The Moon Child

by Mark Lucek

  Dimly she was aware of a stab of pain. The pig face must have cut me again. In an instant something stirred in the firmament; she felt a pang of fear as it reached for her. Then she thought she’d die, as the power entered her body and her blood boiled. Father! she cried out in her anguish and her pain, but it was no use. The firmament crashed in around her and, in the distance, she felt a scream of agony.

  She was back at the tree, her wrists bound with myrtle. Blood dripped across her forehead and there was a cut traced along her neck, just deep enough to draw a sliver of blood. There was a dreadful sound like a thunderstorm. Lord Bethrayal was all around her; his presence swirling like an angry squall. ‘Miskyia,’ she cried out, ‘save me!’

  ‘You must be strong,’ the voice of Miskyia said, muffled behind the pig-faced mask. Was she the same person underneath? Iwa wondered. Somehow she had the inkling that something else flowed behind that mask, a presence that was not quite human, as if some magic worked on the sorceress to transform her into the half human creature that stood before Iwa.

  Can she be trusted, when she wears that thing? But there was no time for such thoughts.

  ‘Fight against the firmament.’ Miskyia’s voice came to her again above the roar that engulfed her ears. ‘You must tame it, or else it will rip your body to shreds.’

  But I can’t. Somewhere in the distance she was aware of her body, the cut of the myrtle sprig as she tried to break loose, but the runes held her firm.

  ‘You must find a way,’ Miskyia said. ‘Think of all we have worked for, all that we can achieve.’

  You said that you’d help me… please. Iwa strained against the bonds as the Lord Bethrayal raged inside her, her eyes turning to molten liquid that poured down her cheeks like tears. Take this away from me – Miskyia, do not leave me. But there was nothing. Iwa could see the pig face as it opened its mouth and began to laugh. In the bracken old gods stirred and leapt out at her with the faces of bats and the wings of birds.

  Another shot of pain: the knife was drawn against her neck, deeper this time. Miskyia, Iwa pleaded; but it wasn’t the sorceress who held the knife, nor was it the pig-faced demon: it was Lord Bethrayal. Bethrayal the mighty, Bethrayal the cunning, Bethrayal the destroyer. Iwa could see him, much as he must have been in life. She was surprised at how young he looked, his skin scented and oiled, but in his eyes a fierce intelligence burned.

  Did you think you could ever contain me? The voice of Lord Bethrayal sounded through her ears, but it was not what she’d expected. It was sweet, charming almost, as it slipped through her head. You should have known better than to try, for I am Bethrayal, the lord of all things; Bethrayal the defender, Bethrayal the bringer of peace. Who are you to try and contain me, you who are so small and so pitiful? Desperately she tried to reply, but there was only his voice, dancing through her mind. And I am not to be held captive.

  With that he drew the knife deeply across her throat so that the blade cut her windpipe in a shower of gore: then there was nothing.

  ‘Miskyia!’ someone shouted – it was her. Slowly the world returned and her blood stopped spinning. With a sigh Iwa slumped against the tree and hoped that nobody would see the tears as she pressed her forehead against the bark. Someone grabbed her from behind and forced a cup to her lips.

  ‘There you are, my clever, brave child.’ Miskyia stroked her neck. ‘I knew that you could do it. I had faith in you, even if you didn’t.’

  ‘It was horrible,’ Iwa managed, as the drink slipped down her throat. It carried the scent of magic locked behind the taste of the wine and herbs. ‘You weren’t there – it wasn’t your body that Lord Bethrayal used.’

  ‘Hush,’ Miskyia said, as she drew Iwa to her and let the cup drop onto the stones. ‘Did you think that I ever left your side? Did you think that I could, after all we have experienced in the temple?’

  ‘There was so much…’ Iwa said. ‘The firmament was all around me. I felt his voice behind my head.’

  ‘And it would have dragged you into the eternal void, had I not stopped it. The barriers that guarded this world would have crushed you in an instant had I not held them open.’

  ‘So this Lord Bethrayal of yours has entered our world?’ Iwa glanced about her. All was still, as if nothing had happened. Even her body was unharmed, except for the slight trace of a cut along her forearm. Slowly Iwa shook her head, half expecting it to fall from her shoulders. But her neck was fine, with not even a hint of a scratch. She felt her skin, but there was only the amulet, now dangling heavily on her. When did someone put that around my neck?

  ‘Where is he?’ she said as her feet touched cold stone again. There was no hint of the runes that had burned so powerfully only a moment ago.

  ‘You managed to contain him.’ Miskyia pointed to the mists. She could see his body even clearer now, that same hawk-like intelligence which burned through the semblance of eyes. ‘You are the key, the bridge which will allow the Lord Bethrayal to pass out of the firmament.’

  ‘So he is not through yet?’

  ‘It is a slow process: you must be careful to keep open the gap. You are the conduit through which his power flows.’ Up above, in the mists, the Lord Bethrayal moved. Iwa could feel him, growing more whole with every moment. ‘Soon he will be powerful enough to walk alone in his own right,’ added Miskyia.

  ‘But how do I keep the barriers open?’ Iwa said as she drew away from the tree.

  ‘Your craft will guide you: trust in it and you may accomplish… everything.’ Miskyia gave her a look and left the rest of the words unsaid, but Iwa knew what she had to do. Desperately she tried not to think about how to bind Lord Bethrayal. Getting him here had been hard enough. Still his power ran through her veins as more of him slipped out of the firmament. Can he sense what I am thinking? Iwa wondered and then stopped herself: she already knew the answer. She could feel the Lord Bethrayal, traces of him inside her as the stones appeared to rise up to greet him and the ancient spells sang. Their master had returned.

  Then, inside her stomach, there was a kick, as if she had been with child. ‘Karnobog!’ she cried out to her dead god as the kick came again, feeling strong enough to rupture her liver. It was as if a badger were trying to burrow its way out of her stomach. ‘Karnobog!’ she cried out again as she collapsed. ‘Lord of the hunt who guides us through the forest, look down on your child and help me.’ Dimly she was aware of the spells as they buzzed angrily around her. They did not like this talk of an alien god. Who was she to profane this sacred space? Yet, even as the pain stabbed harder and she cried out once more to her dead god, Iwa sensed Miskyia’s own magic coming to her aid.

  ‘Eat some of these.’ The sorceress pressed a handful of herbs into Iwa’s mouth. ‘They will help take the pain away.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Iwa gasped. There was another stab of pain, harder this time. It was no good: she couldn’t keep the herbs down and vomited them up.

  ‘That priest, Wislaw,’ Miskyia said in shock and surprise, ‘somehow he has managed to draw away some of Lord Bethrayal’s power.’

  ‘Can he really do that?’

  ‘Not purposefully, there is no way that his spell could possibly reach in here. What does he know of the hidden places?’

  ‘Then how can he hurt me?’

  ‘The magic of Lord Bethrayal’s enemies still lingers on: spells which seek to banish him forever. The bridge between this world and the firmament is weak, and Lord Bethrayal’s grip on this world is slight. Anything can interfere with the link. The barriers that were placed to keep him from this world yearn to close in and trap him. They’ll use anything they can get their hands on, even something as puny as Wislaw’s magic.’

  ‘Which was strong enough to keep Lord Bethrayal out of the camp,’ Iwa said. Miskyia replied, but her words were lost in another spasm of pain. ‘Get it to stop!’

  Thankfully the pain subsided to leave nothing more than a dull ache. ‘That fool priest must have stopped casting his spell,’
Miskyia said as she helped the girl up, ‘but there’s no telling when he might start again, and it would take but a fraction to shatter the bond that keeps Lord Bethrayal to the world.’

  Not to mention my stomach! ‘So what can we do? I don’t think I can carry on much longer.’

  ‘We must attack, and kill that fool priest.’

  ‘My Karzełeks stand ready.’ A guttural voice came from the shadows. Iwa had no idea how long the Karzełek leader had stood there. For all his size and bulk he moved quietly as a hunter. ‘You were right to send out scouts to find that camp of theirs. Leave this priest to us. We will take this place of man flesh tonight and serve up his head on a platter.’

  ‘The camp is defended, both by men and by magic,’ Miskyia said. ‘They have iron weapons and mail to protect them. You will need our help.’

  The Karzełek leader stood for a moment, his mouth open as he tried to contemplate how a few men could stand against him and his fighters. To him they were puny beings, easily killed by club or spear. He’d never encountered iron or the skill of men who were used to blood and slaughter.

  ‘Well,’ Miskyia said, ‘what are you waiting for? Rouse your fighters: the Karzełek attack tonight.’

  With a savage grunt the leader made a sign and, softly at first, the drums began anew. All at once the word spread through the ruins as the Karzełek rushed for their weapons. The air seemed alive with the clang of stone and wood and the war howls of the Karzełek. Many were bathed in blood from the feast, but as they gathered under the sacred tree, Iwa could see runes daubed on their arms and foreheads. They were older than the clan marks; harder and more angular. Yet there was a brutal simplicity about them: squares, circles and triangles cut with a diamond pattern. Others were marked with the imprint of claws smeared with blood and ochre. Many of their shields carried similar images, as if to mark out their own clan divisions.

  Then the Karzełek leader raised his hand and the whole army stopped. Even the drums fell silent. Miskyia walked forward but all eyes were on Iwa. Behind her the figure of Lord Bethrayal rose from the mists, his body wreathed by fire as the flames whipped round him in fury, and even the most fearsome of the Karzełek flinched. A murmur ran through the group, followed by the clamor of club and spear on hide. Inside herself, Iwa could feel the presence of Lord Bethrayal stir, angry and vengeful.

  With a harsh guttural cry the Karzełek leader pointed with his spear and the warriors made ready to depart.

  ‘Are you well enough to travel?’ Miskyia asked.

  ‘So long as Wislaw doesn’t upset the magic,’ Iwa replied, nursing her stomach. At least most of the cramp had gone, but the memory of the pain lingered. She shivered: she had no desire to go through that again. ‘Can’t you protect me?’

  ‘A little,’ Miskyia said, ‘but we must finish off that priest, this Wislaw, once and for all.’

  Iwa felt a black cloud stir deep inside her mind. Who is he to thwart my desires? The voice of Lord Bethrayal whipped through her head.

  ‘Come,’ Miskyia said, taking her hand, ‘we must travel by the old mountain path.’

  ‘Do I have to go?’ Staying in the temple where the Lord Bethrayal was safe and surrounded by powerful magic seemed the obvious thing to do, at least until he could take form without her.

  ‘The Karzełek are overconfident,’ Miskyia said simply. ‘They have long forgotten the harsh taste of battle. It will take all their strength to overcome the woyaks, they cannot deal with Wislaw as well.’

  ‘But you could…’ She let her voice trail away. Inside her, the spirit of Lord Bethrayal bayed for blood and vengeance. She could feel it, like a captured wolf straining on a lead.

  ‘I’ve used so much of my strength in protecting you. Keeping you alive takes almost all my power; there isn’t enough left to deal with Wislaw. You cannot break through the priest’s barriers and counter his magic by yourself, and Lord Bethrayal cannot move without you.’

  Around them the Karzełek were ready. Someone slipped a cloak over her shoulders but she let it fall away. If she was going into battle then she’d go as one of the clan. She remembered Katchka’s old saying, Beware the she-wolf, for it is the mother who will defend her cubs to the last, more ferociously than any male.

  With a cry the Karzełek moved off, their feet hardly making a scratch as they ran down the paths, heavy shields and spears carried lightly in mighty arms. Iwa followed; behind her she could sense the spirit of Lord Bethrayal moving as the mist. On either side a group of Karzełek kept pace, their leaders careful not to let her out of sight.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  At the edges of the larger world they halted. There was nothing to mark the boundary but a vague sense of unease. The Karzełek haven’t the craft to slip through the barrier, Iwa realised, just as the hunters and woyaks could crash round on the outside and never find their way in.

  Then, as the forest witch uttered a spell, the barrier shimmered and the Karzełek stepped out into the wider world. There was a roar as they caught the unfamiliar scents and saw a different moon in the sky. The air came hot with their breath, ghosting in the night as they reached out along half hidden trails.

  ‘What news from your scouts?’ Miskyia asked as the pace slowed.

  ‘They have reached the river,’ the Karzełek leader said. So the witch must have led a party of Karzełek out here before, Iwa realised. No wonder she’d been gone so long. But what of the world outside? She’d still not got used to the idea that time moved differently in the hidden places, the craft keeping to its own course. How long had it been since she’d run away from the camp? Her head spun. Keeping the link with Lord Bethrayal had taken much more out of her than she realised.

  Crossing the boundary into the outside world had been more difficult this time, and her mind was fuzzy as she drifted numbly into a semidarkness.

  ‘And the woyaks in the camp?’ Miskyia’s words came to Iwa as if the witch was far away.

  ‘They are unaware of our presence,’ the Karzełek barked as Iwa drifted back into the world once more. ‘We could take them now, slaughter them like sleeping children.’

  ‘Do not underestimate the woyaks,’ Iwa said bitterly, her emotions turning to surprise as she realised that the Karzełek leader actually seemed to be considering her words. ‘They might look like idiots but they keep their camp well guarded.’

  ‘None of them dare venture out into the forest at night,’ Miskyia said, ‘the paths are clear, at least.’

  ‘My scouts have prepared the way!’ the Karzełek leader replied.

  ‘Then it is time to split our forces,’ Miskyia said. ‘You must give us time to get to the river before you attack the camp. Draw the woyaks off to the main gate so that none will see us cross the water. We cannot risk being detected, especially by that fool priest.’

  ‘My scouts will keep watch from the high ground,’ the Karzełek leader grunted. ‘Fear not, when we see your boat upon the river we will attack.’

  ‘May the power of the Lord Bethrayal keep and protect you,’ Miskyia grasped the Karzełek’s claw in a ritual sign of friendly parting, ‘and make sure that you keep to the forest paths; it is so long since they have felt your tread and it would be easy to lose your way in the dark.’

  ‘The way is well marked,’ the Karzełek leader said. He turned and barked an order in his own language. As one, the Karzełek picked up their pace and veered off to the right. Miskyia turned to the left and motioned for Iwa to follow. The Karzełek who had run with Iwa before followed her, ten in all, their spears held ready.

  How long have they planned this? she thought as they made their way through the scrub. By now their pace had slowed, the Karzełek moving for stealth rather than speed and, every so often, one would halt and sniff the air. They must have a keener sense of smell than us, Iwa realised, which startled her, since the Karzełek stank so badly that it was a miracle that they could smell anything else. I wonder what we smell like to them. She chuckled, more in an attempt to
allay her own fears than anything else.

  They took the old fishermen’s path that the Salmon clan sometimes used, a lonely track that ran wide through the forest before dipping down to a tiny inlet at the river’s edge. That should give the main party plenty of time to take up their positions and launch their attack. Let’s hope most of the fighting’s done before we get there. Iwa smiled grimly. It was a foolish thought: she could never be that lucky.

  Suddenly the Karzełek halted. Iwa gasped. This was far heavier going than she’d ever imagined. With every step she felt the tug of magic as Lord Bethrayal flowed through her and she found it increasingly difficult to move, as if the air had thickened about her and weighed down her every step. Wading through mud would be easier. Worse, she found it almost impossible to move quietly, her feet catching on loose stones or twigs, much to the annoyance of the Karzelek.

  Suddenly she was alone. Iwa stopped and peered about her: the track was deserted. They were on a hill overlooking the river. Here the path narrowed and turned sharply as it rose to run between a pair of boulders. So taken up with trying to maintain the bridge with the Lord Bethrayal, Iwa hadn’t noticed that the Karzełek had fled into the trees.

  ‘Get out of sight quickly,’ Miskyia hissed, aware of anxious looks from the Karzełek as they crouched amongst the trees. Then, on the track ahead, there came the sound of men. As quickly as Iwa dared she scrabbled behind a thicket. Where was Lord Bethrayal? There was no sign of him, but she could feel his presence, like a dark cloud that lingered at the back of her mind.

  She had a sense of him lurking close by yet there was no sign of him. It was as if his body had disappeared into the air. Then she caught a glimpse of him behind the trees, the merest trace of vapour. So he could move as mist twisting through the forest.

  ‘Keep quiet.’ It was not Miskyia who spoke but a figure on the path. ‘Or do you want to bring Grunmir down upon us?’ The figure moved slowly out of the shadows. Three others followed. They moved quickly, apparently with little concern for stealth. ‘As if Grunmir would wander these woods at night,’ one of the others said as he stumbled along the path, ‘or anyone else with sense.’