The Moon Child

by Mark Lucek

  They were closer now. Iwa could make them quite clearly, woyaks dressed in ill-fitting leather armour, their spears dragging heavily in their arms and their shields long discarded. Now all they wanted was to be rid of this place. Hungry, haunted glances scanned the dark line of trees. From somewhere in the dark the spirit of Lord Bethrayal strained, and bayed for blood. How long it had been since he had felt the warmth of the world. Who were these people to keep him from it? He could reach out and crush them with one blow.

  No, Iwa almost cried out. Lord Bethrayal had to conserve his strength. She felt the bridge through which he travelled ebb and sway. It was too soon to attack. In the darkness she sensed that Miskyia had cast a spell and she felt the spirit of Lord Bethrayal subside, his anger calming to a smouldering cinder.

  ‘I’d rather take my chances out there,’ one of the woyaks said. ‘Anything’s better than staying in the camp. The land is cursed. We should never have come here. Didn’t I always say, we should never have bothered with a place like this?’

  ‘I should never have brought you here, son.’ One of the others placed a hand on the young woyak’s shoulder. ‘I should have taken better care than to let you follow that krol.’

  ‘It was a great dream,’ the young woyak said, as he waited for the fourth figure to catch up. Sweat dripped from their faces as the old man leant on his son for strength. ‘But nothing can civilise this place. The trees have a will of their own, and not even the gods could bring them to the plough.’

  ‘Come on, Pasek,’ the old man panted as they turned to the last figure. ‘I want to put as much distance between us and the camp as possible before we rest. You know the kinds of punishment Krol Gawel dishes out to deserters.’

  ‘If he wants to get us back then let Grunmir come into these woods and fetch us, if he dare,’ the last man said.

  ‘They could search for us by boat in the morning,’ the young woyak said as he scanned the tree line, anxious glances cast to the shadows. ‘I want to be able to see the river.’

  ‘I doubt Grunmir will think we are that important,’ the old man replied, ‘he’s got far too many problems of his own to bother about a few strays.’

  ‘I’d rather get as far away from here as we can, all the same,’ the third man said. ‘This is one river that I’ll be glad never to see again.’

  The men began to turn as if to leave. Iwa could see the Karzełek, hands tensed on the shafts of their spears. For all their size they’d hidden themselves well, blending into the woods like hunters. But she was exposed. In her haste she hadn’t had time to get under cover, with only a thin line of scrub between her and the path. She tensed, waiting for the Karzełek to attack, but all was silent. Maybe they didn’t want to give themselves away – better to let the men go than to risk losing the element of surprise.

  ‘Wait up,’ the last figure said as he took out a water skin. Iwa pressed her body flat against the earth as the woyak peered round; surely he’d seen her? But, taking a last gulp, he put the water skin into his belt and made to run off. She relaxed and her leg moved a fraction. A twig cracked. The men looked round, spears held ready.

  ‘Come out,’ one of them said, his voice hard as if attempting to hide his fear. Iwa couldn’t move, her mouth dry as the men came towards her. At any moment they’d see her. She pressed herself into the ground as if trying to burrow into it. ‘We’re armed,’ the old man said. ‘Leave us be, Grunmir, or it’ll be the worse for you.’

  In the trees the Karzełek tensed, their hands trembling on their spear shafts and their eyes filled with a bitter enmity as, on the path, the woyaks peered into the woods.

  ‘A rabbit, most like,’ his son sniggered, ‘these forests are liable to spook the gods.’

  ‘The sooner I’m away from here…’ the old man began – and then the Karzełek attacked. In one swift motion one of them broke out of the bushes, his spear shattering the old man’s armour as the blade pushed deep into his chest. With a look of shock and surprise, the old woyak crashed to the ground, a river of blood spilling from his mouth.

  But his son was quick and, even as his father fell, he’d turned his spear and thrust it through the Karzelek’s neck. There was an awful rending as the iron tip pushed through skin hard and tough as bleached leather and the creature collapsed in a fountain of gore. Before Iwa had time to move, the rest of the Karzełek charged, their war cries ripping through the darkness.

  ‘Piórun!’ One of the woyaks began a battle chant, as he lifted up his spear; but his voice was stopped short by a spear thrust through the throat. Dropping his shield, the fourth man fled, leaving the young woyak to his fate. A couple of spears hurtled through the air to crash harmlessly into the scrub. But, in his haste, the man forgot to dodge and a third clipped his side.

  ‘Grunmir, you old battle hag, come on out and you’ll dine on my spear point tonight!’ the young woyak yelled, perhaps, in the darkness and confusion, not realising what he faced. With a roar a Karzełek attacked, a giant club beating through the air, but the young woyak ducked under the blow and thrust up through the gut. With a cry the Karzełek collapsed and the woyak pushed his spear further in. But he hadn’t counted on the snakes. Even as their host lay dying, one of them struck past the woyak’s face guard and buried its fangs in the young man’s eye. With a scream he fell, his hands drawn to his face.

  Then all was silent. Iwa couldn’t move as she pressed herself against Matka Ziemia. Behind her the woyak who’d tried to run whimpered, blood gushing from a wound torn deep in his side as he crawled for the safety of the scrub, but the Karzełek surrounded him, howling in their eagerness, the air scented with blood.

  Perhaps the Karzełek hadn’t realised that the woyaks hadn’t spotted her. She could scarcely credit it herself. They must have been terrified not to have seen me. She looked at the young woyak; his face puffed up with an ugly blue wound where the second snake had bitten deep. By his side the Karzełek lay, its mouth still open in a final battle cry, the snakes motionless. So the snakes do not outlive their master.

  ‘Come,’ Miskyia said, ‘we must get to the river.’ Reluctantly Iwa was drawn away. She couldn’t help one last look back at the dead boy.

  ‘They would have died anyway,’ the witch said, tucking her arm around Iwa. ‘They’d never have found a path out of the forest and it wouldn’t be long before the wolves found them.’

  ‘They must have been desperate to get away.’ She couldn’t rid herself of the memory of the dead woyak, the poison burned deep beneath his skin. No natural venom dripped from those fangs. She’d never seen anything act so swiftly or so terribly.

  ‘At least, this way, their doom fell quickly upon them.’ Miskyia’s hand was soft on her shoulder. ‘Who knows how long the wolves would have let them starve before they were weak enough to be attacked.’

  Iwa nodded, but the thought brought little comfort.

  Out in the woods she could feel Lord Bethrayal slinking through the trees. They moved quickly now, the Karzełek’s spears held ready. In the scrub something moved. Another woyak? Iwa shivered. Already she’d had her fill of war and death. Animals died all the time, she’d been brought up gutting boar and deer, but this was different.

  There was a disturbance in the craft. Iwa struggled to keep the link with Lord Bethrayal, feeling him strain against the forces that held him. Yet there was something else as well, a tiny flutter that she almost missed in her desperation to keep Lord Bethrayal at bay. Somewhere out there the old spells listened. She could almost feel their magic strain, those old curses uttered so long ago.

  But the ages hadn’t diminished their power as, out in the firmament, they wrapped round the Lord Bethrayal. She could feel his anguish and his torment as he railed against them. Freedom was so close. Bit by bit she could feel him slip into the world, his body taking form in the mists.

  ‘Quick!’ one of the Karzełek barked as she tried to keep up, her feet slippery over the loose ground.

  The track led to a sheltered co
ve overhung with trees. ‘All is well prepared.’ Miskyia smiled as she pointed to the thickets, from which two Karzełek came out, dragging a tiny raft between them. ‘We need to get out into the river,’ she said, looking up at the stars. ‘With luck the others should be ready to attack the camp.’

  Without a sound the raft slid into the river. Iwa clambered on, the wood creaking as two Karzełek followed her. After that there was barely room for Miskyia, the raft almost capsizing as she climbed on. The Karzełek were not natural sailors, their oar strokes falling unevenly as the raft wobbled into the river.

  ‘Careful,’ Miskyia said as they tried to get further out, ‘we want to get to the camp in one piece.’ With a growl they slowed their strokes, the raft rocking wildly.

  We’re too heavy. Iwa looked for something to hold onto.

  ‘Just concentrate on Lord Bethrayal,’ Miskyia said as the raft tipped sharply. Recovering herself, the forest witch gave the Karzełek a narrowed look, but they appeared not to notice as the current snatched the raft and took it downriver. The rest of the Karzełek followed, wading awkwardly into the river, their snakes hissing with rage, but they were soon left behind the raft.

  As they neared the camp the Karzełek on the raft dug their oars deep into the water in an effort to slow down. At first Iwa thought that she’d lost contact with Lord Bethrayal. Desperately she looked about her, but then there was that familiar throb in the back of her head: Lord Bethrayal was coming across the water. As the mist whipped around the flaming outline of his body, his mouth opened as if in a cry of rage. How could anybody not see him?

  Her head throbbed again. She could almost taste his eagerness, his eyes glowing as, dimly, he began to sense the world once more. She could feel him draw close as his power flowed through her and into the world. Miskyia was saying something, but she hardly noticed as she felt the world slip away and she was alone with the firmament wailing all around.

  Free. The voice of Lord Bethrayal sounded deep inside her head. When will I be free? She could sense his anger and impatience, the restless yearning tearing through her. I want to walk once more, to feel the heat of the sun, to touch a leaf.

  Before, he’d managed to come to the world, but only as a shadow wraith, barely able to evade the firmament, which lay always ready to suck him back. Now the prospect of breaking free loomed as the spells that sought to trap him howled in anger.

  Patience, she tried to calm his restless spirit, but then a stab of pain ran through her. Wislaw had begun another spell and the form of Lord Bethrayal grew faint as Iwa’s stomach heaved. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Miskyia work a counter-spell. That helped ease the pain, but the bridge was broken. Over the river the figure of Lord Bethrayal stumbled; anger and frustration seared across the water as, in the firmament, his spirit searched for the bridge. Taking a deep breath Iwa calmed herself and tried to reform the link: if only she knew how.

  Nothing. She closed her eyes and tried again as the figure of Lord Bethrayal thrashed, the waves threatening to overturn the boat as the amulet hummed around her neck, but it was no use: the magic wouldn’t work. By her side Miskyia gave her a concerned look as another wave washed over the side of the raft. It’s not as if I ever understood any of this. Iwa tried to fight down the raging ball of panic. I never asked for any of this.

  There was another crash of waves as the figure of Lord Bethrayal twisted, the waters boiling under his touch. I’ll drown for sure. Iwa opened her mouth but the words wouldn’t come. Then, almost unnoticed, her magic worked within her. Ancient spells formed unbidden on her lips, commanding her tongue to action, and the form of Lord Bethrayal calmed as the link was reestablished.

  By the shore the more Karzełek waited with anxious glances as they peered out from the safety of the trees. Only when Lord Bethrayal was still did they dare to wade out. At least they’ve managed to catch up, Iwa thought as, behind her, the other Karzełek tried to steady the raft, the great oars fighting the waters. They were close to the camp now.

  Surely the woyaks must have heard us coming. She grabbed onto the raft, her knuckles white with fear as they rounded the last bend, but the current had taken them too far, so that they were exposed in the middle of the river. With a muted roar one of the Karzełek strained on his oar in a desperate attempt to bring them back. We’ll be seen for sure. She glanced at the figure of Lord Bethrayal as he towered above the raft. He was stronger now, the features of his face clearly visible as more of his power flowed through her.

  She needn’t have worried. In the distance the sound of battle raged. It was as if the whole camp were ablaze, a crescent of flame drawn across the horizon. Iwa strained, her mouth dry as she looked across at the shore. All was confusion and smoke. There was no way to pick out the women’s boat, let alone Yaroslav’s hut. If only they are alright, she prayed to whatever gods might listen. By her side the Karzełek picked up their pace, their eyes filled with bloodlust and fury. Will they keep to their promise and let the clan live? she wondered. They are honourable, Miskyia’s had said: but would that count for much once the fever of battle took hold?

  As the raft drew closer, it became clear that it was only the rampart which was ablaze. ‘We need to be quick,’ Miskyia said, as the raft jolted against the sand. On the other side of the camp a group of Karzełek broke through the battlements and began to wade into the defending woyaks, their spears bristling with blood. ‘We need to find that priest before his spells break the connection for good,’ Miskyia yelled. Behind her the Karzełek let out a battle roar but Miskyia motioned them to silence. Yet she needn’t have bothered: all was confusion. The air rang thick with the clamour of axe and shield, and the scent of blood and burning. Above it all Iwa thought she could make out Grunmir’s voice.

  ‘We don’t have time to waste,’ Miskyia said, ‘tear down the barrier before the woyaks see us.’

  But the Lord Bethrayal scented victory and nothing could hold him as he crashed against the barrier in a shower of sparks and fury. Iwa felt his anger, the frustration at not being able to crush such a puny thing, but he was not yet strong enough, his body unused to the world as, with a roar of pain, he threw himself against Wislaw’s magic. The noise was so loud that she had to shield her ears as the waters foamed around her. He’ll throw me into the river. Desperately she tried to hold on; but she dared not take her hands away from her ears, even as a wave caught the side of the raft and almost tumbled her into the water.

  ‘The current’s too strong!’ she yelled as she tried to calm the demon, but the Lord Bethrayal wouldn’t be stayed. For millennia he’d drifted through the firmament, an unfeeling, unseeing piece of flotsam lost amid the dark, and now those centuries pressed down upon him in a rage that blanked out all reason. Whatever he might have been in life, he was now little more than a rampant animal, hurling itself piteously against the barrier. Iwa winced with his pain as she tried to find a semblance of humanity behind the fury, but the longing to be free smothered all else and awakened nothing but a deep, hateful hunger.

  Over by the wall, the woyaks turned to face the new enemy. She could see their ranks falter as some of the men dropped their shields and ran for the safety of their ships, but not nearly as many as she had expected. Perhaps they’d seen Lord Bethrayal fail to breach the barrier once too often, or maybe they sensed that their doom was upon them whether they fought or not. Better to die with a spear in your hand than cower like a whimpering child. Then, over the din of the drums and the clangour of death, a new sound took hold. The iron wolf heads bellowed as Krol Gawel rallied his men, the fire reflecting across his mail as his great sword cut a Karzełek clean in two.

  ‘Can’t you get Bethrayal to stop?’ Miskyia shouted as a Karzełek scrambled ashore. ‘You need to keep control, or else you’ll be swept up with him forever.’ A nearby post cracked under a blow from a stone axe, sending the animal’s skull skittering into the waters with a hiss of steam. But the woyaks were quick to see the danger and, even as Krol Gawel rallied his
men at the front wall, a dozen gathered around Grunmir as he charged the barrier. His battle chant was enough to bring a few of the woyaks back from their ships, and not even the sight of Lord Bethrayal could quell them.

  Without a second thought Iwa scrambled onto the shore, her ears still ringing from the noise as her feet found dry land. By her side a Karzełek hurled a spear at Grunmir, but the old woyak was too quick and, even as the shaft clove through the air, he’d already stepped aside. Keeping her eyes trained on him, she began to back away, but two of the Karzełek stood by her, their shields locked to form a wall. ‘Keep to the sidelines,’ Miskyia called. ‘If we lose you, we lose all.’ Despite that, Iwa couldn’t help but peer out from between the shields as two more spears were hurled at the advancing woyaks. One missed its mark, flying high over their helmets, but the other slipped in over the top of a shield to cut straight through the neck. The blow fell so powerfully that the woyak was lifted off his feet as he crumpled to the ground in a spray of gore.

  From somewhere she sensed danger. Out in the great void the spirit of Lord Bethrayal raged. He could feel the world draw near, almost taste the air, the scent of water cold about him. Old sensations woke, the longing to tread the earth once again, to be able to reach out and touch solid ground. After centuries of dormancy his spirit was ready to wake.

  Already she could see the semblance of features across the thing’s face, the mists weaving as if caught in some unseen current to take on the appearance of flesh. From deep within the swirling mists, soft eyes glistened and, as the thing raised something like an arm, she could see the fingers smoothly tapering as they reached forward to crash against the barrier once more.

  You are so very close, she managed, feeling his anger, the memory of branches, so old and half remembered, but I don’t know how to guide you. There was a great shudder in the firmament. Iwa felt her bones quake as Lord Bethrayal’s power flowed through her ever stronger, blocking out everything else. Too long had he been forced to wander the cold darkness, the simple pleasures of the sun and grass all but forgot, until there was hardly a trace of the man he’d once been. Now there was nothing more than a great longing for the simple things that the memories had awoken, the smell of the waters and the glimmer of fish, and with the longing there came a deep searing hatred. He had not saved the world from the reign of the blood gods, those simple pitiful fools who had condemned him to an eternity of nothingness. She felt his anger, the rage burning through her body. Miskyia, she cried out above the roar of the firmament, but the witch was nowhere to be seen.