As a two-year-old, I don't have much control over what happens to me. I'd prefer to spend more time outdoors, soaking up conversations between passersby about the world. Even a simple discussion about grain prices or changes in the lord's taxes could open my eyes to many things.
What I'd most like to do, though, is spy on Lady Aldona and watch her cast magic. Perhaps I could glean some secrets of the mystical art from observing her.
Unfortunately, I can only do what my mother allows, which means spending most of my time indoors. At least, as a two-year-old, I've mastered crawling, allowing me to explore every nook and cranny of our home. On top of that, I've already perfected the language they use, though I stick to listening to family conversations for now.
"Ball, where have you hidden yourself again?" My mother's voice broke the silence of the room. It was soft, soothing, always full of care. There was something calming about her tone, as if the warmth of her voice could melt away any worries. "Everyone's eating already. Come on, speak up."
"Here," I replied quietly, crawling out from my hiding spot. My voice still wavered, as it often did, but I tried to make it sound natural. Each day, I added a few new words to my vocabulary to simulate the development of a particularly bright two-year-old—nothing too extraordinary. I had to be careful not to become a curiosity.
"So, this is where you've been hiding?" she said, approaching me with that gentle smile on her face. "Come along before it gets cold." She scooped me up in her arms and carried me into the main room, where the rest of the family was already seated around the table.
The room was small, its dark wooden walls filled with the scent of boiled meat and potatoes. Simple plates lay on the table, surrounded by the family that had taken me in.
There were four people in the room.
One was a woman with blonde hair, likely in her early thirties. It was obvious at a glance that she was related to my mother. Aniela, as she was called, had beautiful, clear blue eyes that looked at me with warmth and understanding. Her presence was undeniably comforting.
Sitting beside her at the table was a massive man with a square jaw and short dark hair. He seemed calm, but his face carried a perpetual sternness. Mark—Aniela's husband and father to her sons—glanced at me, his expression shifting when our eyes met. His initially welcoming look turned icy, cold as steel, filled with barely restrained hostility. That gaze made me feel like an unwelcome outsider.
"If the boy prefers hiding to eating, don't interrupt him, Izabela," Mark said coolly. "Ksawery and Antoni can eat his share."
"Mark, how can you say that? We're family," Aniela retorted, coming to my defense.
Mark merely scoffed, shrugging his broad shoulders.
I sat on my mother's lap, feeling somewhat out of place among the adults. Their conversations were valuable to me, though; I absorbed every snippet of information like a sponge. Each word could prove useful. After all, I needed to learn everything about this world, even if I had to piece it together bit by bit.
As always, the conversation eventually turned to me. The family's gazes fell on me, as if I were the day's main topic.
"Why does Baltazar get meat again?" Antoni, the eight-year-old boy, broke the silence with a jealous edge in his voice. His eyes, when they met mine, were filled with envy—and something darker, an unkind malice.
"Yeah, I can't even remember the last time I ate anything other than potato mush," Ksawery, the younger brother, chimed in, echoing his sibling's complaint.
Oh, the tragedy of their lives without their precious potatoes.
The boys—Antoni, two years older than me, and six-year-old Ksawery—were a study in contrasts. Outwardly, they displayed a subdued humility, especially around their parents, but underneath lurked vindictive and calculating little monsters, evident in their every sneaky glance.
In this cruel world, everyone seems to fight for the best opportunities to grow. The battle begins at birth. Just like in my past life, where nations like the United States and China fought over resources—oil, gold, semiconductors—here, the fight for resources boiled down to food. And the most prized resource was meat, essential for a child's proper development.
"Boys! Baltazar is still small and needs meat to grow," my mother said defensively, looking at me with concern.
"And they don't?" Mark asked pointedly.
Oh, sure, why not ask me for a bite of my portion too? That might liven things up.
"Mark!" Aniela interrupted sharply.
"Woman, ever since they showed up here, it's been nothing but trouble," Mark said with an icy tone.
"She's my sister!" Aniela yelled back.
"Sorry, Mark, I didn't mean for this to happen," Izabela said, bowing her head in submission. "I'll work to earn our keep."
"We'll see," Mark replied curtly, cutting off the discussion.
"Well then, let's eat. Baltazar, your aunt told me you've learned to count to twenty!" Aniela said, trying to change the subject, her voice now filled with exaggerated cheer.
"Yes," I answered shyly. "I like counting."
"Wow, what a clever boy you are!" Aniela beamed, her smile wide. "When you grow up, maybe you'll become a village headman!"
A headman? Of course, the pinnacle of a career built on counting to twenty.
At that moment, I felt a sharp kick against my knee. Antoni had struck me under the table again.
"He's so smart, but he still can't even walk," Ksawery sneered, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"Loser!" Antoni added, laughing cruelly.
"Boys, enough," Aniela said softly, her tone conciliatory. "Everyone develops at their own pace."
Sure, my delayed walking must be part of my exceptional development.
In this atmosphere of thinly veiled hostility and passive-aggressive comments, we finished our meal. Eating everything took me a while; in my past life, I wouldn't have touched this tough, underseasoned rabbit meat. Here, in this godforsaken village, there wasn't even salt—a taste I sorely missed.