Work Text:
Maria does not see them when they first come to their village.
She is tending to the animals.
Lena tells her about the men, the gossip. That girl has been running her mouth for way too long, wagging her tongue.
It’s a lack of discipline, as often is the case with the youth – not her Aleksi, but –
But the youth. Had all this time for idle chatter, rather than using it for doing honest work.
“Old Man Dąbrowski took them in. Said he’d let them sleep in his barn if they help him out with the fields.” Lena sighs. “I don’t think Mikolaj and the others will like it. Old Man Dąbrowski was always too trusting. They could be fugitives for all we know! One of them has really nasty scars on his face –”
Lena suddenly stammers, meeting Maria’s unimpressed gaze.
Unwittingly, Lena’s bright blue eyes – the only things bright about her – flicker to the big, ugly mark on Maria’s left cheek.
Silence always made Lena uncomfortable.
“I – I – anyway, I should go back! Thank you for the eggs, Auntie Maria, they really are the best in the village! No, the world!”
Maria huffs. That girl knows nothing about the world.
“Keep safe, Lena,” Maria waves her away from where she’s mucking out the pig pen, listening to Lena’s light feet carrying her off.
The food trays are empty again.
They never stay full for long.
It’s a few days later, in the morning, some time after dawn, when there’s an unfamiliar knock on her door.
The fist behind it is strong against the wood.
Maria pats the pocket on her apron, confirming that the good kitchen knife is there, and slips in her right hand to grab at the smooth wooden handle before opening the door.
She’s greeted with a giant of a man darkening her doorstep.
Wide and muscular as an ox, with closely cropped dark hair and shifty dark eyes. His clothes are decent enough, of the common sort, the fabric not too rough and not too fine, and seems worn but well-kept.
His boots, though, are not yet worn.
“Good morning,” the stranger greets, and his voice is unexpectedly subdued and low. “Miss Maria?”
“It’s poor manners not to introduce yourself,” Maria responds, one hand on her door, the other still holding onto the handle of her knife.
Man like these make her miss Tomek, that mangy old mutt of hers. Tomek could make men like this fool quack in their boots.
The man simpers foolishly, rubbing the back on his neck.
“Of course, I apologise. I – I’m O– I mean, Piotr. I’m Piotr.” The man lies to her face.
He came for the eggs, per Old Man Dąbrowski's request. His leg has been acting up again.
The liar sets down a bag of potatoes, only half full, and thanks her for the eggs.
The next time Lena comes, Maria tells her she should send that brother of hers to check on Old Man Dąbrowski. Lena, that snotty child, tries to prod and pock at her with foolish questions.
Once, the youth just did as they were told.
Why, if Maria ever had the cheek Lena had –
She turns back to look at the stew that was cooking in a pot above the fire, and doesn’t think about how her old carpet no longer has any of Tomek’s dirty fur on it, no more.
When the fabric of her skirts rip, Maria finds she is out of a proper sewing thread to use.
She heads to Nawoja’s, a few fresh eggs in her woven basket.
When Nawoja opens the door to her home, there’s already a man sitting at the table – not Nawoja’s husband, but another stranger. His hair, recently shorn, Maria notes – glows softly against the spilling sunlight, painting him in a faint halo of gold.
His face, the part of it which was not covered with a piece of cloth wrapped to cover his right eye, bears two deep, badly healed scars that dissect it.
His lone left eye has a milky sheen to it.
A cripple, then, Maria thinks. One almost blind.
“Mańka,” Nawoja, looking fraught and worn, says. “This is Piotr. He’s saying he can help with my little Antek!”
“That’s not what I’ve said.” The man – Piotr – speaks, voice cold and haughty.
Maria knows, immediately, that he is of the townfolk.
“I said that I have rea– heard somewhere, of a similar condition. I have no experience in tending to the sick.”
He sounds almost disgusted by the idea.
“But you can try, can’t you, Piotr?” Nawoja implores.
The man purses his lips.
“I can try. At a price.”
Piotr names his price as ink and paper.
An incredibly costly and wasteful expanse.
Nawoja couldn’t afford such a thing.
“Will parchment do?” Maria asks.
Piotr eyes her dubiously.
Maria knows the eyes of men such as this so-called Piotr.
“It will. Don’t tell me you have some?” the stranger drawls.
“Don’t suppose to tell me what I should and shouldn’t say, young man.” Maria sharply rebukes.
Nawoja is not a young woman anymore.
Already in her late thirties.
Ludomir and her have already lost three children.
And Antek, at five – was still a good, dutiful child.
Nawojsa’s brown eyes drip like raindrops when Piotr leaves.
She was always too emotional, that girl.
She gives Maria three different spools of thread, and tries adding one incredibly fine headscarf, which Maria refuses.
“I already have more than enough of these. Don’t throw your rags at me!” She scolds, putting away the threads in her basket, and leaves Nawoja with three eggs, and to her hope.
Piotr returns for the parchment a day later.
Both of them do.
Two liars, standing side by side.
The big one, she names “Big Piotr”.
The little one, she names “Little Piotr”.
And before they can lie to her face some more, Lena – the idiot – calls out to them.
“Good morning, Auntie Maria!” She runs up the road to Maria’s door, calling out to the world like a game bird calling for the hunter to shoot it down.
“I see you have guests!”
“Um, good morning.” Big Piotr greets, and immediately looks down, like a kicked puppy dog.
His size and build are wasted on him – a man without a spine is not a man at all.
“Good morning,” Little Piotr greets, seemingly completely blind to Lena’s obvious womanly charms. The girl was positively blooming at seventeen, with her long, dark and thick hair cleanly split into two beautiful braids, and the straight white teeth gleaming in her wide smile.
Then again, the man seems to have been mostly blind.
Still, Maria thought, it was not normal, for a man – an unmarried one, at that – to prevail in the face of such a lovely woman, to remain untempted, unmoved.
“I’m Lena,” the idiot lamb told the wolves. “Are you the two men that help Old Man Dąbrowski?”
“We are,” Little Piotr said, “we were just here to collect something.”
“Auntie Maria’s eggs are the best!” Lena chirped, batting her lashes at Big Piotr, who was avoiding her eyes, shifting from foot to foot.
He acted as if he was simple.
Unfortunate.
As Lena chattered on and on, distracted, Maria handed Little Piotr the parchment.
He experately and quickly rolled the pages up and shoved them into his robes, barely nodding in thanks.
“Piotr,” he said, curt, “We must head back.”
“Ah, right. Sorry, Miss Lena. Mister Dąbrowski needs us back soon.”
“Piotr?” Lena blinked at the pair. “I thought his name was Piotr.” She said, puzzled, pointing at the scarred man, incriminating herself and her gossipy nature without a second thought.
Big Piotr barked an awkward, stupid laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yes, we’re – we’re both called Piotr.”
“I see,” Lena said, entirely missing the glare Little Piotr gave Big Piotr.
“Doesn’t that get confusing, though? How do you know which is it, when Old Man Dąbrowski calls for you?”
Old Man Dąbrowski, both Maria and Lena learn, solved this problem in a very practical manner.
By the end of the week, and with no small effort on Lena’s part, the whole village knows the new strangers are to be called Big Piotr and Little Piotr.
Big Piotr does not seem to mind.
Little Piotr acts like he does not seem to mind.
(But Maria is very good in seeing through lies.)
Each night before bed, Maria prays.
That’s what all proper people should do, she knows.
But after giving away Aleksi’s parchment, she prays twice as long. These sheets of parchment were taken from the Church, so Aleksi could continue his studying in the very rare occasions the Church allowed him to visit.
(Every time, he looked thinner and thinner.)
She prays for God’s mercy and forgiveness.
Stealing was wrong – it went against The Ten Commandments.
She was trying to buy a dying boy’s hope with stolen goods.
She prays the Lord will have mercy on Antek, on Nawoja, on Ludomir and on her.
She prays to Aleski’s soul for forgiveness.
She prays to be healed of her wickedness.
Every night she prays on creaking old knees.
And the world remains silent.
Lena, who always lounged about when Maria was working, becomes even more of a pest, trying to catch Big Piotr’s interest. She fashions her hair in different ways, she laughs like his stammered answers are bright pearls of witty wisdom, and does a whole lot of nothing.
Maria does not intervene. Lena has her mother and her father and her older brother.
Only once, Lena asks her a question.
“What do you think, Auntie Maria? Do you think he’d make a good husband?”
Maria wipes the sweat of her brow, the bones of her back groaning as she pulls herself up.
“A good husband,” Maria says, “is one who is not a drunk, one who does not gamble, and one who is not the jealous sort. Is Big Piotr any of these things?”
Lena blinks her big blue eyes back at her, as if surprised she was given an answer.
“I don’t know, really,” she blinks some more, then drifts away like a wisp of a cloud, lost in that head of hers.
Aleksi would have made a good husband to some girl, Maria thinks, if the Church hadn’t –
Maria stops that thought in her head, shuddering.
She turns back to milking her goat.
That night, she prays for God thrice as hard.
She recites all the proper prayers she knows.
But God knows she remains wicked.
Still, God is good.
“It’s a miracle, Mańka.” Nawoja cries, wiping her tears into one of her headscarves, three months later.
“Little Piotr was so upset when I’ve said it – he told me that I’d be labeled a heretic or a witch is someone heard me saying it – but it has to be one of God’s miracles, Mańka! Look.”
Maria sees Antek running outside in the sun, giggling. He’s plumper now, with rosy-red cheeks.
She leaves Nawoja eight eggs, and returns one spool of thread, when Nawoja is distracted, sentimental over scrapped knees.
Little boys, Maria knows, always tear up their clothes, and Greed is a very grave sin.
They come to the village in the morning.
Maria sees it when Big Piotr stiffens, then sharply turns his head.
“Miss Lena, Miss Maria.” He says, in an uncharacteristically firm tone. “You should get into the house. Bar the door.”
“What brought this on, Big Piotr?” Lena asks, but Big Piotr does not even spare her a glance, keeping his eyes onto the distance, where all Maria sees is a blur of colours.
“Bandits. Three of them. They’re heading this way.”
The idea of bandits is preposterous.
The Church has been keeping them safe for years, now – and those who were caught stealing risk eternal damnation, burning in the pits of Hell!
It is her, Maria knows.
It is God punishing her for her wicked thoughts and for stealing those pieces of parchment, rather than giving them back to the Church and begging for forgiveness.
An eye for an eye.
Maria stole from God; and now bandits came to her door, to punish her for being sinful.
There are other houses along the road, but it’s hers that the bandits are targeting.
It made sense.
Word must’ve gotten around the village, about the parchment. No one just had two dozen pieces of parchment laying around in their house.
Not unless they’re rich.
Maria deserves it.
But not Lena.
Lena is pretty.
Pretty and naïve.
She was only a babe, the last time bandits ransacked their village.
Maria tightens her hold on the smooth wooden handle inside her apron.
This knife, she always, always kept sharp.
“Come to the house, Lena,” she orders, and drags the girl to the house by the arm.
She looks at Big Piotr’s back.
It is very broad.
But the road he stands upon is wider.
“Stay in the house,” he says, without turning around. “I’ll tell you when it’s safe to go out again.”
“Piotr –” Lena calls.
But Maria pushes her back.
“Lord have mercy on us,” she dares to plead, and slams the door shut.
Lena is weeping, that troublesome child, trying to choke down her sobs.
“That’s Lena’s house, ain’t it?” Maria hears an unfamiliar voice asking from behind the door – a man.
“Her father’s racked up quite a debt, y’know? Told us he’d pay us back.”
The tears stream down Lena’s face
Maria thumbs at the blade.
She barely feels it as it slices open the flesh of her thumb.
She hears Big Piotr speaking, but can’t quite make the words.
“Are you dumb?” Asks a different voice, jeering behind the barred wooden door.
“Come now, old man. You ain’t Lena’s father, and way too old to be that idiot brother of hers. Ain’t nothing to do with you.” A third loathsome voice speaks.
Loathsome as it is, it is right.
Big Piotr has no interest in Lena – the poor girl tried everything, but there’s only so much a girl can do with one who is simple.
Only a simple man will face three bandits without any weapon to his name, and leave an old woman the burden of saving them both from a horrible fate.
“Are you deaf, old man, or just dumb?” One of them jeers. “We know the girl’s there. Step aside, and we’d even throw you a round with her. After trying her out, we’d stretch her out for yo—uck.”
There’s a gurgling, choking, wet sound coming from behind the door.
“YOU FUCKER –” One of the strangers roars.
There’s the clashing of metal, the cries of pain.
Lena’s gasping sobs, and one prayer Maria calls for as she stares at the wood, unable to release the knife and press both of her hands together to pray properly.
Silence.
Then, two firm knocks.
Maria holds her breath.
Lena’s long, pale neck is all she can see.
“Miss Lena, Miss Maria. It’s safe to come out now.”
Maria does not remember opening the door.
There are three dead strangers soiling the front of her house, guts spilled onto the dirt.
“Miss Maria,” Big Piotr says, and the sun shines upon him, radiant. “You have a few pigs at the back, don’t you?”
Maria nods.
“I’d hate to trouble you,” he says, and Maria can only look at his clothes, that remained just as they were moments ago, “but I’ll need to borrow their services for a bit, if you don’t mind?”
Maria shakes her head.
“Auntie – you’re bleeding!” Lena is suddenly there, rushing to pull Maria’s right hand out of her apron.
The knife clutters onto the floor.
She lets Lena tend to her, and watches as Big Piotr grabs one of the strangers, and starts dragging him to the back.
“You’ll stay here tonight,” Maria tells the girl, after her wound was tended to.
“But –”
“You’d let an old woman do it all by herself, when you’re the reason my hand is injured?” Maria snaps at her.
“I’ll sleep on the rug, then.” Lena says, in a very small voice.
“Don’t speak nonsense, you foolish girl.” Maria huffs.
There’s a cot in her house that no one has been sleeping on for a while, now.
They come to the village at dusk, coming out of the woods like a pack of wolves that learnt how to ride a carriage.
“Forgive our intrusion, my good woman. May we come in?” The man asks, knowing he will not be refused.
Maria invites them in, offering them bread and water Lena just freshly brought from the well.
They ask if they may spend the night under her roof.
“We are searching for a pair of dangerous heretics that escaped justice,” the stranger says. “They’re dangerous people. One of them even dared to try and cheat the Church itself! A devil posing as a holy man. How unholy!” The stranger shakes his head, the top of which is shaved, and so the curls fly around his head before settling back.
“You must understand how important it is, that the Church brings them to justice,” he preaches. “Anyone found helping them is obviously another of their victims. Another heretic, doomed to burn in Hell.”
The stranger, in his expensive crisp robes, pulls out two portraits. He enfolds the rolled parchment with familiar ease, straightening it upon Maria’s old wooden table.
“Have you seen anyone suspicious looking as these two?”
Maria looks.
“I haven’t seen anyone wearing their hair as such, other than the men of the Clergy.” Maria says as she looks at a cold, scarred face, before turning to look at the other. “And I haven’t seen any man ever wearing his hair that long,” she tells the stranger truthfully.
“And what about you, girl?” Says the stranger.
Maria looks at Lena.
Lena looks at the portraits.
Her blue eyes are still somewhat swollen, from all of her tears.
“Can’t say that I have,” Lena says, and turns back to peeling potatoes, her movement with the knife somewhat shaky.
But she'll learn, in time.
They show the portraits to others, too.
“No,” Nawoja says, with Antek bouncing on her hip, pulling at her braid. “Haven’t seen any wicked men around here.”
“No,” Ludomir says, from where he’s been chopping wood for the fire. “No one like that.”
“What do two heretics have to do around here?” Mikolaj says, laughing into his mug. “Without even having one proper drink?”
The strangers leave.
“Good morning, Miss Lena, Miss Maria,” Big Piotr greets them come morning, with a sack of potatoes full to the brim.
“Big Piotr”, Maria nods, a basket of fresh eggs already in hand.
“It’s good seeing you.”