by Mark Lucek
Kazik had survived his encounter with the elk, just as she’d managed to dodge the fox’s bite and bring its carcass back to camp. If only I can survive this. ‘I’m not a danger to anyone,’ she managed. Behind her a couple of woyaks nudged each other and smiled. ‘I was only…’ Her voice trailed away into a mumble. She had to get out and save Yaroslav somehow. If only she could spin some lie so that the krol would let them go.
‘You appear to have brought me one of the nemcy.’ Krol Gawel held out his cup for more wine. ‘I can’t make out a word she speaks. We should take her to some Frankish merchant and see if he can’t make more sense of her.’ The krol laughed into his cup. Nobody else smiled; all eyes were trained on the throne as the krol emptied his cup and, behind the sweet smell of the wine, Iwa caught a hint of marjoram.
‘I could loosen that pretty tongue of hers, great krol,’ Wislaw said, ‘if only you’d give her over to me. I’ll get more out of her than Grunmir ever could.’
‘And do you think she is that important?’ the krol replied, hardly bothering to look in her direction. Was this the best they could do?
‘Her – important?’ Alia scoffed, and this time she didn’t bother to look away. ‘She’s nothing more than a chit of a girl. Do you think that the clan would ever trust one such as her?’
‘It would be best not to take any chances,’ Wislaw answered coldly. ‘These are dangerous times, Lord Krol. We have to be sure, and my methods…’
‘Your methods have served me ill of late.’ Krol Gawel cut him off. ‘What of your barrier of skulls, or the protection of Piórun? You talk much, old man, but I have yet to see anything by way of greatness behind your words.’
Iwa looked to the floor and felt the planks press roughly under her feet. The scent of a frightened herd hung about this place. She could almost taste it in the sweat-filled air, feel it in the eyes of the woyaks who stood guard at the entrance, their spears trailing loosely in their hands.
‘You shall, great krol, when next the demon comes upon us, you shall see how my magic holds it at bay.’
‘It is you who has brought this fate upon us,’ Grunmir spat, ‘with your meddling and your trickery. It was you who disturbed the barrow mounds, when all should be left alone.’
‘I did not think brave Grunmir scared of the dead.’
‘I am content to leave the dead to their rest. You dug away at the burial mounds and released evil upon us. The dead keep their secrets,’ Grunmir shivered, ‘especially in a place like this. Evil sleeps deep amid the trees and you have awoken it with your spells and your trickery. Now the dead come to claim what’s theirs.’
‘Lord Krol,’ Wislaw drew back, visibly shaken at such open defiance. Over his eyes Iwa saw the lizards rear, their mouths drawn open and their teeth flickering in the gloom. Can’t anyone else see them? Pinned down under the woyaks’ grip, she struggled for the words that would save her. Could she really challenge Wislaw? Who, except for Grunmir, would listen? Not even Alia trusts me.
‘This man presumes too much, Lord Krol,’ Wislaw said. There was a weariness in his voice as if weighed down by a conversation he’d had once too often. ‘It is true that I disturbed the barrow mounds, but it was done in your service. And the dead have kept to their places. This is none of my conjuring and is it not my barrier which protects us all?’
He was calm now, sure of his words as he worked over well-worn arguments. Did Grunmir still try to trap him? Let him sow his discontented seeds, the krol would not so easily be swayed and the barrier had given his voice a newfound authority in the councils. There would be none to challenge him, not even the old woyak.
Yet, as the old priest circled the woyak, Iwa could see the tattoos move across the bald dome of his head, the lizards’ tongues flicking out in anger. ‘I know why the demon has condemned you.’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper now.
Nobody moved. The grip on her shoulder hardly faltered as she took a deep breath. Grunmir had to win this argument. With him there was a chance, no matter how slight. ‘You have to leave the forest in peace,’ she said as loudly as she dared. ‘The Leszy who protect the trees and the clan will never let you go otherwise.’
Around the old priest’s neck a red snake crawled, its head nestling in the hollow of his neck.
‘Leave the clan to their fate,’ she continued as the coils tightened, but Wislaw’s expression hardly changed. ‘You can take the women if you want, those that will go with you,’ she said, glancing over to Alia. Without the krol there’d be no place for her, not now. The women would tear her to pieces and Katchka would hang what was left on the linden trees as a warning to the others.
‘See how the traitoress works her tongue, my lord krol,’ he said, ‘see the poison that flows from her lips. Give her to me and I’ll soon wrangle the truth from that sweet mouth.’
‘As if she could know anything,’ Alia said sharply as she drew back behind the chair. Only Iwa noticed her now. She was trapped, caught between worlds. Was it her fault that the krol had looked kindly upon her? But, should the krol leave, none would be ready to forgive. And Katchka will whittle her face to dust.
‘Anything buried so deep in this forest should rest there,’ Grunmir said, ‘and we should have not disturbed it. You pillaged the woodland tombs and that night-spawned evil has dogged our path ever since.’
Grunmir glanced at the krol but Wislaw levelled his gaze at the old woyak. ‘Grunmir is a woyak, lord krol,’ he said slowly as if biting down upon his hatred, ‘and he sees things simply, as a woyak should. When it comes to battle craft and spear work that is all that is required. Yet there are other things, far more subtle and perilous than a spear or a fast-flying arrow.
‘I have peered into the void, my lord krol, and it is best that you do not know what lies there. Unnamed terrors stalk the darker reaches of the night and, to them, we are as fallen leaves caught in the current. It was not I who wakened this terror, it is you who has brought it down upon us.’
There was a hushed intake of breath as Wislaw turned on the krol. Beside his throne Alia trembled, her body wilting into the shadows. Nobody dared move, not even Krol Gawel as he stared with careworn eyes. ‘The girl is right,’ Wislaw said. His voice was soft, barely audible in the smoke-ridden caverns of the ship, but he held them all in a trance. ‘This muddied stripling has grasped the truth, my lord krol. The Leszy would have never let us strip away the land, burn out the forest.’
‘We do nothing more than is done in the lands of the Poles.’ Grunmir raised his voice, but there was no disguising the hint of unease that faltered behind his words. ‘I do not hear of demons sent to plague the farmers of the north or the south. In the east, crops are raised, and in the west too.’ Grunmir laughed as he looked around him, but the other woyaks were quick to look away.
‘We are far from hearth and home or inglenook,’ Wislaw said. ‘Here the forces of leaf and briar keep their own law, as it was in the days before the first men tamed the land and turned it to the plough. And we have roused their vengeance – even this shoeless backwoods girl knows as much.’
The woyaks’ grip pressed down on Iwa’s shoulders and a murmur ran through the ship. Many were nodding; they had all heard the clan women talk of the vengeance of Jezi Baba, or the anger of Zaltys.
‘But—’ Wislaw paused. The old priest’s voice was sharp and, with a single gesture, he silenced the others. Around his throat the coils of the snake glistened as his eyes scanned the room. ‘I can protect us.’ Now his voice was quiet again, soft as a mother’s. ‘I can fathom the darkling powers, chart a course that will bring this land to the plough.’
No. Iwa struggled. You want to give us to the dark. But her words were stillborn. Desperately she glanced to Grunmir. If only they’d trust the woyak. Surely they’d listen, they were scared of him, even the krol, but it was Wislaw who held them now.
‘I can mediate with forces so great that they would crush us like bugs beneath a shire hoof.’ Again Wislaw held out his hand,
all eyes upon him. So great was his spell over them that only Iwa noticed as he tucked his other hand into his cloak and, as she opened her mouth, she could feel his thumb about the neck of the doll.
‘Piórun is merciful to those who would follow him, lord krol. Give me this virgin’s blood.’ For the first time Wislaw swung round to face Iwa. ‘This is the parchment upon which our salvation is written.’
‘We have no need of virgin sacrifice,’ Grunmir said, relieved to be on surer ground. ‘Since when has Piórun had need of human blood?’
‘Since when have we faced a situation as grave as this? Since when have we asked as much of him? Piórun does not give his favour lightly, nor will the Leszy of these trees be easily quelled.’
‘Since when has Piórun required you, priest?’ Grunmir replied, his hand instinctively moving to his blade. ‘Men know what is in the hearts of the gods, and it is not this.’
Iwa trembled before the great chair where the krol sat, his arms spread over the sides and the skins drawn over his shoulders. He could have been a god, the way the light flickered cruelly over his face.
She had to speak, but the words came ill-formed in her throat, and all the while she could feel the power of the manikin, Wislaw’s thumb pressing into its neck.
‘How is it that you have grown so wise in the ways of the gods?’ he said. ‘Has not my craft come to your aid, and more than once? If it were not for my protection we would have perished long ago. If only you knew the sacrifices that the craft demands. You woyaks bear your scars for all to see. The tenets of your service are easily marked out in your flesh, yet my scars run deeper, held on the inside where none can see.’
He jabbed his thumb hard into the doll and Iwa felt a stab of pain in her throat. Maybe Wislaw was right, Piórun would be pleased with her blood. No, that was the doll, she could sense its craft woven about her. She stood mute, her lips trembling as she fought the temptation to throw herself before the chair and beg to be given to the god.
Let this Wislaw drink up my magic for all I care, what is it to me?
‘The barrier has been raised and will protect us from the demon, but the cost was great. Piórun demanded much from my craft and now he asks but a little more, a life to bind the magic to him.’
‘We have never slaughtered our own,’ Grunmir said simply. ‘Animals, yes, but never has human blood graced our altars.’
‘Yet there are some amongst us who have. The Vikingar of the north give up the blood of women and men to their gods, and their power is strong. Never have we faced a crisis such as this, lord krol, never has the need been so urgent. Only blood will help stem the tide that rises against us, this girl’s blood.’
Still Iwa couldn’t speak, her lips held mute as she struggled to summon the craft to help break his spell. Not that she knew what she was doing. Somewhere deep within she felt the stirring of a power, but it was faint, distant. Desperately she tried to catch hold of it, guide it as she had done when she’d hidden in the owl’s mind. But Wislaw’s craft held firm and, try as she might, she couldn’t free her lips.
The priest is right, she wanted to say. Let Piórun have my blood, my body. Give me over to him. It took all her strength not to blurt the words out and fall before the great chair and offer herself as a sacrifice. Desperately she tried to keep back, the candled gloom folding over her, and always there was the presence of that doll. She felt it, a dark clawing sensation at the back of her mind.
No, she had to keep calm. She tried to close her eyes and think of Yaroslav, alone in the hut. She was his only hope now. Somehow she had to get to him. If only she could rid herself of the presence of that accursed doll. With a deep breath she tried to force the thing from her mind, but its power held firm and, behind the twisting of the ropes and the creak of the wood, she heard a dark half-human sound, as if the thing was somehow laughing at her.
‘Let the Vikingar keep to their own ways,’ the krol said calmly, ‘but they are not ours. The men will not take well to such a deed.’
‘The men will follow their leader. Do not stay your hand now, when the doom of us all hangs in the balance. Your clemency does you justice, noble krol, but a ruler knows when to be firm. The men will follow such a leader.’
There was a cold, clawing silence about the ship. Grunmir glanced around the woyaks. They were trusted men, the battle scars grown old on their faces. But still he was uncertain and Iwa caught the trace of fear that broke fleetingly across his face. She blinked her eyes in the stinging smoke and when she next opened them it was gone, though the krol’s features remained grave. She felt it too, that feeling of uncertainty that pressed down on the assembly. She had never joined the hunt, no girl or woman ever had, but she’d followed the herds well enough to know the mind of a pack.
Around her the woyaks shifted, hands tightening on their spears. They were ready to break. How many of them would continue to follow the krol? How many already looked to the old priest? Suddenly she realised what lay behind Grunmir’s hatred of Wislaw. The barrier had given him power. His words held sway and soon it would be Wislaw who would command.
From the braziers there was a splutter of flame. Alia stood uncertainly by the chair, her mind racked with calculation. She’d thrown her lot in with the krol and had gone too far to turn away. What was it about this girl? Why where they so interested in her? If only she’d had the good sense to stay in the forest. She would have been safe there, with the other hunters.
And part of her wished that she’d managed to escape that night. She could be with the hunters now. She felt her world upon a knife edge, as dark as the candles that spluttered in the gloom. She stood ready for the sign that she should pour more wine and bit her lip to hide her anger. Why did the girl always keep coming back?
‘Why worry over such a girl?’ she said, her words thin as she ran a finger over the silver rim of the jug. Perhaps she had felt safe, serving wine to the krol, her honeyed words soothing him in the night. Now a new power threatened from within, hungry, vengeful.
Perhaps when he has won, Wislaw will take Alia for himself. Iwa couldn’t help but glance over to where the old priest scowled. Somehow she doubted that Alia would find him such an appetising prospect.
‘The men demand…’ Wislaw began.
‘My men grow restless.’ The krol nodded in the direction of the woyaks. ‘Do not think I do not hear their words or that I cannot read their hearts. I know who curses behind my back, those who plot to escape. We need order.’
‘Order will come once this terror is over, lord krol.’ Wislaw was careful to choose his words. Even Iwa understood the threat that lay behind Krol Gawel’s speech. This krol is not such a dullard after all.
‘The barrier is strengthened,’ Wislaw continued, ‘given time.’
‘Time is one of the many things that we do not have.’ The krol flung the cup at the feet of the priest. The grip on Iwa’s shoulders tensed as it clattered to the ground. The krol still held sway here. She could feel the fear of the men as, above them, Krol Gawel glared. ‘Soon the crops must be planted, and Grunmir’s brave woyaks cower in their ships.’
‘They are woyaks,’ Grunmir said, ‘they understand only war and battle. It is difficult for them to pick up the plough and become farmers.’
Slowly, Krol Gawel got up and walked over to where some sacks lay stacked against the side of the boat. Without a word, he took out a handful of seeds and let them fall between his fingers. Here was reality, something that could be touched, not like Wislaw and his demon. But there was something else as well. Even now Krol Gawel could not take his eyes from them. Such simple things – he could crush them between his fingers – yet a whole future lay within. Such was the eternal riddle of wheat and barley.
‘We must act soon,’ he said. ‘There is a season for the plough and it fast approaches. Already there is a change in the air and the land cries out for sowing.’
‘Whatever we do by day, the hunters destroy by night,’ Grunmir said wearily, as if this was
an old conversation, ‘and the men won’t stand guard during the night, not with that demon lurking in the trees. To go into the woods after dusk is to invite certain death. You can’t expect men to sacrifice their lives, not to that thing. If Wislaw is so mighty, let him cast the demon back to whatever dungheap it was spawned from.’
‘It is all I can do to save the camp,’ Wislaw interrupted, ‘not even Piórun could do more.’
‘Six nights, and the thing has not come upon us.’ Grunmir let the words hang in the gloom. There was a sharp intake of breath. Iwa could feel the grip on her shoulders tremble, the woyaks filled with hope. Perhaps this thing had really gone.
‘No,’ Wislaw said slowly. ‘The thing prowls the woods by night. It’s only my barrier that keeps it at bay.’
‘Then I shall face this demon spawn myself,’ Krol Gawel said softly.
‘Nothing harms the demon,’ Grunmir replied. ‘No blade forged by men can prove itself against the creatures of the night. A krol cannot throw away his life on a fool’s gamble.’
‘No.’ Krol Gawel put up his hand. ‘I am the krol and I must free my people. For some time now I have realised that my fate is bound up with this creature. We must be able to defend the crops.’ In the dark Wislaw smiled, but as he relaxed he forgot to keep his grip on the manikin and she felt his power ebb. She wanted to speak but some vestige of the doll still remained within her, choking her words.
‘If you were to sow your crops during the day,’ Alia said, ‘I doubt that the clans would have the wit to dig up the seeds. They are fools without such sense. They still wonder why Jezi Baba hasn’t ridden down on her birch branch to grind your bones with her pestle and mortar.’
‘Not unless somebody told them,’ Krol Gawel said, and all eyes turned to Iwa, who tried to make herself appear as small as possible. ‘Perhaps I underestimated this girl.’
‘No, you haven’t,’ she gulped as she looked round, desperate to find a friendly face.
