The Moon Child

by Mark Lucek

  Did you ever think that you could defeat us? the stones chuckled as the last of Iwa’s song disappeared from her lips. You could never have broken the link into this world.

  Let me be a channel for your will. Wislaw worked what magic he could, but the stones ignored him. His craft was not strong enough for such a task. The Lord Bethrayal was too powerful now, the song of the stones reaching out for him to welcome him back to his world.

  Now, Iwa realised, it had to be now whilst Lord Bethrayal was flowing into her. Quickly she began to form her magic about her. She could almost see it, her power churning around her like a great storm. New spells, raw and hungry, called into being by her craft. Yet she had to control them. Her breath stilled as she worked a new magic. She didn’t quite understand how, but her craft became calm, the spells focused, awaiting her command.

  Still the power of Lord Bethrayal flooded into her. Her spells glowed with a newfound force as she soaked up his energy. She could see herself, the most powerful of all, Lord Bethrayal bound to her service. Then the forest would be safe. Her power would extend over the whole land and none would dare come to harm it, not even the Poles with all their woyaks and krols. Yaroslav would be safe too, a lord amongst the men. She could see him, sitting by the great clan fire as all did him homage.

  And together they would rule over this place, the forest sinking away from the sight of men until it became one of the hidden places, far larger than the temple and the lake. A kroldom where the craft would hold sway for all eternity, even after the winds had gnawed the mountains to dust.

  We have him. Miskyia’s voice rang in her head. After all these years I have you. Your tyranny is at an end, you shall dance to our tune now. Out in the firmament Lord Bethrayal howled in anger and fury as he felt his power draw away. We shall make the forest a haven for all that is good. The harvest of the blood gods will be swept away and the trees will be free from the plough. Yet, behind her voice, the old gods chuckled. Iwa could feel their presence slowly corrupting like a canker.

  But you need not fear, Miskyia threw her own spell of protection over Iwa like a cloak. I will be here to guide you. Together we will save the forest, the clans shall live free.

  Iwa could sense the magic, her own power growing, limitless. Already she only had to reach down and rid the forest of Krol Gawel and all the woyaks. Nobody can touch me, she thought, I can do anything. But deep within her a warning flashed.

  Magic always betrays its caster. Katchka’s words came back to her. Nobody profits from the craft.

  What are you doing? Miskyia screamed as the stones grated against each other, their fury barely contained. Suddenly Iwa understood. Bethrayal had been the greatest of mages, far more powerful than both her and Miskyia put together, and yet the stones had triumphed as they always would.

  You fool, Miskyia’s voice screamed as Iwa turned her magic against the bridge that bound Lord Bethrayal to this world, you’re throwing it all away, everything we have worked for. We could do so much! Behind her words the stones cursed, their clamour rising so that Iwa thought her ears might bleed.

  She might not be powerful, her craft nothing more than a leaf caught in a stream, but she was at that moment the bridge and it would only take the slightest shift for her to break the link. Still she could see the krol on his throne, the trees burned for fields of wheat and summer barley.

  Your father! the stones cried out in anguish. She could see him forced to kneel before the krol. We could raise him up. He could rule by your side. The trees would be safe, even the Leszy will bow before your command.

  No! Iwa summoned the last of her magic. The stones couldn’t be trusted. Even the terror of the krol wouldn’t be as cruel. At least with him there would be a chance. She couldn’t give the forest over to such a power. And for all his woyaks, Gawel was just one man. The clans could deal with him in time.

  Desperately she tried to break the spells that bound her to the Lord Bethrayal. But they were too strong. She tried again, the spells singing angrily around her. They have imprisoned me! The stones have tricked me. And, over the roar of the spells, she heard them laugh.

  She been too caught up with the visions of her father. She hadn’t noticed the spells curling around her, drawing her to them until she had no choice.

  Did you ever think you could thwart us, insect? the voice of the stones crowed in her head. You could have been all-powerful. Now we will give you over to the Lord Bethrayal, your body will be nothing more than an extension of his will, nothing more than a corporeal expression of his power.

  The spells shifted about her again.

  You can’t, Miskyia cried out. You can’t imprison her as you have imprisoned me. I won’t allow it. But her spells were stillborn.

  Did you think we did not know of your treachery? The power of the stones turned on Miskyia. The witch screamed as her spells shattered.

  Iwa felt the grip of the stones hard about her, choking, twisting. Frantically she scrabbled to find some semblance of power. She had to break the link. But the song of the stones beat within her.

  We have given you a chance at power, foolish wretch, you could have had it all.

  And she was drowning, swamped by the power of Lord Bethrayal as it beat within her. Soon she would be gone. She felt herself slipping away, nothing more than a tiny fragment as he crossed the senseless void. Already he had begun to feel the world around him. He could almost taste the scent of the leaves, feel the warm glow of the rising sun. Ancient memories awoke and the earth boiled under his tread.

  But then, amid the swirl of the craft and the chatter of spells, there was a light. She felt it dimly, someone was trying to free her.

  If I cannot have this power… Wislaw’s voice rang out inside her head. Then his words were lost amid the roar of the craft that raged inside her. She felt his spells close about her, weak, dispirited things. And yet the power of the stones had been spread thin. Distracted by the witch, they hadn’t realised the danger until it was too late. Suddenly Iwa was free.

  Break the bridge! Miskyia’s voice was faint now, little more than a gasp. We’ve all been used. But Iwa had no idea how to work the spells and the sorceress was too weak to help. Iwa stood stock still, her fingers tight over the totem as she fought for breath, her lips uttering a prayer to Karnobog in a desperate plea for guidance. And, somewhere out in the depths, she felt his answer.

  No, the voice of Lord Bethrayal boomed, you cannot condemn me to the outer dark. Who are you to thwart my plans? Some child of the forest running shoeless and wild. You have a fraction of my power, a smattering of the craft, nothing more. Let me into this world and I could give you more than you could ever imagine. Without me you will shrink into nothingness: a child once more.

  I might be a child, Iwa spat, but I can cast you to the outer dark.

  Don’t… The ancient spells of the stones coiled about her. We have waited so long; you could replace Lord Bethrayal, become more than he ever could. Without us you will never rid the forest of the woyaks: they will come to dominate all things and the clan will pass away. Their tone was seductive, those sweet words rising up inside her, but Iwa was weary and, almost unbidden, the craft came to her aid and smothered out their voices as, in the firmament, the bridge shattered. Iwa could sense the spirit of Lord Bethrayal inside her head, the panic and terror as he fell into the outer dark. Then she shrieked as her world shattered around her and her body was scooped inside out.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A broad ribbon of dawn cut through the dark. Iwa shook her head. She was lying in the mud, her body aching as the river lapped at her feet. There was no sign of Lord Bethrayal, no trace of Miskyia or scent of magic. Behind her the camp was in ruins, but the boats had survived. Groups of woyaks wandered aimlessly through the wreckage, their faces battle-weary and sullen.

  So Krol Gawel has his victory, she thought bitterly, and I’m a prisoner once more. Maybe if she crawled away now nobody would notice. Anything was better than ending up spread
eagled on some mad priest’s cross, but that would leave Yaroslav in Wislaw’s hands. If only somebody had the good sense to run a spear through that priest. Somehow she doubted that the world could ever be so lucky.

  At least there weren’t any other voices inside her. As she got to her knees she paused and shook her head, just to make sure hers was the only voice that lingered in there. Everything appeared as it should, no strange commands or wittering of magic. I’d better keep quiet about this, or else people will think I’m possessed and Katchka will try and drive the spirit away with that awful broth of hers.

  She was about to get up when she heard a voice, faint and far off. Leave me alone. She sank to her knees and prayed that the voice would go away. This head is only big enough for one. Maybe Katchka’s broth wouldn’t be so bad after all. Again she heard the voice, closer this time. It wasn’t coming from her head, she realised, and a sense of relief ran through her.

  She was so caught up with the feeling that she had no idea of what was actually being said and it was only when it was too late that she caught the tone of enmity.

  ‘So it’s you!’ Wislaw screeched. ‘Trust you to have survived when you better had died.’ Iwa tried to get up but he was almost upon her, his dagger drawn. ‘I should have splayed your guts for the crows.’

  For a second Iwa thought of running but she couldn’t move. A numbness weighed down like mud upon her. There was nothing to do but wait for death. I’ve been through too much; the thought came to her as the dagger stabbed down towards her in a cruel arc.

  Fang saved her. Grunmir came as if out of nowhere and brought the axe down on Wislaw’s hand so that the back of the blade hooked round the wrist and, with a savage flick, the old priest toppled into the mud.

  ‘It was her!’ he screamed, pointing the dagger at Iwa, ‘She betrayed us. I saw her lead the demon through my barrier.’ Iwa took a step back and glanced round for help. Wislaw’s scream had drawn the attention of every woyak in the camp and they were quick to gather around, their hard, battle-worn faces peering at her. ‘She’s the cause of all this!’ Wislaw’s voice reached fever pitch. ‘It was she who commanded the demon to attack the camp.’

  ‘She stood and faced the demon with me,’ Grunmir said as some of the woyaks smirked at the thought of this mud-soaked girl standing up to anything, let alone the demon.

  ‘She should be sacrificed,’ Wislaw screamed, barely able to control his voice as the lizards glared out from above his brow, ‘so that the gods can feed upon her liver. Piórun demands her blood: she has betrayed us all.’

  ‘I did not see you in the fight,’ Grunmir mocked. There was a pause as the woyaks looked to one another. None of them really believed that Iwa had played any part in the battle, but they trusted Grunmir more than Wislaw’s hysterics.

  ‘Lord Krol,’ Wislaw turned to Krol Gawel, but he just shook his head.

  ‘Lock her up with the others,’ Krol Gawel muttered as he turned to leave.

  ‘You need the hunters if you are to survive,’ Iwa said swiftly. The krol stopped and gave her a backward glance. ‘There aren’t enough woyaks to hunt in the forest, not if you want to fill all your bellies.’ She waited. You should leave, she so desperately wanted to say, go as far away as you can and never come back. That was fools’ talk. As if the woyaks would ever leave. If she couldn’t get rid of the woyaks, then at least she could free the clan.

  ‘You see, Lord Krol,’ Wislaw said, ‘see how this child conspires with our enemies. Free the hunters and they will do nothing but run and hide in the forest. Then they will be quick to turn against you, Lord Krol. We do not have food enough to waste on them.’

  ‘Without more men we will never be able to harvest a crop,’ Grunmir said. ‘We need many hands to clear the forest.’

  ‘And what of our stores in the town, Lord Krol? We have men there, and ships.’

  ‘Barely enough to make for a thin winter indeed,’ Grunmir scoffed as the woyaks pressed in closer.

  ‘The captives should fetch a pretty price,’ Wislaw looked around the group in triumph. ‘The Arabs are always greedy for slaves.’

  Iwa looked at the faces of the woyaks. Many nodded. Why not get rid of the extra mouths and exchange them for food and vodka? They were tired of having to guard the hunters, but some cast their eyes hungrily to where the women were held.

  ‘Would you trust such a cargo to the river?’ Grunmir asked. ‘If the ship sunk before it got to port, we’d have neither workers nor money. Even then, markets are strange beasts; the Arab slavers will cheat you quick as a hunting eagle flies the nest.’

  ‘Once more, Grunmir plays his tricks.’ Wislaw raised his voice, the snake glistening at his throat as the old priest pointed to the crowd. ‘He plants fears into our hearts so that he can rule them. Who can doubt that we would get money to buy food from the traders? Even one shipload would bring us more than enough.’

  All eyes were on Wislaw now, except for Iwa’s, whose gaze never left the krol. He stood alone, his grey eyes taking in both Grunmir and Wislaw as he weighed up their words. He was too clever to make such a decision so quickly, and so publicly.

  ‘We came to forge a kroldom,’ he said slowly, each word so soft that it might almost have been dragged from his throat, yet they could be heard through the crowd. ‘A kroldom is built on grain and the bounty of the earth. If we raise money now, we will have food aplenty for this year, but what will happen in the next? Does the clan have a leader?’ the krol asked without turning. There was a long silence as Iwa realised that he had spoken to her.

  ‘Godek, the old hunt master, is dead, but the hunters will listen to my father, Yaroslav.’

  ‘Bring him to me,’ Krol Gawel said. ‘Tonight we shall feast and sacrifice a deer to Piórun to give thanks for our victory.’

  ‘Karnobog is the god of this camp,’ Iwa muttered, her mouth drying as Krol Gawel turned to her. ‘You burned his sacred bones in that fire of yours…’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘I have not heard of this Karnobog,’ the krol said.

  ‘He is the god of our clan and we are his people.’

  ‘Then maybe we should burn some meat for him. Piórun is mighty enough to share a sacrifice. Bring this Yaroslav to me: I will talk with him.’ Krol Gawel raised his hands as if to bless the assembly. ‘We have a camp to rebuild—’ he was quick to change the subject and move the conversation to a surer footing ‘—and a feast to prepare.’

  Will things ever be that easy? Iwa thought. It’ll take more than pretty words to wipe away the blood that has been shed.

  Yet, as she looked around, all she could see were smiling faces. Some of the woyaks even hugged the women, or each other. They had survived the night and all was well. Now their hearts turned to feasting and the promise of vodka. This was not a time for differences. Some of the men struck up a song.

  Maybe the krol will have his way after all, Iwa thought as she picked herself up.

  ‘Let us set about building a pyre,’ Krol Gawel’s voice rang out above the tune, his voice filled with merriment.

  With that, he walked away and the woyaks followed him back into the camp. As he left, Grunmir gave Iwa a narrowed glance. There was a look of puzzlement on his face, mixed with respect and maybe a trace of warmth.

  Then he too turned away and Iwa was alone. Perhaps, after all that had happened, it was better that the woyaks forgot about her: she didn’t want to face any awkward questions. They’ll probably think I’m mad anyway, or else possessed.

  A gust of wind rustled across the trees. Iwa looked to the ship that held the hunters. There was a chill in the air and she had a sense of things passing. Maybe the krol would tear down the trees and bring the land to the plough. He has already enslaved the clan, what is there to stop him enslaving the land as well?

  It was hard to believe that she could have ruled all this. And now I am nothing more than a little girl, so easily put aside. Maybe Yaroslav would convince Krol Gawel to let the hunters go, but nobody would remem
ber her. Somewhere, in the distance, a fox scrabbled through the bracken. Maybe it was for the best. Perhaps she could have saved the forest, for a time, but in the end, the old blood gods would have bent her to their will, just as they had done with Lord Bethrayal, and their dominion would have been far more terrible than that of men. At least with the krol there is a chance, no matter how slim.

  She looked down at her mud-sodden clothes. As she examined a tear in the material, she noticed something different. There was the familiar outline of the bison, dyed a deep blue into the fabric, and the sacred symbols of Karnobog. Slowly a smile spread across her lips. Jarel had been wrong; she was far more a part of the clan than even she had imagined. As she smoothed out her dress, Iwa fancied that she could almost hear Tomaz begin to cry. I hope he is over the fever. Perhaps I’ll pick some silverweed so that Katchka can make a broth for him.

  Behind her the waters of the great river lapped. She looked to the far bank – there was no sign of Miskyia. At least she found her freedom; anything would be better than to be a slave to the stones. The totem lay at her feet, the spells quiet now, or else exhausted. The amulet had shattered when the link with Lord Bethrayal had been broken; bits of it lay scattered in the mud. So that’s an end to the magic, she hoped.

  Yet, as she gathered up the folds of her dress, she felt a difference in herself. The craft has left its mark on me all the same. I can’t go back to being a child, not after all that’s happened. As the wind rustled across the bracken, she thought she caught just the merest hint of a spell; just the briefest chuckle of magic hidden in the undergrowth, but then it was gone. Slowly, she got up and walked back to the camp.

  End