The Moon Child

by Mark Lucek

  ‘Miskyia,’ Iwa tried to say again, but there seemed to be no sign of the pig-faced demon. ‘Don’t leave me.’ She glanced down the corridor. She was alone – but how? The pig-faced thing had to be there: there was no sign of a door or any other tunnel that it could have gone through. The air danced around Iwa, making her dizzy so that she had to lean on the stone for support. Sturmovit had gone too, but how was that possible?

  ‘Where are you?’ Panic swelled in her as she turned to run, except there was no place to go. Around her, the air thickened and the walls moved. Now it wasn’t just her imagination – they were closing in on her.

  There was an almighty crash, a tumble of rock and stone. Iwa trembled, her eyes screwed tightly shut as she felt the walls begin to press in upon her, their surface dripping with slime and mould.

  ‘What foolishness is this?’ The words came to her out of the blackness. ‘Breathe, you must remember to breathe.’ But she couldn’t. Iwa opened her mouth, but there was only a terrible scream. Then the walls tumbled in on her, she could feel them pressing in from all sides. A chuckle of magic rang through her ears as the stones prepared to crush the life from her.

  Then there was nothing. She screwed her eyes shut more tightly, but still there was nothing. Finally she found the courage to open an eye. She was in the corridor with the pig face looking down at her.

  ‘What are you up to, girl?’ The words came hollow as if speaking through a mask.

  ‘I thought that the walls were going to kill me,’ she replied, feeling more than a little foolish.

  ‘And so they would have, had I not managed to protect you.’

  ‘It was awful,’ Iwa said, as she gulped back her tears. ‘I don’t want to be crushed like a hunter slamming a fish against a rock.’

  ‘These are ancient stones and they have seen much wickedness; no wonder they don’t trust anyone. Beware.’ The pig demon reached out and touched the wall, her cloven hoof lingering over the stones for a second. ‘Do not let them take you unawares again. They will kill you the first chance they get.’

  After that Iwa was careful to keep close to the pig-faced demon. Now that her eyes had become more accustomed to the gloom, she could see the walls shiver ever so slightly as if a breath pulsed through them. Occasionally she risked a backwards glance and realised that the corridor had realigned itself behind them, or that what had once been an incline had levelled off.

  ‘These walls like to play their games,’ the pig face said. ‘It is not very often that they get visitors.’

  ‘I wonder why,’ Iwa mumbled.

  ‘Just don’t allow them to lull you. They can turn on you in an instant.’

  She didn’t bother to answer but followed dumbly as the creature led her down the corridor. Soon there was a change in the air and the sound of water dripped through the gloom. Quite suddenly, the corridor opened out into a long hall. Iwa gulped: not in her wildest dreams had she imagined such a place. Before her the room stretched off into the distance, the end of which was lost in the dark. Above, stone columns reached towards the hint of a vaulted ceiling, lost amid the gloom. Around the edges of the hall a stream ran. At least it looked like a stream, but she’d never seen water like this before. It shimmered, the colours warm and inviting as the liquid lapped around a channel that ran around the length and breadth of the room. A bridge of blue stone lay across the stream but, as they moved closer, the stones began to blur.

  ‘Careful,’ the pig face said as it held out a cloven hand to stop her. ‘This is where the dark spells are at their most dangerous. Keep a firm foot or they will tip you into the river.’

  Cautiously, Iwa placed her toes on the bridge and felt the stones shift beneath her foot. ‘You must not allow yourself to fall in,’ the pig face warned, ‘for there will be no getting out.’

  ‘I might have known.’ Iwa found her footing once more, but no sooner had she done this then the bridge shifted and she found herself looking down at the water. Why does everything always end in death? Couldn’t the river take me to somewhere nice instead?

  Down below, the waters lapped, cool and inviting, and before Iwa knew what was happening, she felt her toe touch the calm surface of the stream. How pleasant it was to feel the water swell over her foot, far nicer to touch than the passages which were out to kill her. Around her toes the water girdled invitingly, soothing the warm skin of her feet. At least the water doesn’t play any nasty tricks.

  Yet, even as she stretched further down and felt the liquid bathe her ankles, some distant part of her mind screamed out its warning. But it was too late, the bridge had already begun to shift and she was falling, her arms flailing as she toppled over into the stream. Somehow she managed to grab hold of the bridge, but the stones loosened about her fingers and she was flung towards the depths.

  ‘No!’ she cried as the water spun around her ankles. But it was too late. The waters lapped around her waist, pulling her under as she scrabbled for a handhold.

  Somebody grabbed her. It was Strurmovit, his hand tight on hers as he tried to lift her up. But the waters held her firm. She kicked out in a desperate effort to get to safety, but this was no ordinary current, the water was like glue around her and, for all his strength, Sturmovit couldn’t hold on.

  Dimly she was aware of the shore and Sturmovit’s face peering down at her as the water swelled over her face. She heard the chuckle of the Rusalki swirl round her. All was black now, except for a trickle of light. She could make out the pig-faced demon above, the face distorted by the ripple of the waters. It all seemed so distant; her body floated in the dark as the cold closed in and her lungs began to ache.

  The pig-faced demon seemed to be uttering an incantation, the hoofed arms waving in the air, alive with the crackle of magic. But the world above was so far away, and the waters lapped around Iwa as the current pulled her further down. Strange shapes peered through the depths. They didn’t look like Rusalki. She had the sense of something very cold and evil, a malign presence drawn from the very beginning of things.

  There was a disturbance in the water above, though Iwa doubted that any spell would reach her. Through the black she felt it call, the current eddying angrily around it. Again it called, and this time she felt something kick within her. Then her own magic woke in a molten ball of fire, deep in the pit of her stomach. Around her, elements of the craft darted, her power echoing across the hall. The waters reared over her, the black shapes reaching for her as she began to panic.

  She was lost, the craft blistering around her in a formless mass, the configuration spinning ever faster as it threatened to engulf her. No, she had to be calm. Screwing up her eyes, Iwa imagined the pattern of her magic forming from the angry riot of colour that twisted around her. Gradually she quelled the tide and felt the colour begin to calm, angry reds and greens fading to softer hues as she brought them to heel.

  But was it too late? Surely the waters have already taken me? Iwa could feel herself caught in the currents and dragged further down. Breathing hard, she fought down her fear. She could feel her panic ripple through her layer of magic as she wondered what to do next. She could see the water rising above her, her eyes filling with white as her lungs ached. Still her craft wouldn’t obey her, the colours mute as they waited. Desperately, she commanded them to move, but there was nothing, not even the faintest ripple in the craft as her lungs grew cold and filled with water.

  From the depths one of the creatures came for her. She felt the semblance of a clawed hand round her calf, the slight pull ready to drag her further down. Then there was a flash as her world exploded into a molten ball. Somehow she’d managed to get up onto the floor, the paving cracked under her as she lay sprawled across the stones.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked as she hugged her knees to her chest, her lungs aching so that she hardly utter the words.

  ‘I did not realise you had inherited so much of the craft,’ the pig-faced demon said, almost in awe. ‘My spell awakened it within you.’


  Still spluttering, she was helped up, Sturmovit’s hands surprisingly gentle as he arranged her into a sitting position. Her lungs were filled with the cold, though the ache had subsided. For the moment she was glad to just be alive, though she didn’t much like the idea of these forces stirring deep within her. More than anything she wanted this all to end, to feel nothing more than Tomaz kick her ribs as she slept.

  The demon stood before her, unmoving, as its eyes glared down. ‘The magic that lurks within this place keeps its plans well hidden. As far as I could see you were safe on the other side. It was only at the last moment that I perceived the danger.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Iwa looked down to find that her feet and ankles were completely dry. There was no trace of the claw marks either, though she could still feel them about her.

  ‘Your magic rose up to save you. Few, even amongst the great conjurers of the east, could have wielded such power. This is not the first time that the craft has taken you.’

  ‘Sometimes I slip into the minds of animals. I used to think that I only dreamt it.’

  ‘Oh, it was far more than that, child. The craft has not yet come to claim you, yet already magic flows strongly in your veins.’

  ‘Katchka always said that I was a witch.’

  ‘You have great power, but unless you are able to master it the craft will destroy you.’

  Maybe that’s what happened to my mother. Iwa left the thought unspoken as she let the demon guide her across the bridge, casting hateful glances at the water as she passed. Katchka was right about water being shiftless. That’s the last time I trust so much as a puddle.

  They were in the central part of the hall, so vast that it stretched off into the blackness. On either side there was a row of statues, far larger than the ones that guarded the doorway. These were carved from some blue stone that Iwa had never seen before. Strange shapes rose above her, with the bodies of men and the faces of animals, or else the faces of men with the bodies of birds and the wings of insects. Many were so tall that their faces were shrouded in darkness and, here and there, a few figures leered out at her that were so jumbled that she could hardly make out their features.

  As she walked between them, she glanced back to where her magic had shattered the paving and hoped that the stones had learnt their lesson. All around them the water lapped, but at least it was careful to keep its distance. Once or twice she imagined that the river had changed its course and had ebbed closer. A sharp look kept it in check, or so she hoped.

  Suddenly the pig-faced creature stopped and motioned for her to stay still. ‘We have arrived,’ it said.

  ‘Here?’ Iwa looked about her. There was nothing but the hall and the statues. She was so caught up in the sights around her she missed what happened next. Fleetingly she realised that the pig-faced demon had cast another spell. There was a sharp grating sound and the floor parted by her feet to reveal a narrow flight of steps.

  Not another passageway. Iwa shivered, but the creature had already begun to go down. Will I ever see the sun again? She glanced over her shoulder to check that the statues were behaving themselves, and then started quickly down the steps.

  This time Sturmovit stayed at the top, his teeth grinding as he watched them disappear into the darkness. Iwa paused, some part of her wishing that he would follow. Anything was better than being left alone with this strange pig-faced demon.

  She reached the bottom, almost bumping into the creature in her haste. Before them was a small rectangular room with a curved ceiling, so low that the pig-faced demon almost had to stoop to stop its head scraping the roof. Iwa stayed on the last step, her feet lingering as if scared to move. After all those statues, she was actually glad to be somewhere more confined: so long as this room wasn’t going to try and close in on her. Yet something held her back, an odd feeling that cat-pawed across her spine.

  Cautiously, she touched the floor with her toe and heard someone sobbing in the dark. ‘Where are you?’ she called out as loudly as she dared.

  ‘I am here,’ the pig-faced creature replied.

  ‘But there’s someone else as well,’ Iwa whispered, hardly daring to raise her voice. ‘Can’t you hear them crying?’

  ‘It is the stones that cry: they weep with ancient evil.’

  The creature walked over to a doorway set at the far end of the room. Or at least it had once been a doorway. There was a heavily carved lintel, and stone snakes twisted over the archway or wrapped themselves around other lizard-like creatures, but the actual doorway had long been filled in. ‘So close now,’ the pig-faced demon whispered almost to itself as it raised its arms to begin another spell.

  Iwa stepped off the bottom stair and, as her foot touched the ground, the stones began to weep. Another trick, she thought as she walked into the room. More tears, the sound of moaning, distant prayers mumbled to forgotten gods… the cries swirled around her as her spine tingled with fear. If this was another trick of the stones, then it was a very good one. She was ready to take off and run, each step bringing with it another cry. She could almost see them now, the tears of the long dead, or was it just some macabre game of the stones?

  It took all her courage to stop herself from fleeing. And then, when I’m alone, the stones would have me at their mercy. She shivered as the sound continued. It was like a hundred voices, all pleading. Somewhere a mother called for her child, a father begged for pity. Another step and the sounds grew louder. Behind her someone cracked a whip and she couldn’t help but turn to find that there was nobody there.

  Then, in the gloom, there was another sound, a strange moan that drifted through the air. It was like a single howl, soft and low that pricked along her spine. And it was only then that she realised how much she was trembling. But she had to keep on.

  Before the blocked door, the pig-faced demon stood, its eyes flickering with an eerie intensity as it muttered an incantation, the words hard and guttural so that they appeared to scrape from between its jagged teeth. And Iwa didn’t know what scared her the most, the demon or the stones.

  In the dark recesses shadows began to form, the shapes of men and women, glimpsed only as half formed silhouettes. The stones are scared. They don’t want me here.

  But it wasn’t a trap. It was a memory, like the ones locked away in the cave where Yaroslav had nearly died. Iwa could almost see them now, lines of men and women, bound hand and foot as they were herded past the eyes of the savage gods and into this small cramped room. She could almost taste the fear, the stale vomit and sweat as they waited for whatever fate lay beyond. There it was again, the crack of a whip to drive them on as, on either side, robed priests waited, their hands drenched in blood.

  There was a scraping sound as, under the creature’s spell, the stones peeled away to reveal a doorway. Inside was an even smaller room, in the centre of which stood a stone altar. Behind the altar was an iron cross like the one that Wislaw had planned to sacrifice her on, except that this was far older, the chains covered with rust.

  ‘What happened here?’ Iwa shuddered. More than anything she wanted to get out. If only she’d never come across this place. Cautiously she stepped through the doorway, the sound of whips and the cries of the long dead echoing after her. Could she really contain such evil?

  ‘Many terrible things. Now you know why the stones are the way they are. Centuries of blood and dark magic have seeped into their very heart.’

  ‘Perhaps the men who destroyed this temple were right,’ Iwa couldn’t help but say, her voice filled with underlying venom. She hadn’t lost anyone to this place, yet she would have gladly pounded the stones to dust and wiped all memory of them away from the dominion of Matka Ziemia.

  ‘There will always be a portion of evil locked away here until the ends of eternity,’ the creature said. ‘Be thankful of your gods, that they do not demand such sacrifice.’

  ‘How could anybody have done this?’

  ‘Not all the gods of this place were so bloodthirsty. Much good lie
s here as well.’

  ‘Then it keeps itself well hidden.’ Iwa glanced around, she hadn’t seen anything in the way of goodness. But the creature was no longer looking at her, instead reaching a cloven hoof towards the lintel. ‘Some of the stones have tried to kill us because evil has soaked their veins. Yet most only wish to guard the terror that lingers here so that it does not seep back into the world and trouble Matka Ziemia again.’

  ‘And I have left Yaroslav in the hands of one of their priests.’ Iwa shuddered as she remembered Wislaw’s altar.

  ‘I doubt he has an inkling about what he is doing. Much of the knowledge about those old gods has been swept away and a fool like him can only guess at mere scraps of information.’

  ‘Bethrayal is a part of all this?’

  ‘The Lord Bethrayal wanted to stop the sacrifices. He was once a high priest here, but he wanted an end to the blood gods.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he help the men destroy the temple?’

  ‘Because he thought that the gods of this place could be quelled. Not all of them demanded blood. Lord Bethrayal refused the blood gods their due and stopped the sacrifices, replacing their worship with more kindly gods. But the people were slow to forget the horror of this place and they couldn’t forgive the temple for the slaughter. And there were many too who were scared of his power or lusted after it. They were so ready to forge their alliances against him; those jealous, frightened men.’

  The creature paused at the entrance and made a sign of reverence before it crossed into the room. ‘Come,’ it motioned, ‘we cannot be distracted, not here. There is still much to be done.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Iwa faltered. Until now she had thought only of freeing Yaroslav and ridding the forest of the woyaks. She’d never wanted to get caught up with such dark forces. She didn’t really trust this Lord Bethrayal, nobody who was high priest over this place could be good, but she had no choice. The sooner he is caged, the better. She tried to stifle the thought lest the stones could read it. Cautiously she glanced over her shoulder. Already the doorway was blocked, as if the wall had never parted. She didn’t even bother to consider where the light was coming from.