by Mark Lucek
She couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of Krol Gawel’s grim revenge. Once he finds out about Katchka’s plans he’ll set Grunmir loose on the women for sure. Until then she’d never really believed that Alia would dare to breathe a word about the mushrooms, but what if she was wrong? Alia had always been so proud of her looks; what if she wanted revenge for the scar that Katchka had given her? They’d been enemies long before the coming of the Poles. Katchka had always hated the younger woman, and not just because of her beauty.
Soon Katchka would be too old to go berry-picking and her sway amongst the women would diminish. And these bones will be fit for nothing more than to huddle round the fire. Hadn’t the old woman said that often enough? Alia was the future, always eager to show her power over the young girls who trod in her shadow. Not that Alia would take Katchka’s place just yet – there were others ready to fill that role – but her time would come. And right now, she was the hunters’ favourite and carried the knowledge around like a bright garland.
But would she betray Katchka to the krol? Would she stoop so low? Iwa shook her head, but there was no getting rid of the vision of Fang decapitating the women, their slaughtered bodies slipping into the mire. Maybe she should wait for Miskyia? The sorceress had been kind, but this was still the place of evil Leszy and, in the dark, Iwa could almost hear their chuckles in the bracken. A shiver fluttered along her spine at the unnatural chill in the air.
In the distance there was a scrape of rock. Perhaps Strumovit watched her still. He’d been away helping Miskyia for most of the day and Iwa had been able to gather rocks to place under her sleeping skins so that it would appear that she was still under them, so long as the thing didn’t come too close. If only Yaroslav was here to help her and tell her what to do. Iwa hugged her shoulders to stifle her shivers. She was alone, and who knew how long her subterfuge would last? So long as it doesn’t get too near. But a Karzełek’s eyes were bound to be sharp and used to the dark.
She had to get back to her father. Suddenly the thought of him lying alone in the cave gripped her. Perhaps Miskyia would never have helped the women, there was no trusting one so wreathed in magic. Now, alone in that unnatural night, there was only the vision of him. He was the only one who she could really trust. All else was washed away, even Katchka and the rest of the clan. Hadn’t they betrayed her? The idea of her father lying alone in the cave was almost too much for her to bear.
As the music changed Iwa found the power to move. She began to run, all thoughts of stealth forgotten as she stumbled across the ruins and the broken faces of stone gods. In her haste she almost slipped, her feet fighting to keep her upright as she slid on loose stones. But not even that could serve to slow her.
Then she realised that she’d lost her way. Iwa paused and took deep gulps of acrid air. Things had been easier inside the ruins, where the walls had served to guide her, but now she was on the grass and everything looked the same: an incomprehensible jumble of blackness. Even a hunter would have trouble finding his way. Jezi Baba, take pity on me, she almost cried out in fear. Up ahead she could see the fallen column stretched like a felled tree.
Without thought, she ran to it. If only she could find the way to the boat. The reeds shivered in the moonlight, but there was no sign of the craft. She ran down the length of the stone until she came to the broken capital.
She paused for breath, the true hopelessness of the situation dawning on her. It wasn’t as if the column pointed in the exact direction of the jetty. She’d planned to follow along the stone and then veer off to the left by a small patch of withered grass: it had all seemed so much easier in the daylight. Now there was nothing except the stillness and the distant echo of the drum. She had to get to the boat and quickly, but if she missed the jetty she might spend the night searching amongst the reeds and still not find it.
In amongst the reeds something slithered. She paused, her every muscle strained as she waited to catch the faintest trace of movement. It could be Sturmovit, but somehow she doubted that. Iwa sensed a presence. She was being watched, she was sure of it.
Something bit her finger. With a sharp wince of pain she brought up her hand, half expecting to see blood flowing from a gaping wound, or a tiny animal clinging to her flesh, but there was nothing. There it was again, a sharp pain now crawling along her leg. Around her, ancient magic stirred. Iwa could sense the spells weaving over her. The sensation reached upwards and intensified, as if someone had rammed a branch into the small of her back. The air began to swell and the ground swayed beneath her feet as Miskyia’s warning rang in her ears.
Then she was running, running for all she was worth, her mind flooded in a daze of panic as, almost without realising, she crashed through a tangle of reeds. All at once she fell, her legs caught in a syrupy mire of mud and plant matter that sucked at her ankles. She tried to run, but the mud was too thick and she fell head first into a tangle of reeds. Her mouth clogged with grit and water as her arms flailed helplessly and the leaves tore at her skin.
More by luck than anything else, Iwa managed to grasp hold of something and pull herself up, the mud giving way with a loud plop. It was one of the stakes that held up the jetty. Without waiting to gather her breath, she grabbed hold of the wood and, hauling herself up, lay panting on the roughly hewn planks. Her limbs ached but she forced herself up. She could just about make out the drumbeat as she uncoupled the boat from its mooring and climbed on board. With a hard push the boat slid past the reeds and into open water.
It was only with much difficulty that she managed to get the oars the right way round. She’d seen traders paddle upstream but had never actually rowed a boat, and it proved far more difficult than it looked. At first she found it almost impossible to use both oars at once. Then she didn’t dip them in deeply enough, nearly losing her grip as she struggled with the blades. Finally she gave up and tried using a single oar, paddling the thing as if it were a canoe. Taking a firm hold she thrust an oar hard into the lake, her muscles tightening as she tried to raise the blade; but it wouldn’t come free. She tugged harder, almost standing up for leverage. Suddenly she was thrown forward as, with an almighty splash, the blade broke loose, dredging up a mess of mud and roots.
Grabbing onto the sides for dear life, Iwa prayed that the thing would stop swaying before she threw up. In the distance the drumbeat faded. Cautiously, she tried again, being careful not to dip the blade too far into the water and almost jumping at the ripple of sound as the wood hit the stagnant surface of the lake; but there was no answering sound, not the slightest movement on either shore, only the rustle of reeds.
Now that she was further out, things became easier and she no longer cared about keeping quiet, but it was hard to keep a steady course and she found that she had steered the boat in a wide semi-circle and then wasted more time in a futile attempt to correct her mistake.
She paused: the music had stopped. Slowly she lifted her head, her ears filled with the sound of her beating heart. Tendrils of mist swelled up from the water – was it Bethrayal coming across the lake? She ducked inside the boat and when she next looked up she was still alone. Behind her the island lay like a dark blue cloud across the water.
Slowly she began to row, painfully aware of the sound of the oars as they rolled across the water. After some practice she managed to build up a steady rhythm and soon she was almost at the far bank. Let’s hope this is the only boat, she thought as the hull jarred against the shore. Or that Miskyia can’t walk across water.
It was so good to have her feet on dry land once again. At least here she knew what she was doing. Yet she couldn’t help but cast her eyes to the lake and the reeds stagnant on the far shore. Still she had the feeling that she was being watched.
Without bothering to tie the boat she ran into the forest. It felt so good to be free and getting further away from magic. Not even the fact that she was lost worried her. I’ve found my way before: how difficult can it be? Pushing through a thicket, she paus
ed, her breath misted in the night. Now that the exhilaration of her escape had worn away, old fears began to emerge; stories of ghosts and goblins and trees that would lay traps for the unwary. The paths change, Miskyia’s words came back to her, and just because you set foot on a well-known trail does not mean that it will take you where you expect.
I should have waited. She cursed as she stabbed a loose rock with her foot. If only I’d promised to steal the amulet: Miskyia might have let me go and then I could have run off into the cave. Of course that was if the woman had believed her.
Cautiously she forced her way onto what appeared to be the semblance of a track. She’d no idea where she was or in which direction she was going, and there was the awful feeling that she was being followed. Maybe Sturmovit had come after her. She didn’t think that the creature could keep up with her, not here in the open forest, and there hadn’t been any sign of another boat or craft. Let him skulk on his pile of rubble and rot for all I care.
So long as she was free from this Bethrayal, not even the thought that Miskyia might follow scared her. Shaking her head, she tried not to think about the dead woyaks. Nothing compared to that vision.
Cautiously she began to walk, glancing hastily over her shoulder. Even the trail behind her seemed to change: sometimes she’d look to find it had vanished or else that it veered off in a completely different direction.
‘What have I done?’ she murmured. If only Katchka hadn’t forced me to pick mushrooms. Only an idiot would come up with a plan like that: this is all her fault.
Chapter Thirteen
Iwa sank against the roots of some great tree. At her feet the bark twisted to form a leaf-lined hollow; how tempting it was just to curl up there and sleep, but that was to invite death. She had to get away, back to Yaroslav. Everything has failed, the hunters have deserted us. I have failed as well. There is nothing more I can do. But the thought of him lying all alone in that great cave was too much to bear. I wonder what lies Jarel and the others have told him. That was what hurt the most, above and beyond even the betrayal.
But which way to go? By now the moon had disappeared behind the clouds so she couldn’t even see properly as she stumbled over root and briar. And all the while the suspicion that she had been missed clawed in the back of her mind. What if Miskyia was looking for her even now? Iwa could almost sense her spells cast over the forest, calling for her. And, in her desperation, she tried to answer but didn’t know how. This was foolhardy, she was lost and alone and the sorceress had been right. I never should have left, and now a miserable death in the forest is all there is. Staying would have been better, so long as she didn’t encounter Bethrayal.
But that was past. She had to find shelter, and soon, before the cold of night fell fully upon her and dragged her to the ancestor world.
In the distance an owl hooted. That was a good sign, at least, since she didn’t think that a familiar bird would have been able to come into the hidden places. I must be near the border with the outside world: if only I could see. Hands outstretched, she tried to make her way towards the sound, her feet feeling for the break in the woods. Again the bird hooted and she turned in the direction of the sound.
Last time she’d been lost she’d used a bird to guide her, but that had been pure luck and she doubted that she could enter a bird’s mind at will, least of all now when she was so tired. Yet, as she stumbled helplessly through the bracken, she found that her lips were moving as if of their own accord, forming a strange language she’d never heard before. Words came to her, heaped one on top of the other, and gradually a pattern began to form. The rhythm took hold as the cadence spread from her lips and through her body.
There was an odd sinking sensation in her stomach and she had the feeling that she’d been tossed high into the air, the clouds reaching up to her before she tumbled down to earth. She expected pain, to land with a thump, but there was nothing, only a faint, dizzy numbness in her stomach. It was as though she were unused to her eyes; they just wouldn’t focus properly as the world around her became distant and the forest blurred. Resting her forehead against the stump of a tree she felt her skin hot against the wood; beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and into her mouth.
It’s too late. She slumped down further. I can’t go on, Father, I’m so sorry. Still she mumbled words without rhyme or reason, just a collection of mad guttural sounds all tumbled together. In the distance the owl hooted again. If only I could get out of here. Getting up, she stumbled and fell to the ground.
She was flying high above the trees, her body, a poor broken thing, left far below. She felt herself fall, the ground rushing up to her, then almost by instinct she felt herself dart upwards once again, through the trees and past branches, as if she had been nothing but the faintest touch of the breeze.
But it was no good; she felt herself pulled back, her body dragging her down. On the topmost branch something stirred; a tiny flicker, but it was enough. With one final effort she heaved herself through the blackness, her eyes searching as she passed by a branch. Somewhere amid the leaves there was a flutter of movement, a hint of warmth. She felt her presence far above the forest floor as she scrabbled through the twigs. The bird was so close, she could almost taste the spittle of its mouth, feel its claws grip tightly against bark as a gust of wind ruffled its feathers. Down below her body called. No, she mustn’t look; the weight of her body lay ready to drag her to earth. She felt the pull of it, a hard tug that gathered momentum and she was falling.
Alone on the branch, the owl hardly moved. Its head cocked to one side as it contemplated the mouse that scurried through the undergrowth. It was young enough to feel the exhilaration of the hunt, wings held taut as it readied itself, the blood running wild through its veins. Then it stopped.
She slipped behind its mind so naturally that neither of them noticed. Caught up with the rodent, the owl hardly registered anything at all. It had a vague notion that something had squirmed behind its eyes, an uneasy feeling that all was not quite right. Iwa’s consciousness was far more subtle and so she had more problems. First there was a sensation of shock and surprise; she’d only stumbled upon animals by accident or in dreams before, but this was different. Now she had to keep control of the creature. There was a whole new body to get used to: the heavy weight of wings, the soft touch of feathers and the hard press of its unwieldy claws. But what eyes – she could see perfectly. Nothing went unnoticed, not the slightest twitch on the forest floor. Sharp ears picked out the faintest sound, the crawl of animals in the bracken or the finger of wind that rustled through the branches.
With some trepidation she realised that the bird had turned its head right round to look behind it, giving her a queasy feeling. Turning back proved more difficult than she’d imagined, the muscles were stiff and unyielding. If only this wasn’t all so complicated. All these new muscles and none of them worked how she expected.
Deep down in the bird’s subconscious a warning flashed, but Iwa managed to quell it and soften the hoot of sudden alarm. She felt its mind, a dull fuzzy thing as it contemplated the mouse far below, and its claws tightened as it calculated the flight path. With one final look it flexed its wings, the muscles of its stomach tensed, and it tilted forward, ready to lift off the branch. She could almost feel the swish of the air through its wings and the blood trembling in its body.
Maybe part of her had already begun to think like an owl, glorying in the thrill of the hunt, so it was only with some reluctance that she managed to pull back, the deep-rooted howl of complaint stifled before it left the bird’s subconscious. She was aware of a pang of hunger; the owl had not eaten all night, but she had more pressing needs. Far below she was aware that her body had already begun to walk towards the owl. There was no boundary to mark the hidden place, no shimmer of light or crackle of magic, but it was there all the same.
There was an angry hoot as the mouse moved away and the hunger grew inside the owl’s stomach. Its senses remained trained on the for
est below as it watched the mouse scuttle into the undergrowth, perplexed as to why it hadn’t swooped down to catch it.
The mouse should have slipped into the hidden place, except that somehow it didn’t. There was a ripple in the boundary and then all was still. Once again Iwa tried to pull the bird away, but she was clumsy and she almost slipped out of its consciousness, her mind tumbling out into the darkness.
Desperately, she tried to cling on as her body broke into the forest. To the owl it was as if a human had appeared from nowhere. Its mind became confused, the urge to flee driving out all thought.
Easy, little one. She tried to comfort the creature but it was on its guard now and sensed that something was wrong: an alien presence lurked nearby but it couldn’t figure out where. Then it became frightened, giving out a series of angry hoots as it tried to regain control of its thoughts and drive her out.
Somehow Iwa managed to slip deeper into the owl’s mind. She could sense its fear, feel its frustration as it peered around for the enemy that must be near. Gently, she smothered the feeling. Calm yourself. Her thoughts stroked the creature as if it had been a kitten. Almost without a struggle the owl quieted, a soft warm feeling overcoming it as it closed its eyes and began to make a noise like a purr.
At least one of them was calm. All I need to do is relax, she thought, but then she caught sight of her own body pushing through the bracken. She felt the pull of it, stronger now, almost ready to rip her from the bird.
Another hoot: the bird was aware of her presence again. Deep feelings of unease settled over its mind, making it difficult to control. Deep within the creature’s consciousness a warning flashed and the bird’s brain lit up with fear. Iwa had to get away. Far below, her body was calling. Urgently she commanded the bird to fly. The wings moved stiffly at first as the claws loosened and, with a rush of air, the bird took to the sky. But it wasn’t easy: the owl’s mind was confused, drawn in all directions.