The Moon Child

by Mark Lucek

  I should have taken you to the lands of the Poles. But what would she be there, this child of the forest? What kind of life would she be able to find in such a strange place? I should have taken my chances with the traders. At first, when she was a baby, he’d had half a mind to take her out of the forest. Maybe one of the traders would have taken him, though there was little he could make by way of payment.

  But he’d been greedy. He’d fallen in love with the new life that the clan appeared to offer. With them he was unique, some exotic specimen whose skills were regarded with awe. The clan fashioned simple pots from bare clay, but none could craft with fire and kiln. That’d always been a thing for the traders and, though the clan had limited use for pots when leathers and birch bark were lighter and readily available, they soon found good use for his skills.

  There was magic in the kiln and the potter’s wheel. He’d shown how an earthenware jar could be used to store things out of the reach of scavengers, and how you could use clay vessels to cook. And, on occasion, they’d been glad of his skills. Glad enough to half accept the child.

  Of course, the river could be dangerous. The rapids were no place for a baby, and the traders hardly did anything without the prospect of some payment at least. And in the dark watches of the night he would sit in his tent and try and take cold comfort from his excuses. ‘Can’t you do anything?’ he heard her say.

  I was too greedy. He tried to stifle the thought. Now it is too late. You will all be swept away.

  ‘Kazik had half a mind to fight,’ Jarel said distractedly. ‘Some of the others too, but even they don’t believe that we can win. What use are our spears and arrows against their armour? If only we could catch them in the forest, but they’re too clever for that.’

  ‘But we can’t just give up. We’d become nothing more than a legend; a song for the old ones of other clans to sing when their campfires burn low.’ Iwa stopped, her voice riddled with tears. The clan couldn’t just disappear. She’d heard the songs of the old ones, those long, slow laments for ancient clans remembered now only as a memory. ‘Is that all we’ll be, a campfire song?’

  ‘Maybe not even that,’ Yaroslav whispered.

  ‘You’ve no idea how bad things are,’ Jarel said. ‘Most of the men are beaten, worn hollow and scared of their own shadows. Already they look to the other clans. Kazik has called a meeting in one of the deep glades, all the survivors will be there. He hopes to stop them leaving, or worse.’

  ‘What could be worse than that?’ Yaroslav managed. His voice was hoarse now. Maybe he’d spoken too much, spent what little strength he had on the chatter. ‘Do they think they can live alone in the forest, or that they can start a new clan?’

  ‘If only enough of the women had managed to run away. But there is talk…’ Jarel paused, looking out as the leaves shivered in the breeze. ‘We killed a couple, good hunters too. Kazik had their hands cut off and their eyes gouged out. After that, well, we couldn’t leave then for the wolves, though they deserved little better.’

  ‘Kazik?’ Yaroslav said, almost in disbelief.

  True, there were not many who thought of him as the next hunt master, there were a few others better trusted – except they’re either dead or captives in the ships, Iwa thought ruefully, but Kazik was counted as one of the leaders, wise and able to bring in a kill when the younger hunters found that their energy and skills were spent. It was hard to believe that he would turn on the others, not like that, and with so few men left.

  ‘They plotted to go to the Poles. Kazik overheard them. They planned to tell the woyaks where to find us in return for food and some of the women to sleep with.’

  ‘So that’s why you keep spread out in the forest,’ Iwa said.

  ‘And why we have to be so careful. If the woyaks can catch us all in one place there’ll be no escape. Which is why nobody knows where the meeting is going to be, not until the last moment.’

  ‘Surely if you can go into the deep forest, the Poles will never dare to follow you.’

  ‘Trust has been worn thin, suspicions lurk even amongst the best. There’s always someone who’s ready to betray the clan for a scrap of meat.’

  ‘They’ll end up with their heads on the end of a spear, once their usefulness is over,’ Yaroslav said.

  Iwa shuddered and curled up close to the fire. Would any of the hunters betray the clan? Surely such a thing was impossible. She looked over to Jarel, his face pressed against the rock to catch the last rays of the sun.

  Slowly he came back into the cave. There was a haunted look about him as he bent to sit near the fire. He was like an old man who only thought of his rest. Suddenly the world had changed, and nothing was certain anymore. Even the forest seemed different somehow. There was a strange chill in the air that carried with it the scent of death.

  ‘Then you must convince the clans to unite,’ Yaroslav said, ‘otherwise all is lost. A single clan could never stand against the woyaks, but if we work together we could catch them off guard. They might be on the lookout against another raid, but they will not expect a full-blown attack.’

  ‘But all the other clans want to do is to hunt free in the forest.’ Jarel struggled to remember Kazik’s words. ‘They might shed tears for us, even turn our memory into a song, but so long as they are free no man from another clan will risk his life in open warfare against the woyaks. A few might come, but only the hotheads and the troublemakers.’

  ‘Then you must convince them otherwise.’ Yaroslav propped himself up against a rock. His voice was weak but his words were sharp. ‘Listen, I understand the ways of the Poles. For farmers there is never enough land. Sooner or later, they’ll grow more grain than they can eat or brew into vodka, and then they’ll send the surplus to the towns for trade. And, once word gets out that there’s good land to be had here, more people will come; more krols and more woyaks, until the clans are pushed into the mountains.’

  ‘Or end up as slaves,’ Iwa added. ‘They’ve got Katchka and the others locked away in those ships of theirs – that’s if they haven’t sold them off to the Arabs already.’

  ‘One krol is bad enough.’ Jarel sank against the ground and put his head between his legs. ‘There can’t be more.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how many they are,’ Yaroslav said. ‘Already they’ve spread out across the great steppe. Even that is not enough for them.’

  ‘And there’d be wars too,’ Iwa chipped in, ‘Krol Gawel told us so. There are more woyaks ready to come, many of them worse than him. If word gets out that he has ploughed the land then they’ll try and take his crops from him.’

  ‘You have to fight.’ Yaroslav lowered his voice. ‘Now, whilst the woyaks are still weak. Let a few escape to tell how the rest were wiped out and maybe the other krols will think twice before trying their luck in the forest. Whilst the Polish lords fight amongst themselves there will always be men who are dispossessed, pushed out to the furthest reaches with no skills or trade but war and death. And when they come, the clans will lose the forest.’

  ‘That’s not possible,’ Jarel said. ‘We belong to this place, as much as the birds or the trees. Without us there can be no forest.’

  Yaroslav leant over to grasp Jarel by the shoulder. ‘Not if the woyaks have their way,’ he said, but his grip was weak and his hand fell away. ‘We’ll be forced into the mountains and those places unsuitable for the plough.’

  ‘But who will listen to me?’ Jarel said as he gulped and, tried to take in the words. ‘Karnobog gave us the paths, laid down the sacred ways through the trees so that we could follow the herds.’

  Iwa shivered, a finger of cold coming from the cave mouth as a breeze touched the rocks. She’d longed for her father’s voice, to hear his words once again and know that everything was alright. Now the words fluttered around her, cold and hard as she tried to grasp their meaning. Surely the clans had to exist, without them there could be no forest.

  ‘Kazik is the hunt master, in all but name,’ she heard
Jarel say, his voice distant and scornful. ‘He will decide,’ he said, trying to reassure himself.

  ‘Then you must convince him,’ Yaroslav said, ‘or else he will be the last.’

  There was a long silence as Jarel glanced fretfully about him. He’d never been to the cities of the Poles, or away from the great river; even now he couldn’t conceive of an end to the forest. Surely all this talk was nothing but foolishness: the trees extended to the end of the earth and belonged to the clans.

  ‘I’ll try,’ he said at last, ‘but I do not think that Kazik will listen. He is content to wait out in the forest until the woyaks have gone. He won’t want to hear about crops and seeds, nobody will. Let us leave such vengeance to the Leszy, that’s what he’ll say. And if the Leszy cannot be bothered to guard their own…’ He paused and let the words hang in the air.

  ‘And the women,’ Yaroslav said softly, his words almost lost in the dull echo of the cave. ‘What good are the hunters if they cannot protect the women and children?’

  ‘I know nothing about the women.’ Jarel glanced briefly at the wound on his leg. ‘None of them have run away from the camp.’ He nodded to Iwa. ‘She’s the only one, and a scrap of a girl at that. The rest could be in league with the krol for all I know.’

  Iwa pressed her cheek against Yaroslav’s shoulder, taking comfort from the soft beat of his breath. All she wanted to do was stay here, safe in the cave, and look after him. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of Jarel gazing at the ground with his legs splayed out before him so that he looked like some giant bug. Maybe she’d been missed already, and who knew what the krol would do once he’d found that she’d gone.

  He needs the women if he wants to plant the crops, Iwa tried her best to console herself, but the image of the women stuffed into the boat wouldn’t leave her. What if Alia has told the krol about Katchka’s mushrooms? Almost too frightened to speak, she tried her best to forget Grunmir’s warning. I couldn’t be all that important. Only Katchka cares if I come back at all. Alia probably wants to see the back of me for good, anyhow. That way she won’t have to decide if she wants to tell the krol about the plan and Katchka can spend the rest of her days dreaming about her empty revenge.

  Maybe he wouldn’t believe Alia’s story. The idea of gathering enough mushrooms to poison the woyaks seemed laughable, but the krol had not struck her as a reasonable man. Suddenly the notion of uniting the clans to drive away the woyaks seemed a better idea.

  As she lay next to her father, she couldn’t help but glance up at Jarel, as his thick fingers twisted clumsily round each other. The last thing she wanted to do was leave the cave, not now that she’d found her father. This was so unfair.

  ‘I could come too,’ she murmured despite herself, her words stuttering as she fought to get them out. ‘I’ve been a captive in their ship. I can tell the clans about it all. If they found out about how the women are treated, they’d be bound to fight, especially if they realise that their women could be captured too.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Jarel chewed at his lower lip. ‘This will be a hunters’ council.’

  ‘Then you’ve got to get them to listen to me.’ Jarel glanced away but Iwa had a hold of his arm. He wouldn’t be able to convince the hunters of anything; Iwa realised. A helpless half cripple hardly counted amongst the men. He was little better than her in the eyes of the hunters, but at least she’d seen the ships first-hand and she knew how things were back at the camp and what they could expect from this krol. Jarel didn’t understand, she could see that. He could only really guess at things and his words would carry little weight. At least with her there would be a chance.

  ‘Talk to Kazik,’ she said, speaking quickly so as to keep the uncertainty from her voice. ‘Women have been allowed to speak in the hunters’ council before.’

  ‘Only under exceptional circumstances.’

  ‘And aren’t these circumstances exceptional enough?’ She was sure of it now. Not that the hunters would be likely to listen to her. I have to get them to come to the cave. Once they hear what Yaroslav has to say… Hadn’t they always followed his council, especially in matters where they knew little?

  Carefully she began to rehearse her speech. She’d have to be clever, now more than ever. She remembered the tricks she used to play, the ways she’d found to get round the clan. ‘Let me talk to them,’ she said, feeling her confidence gather. ‘I can get them to come here.’ She turned to Yaroslav. ‘The hunters have always listened to you. You need to tell them about the Poles and the way that they’ll destroy the forest.’

  ‘If only it were that simple,’ he replied.

  No. Iwa hugged him to her. He couldn’t give up, she wouldn’t let him. ‘You will find a way,’ she said, ‘I know you will.’

  ‘It will take all the power of the clans,’ he said softly, ‘and even then…’ His voice trailed off into the cave’s gloom.

  ‘You’ll find a way to make them see reason,’ she said. ‘They’ll listen to you, they have to.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘We’ll leave you some fish,’ she said, getting up, ‘and the best of the kill. Move over to the fire, you’ll need to keep it going. I can stay until Jarel gets word, but you’ll have to look after yourself after that.’ Only then did she look over to Jarel and see the doubt in his face. ‘You’ve got to let me talk to them at least.’

  But still he didn’t move, his hand playing with a stray twig as he watched the flames flicker. ‘You’ll have to come with me now,’ he said, though his voice was no more than a whisper. ‘We can go back to my camp, Kazik will send word there. The meeting will be called quickly so as not to leave much chance of betrayal, and there’ll be little time enough for us to get there, so you’ll have to come with me.

  ‘I have food to last you the night,’ he nodded to Yaroslav, ‘dried meat, nothing more. Kazik should come to me before nightfall tomorrow. After the meeting we can bring some more for you.’

  He got up to go, but Yaroslav grabbed his arm. ‘You need to convince him of my words. The fate of the clan, of all the clans rests with you.’

  ‘We’ll talk with Kazik: he will be honour-bound to listen. I’ve made my first kill and so my voice is to be heard. I’ll be sure to tell him what you’ve said, but this is something we need to decide as a clan, if we are to remain one at all.’ With that he left to get the meat.

  Iwa made ready to follow, but Yaroslav reached out for her. ‘I don’t know what goes on in the camp of this Krol Gawel of yours,’ he said, ‘but I do not want you to go near it. Whatever happens in a place like that, it cannot be good.’

  ‘I have absolutely no intention—’ Iwa started, but Yaroslav held her firmly.

  ‘I mean it, no heroics, or foolishness either. Say what you have to and help Jarel convince the others, but don’t get caught up in anything more. I don’t want to lose you to some woyak’s axe.’

  ‘I promise.’ Her voice trailed away as Jarel returned with a sliver of meat.

  ‘There is enough here to last until morning, if you’re careful,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back after we speak to Kazik.’

  Yaroslav lay back and coughed: a trace of phlegm dribbled from the side of his mouth and ran down his chin. Iwa used the side of her sleeve to wipe him clean. She so desperately wanted someone to talk to, someone who’d understand all about Jezi Baba and believe her, but at the cave mouth Jarel waited.

  If only she could have spent more time with Yaroslav. She still didn’t trust the effects of the berries either – what if something went wrong? He might need help. Most of the healing herbs could turn against you if you mixed them wrongly or gave too many by mistake. True, Yaroslav seemed fine, already his skin had regained some of its colour and he was warm to the touch, but sometimes people only appeared to recover before Veles, the god who guarded the cave of the ancestors, came and took them.

  She didn’t know how the berries worked, nobody did, not even Katchka. And, as she prepared to go, she couldn’t help but feel th
e chill in the air.

  ‘Remember, now,’ Yaroslav whispered hoarsely, ‘no heroics.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Iwa said as she laid the water skins by his side, ‘I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘But do you think the other clans will listen?’ Iwa said, as they made their way down the forest path. It was near dark and the shadows had started to lengthen with the setting sun, but they were cautious all the same.

  ‘I’m not sure I believe it myself,’ Jarel muttered. ‘They can’t be that powerful; not to cut down the trees, the forest spirits wouldn’t let them.’

  ‘Krol Gawel has the protection of Piórun. Somehow I don’t think the Leszy care to match wits with this thunder god.’

  ‘Then is there anything we can do?’

  Iwa paused and wondered if she should tell him about Jezi Baba, but why would he believe her? The night hag didn’t show herself easily. Nobody had seen Jezi Baba before, not even Katchka. Sometimes one of the old ones would glimpse her shadow out of the corner of their eye, but that was all. Kazik and the others were going to have enough problems understanding about crops and woyaks without her babbling on about night hags. If only Yaroslav had been strong enough to come with them. She rehearsed what she was going to say. They’d all need careful handling, the older ones especially.

  ‘Look,’ Jarel said, ‘I think it’d be best if you let me do most of the talking. Wait on the sidelines and I’ll signal when it’s time for you to speak.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Iwa said sarcastically, kicking at a stone. This was all so unfair; why did nobody ever want to believe her? It wasn’t as if she’d ever told any really big lies. ‘But I know the camp better than any. Your hunters were too busy running in the night to scout it out properly. I can tell you where they sleep and where they keep their weapons.’