confession. Enna started and nearly dropped the egg. She did not recognize any of them.

The tallest one saluted her with his javelin. “We heard of you, miss, from across the market-square, the finder of the long-searched-for orange egg.”

“Uh . . . ,” said Enna.

The sound of the hard wings of pigeons was suddenly loud in her ears, and in a moment she was covered in the birds, as they perched on her shoulders and arms and one proudly on her head.

“You see, even the birds recognize the egg,” said another soldier.

“Er . . . ,” said Enna, suspiciously watching the birds flit away.

“We should take you before the king. This is a great day for all of Bayern.”

Enna glanced at Razo and thought that he must look even more astonished than she did. “Uh, yes, of course, let’s go.”

“Are you a friend of hers, then?” the tall guard asked Razo. “Lucky lad.” He thumped Razo’s shoulder and turned to escort Enna through the crowd.

As soon as they were out of sight of Razo, a young woman with her hair wrapped up in a scarf like a Forest woman’s walked in step beside Enna.