Words on Fire

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

Until becoming a book smuggler, I’d rarely spoken at all, and even when I did, it was always in the softest voice I could manage. But now I needed a loud voice if I was to get the attention of the soldiers inside. It felt like I was screaming to them, but I didn’t think I was. I tried to sound friendly when I shouted out, “Cossack officers, if you’re looking for book smugglers, I know where they are!”

“Do you know why this was necessary?” he asked. “To punish this town as we have?” “Because you’re cruel and take pleasure in our pain?” That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. Just as I rarely said anything that I really wanted to say, and never spoke if silence was enough. I merely held the words inside me, to protect them from what others might do or think. I wondered if my failure to speak was like an unread book, full of ideas that ought to be read, but living out its life in silence. The book had no control over who read its pages, but I did have control of myself. I had to speak up for what I believed in. “The people here are innocent,” I whispered.

I thought of my name, Audra. In Lithuanian, it meant “storm.” Before today, it had never felt like the proper name for me. Rather, I’d have expected that I should be named for a mouse, or a soft breeze, or named for the moment after a whisper, when no one is quite sure whether you’ve spoken at all. But now I had grown into my name. I was the storm.

The priest gestured around him. “This church has stood for over one hundred years, outlasting war and fire and the ravages of nature. But it faces a new enemy now, a tsar who insists we believe in his God. At first, he politely invited us to abandon this place and gather in his own cathedrals. When we refused, he tried to lure us away through rewards and bribery. Now, when all else fails, he intends to force us out.” The priest took a deep breath. “The soldiers among us have new orders, to destroy our churches and our relics. If they cannot remove the people from the church, they will simply remove the church and the people will have nowhere else to go for worship. One day soon, they will come for this place. The only weapon I have to stop them is a people who feel powerful enough to stand between a Cossack soldier and the doors of this building. And how do I make them feel powerful?” “You give them books,” I whispered.

deliver books.” “Our work is to do everything we can to free Lithuania! Words are never enough of a weapon. We must help these people fight!” “No, Audra! For every man we bring to a fight, they can bring ten. For every weapon we can forge out of sickles and sticks and pitchforks, they have rifles and pistols and swords. The only weapon we have is who we are, and that is our words, our stories, our culture. If we preserve that, then there is always a chance for freedom, but to preserve that, we must stay alive.”

Suddenly, I was that shy girl again, the one who never wanted to speak if there was any way to avoid it, the one who was certain she had nothing worthwhile to say. But I also knew that I’d been wrong before, staying silent when I had something important to say. I couldn’t fade into the shadows, nor would I whisper my words to Lukas so that he could say them for me.

My parents sacrificed everything they had, everything they loved, and maybe even their own lives, for the true magic. It’s our books. Our language, our culture, our identities are inscribed in every word. As long as we have our books, we cannot be crushed, we cannot be forgotten. Because of our books, we will not be erased from our own history. We will remember who we are, all that we stand for, and all that we will fight for and continue fighting for until the day we see the last Cossack soldier leave this land.