arrived recently. Is it true what they said about the plague? You wouldn’t know about my family, but if there’s a disease you’d have word of it.”
That much is true, but I don’t have much formal education and before the lending library closed, I read only on matters that interested me. I search my memory and come up with a whisper of knowledge. It does seem that there was a disease that ravaged the land four centuries ago, taking fully one-third of the population. Women were burned as witches for starting it and doctors went about in bird-face masks, claiming it prevented transmission of the illness.
Could Njål have lived that long?
“The plague is real,” I say then, aware that I’m condemning him to despair.
He only reacts with a subtle drop of his shoulders. “Then it’s probably true that my family is gone as well.”
I can’t bring myself to speak aloud the possibility that they might not be. If they’ve made some terrible deal with the baron and agreed not to demand Njål’s release, how would that be better? “I’m sorry,” I say again, like those are magic words.
“It’s not your fault. Don’t you mind, though?”
“Mind what?”
“I already said you’ll get in trouble, that you’ll be punished. You might be beaten or let go for being here with me. Aren’t you afraid of the baron?”
“Not even slightly.” I can say that with complete assurance because in my time, the baron is gone, no more than a bitter memory. In fact, Njål might be the only one who remembers what happened here.
“How are you so brave?”
It’s easy to be brave when you can’t be hurt. I start to demur and realize he’s inching closer. Tiny incremental movements that close the distance until his knee nudges mine. The door is against my back, so I can’t withdraw, not that I want to. He’s so desperate for companionship that anyone will do.
“I’m not, really. It just seemed as if you could use some company.”
His leg is still touching mine, all bony with adolescent awkwardness. “I miss them. My father was cross with me when I left, and I don’t even remember why. He said I wouldn’t be here long. I believed him. Do you think he had no intention of retrieving me?”
So that’s occurred to him as well. That the baron could feel free to lie about everyone dying because Njål’s family has abandoned him to the tender mercies of this place. What’s more, I can’t conceive of the right words to comfort him when I know that for him, the situation only gets worse, not better. Ages hence, he’ll still be trapped, unable to put Bitterburn behind him.
“It’s better to believe they died,” I say with brutal honesty.
“I think so too, but it hurts knowing that nobody is waiting for me.” Such a small voice, cracking with the start of the deepening change. One day, he’ll sound like my Njål, but right now, he’s a boy in a cupboard confronting the specter of his own mortality.
What in the world can I say to make this better? The solution dawns on me, and it has the virtue of being true. “There is, though.”
“What?”
“Someone waiting for you. It won’t be soon, but in time someone will come because she needs you. Her life was terribly sad before, but when she meets you, it gets better.”
“Is that true?” he asks.
“On my honor, it is.”
“How do you know? Are you a witch who sees the future?”
“My stepmother was always saying that I need to be careful or the witch finders will take me.” Not quite the answer he’s asked for, but it’s another truth.
Njål appears to accept that without requiring elaboration. “Is your stepmother like the baroness?”
I think of Catherine, hair like straw, bony shoulders and tired eyes, worn hands and downturned mouth. “What’s the baroness like?”
In answer, he shivers and draws into himself, unwilling or unable to respond. Instead, he asks, “Can you tell me more about her, the one who’s waiting for me?”
“Another time,” I hedge.
“Does that mean you’re leaving?”
“Didn’t you want me to before?” It’s a trifle unkind to answer a question with a question, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I did then, but not now. I wish you’d stay longer.” Tentatively, he reaches out and his hand brushes the hem of my nightdress. “I have terrible dreams. It might be better if you were here.”
I’m no one, a complete stranger, but he already trusts me enough to hope I can drive away the