by Mark Lucek
Somehow she sensed that Wislaw was using the doll: she could almost feel its power, although very weak as it haunted the edges of her world. Then, gradually, the feeling subsided. Perhaps he does not have the strength to follow me here, she hoped, as she picked her way past a hawthorn thicket. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. There was a rustle in the bushes, the snap of a twig, but then nothing. Maybe it was just her imagination. The wind played through the branches, there was the chatter of leaves swept along the paths, the gossip of bracken on the breeze. Then there was the crack of a stone dislodged by a careless footfall. Instantaneously she ducked, her body tense, ready to run for the safety of the trees. Maybe one of the hunters had followed her, or a woyak had strayed into these ill-trodden paths.
But somehow she doubted that. Not even a hunter could find this place, let alone a clumsy woyak. Quietly humming a tune to the gods for protection, Iwa made her way down the path. Let’s hope that not all the elders’ talk of gods and demons was a lie. Behind her a creature followed, nothing more than a shadow amongst the trees.
Still, she had to keep calm. The sensation that something was following her was clammy against her skin as she picked past a tangle of curled orange roots, the like of which the outer world had not seen for centuries. No, she dare not look behind, but the temptation grew as she stopped to try and make out the way forward. If she’d been a hunter she’d have turned and faced the thing, better to die fighting barehanded then cower in the dark like a helpless foundling.
Even a wolf would attack from behind. But the fear of the thing overwhelmed her as if to turn would invite it to attack. Death hardly ever came from the stalking wolf, but from the others which lay in wait ahead. Yet somehow she sensed that the creature which followed was no wolf.
She peered into the darkness about her, her senses strained as, without a break in her stride, she made her way across the uneven ground, the track little more than a break in the foliage. Once again she realised that the forest had rearranged itself behind her back, but the thing that followed slid easily through the dense vegetation.
Once or twice she glimpsed it, a dark presence brooding in the shadows, a strange muggy scent on the breeze, or the snap of a twig in the distance. At least there didn’t seem to be any others. Maybe they lay in wait. If only she could turn and run… but the thought of her father drove her on. She couldn’t leave him to Wislaw and the others. She had to find the witch and get this Lord Bethrayal to free him, no matter the danger. I’d never make my way back anyway. She fought for courage. Who knows where the path behind would now lead?
She made her way to the familiar lake. How still it seemed, with not even the stir of reeds to disturb the surface. A boat waited on the bank: but it wasn’t a crude thing like the tiny, wooden, flat-bottomed craft that she’d escaped in. This was larger, carved from a white wood like ash, but stronger to the touch. At either end a couple of carved wooden poles rose, over which was stretched a pure white sheet of muslin. The vines from some strange plant ran green along the prows and the wood seemed to sing as it took her weight. There was even a bench for her to sit on. A silken sheet lay draped across it.
She turned to the forest, half expecting to hear the snarl of the thing in the woods. If it was to attack, then this would be its last chance. Just let me get to the other side, she pleaded as the silken sheet crackled with a soft energy; runes of magic were woven deep into the fabric. Behind Iwa the forest stirred and she thought she saw some misshapen creature prowling the undergrowth. She clambered on board, knees scraping the wood as she looked for the oars or any other weapon.
Until her escape from the island she’d never been in a boat before. Suddenly it dawned on her that she’d have to push the thing out into the lake. Without taking her eyes off the tree line, she scrabbled about inside the hull but there was nothing, no way to defend herself or steer the craft.
But, as she settled on the bench, the boat lurched away from the bank, an unseen hand guiding it as it moved swiftly across the lake. More magic. She pressed herself against the side of the ship and made the sign to ward off evil. Would Miskyia be angry? Would the sorceress forgive her?
Through the mists the dark outline of the island reared. This must have been the opposite side to the one she’d seen before, because she didn’t recognise any of the features. To her left a stone jetty reached out across the waters. On the pebbled shore Miskyia stood, her long robes fluttering in the breeze. Behind her the stones glowed white and crackled with power.
For the first time Iwa realised how big the ruined building must have been. She looked at the ragged lines of walls, the scorch marks still visible across the marble, and the lines of columns that lay broken amid the reeds. How many had died in the battle to destroy all this? She gripped the amulet and felt a tingle of magic run through her fingers as the boat slid to the shore. With a final jolt, it beached and Iwa scrambled out, almost tripping in her eagerness to feel the earth beneath her feet.
‘So you have returned.’ Miskyia’s voice betrayed little surprise.
‘I had no choice.’
‘You should never have left.’ Miskyia fought down a look of anger. Only when she had regained her composure did she continue. ‘I warned you of the danger that surrounds this place; you were lucky to survive. Many things lurk unseen beneath these waters and it would only take a moment for them to drag you to your doom.’
‘I had to find my father.’ Iwa held out the amulet but, to her surprise, Miskyia hardly appeared to notice. Here, in this place, the trinket seemed alive, the bronze burnished with the craft. Iwa felt the spells tingle along her arms and deep within the stone the images shifted.
‘Couldn’t you have waited? Didn’t you trust me?’
‘I had to find him.’
‘And did you find him, this man for whom you’d risk your life rather than wait for safe passage? Or did you think that I would have held you captive?’
‘My father’s a prisoner in the camp.’ She’d been about to tell Miskyia about the hut but decided against it. The less the woman knew the better. ‘The woyaks caught me too but I managed to escape.’
‘So your father is not with you?’
‘No.’
Miskyia’s face revealed nothing, not even when she took the amulet.
‘We have to get him away from Wislaw. He’s the one who stole your amulet and he’s got Yaroslav prisoner.’ Her words tumbled out. Now she was too tired to lie. ‘Wislaw tortured my father and he’s bound to do worse if we don’t get to him soon.’
‘I doubt that this Wislaw will have any real interest in your father now that he knows about you. That was a big mistake. Now he’ll be wary and we have lost all chance of surprise. See where your stupidity has led. You could have ruined everything with your blundering. Let’s hope you’ve managed to gain something at least. Have you any idea of their plans?’
Iwa shook her head. She’d brought the amulet, wasn’t that enough? This was all so unfair. ‘Krol Gawel has cut down the trees to plant crops, so that he’ll tickle food from the stomach of Matka Ziemia.’
‘So he wants to be a farmer,’ Miskyia said, unable to keep the mockery from her voice. ‘Here in the forest? That’s a fool’s errand if ever there was one.’
‘But they have already burnt away part of the forest, scorched Matka Ziemia with fire and cut down her trees.’
‘There’s far more to being a farmer than cutting down a few trees: this krol sounds more foolish than I’d imagined. Maybe they will force the captives to till the earth for them.’
‘But if they can’t tickle out these crops of theirs, won’t the woyaks just go away? Some of them have tried to get away but there’s this man, Grunmir, and they’re all afraid of his axe and his tongue.’
‘If the crops fail, so will the krol’s plans and then the woyaks will have no choice but to leave.’ Miskyia said simply, not even bothering to ask who this Grunmir was. ‘They will take the men to sell as slaves,
the women too. I know these woyaks; greedy for gold and lazy. They’ve no fondness for hard work and farming is far harder than they realise.’
‘But will they sell my father to the Arabs, and the other women in the ships too? The priest wanted to sacrifice me because he thought he’d be able to drink up my craft and make it part of him.’ Iwa looked into Miskyia’s blue eyes; more than anything she wanted somebody to talk to, somebody who understood about the craft and could help her get rid of it. ‘He has a doll too, with my hair and a drop of my blood. It calls to me, even in the forest.’
‘So he has a manikin of making,’ Miskyia said as if to herself. ‘He must be more powerful than I thought: such dolls are difficult to conjure, and you were a fool to let him trap you like that.’
‘There was nothing I could do.’
‘So this is where your actions have led you? You could have been killed, and if he has bound your soul to a manikin of making then he could have followed your tracks through the forest as surely as any hunter.’
‘But not to this place. I felt his magic in the forest but when I came to the border it was gone.’
‘But now he knows that a hidden place lies nearby.’ Behind Miskyia there was a rustle of bushes as Sturmovit came to stand by her side, a small axe glinting in his hands. ‘If Krol Gawel and his woyaks attack I do not know if I’ll have the strength to repel them.’
‘I could help,’ Iwa said and looked to the ground.
‘You’ve done far too much already. I should have chained you to the temple walls. You can be thankful that this place might not be so easy for Wislaw to find, even with his doll.’
‘But you said that I could help summon Lord Bethrayal,’ Iwa continued, desperate to gain some approval. Yaroslav’s safety depended on this strange woman. ‘You need me to summon him to his world.’
‘Even with the talisman it will be difficult. I have spent so much of my own magic just to get him here for even a short while.’
‘But I can help. Tell me what to do.’
‘This isn’t one of your childish games. Are you really so foolish to take on such a thing lightly?’
‘You have to help me. I got the amulet and now it’s your turn.’ She didn’t trust Miskyia, but she couldn’t free her father by herself and anything was better than leaving him in the hands of Wislaw and his krol. ‘You have everything you need now, the amulet…’ she let her voice trail away. Where has she hidden Jacek’s totem? she wondered, but decided not to mention it. She’d never really believed Miskyia’s story about not having found it. Let her keep the thing for all I care, so long as she helps me free my father.
‘Perhaps I need you still.’ Miskyia’s voice was distant. ‘It is a strange fate when so much depends on one such as you.’
‘If I do help, will Lord Bethrayal kill the woyaks and help free my father?’
‘Oh, he will have his vengeance and that idiot priest will curse the day of his birth as he dies in agony alongside that pathetic excuse for a krol.’
‘Will this Lord Bethrayal let the hunters go?’
‘He will rule, as he was born to do, with you as his handmaiden.’
‘What about my father, will he be free?’
There was a long silence as the words hung in the air. Then Miskyia stood to one side and motioned for Iwa to follow. ‘The Lord Bethrayal does not take orders, he makes his own way.’
‘If I am to be his handmaiden, won’t he listen to me, especially if I help him break through the firmament?’
‘Perhaps,’ the sorceress said, ‘though you’d not be of use until the craft has fully wakened within you. May Jezi Baba be there to guide you through that ordeal. Many have failed the test and the price they pay is often terrible.’
‘Then you’ve got to stop it.’ She didn’t like all this talk of the craft, or anything to do with payment and prices. Miskyia was beginning to sound like a trader at a summer fair. The witch drew back and was about to say something. Then suddenly she stopped and a dark look came over her as she placed her hand on Iwa’s forehead. ‘Or perhaps it has taken you already.’
‘I’ve never had anything to do with the craft.’ Iwa turned away, shocked by the venom in Miskyia’s voice, but the sorceress grabbed her shoulders, her fingers trembling as she shook the girl.
‘You little fool! As if running away wasn’t dangerous enough. The way of the sorceress isn’t to be trifled with. Have you the faintest inkling of how stupid you have been? I should be here to help you, to protect you from the ravages of the craft: its awakening could have destroyed you.’
‘Nothing has awoken inside me, least of all anything like magic or this craft you keep on about. And I’m not going to have anything to do with it, either.’
‘The craft comes upon you whether it is wanted or not. I remember my time. The pain of childbirth was nothing compared to it. For days I lay there screaming, my body wracked with agony, as if the fires of doom had engulfed me. I was lucky. There were those who recognised the signs and were there to help. Yet still I can remember my cries as they echoed around the hall. Yes,’ Miskyia smiled as she caught the look on Iwa’s face, ‘I was born in the Polish lands, in one of their towns so very far away.’
‘So you are one of the Polish ladies after all, the wife of some lord?’ Iwa said, anxious to change the subject. Anything was better than having to talk about the craft and all the other things she didn’t understand.
‘Hardly anything so noble. My parents were scared of the craft and tried to hide me from it. They thought that they could escape it, just as you do: but they were wrong and you are too. The craft will claim you as it claimed me.
‘I’d never have survived the ordeal had I not had help. In the more civilised lands there are always people wise in the craft, those who understand its lore. In this forest you are alone, and unless you find yourself in one of the healing places it would be so easy for you to die.’ She paused, the memory of the craft breaking over her coming back. She’d spent days in a tiny room in a high tower of the castle, her body wracked with pain as the old women bathed her body with water and herbs, and the old Molfar witch chanted the sacred spells of healing. Even then she’d barely survived.
‘You should never have to face the onset of the craft alone. This is a place where the old ways run free and magic still holds sway, not like in the world of men where it is muted and dulled.
‘Maybe I should never have come here, but in those days I was rash, I yearned for power and there was one who promised me so much.’ Miskyia smiled, though she appeared to be on the verge of tears. ‘If only I had found a better guide, then maybe I wouldn’t have wandered into such a desperate fate. You must let me help you, promise that.’ Miskyia knelt before Iwa and clasped her hand. ‘Promise me.’ Iwa looked down and slowly nodded.
‘Just remember, this is one promise that you have to keep.’ Miskyia drew the girl to her. ‘Whatever else might happen.’
‘Yes.’
‘You have to mean it. Once you are on the path there is no turning back. You don’t understand the dangers. Once I was like you, alone in the world without guidance or counsel. And I too thought that it would be an easy thing to cast the craft aside.’
‘I have my father.’
‘Do you think even he will be able to help?’ There was a sense of sadness behind the words as the witch held out her hand to Iwa. ‘I too had loved ones, people who cared for me. But, for all their love, there was nothing they could do to help. Their guidance was as foolish and inconsequential as the chatter of leaves. For none can understand the craft unless they know its lore. There is so much that can be gained from the sorceries of this world, but it is a treacherous way. The craft has taken everything from me and I am alone, stranded here so far from my home and my kin.’
‘I have lost my mother too,’ Iwa said softly, ‘though I never knew her. The clan said that I killed her in childbirth.’
‘No, you must not think like that, never like that.’ Miskyia stroked the gir
l’s hair. ‘Your mother gave her life for you, as any mother should.’
‘And soon my father will be dead, if we cannot help him.’
‘Then you must be patient.’ Miskyia laid her finger on Iwa’s lips to stifle her protest. ‘And do exactly as I say, no more running off, do you understand?’
Getting up, the sorceress led Iwa through the wreck of an arch. They were in a long corridor that led into the heart of the temple. As they reached the door, Iwa realised that they were about to go into an underground room. Miskyia walked quickly so that Iwa had trouble keeping up. Besides which she could hardly see in the gloom. Who’d want to live in a place like this, cut off from the wind and the sun? Of course she’d heard the stories of the Polish lords, who lived in great halls of wood and stone and never followed herds but stayed rooted to the soil like trees, but she’d just laughed; nothing but trader talk.
Miskyia led her further into the temple as the corridor dipped underground and the air became dull. Iwa looked to the walls and shivered. Before this the largest thing she’d ever seen was the great tent of the Salmon clan, which could hold two hundred men. No stone tent could be as large or else the roof would fall in.
But this was far larger. Miskyia led her from room to room whilst Iwa followed, casting anxious glances about her. How did the roof keep from caving in? Was this like the caves in the mountains, or did magic bind the stones? Dimly she was aware of the squat form of Sturmovit as he followed, his feet hardly making a sound across the stones.
Finally, they came to a large round room. Above them a dull light shone down from a crystal set in the roof. Around the room the plaster had crumbled and cracks webbed across the once golden walls, but it wasn’t that which caused Iwa’s mouth to fall open. In the centre the floor dipped away and a row of stone steps led to a pool of water. There was no sign of where the water had come from; no river or stream to take it away either. Yet it didn’t appear to be stale. Cautiously, Iwa bent down and sniffed. No, the pool appeared cool and calm as if it bubbled up from a hidden spring; but there was no hole in the floor.
